Shrink's Views

ramblings of an unknown psychiatrist

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Agora: a painting

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on April 29, 2013

ImageTitle: Agora

Size: 18 X 27 cm

Medium: Watercolor on Handmade paper

16.05.2009

It is wise to plan things, but it is also true that many good things in life happen accidentally. It was by chance I struck upon the website of artist Don Andrews. He is a watercolour artist. I love his bold use of colours. I was inspired by him and I have taken the liberty to copy some of his work. I have even written to him about it. Of course I did not get any reply. J

I have called this painting “Agora” which in Greek means marketplace. Psychiatrists use the word agoraphobia to mean general fear of open places. I gave a Greek name simply for the novelty in it.

This painting took more than 6 hours to complete. It was because the overall size was small and the subject matter was quite complex. I allowed the painting to dry before I touched adjacent areas so as to not allow bleeding into unnecessary areas. I also painted few areas in a layered approach.

I had posted it on a social network. I got the following comment from a friend. The comment was “ Hi Dheeraj, … this one is amazing, you are far far better than me in water color painting. It is really difficult spreading the colors accordingly the value of it. You got a very good control and command on the brush strokes. You maintained the perspective also very well, the person in the front is bigger in comparison to the people standing in the far. It is really lively because of the bight and contrast colors. You did a good job on the details of the decorative stuff. Even though you didn’t add any details on the human figure, that is the good part of it, otherwise it would have killed your painting. That’s it. Keep going, no one can stop you now……….GOOD LUCK.”

It was my school friend, Sruthi, a professional animation artist, who works for Hollywood movies. Her comment increased my confidence. She might never realize what impact her words have had on me. The beauty is we too could have magical effect on others, if we do take the time and initiative to encourage others.

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Posted in art, education | Tagged: , , , | 7 Comments »

How to be a good scientist: The advice of Santiago Ramon y Cajal

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on June 16, 2011

“Science is most impaired by certain diseases of the will, which are as follows: contemplators or dilletantes, erudites or bibliophiles, organophiles, megalophiles, decentered ones, and theorizers.

1. Contemplators are people who are essentially aesthetic. They care about getting pleasure from their work, not for the reality of things.

2. Bibliophiles are those who don’t understand that erudition only matters if it is background and preparation for great personal effort.

3. Megalophiles wish to rise, from the first combat, from soldier to general. They work hard but their ambition is too large. They look for the miracle that will give them their dream. They pass through life planning and drawing, constructing and reconstructing, and in the end, their many followers are embarrassed by the continued silence of the great man. Their great error is to ignore the best tactic which is also common sense: start with small problems first, so that perhaps later, if success smiles upon us and our powers gather strength, we can reach the great miracles of research. Perhaps we won’t reach glory, but at least with this approach we’ll obtain the esteem of the learned.

4. Organophiles – This variety is immediately recognized by a species of a fetishistic cult of the instruments of observation. They are fascinated by the shine of metal like the light shining of a mirror. They worship their technology and gadgets, like idols; their laboratories are new, clean, business like. These maestros chose the wrong vocation: they would have made excellent housewives.

5. The decentered ones – An English colleague from Cambridge once told me that their success grew from everyone knowing their place. In Spain it’s the reverse: no one knows their place. And wherever they happen to be, they stay there, not because they have something to offer, but to keep someone more competent away. These people hardly work, only doing the minimum necessary to keep their position, and this in bad faith. These are abulic people, failing to have enough energy to change their career.

6. Theorizers – When faced with a difficult problem, they have the irresistible temptation, not of interrogating nature, but of formulating a theory. The method is legitimate in principle, but they abuse it….At root, they are lazy pretending to be diligent; they obey the law of minimal effort, because it is much easier to construct a theory than to discover a phenomenon. …Here the reader might accuse me of inconsistency. We have to distinguish between working hypotheses and scientific theories. The hypothesis is the repetitive interrogation of nature; it is part of the investigative process, its initial phase, an almost always necessary antecedent. But continuous speculation, that is, theorizing for theorizing, without recourse to the objective analysis of phenomena, is to lose oneself to inconsistent idealism, is to turn one’s back on reality.”

-Translated and modified by Nassir Ghaemi,Professor of Psychiatry at Tufts University School of Medicine and Director of the Mood Disorders Program at Tufts Medical Center.

(May be the title should have been how not to be a bad scientist 🙂 )

Posted in education, science | Tagged: , | 1 Comment »

Bollywood, Brothel and Being Born Again: a story

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on September 25, 2010

This is a sequel to the story ‘A Dirty Job’ that I had written a couple of weeks ago. You can read it by clicking this.

It was the story of a girl who had very traumatic childhood. She landed in a brothel at an early age. She was rescued from there. She was given therapy to overcome her problems. She was also trained to live a decent life. She chased a dream to dance on film sets after she gained majority. She ended up having an affair and mothered a girl child. Hunger and desperation pushed her to the streets to solicit men.

The story was harshly realistic, reflecting lives of scores of women who land in brothels having chased a Bollywood dream. Is life over for them or is there any other way? Please read on…This story reflects a hope that I believe in.

Bollywood, Brothel and Being Born Again

Bollywood dream is over. I was not getting chances as expected. I made a new choice- to do the dirty job. I had detested it. I always had maintained that I would never do it. I was warned of this by few people. I wonder how they saw this possibility. I do not even want to think about where I went wrong. I always had prided in living in the present. No one knows what the future holds and no one can change the past. So why bother about these things which are not in one’s control. This is how I always thought. The doctor I had met used to advise me of being mindful, but my mind was full of ‘never mind’ philosophy. I think when one crosses boundaries and chooses to go far away from the previously set boundaries; it becomes easier as one moves along.

Having slept with a man once again to satisfy my hunger pangs, I was willing to continue this to sustain myself and my child decently. I went to Kamathipura and joined a brothel. I was given a small room. There were four others with me sharing the room. There were times when two of us were servicing our clients with only a cloth separating us. In the beginning I was a bit disturbed when I used to hear my daughter cry when I was engaged at work. I could see her through the diaphanous cloth which was to shield my shame. I have since gotten used to it. It is all right for a child to cry once in a while, especially if the tummy is getting filled thrice in a day.

I do not know why, but many of my clients come back to me for more. I had a record for this in our brothel. Mohammad Altaf was a local goonda who used to come for me frequently. He looked terrifying. He always carried his revolver with him. Another such regular client was Inspector Chogle. Chogle used to even bring biscuits and milk for my kid. Chogle had apparently recommended one of his bosses an IPS officer Mr Tripathi. He too came regularly. My status in brothel increased. I was given some freedom of movement. Moreover, I was voluntary here. Other girls who were trafficked from Nepal and Andhra had no contact with outside world except the clients.

