Tag Archives: Women empowerment

Victim? Dr. Reena’s story

Victim? Dr. Reena’s story

© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

“I am being victimised, Sir! I have tried to do my best, but my senior has developed some prejudice against me and has started to find faults with everything I do. I don’t know, I feel suicidal sometimes” the resident doctor Reena said, breaking down. She was into medicine, one of the toughest branches for post graduation.

This was a difficult situation. It is very well known that some seniors and teachers do take advantage of the situation to mistreat and misuse their students or subordinates. It is also well known that both men and women in every profession, including medicine, have strong gender biases and favouritism. Sycophancy is so essential in India, that I wonder sometimes whether an official bachelors / masters “Chamchagiri” (sycophancy) certificate will be necessary before people are selected for their jobs.

I gave her some instructions to ignore words and minor incidences, and concentrate on doing her official duties with concentration. I also counselled her about how to handle egoistic, arrogant seniors. She was supposed to follow up next week.

That weekend, I met a colleague of mine, Dr. Anand, in the coffee shop. There was no OPD, it being a Sunday. We sipped coffee in the canteen, telling each other funny stuff about other colleagues. Medicine provides great entertainment too, in the form of various types of doctors, and we start with ourselves usually. © Dr. Rajas Deshpande

Just then, another doctor came in, Dr. Anand invited him to join us and introduced me to him as Dr. Ashwin. “Ashwin was my junior resident” said Dr. Anand, “and one of the most brilliant students. He’s a wiz. He wanted to work for the downtrodden, so he has continued to work at the govt. hospital after his MD. Most dedicated! That’s why most girls around us liked him and we all envied him”. It is rare for Anand to praise someone this much, I was quite impressed and happy.

But Dr. Ashwin appeared quite disturbed. Dr. Anand asked him if he was ok.

“No, yaar. I am facing a big problem. There’s this girl in my unit, who has made my life hell. She has filed complaints against me to the dean, my name is all mud”.

“Complain against you?” said Dr. Anand, truly surprised “Even your wife never complains against you”. He was trying to lighten up the mood. © Dr. Rajas Deshpande

“Yes. But you know how heavy our PG duties are. This girl, besides being lousy and careless, refuses to finish her work, constantly looks at the watch and doesn’t want to be corrected. How can we tolerate carelessness in medicine? There are patients in the ICU and this lady keeps busy with her cellphone! I gave her a warning that I will complain, but instead, she went ahead and complained that I was harassing her, implying serious charges. Fortunately my wife and the dean understand the situation, but you know some people in the campus would rather see me down. I don’t know what to do. I am thinking of resigning”.

“Can you share her name?” I asked, cautiously. The guess was correct. It indeed was Dr. Reena.

“I tried to talk to her, I requested her to call her parents. Apparently she has grown up as a pampered child, her parents refuse to even think that she can be wrong. They started complaining that their daughter didn’t get enough rest and good food, that she has always been a super genius kid and how many a times even her teachers could not understand her genius”.

Now the picture was clear, with the other side of the story revealed.

There indeed is, nowadays, a rampant tendency to play a victim, especially to cover up for one’s own failures, inadequacies and lethargy. Children who allege that their failures are either because of their parents being over disciplined or completely negligent, boys who hate their parents and refuse accepting that they fell short of hard work and dedication because of too many diversions, girls who sometimes lie about “sexual abuse”, and employees who underperform only to blame it upon a racist / pervert / prejudiced boss are classical examples when stress factors are analysed well. There was one girl who alleged abuse by her step father, just to tell me minutes later that it was probably her imagination, and that she didn’t know if it was a dream! It was her mother who then revealed that the girl had always used that ‘dream reality’ sequence whenever she wanted something and was refused. © Dr. Rajas Deshpande

There indeed is rampant true victimisation in all these areas, and one must always stand by the victim. But the overflow of sympathy that drowns sense and reasoning (thank you, media and some movies!) must always be avoided. Differentiating ‘true’ and ‘pseudo’ victims is never easy especially because there always will be the social biases. Most Indian men unfortunately truly look down upon women, most seniors think that juniors cannot be more intelligent, parents often mentally overpower logic when dealing with kids etc.. Still there indeed are many who hide behind the “victim” tag, just to take advantage of the sympathy and protection it offers, using it to hide their own negative side. A lot of people use suicide threats, false complaints and other pressure tactics to emotionally exploit and threaten others. When this happens in a workplace, it poisons the whole atmosphere. There is indeed no protection for the true victims here.

