The curious case of the Sindhi Saint

After two consecutive instances of no pre -booked meal in the last two flights, a hungry and angry me was satisfied that at least flying by Jet assures you a sure snack. And here it comes, a few carrots wrapped in a roti, amazing, isn't it? Well, if you’ve got the sarcasm let’s get on to the next disaster - with a taste way more lethal than roti wrapped carrots - one disastrous landing at the Raja Bhoj airport Bhopal. Fuck the pilot!! What has he been smoking of late? The plane was literally banged against the runway. The plane bounced and pounded back on the runway, very much like a ping pong ball. Someone like me who is man enough to admit that all his manliness goes for a hike when there is air - turbulence.  And rough landings actually scare the shit out of me. Especially, a job like mine where one must fly as frequently as every second to third week, the shit really gets serious. 

So, the lake city of Bhopal is a temporary destination for a little over half a week for my work and then weekend in Delhi. I have actually become a weekender husband to my wife - who sleeps through the whole of Saturday and  cries through Sunday all the way into Monday, mourning the Monday morning office in advance, by the virtue of Monday Blues which start from the moment the clock strikes 12 on Saturday night. 

The next morning, I and our team of professionals walked into a reputed eye hospital at Bhopal for a pre-proposal assessment of the hospital. It's located in a locality named after a saint -Sant Hirdaram and hence called Hirdaram Nagar. Even the hospital is named after the same saint and is a part of the trust incepted by the saint. As the day progressed and we juggled through meetings back to back, one of the trustees shared an anecdote of the Saint. The now trustee gentleman, back in 1998-2003 used to be the public relations officer (PRO) to the Governor of the State of Madhya Pradesh(MP). The then governor of MP was Bhai Mahavir ji. Excited and impressed by the quantum of work and the far-reaching fame of the saint, Bhai Mahavir ji desired to meet the saint. And since, his PRO was already a disciple of the saint, he asked, if the saint would allow him a meeting. The PRO gentleman intimated the governor's wish to meet the saint. Additionally, he also introduced to the saint an ancestral identity of the governor. Bhai Mahavir's ancestors were direct disciples of Guru Tegh Bahadur- the 9th guru of the sikhs. And had chosen to be beheaded by the army of Mughal King Aurangzeb rather than converting to Islam. The saint had nodded in permission for the governor to meet. The governor had a sciatica problem and couldn't sit on the floor. But, as the Indian culture goes, one sits humbly and respectfully before saints and never on a platform higher than the saints. Bhai Mahavir made sincere effort to sit on the floor, to his delight and surprise he sat comfortably, which he hadn't done in years. The saint and the governor had a few minutes of chat and the discussion routed in the direction of the scanty rainfall in Bhopal that year. It was already mid- July and all souls were parched, with no rains. The monsoons are the lifeline of India and Indians. If they fail, the country fails. The saint had a word of blessing and gave it to Bhai Mahavir. It was a mantra, a chant. The governor was instructed to use the mantra as a beseeching force for the rains and conduct a havan ( fire ceremony) at his office premise. 

The havan was conducted using the mantra and not even before the Havan was over, Bhopal that day experienced lashing rains for hours. The streets flooded, the earth was quenched and all living souls survived to live the next day. 

From Christ who touched the ailing and healed their wounds to Buddha who radiated serenity that even the hardcore of criminals were serene in his presence, the world has been home to endless super manifestations, people call them saints, adepts, prophets, messengers, masters and so on.

To provide scientific explanations is not my work neither the purpose of this blog. I just wish children to believe in the santa clause, people give miracle a chance to happen, for gates to open, for hearts to melt.

Sant Hirdaram Sahib left his earthly body in 2006 at the age of 101. Bhai Mahavir ji passed away the same year. 

A Doctor's Dilemma: To Kill or Not to Kill

“Have you ever seen a brain dead patient? No, why? I saw for the first time in my career. I saw his organs removed and remove him of life support to let him die. “

Whether to choose between medicine and engineering is the question that most Odia (ethnic group from the Indian state of Odisha) boys and girls ask themselves in their late teens. In the last two decades engineering and medical colleges have mushroomed in many major educational hubs of India. Especially engineering is a major business and employment generator. But medicine, that’s a tough call. Not just cracking the entrance, but the course that follows later is equally gruesome.  Despite the fact that, almost a decade of a person’s life is devoted to become a full doctor and all the lack of smart techie look – the white apron profession in the Indian society is the most respected and sought after career, undoubtedly.

My doctor friends did their graduation in medicine from different colleges in India; those who doubted their capability to crack the PMT did it from China and never came back (though Chinese food in India, tastes better in India than in China). One of my very close friends in Odisha; who in my view was absolutely unfit for the doctor’s job made it through the PMT and got into a government medical college. Unfit- not because she was not meritorious, unfit because she was emotional. In a small towner's experience – doctors and hospitals and nurses and all that’s medicine, provides you with an unfading memory of rude people, using harsh language, and totally unsympathetic. Hospitals jgukhiohiojh Hospitals are places where you never want to be. Your illness may be painful but the experience in a hospital is sickening beyond your illness. The dirty toilets, the stinking corridors, the rude nurses and the egoistic doctors who speak to you like you were a savage African slave in the 19^th century and the latter were white colonizers from civilized lands. My friend was nowhere close to those egos, she was totally capable to become a doctor but utterly useless when being like a doctor.

“Today morning I was informed by my chief that I had to be present as an anesthetist for a cadaver donor. Cadaver? Okay! In that case I will have to maintain the blood pressure, till they remove the desired organs. At 12 pm sharp I was there. I walked into the ICU to bring the cadaver. For the hospital it was celebration time, as the recipients were going to pay a huge sum for the organs. A team of surgeons from Chennai had gathered near the cafeteria, gathering calories for the long surgeries – ready with video camcorders to record their performances. “

I slowly walked passed them, entered the ICU and was led to the last bed by the concerned nurse. “Ma’m, we received him last night, brain dead. He is on noradr and vasopressin, ventilator connected and vitals maintained. “

In front of me was lying a 5’10’’ tall body, still and stiff. Apart from this introduction, in front of me was lying a young handsome man in his early 30s. Since my days in medical school I have seen N number of deaths, have disclosed to families also. But a brain dead one was a first time experience. As a Post grad student of medicine specialising in Anesthesia it was my work to maintain the vitals until the removal of organs was successfully over. As an anesthetist it’s always my job to ensure the patient doesn’t feel pain of the surgery, whether local or general. No studies have clearly revealed that a brain dead patient can feel pain or not. Some say spinal reflexes are intact. Some say as brain stem is dead, there’s no question of pain. But, who’s got so much time or thought for a brain dead patient, here we were ready to rip open his chest and abdomen to pull out the bounty of his organs of liver, kidneys, heart one after the other.  Interestingly, it’s not the inability of the patient to feel but to speak which gives us all this power to operate on him.

The monitor showed that of a living person BP 156/80, HR – 99, saturation 100 per.  While taking him to the Operation theatre his friends and family rushed to him, saw his living body, and touched his face for one last time. I couldn’t help keeping my tears. Inside the OT my chief said, no medication required. But I gave him Morphine and Fentanyl. What if he feels pain, I didn’t want him to die with that pain. I never revealed this to anyone.

The operation started, he was cut open. The organs were removed one by one. Then came the toughest part for me – CUT OFF- remove life support. The BP came down gradually 60-20, 50-20 finally 0/0. The ECG line was flat. I removed the tube from his trachea. It was easy killing a man.

In my heart I saluted his family, his newly married wife for having the courage to give consent for the organ donation.

Just  another day in the life of a rude, unsympathetic doctor.