One day Chogle came and told me to dress well for an outside engagement. He took me in a taxi to Bombay Orchid Hotel. He told me that it was one of the best hotels in India. The hotel looked astounding. He took me to a room more luxurious than the hotel. It did not require me to be an intelligence officer to know that I might have to service a big-shot.

I was shocked to see him. He was a minister. Everyone in the country knew him. Xavier Francis was his name. I had seen him debate on TV on issues of women like rights, dignity and self- reliance. He always wears Khadhi and speaks desi stuff. This is his real face- sleeping with young women in star hotels. After the job was done, he threw two bundles of Rs 100/- notes. I had earned Rs 20,000/- in one hour! I was thrilled. Suddenly he asked me to return the money. As I was giving him back, he tore few pages from a book that was placed near the table lamp. He wrapped the money in those papers. He then secured them with my rubber hair bands that I had left on the table and gave back the money to me with a smile. I liked his gesture.

When I went back to my brothel, I unwrapped the covers to take the money out. I was about to throw the papers, I thought I could as well read them. It was long since I read something in English. I might forget it fully if I did not read on and off. One sheet was the first page of a book. It had a seal stating ‘placed by Gideons International’. The other sheet had a story.

It went like this,

“But Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. At dawn he appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.

But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.

At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, sir,” she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.””

I got shocked. There were many things that I did not understand in the story like what are olives, who was Moses, what is this trap thing for this man Jesus etc but I did understand one thing. I am like that woman. I could be caught by police and tried according to the law. This would not happen as people like Chogle sleep with me. This man Jesus was different. He could have condemned that woman but he did not do that. He did not use this position in any other way too. He just told her to go and leave the life of sin. “Go now and leave your life of sin”- that statement rang in my ears for few minutes. I was so lost in these thoughts that I did not even notice that brothel keeper and my co-workers came and took away my money.

When I came to senses, I did not even feel the loss of money. I was awakened. Something was new in me. May be like a sapling. It was alive and growing. I was beginning to see things a bit differently. I do not know how to explain this. I could no longer enjoy the services I rendered. I was lost in some other world. My regulars also noticed a difference. Many of them asked me if I was not well. In fact I was feeling more than well. I realized that there is a thirst in me that needed to be quenched.

A few days later I was on my way to a beauty parlour. I was on an over-bridge near railway tracks. A drunkard walking with a cup of tea on the bridge spilt some tea on my shoe. I looked around for some waste paper. I saw an old man stand in a corner of the over-bridge giving away some booklets. I took one and tore a sheet from it to wipe my shoes and threw the rest of the booklet away.  Just as I was about to throw the sheet off, I realized I could read some English like I did on and off.

The passage went like this:

“Now he had to go through Samaria. So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about the sixth hour.

When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)

The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his flocks and herds?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”

He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”

“I have no husband,” she replied.

Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet. Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”

Jesus declared, “Believe me, woman, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.”

The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”

Then Jesus declared, “I who speak to you am he.”

I got excited as I read this. This is the same man Jesus. I had difficulties in understanding everything. Of course I was reading a passage out of a story book and I cannot get an understanding reading a small portion. I asked the man distributing for another copy. He gave piercing looks and looked at the booklet I had thrown away. It had landed open and face down on the railway tracks. I knew what I had to do. I ran as fast as I could and got there before a train came and destroyed it. I sat in the platform and read through this booklet. It was called ‘Gospel of John’. It was about Jesus. It says a lot of things about love.

It said that “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.”  It also said, “Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God.”

What I had read earlier was also in this booklet. I realized that I was living in dark. In reality brothels are dark places. Many of our clients want their visits to Kamathipura to be kept in dark. I was living in dark and I was doing evil. Do I have a choice? Can I make a living for my child and me in a way that is not evil? Even if it were to be possible, was I willing to come into the light?

I realized that if I could do it, it would mean plainly that I have done this through God. I prayed to God to help me know the right thing and do the right thing. I went back to my brothel. Life was never the same. I could not enjoy my work at all. It was seen by my clients and soon my brothel keeper would know it. I could fake being happy, but I could not bring myself to do it. There was a discomfort welling within me about being untruthful. I could not even fake it for my survival. I was happy acting in line with my feelings.

I decided I must leave this brothel and this life style. I can work as a maid servant and life a truthful life. I should not let my daughter enter this dirty world if I really love her. Usually the brothel keeper never lets me out with my daughter alone. I had to find the right reason to take her out. That very week Chogle gave two passes for an amusement park nearby. One was for an adult and one was for a child. I had the right reason to go with my daughter and no one else would be with us.

Where would I go with my kid in Mumbai? Whom could I trust? I just wondered. I remembered that things are possible with God. I phoned Mohammad Altaf from a phone booth. I knew Altaf was a goonda and was a ‘bad guy’. Anyway, I decided to trust him, as he was on the wrong side of the law and was faithful to people on the wrong side. Chogle, Tripathi, Xavier etc appear to be on the right side of the law and are unfaithful to the ones on their own side.

Altaf came in about 15 minutes. I told him, “Altaf, I want to leave this trade. I need money to leave this place. I know that you are a tough guy, but I also know you are a good guy. So I have trusted you. Please help me. I want to do the right thing.”

“Laila. Come let us go to ATM…How much do you want?” he asked. “How much ever you can offer”, I answered. He gave me Rs 10,000/- and said, “Leave Mumbai. It is not safe here. They will be able to get to you. Wait for a minute… I will buy you a burqa from the shop near the mosque. You can cover your face.”

He came within five minutes and gave me a burqua. He told me to go behind the pan shop to wear it. In the meantime he took my daughter behind a barber’s shop and cut off the hair of my daughter and dressed her up like a boy. I was so happy for his resourcefulness. We had a chance to escape in nice disguise. As we were about to leave, he got emotional, “Laila, I wish I was a good guy. I would have given you a new life. My life has no future and so I can never commit. I would always love you.”

I always had this intuition that Altaf was a good guy at core but had life had built this tough shell around him. What else can you expect? His mother was also a worker like me, who died of HIV few years ago. He never knew who his father was. I was glad at least he realized there is something called love. I prayed that he too understands God’s love and power to change our lives.

I took a train to the place where I was treated as a teen-ager. I still remember the doctor who cared so much for me and gave me so much of advice. I hoped that he was still there. The hospital had not changed much. Extensions had been made in existing buildings. I went to the room where he used to meet me. I peeped in. He was there. His hairs have greyed a bit and he has put in few kilos of weight. His assistant wanted me to show the appointment card, which I did not have. All of a sudden the doctor came out, probably to grab a cup of tea in between few sessions. I called out for him. He took a couple of seconds, but he recognized me by my name. I was so happy. I was Laila, Lovely or Darling to many men according to their choice, but to the doctor I was, who I really was. He told me to wait till he finished his appointments. He asked me if I had eaten before he went in and resumed his work. I knew I reached a place which had some concern for me.