Next time when Dr. Reena came to visit, I told her how I chanced upon the doctor who was “troubling” her. As expected, she cried and defended her stance, but after some gentle coaxing, when I reiterated that the actual problem must be dealt with, she agreed to have a meeting with Dr. Ashwin. I called in a female counsellor too, and in a few meetings, we could sort out the issue.

Medical career is, difficult, it is important to do every single thing perfectly and with utmost care and concentration. No one else can ever replace the life-saving responsibility of a doctor on duty. A doctor who isn’t fully attentive to everything about every patient can be dangerous.

Dr. Reena agreed to go by the duties allotted and improve her performance, while Dr. Ashwin reassured her that he had nothing personal against her, that she could always compare her duties and performance with her other batchmates. He also told her that now onwards he will mind his words better. She withdrew the complaint.

Dedicated to those such who have had this horrible experience.

© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

Please share unedited

The Sacred Duty of A Man

sacred

The Sacred Duty of A Man

© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

One night after the ward rounds, just as I left the hospital, I received an urgent call. The patient, a lady in her late 50s, had become comatose. She was admitted three days ago under a colleague for bleeding in the left side of her brain, that had caused right sided paralysis. She was drowsy since admission, but that day she had some vomitings and then became deeply unconscious.

She was already in the ICU. The most common reasons for drowsiness in admitted population above 50 years of age is either medicines or low sodium levels. Her sodium was very low, we started the treatment.

Her elderly husband walked up to me as I came out of the ICU. Extremely worried, but still maintaining his calm, he asked me “Will my wife be okay?”

I explained him the situation, and reassured him that though there was no threat to her life then, the recovery from paralysis was unpredictable.

“That is okay doctor, but she must survive. We don’t have any children, she has looked after me all her life. I will do anything for her” he said with a heavy voice.

They came from a village 5 hours away from Pune. Mr. Arvind Gandhi was a retired pharmacist, surviving on his savings, with his wife Mrs. Aparna, till this calamity hit them.

That was four years ago.

Since then, he became her complete attendant and caretaker. He took care of her in that bedridden state for over a year, cleaning her and feeding her many times every day. He took her regularly every day for physiotherapy, and brought her for consultation to Pune as frequently as required. He learnt taking care of home, cooking, housekeeping etc., and never shied from the medical expenses although his sources were limited. Thanks to his extreme dedication to her care and extraordinary will power, Mrs Aparna Gandhi has now recovered enough to independently carry out her daily routine, and also helps her husband in cooking and other tasks.

“When I saw my wife in that condition, I was heartbroken. Then I thought, it is my duty as a man to fight for and take care of the woman I married. I changed overnight and decided to win this situation rather than giving up or asking for help”. Mr. Arvind said today when they followed up.

“Looking at his dedication and love for me, and his effort to make me recover, I developed a willpower too, and decided to recover and take care of him again” his wife replied with a smile.

As doctors we commonly see that many men treat their wife and her health problems as ‘not so important” issues. Many in fact drop their wife to her parents’, to be treated and sent back after the ‘repair’. Many take it for granted that the lady’s parents should pay for all her medical expenses even after years of marriage. In fact, many even compel their sick wives to continue with cooking, housekeeping etc. shamelessly claiming that there is no option. There are no laws about any of these.

We also come across such rare ones like Mr. Arvind Gandhi, who fight with the fate with all they have with the simple yet golden mentality of caring for the woman who cares for them. All men are thankfully not the same, and there indeed are simple and humble men like Mr. Arvind Gandhi who set examples of what a man should be. In the growing market of meaty and arty men flaunting everything except culture and kindness, these examples are easily drowned. Hence this article.

While many pundits fight for the correct definitions of life and love, let us congratulate Mr. Arvind and Mrs. Aparna Gandhi for their extraordinary struggle, willpower and the victory.

©. Dr. Rajas Deshpande

PS:

Thank you Mr. & Mrs. Gandhi for permission to share this story.

Please share unedited.

“Housewife, or Outwife?”

“Housewife, or Outwife?”
© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

“Isn’t your wife working? She must not waste her education.. She has such good opportunity..” he asked.
“Yes, she is planning to, but after the baby is at least three months old. We have taken alternate leaves. What about your wife?” I asked. I knew his wife was a qualified postgraduate doctor.
“Oh she wants to stay at home and look after the kids. There is no one else at our home to take care of the kids. My mom has knee pain. She feels that once the kids grow up to 10 years, then my wife should join duty. I said okay, anyways I am earning enough!” he replied.
“Then why did you ask about the waste of my wife’s education?” I thought, but didn’t ask. I was used to these questions.

