Finding Yourself

 || Hari Om ||

“ Finding yourself “

It's been a hectic few months. A tireless series of duties, merging into a seemingly endless tunnel, and the tunnel vision that comes with it. The next task, the next goal, the next objective. 

I say this not to highlight my work or my branch, but to point out that it is much the same for all of us. We all have something or the other that keeps us moving. An endless series of real, virtual or self-imposed deadlines that bind us, that drive us: or so we think. So we keep telling ourselves.

Well, it finally took me a viral fever( some chap less famous than our dear Covid ); a forced leave and an excess of time spent in the company of my thoughts; to have an all-important conversation with that special, special someone: myself!

I realized that it’d been ages since I had actually sat down and looked at myself. Actually spoken to myself. Actually checked to see if the person I think of as “ my self “ still exists, or has been swept away long ago by the tides of time.

Have I really been thinking about the things that mattered most to me before? Have I been giving enough time to the people that matter? Have I been asking myself these questions frequently enough?

Probably, the answer is “no” to all.

Yes, it is easy to blame a busy schedule, but I realized something different. Something I can attest for myself, and probably rings true for a lot of you reading this as well!

We bury ourselves in our work, in our “fun”, in our social media or whatever else, precisely to avoid this sort of intimate conversation with self! A talk with your “soul”, so to speak.

It is so much easier to keep going with the flow than to actually pause for breath and take a look at where you’re flowing.

The digital age, with a thousand blessings, has made everything so much easier, so much more accessible. It also drowns us in a sea of information, keeps us so cocooned in a shell of entertainment, that it becomes easy to forget the people we once were.

How long do we spend submerged in the tide before we forget what matters to us the most?

So I share with you my journey of self-re-discovery. It was like finding that faded old bookmark in your favourite novel. The old photograph that captures so much more of the memory than is visible in the frame.

My Faith has always been my anchor. Again, faith helped me stand truly still, if only for a moment, and understand where I am. Here you must understand that faith is itself a journey, a dynamic process that keeps renovating itself. It is not an endpoint to be achieved. It is something that changes you, and changes with you. And so it changed me again. I sat down and had a quiet conversation with God. I regained perspective of what it was that mattered most to me. The core values that make me who I am. Things that should definitely change, and things that should never change. I reached out to the people that matter to me, some out of touch, none forgotten, and it only ever takes a single word to rekindle sparks of true friendship.

At the end of the day, I could see myself in the mirror, look myself in the eye and be at peace with what I saw.

The other thing I realized was that I had never been lacking the time. I had just been lacking the insight, the will and probably the courage to sit down and have a frank word with myself!

As a dear friend said to me recently: “ everyone has their own poison”. Mine was probably keeping myself busy, one way or the other. A forced break, an essential pause for breath, and I see the world anew, or rather I see again everything I saw before.

So I encourage you. Wherever you are. Whoever you are. Whatever you are doing.

Take that time off for yourself, not by falling ill with a viral, but by speaking openly with yourself and finding out and finding out what it is that matters most to you. What it is that makes you: you.  What would you like to change? What would you like to keep the same, forever?                                                                                                

The conversations and the answers may surprise you, but you will get a better understanding of the person you should know best: yourself!

None of us is perfect. As Bapu has so frequently said in His discourses, Perfection is an illusion. Only God is Perfect. We are human and we are bound to stumble, to make mistakes. The best we can do is strive to be one step ahead of where we are today.

And moving forward starts with knowing where you stand. Here. Now. At this moment.

So, take that breath. Take that pause. Gather your bearings, and then take that step forward. I’m sure each step will be much stronger than the last!

My older blog posts are listed at the top of the page.
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|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

• Dr Arnav H. Tongaonkar ( DrArnavMHT)

02/06/22

 

( those of you who do not know me personally, I have completed my MD in General Medicine from KEM Hospital in September 2020.

I joined Tata Memorial Centre, Mumbai as a Senior Resident in Medical Oncology in December 2020, and am currently in the second year of my oncology residency.)

