prabasiboy
prabasiboy
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Stories of my life - part 2
«on:
06/16/04 at 18:51:30 » |
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It is difficult to keep on with the initial enthusiasm - but encouragements help.
So back to my journey to SMC. I remember I had a red checkered shirt on - the new one from puja. That was month of October - the chill had not set in yet. I always chose red for important occassion - my mom is an avid follower of astrology - she told me that red is good for me. I never was that sure about it but over the years I did find out may be some predictions come true. I remember few years earlier when I was in Class IX, one street-astrologer told my mom that I would definitely plunk in my class and loose a year soon . I thought that was beyond any realm of possibility - here I was a topper in my class, being groomed for a 'within 10' spot in mmy classs X exam - and me loosing a year! but sadly I did loose a year like everybody else because that stupid Assam agitation, - I would never forgive those morons in the assam valley. I still carry very inappropriate anti-assamese feelings - thats just something that would not be ever erased.
Anyway, after the bumpy bus ride - I debused at the SMC gate. In those there was really no gate - a series of shanty shops selling cigarettes and pan. I remember I was a little unsure of myself and felt a little pang of frustation. I had planned for at least 2 years for this date and time - fantasizing about walking proudly through the gates of a real big institution like the All India institute of MedicaL Sciences or the AFMC to get inducted in to the noblest profession of our society and here I was in front of the gates of SMC - a third rate medical college in the country. I had spent so many sleepless nights trying to complete the lessons of brilliant tutorials to get ready for the entrance exams, so many times I have gotten in to struggles with the dwarfy librarian at the GC college library trying to borrow the extra refrence book; so many times I have walked away when my friends would spend hours at the GC college Badminton court during the winter social week trying to draw some attention from the equally eager females. But alas , the fact of the matter was that I could not get through any of those entrance exams - and I had to take my only opportunity at my SMC. So I solaced myself bracing SMC as my ulma mater - a poor and no so sought after mother but a mother after all.
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silcharor_maiya
silcharor_maiya
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Re: Stories of my life - part 2
«on:
06/16/04 at 19:08:14 » |
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dada
it would be better apne jodi ek topic er modhdhyei continue koroin karon its very difficult to trace it otherwise as to where exactly aami last porat aaslam..so please same topic o reply koroin je instead of opening a new topic everytime/reader er point of view thakia koilam :)
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bokka
bokka
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Re: Stories of my life - part 2
«on:
06/16/04 at 21:27:37 » |
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Maiya goe.. thik koiso.... aamio tomago loge ekmat...
To Prabasidada, aapne bare bare natun thread khuloin na jen... bujhchoin ni... Ta aapner lekhada poriya besh bhalau lagchhe... aaro lekhoin jen.... |
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prabasiboy
prabasiboy
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Re: Stories of my life - part 2
«on:
06/16/04 at 23:56:11 » |
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Here I am again - now I know about threads vis a vis new starts.
The story line is getting a little blurred. It is really difficult to remain objective and narrate the facts and the fiction in a concise matter and keep to the point. Why would you guys want to know about MY story . I am sure everybody has their own - big deal! I guess than impulse to tell is more deep than it seems. Its always good to look back and reminsice - gives one perspective.
During my drive to and fro work, these days I am listening to an audiobook - its about Krakatoa and its eruption way back in 1883. In the book amongst lot of geological points , I was surprised to learn that our own Barak river apparently is one of the oldest river basin lying over a transcontinental ridge that is apparently a telling proof of the fact of continental drift. I never knew that.In deed there are things that you donot know about yourself. So in the first class of my first day in SMC as we waited for our chemistry Miss to turn up ( small lymphocyte never did show up - that was her nick name -with no disrespect meant lymphocytes are one of the omnipresent blodd cells ; the dimensional reference is with respect to her collegue who was considerably more obese), we started making friends. Friends who would be with you for more than 5 years at the least, with whom you will learn the most intimate and sacred of all knowledge - about disease and death. Friends who will know you inside out.
In our class, there were more than 40% female students - most of them were from outside Silchar. Many of them were Bengali but would not know or speak Syletti. Some of them were outgoing, open and some were shy and introvert. Some of them were very rich with fathers working in high positions. Most were quite bright - in average brighter than the boys.
So there she was - one of the ring leaders in a boisterous group of outstation girls. They were obviously smarter than us - and frankly it was quite an experience to eye them from distance. They were incessantly chattering in funky english, often complaining about things in Silchar that we always took for granted. There was a boy from Bombay who could speak well in Hinglish and was immediately very ppoular with the girls. In our batch the boys in general had three classess of intelligence so to say: one group like us ; local reasonably bright who came to SMC by choice - would not go to other medical college in Assam being Bengali, then there were a group who came to SMC because they were at the last of the list - they were in general dumb. A hetrogenmous out of state boys who were coming in quota - they really brought in the spice in SMC. A lot more like the REC guys.
I need to give her a name - say M for memory. So for some reason I liked M instantly. She was a little mischevious; also she was someone who could make you feel important. I do not remember what she wore - surely a saree in decent color - she was not very tall, less than fair complexion, well-endowed. with a pigtail. I do not remember what my first words to her but I remember she said that she knew that was very good in studies (probably because she saw my name at the top of the selection list). Then we talked about ragging, the new schedule, dissection room, the need to get white coats made. There was no class so some of us walked over to the Paul's restaurant had poori and tea. I noted she was bitching quite a bit about the hygiene already - come on I told her this is Silchar not London or not even Shillong. She showed mock rage.
