Travels, books and music

I get high on medical conferences. I am from the medical profession specialising in the field of dermatology. Dermatology is a profession which thrives on conferences– one conference fades into another– like our country which is perpetually on election mode– Dermatology is perpetually on a conference mode– each patting their back– about how successful their conference was. Our annual conferences were a grand affair–knowledge, food, entertainment, venue– a heady cocktail of the best of the best– always looked forward to– planning started much in advance. And every year post conference we came back bloated – with food , entertainment and a little knowledge which lasted till the next conference, The initial days Got introduced to medical conferences soon after doing my PG–initially I was very serious in approaching a conference– would be in the venue on time– and would be the last person to leave the hall– take notes– and collate them once back to the room- plan the next day's spea...

No timers–no self help books , no articles on phone addiction could help me from the time wasted on scrolling and the overwhelming feeling which drove me was FOMO and the fear of losing one's credibility and acceptance in the society. I had only two social app on my phone– twitter and whattsapp group. And even these two proved to be addictive and counterproductive– first thing i did was to turn off notifications– it did not work– there was something uncanny about your hand reaching to the phone unknowingly– then i started archiving the addictive groups and the first thing i was reaching for was the archived ones- slowly it took time– now i do not - i scan the archive group only on Sundays–and mostly clear chat them. Keep the phone in another room when you are working– did not work– and the best part about it was once you started scrolling– you lost track of time– and before you realise that you have transported yourself to another world– from where it was difficult to pull yourself...

Carpe Diem– only the morning walkers are capable of- Go for a techfree walk, without your headphones, mobile phones– then you will observe the surroundings– the flowers , the plants, the sky, the sights and sounds of your fellow walkers– Every walker which you pass by tells you a story– by their gait, accessories,by their company they keep, by catching a snippet from their talks. You can typecast them and it is a fun - The serious ones–There is a group of walkers who take their morning walk very seriously,-- they have multiple contraceptions around the body, – intermittently checking each gadget for performance, speed, calories, – with earplugs on to shut out external diversions– perfect high end shoes for running, and the apparel– are too good.I like their well chiselled , fat free profile– but am not ready to emulate it– as it comes with a high price tag– for them health becomes an obsession–the idea of being healthy devours them. The childhood friends–Then comes a selection o...

I was in a cushy government job– as far as pay was concerned i was in the top bracket– but the promotion and challenges in life got stagnant- wanted to ride the hamster wheel again– despite being in a comfort zone– but i did not want to get into the rat race again-because whether you win or lose does not matter-you will remain a rat at the end - so in my comfort zone where i did not have to worry about the basic amenities in life -time was mine– i had the choice how to spend it – because that is one thing which we think is unlimited–but it is limited. In the capitalistic world we conflate success with the achievement of the extraordinary. Winners are those who achieve the extraordinary, losers are those who do not. The two mindset shifts to escape the trap: It’s not about achieving the extraordinary, it's about finding purpose, joy, and fulfilment in the ordinary along the way. The prize is not the achievement you strive for, but the striving itself. To reach the comfortable zone- ...

God and the sky He paints, and his repertoire of colors, the size of his paintbrush, and the color combinations on his palette are infinite. He paints by drawing the sun across the horizon; he paints by sprinkling the sky with a handful of clouds; afternoon, as usual, is an orphan; it belongs to no one; so he also has a siesta, rising up to paint the evening sky with wonderful hues. and the scene, the hue, everything changes by the seconds—if you have blinked your eye, you are going to miss the symphony. I like the evening sky more than the morning sky—huge molten pots of gold, from yellow to brilliant red—he brings out his whole paintbox. The morning sky is more benign—meditative, still rubbing its eyes as the gentle morning breeze plays with the clouds, arranging and rearranging them like a jigsaw puzzle. While the evening sun before settling down to sleep always sheds a tear at the follies of humans with the promise of a better tomorrow, Clouds come floating into my life, no l...

Literally brewing a storm in a tea cup Make everything simple. I still weed out the condensed milk that settles on top of the freshly brewed hot tea, as I did during my childhood. had a health problem—could not tolerate milk—it was filter coffee for me or nothing—no sugar, no chicory, no milk—pure filter coffee made in South Indian style—the aroma was heavenly—it wafted around every corner of the house—the taste was male, brutal—the effect—all senses fired on all cylinders. The taste and the aftereffects were so addictive that I was sometimes ready to sacrifice my night's sleep after a nice post dinner cuppa . My health got back to normal, and I tried to venture nimbly into the substances I had omitted during my illness—tea and milk. My journey with tea began with the herbal, green, and infusion teas; it required an acquired taste; it was horrible; if you do not want a guest to come back again, it is the best tea to serve; and I have doubts about the healthy benefits that the...

I always felt a distance creep in between me and my patients when I put on my formal dress of a shirt and tie with the doctor's coat on top. The court would put a guard between me and them if they had difficulty coming forth with their anguish and complaints. Changing to scrubs helped—with no mark of identification on you, the interchange became fluid and cordial—more like between friends—and that's when the true history came out—about their disease, their suffering, and how it was affecting them both physically and mentally. It was easy to treat them physically but tough to mend their scarred psyche. It altered my ego also—it just vanished—and it became a pleasure listening to them and helping them out. Although I had a hidden agenda, I believed in karma—the good you do to others comes back to you in a different way, albeit. And it does—the book of debit and credit in life gets balanced in this lifetime. The ease of working with scrubs was heavenly; it was during the COVID ...