 

The Lady in the Painting : Short Story

 || Hari Om ||

The Lady in the Painting

With weary steps, the Artist boarded the train. Truth be told, he had been many things, even at a young age. Tried his hand at everything, even got a lot of acclaim. But he was a simple soul at heart. 

For the present, he was an Artist, and a weary one at that. The well of inspiration that added so much colour and life to his works seemed to be drying up. He was on a journey to his hometown, to rediscover some part of himself that had drifted off, as life took its course.

He sat down in the empty bogey and took a moment to greet his companion. She smiled back at him from the canvas: his most famous work: “The Lady “. She was young and vibrant, captured mid-smile. Truth be told, he had no idea who she was, or if such a person even existed. It was a face his mind had picked at random from the crowd. 

Over the  years, he had spent a lot of time with her picture and formed a lot of ideas about what she must be like as a person. He smiled at himself.  This was the fruit of solitude and an overly-creative mind. It was folly to look at a picture and try to get the measure of a person!

Lost in his own thoughts, he dozed off.

He awoke to the sound of a low and melodious voice. It seemed he had a human companion in the bogey, and she was having a polite argument with the porter. She expressed herself firmly in slow, measured words, and duly won the round. 

He turned to take a look at her, and almost jumped out of his skin. It was HER. The Lady.  The Lady in the painting. What astronomical odds, what conspiracy of God’s Hand had brought about this moment! That their paths should ever cross. Hastily, he returned the painting to its covered case. Keeping it visible would have been awkward beyond measure.

Presently, the argument was settled, and silence prevailed. She returned to her seat.

He looked at her again, the resemblance was very strong, though not perfect. To him, it seemed as if his painting had come to life. She noticed him looking, read something in his face and smiled mischievously: “You look like you’ve seen a ghost! I hope I don’t look that scary”

He smiled too. “ No, its just that I thought you looked familiar” 

The conversation sparked off, and they spoke for hours, hours that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. They had very little enough in common, but it mattered not.  Both of them represented the missing pieces  of glass that completed their kaleidoscopic views of the world. There was  something about her voice, her manner, he connected so much more with her than he had with “ people like him“. One by one, the shells he built around his core fell away. 

She was very different from the picture he had painted of her in his mind; for he had seen her as he saw the world. And everyone is built differently. She was what she was, and she was beautiful.

They spoke of nothing concrete, but still spoke of much. They were parallel banks of a river, on their own separate journeys; yet the words built bridges they didn’t even know existed.

He felt himself getting immersed in the depths of the conversation, in the depths of her; and he was floating, not drowning. 

It is difficult to immerse yourself in the depths of a person, and emerge unchanged…

The train whistled, signalling the next stop. The spell was broken. She got up from her seat abruptly.

“ That’s my stop,” she said. “ I really felt good talking to you. I guess this is goodbye. I hope we meet again someday” 

An awkward handshake, and she walked away.

Words can change the meaning of a book. Seconds can change the course of a lifetime. 

In that spilt second, as he watched her walk away, the Artist realised something. The inspiration he was looking for was not a destination, it was a journey. And he had found the person he wanted by his side through it all. 

They say a single event can redefine your perspective. Shatter and rearrange everything you always thought was unbreakable, till you see the world again, in a new light. Often, that event is a person. 

He sat there frozen, a storm of a thousand thoughts flooding his mind. There was so much he didn’t know. So much that could go wrong. But there was only one way to find out. Time to take a leap of faith.

She was near the door now, she turned to wave out to him. “Goodbye”. Everything stood still. It was just the two of them, and a moment frozen in time. Then she smiled. It was a ray of purest sunshine that cleared all the clouds and pulled him out of his slumber.

Now or never. 

He got up from his chair of comfort, and took a single step forward…

The train lurched to a stop. The Artist woke up with a start, his heart pounding. It took him a moment to find himself. For a second, he was young and full of vigour. Then his eyes found focus; he saw his gnarled old hands, with parchment skin and the spots of age. A lock of curly white hair danced in his vision. The same soul, in an aging vessel.

