Bed 15 — H1Ward.

Bed 15—H1 Ward

The clock ticked…

Against the quietness of the ward it sounded like pounding rather than ticking. Sarvishta looked; there was something about the terminal ICU that was inhumanly human.

H1 bed 15, was an elderly man, a powerful magistrate of his time, with him was his brother, a senior professor, and son, a leading businessman. Sitting very composed was the magistrate’s wife and younger son, all looking rather helpless.

It is quite scary at a point to see, the patriarch, the strength and the navigator of the family story lying helplessly on a bed with tubes connected all around.

Just that afternoon, her husband’s ex-girlfriend Sarasa had called from Chennai.

“Look at the two responses,” Sarvishta’s husband commented, “one hand there is Sarasa, who is very concerned about her father, she was telling me, that she would be flying down to Kenya as schedule and if anything happened to her father, she would have to return. On the other hand is Ajay, his father is on the ventilator, the doctors have given up, he has returned to states and is asking me what to do.”

Sarvishta wanted to ask him, so they are two situations, what do expect them to do, but she was too tired for a full blown discussion. Maybe because he had never been there, the point when you have to accept that mantle, take a decision. Actually she had not really heard the conversation through she wondered what did he expect.

She could empathize with the family at bed H1 or even Ajay, going back and forth, from being so young that the world was not so big, one could see everywhere and then papa was a hero and not a human being, to being so burdened with the choice of letting or hanging on.

When her own father had died she thought the world had crashed, she was drowned in this abysmal sense of loss that she wanted to whimper for everyone to hear, I have lost my father, my world is no longer the same, no more is warmth of the pre-dawn conversation, no more is the 6am call, my safety net has had been removed and I was endangered.  It was at that moment Sarvishta wondered if that was why father was perceived as God, father’s inspired us to measure up, while mothers loved us unconditionally or so it is believed.

Most of us learn to engage with the world outside, from the odd moments our fathers teach us, you know those moments when they are not trying to teach us, we are formed by little scraps of wisdom that we pick up and quilt on to the fabric of our conscience.

She was brought out her musings by the ward sister bringing in coffee, “Doctor, ami Piku bhagitle, the movie has brought out father-daughter tension and bonding so well.”

Sarvishta smiled, “sister ani dhon, cup coffee haad,” looking at professor and his nephew, the younger son had taken his mother home.

While sister went to brew the coffee, she slipped back to memories of her own father, his tears and fears unseen, his love never vocally expressed,yet his care his protection through out her life, to the day she had her morning coffee in his presence.

When in a moment of depression she had tried to end it all, he had held her hands and said,”I know you have done nothing wrong, I know don’t need someone else to tell me that, I know the daughter that I have raised. I fear for you future, not for your character, my love and trust accompanies you no matter where you go, my concerned is you should have that nest to return to.” From then came her moment of recovery.

“Sir,” Sarvishta called handing them the coffee.

It was as if, the coffee took the decision, the Professor who was normally everyone’s strength supported by his nephew, three of them had their coffee in silence.

Sarvishta was back at her father’s,

“Vishy, he is in pain, a person from beyond is calling him, you are the last bondage let him go child.”

The decision had been so painful, holding her father’s hand and telling him, “Papa, I am your daughter I am strong and will survive, you can move on when you are ready.”

A week later he was gone.

“If nothing changes by morning I think we shall take him home,” professor said handing the coffee mug back to her, they sat there in silence a moment of compassion, and strengthening.

The bad influence

“They say I should stay away from you,” I said. “They said you’re not good for me.”
“I’m not,” he said with a wicked smile, “But doesn’t that make it even more fun?”
― Kassandra CrossBlack Magic: New Adult Witchcraft Paranormal Suspence Romance

Ever thought what this being good for some one or being bad for some is all about. Quite often then not I think it more the fear of the umbilical cord cutting, suddenly from supreme reigning who is all knowing the mother’s knowledge bank gets questioned.

Sometimes we fear, that out child might grow beyond us go to another level, and may not be able to accept us, the child might reject us.

There such funny notions and quirks that come to play, like this mother who did not want her daughter to fraternize with her niece because the niece wore lace bra’s and every one knew that girls who wore lace bra’s before marriage were of questionable morality. Today the daughter, and niece are both in their fifties, yet the mother tells her daughter,”Why do you have spend so much of time in conversation with her, you know she is a bad influence.”

