Three dinners

When the past is dark,
And the future is bleak,
Redemption, Oh Lord
Is all I seek.

The moment was critical. “Do or die”, an oft repeated cliché, was the way forward for Shyam, arguably one of the best surgeons in the city hospital. But the case demanded the best of him. The shrapnel had penetrated and perforated the stomach and the colon, and could give rise to a massive septicemia any time. Amidst utmost concentration, Shyam carefully extracted the shrapnel. “What a nasty piece!” he commented as he took it out. As he walked out of the OT, the relatives of the patient surrounded him. They soon got the magic words from the doctor, “He is all right.” Nothing could be a greater relief to the patient or his relative than to know that the operation was successful. As Shyam headed all alone towards the hospital cafeteria for an insipid coffee and a stale sandwich, he remembered the dinner he had at Manekchowk with his friends after their 2nd year exams, and the events that followed it, which somehow, culminated into the Shyam that the world knew.

“Hey dude! Let’s go to Manekchowk!” Shyam’s friend Mihir called out and asked him to go at a popular place for street food in Ahmedabad. It was a momentous event for them as their exams had ended that day. It was a month long torture-chamber and they were extremely excited to get freedom.
“Sure. Let’s call the rest of group.” Shyam’s group was a motley collection of individuals, ranging from toppers who studied like crazy to Shyam, who was languishing at the bottom of the totem pole. But, nothing came in between their friendship. They called their group ‘Bhai group’, an apt name since they were as close as blood brothers. A group of seven people, they filled two cars later that night. Loud music blared from the stereos, and the pulse of the excited group was palpable. They reached to the designated place within half hour after negotiating narrow by lanes, made narrower courtesy the cattle, and the traffic consisting of all thinkable and unthinkable vehicles ranging from cycles to scooters with a side car, that could seat 4 people at ease.
“Waiter, get the order!” shouted Shyam. It was the only way to get the attention of the pricey waiters who didn’t care to take order unless a group of five or more comes. After ordering seven pau bhajis, six butter pulaos and three ‘special’ pineapple sandwiches, the group of friends sat down to discuss their favorite topic- exams.
“Shit man, this time I am going to be screwed in pharmacology!”
“Don’t think you will be alone friend. Bhai group sticks together! I haven’t written enough to pass!”
“You saw the face of that Prof when she caught Mihir red-handed? It seemed like she had caught Osama bin Laden!”
Their banter had to be brought to an abrupt halt as a loud screeching sound of an ambulance was heard. It was immediately followed by an announcement “A blue WagonR has been parked on the road and is obstructing the traffic. The owner is requested to park it at the correct location.”
Sattu looked doubtfully at Shyam “Is it our car?”
“I don’t know. I parked it somewhere on the road, but I don’t remember where. What the hell man! Enjoy the meal! Who cares about traffic?”
“Hey Shyam, you are a real cool dude man!”
Shyam merely replied with a smile. They didn’t mind the noises for the next hour as they all gorged in their meals with pleasure, topping it with a kulfi, chocolate for Shyam and malai kulfi for the rest. As they leisurely walked out, they were greeted with a sight for which they were totally unprepared, least of all Shyam, who had almost forgotten about his wrongly parked car.

A man walked up to the car and merely asked “Who is the owner of this car?” Shyam moved forward, hesitatingly. The man deposited a tight slap across his cheeks and went away sobbing. For a moment, everyone, including those caught in the traffic due to the wrongly parked car was shocked. Being late is one thing, but slapping the accused and crying afterwards? It was out of place. Shyam mouthed a few expletives to the person who slapped him, apologized the other people and removed his car. During the return journey, nobody spoke. They were all dazed by the incident. But if that incident was shocking, the one that was to follow would put them out in shock for a long time to come, for they would discover that they have been unwitting accomplices of a murder.

The headlines of next day in the morning tabloid would scream:


Bad Parking sense leads to death

In what was a shocking incident, a man died in an ambulance because he was not able to reach the hospital timely. While this might not ring a bell of surprise in many of the readers, what is indeed appalling is that it was because of a car parked in a wrong place! It caused such traffic that the ambulance was unable to move. We have printed the photo of the car. If any of the readers catch its owner, make him know that his crime amounts to murder, at least in the moral sense. We condemn such people and hope that the authorities levy stronger parking fines.