He smiled. The memory of the Lady, of that day, always did that to him. Across time, space or anything else that had ever separated them. He turned to the seat next to him and looked at her, resting there. She still looked the same. The same glow, the same vitality, even after all these years. A lifetime spent together, and yet it seemed like just a moment.

There Lady was so much more than the picture he had painted. She was a person, full of beauty and warmth and so many imperfections. Just like him. Just like all of us are so much more than the pictures painted of us.

Their journey together had been a long one, but worthwhile, every step of the way.

He picked her up from the chair, and wiped a speck of dust from her frame. She smiled back at him from the canvas, an echo of that moment, so many years ago. He could almost see her waving goodbye. A single tear rolled down his cheek, not of sorrow, but of fulfilment, of gratitude.

He smiled back at her and said: “I think my love, we have reached our station.  Time to get off the train” 

So saying, they stepped into the sunlight.  Together. Always. 

My older blog posts are listed at the top of the page.
If you liked this, do read the others too!

Follow the blog to receive regular updates on new posts:

 ( Click the follow button in the column to the right ! )

|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

-DrArnavMHT 

14/4/22

Fireflies

|| Hari Om ||

Fireflies

It was a cold and silent night. The village was silent and still. The Child sat at the porch of his house, looking at the gentle mist descending on the fields. Everything was bathed in a gentle moonlight.

He shivered, and not from the cold. A chill ran down his spine, as he thought of the horrible things he had heard on the radio. A scary new disease, a virus. To him, it sounded almost like one of the Asuras from the stories His grandfather used to tell him.

A living entity, full of malevolence, causing pain and suffering wherever it went.

Theirs was a remote village, far removed form the world, a place where you could still see the stars at night. But, the fear was already creeping in from the outside world, taking root in their little community.  People were falling sick, supplies were starting to fall short. He understood none of the details, but felt the chill in his bones just the same.

As he thought of all this, a single tear rolled unknowingly down his cheek. It fell with a soft splash on the porch, where it glistened in the faint moonlight.

A sudden creaking of the floorboards woke him from his musings.  He turned, and suddenly felt a little warmth creep into his chest, somewhere near where his heart must be. There stood his beloved Grandfather, with His white moustache and unkempt hair, a gentle twinkle in His eyes. In a second, those wise old  eyes saw the tears that the child thoght he had so effectively hidden. Grandfather smiled even wider than before. “Let us take a walk my child”, He said. “ I want to show you something”

 

Hand in hand, they walked towards the fields. The clouds had moved and had totally hidden the moon now. Everything was dark. The rows and rows of crops were barely visible in the gloomy mist.

“ Are you scared, little one ? “,  Grandfather asked. “ No!” said the child, clenching his fists to hold on to his bravery. He turned to face his Grandfather and saw such warmth and understanding in those dark eyes, that he melted.

“ Yes, I am scared! I am so small, and all alone and the world is such a frightening place. I am worried for you, for me, for our family, for all of us.

 

Grandfather swept the child into a tight hug, held him close till his fear melted away.

He cleared His throat, and the child looked at him expectantly.

“Well,” said Grandfather, now that we have accepted that We are afraid, lets do something about it !’

He stepped forward and touched the crops with a gentle hand.

The child watched with wide eyes, all his fear forgotten. A single glowing light rose from the gloom. “ A firefly !” , he exclaimed with amazement,  all his fear forgotten. 

 

“ Yes my child, and that is the answer to your fears as well”

 “ How ? , asked the child, still watching the little dot of light, spellbound.

 

“ Well,”  said Grandfather, “ when we are surrounded by so much darkness, all we can do is spread a little light ourselves. If there is someone you can help, help them in any little way you can. Brighten their day a bit.

Care for your loved ones, take care and keep them safe. And as you care for others, as you give someone a little bit of hope, you will start glowing like this too!

Above all, keep your Faith. Fear is real, suffering is too. Just remember that He is there with you, through all the darkness, you are never alone”

 

The child, being a child, was still not convinced. “ All this sounds correct,” he said, “ but what difference can one little firefly make in so much darkness. See, even now, the field is dark and scary !”