Although a single now, I was once married. My parents had gracefully lived like friends till my father passed away, so there always was a culture of true equality without any “culturally sweetened” excuses at our home. “If at all there has to be a preference, and you two disagree, prefer what your wife wants” my father always insisted. So naturally she studied and worked as she wanted, made her choices. There were no discussions about superiority, neither any hidden rules of dominance at our place. This has a compromise: when both are equal, and there is no “dominance”, fights/ arguments over differences increase. Still this was any day better than a traditionally hidden slavery system.© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

But there were these friends, relatives and strangers, who kept on continuing the evergreen Indian business of “frankly poking their noses” in our affairs. From advice about what to eat to when to have children, they all had individualised suggestions for us, notwithstanding the knowledge that we were both qualified doctors!

One of my uncles was famous for spending his whole life at home before and after work reclining in a sofa. His day started with shifting himself from his bed to the sofa, ordering his wife to ‘paste his brush’, make tea, heat up water for his bath, keep his towel in the bathroom (all this while he read newspapers or watched TV), keep his office clothes ready, make his favourite dishes for breakfast, tiffin and dinner every day, and telling her and everyone else how much he loved her. Although she was an art graduate and sung well, she didn’t get any time for herself beyond his chores and raising the four kids. As aunty herself smilingly said she enjoyed doing all this, other working women in the family kept on speaking about her in ‘belittling’ words, of her being lucky to be ‘just a housewife’. Every other day, uncle’s friends came home for dinner / drinks / card games etc., and aunty kept serving their culinary wishes.© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

This very uncle was once chatting with me at a marriage ceremony. My grandma sent some tea with my wife to the room where I sat with this uncle and many guests, most strangers. As she handed over the tea to me, my uncle, in a ‘classified diplomatic high volume” voice, started: “Rajas, she is a doctor. She is equally educated as you. How can you ask her to make tea for you and bring it? Is she your slave? You must treat her as your equal”. As the whole room and over 40 eyes stared derogatory at me, I expected her to reply, but someone called her and she left.

I was reluctant, but one must never give up the wars for dignity.
“Why should she be a slave even if she is less educated or even uneducated?” I asked him. “Do you mean to say that a differently educated woman is doomed to be a slave? Why must your wife cook for you? Why must she be responsible for everything from your clothes to cleaning of the house to raising the kids, while you order her like a personal assistant? I have never even seen you getting a glass of water for yourself” I retorted. The ‘seniors’ in the room interfered, reminding me that this was not the way to ‘answer back’ an uncle.

Years passed by. We divorced. Kids with me, and an ever demanding career of a specialist doctor, I realised further more how difficult it is to attend to the house chores alone. From handling groceries, maids to schooling, how insufficient it is to have only two hands and only 24 hours. God helped, and I have survived.

This caused one definite change in my practice. While asking women the history, we were trained to ask “Are you working or not”? (and the usual answer used to be “No, I don’t work, I’m just a housewife”). Now I ask “Do you work only at home or also outside?” . Because I know the housewife works far more than the workwife, but without any remuneration or respect. The job of successfully growing up children is any day over and above any other!© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

“Someone has to look after the family. I can earn and provide as much as she wants. I give her whatever she wants. She has to choose a career with lesser responsibility, so someone is available for kids. She loves taking care of me and the children. This is our tradition, our culture. Men hunt, women nest”. There are so many sweet excuses of murdering a woman’s career! Well what most men hunt are women’s dreams and where most women nest are prisons with golden walls. The immense clever deceptive wordplay that goes into hiding the simple truth “I think women should look after home and live a secondary life while men have a free will” is amazingly accepted by even the best talented men in our society!

Be it doctors or any other profession, a “lesser career” for a woman is taken for granted by those who claim to love her.

“She should be happy about it: she has to just sit at home and enjoy, while I do all the hard work” said the national level director of a telecom project.

The second side: “I like doing it for my family” some women say, and if they do, how perfect it must feel!© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

It is not my business what others decide among themselves. But when people who “encage” their wives in the confines of a home start talking diplomatically about gender equality or why other people’s beautiful and able wives must start working etc., when they flirt with their officemates / colleagues while expecting wifey dear to keep dinner ready when they “return tired”, I cannot stop reacting without a sizzle in my words.