The wait felt very short. I told my whole story to him. He was not amused. He took it in as if he knew it all. He made some phone calls and then told his assistant to take me to the destitute home. He told me this was a short term arrangement till we could work out a long term plan. The home had 20 destitute women who were old and infirm. They had been deserted by their families. I enjoyed work in the home. Those ladies took good care of my daughter as well. I began to learn their language. There was a nurse who visited us twice in a week. She used to sing songs of Jesus at the beginning and at the end of her work. I shared with her my story. She got excited. She started praying with me for future of me and my child. I began to realize that this place was not my long term home. I wanted to move back to the brothels and help rescue many little girls and young women who are forced in to this trade.

I discussed this with the doctor. He bore the same expression he had when I had shared about wanting to be a dancer in Bollywood. He was true in believing that sparks should be kept far away from fuels. He thought it was intrinsically risky with the promise of earning powerful enemies. There was also the risk of me falling back into the trade. He encouraged me to stay at destitute home to help in the daily chores. He also encouraged me to complete my schooling.

I found a new love for books. They told me about how the world operated, a world created by God. This love made me learn with enthusiasm unlike the way I studied earlier. In a couple of years, I finished my XII standard. I even appeared for the Nursing School Admission test in the hospital where I had got treated. I got selected. My doctor and his friends supported me by paying my fees. They were also supporting my daughter’s school education.

In five years I completed my Nursing course and accumulated two years of experience. My daughter finished her VIII standard. It was an easy choice for me to wait for four more years till my daughter finished her XII standard and secured a seat in Nursing School. I continued to feel the pull to go and rescue girls who were caught in the dirt of flesh trade. I discussed with my doctor. He felt I was a mature woman now. He had developed links with NGOs who are trying to rescue girls and women who were trafficked. He said he would put me in touch with one of those NGOs. I put my daughter in hostel attached to our destitute home. My daughter knew the importance of my work. She was glad to release me. There was a mobile in the home. I could contact her anytime in the evenings.

In the first one month of my job, we were off on a raid. My job was to provide support to the rescued girls. We had social workers, volunteers and police in the raid team. The vehicle’s windows were covered. When the door opened and we alighted, it was like a déjà vu for me. The scent was familiar, the landscape, the building…everything. In fact it was not a déjà vu-It was all real. We had come to the place where it whole thing had begun for me about 20 years ago.

We rescued 15 girls that day. On our way back, I had tears in my eyes. I too had been rescued once, but I had fallen back. I needed a saviour. I knew these girls need a lot of love and a lot of grace to make this rescue meaningful. In our journey back, I prayed for each of these girls as they slept around me in the van. Maybe I lacked someone’s prayers and therefore I got back into the mess. I would not let that happen to these children. I have received love and it is time I share it.

Epilogue:

I became 50 years old few weeks ago. My daughter has become a nurse. She is a nursing tutor in the hospital that took care of us. Her husband is a Physiotherapist. They have a beautiful daughter Raksha.

I chose not to marry again though I had few proposals. I dedicated my life to a mission to rescue girls and I did not want any other engagement in my mind.

I have had my own share of problems too. I have been assaulted numerous times during the raids. I have had fractures a couple of times. Once I had a gunshot wound in my thigh and I lost a lot of blood. I was reminded of my saviours shed blood for me. Without sacrifice of some body, no good would come to this world.

I have been part of numerous rescue operations. Hundreds of girls have got rescued under my eyes. I do not know what has happened to each. I am sure there may be quite a few who have gotten back to the trade. I also know of numerous examples of those who get a new life after a rescue. I have seen them marry and establish homes and families. It is such stories which keep me moving forward. God has been faithful. He always gave me the needed strength. I would carry this on till my death. That is what I am called for.

******

Goonda- Ruffian/ Hooligan

Khadi- Indian fabric usually made employing rural populace

Desi-Refers to people, cultures and products of Indian subcontinent

Burqa- is an enveloping outer garment worn by women in some Islamic traditions to cover their bodies in public places which includes woman’s loose body-covering, head-covering and the face-veil.

Posted in children, christian, distress, education, emotion, fiction, gender, indian society, love, marriage, parenting, personality, prayer, psychiatry, psychotherapy, religion, social, spiritual, stigma, women's issues | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments »

Rights and Love: a story

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on September 7, 2010

He was a tall man. Dark and young, his name was James. He came for a full cup Chai* five years ago. He never stopped coming. To him, Chai was like petrol. It kept his engine running. He made friends easily. He became friends with Rafique on the very first day. Rafique was here to buy his bundle of beedis. The minute James realized that Rafique has just discontinued studies; he spent an hour with him to get him back to school. He failed. Of course! Who can convince a thug in the making. I have been hearing Rafique’s mother Salma begging him to study properly for the past 10 years now. It was of no avail. Rafique played the fool throughout his school life. He was no different from most of the guys in Dharavi. Honestly, at his age I was like that too. I left my home in Allepy when I was younger than Rafique. My original name is Abdullah. People now call me Nair. When I came to Mumbai, I wanted to be a hero, a star.  Fate had its way. I became a chaiwala*. I work hard and earn my roti*. That is a decent life. Isn’t it? At least I did not do crime.

Even though Rafique did not take advice, he realized that James was his well wisher. He became his friend and partner in his work. James was like a student who was interested in finding out our problems. He wanted to know about our lives. He wanted to find how we decided what was right and what was wrong. He wanted to know what we did when we perceived injustice. Rafique helped him meet up people in the slum. James came twice a week and did his job. He never missed his full cup special chai in my shop.

In about a year, James started educating us about our rights. He told us about how the real system ought to work. We knew how it worked. The constable on beat was the symbol of all authority to us. Give him a free cup of chai, he would not bother you for the day. The other symbol of power we know is the neta*. His ilk come here before the elections and would never show up again. The bigger guys here keep in touch with the netas. James taught us that these fellows are there to serve us and not get served by us. He also told us about the court system. In fact, that year Police picked Zuber and locked him up. They had suspected him in some bomb-blast case. We knew Zuber as a hard working tailor. He was cool and liberal. He could have no such links. James came to our rescue. It was then that we came to know that he was a lawyer. It seems he had studied in one of the best law colleges in India. I heard it is in Banglore. To us he was like God. Zuber was back. We learnt we could fight.

