When the blinds open
My fears only deepen
For I am not in a heaven,
But in a dark raven.
Why o why do I feel,
With every step I deal,
As my fate would unveil,
My wounds are never to heal?
Is this something I have to pay?
Why don't someone just say!!
Where do my answeres lay?
Oh Please! Before I go far... Far away....
Tell me, whom did I wrong?
Around me, why do sorrows throng?
A hand, a hug, a word I long...
Or... Is this where I really belong?
Ah I forget, who wants to hear,
The cribbing of just a man, mere
And there is nobody near.
Ah! This life is nothing but a failure.
Allow me to go back in time
To heal the wounds I burnt with lime,
Ring the bells and chyme,
As penance for sins and my crime.
Life has taken me to this road,
Neither a hut nor an abode,
No longer, these can I afford,
Its too late to turn back the mode....
Why should I whine or weep?
So what if I am atop a steep?
Now, ha! No promise to keep,
All I have is just a leap!
With a smile I hug what I get,
Everything is so very set,
I'm sure there'll be a fete,
To celebrate my end, the ultimate.
Aah! I am free finally
No worry, no pain, falling freely
As I go down this deep valley,
Can't wait... For the end re-ally....
PS: I don't know why I wrote this.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
The Battle Within
Forgive me O blogging world for my unreasonably long break. A natural question that would arise would be, "WHY?" Well, read on for the answer to that very question.
As you must have seen in my blog page, there was a post that said, "En Autobus- Coming shortly". Yes it was supposed to have come long ago. But I kind of took a vacation from the blogging zone for reasons that were disturbing and hurting. Initially it started with the usual lethargy. But later, the happenings around took lethargy to a level that was, for once I thought, point of no return.
It all started with the reports of abuse coming from the Guantanamo Bay prison. Two inmates had committed suicide and the apparent ill treatment of the inmates were flowing out in the media. Obviously, my sentiments were with the inmates. Their crime, by no means pardonable, but definitely deserves a trial and fairplay. So much has been kept away from the world regarding the fate of these people. The photos and videos really painted a ghastly picture of the situation. My attitude? It was just the beginning.
I was at my home in Calicut, Kerala, enjoying the rains on an amazing monsoon evening. Sipping my hot coffee and talking with Trisha on the phone. Its been a long time since I got her on the line. So we were engaged in a long conversation from topics varying from what's-happening to my feelings on the present day situation of the world. Trisha is one of those people with whom I could engage myself in a good and mature talk, and usually, we don't have an idea how time flies once we start. Amidst her busy Mumbai life, I finally got her on the phone, on her walk from the office to catch her evening train.
"Hey Alf! I gotto catch my train now! I'll give you a call once I reach home?"
"Cool! No issues. Have fun! And yeah, take care!"
"You take care! I'm fine. He he he"
"Yeah right!!" and both of us burst into a laughter. And then suddenly, it happened!
The earpiece jarred by a loud sound. And the line got cut. It was weird. Something told me that something was going wrong. I thought it was something else and hushed up my invalidated apprehension. It is an act of instinct that I call back the person when the phone gets cut abruptly, even if it is to say just a "bye!". Strange, as it may seem, I didn't do it at that moment. Instead, I got back to crafting my so called magnum opus titled 12 May 2006: A Day In My Life, which was to feature on The Melting Pot of ICE . However I tried concentrating, the reason for that abrupt end was still lingering in my mind. It got me so much that I decided to give in and try calling Trisha. I tried her number, but the phone was engaged. I tried her again. Same response. I tried a third time. This time the operator lady with an awful voice said that the mobile phone I was trying was either switched off or out of range. Hmmm... Out of range. Strange, Borivali was out of range for mobile networks.
Some TV was the answer for a good distraction. When switched on, fate had entertainment planned out for me with the NDTV 24x7 coming on screen reporting the breaking news which broke the peace of many a minds. All the while, I prayed for only one thing, please don't say Borivali. But who listens to me? Pictures from Borivali station flashed on the screen. I felt numb, choked, emotionless. I had no idea what I was feeling. But I did know one thing, this was going to stab my mind for a long time to come.
My name is Alfi. That's all you know. But my full name is Alfi Ashraf. Yes, I am a Muslim. I was born as a Muslim, I live as a Muslim and I will die as a Muslim. But perhaps not the Muslim that the world perceives to be. I don't have a long beard and a head gear or a skull cap. I'm clean shaven but I do sport a stubble sometimes because of my lethargy to shave. I don't spend hours in the mosque. My friends, barring a few, are all non Muslims. Of course, I do not consume alcohol or eat pork, but that's because of my own reasons and I use religion as a guide that advises not to. I listen to rock and heavy metal just like all of you. And yes, I do love my religion, but not the way these guys do. I have read the Qur'an and learnt its meanings too, though not by heart, but yes, I do have a fair knowledge and I'm still learning.