There are no easy answers for the ritualistic mindsets though.

One of my patients suffered with a very bad form of Parkinsonism, and was bed-bound for over five years. His perfectly healthy wife once broke down. “I have taken care of this man since the first day of our marriage, done everything he wanted. He was always busy, day and even many a night, outside the house, I have always been lonely all through so many years. I used to pray to God that I get some good time with him. The thought of making any friends, some other man never touched me. But he never talked to me about love. Never realised I was burning inside for true friendship with him. Now he is home all the time and wants me never to leave his bedside. But now I am tired. Now I clean him, feed him and just think: what had I done wrong to deserve this kind of a punishment?”.
When he passed away, we heard two reactions: “He is now relieved of his pain” and “She is now relieved of having to take his care”. What no one spoke was about the loveless, friendless 50 years of a woman’s life.

“You are so brilliant, hard working and yes, beautiful ,” said a senior professor, to a bombesque colleague friend of mine, gently patting upon her back, “you must make a great career.. Do let me know if you have any problems, I have many connections”. “Yes, Sir, may I ask what madam (your wife) does? Is she a doctor too?” asked my friend. “No, she stopped after MBBS. We married early, you see!” he replied.

Later that evening, as we sat at Nariman Point watching the sea, I asked her opinion about what the professor had said.
The breezes were noisy, and so was the sea, but the single word that she used for him made a hundred red faces turn towards us.
© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

Abyss, c/o my country.

 

© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

Bruises everywhere, black, blue, purple, red and swollen. Especially groins, buttocks, thighs, breasts, back, neck and face. One cut on the forehead. Dried blood on lips.
She was sobbing, speaking in a muffled voice: “Can you imagine they beat up a woman like this?”

Single postgraduate woman, staying alone in a metropolis, in a building near the police station. Operated for a brain tumor, on medicines, occasionally gets spells of abnormal behavior and symptoms like staring, imbalance, speech arrest, slurring or passing out. Disowned by family because she had fallen in love outside their caste. The guy later abandoned her, married in his own tribe.
She is jumping jobs, never accepted for long at one place when they realize she gets such spells. Being young, tall, beautiful and fluent in English, she usually gets too much attention from men. She quit some jobs because her bosses made advances.

She often faced lewd comments and received “offers” from men in and around her society, whenever they found her alone on the stairs , elevator etc. Her angry responses and retorts offended many. Her “seizures” or blank spells were thought to be ‘witchcraft’. Her window panes were broken down, the landlord refused to help, asking her to leave. She could see faces in her windows at all times, especially at night.

Once when a local lady politician’s husband tried to hold her hand, she slapped him, unable to control anger. Within a few minutes, the politician, along with some other women and men, mobbed her flat. She ran out.

There in the open area outside society building, they all beat her up : grown up men and women together, alleging her of witchcraft, of theft, of ‘stealing their men’, of ‘luring men and children’ etc. This continued for about twenty minutes.
She limped to the police station. She was arrested as someone had just registered a complaint against her. The mob reached the police station with the politico, who alleged her of theft, violence and use of foul language. She was taken to the government hospital, After dressing her wounds and splinting her hand, she was locked up. Released next morning with a warning.

She had come to the our hospital next morning, asking for a new prescription as she was scared to go to her own apartment.

After the nurse offered her water and a tissues, I examined her. The wound mark of the brain tumor surgery was not affected, but there were bruises around it.

“Did you have vomiting? Did you become unconscious?” I asked.
“No, but my body is aching everywhere. I don’t have any money left, you had told me not to miss any doses of antiepileptics. So I am here”.
I offered her free admission in the hospital (My boss usually helps). She refused. She also refused to do any tests or to let me call her brother living in a nearby town.
“If he didn’t understand my love, he won’t understand my pain” she said, “ I will leave this city in a short while, that politico lady has threatened me with more thrashing if I am seen around again”.

As we arranged for the medicines for her, she sat there, hands around her legs, intense anger in eyes, chin resting upon the knees, her sobs shaking our faith in humanity.

On the day prior to her major brain surgery, she had said “Doc I am not afraid of death at all, it is people who scare me.” I understood it now.