“How bloody immature I was in those days!” Shyam murmured to himself, as he scrubbed for another operation. It was a busy day, one of ‘those’ days which every surgeon feared- terrorist attacks. A series of blasts had just ripped across the city, and for each treated person, two injured were ready to take the place. Something similar had happened before too. Shyam was the key man in that incident too, albeit, in a different way. As he remembered the incident, a voice blared across the speaker “Dr Shyam is requested to report to OT-4 please.” An hour later, he came out in the same way, with his typical running cum walking style. It was the last operation of the day; at least the last scheduled one. It was the time of medical emergency, and unpredictability was a way of life. But he had to take his dinner, again in the same horrible canteen. The menu for the day included masala dosa, idly and sambhar. So much for the variety! But it was food, laced with its carbohydrates and proteins which would sustain and nourish Shyam. However, food, before becoming nutritious, should be palatable. And the canteen masala dosa was anything but that! It made Shyam remember the best south Indian food he had, at a street ‘dosawalah’. It was better than anything he had eaten at a posh restaurant. But what followed the moment… Damn! Damn the moment and its horrible memories! It made the dosa on his plate worse than it actually was!

“And now, we call upon Dr. Shyam.”, the announcer’s voice was heard. For Shyam, the whole world was watching his graduation ceremony. Today, his dream of 23 years would be fulfilled, and he would be labeled a doctor! An underachiever that he had remained throughout his life, nobody expected him to accomplish what he had done, and that made the moment all the more special. But, with a tinge of sadness, he remembered that it was the last time the great Bhai group would be together.
They filled two cars, and drove to a street ‘dosawalah’ or a lorry serving south Indian food. After ordering seven masala dosas and one filter coffee, they sat down to discuss their lives after college.
“I am taking a drop this year. Didn’t qualify for a PG seat this time.”
“Same here. Tough to get post grad seats in first attempt, especially in clinical field.”
“Well guys, I have a good news.” announced Shyam, “I have got admission in surgery at AIIMS”
“What the hell! AIIMS! It’s the best in India! Congrats man!!”
“Hey thanks! Party’s on me tonight.” said Shyam modestly.
“I hope it includes ice cream too!”

In their banter, nobody noticed a shadow creeping near them and leaving something there. It was dark anyways, and the seven boys were on top of the world that day. Why the hell would they care for a dropped tiffin box of a stranger? In retrospect, Shyam wished he would have. It would have saved the lives of his friends, the dosawalah and twenty other people in the vicinity from the bomb that exploded in the tiffin. The Bhai group finally broke up, at the pinnacle of their friendship. Shyam, his leg bleeding profusely, could only look as his whole group was wiped off in an instant. There was blood everywhere, and despite spending an year and half in the hospital and seeing so many patients bleed and puke, Shyam felt nauseated at the sight of blood for the first time. Perhaps it was the association he had with the blood. He had once said that friendship ran in the blood of Bhai group. He was seeing his friendship ebb away slowly with the blood of his friends.



“Dr Shyam! Emergency in OT-6!” a shrill voice over the loudspeaker announced. “Damn! Another operation! Its my twentieth operation of the day! I need some relief now,” he muttered to himself. His muttering was cut by another announcement by the same shrill voice, “Dr Shyam! You are requested to report to OT-6 as soon as possible!” Shyam hurried to the operation theatre. The patient was in a delirious state, and was shouting violently, “Leave me! Leave me! I do not deserve to live! Leave me!” The nurses had held him tightly while the anesthetist quickly administered a sedative. With the patient finally calmed down, Shyam held his scalpel and began his procedure. The injury was the worst he had seen in the day. Not only that there were multiple puncture wounds on the abdomen, with two of them puncturing the liver, there was also signs of infection in the wounds over the leg, which was totally drenched with blood. Shyam wondered whether the patient would even survive. After an exhaustive operation, which stretched for four hours, Shyam hardly had the energy to walk to his room in the hostel. Once he reached his room, his didn’t even care to shower and went to sleep straight away.