He fought few other court cases for our slum people. One was a divorce of Janaki and Kadam. Kadam’s drinking was routine. He beat his Janaki black and blue. One night she fell on a doorpost and bled from her scalp. It required 4 stitches to control that bleeding. Next weekday was the day James usually came to our slum. He spoke to Janaki and other neighbors and reported to the police. Police laughed at the issue. They said domestic fights between husband and wife are normal and they should be sorted at home and not police station. With James around they anyway had to register the case. James tried counseling Kadam. I would not have even tried. Some people won’t change. Atrocities on Janaki increased. Janaki decided to leave Kadam. Where would she go in Mumbai? How would she feed herself and her little five year old son Babul? She was concerned as Babul too was getting beaten regularly. She was also afraid that he could become like his father.

James fought for her and got her a divorce and also the custody of the child. Guys like Rafique too were not very happy with the divorce thing happening. Why? Aren’t other women adjusting with alcoholic men? Aren’t other women tolerating few beatings received from their husbands? James reasoned that we all have basic rights common to all mankind. One such thing is a right to life, liberty and security. He said our liberty should end one foot away from his neighbor. Here we had Kadam always violating his wife’s right to security and exercising his pseudo-liberty. He also felt Janaki could leave her husband exercising her right to liberty. I can very well understand that. Marriage should be based on mutual continual nurturing relationship. I was sort of convinced that she had a right to break the marriage. James also found Janaki a house maid’s job in Rajiv Gandhi Nagar, which is not too far from Dharavi. Kadam has died two years ago in a train traffic accident. Obviously, he should. He was totally drunk and was crossing the railway tracks. I wonder how he had survived 40 years on those tracks.

During last year’s elections most of our area’s people had gone to election campaign programs for money. There was very little business. I could have some personal time with James. I asked him about how he spent rest of the time. He said that he visited slums in Thane and Pune on a regular basis. He was doing the same thing that he has been doing to us, providing legal aid. I asked him how he managed to live. He smiled and said that few friends support him. Many of them were from a  network of Lawyers. There were others who also contributed. A dozen of them gave about Rs 1000/- each per month. That probably washed their conscience of the guilt of not doing anything for the poor. Many of those lawyers had monthly income running into Lakhs*. His wife Agnes was a teacher in a school and she earned another Rs 5000/-. They managed their livelihood in Mumbai with that money. It was difficult to imagine the kind of place that he was staying. He probably was not too better off than us.

Last year, he started coming less frequently. I was busy with pregnancy of my wife. I did not notice that I did not see him for six months. He came two weeks ago. He looked tired and worn out. His head was low as he walked past my shop.  I shouted for him, “ Saab. Chai?”  He pulled himself to the bench in my shop and sat down. I gave him his usual -special full cup Chai. He looked at me as he sipped and smiled. He looked older and mature. His dynamic force was gone. He was sober but looked to be in control. He finished his cup and went to meet others in the slum. I got busy with my work.

That evening I met Rafique. I told him that James had come that morning. I also shared my observations and expressed my wonder at the change. Rafique smiled and said, “You will never believe what he has gone through. He appears different, but this is what he really was- all the time that we saw him.” “Why? What happened? Tell me what you know”, I asked knowing very well that Rafique being close to James would know more.

Rafique narrated this story, “ Agnes, the wife of  James Sir had been suspecting him of having an affair with someone. She put strictures on where he could go, when he would be back, whom he would talk to and so on. She also felt that he was trying to kill her. Six months ago she stabbed James in his stomach with a knife. James was lucky; the knife pierced his bowels but spared his blood vessels. His neighbors heard the shriek and rescued him. They took him to Lokmanya Tilak Municipal General, Hopital in Sion. They did an operation and saved him. In the meantime his wife Agnes was arrested for attempted murder.”

“Oh! My God. It should be tough on James to go through all this”, I asked “What happened next?” Rafique said, “I am still shocked at what James has done. After his discharge, he fought for release of Agnes and won the case. He then got her treated in a psychiatric facility. They gave her shock treatment and medicines.” Rafique added, “She had not responded well to treatment. She is now on the best medicine in the world for her problem. James Sir takes her for blood tests every week. She still has not improved. She is suspicious of him even now. James Sir still lives with her, though he had to change the locality. The locals requested him to vacate. Our great lawyer chose not to fight.” I felt numbed. I could not say anything. Rafique had his cup of chai and left.

I could not sleep well that night. How can James live with his wife after what she did to him? How can he continue to be with her when she still poses a threat on his life? How can he share home with such a dangerous woman? Why can’t he divorce her and start a new life? He has helped so many people start afresh.

When he came today, I asked him, “Saab, Can I ask you something personal?” He agreed with his usual smile. “Saab, I heard what has been happening in your life from Rafique. I feel very bad about it. I want to know why you want to continue living with a person who is suspicious of you and has tried to even murder you? Can’t you choose a life of liberty that you want us to have? Why…?”

James then said, “Nair, we all have rights. Don’t you realize, if we all had our rights then nothing will be left. We all give up our rights for those we love. Don’t we? You have every right to eat from what you earn. Would you spend it eating Chicken Biryani alone or would you spend money to eat normal food with others in family? I have a right to liberty. I can divorce her as she would not allow me to be close with her, but I also have a duty to care for her. I have made a promise to be together in health and in disease, in happiness and in suffering. I will keep my promise even if it means to give up some of my freedom.

“But…You fight for our freedom”, I asked. He said, “Yes, I do fight for freedom and so many other rights. Many of our friends are unaware of their rights. If they are aware they would like to claim them. I help in raising awareness and helping fight to claim it. If someone does not want to claim a right for a different purpose, it is absolutely acceptable. It would be nice if that purpose is rational. Do you remember, last year Shinde joined BSc in Maths though he got a quota seat in Engineering. It is rare for someone to get to college level from Dharavi. Everyone scolded him. I knew he had a higher agenda. He wants to prove himself. A person who can run does not need crutches. Shinde will come up in life. He will live with self respect. Watch him. Anyway coming back to the point, rights give people a chance to make their life beautiful. Giving up your rights too can make life beautiful. In the case of me and Agnes, it is not yet beautiful. I agree I do not know what can happen to me, but that is alright. In a grand plan of people caring for their family, it is already beautiful.”

As I saw him walk away, I wondered James did give up much to be with us and has made life more beautiful for us. I found a new definition of love: That which makes the subject give up his/her rights to make life more beautiful for the object of his love.

————————————————-

*Chaiwala- One who deals with Tea.

*Roti- Pancake made from wheat. Contextual translation- bread.

*Neta– Leader, usually political.

*Lakh- 100,000.

*Saab– Sir

PS:( added on 25th September 2010) A sequel to this story “Love: Feeling, Reason and Choice” can be found here.

Posted in distress, drug therapy, education, emotion, ethics, fiction, gender, indian society, law, love, marriage, psychiatry, schizophrenia, stigma, women's issues | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments »

A Game of Marbles: a story

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on July 26, 2010

“Trrrrrrrrrring…Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring”.