When the child gets the first friend from outside the closed circle, the child actually invites another energy, another thought process, and as long as we equip the child with right values the child should do fine.

I know one mother, who insisted that her child was good, and brought up, “properly” but it was the influence of the others he associated with that made him misbehave, the bottom line was,” my book is not botched.”

Probably a more interested question to ask is why did the child choose this friend?

Why does this particular question bother me?

Why does this thinking pattern upset me?

It used to bother me, that every time there was TV sit-com on my daughter would pick up the most moronic character to empathize with, and it would upset me no end. the entire thing surfaced a day ago when someone told me, that I was “wile, unfunny and not in the least bit clever” that was when I caught myself, that was my inner child, being less intelligent… and hey presto the inner child popped, not being good enough…. most mothers are probably dealing with the same issue, though we all wrap in up in our protective, righteous or moralistic wrappers,

Not that the monsters of peer pressure and teenage experimenting does not exist, not that negative influence is not around, but it may not be as big a bogey as we feel. Since most of us feel only when the child thinks differently from us. we have to find the other to blame.

I remember telling an aunt this, if anyone says, I am responsible for her child’s bad behaviour I would thank her, because, no mother accepts that her child is easily influenced, if I  can get someone to choose something over the strong upbringing she has given that makes me so much more powerful!!

“The only people you have to look out for in life are the people that don’t care about anything or anyone. These are the people that end up teaching your children.”
Shannon L. Alder


Ps— i donot know why this piece insists on being written. Everyone is welcome to take potshots.

Walking into the sunset

Listen well while I tell you a story

Of a boy and girl in the spring

When the first flowers bloom into glory

Every bird begins to sing…

I am talking of the eighties, the baby boomers, girls taking up careers was accepted in the middle class families, and when I say careers, I mean courses like engineering for girls had become acceptable,

Long hours, crazy schedules, girls then were out to prove they were not fragile, they could handle work the night out like the boys did, it was a time of huge shifts in energies, suddenly people with high hormone levels were put in the same space.

There were intellectual bonding, physical experiments and God Knows what else, the original generation of hell raisers, Rhonda was one of the first girls to ride a bike, and carry a back pack, before backpack became establishment, now that it has Rhonda’s personal statement is a stylish handbag

It is strange despite the fact that choosing your own partner was no longer a taboo, the girl who married mama’s choice of course got the golden halo.

Amidst this wonderful scenario, refusing to marry half dozen of her classmates who proposed to her to be frank between you and me, it must have been sheer fright… Rhonda ran away to a town where she was anonymous or so she thought.

In the bustling department of endodontics, there was the head of the department, and Rhonda being the intern was the tail end, in between two junior doctors and two nurses to assist. Guess what, august 10th the department had a drone attack of conjunctivitis most of the junior doctors down with red swollen eyes that the medical superintendent drove them right back to their quarters, which left the Head and the tail in the department to deal with twelve appointments.

“Doc, I will take the patients that I can and we shall reschedule the rest.”

When the boss says something the minions obey,

As the nurse set the operating table, presto… emergency… a young man with absolutely swollen cheek and splinter embedded, since this above the intern level of expertise, the big man dealt with it, and Rhonda to deal with rest until he finished the emergency… behold the nature’s bounty the next one with the front tooth swollen, now the big man tells gets the tail end to attend to it, without no word whatsoever to the reception that was the epithet for what is glamorously called patient care or public relations today.

Eleven thirty the nurses are changing the trays and a young man with ochre blazer and corduroy jeans turns up,

“Excuse me… do you have a watch”


“Do you know how to see the time?”

The voice was very sarcastic, “yes why”

“well, it is nearing 12 and I had an appointment for 10 am,” with the PMT and everything happening that was the last straw, Rhonda was almost in tears….that seem to soften the guy the nurse spoke to him apologized and rescheduled the appointment.

A week later Rhonda meets Mr. Ocher Blazer again,

Three Root Canals and a year later they were married.

Twenty five years and two children later, Mr. Ocher Blazer and Rhonda live on different planets individually together.

“This blogathon is supported by Woo, The most popular match making app in India with a base of over 3.5 million users.”




saturday night market (4)Yup, I am talking economy of emotions, finance, and a feeling of empowerment.

