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 ||

The Doctor's Soul

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

|| Naathsamvidh ||

 I am blogging after a very long time. This post finds its origins in something that I had written for a competition, sometime in the remote past.

It was in a forgotten file, lost in piles of junk, accumulated over the years in a neglected, dusty laptop. I could say much the same about my mind.

Somewhere along the line, I had ended up forgetting that I am a writer at heart.

Finding this, was like my past self shouting across all those years to wake me up! 

I think its time I follow my own advice :)

The Doctor's Soul

Let's keep this simple. No clichés.

 The Hero of our story is a young doctor. He could be any of us. At his core, he is all of us.

Well, this is how I see it. At the end of his journey, when he has finally achieved the success he have always dreamed of, he will get a bit of free time. A few moments of peace.

But he has nothing to do! The workaholic doctor, immersed in work or books throughout his life, now has no hobbies left to enjoy. They were all cut away to make place for "success". There would always be time for them later. And that "later" never came.

So the shades of all the lost loves he buried in the past continue to haunt him, and instead of looking with content upon what he has, he is stuck with a long list of regrets.  " If only I had..."

He has become so used to seeing pain, that he no longer notices his own. He is so used to declaring bad news, that he fails to notice that it costs him a piece of his soul every time. So many times he wants to shed tears of joy, of fear, of compassion. But work must move on. There is always someone else to treat. So he must move on.

The strong face that he wears, is much more a mask than any N-95 would ever be.

Was he the only one to suffer ? Perhaps not. Perhaps this doctor, so removed from the art and beauty of the world, may have hurt a few others along the way.

A few patients. A few colleagues.

As we become more involved in our work and study, we may tend to forget that those we hope to heal are also people. At times, we may heal their bodies, but end up scarring their minds. We should always remember that we are human too.

It is true that Medicine is a science, but the practice of Medicine is an art.

So too our lives should be. Not just the bland following of strict rules and protocols, but a little flavour of creative expression. A sprig of music. A dash of poetry. A spot of philosophy for seasoning. And above all, Faith.

What we have at the end of the day is an enhanced Doctor, at peace with the world and with himself. After all, only one who is at peace with himself can bring peace to others.

So all I have to say is: "Physician, Heal Thyself". Find that piece of music that you can hum in troubled times. Find that little novel that you can lose yourself in when things seem dark. Discover a hobby that you can pursue if time permits. Nay, find something you like so much that you MAKE the time to pursue it!

" Then when the shadows overtake us,

   Just when we feel all hope is gone

   We'll hear our song and know once more

   Our Love lives on." 

-How Does a Moment Last Forever
 (Disney's: Beauty & The Beast)


 

Finding light is not achieved by ignoring the darkness. Light is found and preserved by keeping that little flame burning inside. It does not matter what it is. If it matters to  you, it will keep you warm, even if you're buried in the snow.

Then there are those you will remember, because you touched their lives, and they touched yours in return. There is an inexplicable alchemy in the simple smile of someone who is healing. Some lives, some stories resonate with you. And the smiles and love that you have accumulated is the strongest talisman, something that will stay with you forever.

Keep that little flame burning, and it will sustain you .

Then, when your career has reached your targets, your dreams will still stay fresh and life will be just as sweet as it was when you started off.

Never be afraid to try. Never be afraid to fall. Our scars teach us more than we can imagine.

 Our mistake is a simple one. We look for happiness at the end of the journey. And that remains a mirage. One can never capture the horizon.
 Instead, happiness is the journey, and we must live it all the way!  

Light the fire deep within,

Nurture it, let it burn bright,

For the only way to beat the dark,

Is to become the light.

Start! Now! As you are,

Take a single step ahead.

Let the world unfurl before you,

The Earth shake beneath your tread.

You are the chains that bind yourself,

The weight upon your back.

Spread your wings and you break free,

Rise, and don’t look back.

 

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

|| Naathsamvidh ||