Yeaaaaaah! It was a long bell. It meant we were free to go home 40 minutes before the usual time. The Sanskrit period got cut. Wow! That was good. I had an extra 40 minutes to play marbles with my buddies, till my dad came to pick me up from school. We rushed out of the classes shouting with joy, as if released from a prison. In few moments we were in the playground.

Sundar dug up small hole in the ground. That was the ‘home’ for the game of marbles. I drew a line 10 feet away. We threw our marbles towards the home and landed at different points. We all knew each other’s marbles. The marbles had a lot of similarities but had many differences as well. They were all of different colours and there were different designs inside the marbles, giving each one a distinctive appearance. The marbles had minor differences in size and mass, making them functionally different from each other too. Few marbles suffered scratches and cracks from long term use, but had sentimental values attached to them as being lucky etc.

Sundar had a beautiful blue marble. It was a delight to see the brilliantly transparent sphere which was perfect in every way. It was heavier and therefore difficult for other marbles to knock it off. We all knew it had a magical touch of luck because of which Sundar was always at command in the game.

My marble on the other hand was a simple light green marble which had bubbles of various sizes in it. It had a twisted yellowish leaf embedded in glass. It was not a heavy marble, not very attractive one because of its dull colours and scratches; it was prone to be knocked off to far distances from the home by other marbles, but it was mine for the previous one year. I liked it and endured it, though I knew that all other marbles were better than mine.

Sangram had a marble as brilliant as Sundar’s but of a different colour. Sangram’s marble was dark green, as green as a thick forest. He too did well at the game but he never liked to lose to anyone. He hated Sundar for his lucky marble. He always complained that Sundar’s victories were because of his marble and not his skill.

Darshan loved the game of marbles but never bought a marble. He watched us everyday as we played. He wished that he played. He went to the shopkeeper everyday and asked for a blue marble that was like that of Sundar. He prayed to God for the blue marble daily. He desperately wanted to play. He wanted to be in command if he played. He felt there was no point in being on losing side, even if the game were to be enjoyable. So, he waited for the blue marble.

Tejas was our class topper. He was our friend too. He was never interested in the game of marbles. He said, “What is the point in a game of marbles? You guys play trying to get to home and also keep knocking each other off from the home once you get there. The cycle goes on and on. So, playing marbles is just a waste of time. I can as well have a short nap till my mom comes to pick me up.”

I was usually a loser, as I always was trying to get back to home to get normal status rather than being in a commanding situation by knocking someone away. I never gave up, though. I always tried to get back to the home. It was difficult for me to say that I have lost or that I quit. May be that is the reason my daddy says that I would make a good scientist. It seems scientists fail many, many times before they succeed.

My friends teased me for I was a loser every day. As far as the game goes, it is true as most of the time I am in a sub-normal status. But, I am still a happy boy. Winning is fun. It is great, but playing is fun too. Trying to win is fun too. Status of being in command feels good for some time, but that status is lost as soon as someone knocks you far from home. So, it is a threatening situation. By being in losing side, I had nothing to lose. I defined success as ‘trying to get to home’ and not ‘getting to home’. In that way I was always succeeding. My friends defined success as ‘being in command’ near the home. On and off they were bound to fail, so felt irritated. To me the game was either fun or more fun, it could not be otherwise.

I was about to get to the ‘home’, I heard the horn of my daddy’s bike. One cannot miss that sound. It was time for me to say bye to my friends. I offered my marble to Darshan, if he wanted to play. He refused. On my way back, daddy asked me about what was going on. I told him everything I have told you.

He listened intently and paused for a few moments. Then he said, “Son, the game of marbles that you were playing is like living a life on this earth. We are all like marbles, different from each other in quite a number of ways, endowed with different innate abilities. When you threw the marbles, you all fell at different places from the ‘home’. The home in this world signifies – success. You were born to me and mummy. We are both educated. We can afford your English medium education in this Convent. The abilities that you were born with and the environment that you landed up in, puts you in an advantageous position to get higher education and ensure success. There are many who did not get this privilege. At the same time, we do not have resources to send you to an international school for education, which could have given you even greater exposure.”

I asked, “Isn’t that inequality in opportunities and abilities injustice?”

He replied, “We are not here to find why that difference exists. What we do with the privilege that is given to us is more important. You did the right thing, by not complaining about having a great marble like that of Sundar. You played with what you had. Though it looked as if you were losing, you did wonderful by enjoying every moment that you were playing. That is the point.”

“They were better in a way. Isn’t it, daddy?” I asked.

“Sure! Many were better. But were they enjoying it. I guess Sundar is feeling a false guilt because of attributing his successes to his marble rather than his skills. Many people want to do something great by themselves without the support of what the world has already offered to them. Noble as it may seem, it is an unending road in quest to prove oneself. It leads only to frustration. Enjoy what you have. Share it. Why bother about ‘why’ you have it?”

“Hmmm. I see it. What about Sangram?” I asked.

“Sangram was jealous and so he spoilt his own peace. Even if he won, he did not have Sundar’s marble. So, he would not be happy even on winning! On the other hand Darshan waited for the right marble, as if there is a ‘right’ marble that exists. Marbles are what you appropriate as yours and that is all. There is no ‘appropriate’ match or a ‘perfect’ marble. He should have taken a good marble from the shop and been content with it. Isn’t he missing all the fun, in anticipation of a ‘great fun’ in future?”

I enquired, “What about the brilliant boy Tejas, daddy?

“Tejas did not realize that when we played marbles, it is not to prove a point but to enjoy the game. That is it. We are out here in this world. We are free. We can as well live happily. Why worry over unanswerable questions?”

“I get you, daddy. I get you.” I said.

“Son, remember that the game can go on forever, but we might not be there till the very end. When daddy called you, you had to leave your game and come over. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, I did, Daddy.”

“Just like that we do not know when our Heavenly Daddy will call us home. We must be ready to leave our game of life at any time. We can enjoy our life. But we should play the game according to the rules. Do not forget that you should not let fellow players define the success in the game of life. Son, define it yourself, in a way you will be happy playing. Remember that after the game there is a banquet. Today mummy has made Payasam* for you. You deserve it after your success at the game of marbles. Don’t you?”

“Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

Soon they reached home and enjoyed the Payasam. Payasam had a little less sugar than required. But they were all happy, for it was not the taste which made the dish successful, it was attitude of love with which it was made and served.

*Payasam- a south India sweet dish made with milk

Posted in education, emotion, fiction, psychotherapy, spiritual | Tagged: , , , , , | 4 Comments »

“He will get bed sores and die in about three months. Take care of him. Feed him with what he likes.”: Medical Model VS Family Practice Model

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on June 29, 2010

He was discussing about his experiences after he came down from the mountains. He was doctor doing medical work in the communities based in nearby hills. He was posted there by our hospital for a couple of months. Of the many things he told that day, I remember this story clearly.