My name is Alfi. Alfi Ashraf. Born in Kerala and brought up in Abu Dhabi, the United Arab Emirates, which despite being an Islamic country, is very liberal. I am an Indian and I love India. In an India Pakistan match, I support India. I believe India is very much my country, my motherland just any other non Muslim Indian. My mother tongue is Malayalam and not Urdu or Arabic. I have no problems in singing Vande Mataram or even shouting it aloud, because its hardly blasphemous if your belief in Allah is strong and your intention is unharmed. Thanks to AR Rahman, a pious Muslim himself, and a celebrated music composer, who made Vande Mataram what it is today for me.
My name is Alfi Ashraf. A helpless 20 something individual in this world, trying to make an identity for himself as ALFI ASHRAF first, then a Muslim or an Indian or whatever. But his identity is hurt because he is scared whether he'll ever achieve it. Thanks to suggestions on passenger profiling, which by the way, he believes, is only a beginning to what might be an open discrimination against the Muslims. He blames the Muslims for this and not the Americans or the British. He looks around and sees only destruction wherever Muslims are there. He sees suspicion wherever Muslims are there. At the end of the day, he asks, "Is there anything for me to be proud of?"
He thinks that its time we wake up and stop this bloodshed and apocalypse. When the world is leaping to greater heights of development, we cannot afford to have an Afghanistan and Iraq. True, there are evils on this earth. But we must understand, we do not have enough sympathies with us. There is injustice, no doubt, but we have nothing to validate them because, we are committing greater horrors. If the world has gone paranoid, it is because we have given them a good reason to. If we can threaten to blow up anything and everything, then what's the harm in them blowing us up?
Its time! Its time..............
PS1: Trisha was outside the Borivali station when the Mumbai blasts of 7/11 took place. Borivali was also one of the blast sites. Trisha escaped without any injuries as she was outside the station on the phone when it happened.
PS2: This is not meant for generating controversy or bad talk. This was just a compilation of my feelings and the mental unrest I was going through, being a citizen of this world, a concerned Muslim. I request you to please respect my sentiments and if you have any reservations, please express them in a humane manner. Remember, the Qur'an says, Innallaha Ma'a as-Sabireen (God is with those who have patience).
As you must have seen in my blog page, there was a post that said, "En Autobus- Coming shortly". Yes it was supposed to have come long ago. But I kind of took a vacation from the blogging zone for reasons that were disturbing and hurting. Initially it started with the usual lethargy. But later, the happenings around took lethargy to a level that was, for once I thought, point of no return.
It all started with the reports of abuse coming from the Guantanamo Bay prison. Two inmates had committed suicide and the apparent ill treatment of the inmates were flowing out in the media. Obviously, my sentiments were with the inmates. Their crime, by no means pardonable, but definitely deserves a trial and fairplay. So much has been kept away from the world regarding the fate of these people. The photos and videos really painted a ghastly picture of the situation. My attitude? It was just the beginning.
I was at my home in Calicut, Kerala, enjoying the rains on an amazing monsoon evening. Sipping my hot coffee and talking with Trisha on the phone. Its been a long time since I got her on the line. So we were engaged in a long conversation from topics varying from what's-happening to my feelings on the present day situation of the world. Trisha is one of those people with whom I could engage myself in a good and mature talk, and usually, we don't have an idea how time flies once we start. Amidst her busy Mumbai life, I finally got her on the phone, on her walk from the office to catch her evening train.
"Hey Alf! I gotto catch my train now! I'll give you a call once I reach home?"
"Cool! No issues. Have fun! And yeah, take care!"
"You take care! I'm fine. He he he"
"Yeah right!!" and both of us burst into a laughter. And then suddenly, it happened!
The earpiece jarred by a loud sound. And the line got cut. It was weird. Something told me that something was going wrong. I thought it was something else and hushed up my invalidated apprehension. It is an act of instinct that I call back the person when the phone gets cut abruptly, even if it is to say just a "bye!". Strange, as it may seem, I didn't do it at that moment. Instead, I got back to crafting my so called magnum opus titled 12 May 2006: A Day In My Life, which was to feature on The Melting Pot of ICE . However I tried concentrating, the reason for that abrupt end was still lingering in my mind. It got me so much that I decided to give in and try calling Trisha. I tried her number, but the phone was engaged. I tried her again. Same response. I tried a third time. This time the operator lady with an awful voice said that the mobile phone I was trying was either switched off or out of range. Hmmm... Out of range. Strange, Borivali was out of range for mobile networks.
