Showing posts with label Sacrifice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sacrifice. Show all posts

Tuesday 23 January 2024

Our Ram is Home

 

|| Hari Om ||

On the 22nd of January 2024, we, the Shraddhavans of the Sanatan Dharma, witnessed the greatest of events: the re-establishment of our Prabhu Shree Ram at His birthplace, Ayodhya.
We celebrated this occasion with our beloved Sadguru Aniruddha Bapu, who danced with all of us, His children.

Our joy knew no bounds.

As I watched this divine spectacle, I was filled with a feeling that was far beyond anything I can truly express in words.
This humble poem is an attempt to express this in-expressible feeling, for all of us.

Dance and Rejoice, Our Ram is Home!













#JaiShreeRam
#RamRajya
#AyodhyaRamMandir
#Ambadnya
#Naathsanvidh
#DrArnavMHT








Sunday 14 March 2021

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 10th, the 100th or even the 200th 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 ||

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday 23 January 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

 

Thursday 11 February 2016

The Soldier/The Soldier's Mother

|| Hari Om ||


 Our soldiers risk their lives so that we can be safe. We live peacefully in our homes, only because they stand between us and danger. Words are insufficient to convey the magnitude of their sacrifice, as well as the anguish of their families.

Through these twin poems : "The Soldier" and "The Soldier's Mother", I have tried to tell the story of a valiant soldier leaving for war from two perspectives: The brave warrior, and the family left behind.

Let us pray for our soldiers, and honour their sacrifice.
Bapu! May my life, and my end, also be so worthwhile.   

The Soldier




In service to 
My country I
Pledged my life
And joined the fight


To protect the people 
Of my land
My family
They understand 

For today
I must now march
The clouds of war
Loom ever dark

My first step
I steady take
Then my hands
Do start to shake

How can I leave
them all behind?
What if my fate 
Be so unkind

That I never 
May return
For their faces
I shall yearn

I close my eyes
Chant His name
And my resolve
Stays strong and same

With firm steps
I forward walk
Not turn, look back
Nor stop to talk

Let them remember 
This lion now
Who left his home
With an uphled brow

Shed his blood
On his own soil
To save them all
From the turmoil 

With blazing eyes
And strong last breath
I see their smiles,
And embrace death !




The Soldier's Mother

Late that night
There came a call
That broke the sleep
Of one and all

The Soldier,
He was called to war
He could live
At home no more

He packed his bags
And firm in tread
Walked forward with
No fear or dread

But those that watched him go 
did weep
The tears hidden
From him they keep

The Mother thought
"There goes my son
I'm so proud that
My little one...

" Once so scared 
And weak in play
Gives his life up
For us this day"

"His hands they tremble
Yes they do
And only a Mother,
Can see through 

"That lion's mask
That cloaks his pain
But he shan't turn
To look again.

"Good, I'm proud
I shall be strong
For our home
In these days long

"Until we see his
Face again
Perhaps our wait
Will be in vain"



These thoughts again
Did cross her mind
As she stood by
His coffin side

Her hands raised
In a last salute
Her face so firm
And resolute

In Peace, The Soldier
He does lie
Shaheed, Martryed 
For you and I !


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

-Arnav H. Tongaonkar