 

Grandfather laughed. There is great wisdom in the innocence of a child.

“ Close your eyes my child, let us call out to Him, He will answer your question”

 

So they stood together, hand in hand, the soft voice of the child joining the deep voice of the Grandfather, as they chanted:

 

’रामा रामा आत्मारामा त्रिविक्रमा सद्‌गुरुसमर्था

सद्‌गुरुसमर्था त्रिविक्रमा आत्मारामा रामा रामा’

Rama Rama Atmarama Trivikrama SadguruSamartha SadguruSamartha Trivikrama Atmarama Rama Rama'. 

       

A gentle breeze started blowing then, bringing with it the subtle scent of flowers.

“ Now open your eyes!”

The child opened his eyes, and couldn’t find the words to speak.

The field was lit up with a thousand fireflies, woken from their slumber by the breeze.

He watched entranced, as they danced among the crops, their collective light banishing all traces of the darkness.

So they watched this magical transformation, this light emerging from darkness, and somewhere, the prayer moved from the child’s lips, to his heart.

 

Grandfather understood.

 

“See, how one tiny light can inspire so many others.. A single person, firm in his faith, working hard to give some light to others, will wake many others who were sleeping. Soon, you will have a whole swarm of fireflies!

 

There is great power in a single good deed, in a single act of kindness, in a single prayer. This is a light that comes from within.  And when so many fireflies gather together, there is no need to fear the dark. “

 

They sat down in the grass, watching the little dancing lights. Soon, the child was asleep in his Grandfather’s lap. When

 he awoke, the Sun had risen and everything was bright again...

 

These are difficult times for all of us. There is so much stress and fear. There is no denying the darkness everywhere. The best we can do is to hold on to our own little light, keep faith and brighten the path for someone else, if possible.  

 

One little light can give hope to so many others;

all of us, together, can bring back the light of hope,

tiding over the night,

till the Sun rises again

as it surely will

                                || तमसो मा ज्योतिर्गमय ||

My older blog posts are listed at the top of the page.
If you liked this post, do read the others as well ! All comments and feedback are welcome. Subscribe for updates and new posts. 

 

|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

 

-Dr. ArnavMHT

4/5/21

  

 

 

‘ The Lamp Blinked Twice’

 

|| Hari Om ||

‘ The Lamp Blinked Twice’  

“Do you believe in Ghosts ?” He looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “ Do you mean the ones with clanking chains and bloodstained clothes? No, definitely not.“ An open-ended reply that invited his next question:  “Is there any other kind of ghost then ?” 

They were sitting on a bench in a quiet part of the Park. The leaves of the nearby trees were rustling gently in the breeze, as a subtle twilight light bathed the surroundings in its surreal hues.

Just a few feet away, the cliff sloped off gently to the sea below. It was a place where you could just stand still, a place to pause and breathe again. 

She grinned. “ Actually, there's a story about this very park ! “ She had a dreamy look in her eyes. He braced himself as she took a deep breath to launch full-tilt into a story.

“ There’s an old street-lamp along the walking path here. Its in a very quiet part of the park, and people generally don’t go there after dark. Only very specific people go there; the ones who wish to communicate with their loved ones, with people who are no longer here. The rumour is that if you walk past that streetlight, thinking of that specific person, they appear there, not physically, but just enough to give you a sign.” She made wide eyes to emphasize the other-worldly-ness of it all. He was more amused by her story-telling antics than by the story itself. 

“ What kind of sign ? “, he asked, dutiful in his role as a listener. 

“When they appear near you, the lamp blinks twice! “, He raised a skeptical eyebrow. She looked hurt at his utter lack of appreciation.

“Come with me, I’ll show you the place.”

They got up and started walking, breathing in the scent of the evening, the sound of the waves providing a subtle music to the scene. They walked on in silence, gathering in the details, saving each moment, trying to focus on trivial things like Ghosts and flickering lights, to avoid thinking about why they were actually there.