Some TV was the answer for a good distraction. When switched on, fate had entertainment planned out for me with the NDTV 24x7 coming on screen reporting the breaking news which broke the peace of many a minds. All the while, I prayed for only one thing, please don't say Borivali. But who listens to me? Pictures from Borivali station flashed on the screen. I felt numb, choked, emotionless. I had no idea what I was feeling. But I did know one thing, this was going to stab my mind for a long time to come.
My name is Alfi. That's all you know. But my full name is Alfi Ashraf. Yes, I am a Muslim. I was born as a Muslim, I live as a Muslim and I will die as a Muslim. But perhaps not the Muslim that the world perceives to be. I don't have a long beard and a head gear or a skull cap. I'm clean shaven but I do sport a stubble sometimes because of my lethargy to shave. I don't spend hours in the mosque. My friends, barring a few, are all non Muslims. Of course, I do not consume alcohol or eat pork, but that's because of my own reasons and I use religion as a guide that advises not to. I listen to rock and heavy metal just like all of you. And yes, I do love my religion, but not the way these guys do. I have read the Qur'an and learnt its meanings too, though not by heart, but yes, I do have a fair knowledge and I'm still learning.
My name is Alfi. Alfi Ashraf. Born in Kerala and brought up in Abu Dhabi, the United Arab Emirates, which despite being an Islamic country, is very liberal. I am an Indian and I love India. In an India Pakistan match, I support India. I believe India is very much my country, my motherland just any other non Muslim Indian. My mother tongue is Malayalam and not Urdu or Arabic. I have no problems in singing Vande Mataram or even shouting it aloud, because its hardly blasphemous if your belief in Allah is strong and your intention is unharmed. Thanks to AR Rahman, a pious Muslim himself, and a celebrated music composer, who made Vande Mataram what it is today for me.
My name is Alfi Ashraf. A helpless 20 something individual in this world, trying to make an identity for himself as ALFI ASHRAF first, then a Muslim or an Indian or whatever. But his identity is hurt because he is scared whether he'll ever achieve it. Thanks to suggestions on passenger profiling, which by the way, he believes, is only a beginning to what might be an open discrimination against the Muslims. He blames the Muslims for this and not the Americans or the British. He looks around and sees only destruction wherever Muslims are there. He sees suspicion wherever Muslims are there. At the end of the day, he asks, "Is there anything for me to be proud of?"
He thinks that its time we wake up and stop this bloodshed and apocalypse. When the world is leaping to greater heights of development, we cannot afford to have an Afghanistan and Iraq. True, there are evils on this earth. But we must understand, we do not have enough sympathies with us. There is injustice, no doubt, but we have nothing to validate them because, we are committing greater horrors. If the world has gone paranoid, it is because we have given them a good reason to. If we can threaten to blow up anything and everything, then what's the harm in them blowing us up?
Its time! Its time..............
PS1: Trisha was outside the Borivali station when the Mumbai blasts of 7/11 took place. Borivali was also one of the blast sites. Trisha escaped without any injuries as she was outside the station on the phone when it happened.
PS2: This is not meant for generating controversy or bad talk. This was just a compilation of my feelings and the mental unrest I was going through, being a citizen of this world, a concerned Muslim. I request you to please respect my sentiments and if you have any reservations, please express them in a humane manner. Remember, the Qur'an says, Innallaha Ma'a as-Sabireen (God is with those who have patience).
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
I AM ALIVE
One of those usual evenings in the Central Lecture Complex with practice proceeding at snail's pace, when my mobile starts ringing at level 5. The screen showed the name "Carol" flashing. I picked up the call to a loud question from the bearer of the name, "HOW THE HELL ARE YOU?" For this expected question, I had only one answer, "I am alive."
Big respects and greetings to the blogging world. February'06 has been pretty happening for me. Starting with my dramatics team scoring at the dramatics event at the IIM Banglore fest, Unmaad'06, coming second place, to a race against time to meet deadlines. The month has been pretty hectic and as an engineer would put it, heavily scheduled. To an outsider, the final semester in NIT Trichy means heaven, thanks to a class or two in a day. But the underlying truth is that one has a lot of other work burdening him/her. When I say work, I do not necessarily mean indulging in activities of pleasure, but activities which are very much classified under the category of curricular. The eighth semester students are confronted by some thing called as a PROJECT which has to be done in the semester and it carries a mammoth 6 credits, which is very, very big. Do you take part in it with full conviction or not is a different matter to debate, but nonetheless. And, as if this is not enough, you have other things to do like, for me, there is The Thespian Society, the Reminiscence, practice for the inter department festival called NITTFEST'06 and many others. Thus, paradox of the situation is, you think you are really free in the eighth semester, but actually you are not.