He had seen a 74 year old man with a fracture in his femur in a hilly village. He asked me what he would have done. It was a simple answer for me. I said, “You would have told them to bring him down to the hospital. We could give some charity, even if they cannot pay fully. The bones can be fixed.” There were five competent orthopaedic surgeons in our hospital at that time. He smiled sarcastically. He wanted to make a point, but what he said shocked me.

He had said, “I told them, that he might not live very long. He cannot move here and there because of his broken hip. He will get bed sores and die in about three months. Take care of him. Feed him with what he likes. Let him enjoy the time he has.”

I was filled with malaise. What?!!! How can a doctor say this kind of stuff? I couldn’t control myself. I asked him, “Wasn’t it inhuman? Fractures are treatable. Isn’t it? Then why not offer it. How can we give a death sentence for a treatable condition?”

He laughed at me as if I was talking rubbish. I heard his argument keenly. Probably, it was to rubbish his argument to boost my egoistic ethical pride. He said, “Listen, this old man has a son who is the only bread winner. His daughter-in-law is a house wife. His grandson is now in standard 10. His grand-daughter is in standard 8. It costs about Rs 5000/- to bring him down from the hills in a vehicle. The cost of treatment in the hospital would at least be Rs 30,000/-. They do not have that much of money. If I do send them down, they will have to bring him back after a discussion with a orthopaedic surgeon. In the bargain they would have spent off large amount of money. Just in case they go ahead and treat him, they will have to sell off their house. If they sell it off, then they will have to live in the street.”

I was listening. He went on, “If they spend all that they have, the grandson may not pursue education beyond high school. The grand-daughter would have to discontinue school to add to family income. All this might add one or two more years to a 74 year old man. Is adding a couple of years to such a man worth losing the future of a whole generation?”

It was a tough call. I was a new graduate then. I was trained in the medical model. I was supposed to tell the best medical treatment available to the patients and let them decide what they wanted. I realized this model absolves me of any feeling of guilt. The truth is I do have in my mind what is better, but still I would have done what is ‘right’. My friend’s argument did not convince me.

After about 6 years of that incident I am wondering if that ‘right’ that I would have done is really right?  What would I do if I were in that old man’s position? I am absolutely sure I would rather wish a better future for my grandchild than live a few extra years. I have heard grandparents in India bless their grand children, “Let my years be added to you.” Of course that does not mean that one can assume this sentiment in every case?

The point is that my friend is a family physician. His expertise is not only in managing health problems at a primary level but also in understanding clinical problems and treatment options in the light of socio-economic conditions and the values of the family. His model makes people happier and fulfilled more than the medical model which has the appearance of being more scientific. May be it is time the specialists learn to use the broader model. This can be done when; in addition to eliciting clinical histories clinicians spend some more time with patients in understanding their and their family context and expectations.

PS: This event happened about 6 years ago. Today, thanks to Chief Minister’s insurance scheme and 108 ambulance services, patients like the one described can get free treatment in our hospital.

Posted in challenge, children, Diagnosis, distress, economics, education, ethics, indian society, medicine, philosophy, social | Tagged: , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

Six Rules of Employment

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on June 14, 2010

“  Sir, Is the scientist’s post on nanotechnology project, still vacant?”

“Yes, I think so. We haven’t found the right candidate. We had given an advertisement and interviewed a few candidates… Oh! I remember, you were one of those applicants. Right?”

“ Yes, Sir. My name is Ahista.”

“Oh! Ahista. I do remember. You were the successful one. You were good. You had right qualifications, good track record and good testimonials. You were not ‘clear’ on joining, when we called you up last month. Weren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir. I had some personal issues. I needed more time.”

“Did we not offer you a dead-line before which you had to send your acceptance letter?”

“You did give a comfortable dead line, Sir. I missed it. I was not clear by that time. I am very clear now. I want to join the nano-technology project. That is my mission in life. I am quite convinced.”

“I am really sorry, Ahista. We are looking for people who would build their life and grow with the nanotech project. You have a Master’s degree in Chemistry. You have passed your PhD qualifying exam. You know enough about what nanotech research is about for the past few years. You know about our organization. You know our past. You know our present. You know, where we are heading. You have friends in our organization. You had a brief exposure to our research few years ago and last summer. You had all the inputs needed for you to make a decision. We were recruiting a scientist to be with us for rest of his/ her life. Your PhD would have come through in your walk with us. When you were not ‘clear’ given all these circumstances, I really do not think you were made for working with us.”

“But Sir, I had some personal issues.”

“ Come on, Ahista. You had two months to decide after our call to send in the acceptance mail. We had not considered other applicants for those two months, as we were looking forward for you to join. Then we closed the position. Of course we have not found suitable candidates. You know our work is challenging and not very rewarding. It requires one with commitment, passion and energy to work with us. We do not find that in many…That is OK. The position would wait till we find a suitable candidate.”

“Am I not eligible as a fresh applicant, Sir?

“Ahista, your file is closed. I am sorry. I cannot help you. You have not demonstrated interest in a life-time opportunity. You were the only one to have such a chance. You squandered it. Whatever be your personal issues, I really wonder how they affected you? Wasn’t it a decision for which you were trained for a third of your life?”

“What can I do, now?”

“I am no career counsellor. I am just a scientist. Anyway, I think it is simple wisdom to follow these six rules for your future employment.

  1. Even before you apply, check if the organization’s values and goals are in line with your personal goals. If yes then only apply.
  2. If you get selected, do not even think. Just join. You will enjoy your job.
  3. There will be a time you cannot choose. There would be an urgency to join something. It would be a time when you think any job is better than being unemployed. Then apply to all places, where you are likely to be happy.
  4. If you get in one join it.
  5. If you get in more than one, then choose the better one.
  6. Your friends and family can help you make a better choice.”

“OK. Sir. Thanks for your advice. You need not have given all this, spending your precious time.”

“That is Ok, Ahista. I do understand that you have potential to be a good scientist. All the best.”

Posted in education, fiction, management | Tagged: , , | 15 Comments »

A tale of two teachers: A story

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on June 5, 2010

They were not just teachers they were cousins. They were lucky to get employed in the same Government run school. They spent considerable amount of time in our school, which is located in deeply rural area of Bihar, India. I knew both of them from the day of their joining. They were good at their work and were assets to our school. They worked overtime teaching village kids and encouraging their mothers. I liked them both. They were like my daughters.

Sita was the older one. She did her Bachelor’s degree before she did the certificate course in teaching secondary school students. She was able and energetic, when she joined. Her blemish less skin got scarred with pimples and got tanned in the tropical heat. By the time she struck thirty, she gained weight and lost her looks. I have seen her beauty fade right in front of my eyes. I was concerned for her marriage. How would she get married at this age in this society where all she has lost is considered important and all that she has accomplished is considered nothing?

