Of Inspiration and Inspiration

There is no greater high than being back on the running track. 

I’m fatter, older and slower. My muscles’ amnesia is painfully(literally) evident, my feet are just about clearing the ground, my knees pipe up complaining alternately, and sometimes together, and barely discernible inclines make me feel like killing myself. To say nothing of, my form is ALL wrong.

And I’m not running with music. So, there’s no Black Eyed Peas Phunking With My Heart, no cliche Eye of the Tiger helping with the remote possibility of a second wind. I do have this really cool bunch of people clapping when i finally finish the run they completed about fifteen minutes before me.

Despite it all, I do finish the run, and the rest of the day I feel like the cat’s whiskers. I also don’t feel killing myself over a piece of chocolate cake that I’m going to have no matter what (yolo!). Nothing compares to a post-run euphoria, and its as addictive a habit as working in the field. Every painful step in front of the other feels like I’m squishing out all the stubborn laziness, pooling in abundance inside me, like toothpaste from an almost empty tube. Akin to Sunday confession, and kriya, and meditation, for me.

Having committed myself to at least a good six months of slavery to books I don’t like reading, and expensive twelve hour classes I wont like attending, I constantly find myself trying to take 10 steps back to retain the memory of the big picture that I’m trying to achieve. Next year, this time, if I’m getting myself butchered in a post-graduate program, I will consider myself lucky. 

Stop scoffing, contemporaries, I’m not trying to cast myself as the solitary warrior, here. Consider this a collective sigh, a small wail sent up on OUR behalf. 

This is not an unusual situation for an Indian Medical Graduate to be in. Its also an unfortunate situation for them, us, to be in. In the current generation, I have come across a subset of these bright, motivated, clinically oriented, and this is a difficult combination to find already, but patriotic doctors, who recognize the crying need for medical care in  many parts of the country and want to do something about it. In order to actually be able to achieve something constructive in that vein, very quickly the requirement of having a post graduate degree for a host of reasons becomes evident. Giving those incredibly competitive and remorselessly memory reliant exams, is so difficult for this subset, because they happen to be concept-oriented people, not learn-by-rote people. 

Its not easy to get a residency abroad. It requires hard work, a lot of time, and a big dollop of luck. But its concept based, predominantly.

So, these kids want to stay in the country, but desperately want to bypass the Indian entrance exams.

Its a tad worse for the female subset (dont boo, boys) because a section of the family seems to have devoted a part of their lives reminding them about various Important Things: their incessantly ticking biological clocks (ALREADY you’re going to be an elderly primigravida), the necessity of getting married (you’ll feel lonely and regret not getting married when you’re old and are suffering from arthritis and/or dementia or you just want to talk about the book you’re reading), the grandparents desire to see them married and preferably witness irritating great grand babies running around the house While They Are Still, you know, alive (how do you argue with that?).

See, if you want to have babies, its all good, more power to you. But if one wants to travel around, mess up a few times in general, discover and re-discover what clinical medicine means, and get selfish pleasure out of sticking IV lines in the middle of a forest, then prioritization is a persistent knot in ones stomach that insists on prompt resolution.

At some point, hopefully, we all reach a crossroad, take the road less travelled, and reach the same damned crossroad again a year or two later, if a little wiser the second time around. By that time one is compelled and/or motivated to choose said path. So all thats left really, is the actual doing. 

If i think about the future, things begin to look daunting, and the tunnel threatens to become darker and cloudier. Like a stuck record, my brain starts flashing a shady-motel neon sign that says things like ‘Baby-steps!’. Interchangeable with “One freakin day at a time!”.

And of course, my favourite, “Carpe that (expletive of choice) Diem!” 

(side note: if you see a post MBBS person hanging around with a morose/blank expression, showing symptoms edging towards zombie-like behaviour, the drug of choice is an encouraging smile. You can gauge boundary issues and (always) after oral consent, move in for a hug, as supportive therapy. )

To explain the point of the title, though titles should be self explanatory, is to take a deep breath and to literally look for inspiration in everything around you. Yes, its preachy, but it really is aiding survival here.

Theres a firefly, loose tonight, better catch it before it burns this place down..