When all these are eating my head and sanity away, one fine day, I wake up in a strange bed, with a weird plastic gas mask kind of thing, covering my nose and mouth. It did take some time for me to realize that there was a very dear friend and a lady dressed in white and a white cap, looking like a nurse, were beside my new bed. What puzzled me, of course, was that I remember going to bed the night before, feeling very uneasy with myself. It was as if I was a carrying a large boulder on my chest and feeling extremely tired of its weight on my lungs. And that's it! That is all I remember! The next thing I know that I wake up in this totally strange place with all sorts of medical equipment surrounding me and a lady dressed like a nurse standing by my bedside with my worried friend with her. Then it struck me, that the place was indeed a hospital and she not only dresses like a nurse, but she is a nurse.
"What happened? Why am I here?" a puzzled me asked my relieved friend.
"Thank God! Relax now. Last night you were having problems in breathing and gasping very badly for breath. You were brought here and the doctor put you to sleep with the nebulizer. We were waiting for you to wake up so that an XRay of your lungs could be taken. The doctor will be here soon. Don't worry."
Hmmm.. Well, I didn't know how to react to that. Maybe because I was too drowsy and the god damn weight on my chest was causing more fatigue. Later, a wheelchair was brought and I was taken for the XRay. I could barely move. A step I take and I feel spent out. But I couldn't really think. And this is what the doctor tells me, followed by a thousand watts smile, "It is only a normal chest congestion. Don't worry. Apparently, air flow to your right lung has stopped. I will administer some antibiotics. You should be alright soon." A normal chest congestion? Since when did chest congestions be normal? And no air flow to the right lung? Since when did that be normal too? And after all this he tells me not to worry, after all, I should be alright soon. Should be? Soon? How soon? Oh-o! I shouldn't worry... I forgot.
Well, it took two weeks. I missed my one set of internal tests. My Valentine's Day went for a six. And, oh yeah, I forgot, I lost some good amount of weight. Apart from the latter, there was nothing so good about this normal chest congestion. And of course, I had a reason to stop verbal communication because the doc advised me, again with his thousand watts smile, not to talk much. Travel was also forbidden. I other words, for two weeks, I was cut off from civilization.
When I did return from my exile, I discovered that I had loads of work pending. I am sure, Mr Hercules must have been happy to see a contender in me. It was back to the usual schedule of late night working and running to classes in the morning which, eventually, just when you reach the threshold of the room, you are informed that the lecture is cancelled. And to top it all, the internet lab, my favorite night spot, was shifted to an annexe of the Octagon, to accommodate more computers for the growing population of the college junta and security for this place had not yet been arranged. Hence it was put to a 12 hour working schedule, which meant the lab closed at 8:00 pm. My diatribes seem never ending, thanks to the ever generous cosmos.
However, tonight I am a happy man. They have finally put a guard for the internet lab and its back to the 24/7 system. My work has kind of eased, but the frustration still lurks. But why do I have to care now, after all, I can cry in the internet in the lap of night, read blogs of my peers, write my heart out, and then, wait for the next days unfolding; a new set of troubles, new set of ill lucks, new experiences.
Greetings fraternity, Alfi aka hotICE is still alive, with an abnormally normal chest, strangely with both my lungs working fine. Thank you for still being there......
Big respects and greetings to the blogging world. February'06 has been pretty happening for me. Starting with my dramatics team scoring at the dramatics event at the IIM Banglore fest, Unmaad'06, coming second place, to a race against time to meet deadlines. The month has been pretty hectic and as an engineer would put it, heavily scheduled. To an outsider, the final semester in NIT Trichy means heaven, thanks to a class or two in a day. But the underlying truth is that one has a lot of other work burdening him/her. When I say work, I do not necessarily mean indulging in activities of pleasure, but activities which are very much classified under the category of curricular. The eighth semester students are confronted by some thing called as a PROJECT which has to be done in the semester and it carries a mammoth 6 credits, which is very, very big. Do you take part in it with full conviction or not is a different matter to debate, but nonetheless. And, as if this is not enough, you have other things to do like, for me, there is The Thespian Society, the Reminiscence, practice for the inter department festival called NITTFEST'06 and many others. Thus, paradox of the situation is, you think you are really free in the eighth semester, but actually you are not.
When all these are eating my head and sanity away, one fine day, I wake up in a strange bed, with a weird plastic gas mask kind of thing, covering my nose and mouth. It did take some time for me to realize that there was a very dear friend and a lady dressed in white and a white cap, looking like a nurse, were beside my new bed. What puzzled me, of course, was that I remember going to bed the night before, feeling very uneasy with myself. It was as if I was a carrying a large boulder on my chest and feeling extremely tired of its weight on my lungs. And that's it! That is all I remember! The next thing I know that I wake up in this totally strange place with all sorts of medical equipment surrounding me and a lady dressed like a nurse standing by my bedside with my worried friend with her. Then it struck me, that the place was indeed a hospital and she not only dresses like a nurse, but she is a nurse.