Gita on the other hand was relatively young. She hailed from a large town. She had greater exposure. She was clear about being a school teacher. So she did her training appropriately without any ‘wastage’ of time, like doing a graduation. She was beautiful and carried herself well. She had a big family to back her. I wondered who that lucky one would be, the one who would marry her.

*********************************************************************************

Let us take a break. Do you think Sita and Gita ever got married? Take a guess and then read further.

*********************************************************************************

Yes. They did. Sita got married to a man who worked in a NGO in a tribal area. It is very far from here. It is even farther from residence of her parents and also her in-laws. He earned lesser than how much she earned here. I was concerned as she had to resign her Government job to go there.

On the other hand Gita got married in the town that she grew up in. Her in-laws and husband worked for the Government. They were rich. They could live a decent life from the money derived from their assets, even if they did not hold jobs. Her in-laws liked her so much that they did not take any dowry. (Sadly, it is a rare gesture in India.) Gita too resigned from the Government services. I was glad she could rest and enjoy life.

*********************************************************************************

Let us take a break again. How do you think these ladies fared in their marriages? Do take a moment off and think which would have been more difficult, which would have been happier, which would have brought happiness to their families?

*********************************************************************************

I would not guess if you have got it right or wrong. Let me tell you what happened. Sita left her Government job and gave up her stable salary, but she continued to do what she does best- teach. She started a small school in the tribal area where she was based. It is such a backward area, that even the Government did not have a school in a radius of 20 km around it. I am still shocked after I heard that tribal people are sending their children to study instead of using them for hunting, gathering and at their best- farming! Her husband’s development work took a quantum leap as she made in-roads into that community with education. Her parents and in-laws are proud of her as much as her husband. They may be short of material wealth but they are rich in their being. She is doing what principals like me can only dream of, even though we have a team and Government resources.

Gita resigned and rested at her new home. We teachers are as born as we are made. She taught children of her husband’s siblings and cousins, who lived in the locality. They were rich spoilt brats. Her methods were not appreciated by her relatives. She got fed up. In our school, even if a teacher beat a student, the parents always trusted our judgement. They aligned themselves to our terms of discipline in the best interest of the child. Gita lost that privilege. After all, there is a difference between teaching a rich kid and a poor kid.

Her husband loved her too much. He was very possessive of her. I am troubled to call it any other, so I fool myself calling this love. She could not visit her parents’ home without his permission, though it was just a couple of streets away. Going there alone would be such brazen behaviour that it would never be tolerated. After all, restrictions were for her safety. Her beauty conspired against her.

She had to restrict herself to household chores. She was never good at that. Her mother had pampered her by not letting her do them. While working in our school Gita escaped household chores. Her cousin Sita did the household work, while Gita attended to her personal grooming more diligently. What Gita treasured became the enemy of her life and what she avoided became her partner to escape a meaningless existence.

*********************************************************************************

I do not know what you had guessed. Let me tell you that my guess was wrong. My calculation was terribly wrong. I thought Gita was living a happy life and Sita was suffering. It is true that Sita has difficulties and Gita has comforts but that is far from reality. I wonder how I could be so wrong.

The patterns which make us anticipate outcomes may be right but these may fool us utterly at times. I also wonder if the patterns that we use are useful, if we could be wrong in both directions in both qualitative and quantitative terms. Hmmm… I would not doubt the usefulness of a pattern. Sita and Gita’s life indicates that there are more important issues than beauty and bank balance in determining soundness of a marriage and happiness in general.

Posted in education, fiction, indian society, love, philosophy, women's issues | Tagged: , , , , , , , | 14 Comments »

The Woman in Your Life

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on January 11, 2010

Dr Dheeraj MD (Makes Dishes)

A very good friend of mine forwarded me an email titled “The Woman in Your Life”, which goes like this:-  (I have deleted all the beautiful photographs that the email had.)

To all the guys who read this…..please read fully and understand………….. 

To all the girls who read this……….. An excellent forward……please read fully….. and forward to the boys you know……….

This is a beautiful article:
The woman in your life…very well expressed…

Tomorrow you may get a working woman, but you should marry her with these facts as well.

Here is a girl, who is as much educated as you are;  who is earning almost as much as you do;

One, who has dreams and aspirations just as you have because she is as human as you are;

One, who has never entered the kitchen in her life just like you or your sister haven’t, as she was busy in studies and competing in a system that gives no special concession to girls for their culinary achievements

One, who has lived and loved her parents and brothers and sisters, almost as much as you do for 20-25 years of her life;

One, who has bravely agreed to leave behind all that, her home, people who love her, to adopt your home, your family, your ways and even your family name…

One, who is somehow expected to be a master-chef from day one, while you sleep oblivious to her predicament in her new circumstances, environment and that kitchen

One, who is expected to make the tea, first thing in the morning and cook food at the end of the day, even if she is as tired as you are, maybe more, and yet never ever expected to complain; to be a servant, a cook, a mother,
a wife, even if she doesn’t want to; and is learning just like you are as to what you want from her; and is clumsy and sloppy at times and knows that you won’t like it if she is too demanding, or if she learns faster than you;

One, who has her own set of friends, and that includes boys and even men at her workplace too, those, who she knows from school days and yet is willing to put all that on the back-burners to avoid your irrational jealousy, unnecessary competition and your inherent insecurities;

Yes, she can drink and dance just as well as you can, but won’t, simply because you won’t like it, even though you say otherwise

One, who can be late from work once in a while when deadlines, just like yours, are to be met;

One, who is doing her level best and wants to make this most important, relationship in her entire life a grand success, if you just help her some and trust her;

One, who just wants one thing from you, as you are the only one she knows in your entire house – your unstinted support, your sensitivities and most importantly – your understanding, or love, if you may call it.

But not many guys understand this……

Please appreciate “HER”

I liked the stuff.In fact I felt if this was the ideal that people are looking for, then maybe I am one of the most eligible batchelors around 🙂 I have added my take on each of the points made.

Tomorrow you may get a working woman, but you should marry her with these facts as well.Here is a girl, who is as much educated as you are;  who is earning almost as much as you do;

Of course I might marry an equally educated girl, who earns as much.(Preferably more.) 🙂 What should be the problem if all the money anyway comes to the home kitty?

One, who has dreams and aspirations just as you have because she is as human as you are;

Of course, she should dream (preferably of me 🙂 ) and have aspirations (to balance work and life).

One, who has never entered the kitchen in her life just like you or your sister haven’t, as she was busy in studies and competing in a system that gives no special concession to girls for their culinary achievements.

Thank God my sister and I did well in the kitchen, just as we did in studies. Problem is nowadays people are not giving weightage to culinary achievements in marriage market!