At the end of the session _ I paid for it (I was already nmentally subtracting Rs. 30 from my fast dwindling 450 for that month). I remember she turned with a shake of her head with mischief in her eyes and said that is not a good start - you will be paying each time I go out with you!. My heart stopped beating for a skip. That evening I tried hard to avoid paying for the return citibus fare back to town. i barely slept that night.
So I left SMC after 4 and half years in my ever westerly sojourn. I remember she along with the whole class came in to the Railway station to see me off that afternoon. She was in a bright red saree - she said stay in touch and I said do remember me.
One and half years later when I cam back to get my degree papers from SMC, I ran in to her in Paul's restaurant: she was sitting with her boyfriend (who was 1 year senior to us, was a syletti and I always considered him to be a little sheepish). We said hello, she casually mentioned that they were planning to get married before they move out of SMC - I too mentioned that I am about to get engajed in Delhi which was completely untrue. We gossipped a little and reminded her as always I should pay but unexpectedly Paulda waived us off - after all old patrons. We parted.
Post script: Almost every other month I do a google on her - I found she works in a small town in upper Assam, happily (I guess) married with kids. I wonder should I send her anonymous card - let her know I am still in her life and will ever be.
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Debabrata
debabrata
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Re: Stories of my life - part 2
«on:
07/10/04 at 18:35:20 » |
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what happend ?? No new post from ur side..we would like to hear more from u... plz come up with some nice stuff... |
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prabasiboy
prabasiboy
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Re: Stories of my life - part 2
«on:
07/13/04 at 00:24:17 » |
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So back on popular (!) demand.
Its about 5 PM. It has been a good day so far. I had to make rounds in the hospital with my fellow - required brief notes to write. Agree with her finding and blah blah...... My current fellow is second generation Indian. Very smart - I really feel good when I see Indians doing so good. Intelligence in the genes. Brain drain vs. Brain gain.
So let me tell you a story about the SMC emergence room, I was there as the new third year student - fresh from the anatomy classes, taking care of the living real people. A new found importance and gravity with the cheapest steth from the Allied store in Shillongpatty - a raving red one which was on sale hung proudly aoround the shoulder. So the dada house officer is out for his habitual tea - gossiping with the good looking nurse whom he ultimateltely married and settled in some PHC in Karimganj area. So Im in second charge with the emergency room. - my superviser is a fourth year girl from Shillong - I was not very particularly comfortable in her presence - had she been not my senior I could have liked her - but the 'semester' gap was too much to overcome in such a closed community. She was again from shillong, smart, curt and pretended to know a lot although with my 3rd year enthusiam I was by far more knoweledgable. She was also the lady representative from the ladies hostel and could potentially be a good contact. So I was playing the second fiddle.
A man walks in -diabetic and other sicknesses including alcohol, malnutrition, possible TB and appears to be sick. In a lungi, looks and behaves like a rickshaw puller. Dishevelled. i take the history - some doc near fatakbazar told him that he has sugar disease (diabetes) prescribed him insulin - he took for few weeks and ran out of money. Does not take anything for now. Has been throwing up, belly pain. My diagnosis: Type I Maturity onset diabetes of young (MODY) in diabetic ketoacidosis needs admission, IV fluids and IV infusion of insulin. As I present the case to her, she goes near him, makes a face and says the guy stinks of alcohol. I rush to explain that this is classic case of ketosis with a ketotic sweet smell of all the acetone his uncontrolled diabetes is making inside him - he is SICK - didi please - admit him its written in Harrison classical presentation. I get overruled - must listen to the boss. So I discharge him : plenty of fluids follow up in Medical OPD tomorrow. I snarl internally at Didi, the patient tells me he is so hungry ( I know this is diabetic craving - he probbaly has not eaten anything because of the vomiting) So I give him 6 bucks and tell him to get something to eat - prefrably liquid.
Next day morning I am back at the emergency room -my omniscient snob Didi is back too . Cops bring in a deadbody -my patient now DOA, dead on arrival, story : found near the Durgabari in a country liquor shop was drinking, then got out and collapsed - was found dead in the morning. Police check : only six bucks in the pocket, biri, and my discharge instructions. I cried internally _ Didi was right - diabetic ketoacidosis my foot. Just a plain alcoholic.
Didi took me out to Paul's restaurant for tea - nice and triamuphant and with a hand acroos my back she said that I should not have given the money - was she trying to tell me that I was the proximate cause of his death - Her hand across my back felt heavy more like a slap (in another time - I would haver liked it!). I felt sour in my mouth.
Next monthas I go in to the Forensic Medicine for our class, the typed death certificate : Aspiration, shock secondary to severe ketoacidosis. alcohol in stomach I feel elated - I was right 100%. The b*i*c* did not know what she should.
I finished rounding today thinking about 96 year old lady who is in advanced dementia but the family wants a full work up : lets get a PET scan, MRI, all labs- go full steam ahead. Not my money. I gave up my socialist feelings long time back - if you do not have money then do not be sick |
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