Soon, they reached a quieter part of the park. It was probably his imagination, but the air seemed to be very still. All the birds that had been chirping so merrily were silent here, not afraid, but waiting. 

They walked on, and as they rounded the last corner, he saw an old, rusty swing, lit in the orange light of a single old-fashioned gas lamp.

There was definitely something different here, something that brought out strange feelings, nostalgia and longing, as if the past and the present were yearning to meet, separated by only a thin veil of light.

They stood there in silence, would have stood there for God-knows how long. Suddenly, the lamp blinked twice. She looked worried now, he could see it. He felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine too. “ Did you call out to someone ?”, he asked. “No,“ she said, positively frightened now.

“ Why did you ask me that  ? “

“Because,” he paused and pointed a trembling finger over her shoulder: “There’s something behind you !

She turned and saw something large and white move right before her eyes.

She screamed her lungs out and burst into tears.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t control his laughter. The “Ghost” was just a fluffy white cat, sitting largely unconcerned by the world, atop its throne on a fence.

She saw his smile and burst out laughing too. They walked away from the “magic” lamp and back to their peaceful, non-haunted bench.

He thought for a moment and said, serious this time  “If ghosts are just supposed to be the energies of people who have moved on, why is it that they are supposed to be tied to places and things? I think they would be more attached to people”

“ Friends and family, the people we love, I’m sure a part of them is always attached to us, wherever we are. I’m not talking about the dead, but about actual living people. The memories of the time we spend together are enough to call out to each other's souls, even when we are miles apart. Some people don’t need to be there, to be there ! “   

“Aren’t you philosophical today” she laughed, but he could see in her eyes that she knew what he meant. He closed his eyes, at peace in her presence.

When he opened his eyes. She was gone.

He could almost see the after-image of her smile, of her silhouette sitting next to him. 

He shook himself back to the present, a different evening, a different season.

It had been more than a year, but the memory was still crystal clear.

That last evening, before all of them went their separate ways. Friends, from different places, with different pasts and different futures, converging for the briefest of moments before their paths branched out again.

Friends, colleagues, a temporary family, each of them with so many different colours to them.

And each had left a lasting imprint on his mind, none more so than her.

He got up and stretched. He started walking, completing a well-practised ritual, down a path that he had walked a 100 times now. 

He reached the old swing, with “that” lamp, feeling the warm glow inside of the people he carried within. “Some people don’t need to be there, to be there” He stood there in silence, waiting…

A 100 miles away, in another part of the world, in another park, she stood near an old street lamp. 

And as the memories flooded her mind, she looked at the lamp, calling out to those she had left behind, with all her heart,

…. and the lamp blinked twice

…. and the lamp blinked twice

“So when I smile

for no reason or rhyme

I know I’m in your thoughts

as you are in mine”

------------

This story is a work of fiction, however, it is as much the truth. Each of us have people in our lives that matter so much to us, that we carry them in our hearts. Particularly since the start of the pandemic, we have faced the cold reality of isolation and loss like never before. In these times, it is the warmth of our memories, our friends, our families that gives us the strength to keep going. 

And even when it may feel that you are alone and all is lost,  

Have Faith in Him. He is always with you, even without you calling out to Him.

My older blog posts are listed at the top of the page.
If you liked this post, do read the others as well ! All comments and feedback are welcome. Subscribe for updates and new posts. 

  

|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

-Dr. Arnav H. Tongaonkar

17/4/2021 

Ward Stories- TMH Tales- The Healer

 

|| Hari Om||

 

For those of you who do not know me personally, a brief introduction:

 

 I have completed my MD in General Medicine from KEM Hospital in September 2020.

I joined Tata Memorial Centre, Mumbai as a Senior Resident in Medical Oncology in December 2020.

 

This is a collection of my thoughts at the end of a month of Oncology residency. This is a branch that not many are ready to step into. A branch everyone, patients and doctors alike, associates with suffering. But where there is suffering, there is hope. And in the midst of darkness, we appreciate the light even more.