I am just recuperating from listening to a whining session of how things are expensive, how her then separated now deceased husband has left her stranded, honestly I find it difficult to be considerate here, if your bank balance is 1000/- you need to buy food, and I don’t see the logic in blowing up 750/- for inner wear. Maybe I am being insensitive here, but I think it is essential stop playing victim and equip ourselves to face the situation.

The choice of Jaywalking to the mall or creating peace is with us. it is great to Declutter homes and lives.

My mom worked on a monthly budget, while grandma worked on a weekly one,  the menu would be roughly drawn for the month. Now that my mom is seventy-two and sometimes does not like going out to shop, I do it online with her, again have just tweaked her rules,

  • Plan your meals, before going to the grocery store, she is particular even online we use grocery store only… I do cheat and peak at or, but by and large we go to or other grocery store.
  • Clean the refrigerator and check stock before making your list.
  • Shop with a shopping list, this is kind of the best financial friend. It produces focused shoppers and stops us from mindless browsing which eats into our time.
  • To compare prices, the catalogs and internet pop-ups render me cold, so I shut them all down and stick to two shops. Bigbasket and Amazon
  • There is no question of lugging kids, to the online market, that is one respite.
  • Discounts and sales do not really count if the purchase is made on credit card, as the interest rate eats up the saving. So any shopping, particularly books and artefacts, or electronic gadgets here is what I dosaturday night market (1)
    • Do I need your?
    • Do i love you?
    • Do I have a place for you?
    • How long before I fling you?
    • Do I have another one of you?
  • If cash on delivery option is available I use the cash on delivery option as it allows me to account for it immediately, if I do use debit card I do an entry immediately.
  • I do a boogie fling before hitting the purchase button. No matter how enticing the offer I do not buy it unless I really need it. I use an online control journal, and I note the receipt immediately so I know how much I have spent.

I have also slotted a day in the week when I do the shopping, for non grocery, like clothes, or electronics, or books. The grocery shopping once a month, two lists one for my mother and one for me.zense (2)

When it comes to major purchases we do look up user reviews, but again the information available is too vast. is an interesting place to check out when you are buying electronic goods, you could actually go to the website and check it out. I tried choosing a mobile and it did work quite well. AspectWise also allows you to compare restaurants, hotels, home electronics.

Happy shopping stay economically healthy and empowered.


Second Time Round

Dr.Kasturi Nayak who saved my baby.

Miracles do happen, and Grandmothers, are the guardian angels of their grand-daughters.

If my second daughter is all popular young lady today, I have my gynaecologist Dr.Kasturi Nayak to thank, I had gone for my monthly check up just before we left for the parking slot, she said let me listen to my grandbaby and she heard the foetal beats drop,  it was an emergency she had me wheeled to the labour theatre and helped my little brat to emerge.

The seventh month was rather amusing, because the baby within, would begin to kick precisely at 12.15 and continue to do so until she heard the older child’s voice. And she would flip in the exact direction from which my older daughter spoke.

One day I heard a serious conversation between my four year old and my friends five year old, both of us were expecting our second kids, my daughter had her Barbie in carry bag, with a vacuum cleaner tube inserted , she was explaining to my friends daughter how the baby was eating.

When I had a second baby, my older one was quite comfortable, as she wanted a sibling. She had decided a name, for a brother and a name for a sister.

Over the years, I have learnt some truths, about bringing up more than one child.

Siblings Now I love her Now I don’t
  1. Love for the second child is not as much as the first definitely not; the second child is just as precious as the first born.
  2. The love for the first diminishes – well this does not happen though the power of expression might be less. Somewhere the first child has not seen the parent’s lover him/her so the impression of being less loved does come. I always made it a point to tell my daughter her antics.
  3. Your work will double—myth the work load increases multi-fold, not only are we dealing with two different sets of need three different food tracks, three sleep patterns, mountain of wash load catnaps and hot doas are history.
  4. With the second we are more experienced… hello have you heard of individuality. Try asking the kids for a menu, they will give the exact opposite of one another. Each child has their own milestone and their own way of easing their way into life. Comparisons do happen, and it is great to share it with the older one, that way the older child feels part of the family.
  5. I developed one sensor with the first child and the second one with the second child.
  6. We thought we would have fewer pictures of the younger one, but interestingly we landed up more pictures of the younger one, of course, there albums of pictures of both my pretty daughters.
  7. We do play favourites; the favourite of the day is the one who makes that day easier.
  8. Siblings are rivals and playmates rolled in one, with first we become parents with the second we become referees. They cannot do with each other, neither can do without.
image courtesy google images.