One, who has lived and loved her parents and brothers and sisters, almost as much as you do for 20-25 years of her life; One, who has bravely agreed to leave behind all that, her home, people who love her, to adopt your home, your family, your ways and even your family name…

She could maintain her relationships with all her brothers, sisters, cousins and parents just as I am sure to maintain mine. Only that it would be great if she could incorporate my circle into hers.I would try my best to incorporate hers into mine.I can only hope she does not come from a family which she was glad to leave! Of course she is welcome start a family with me. She and I would be the family. Together we would relate with others as individuals and families. She is welcome to continue to keep her family name also. She is expected to just add mine like Aishwarya Rai Bacchan.

One, who is somehow expected to be a master-chef from day one, while you sleep oblivious to her predicament in her new circumstances, environment and that kitchen.

I could give my spouse free tutorials in cooking till she overtakes me in all the culinary skills. I would profusely appreciate when she becomes better than me.If you don’t believe that I could cook look at the pic in this post.(Don’t I look like the master chef 🙂 )

One, who is expected to make the tea, first thing in the morning and cook food at the end of the day, even if she is as tired as you are, maybe more, and yet never ever expected to complain;

She better make the tea and coffee and not complain. That is something I would expect :-/ She should understand that I am dependent on Caffeine. She should help me in the withdrawal phase. If she does not, then she would see the symptoms of withdrawal i.e. irritability, anger outbursts etc. Of course, I would make these if she were tired. I can very well understand that if I did’nt then I might have to see signs of her tiredness i.e. irritability, anger outbursts and throwing things!

to be a servant, a cook, a mother, a wife, even if she doesn’t want to;

We could conseider, employing a servant (depending on our finanaces). She cannot stop being a woman if she wanted to. She would stay a mother and a wife whatever be her choice. Do I have a choice to not be a dad and a hubby in a marriage with children?

and is learning just like you are as to what you want from her;

I hope that learning is continuous as we have Continuing Medical Education (CME).This could be called Continuing Marital Education. 

and is clumsy and sloppy at times and knows that you won’t like it if she is too demanding, or if she learns faster than you;

If she is clumsy and sloppy, she is welcome to my gang. If she demands anything, she will get it.(Anything = Nothing). I know demanding would die out without reinforcement. Learnt it in college.It is called behavioral therapy. If she learns faster than me.I ll be proud of her and would transfer some of my assignments to her and tell her to teach me. I am a better auditory learner. In that bargain, she might win some rewards for helping me 🙂

One, who has her own set of friends, and that includes boys and even men at her workplace too, those, who she knows from school days and yet is willing to put all that on the back-burners to avoid your irrational jealousy, unnecessary competition and your inherent insecurities;

Oh Please spare me of that.Let her have all those friends as I would have mine. I hope because of her jealousy I might not have to delete my ancient friends recently found on orkut and facebook. If possible, her friends could be our family friends. If not, they would remain hers. Why should I be jealous of her friends? They may be better looking, better earning, more successful etc. So,what? I am a happy man. I would not trade my happiness for money, success or looks. That is why I prefer to eat than to excercise, learn rather than earn, be with people rather than papers. Cool.

Yes, she can drink and dance just as well as you can, but won’t, simply because you won’t like it, even though you say otherwise

If she drank, you think she could become my wife? :-/ If she dances, then that will keep her in shape 🙂 I would appreciate that.I might join her and get back in shape!

One, who can be late from work once in a while when deadlines, just like yours, are to be met;

No problem.I could enjoy an extra hour of solitude or time with my kids. I could surprise her by cooking a new recipe 🙂

One, who is doing her level best and wants to make this most important, relationship in her entire life a grand success, if you just help her some and trust her;

Of course I would. The same applies to me too .Is it not?

One, who just wants one thing from you, as you are the only one she knows in your entire house – your unstinted support, your sensitivities and most importantly – your understanding, or love, if you may call it.

I would not only love her, I would also pity her. She would have to bear with me much more than I might bear with her ! 🙂 ( This is secret.Shhh…)

But not many guys understand this…

Do you still think so? !

Please appreciate “HER”

She would get lots of this. This is a lot cheaper than buying gifts 🙂

Now, what is your take ?

Posted in children, education, gender, humour, love, marriage | Tagged: , , , , , | 18 Comments »

“Divide and Serve”

Posted by Dheeraj Kattula on December 29, 2009

I worked in a Hospital associated with Leprosy work for quite some time. Few months ago I went back to my parent hospital and my own specialty. I returned few weeks ago to cover for absence of a doctor for a period of 3 weeks. Dr Johnson, the doctor whom I have relieved was also here for a short term replacement only. I went with him to the Leprosy home for a routine visit. I found that the whole atmosphere there has changed. Patients were more involved in care for themselves and also for others. This came as a shock to me. I have seen them for years. I found them indifferent to their own problems, not to speak of problems of others.

 Dr Johnson organized games after the clinic was over. I was overjoyed to see the participation of the inmates. I was curious to know, what magical spell he had cast that the whole culture had changed in a span of 6 weeks that he was here.

The problems that patients faced were usually reported to the paramedical staff. Those staffs were responsible to settle the problems and refer appropriately to the hospital. The paramedical staffs are also responsible for arranging food, supplies, accounts etc. They were not answerable to the hospital administration directly. Their broad job descriptions and not being in span of authority of anybody on a daily basis gave them freedom. The patients suffered. Hospital could only help when hospital staff visited the Leprosy Home or when patients came themselves to the hospital. My predecessor and I tried to change the organizational structure for the better. We failed. So, we reduced the target of quality and tried the best that we could do instead of looking at the best that patients could get.

Dr Johnson changed the system without changing organizational structure in any way. He divided the patients into groups of 6-8. He selected young, intelligent persons within their group to the group leader. He divided the groups in such a manner that each group had a balance between young and old, fit and disabled etc. So there were groups among men and groups among women. He selected one representative from men and one from women. The group leaders are supposed to meet these representatives everyday and report the problems faced by individuals in the group like who has got fever, who pricked her/his foot with a thorn etc. These reps were senior inmates who have received some medical training. They knew when a patient could wait for the next visit of paramedical worker/ nurse/ doctor and also when a patient needed to be moved to the hospital.

Within a short time the groups became alive. They met regularly. They knew each others problems. They started to help each other in other ways as well. Their attitudes changed. Initially, they had to report their problems to STAFF. Now they had to report their problems to their OWN people, which is much easier. Dr Johnson taught me the principle of decentralization in a novel way. The paradigm that patients can care for each other is also new. The beauty is that it also works. There is another lesson. Individuals, as weak as they could be can become more self-reliant in groups. Leprosy home visit would remain memorable for many reasons.

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