"What happened? Why am I here?" a puzzled me asked my relieved friend.
"Thank God! Relax now. Last night you were having problems in breathing and gasping very badly for breath. You were brought here and the doctor put you to sleep with the nebulizer. We were waiting for you to wake up so that an XRay of your lungs could be taken. The doctor will be here soon. Don't worry."
Hmmm.. Well, I didn't know how to react to that. Maybe because I was too drowsy and the god damn weight on my chest was causing more fatigue. Later, a wheelchair was brought and I was taken for the XRay. I could barely move. A step I take and I feel spent out. But I couldn't really think. And this is what the doctor tells me, followed by a thousand watts smile, "It is only a normal chest congestion. Don't worry. Apparently, air flow to your right lung has stopped. I will administer some antibiotics. You should be alright soon." A normal chest congestion? Since when did chest congestions be normal? And no air flow to the right lung? Since when did that be normal too? And after all this he tells me not to worry, after all, I should be alright soon. Should be? Soon? How soon? Oh-o! I shouldn't worry... I forgot.
Well, it took two weeks. I missed my one set of internal tests. My Valentine's Day went for a six. And, oh yeah, I forgot, I lost some good amount of weight. Apart from the latter, there was nothing so good about this normal chest congestion. And of course, I had a reason to stop verbal communication because the doc advised me, again with his thousand watts smile, not to talk much. Travel was also forbidden. I other words, for two weeks, I was cut off from civilization.
When I did return from my exile, I discovered that I had loads of work pending. I am sure, Mr Hercules must have been happy to see a contender in me. It was back to the usual schedule of late night working and running to classes in the morning which, eventually, just when you reach the threshold of the room, you are informed that the lecture is cancelled. And to top it all, the internet lab, my favorite night spot, was shifted to an annexe of the Octagon, to accommodate more computers for the growing population of the college junta and security for this place had not yet been arranged. Hence it was put to a 12 hour working schedule, which meant the lab closed at 8:00 pm. My diatribes seem never ending, thanks to the ever generous cosmos.
However, tonight I am a happy man. They have finally put a guard for the internet lab and its back to the 24/7 system. My work has kind of eased, but the frustration still lurks. But why do I have to care now, after all, I can cry in the internet in the lap of night, read blogs of my peers, write my heart out, and then, wait for the next days unfolding; a new set of troubles, new set of ill lucks, new experiences.
Greetings fraternity, Alfi aka hotICE is still alive, with an abnormally normal chest, strangely with both my lungs working fine. Thank you for still being there......
Sunday, January 29, 2006
The Plug
Dr Cherian gave his suggestion after the meeting. With both kidneys failed and a massive heart attack, there was no chance of survival. Thanks to the ventilator, clinically, he is still alive. The ball was in the court of the family. They were to make the choice. A choice which would decide whether he lives like a vegetable in the ventilator, or...
Kadri Sahib was man of immense maturity and wisdom. I have hardly seen him in real life, but heard a lot about him from my father. My father's association with Kadiri Sahib goes back to his pre degree days in Calicut, where he was not just a student, but a budding businessman. Kadiri Sahib was more like a guardian to him than a working partner. My father still says, "If it wasn't for Kadiri Sahib, I would have been like one of those senseless boys of prominent families of Kerala who went astray with all the fortune their ancestors had made." No doubt he had his respect and admiration for him. And so did the rest of Calicut.
But today, after almost 32 years, Kadiri Sahib lies in the Intensive Care Unit in the Calicut Institute of Medical Science, Calicut, after a massive cardiac arrest. He has been undergoing dialysis for the last six to eight months. And now the cardiac arrest has left him with a body that is nothing more than a vegetable; alive but cannot react, cannot emote, cannot express. A pathetic state which really intimidates. What good is life if you cannot do these? What good is life if you cannot move? What good is life if you cannot feel? What good is life if you cannot live?
The entire concept of life and death has been a very intriguing one for me. Many a times have I questioned myself- if we have to die one day, why do we live? Why do we have ambitions in life if we know we are going to perish and none of these things, whatever we achieve, do not come with us? What use has it been to Leonardo da Vinci that all his genius provided some brilliant paintings, engineering inspirations and invaluable contributions of art when he has dissolved in the soils of wherever he was buried? How does it matter whether the world still talks about his feats; he cannot hear them, he cannot bask in the glory of them!
But somehow, I suppress myself with the age old philosophy,"Whatever begins, needs to end." In parallel, just as every life is gone, there is a new life born. But that still doesn't answer my primary question, WHY?