Next morning promised more of the grisly sights which formed the graffiti of Shyam’s previous day. But there was something else in store for Shyam, as he got an envelope which contained a letter.
“What is it doctor?” the pretty nurse, who just adored Shyam, asked.
“I’ve no idea, Sheena. Its from a person called Shahid, saying that I’ve saved his life.”
“What is new in it doc? You save so many lives daily! And yesterday, you were just awesome, like an operating machine!” Sheena couldn’t stop herself from lavishing praises on Shyam.
“Sheena, that’s a part of our job. Remember, I’ve joined the profession to save lives. And so have you, right?”
“Yes, but you know what, before you came, I thought good doctors have become extinct. At least the good looking ones!”
Shyam smiled slightly and walked away. The contents of the letter were equally strange. An address was written on it, and a simple sentence, inviting him to a dinner was written. Shyam was perplexed. In his three years of surgery in the hospital, he had never been invited to a dinner by a patient. “At least something to look forward to today,” he muttered as he scrubbed for another marathon of operations on blast-afflicted victims. Shyam was assisting Dr Kartik, who was Shyam’s senior in college and his very good friend. “Kartik, why do these people explode bombs? I mean how have we harmed them?” Shyam asked to divert his mind for a while from the blood and gore around them.
“Shyam, it is difficult to give a particular reason. Some of them are religious zealots, asking for revenge against some real, some imagined injustice to their people. There are people who are angry over their rulers and have no faith in democracy, so they take the matter in their own hands. Too much anger is prevalent today, friend. I am afraid that what we are seeing is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“I can’t believe it. I mean, how low has mankind fallen to? You know, I had once read somewhere that man is the only species that has the power to wipe out its own existence from the earth. Today, I am forced to agree with the statement.”
“We have nothing in our hands. After all, the perpetrators of this heinous crime must realize that they are only digging a deeper grave for themselves, and they’ll probably pull the entire mankind with them,” Kartik added in a mournful voice.
After the operations for the day ended, Shyam headed quickly to his room, showered and changed his clothes for the dinner. The place was not difficult to locate, and Shyam reached there in twenty minutes. His host lived in a two bedroom flat in one of the most expensive areas of Ahmedabad. It indicated that he must be well off financially. Shyam knocked the door hesitatingly. A man dressed in a blue shirt and khakee pants opened the door. He had full beard, and looked serious.
“Yes?” he inquired.
“Er, I am Shyam. Dr Shyam,” Shyam replied hesitatingly.
“Of course! I am sorry for not having recognized you doctor!” the man’s expressions changed immediately on hearing Shyam’s name and designation.
“So, may I know who invited me today? I had performed so many operations yesterday that I don’t remember anyone.”
“Doc, you surely remember your last patient of yesterday!” a croaking voice came from within one of the rooms.
“Yes, I do,” Shyam replied, and then looking at the man who opened the door, he asked, “Can I meet my patient?”
“Of course you can! Follow me.” Shyam followed the man to the inner room from where the voice had come. Shyam looked at the patient and asked kindly, “How are you feeling now?”
“Better. But worse!” the man on the bed replied.
“What does it mean?” Shyam was confused at the oxymoron.
“It means that my health is better, but inside myself, I feel rotten!”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you later. First, let’s have dinner. You are our honored guest, and it would be improper to keep you waiting for long.”
The two men took Shyam to the dining table. A lavish spread was on display. The dishes included mutton biryani, chicken curry, fresh tandoor breads and kheer. The aroma of the food was alluring to Shyam, who had his last proper dinner a month ago, with Sheena. The meal was consumed without much talking, and Shyam happily tucked into the delicacies on the table.