At the end of the day, there is a lot more to learn from the patients than the diagnosis and management of their disease! Now, on to the story.

 

 

The Healer

He rubbed his weary eyes. The blurred passageway came back into focus. It was 6am. Much earlier than his usual waking timings. He wasn’t even sure what time he had slept the previous night.

In residency, adequate sleep always seemed like the horizon: beautiful and desirable, but never quite within reach. So he walked on, in a semi-trance of his own. He reached the ward before he even realized
where he was. He took a moment to compose himself. He was The Healer. It was his duty to look happy and warm, so that the patients felt the same. 

  

As he stepped in, the nurses announced: “Doctor, there’s a new admission in room 3” . His heart skipped a beat. A new admission meant new investigations and a tonne of new work. He blinked a couple of times. Then a voice inside spoke softly: that also means there’s a new life for you to touch. Keep going.

So he restored his smile to its previous quality and knocked gently on the door.

“Come in” said a frail voice. He opened the door. Stepped inside.. She lay there in bed. Emaciated and frail, with pillows propping her up. Her eyes closed, blissful. As she heard him approach, she looked at him, and she smiled. And in that moment, everything changed. Like the  Alchemy of legend was said to turn metals into gold with its very touch, so her smile transformed her face, her very appearance, from one of misery to one of pure energy. There was a light in her eyes, something that no disease could put out.

And as he spoke to her,  his world shifted like a kaleidoscope. Here was a person who had been through a lifetime of suffering, or so it seemed to him, but she still found a reason to stay happy. She could still smile like that. She was at peace with her present, and the future, the prognosis which seemed so bleak to him, well, she was at peace with that too. He carried the strange magic of that encounter with him throughout the day as a Talisman. If she could smile, he really should be able to work with a smile.

 

 

He ended up spending more time in room 3, he learned about her family, her interests and small joys. A simple thing like being able to speak to her loved ones, brought so much joy to her. It brought new light to his eyes. While the world saw only her suffering and how the treatment would only prolong the inevitable, he could see how much joy a person could fit into each stolen moment.

Just a year’s survival benefit was after all a year spent in the company of loved ones.

He ended up spending more and more time in each room. For each person there was more than a bed number. They and their families all had stories to tell. And The Healer, far away from his own family, found peace and solace with them, recovering little pieces of himself that he had lost along the way. He joined Room 8 in their prayers, he laughed with Room 2 when they spilled their juice, he watched silently from the corner as the family in room 4 hugged each other, slowly understanding the gravity of the diagnosis. He saw the power of a simple touch when Doctors started their rounds by keeping a hand on the patient’s pulse,  forming a bond that cannot really be quantified by science.

And so it was for all the Healers. They began to appreciate the smallest joys in their own lives, began to understand how to make their patients smile. And that was the most fulfilling thing of all,  for there is no feeling like watch a critically ill person forget their pain, just for a moment and smile. Slowly, part by part, their weariness melted away. And they Healed. It was not work anymore. It was truly their calling. The disease and its treatment would always be a formidable task. The least they could do was face it with a smile, together, as best as they could.

That evening, they gathered at the balcony. Doctors and patients together, to watch the sunset.

The sky was awash with a thousand colours. The Healer looked around, until his eyes found her. There she was. The Lady of room 3. Looking the picture of calm in her wheelchair. A pint of intravenous fluid solemnly dripping from the stand, her husband by her side, holding her hand. She saw him, and she smiled that smile. And as the colours changed from the vibrant oranges to the cool blues of evening, it became clear to him. She was the Healer. She had brought him back to life, helped him understand his purpose, to find himself again.

And so it was for all of them.

 

 

( This story is a work of fiction, based on my thoughts, feelings and ideas. )

 

My older blog posts are listed at the top of the page.
If you liked this post, do read the others as well ! All comments and feedback are welcome. Subscribe for updates and new posts.

 

|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

 || I Love you my Dad ||

Dr. Arnav H. Tongaonkar

22/1/21