Its been more than forty eight hours since the cardiac arrest. Kadiri Sahib was being survived with the help of the ventilator which forces him to breath, instigates blood circulation in his cardiovascular system and in plain words, simply survive. A better way of looking at it would be, he is not living, he is being made to live. He is not living by himself, a machine is forcing him to live. Tubes that inject nutrition, tubes that pump air into his lungs, and many other gadgets, thanks to modern biomedical instrumentation, giving life support. But for how long was the question.
The doctor who was administering his case, Dr Cherian, gave his opinion. According to him, there was no chance of optimism for Kadiri Sahib's life ahead, medically. With both kidneys failed and a heart that was stubborn not to respond on its own, only a miracle could save the 81 year old veteran. But sadly, the time was well over the hope for miracles. The nearest kin had to make the decision. The question was not whether to or not to, the question was, when. How could they convey this to the other relatives who thronged outside the ICU?
The crowd was huge outside the ICU. It not just Kadri Sahib's well wishers, but there were relatives of the other patients too. Also, the near and dear ones of those in the labor room thronged in the same place, for the maternity ward was just opposite to the ICU. However, most of the people there did know of Kadiri Sahib's condition, for he was a man known to a good section of Calicut's population. My father found his way through the crowd, a mixture of worried faces, and escorted to the ICU by Kadiri Sahib's son Assu.
The monde outside the ICU waited. Inside, in the presence of the doctor, Assu wetted the unconscious Sahib's lips with the holy water from the Zam Zam springs in Mecca. The kin, including my father, broke into reciting verses from the Qur'an and chanting prayers. And then, when the moment arrived, there was pin drop silence in the room. Everyone looked at each other. Their eyes were moist with tears. Here they were, with tension and sorrow killing them inch by inch, and there lies the man who is going to die, or lets say, clinically murdered. Here were faces that had the frown of the forehead and cringing eyes, and there lies the Sahib, with the expression of inexplicable serenity. If only he moved a muscle, he lifted his hands perhaps, start coughing, or maybe just wake up from this troubling sleep, if only that miracle could happen.... If it could happen now!
"Assu, may I?" asked Dr. Cherian.
The exploding silence was deafening. My father held Assu's arm. He nodded his head affirmative.
The plug of the ventilator was removed. The plots in the oscilloscopes went feeble. Just then, Kadiri Sahib began to gasp lightly, the plots shot up. And then... It was all over. The screens had simple straight lines rather than twisted curves. "La Ilaha Illa Allah! Inna lillahi wa Inna Ilaihi Raji'oon! Assu, everything is over."
They came out of the ICU to address the crowd that had thronged outside to know of the developments. The news was let out, the women folk burst into tears. There was a chanting of "Inna lillahi wa Inna Ilaihi Raji'oon" in unison. A life had been lost. A man had just died. Sorrow filled the air. Everyone comforted each other at the loss.
"Anwar Saadat? Where is Anwar Saadat?" cried the nurse outside the labor room, which faced the ICU. The man in question gave his attendance from the crowd.
"Congratulations! You have a boy!"
Kadri Sahib was man of immense maturity and wisdom. I have hardly seen him in real life, but heard a lot about him from my father. My father's association with Kadiri Sahib goes back to his pre degree days in Calicut, where he was not just a student, but a budding businessman. Kadiri Sahib was more like a guardian to him than a working partner. My father still says, "If it wasn't for Kadiri Sahib, I would have been like one of those senseless boys of prominent families of Kerala who went astray with all the fortune their ancestors had made." No doubt he had his respect and admiration for him. And so did the rest of Calicut.
But today, after almost 32 years, Kadiri Sahib lies in the Intensive Care Unit in the Calicut Institute of Medical Science, Calicut, after a massive cardiac arrest. He has been undergoing dialysis for the last six to eight months. And now the cardiac arrest has left him with a body that is nothing more than a vegetable; alive but cannot react, cannot emote, cannot express. A pathetic state which really intimidates. What good is life if you cannot do these? What good is life if you cannot move? What good is life if you cannot feel? What good is life if you cannot live?
The entire concept of life and death has been a very intriguing one for me. Many a times have I questioned myself- if we have to die one day, why do we live? Why do we have ambitions in life if we know we are going to perish and none of these things, whatever we achieve, do not come with us? What use has it been to Leonardo da Vinci that all his genius provided some brilliant paintings, engineering inspirations and invaluable contributions of art when he has dissolved in the soils of wherever he was buried? How does it matter whether the world still talks about his feats; he cannot hear them, he cannot bask in the glory of them!
But somehow, I suppress myself with the age old philosophy,"Whatever begins, needs to end." In parallel, just as every life is gone, there is a new life born. But that still doesn't answer my primary question, WHY?