“So, Shahid,” Shyam called out to his host, the man whom he had operated the pervious day, “why do you feel rotten inside?”
“Brother, I will tell you who I am. I am the most wanted terrorist of the city, who triggered yesterday’s blasts and killed hundreds. Unfortunately, I was not able to run away on time and one of my own bombs exploded near me,” Shahid said in a remorseful voice.
“You bastard! How dare you even invite me here? I feel like taking an emetic and vomiting out your food on your face! You bloody gutless swine!” Shyam exploded in anger.”
“A gutless swine indeed!” Shahid snarled, “Another gutless swine, years ago, is responsible for making me who I am. You want to know what made an innocent ten year old into a dreaded terrorist?” Shahid threw a gauntlet of question.
“Sure! Tell me who made you an animal that you are,” Shyam said.
“My father was a police informant. Years ago, he died while on duty. No, not by a gangster! That would be a far more honorable way to die! Instead he was killed because his ambulance could not reach the hospital on time. And you know why?” Shyam held his hand up to stop Shahid in the middle of his inflamed speech, and closed his eyes. A tear streaked down his cheek. He rubbed the tear and asked Shahid to continue.
“So, as I was saying before your emotional drama interrupted me, my father’s ambulance could not reach the hospital because the road was blocked by a callous driver. We tried to call the owner of the car, but he didn’t show up! And my father, my abbu died without any fault of his! And the government did not even pay us a penny! Disgusted with the people and disgruntled with the government, I turned a terrorist. I wanted to make such a loud noise that would shake the whole country.”
For an instant, Shyam said nothing. His throat went dry, and he it seemed like all the moisture of his throat had permeated into his eyes. He cried incessantly. Like a child who had been told that he was responsible for the murder of his parents.
“Brother, why are you telling me all this? Why am I so special to you?” Shyam managed to ask amidst sobs.
“Because you saved my life yesterday. It brought my belief in humanity back. You have extinguished the fire that had been smoldering inside me for years, consuming my insides in its inferno. You have given me a new birth.”
“What I did was my duty. Now, let me reveal something. I too am a gutless swine! That day it was my car that led to the death of your father. God made me pay for my sins by making me lose my friends, who were like my brothers. I feel your pain, friend, I feel your pain,” Shyam put his hand around Shahid’s shoulder, who in turn, was crying like Shyam was doing a few moments ago.
“Shyam, I have decided to reform myself fully. No more violence for me. Now, I will devote the rest of life towards upliftment of our community,” Shahid vowed.
Shyam gently patted Shahid’s back and walked out of the house slowly. Somehow, his mind felt lighter than ever. The circle was complete. The crime he committed by causing the death of a father was punished by the death of his friends, and now, the redemption was complete as the series of events ultimately led to the reforming of a terrorist. As he was walking towards his hostel, Shyam looked around to see countless men and women milling around, chatting unabashedly, lovers deep into each other’s eyes. Only one thought had occupied his mind- How can the actions of one man change the life of hundreds around him? Maybe, that’s called karma, the endless cycle of sin, punishment and redemption.

Light n Dark- an ode to Darkness

Blackout! Darkness all about!
Eyes covered by a dense clout!
Darkness emanating from within
reflected on the eyes without!

Bright radiating darkness
with its blistering energy
piercing through mind, body, soul
Ah! the dark! sometimes a marble,
sometimes a coal.

A flickering light, feeble and cold
touches me for a moment too brief,
Nourishing my spirit with it enchanting form
Dispelling the darkness quick as a thunderstorm

Then, realized I, that all along
I was swathed in light,
But it took utter dark,
to know what is moon on a dark night

-Shivam 'DA'

Life and death- A new perspective

The science of death is known as thenatology. Not many are aware of it, but there is a whole branch of science dedicated to study of death, the ultimate anathema of all that scientific research is aimed at- maximising happiness. Anyway, the point is, death is such an interesting event that it demands explanation. What draws man towards the subject of death is mystique- why a man dies? what is death? what happens after death?

Medical dictionaries have defined death in various confusing terms. Laymen may think death as merely "absence of life". But it brings us to another question- what is life? Is a working brain, beating heart, respiring lungs a sign of life? Then we can replicate them all these days. A stopped can be restarted by cardiac defibrillator, or adrenaline injection, even a heart transplant is done these days. a stopped brain can sustain a body. respirators can start breathing if a person cant. So, with all these gadgets, a person can live forever. But he doesn't. Why?

Bing in the medical field, I have seen both life and death from close quarters. I have seen bodies being autopsied, and alive people being cut open under anesthesia. I was surprised when i saw that the internal organisation of organs was exactly the same in both. A dead man does not physically differ from an alive one. A dead body undergoes putrfaction or decomposition by the action of bacteria. But bacteria are present on us too! Why dont we putrefy then?

The quest for the answer leads to accept that there does exist an entity called "soul", which governs the body. It occupies minimal space and performs maximum work. Brain regulates the body. Who regulates the brain? who watcheth the watchman? I say its the soul.