Being a mother is not about birthing a child into the world, rather it is about repeatedly birthing into the child’ a steady sense of their inestimable worth, a prized understanding of their authentic self, a conviction that the impossible is largely the stuff of myth and an utterly unwavering belief that cold actions of men never represent the warm heart of God. It is the relentless act of birthing these things into the inner most soul of a thirsty child that makes a woman a mother.

“I’m writing about my wonderful journey of pregnancy for the#YummyMummy blogging activity at BlogAdda in association with Marico Bio Oil.”


The Belly Contemplations.

image courtesy google images

When we were at medical college the standard joke was that guys will not ask for directions. It is a biological thing, which is why it takes several million sperm cells to locate a female egg, the egg is relative to them the size of whatever town.

the journey of a pregnant mother is dotted with so many new experiences, you will have every ad-man worth his salt telling you about being pampered, taken care of, connecting to your spouse on a whole new level. then comes the ad-man’s advice about making use that her unborn child grows in the perfect environment.

well the body does undergo a whole lot of change, some amazing, some frustrating. For me all that I could think of was, getting my body to myself, yet after delivery I felt for a while that a large part of me was somehow external, subject to all sorts of dangers and disappearances, so I had to think up of ways to keep it close enough for comfort for the rest of my life.

the belly contemplations, were the worst, I could not see my feet,

fortunately we are not very big on childbirth classes in India… at least we weren’t back then.  Imagine a roomful of couples maybe 15 of them, all 6-8 months pregnant. And as an icebreaker the trainer asks

“name your favourite body part.”

I would probably say,”belly ”then despite the fact that I hated the nausea. Mr.D hated the nausea part too, but he was quite fascinated by the belly too.

From what I here from my colleagues in the OBG section, people are rather embaressed to accept that there is a belly where a direct effect of their beneath belly activity reflected..(excuse my crass way of putting it.) any way reflecting on the belly… it is kind of a natural wonder, an unmistakable sign of whats goingin on inside, the wigwam, for our little squirmer, the mark of my undeniable superpower of baby making, I loved my belly, with its freaking awesomeness, the flutters, the kicks, the bumps that were all transmitted from within.

I often marvel at the amazing uterus within, and the skin without with their unceasing ability to stretch.  Despite my admiration for the belly I fear it. sometimes I wonder if I should build a shrine to it, light some incese offer up gifts in an attempt to honour it and avoid its wrath. It does seem like a mythic monstrosity, that had NEEDS and DEMANDS. It will not be taken lightly. ..of course there is nothing light about it…

I have to give it its own throne, by lying sideways, atop a cushion, the belly seems to be its own creature, following different laws of growth and gravity.  No its not a cute belly, not benovalent, it could have tea with Fin Fang Foom, I could shake hands with god knows who, its no wonder I’m so restless at night, imagine sleeping with an eye open. Having said they I honour you, my belly and the work you did to protect and grow my lovely daughters within. They must be even more powerful than you, to keep yo enslaved to their needs. It is quite clear that out of all of us, I’m certainly not the one in control, I am here to do your bidding, the picaphagia, the belly, and babies I am but a humble servantbio oil.

The first pregnancy is one long sea journey, to a country where the language is not know, the is not sighted for a long time, then one day birds wheel over that dark shape and its suddenly close and all you can do is hope like hell that you have had the right shots.

“I’m writing about my wonderful journey of pregnancy for the#YummyMummy blogging activity at BlogAdda in association with Marico Bio Oil.”

Walking Through An Open Plan House.

kunjur house 1
Traditional coastal house

Our friend Jairam Acharya, who is an astrologer at Parkala; (he is also the in-house astrologer for ETV and runs a shows with them.) Built a house at Percale, his nephew from Bombay had been every upset that Mamaji did have a big house, with lot of rooms but no bathrooms. Now we were a little amused because each room had an attached bath. For the little kid who came Bombay and was used to cloister spaces the large bathroom appeared like a room with an open bathing/toilet area.

Coming to think of it, before architects and architecture became a fad, the houses on the coast were built with lot of consideration, like the low slant roofing, with  a wooden false roof, that would have a particular leaf laid on it, I forgotten which one this kept the rooms cool.