Its been more than forty eight hours since the cardiac arrest. Kadiri Sahib was being survived with the help of the ventilator which forces him to breath, instigates blood circulation in his cardiovascular system and in plain words, simply survive. A better way of looking at it would be, he is not living, he is being made to live. He is not living by himself, a machine is forcing him to live. Tubes that inject nutrition, tubes that pump air into his lungs, and many other gadgets, thanks to modern biomedical instrumentation, giving life support. But for how long was the question.
The doctor who was administering his case, Dr Cherian, gave his opinion. According to him, there was no chance of optimism for Kadiri Sahib's life ahead, medically. With both kidneys failed and a heart that was stubborn not to respond on its own, only a miracle could save the 81 year old veteran. But sadly, the time was well over the hope for miracles. The nearest kin had to make the decision. The question was not whether to or not to, the question was, when. How could they convey this to the other relatives who thronged outside the ICU?
The crowd was huge outside the ICU. It not just Kadri Sahib's well wishers, but there were relatives of the other patients too. Also, the near and dear ones of those in the labor room thronged in the same place, for the maternity ward was just opposite to the ICU. However, most of the people there did know of Kadiri Sahib's condition, for he was a man known to a good section of Calicut's population. My father found his way through the crowd, a mixture of worried faces, and escorted to the ICU by Kadiri Sahib's son Assu.
The monde outside the ICU waited. Inside, in the presence of the doctor, Assu wetted the unconscious Sahib's lips with the holy water from the Zam Zam springs in Mecca. The kin, including my father, broke into reciting verses from the Qur'an and chanting prayers. And then, when the moment arrived, there was pin drop silence in the room. Everyone looked at each other. Their eyes were moist with tears. Here they were, with tension and sorrow killing them inch by inch, and there lies the man who is going to die, or lets say, clinically murdered. Here were faces that had the frown of the forehead and cringing eyes, and there lies the Sahib, with the expression of inexplicable serenity. If only he moved a muscle, he lifted his hands perhaps, start coughing, or maybe just wake up from this troubling sleep, if only that miracle could happen.... If it could happen now!
"Assu, may I?" asked Dr. Cherian.
The exploding silence was deafening. My father held Assu's arm. He nodded his head affirmative.
The plug of the ventilator was removed. The plots in the oscilloscopes went feeble. Just then, Kadiri Sahib began to gasp lightly, the plots shot up. And then... It was all over. The screens had simple straight lines rather than twisted curves. "La Ilaha Illa Allah! Inna lillahi wa Inna Ilaihi Raji'oon! Assu, everything is over."
They came out of the ICU to address the crowd that had thronged outside to know of the developments. The news was let out, the women folk burst into tears. There was a chanting of "Inna lillahi wa Inna Ilaihi Raji'oon" in unison. A life had been lost. A man had just died. Sorrow filled the air. Everyone comforted each other at the loss.
"Anwar Saadat? Where is Anwar Saadat?" cried the nurse outside the labor room, which faced the ICU. The man in question gave his attendance from the crowd.
"Congratulations! You have a boy!"
Monday, January 23, 2006
Are You DEAD?
That's what half the junta associated with me have been flooding my inboxes of my email, mobile and even my blogger comments with. Well, can't blame them, for I have indeed been in exile for quite some time. Thanks to a whole lot of pleasing things happening in my life. As it is things are moving really smoothly in my life, when my friends decide to add fuel to fire by bowling me over with quizzes regarding my well being and sanity. So here is for all you curious little chaps and buddies, to my adopted siblings- present and would be ones too, to my lovely girlfriends (do I have any?), to ever caring relatives and family people, to the world on which I am a burden, once and for all, I AM VERY MUCH ALIVE!
The New Year hasn't been so very new to me. Apart from the fact that I always have the bank counter guy giving me weird stares when he realizes that I haven't moved on with the times, signing with date DD/MM/05. I'm pretty lousy at updating you see, and my blog is an excellent exemplary. Coming back, so the New Year, to me, has got nothing so new about it. The celebration in the hostel on the New Year's eve was one of its kind. There was a huge raging bonfire, loud music (read as noise) and rivers of the right kind of beverages flowing. People scaled greater heights, thanks to potted plants with weeds. There was merry in the air and everyone was in this state of strange frenzy. However, I failed to understand why so much of hoopla about a New Year? After all, when you wake up in the morning of January 1, its inevitably going to be SSDD (read Same Shit Different Day).
Despite all these reasons which gave me aversions to the whole idea of a New Year's Eve celebration, I still joined the festivities. It was a different feeling that started bubbling in me. And since then, its been only growing in me. There is this vague steam in me which is building, and I'm afraid, one day, I'll burst...
