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

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 ||

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|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

 

-Dr. ArnavMHT

4/5/21

  

 

 

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.

 

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. 

-          Dr. Arnav H. Tongaonkar

       11/3/21

|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

 || Jai Jagdamba Jai Durge ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

 

 

 

 

 

A Flower for God

 

|| Hari Om ||

 

A Flower For God

Mother Nature is the greatest and most abundant source of knowledge. She has the answer to every question we may ask. All we have to do is ask, and then observe and listen. A single moment listening to the rustling of leaves, the gentle breeze and birdsong is enough to refresh the mind and set in motion, gears that were long considered rusty.

This story is a little different, in that the protagonist is not our usual human hero. The protagonist is a shoeflower bush, by the name of Hibiscus.

Hibiscus is a shoeflower bush, that lives in my balcony. It is a humble shrub. Unremarkable, much like its fellow plants, basking in the sunlight. The only problem was that Hibiscus had not grown a single flower for more than a year !

 It was green and fresh and beautiful in its own right. But what good is a flowering-plant without flowers ?

Thus, it was to our considerable surprise that, at the beginning of August, we noticed a little bud growing on Hibiscus.

So we watched and we waited and we hoped, but each day was no different from the previous. We were not even sure if it would ever blossom. But Hibiscus knew.

Over weeks, the bud grew almost imperceptibly in size. It was a dull-yellow thing; not quite the colour anyone was looking for, but a bud nonetheless.

Then came the day of Ganesh Chaturthi, our most precious festival. Dearest Ganpati Bappa arrived Home.

Remember, this was 2020: “ The Year of the Lockdown”. Things were very different. Instead of our usual statue of Bappa, we had a simple photograph kept for worship. But we could feel His presence everywhere. We had been unable to buy flowers to offer to Bappa, so my mother had made a beautiful garland of simple hand-made paper flowers.

But somewhere, at the back of our minds, we were really missing offering real flowers to God.

This was exactly what Hibiscus had been waiting for! On the day that Ganpati Bappa Arrived home, the little bud bloomed. It blossomed into a glorious pink flower. 

 

And along with all the paper flowers, it was the only real flower that we offered to God.

What a journey, and what a beautiful place to finally rest!

 

As I looked at the Hibiscus flower adorning the garland of Ganpati Bappa like the most regal of gemstones, I had only one thought: “ Let our lives be this way.”

Whatever little that we are able to do; as per our capacities; let that be offered to God. Let our smallest actions bring joy to others. Let everything that we do be for God, for His work, so that we may rest at His feet forever.

Just like this simple Hibiscus flower, that waited and grew ever so slowly, just so that it could rest at His feet.

 

And the best thing about God; something our beloved Bapu ( Dr. Aniruddha D. Joshi) always says in His discourses; is that God does not want only the best of flowers or the most expensive of offerings,

He is wiling to accept anything that we offer Him with Love, be it a real flower, a paper flower or even just twigs. Just like He is willing to accept us as we are, with all our flaws.

And He is there to guide us, to blossom into the best that we can be.

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.

|| Shree Ram ||

|| Ambadnya ||

|| Naathsanvidh ||

|| I Love You my Dad ||

Dr. Arnav H. Tongaonkar @drarnavmht

20/9/2020