We all are grown up with almost similar training: that civilized men never hit women. Our parents, teachers all always taught us the same thing. Where does it all vanish? How is it possible to kick the delicate parts of a woman, knowing that it will inflict agonies worse than death? The men and women who beat her up were almost all from a middleclass society, at least half must have been educated. In a country that worships so many goddesses, how can women be treated like this by mobs? Every single woman, whether normal or suffering from mental or physical illness, risks lust and violence even among the most educated and civilized. Where do we start to stop the mob cultures? Women’s Empowerment has remained caged in the umpteen videos and messages that circulate all over, while women are abused by the “Manly Men” and mobs alike.

The nurse and receptionist packed her some food, a month’s dose of medicines, and we offered to arrange a taxi to drop her home. With single depressed patients, the doctor must always think of a possibility of a suicide. I urged that she please call her brother or mother.

“No thanks Doctor”, she said with the most bitter smile I have seen: “I will not kill myself because people are bad. I want to live and enjoy life. I will go where people will understand and accept my illness… and respect me as a woman”.

She limped away accompanied by her own sobs.
I wondered for many a restless nights: where can she go?

© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

A Mother who killed the Wife

A Mother who killed the Wife
© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

“He is angry with us, doctor. He refuses to recognize us, even his parents and children sometimes. It was all my fault, I fought with him so many times over small things. I have said sorry so many times now.. But he is not ready to talk again like he did.. Some doctors said he is in shock, some advised psychiatric treatment. We did all we were told, but he is worse by the day. Please bring him back, doctor!” said the extremely depressed and tearful middle-aged lady. In her lap was a five year old daughter, seated behind her were her in-laws (patient’s parents) and her elder child, a 9 year old boy. My professor was listening carefully, and we Neurology residents were juggling possibilities in our minds.

I was assigned the work-up of this case. After a week-long evaluation and opinions of some senior neurologists in Mumbai, it was concluded that he was an exceptional case of early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. The patient Mr. Bhooshan, an electrical engineer, was about 39 years old then.

Every morning that I entered the ward, I found his wife begging him to forgive her and talk normally again, he looked at her blankly, often irritated and with a questioning face. She would bring the kids to him every evening, and prod them to talk to him, crack jokes, and in general “get him to talk”. He would occasionally call them near himself, pat them, then suddenly vanish mentally from the scene. He sometimes asked his wife about them by names, but didn’t always recall the names accurately. Somehow, children sense moods excellently. They tend to know when a parent is disinterested / hurt / tired or ‘just not there’. These kids did whatever their mother suggested, but they were ok with just sitting by his side, in his lap, holding his hand.

I never saw his aging parents without teary eyes that begged for relief from this hell.

We have different memory areas in brain for sights, smells, words etc., as well as disciplined cascades of time-based memories in our mind. A large part of this is what we call the “Past”. Hidden therein is also our knowledge of ourselves: Name, Birth, Family, Culture, Religion, Education, Friends, Nature, everything that makes someone’s personality unique.

Imagine losing parts of this memory. Imagine not knowing who you are. Imagine being lost “Inside” your own mind. Then also imagine ‘not even knowing that you are lost’. It is only initially that the patient knows and cares about such loss of memory. Unlike dramatic depictions of “violent anger because of forgetting things” in some unstudied movies, patients usually also lose their concern / insight about what is happening to them.

There is a point of no return in the mental / cognitive decline in patients with dementia / memory loss, comparable only to the death of one’s mind as one knows it. Scary.

Relevant medicines were started. There was negligible response.
Mr. Bhooshan gradually became almost blank, and spent most of his day in the bed, often wandering aimlessly and watching windows in the ward. His wife couldn’t come to terms with this. She mostly just sat in a corner, often crying whenever kids visited. Right from Prayers to Herbals, everything that anyone suggested, was being done by the family.

Our counselors talked to her, even prescribed her with mild antidepressants, but she had just collapsed inside.

One evening, I didn’t see her by the patient. Curious, I enquired about her to the patient’s mom who was instead attending him. “Their daughter, the 5 year old, is admitted in the pediatric ward below with high grade fever. She is with her.” replied the old lady.
I went to the pediatric ward after finishing my duty.

I found the kid in bed, weak but comfortable, and smiling. Her mother, the patient’s wife, was telling her funny stories, laughing aloud and imitating comical characters, as she fed the child. Mrs. Bhooshan was a totally different lady then. She talked to me very nicely, without any hint of ‘hiding sorrow’, naturally. The innocent, happy kid invited me to sit by her and share her food.