On 3rd September, 2002, I came to Regional Engineering College Trichy, which was of course, on its way of being rechristened as National Institute of Technology Trichy (NIT Trichy), with the dreams of becoming an engineer of caliber and competence. Since then, there has been no looking back, different matter that its been a really bumpy ride for me. There have been moments in my stay here when I felt extremely defeated. There were moments when I wanted to run away from this place. There were instances when I wanted to commit murder. There were instances when I was applauded and wanted to fly in the appreciation. There were times when some people entered my life and I wished they stayed there forever. And today, I know for sure, that I feel really bad about one truth...
Today, 24 January 2006, as I sit here in the Internet lab which gave birth to a blogger in me, I face that impending truth. In 4 months time, I would be transformed from a wannabe techy, a would be engineer to an engineer with a BTech degree. Of course, that is something to be amazingly happy about. My parents would be proud. My friends would be proud. My community would be proud. And I? I'm proud of course, no doubt, but in the heart of hearts, I'm scared. Will I live with the trade off that I'll be leaving this god forsaken campus, about which I crib about 24/7, yet love it with the same love that I love my house? My friends who gave me the support and reason to fight? My love and passion that I found here in people and things, will they all fade away? Will I lose them all, just for the sake of a degree? I'm scared... I'm scared...
Life is a journey up a hill, some say. Life a river that flows, some say. But I don't care what life is, but this is certainly not the way it has to treat me. In the last 3 years and so, I've found so much comfort and peace in many a person in this place that it really petrifies me that one fine day, a train journey will change everything, from my going to lectures straight from bed to wearing the same pair of jeans for days together.
But then, I guess that is the way life is. A long train journey. From one station to another, meeting new people till their station is reached or yours. And then, they are simply but a piece in memory. Sometimes you have the option of upgrading from the unreserved to reserved compartment, from the reserved to AC compartment and so. And in the process, you meet more people, more experiences, more things recorded in memory. A train of events. The train of life.
To all those whom I met in this train, I'm still alive, thanks to your prayers and wishes.
The New Year hasn't been so very new to me. Apart from the fact that I always have the bank counter guy giving me weird stares when he realizes that I haven't moved on with the times, signing with date DD/MM/05. I'm pretty lousy at updating you see, and my blog is an excellent exemplary. Coming back, so the New Year, to me, has got nothing so new about it. The celebration in the hostel on the New Year's eve was one of its kind. There was a huge raging bonfire, loud music (read as noise) and rivers of the right kind of beverages flowing. People scaled greater heights, thanks to potted plants with weeds. There was merry in the air and everyone was in this state of strange frenzy. However, I failed to understand why so much of hoopla about a New Year? After all, when you wake up in the morning of January 1, its inevitably going to be SSDD (read Same Shit Different Day).
Despite all these reasons which gave me aversions to the whole idea of a New Year's Eve celebration, I still joined the festivities. It was a different feeling that started bubbling in me. And since then, its been only growing in me. There is this vague steam in me which is building, and I'm afraid, one day, I'll burst...
On 3rd September, 2002, I came to Regional Engineering College Trichy, which was of course, on its way of being rechristened as National Institute of Technology Trichy (NIT Trichy), with the dreams of becoming an engineer of caliber and competence. Since then, there has been no looking back, different matter that its been a really bumpy ride for me. There have been moments in my stay here when I felt extremely defeated. There were moments when I wanted to run away from this place. There were instances when I wanted to commit murder. There were instances when I was applauded and wanted to fly in the appreciation. There were times when some people entered my life and I wished they stayed there forever. And today, I know for sure, that I feel really bad about one truth...
Today, 24 January 2006, as I sit here in the Internet lab which gave birth to a blogger in me, I face that impending truth. In 4 months time, I would be transformed from a wannabe techy, a would be engineer to an engineer with a BTech degree. Of course, that is something to be amazingly happy about. My parents would be proud. My friends would be proud. My community would be proud. And I? I'm proud of course, no doubt, but in the heart of hearts, I'm scared. Will I live with the trade off that I'll be leaving this god forsaken campus, about which I crib about 24/7, yet love it with the same love that I love my house? My friends who gave me the support and reason to fight? My love and passion that I found here in people and things, will they all fade away? Will I lose them all, just for the sake of a degree? I'm scared... I'm scared...
Life is a journey up a hill, some say. Life a river that flows, some say. But I don't care what life is, but this is certainly not the way it has to treat me. In the last 3 years and so, I've found so much comfort and peace in many a person in this place that it really petrifies me that one fine day, a train journey will change everything, from my going to lectures straight from bed to wearing the same pair of jeans for days together.
But then, I guess that is the way life is. A long train journey. From one station to another, meeting new people till their station is reached or yours. And then, they are simply but a piece in memory. Sometimes you have the option of upgrading from the unreserved to reserved compartment, from the reserved to AC compartment and so. And in the process, you meet more people, more experiences, more things recorded in memory. A train of events. The train of life.
To all those whom I met in this train, I'm still alive, thanks to your prayers and wishes.
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