Flooring was red, slate again it kept the floor cool.

kunjur house 2
inner courtyard

Plan of the house was also very interesting usually a square  and one entered the house through the Heggilu, , on one side of the hebbaligu would be the Bhavikatte or the well where one could wash the feet before entering the house.

The other areas were

Jagali – or open corridor, but it would be roofed usual pattern was open central courtyard that had medicinal plants, the tulasi, the space for the kids to play, to dry the food it was open and unroofed. Then was level one walking space of course roofed but it  was usually treated like a corridor to walk through it was not a personal space, then came the jagali with pillars and that would be the living space.

open plan house 1
My dream house

The Jagali near the Hebbagilu usually served as the official space where outsiders , officials  would interact.   Any food or drink to be served there would be impersonal and served by the service staff.

Rest of the jagali’s were open and people walked in and out, this is  lack of being cloistered is probably what makes the woman from southern India more social and less oppressed than her northern counterpart.  The farm hands, the domestic help came to this courtyard so did the younger women seeking the wisdom of the older ladies, young men who had to be advised  it was a more personal space,

Most houses had an easy-chair, and an arm chair not to mention a desk. In this space.

open house 1
GoodEarth Pattern Malhar

Parallel to this was the padsale (the nomenclature could be wrong it is ages since I used these) which was enclosed a place of privacy where people changed, after a bath the cupboards would be kept here; it was the place where newlyweds slept.

Then there was the bananthikone or a nearly dark room where someone who had just give birth would be housed. The Kottige, the Hatti these were various spaces.

The feel was we were part of nature, and the vast universe the feeling is amazing. Unfortunately we never appreciated it then.

Somewhere in 1950-60 I think compartmentalized home became a common theme, I remember some traditional homes  redesigning stuff, the standard, central hall, dinning bed room one and two to the left, kitchen and master bedroom to the right became the staple. 1980 brought the concept of rooms flowing into one another.

goodearth malar
pattern Malhar

Suddenly I see the re-emergence of the multi-utility spaces,  in a newsletter from only they call it open-plan homes now. Incidentally Goodearth (: ) is introducing Malhar patterns an eco-village with open-plan housing, if I were to evaluate those homes, to the compartmentalized flat I live in today,

  • On one hand I can visually connect living spaces in decor and aesthetics a great thing for a visual artist like me, but it is a war zone, since my family leaves a trail of destruction in every room they touch.
  • There are areas to hang art work, particularly the appliqué screen work I do, put plants to create spaces, but having to decide how much to keep and what to keep is a challenge.
  • When we grew up we would be left in the central courtyard a great place for us to play, it was open and lot of people keeping an eye, without mothers having to micro manage. Open plan houses replicate this space. A safe play area for kids within the parent’s vision without intruding.
  • Since the spaces were open we had lot of natural light, and breeze, we did not really bother with lighting the lamps or turning on the lights until late in the evening. At Malhar Patterns they have brought out this effect by doing away with non-load bearing walls.
  • The nicest part of those old homes was the kitchen view and the eating area, since the kitchen opened into the Jamal we sat at the jagli to eat and grandma would be cooking and conversing with us those who finished eating would throw away the banana leaf to the cows and clean up the eating space but they would continue sitting there to do whatever work they had do, albeit even homework. In contemporary time, a kitchen overlooking the dining and living spaces would mean more space when we entertain, otherwise less family time hogged by the television.

goodearth malar-2It is not that this great open courtyard life was all honky dory, I hated the lack of privacy, the  loud conversations between Grandma and Bhaggi used to the irritating, when the television arrived, I had no place to hide, and now with the mobiles it is a din!!

When it comes to entertaining I rather my guests did not see my dirty sink, and messy kitchen table all of which I can hide if there was a door.

Home floor plans have come a long way, and open floor plans I guess again depends on our lifestyle and priority, or maybe children growing up with open floor plans will turn out intrinsically learn to keep their space tidy and organized.

What is interesting is mobile technology and Knowledge work is allowing for the emergence of open plan-offices. There mixes of cubicles, workstations, private offices and co-workspaces and god knows what, our familiar jargon of Jagli and pasale is replaced by terms like Hoteling , alternate officing and Hotdesking.

images courtesy Google images.