And suddenly there’s a lot of Ed Sheeran playing in my head. Not that I’m complaining.
Hmmm hmm hmm hmm, but the world looks better through your eyes!
Sitting centimeters away from this bonfire, watching these people around me, go through their thoughts, living like there was no tomorrow, sleeping like this may be the last time they may get some sleep, giving up any semblance of normality by the usual standards and reveling in being So different and finding solidarity in this, how can i help but be inspired. This, I say aloud, is the life.

I see flames burn Auburn on the mountainside

And if the night is burning
I will cover my eyes
For if the dark returns then
My brothers will die
And as the sky’s falling down
It crashed into this lonely town
And with that shadow upon the ground
I hear my people screaming out

And I see fire
Inside the mountains
I see fire
Burning the trees
I see fire
Hollowing souls
I see fire
Blood in the breeze.
– I See Fire from The Hobbit soundtrack

A Golden-baked Sunday

It has been a glorious Sunday. Early in the morning, a baby turned pink from an almost purple blue.

Then a hike to the hill just off the highway, hidden behind dense thicket, surrounded by large rocks and purple weeds, revealed a stream gurgling loud complaints as it splashed rocks into shape. We watched water spiders make waves and heard brainfever birds in the distance, in addition to my company airing their ear worms loudly. 

On the way back, we made a detour through the local sunday market, and while the others bought strange shaped and coloured vegetables from small piles, i attempted to catch the eye of anyone who looked like they may be interested in being my camera’s subject.

Brunch was an omlette, with the sweet locally baked bread and a colourful salad tossed in olive oil, vinegar, pepper and lemon ( I think). After much lazy hot water splashing, I sit here, with my feet up(my toe ring changing colours after having been subject to multiple elements of nature), my back to a luke warm sun, under a wood thatched roof, a wooden hand-made chime dancing gently over my head, and strains of flute coming from the neighbouring hut. My limbs ache sweet from the walking. Afternoon is spilling into evening, the birds are flying back in poorly constructed Vs and I feel good. I have caught the day, as if off guard, in a moment that is still, and alive. Im sipping very sour lemon tea, nibbling on a very sweet sweet a friend has brought from Kerala and reading a book called ‘Emergency Sex (and other Desperate Measures) : True Stories from a war zone’, written by a bunch of people who worked with U.N.

The song of the crickets has already faded into a barely discernible back ground track, and the infamous Bijapur mosquitoes have begun to buzz in my ears, attracted to my bright laptop screen.

Today has been sorted. I am grateful.

 

Of speed bumps, slippery slopes and detours

today began really well with an early morning bike ride i hitched with one of the local staff. That, and a baby popped out first thing in the morning. everything seemed to be running smoothly with newborn care done at the mother’s side, and i had just begun to feel heady with  adrenaline, congratulating myself at slipping so easily into the chaotic non-routine of work. i should have anticipated the snag the day had planned for me, because how is it possible that all should not be bumpy and up-hill? (i do have issues with exaggeration.)

there are speed bumps, and there are roads. when the bumps obliterate the road, you take a different route. that is the moral of the story. today, i have experienced the simple joy of being on a long road trip to destination of choice (work at grass root level, giving back to my land etc.) and the terribly discouraging speed bumps of being differently coloured, female, relatively young and open to suggestion. discrimination of any form still leaves a bad taste in my mouth primarily because i dont expect it from adults who otherwise behave as normally as its expected of anyone who lives in a closed of rural environment for more than 15 days. smack, it goes across my face leaving dull,painful red memory-prints across my mind. decision making is limited by where you are from, how old you are, how much experience you have had (which is only so justified) and finally, the limiting factor of how hassle free  and relaxed about your ego you are. the more zen-like you try and become, the harder you try to be middle-path-y, the rock-ier the ride you’re in for. this, as a doctor, is terribly frustrating, because you spend years learning stuff the hard way, and if you cant save a life because someones ego is being hurt by your speaking up, the level of frustration climbs up to jumping-off-a-cliff level.

the saving grace.

like much else, you still hold the reins on the low road/high road choice. its still your choice. so there are all these speed bumps, and after months of travel back and forth on a literally and metaphorically bumpy non-road, i have come to the conclusion that its time to take a different route. being stick-jaw-like in my obstinacy, i refuse to give up my ultimate dream of rural work, of feeling like i’m actually working at making a difference, in my own microscopic way. i refuse to stop feeling  a happy glow of fortune that i was elbowed into medicine by academically conscious parents (ha ha, they didn’t expect THIS). i’ll just be coming around the mountain, holding my nose from behind my ear and other such gymnast like activities.

in other news, i have learnt to count from one to ten in italia from some italian colleagues working in chhattisgarh. of all places. hell, i can even sing ‘buongiorno!’ in the trademark lullaby lilt that consumes their sentences and charms the ear.

on call, and hoping that the ladies of the forest hold their babies inside them long enough to give me a few solid hours of sleep. id better limit my blog-venting and curl up next to my hopelessly smart phone, dreaming of not waking up to phone calls from the hospital.

retiring from this narcisisstic sounding, but therapeutic rant now. if you have been listening, i am truly grateful.  shabba khair!