In two days, the kid was discharged. Her mom had completely changed. She started taking good care of Mr. Bhooshan again, but now with a mysterious peace upon her face, often smiling and mothering her husband too, like her other kids.

Satisfied with the sacrifice that this ’mother’ had made by killing the ‘wife’ within herself, life had smiled upon them again, in the face of an obvious tragedy. They returned home, and she was still nursing him and looking after the kids one year later when I passed my exams and left Mumbai.

Their life had changed, but moved on.
So had mine. I started writing a diary.
Dr. Rajas Deshpande

Come on India, take a selfie with this daughter of yours!

Come on India, take a selfie with this daughter of yours!

© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

“Will I ever win? I feel suicidal.” said the 25 year old orphan with Multiple Sclerosis. In a world drooling over the stories of “10 Richest” or “20 Most Beautiful” women, there’s hardly any scope for noticing an orphan girl who fights alone against an incurable disease.

VS, a dignified young Indian lady, divides her life fighting three wars: living as a single female at a bed-share facility for women, working her job as a receptionist at a nearby clinic that earns her a minor income, and the incurable neurological disease Multiple sclerosis that causes disability at an early age.

“My mother left me at an orphanage when I was 2 years old. She saw me last when I was 3. After that I don’t know anything about her or my father. The orphanage taught me how to survive with wild human beings around. They also helped for my education. I was diagnosed with MS when I was 20. They shifted me to Pune for better climate. Now I am pursuing BA”. VS told me.

“The owner of the orphanage in Pune didn’t know Multiple Sclerosis, and always said I was ‘faking’ my limp and fatigue. She made me do a lot of physical work. I couldn’t. So I left that orphanage”.

She then stayed at various places: a blind school where a volunteer was required, homes of other MS patients who came to know her through MS society, sometimes on the streets and now got a bed share at a dingy, cramped female hostel.

“Whenever I get sick and cannot walk due to MS attack, a local hospital helps me with steroid doses, the MS society gives some medicines free. Sometimes other MS patients pay for my treatment”.

Now she has developed mood swings and depression, common in MS patients especially her age. Naturally, her behavior is intolerable or unacceptable to those who invite her to stay with themselves. Where we cannot tolerate the raised voice and mental fluctuations of our own parents and children, who is trained to shoulder those of an orphan? Who will pause their own life to feel the dying mental pulse of someone who knows that there will be no one to look after her if at all she is crippled, and that there is no cure for her illness yet?

No language in this world can describe Loneliness.

“Some societies help, but they have their rules. The MS society helped me many times. But then, how long can I do this?”

She is now tired. She knows her limp will not improve. She knows free treatments are not the only answer. “I feel suicidal often now, I know things will never be my way. Life will always be at the mercy of someone’s help”.

I told her it is common to feel so in MS, and good treatments and counseling can help most patients.

Her reply left me shut: “Sir, I don’t need that. I plan to fight this with my own mind, for I want to survive without any mental dependence.  Someone should have counseled my mother about how I will feel all my life when I come to know that she dumped me”.

“I wanted to marry and have children. Who will marry me? I know I am beautiful and some men are after me, but none for marrying..”. These are probably the most difficult words for a proud woman to say to anyone, and her eyes clouded red.

As VS broke down in a tearless silence, I fought with a hundred false reassuring words I could say.  I didn’t want to insult her suffering by saying them. A doctor must learn to cry within, still with a smile upon his face.

I remembered the story about Lord Jesus Christ, describing his “Via Dolorosa” (journey of pain), when he had to carry his own cross while being tortured all the way to the site of his own crucifixion.

There are so many patients who know they are going downhill, that they will never return to good life again. No songs of motivation, no thunderous clapping of groups, no shouting of any slogans, no celebrations of their plight will ever cure them. This world is addicted to “superficial temporary relief” in an attempt of “self glorification” at the cost of someone else’s suffering. Real answers are far away.

We are all engaged in shamelessly loving ourselves. So much so, that a country that plans multi-crore space missions in search of new life cannot take care of the “Live” suffering of a young woman existing NOW, here, amongst us! A country proud of 100 crore stars and billion dollar IPLs cannot support its own daughter in suffering.

Come on India, take a selfie with this daughter of yours!

There is no hope for dignity without money.

The new definition of “Orphan” is “poor”.

And these words just screams in a black hole !

God solve this please.

© Dr. Rajas Deshpande

Real story. VS is in Pune, and kindly permitted me to write her story.

RD