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. 

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|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

-DrArnavMHT 

14/4/22

Ward Stories-TMH Tales- Token No. 108

 

|| 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 and feelings that I have imbibed in my 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.

 

Token No. 108

Tired. A strange word to start a story with, but there it was. The Doctor was always tired. Happy and tired, sad and tired, but always tired. Tired was the way of life at the Hospital. So much so, that even though it was a holiday, he was still tired. A person who has been working continuously should jump to embrace the smallest amount of free time. But more often than not, they don’t know what to do, when they actually have time to do it.

He rolled around in bed for a bit, and then decided it would be worth it to at least see a bit of sunlight. He got up, unfolded his tall frame and dressed in the least battered clothes he could find.

He left the building without any real plan. His feet wandered one way, and his mind another. The previous day had been a storm. 150 patients in the OPD, or 150 “tokens” in Hospital lingo, even more than the not so modest 100 that came there everyday. And as the day wore on, everybody grew more and more worn out. Patients and doctors alike.

Without realising it, he reached the entrance of the park nearby. He hesitated at the threshold. It had been a very long time since he had interacted with people other than those suffering from or treating disease. Anyway, a walk couldn’t hurt.

So he followed the beaten little walking path and soaked in the smell of the wet mud as the gardener watered the plants. He heard the chirping of sparrows after months and the birdsong sparked long forgotten feelings in his weary soul. The sunlight played hide-and seek with the shadows of the rustling leaves. He was mesmerized.

Everything was so ordinary, and yet so alien to him. Slowly , the Doctor remembered what it was to be human, and to celebrate the small delights of the soul. A part of him was surprised that such simple beauty and warmth could exist so close to a war zone, the battlefield between health and disease. For a moment, a wave of despair washed over him. He wished he could have more time to himself, more time to spend appreciating life as it was. 

His trance was broken by the sound of children shouting. He followed their little high pitched voices and found two children, a boy and girl, locked in a fierce argument over one of their toys. Their mother was seated on a bench nearby. He watched the scene from afar,  like the audience to a stage drama, appreciating this snapshot of how other people spent their time.

As he approached, he saw that the mother had an expression of such deep and profound joy, as if watching her children play was worth all the riches in the universe. In that moment, her face was awash with a thousand tiny expressions, so much joy, hope, bliss; and also a hint of pain and longing.  Suddenly, he realised that she looked oddly familiar.

She looked up as she saw him approach and raised a hand in greeting. He still couldn’t tell where he had met her. “ Good afternoon doctor, so nice to see you here. “ He knew now that she was somehow related to one of his patients , but still couldn’t place her. She saw his confusion and said.

“We met at the OPD yesterday . I was token number 108 !

I was in a lot of pain, and the medicines you prescribed have really helped. So much so, that I’m up and about today. I’m using this day to spend time with my children.  God bless you for helping me“

He bowed his head and accepted her blessing, said a hasty goodbye and walked away. He had tears in his eyes. To him, she had been a number, a diagnosis with a symptom that he had treated. To see her here changed his perspective totally, the world shattering and realigning  like the turning of a kaleidoscope.

For the first time, he saw the difference that a single medication could make. How treatments literally changed lives and brought smiles to forlorn faces. All the fatigue and work was worth it for this.

The next day, a new OPD. He was still tired.  They all were. But even in his weariness, he saw new light. He saw the patients as more than numbers; it was almost like he could see them carrying their families with them,  waiting to play in the park together. He could see now how he could touch their lives.

It may be the 10^th, the 100^th or even the 200^th patient for him, but it was a loved one, a dear parent, spouse, sibling or child for someone else. So he worked now with renewed vigour, realising that God had sent an Angel, a ray of guiding light  to show him the path forward. His world would forever be changed by Token No. 108

Author’s note

This story is a work of fiction, inspired by feelings and moments that may be completely different from these events. However,  it is also true that many of us medical professionals live a life of sacrifice, away from our loved ones, with almost no time for ourselves.  And in such trying times, it is such tiny moments of joy that give us the strength to keep working, to keep moving forward.