Lets take an example. We use mobiles. If we just remove the batteries from our mobiles, will they work? No, they wont. They will still have the screen, the sim card, the keys. But it wont work because it has no power. Soul is the battery to our bodies, a driving force.

Shadows- a poem

Shadows in the dark,
dripping blood and gore,
Shadows waiting to stab the heart
when brought to the fore.

Shadows that are dark,
Shadows of a lighter vein
Each letting out a blood curdling scream
Each writhing in intense pain.


My mind! My conscience! Nothing but a bunch of shadows
that keep me groping in the dark,
SHadows cooing in my ear,
Shadows letting out a screaching bark.


Almost as if a cry for help
to rescue them, bring them out of closet,
but deeply buried they are
in the crevices of my mind


My sins unatoned, my skills unhoned,
that i can't dare face them thus.
Shadows dancing in my eyes,
Shadows playing a dance of death.
-Shivam'DA'

The Burden

Imagine meeting someone you never know, someone in deep pain and who thinks you have the remedy to his agony just because you sport a white apron and a stethoscope round your neck. And you know that all you have done to deserve this apparel is to get 50% or more marks in 1st year of MBBS, which anyone can get after mugging some books. Perhaps this was the feeling for all of us when we entered the Pediatric ward of Shardaben Hospital, our teaching hospital of that term. We were supposed to spend one month here, learning the basics of pediatrics, or the science of little children.

We were all ordered to divide the patients among ourselves for taking ‘history’, or the basic information of the patient, his/her ailment and the ODP or the Origin, Duration and Progress of the disease. We were instructed that since most of the patients would be kids, we would have to engage them in small talk to get most of information and to ensure that the kid doesn’t get bored of our constant interrogation.


I went to my patient who was playing peacefully with his mother. I gently went up to them and introduced myself and requested if they could answer a few questions. They agreed. I began with asking the name. “Ravi kumar” his mother replied. I then began asking basic questions about the symptoms as observed by the parents and the child. Within five minutes however, I had to bring the ‘small talk’ factor into play as the kid was getting irritated. I cheerfully asked, “Does Ravi go to school?” His mother brightened up at this and replied excitedly her laadla is a topper in his class. “He too wants to be like you, wear this white coat.” she said, tugging at my apron. I smiled. Indeed, I enjoyed unparalleled respect here. “Yes, auntiji, why not? One day he will surely be a brilliant doctor.” I said, sprinkling some water from the eternal spring of hope that irrigates a million dreams. My questioning ended soon. In the end, I felt I had built a great rapport. Then came the common question by any patient to any doctor, “Doctorsaab, he will get well soon?” I had no reply to this, but to console her I said cheerfully, “Sure! You’ll see, in a few days he will be playing cricket!” It brought a smile to her face which only a doctor could, even if the doctor in question is a struggling second year medico with absolutely no idea of most diseases.

We were asked to assemble in a lecture room soon for a theory lecture. The lecture ended soon and we were again asked to go back to the ward and listen to the heartbeats of an ‘interesting’ patient. It usually meant someone who displays important signs of a disease. We were supposed to remember them and it becomes easy after examining a few ‘interesting’ patients. With twenty two students surrounding him, it was difficult for me to reach to the patient. I patiently waited for everyone else to disperse. But when I went to the patient, I was shocked. It was Ravi! His breath had already turned heavy and the resident doctor, with a stern look, asked me to ‘do it fast’. I quickly put the stethoscope to his heart. The heartbeat seemed different. The two heart sounds didn’t sound together as they should, and instead, there was a strange rustling sound in between them. “Systolic murmur” said the resident doctor, “Usually a sign of mitral valve failure.”

Oh God! This child’s heart was defective and he would soon have to undergo a valve transplant operation. I knew the mother was staring at me worriedly. After all, I had only given her hope a few minutes ago. There might have been a wild questioning in her eyes, but dared not look at them, for it would burn me to ashes. More than anyone else, I dared not look into my own eyes.

Some burdens break a person. Others make one. I think I will always carry this burden on my heart, and it will always guide me to be a more understanding doctor.