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NOT my last trip to the woods

for a while now (since i started on my field mission), i have been repeatedly told to document my experience.
i used to be the kind of person that couldnt stop writing. the actual matter written was of course only occasionally anything other than balderdash, but it was a record, if messy, of the goings on. anything that would be remotely interesting or cringe-worthy would be there for a future me to facepalm away my nights at. then various crowded-and-not-so-pleasant-encounters-in-my-life-later  i developed a block. i just couldnt get myself to sit in front of a mode of translation from brain-words to actual written words and put anything down. the ideas in my head were too muddled and my words not fully formed enough to force their own identity on me and push me to write them.

little has changed. except that, what is hopefully only my first mission, is coming to an end. a feeling resembling a rapidly growing hibiscus plant, is growing on me; the fear that these things im learning from everyday happenings, and accepting so matter-of-fact-ly into my thought pool will slowly fade, that this exponentially climbing learning curve will plateau and i will settle down into the rut of ‘civilised’ city life with little but memories that stand out as blotches of colour on an otherwise nonspecific canvas.

and i panic, sit up sweating from this mediocre nightmare, determined to not let that, of all things, happen.

hence, here i am, typing, typing, like a drowning girl frantically reaching out for a log of wood, hoping, that it  really is never too late, determined to store my remaining couple of months like a folded picture in my wallet that i can keep opening and looking at. finding new details in old memories, learning new things from old mistakes.

watch this space for ideas that may not be fully formed or snippets of happenings -to-me from the forests of chhattisgarh, if and when i am graced by the presence of network and a functioning internet connection. until then, count your blessings, enjoy your peace. 🙂 leave me to look forward to the gruelling work schedule about to kick all the holiday cheer stuffing out of me.no,nobody is forcing me to go. but me. sigh.

this time when i pack

anxiety (Photo credit: FlickrJunkie)

this time, as i pack my stuff into my all consuming, seemingly pitless, weight-absorbing rucksack, preparing for my return to bijapur, aside from the pre-work, post-holiday blues, i do not feel any anxiety about what i will forget to carry with me or what i will reach and then realise i havent brought with me, that essential piece of trivia that i definitely couldve done with. i am relaxed. i have realised one thing, thank god, that i do not NEED anything. a pair of clothes that fits, my stethoscope (Tintu, for future reference), my camera, running shoes, toothpaste, cash, identity card, earphones. oh, underclothes (mom would cringe that this is an afterthought). everything else is peripheral, could easily be done without, is not irreplaceable. living in a place like bijapur, meeting the kind of people that i do, watching them live in a forest in the middle of nowhere, with, really, much less than whats in my list of essentials, these tribals arent unhappy, or ill equipped to face anything that they come across. i find myself wanting to do more with less. it has become as if, a fun exercise. oh, i do not have this, hm, what can i use instead? this leads to less baggage ( imagine all the heavy meaning implied by the word baggage), fewer attachments, minimal airport time, no loading off and on the bus anxiety, and a general look of dis-approval from my mother who reminds me every time that once i come back to ‘civilisation’, i must transfer my loyalty to suitcases. i am, at this point, tempted to launch into a tirade about what ‘civilisation’ really means, and whether i am coming away from it or going into it, and whether its a good thing or bad, but lets save that ramble-in-the-busy-market for another day. meanwhile, i do not know how long this weightlesness, gravity-nullifying, freedom-setting endeavour will last. i hope its one of those life long unshake-able habits one develops from the field. its a lesson that has hit me late into my field journey, that so many have arrived at so much earlier, but i am determined to revel in the feeling.

p.s. i think i forgot to mention my box of ear-rings. thats my vice. one must look good in a mirrror/stream/rear view mirror irrespective of geography. no?

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