 

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-          Dr. Arnav H. Tongaonkar

       11/3/21

|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

 || Jai Jagdamba Jai Durge ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

 

 

 

 

 

Poem- Reflections

||Hari Om || || Shree Ram || || Ambadnya ||

I recently had the privilege of attending a conference at Kochi, which is a truly beautiful place.
This Poem is dedicated to one of the best Sunsets ever, spent in the company of friends.
I hope I manage to convey a fraction of the feeling. #ApiconKochi

[The photographs used are my own :) ]

 

Reflections

In the gentle light
Of the setting Sun
Here the sky and
Sea are one

 

 

The scent of music
Fills the air
Leaving neither
Fear nor care

 

 

With the tide and
Ebb and flow
The boats at peace
Do gently row

And as the light
Gives way to dark
Into a different realm
We embark

 

 

Where all the glistening
Lights from shore
Light up the sea
With so much more

 

 

Like Fairy lights
From a distant past
Upon the waves
Their glow they cast

And in the reflections
A different world
A secret, covert
Place unfurls.

 

Just inches from
The Sandy beach
But across the mirror,
Out of reach

 

 

Shadows, light
And rustling trees
The ripples dancing
In the breeze

 

 

Single steps turn
Into miles
And much is said
In silent smiles

 

 

The present soon
Becomes the past
Mirrored upon
The rippling glass

 

 

In a heartbeat, fleeting
The moment's gone
And reflected as a memory
It will live on!

-10/2/19
-Dr. Arnav H. Tongaonkar
|| Shree Ram ||
|| Ambadnya ||
|| Naathsamvidh ||

Short Story- ANGEL

|| Hari Om || || Shri Ram || || Ambadnya || 

ANGEL

‘F’

That single letter shouted out of the page at me. I had failed to clear my finals, the fourth time over. I was stunned. To stunned even to cry. I had given my all, genuinely this time.

But still that letter stared at me. F

And I wept inside. That this brilliant student, school topper, envy of all, was reduced to this…

A mere shadow, a wraith, haunting the corridors of this ancient institute that I had once thought was my domain. My friends long since graduated and moved on life in life. They were “Doctors” now. The juniors knew me only as ‘that failure’ and shunned me in general. They had watched me struggle for years. This was nothing new to them. So where was I to go ?

In my despair, I sought advice from my only comfort in this college. A senior teacher, well past the end of her career, but still one to give solace to lost ones like me.

She saw me enter her office and smiled, “You are not the first to struggle so, son. I have taught you and you do not lack talent. But I do not see that fire in your eyes anymore. “

“It’s gone!”, I shouted. 

“Well then, let’s get it back” she said. She smiled. 

“Ours is an ancient institute. Generations of students have struggled like you, and eventually found the will to succeed. Let me give you some advice. It may seem strange, but trust me. I’ve been around a long time. Walk around the campus, just walk, and call out to the soul of this college. Something, somewhere will respond, and you will find your path again.”

So I walked, I walked and I walked, around the classrooms, through the wards, through the lawns, and found nothing. No ray of hope nor answering voices. Just a lonely wanderer, with only the weight of his failures for company. Finally I collapsed and wept. It was too much for me. Exhausted, I fell asleep, hoping never to wake.

I woke to the sounds of footsteps. I was a little startled.

The place I was hiding in was a place I had discovered after years of solitary wandering. And now another stood before me. She stood there looking at me, and I looked at her, not sure how to react.

She sneezed violently, which broke the spell.

I laughed, she laughed too.

“Hi” I began, “I’m…”, but she interrupted me.

‘The Failure’, I know” she said, but without any sarcasm. In fact the compassion in her voice struck a chord. She paused, but it seemed as though she spoke so much, just in that single moment of silence.

She was young, not extraordinarily pretty, but with a pleasant smile and deep thoughtful eyes.

“My friends call me Angel” she said. “The Professor sent me to find you. I was ill and missed my exam. She said we could study together.”

I was apprehensive at first, but soon warmed up to my new companion.

It was as if we had known each other forever. There was no element of romance to it, just the feeling of two old friends, meeting after a long time. So we began studying together.

She was brilliant, intelligent and a patient teacher. But I was depressed and often left things halfway. And she would cheer me up and we pressed on. Two failures, limping forward in our own way.

Once, particularly frustrated, I said to her,”This is my last attempt. One way or the other. Either I live a doctor, or…” I stopped.

 The sorrow on her face was so intense that I couldn’t speak.

“Never say that again” she said, “You do not know how lucky you are that you can try again. So many would give anything for this chance.”

I apologized. I had hurt her. Now, I worked doubly hard, just to make her smile again.

The exams were a week away. She said she wanted to go home and spend time with her family.

“Where do you live?” I asked. “Oh, quite faraway” she said with a wink. “Clear your exams doctor and l will tell you where I live!” A strange one, she was, Angel, so full of life and fun. But beneath all that, past the facade, there was a depth to her I couldn't quite fathom.  