Mobile dating

They say empty mind is a devil’s workshop. It was none the more true for Shyam as he idled away his spare time playing mobile games. One really could not have blamed him, for he was having vacations from college and there was nothing for him to do. Then suddenly, he saw a little icon on the bottom right corner of his mobile screen in which the sim card specific services could be availed. Upon selecting it, he was amazed by the plethora of services which he could avail, ranging from downloading games, ringtones, logos, screensavers and much more. There he saw a small heading- Dating. Naturally Shyam was excited. Anyone who has never even talked to a girl would be excited on the prospect of ambiguous dating. After all, it is only here that he could pass any lewd comment on any girl and still get away with it as the other person did not have any trace of his. He selected the option. The next steps asked him to enter various details like his user name, first three letters of his city and his age group of ‘choice’. Shyam smiled inwardly at the idea of actually choosing a girl for dating. He loved his service provider for providing such a wonderful service.

He sent a message which yielded him a list (he called it menu) of girls who were supposedly dying to meet him. At least that was the perception in the twisted mind of his. He chose one name he liked- vanita, and sent her a cheesy message

Hi darling! Wanna meet me tonight?

In real life, had he dared to say this to a complete stranger, he would have been slapped, first by the girl, then by the bystanders and then by her relatives. But here, he was completely safe, shrouded by the covers of ambiguity that this service provided. He didn’t get a reply for the whole day. Naturally he was disappointed. Soon, he forgot about the mobile and his brief brush with dating.

However, a surprise awaited him the next day as he opened his inbox and saw five messages from vanita:

Yes darling!

Waiting for you tonight!

Be my boyfriend!

My love! I wanna share a secret!

I am gonna die tomorrow! Gonna commit suicide! Only you know it!

The last message blew the lights off Shyam. The first four messages indicated some great deal of fun for him, but the last one simply chilled his mind. That girl, whose real name he didn’t even know, was going to commit suicide and she was telling that to him, whom she has never seen or has never talked with! Somehow, Shyam felt responsible for the girl. After all, he was the only one in whom she had confided what was perhaps her darkest secret. He decided he would try his best to save the girl. He messaged her again:

Darling! Won’t you meet me once before you die? Wanna see your face!

He knew that such a bait could lure any girl. He hoped get atleast some response from vanita. Unfortunately, he didn’t get any. He then decided to try to talk with the company. Perhaps they had any trace of the girl.
He went straight to a service outlet and related his problem. They replied straightaway that they could not help him as he could be a stalker out to harm their client. No matter how hard Shyam tried to convince them, they didn’t budge. Finally, tired of his pestering, one of them told him to contact their head office in Mumbai. Shyam talked to the executive there and related the seriousness of the situation. He repeatedly told that he was no stalker and that he only wanted to save vanita. The executive finally relented and asked Shyam to give his mobile number and said that he would contact Shyam if any details about vanita are found. Also, he thanked Shyam for allowing them to help him. Shyam cursed under his breath.

Time ticked on. No information about the girl had yet reached Shyam. He was desperate, but was totally helpless. What had started out as a pastime had become a matter of life and death for someone with Shyam strangely playing the part of a middleman. The whole day passed without anyone notifying Shyam. He helplessly went to sleep with a feeling of having betrayed the trust someone had put in him.

The next day, Shyam was a part of almost all the newspapers, but not in a way he would have wanted. The papers didn’t show him smiling or lauded him for saving an unknown girl’s life, as he would have wanted, but rather showed his dead body, with wailing relatives all around. The papers screamed only one headline
19 YEAR BOY COMMITS SUICIDE UNDER MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES

The police investigation that followed threw up some startling facts. Shyam, who was a second year medical student, was taking therapy for Dissociative Identity Disorder or DID, which is commonly known as split personality disorder.
His doctor told the police that Shyam was actually a mix of two people, a boy named Shyam and a girl named vanita. It had so happened that in his first year, the seniors had ragged him by asking him to pose as a girl complete with sari, bindi et al. they called him vanita which was the name of a girl he liked in school. That was the reason of him suffering from DID. He was Shyam in the day and vanita at night. This ‘vanita’ even had a separate mobile number of her own. The reason for Shyam/vanita’s suicide was not clear, but was attributed to the fact that the ‘vanita’ side of Shyam’s personality was too emotionally disturbed and wanted to end her life. Unfortunately, she even took the life of the person whose body she occupied- Shyam.

The Patient

Different people have different thoughts about a struggle. Many see aspiring Bollywood actors as strugglers; some see a child who has failed thrice in exams as struggler. But that particular patient in Dr. Shyam’s hospital was struggling for life. He was battling a very advanced leukemia. His hairs were balding due to continuous influx of chemotherapeutic agents in his blood. His looks betrayed his age of thirteen years, and he looked thirty years older.
“Sir, help my son. I know that only you could help him!” the child’s mother cried in front of him. Shyam knew it was a hopeless case, but giving up hope is something which is not taught in medical colleges, and it was definitely not a part of India’s most successful oncologist’s thinking. Shyam decided to take the challenge. He asked the mother of the dying child to leave the child with him for some time, so that he could monitor him continuously. He assured her that he would try his very best and would ensure that the child is given the best facility. The mother fell at his feet. It was a sight Shyam encountered almost daily. But this was special, for he was going to fight the toughest battle of his life. The stage was set for the clash of titans- the worst killer squared off against the best healer.

The best medical books advocate that the first step to conquer a disease is in the patient’s mind. If he wants to be cured, it increases his chances of survival miraculously. Unfortunately for Shyam, he hit the roadblock in this very step, as his young patient, whose name was Nitin, was totally depressed and had lost all hope of living. Worse, he had lost the will to live, which was one of the pillars around which the best doctors built their treatment. Shyam tried all possible methods. He took him to amusement park, but he passed out after the first giant wheel. Negative points. He showed him the famous movie Anand, which was about a similar cancer patient who brings happiness in the lives of all around him, inspite of being in a terminal stage of cancer. The key thing was that he had the will to live. Shyam tried to explain it to Nitin, “There you go my friend. That’s the way to live inspite of facing such a deadly condition.” But the replied was less enthusiastic than expected, “What was the use of being so happy doctor uncle? In the end, he died a painful death. What is the use of being happy after all?” Nitin asked morosely. Shyam had no reply to this.



Nitin’s condition was getting worse daily. Lately, he had even begun to refuse to take the anticancer medications, saying it was of no use, as he had to die anyway. There was no way Shyam could instill faith in this ailing boy that he can live only if he wanted, and not by any anticancer drugs alone. Finally, Shyam found a way to alleviate the mood of his sad patient, “Hey, what is it you like doing the most, apart from sulking and self pitying?” Shyam asked jokingly.
“Well, I like watching TV. Especially cartoons. In fact, my last wish is that I die watching Tom and Jerry. I want to laugh and laugh till tears roll down my eyes, carrying with them my life. Yes, I want to die laughing.”
His replied moved Shyam. The next day, he bought all DVDs of Tom and Jerry that were available. Nitin was excited and happy. Shyam saw a smile on his face for the first time. It was almost like a solitary flower blooming amidst Sahara desert. And, it seemed that Shyam’s little trick was working. Nitin was responding to the medications better. But, the rosy days were temporary. A week after the ‘Tom and Jerry’ therapy, Shyam returned home with a dejected face. His household help was worried.
“What is it Shyam sir?” he asked.
“Well, Ramsingh, I fear the boy has developed metastasis in the brain. We won’t have him for much longer. I am very sad at this.”
As an oncologist, it wasn’t uncommon for Shyam to lose patients. But, Nitin was special. He didn’t have the heart and will to lose out on Nitin. Finally, he tried the last resort of most doctors, which should ideally be the first destination- God. Next day, he locked himself up in his private prayer room. The whole day long he prayed. He prayed to God to alleviate the boy’s suffering.

A week passed by. Nitin was showing dramatic improvement. Soon, he was almost cured. His was a case which is often referred to in medical textbooks as “miraculous” or “inexplicable”. No one knew why he suddenly showed so much improvement, that is, no one except Dr. Shyam.

A month passed by. Nitin’s mother received a letter from Dr. Shyam’s home. It was to inform of Dr. Shyam’s unfortunate demise due to a long standing lung cancer. The man always prayed for his patients, the last of whom was Nitin, said his manservant. Perhaps that’s why he was so keen on saving him. Perhaps he wanted to leave the earth with a clean record.