“Well”, I said hesitantly, mustering up my courage. “Let’s click a photo together, so that we remember each other. Lord knows when our paths will cross again.

“Why, going somewhere Doctor ? I’ll always be here you know. Besides, I look terrible in photos!”She laughed her sweet little laugh, and walked off, a ghost of a smile still playing on her lips. But I disobeyed and clicked a snap of her smiling face as she turned and walked away. I had to keep some part of her with me after all. A week is sometimes too long to wait!

On the day of the exam she was nowhere to be seen. A different centre maybe? Her phone was not reachable. I wanted to tell her that I would clear this time, that I had written the best I had ever written, all thanks to her. But I couldn’t find her.

In desperation, I went to the old Professor, my mentor and asked her, “Where is Angel? Why did she not write the exam with me?”

“Angel?” asked the Professor. She looked perplexed.

“The girl you sent to study with me” concern creeping in my voice.

“What girl are you talking about, child?”

My hands felt cold. I shivered. “This girl !”, I said, almost shoving my phone in her face.

She frowned. The photograph only showed an empty corridor. The phone fell from my hands. I ran out of her office, dizzy and confused.

What was going on?

Then I heard a familiar laugh. I saw a familiar profile enter the college archives, where the memories of generations were preserved.

I followed her voice inside. The room was empty. As I looked around, to my surprise, I saw a book on the desk near me. It was a college magazine, some 20 years old, moth eaten and full of dust.

And she looked up at me from its pages, her face frozen in her last smile.

And below it the caption said,

“We hold the tears deep inside

Smile despite the pain

For this is not the end dear one

Someday we’ll meet again.

 ‘Farewell beloved friend,

Illness may take your body, but cannot defeat your spirit.’ 

An obituary, written by loving friends. And my tears stained the yellowed paper, as their tears must have, all those years ago.

 The book fell from my hand.

 “I told you I fell ill, and missed my paper.”

I turned. There she stood behind me, smiling. Around her were more, so many more. The shades of all those who over the years had given up, and lost the battle to disease or despair. All of them smiled.

“This is my family. This is where I live. Our energies suffuse the very bricks of these buildings.  And we have sworn, we will never let another give up and let go.  We know the pain of having our dreams broken, but you have the chance to try again. Never forget how great this gift is.

Take care my friend; this life is yours to live. And remember us. Remember me. For we live on through you.”

“Angel.” They called out to her, welcoming. 

She gently held my palms gently in hers.”Goodbye.” And all was silent. 

I sat up.

Fresh sunlight streamed in through the windows. Flecks of dust danced merrily to greet the new dawn. A frail hand held firm my own, and pulled me to my feet.

The Professor looked at me knowingly. She closed the book, and placed it on the shelf, back where it belonged. 

“I may be wrong, but it seems that two of my students found peace today.” She turned, and walked out of the room.

I followed her out into the bright morning light. 

And as I latched the doors to the Archives closed, I could almost hear her voice,“Why the gloomy face ? Chin up Doctor! I’m always here!”

 I shook my head, smiling, and walked into the sunshine. Her voice, her words, would stay with me forever. I was now a doctor and no longer alone.

From her place in the shadows, Angel watched him go. She smiled. Their time together had always been brief. She had known that from the start. But that was enough. That was the beauty of it.

And a part of her would live on in him, forever.  

-Arnav H. Tongaonkar

||Shri Ram || || Ambadnya || || I Love You my Dad ||

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|| Hari Om ||

We were once a dream,

A thought.

In the minds 

Of those that fought.

Against the bondage

Of the Raj.

To achieve our freedom,

Our Swaraj.

That the people,

Of the land

Could take their health 

In their own hands.

Bricks were laid,

Foundations set,

Meetings held,

And people met.

So we were born,

Twins for a cause:

King Edward and

Seth Gordhandas.

To heal the people 

Of their pain,

To teach and 

Pass it on again.

We grew,we flourished 

Brothers two.

And everywhere

The people knew

That they were safe,

Within our hands.

"We will be well

While KEM stands!"

And such greats

Passed through our walls.

Their wisdom fills

The lecture halls.

Their words echo 

Through our very bricks.

The words of healers 

For the sick.

And their souls

So strong and bright,

Show the path

For GSites.

Still we stand

And so we will,

Guards against

All foul and ill.

Come pain or sorrow,

Death and life.

We are the saviours 

From the the strife.

It matters not,

The time that passed.

For our walls,

Are built to last.

So we watch

In our serenity

90 years,

Till eternity!

|| Shri Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

-Arnav H. Tongaonkar 

25.12.2015