doctors' day speech

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I’m R.Sathish and I stand before you on this glorious evening to speak a little, well, not so little on the vital doctor-patient relationship prevalent in our society.

Last Wednesday, after much cajoling and threatening, my mum coaxed me into taking the much-feared medical check-up. I confess, medicines and I have never been best of buddies. Stray dogs, screaming dads, poochandis, paiyes and chandramukhis have never frightened me, but a tiny little prick with that needle can, to use the popular phrase, “beat the hell outta me”. I don’t know why, but it takes me 25 litres of water and double that amount of courage to gulp down a simple Crocin. At my dear old paati who has the pleasure or rather the horror of taking half a dozen pills a day, I can only stare in awe and amazement. Bravo, paati, bravo, I’m proud of you!

Half an hour later, amma and me valadukal-edhutufied into our general practitioner’s clinic and it was no different from what I had imagined. Plastered to the wall was this huge poster, “Cigarette Smoking Is Injurious To Health”, surrounded by tiny adverts singing the glories of half a dozen pharmaceutical wonder drugs. And of course, there was the 27-around receptionist akka, the TV on top with the funky hair dude on Sun Music, thathas and paatis complaining of “kannu mangala irukku”, mamas and mamis about BP and cholesterol, and to add a tinge of life and animation to this otherwise boring scene, were the little kiddos of all ages and sizes moving around restlessly.

If looks can kill, believe me, the doors in washrooms and those outside doctors’ rooms would be first in line. The fierce horrible looks these wooden frames receive would humble the most obstinate of individuals. The looks of those rushing is best described in my mother’s words as “Usuru pogaramari”, and the looks of those leisurely strolling out can be described as “moksham kadachamaari”.

Eventually, the much-stared-at door creaked open, and the expectations of everyone surged. The receptionist enjoyed her one moment of glory and took her own sweet time before feasting her eyes on me. “Sir, neenga poonga”, she echoed softly. Mr.Sundar and family walked out, relieved and reassured. Sonu, their son, was down with a bout of fever and god forbid, the doctor had diagnosed it as nothing more than an ordinary fever. Not malaria, not typhoid, just a mild ordinary fever. Medicines. Two days rest. No ice creams. 200 Rupees. Sonu’s ordeal was over.

Reality check, ladies and gentlemen! Is that all? Does the role of a doctor end with two worthless pieces of paper? The concern, care and efforts of a doctor, are these menial things bought when required and discarded when not? When a doctor scribbles his signature across a prescription, is he indeed penning it on a divorce application, alienating himself from his patient forever? Beautifully phrased as “vennumna vechhukaradu, illena thookipodaradu?”, are the services of a medical specialist yet another stock on the stock exchange? Are they, ladies and gentlemen?

A doctor’s role is one that is accompanied by remarkable selflessness, sincerity and extraordinary skill. Be it an ordinary paramedic, or a world-famous neurologist, doctors are on call 24*7, ignoring personal commitments, avoiding material pleasures, striving hard to alleviate your disease and discomfort. They are those agents of God, who deliver life from the crushing tentacles of death. A mother cares only about the well-being of her child. On the contrary, a doctor chooses to dedicate his life and career to ensuring the physical and mental well-being of thousands around him. It is the doctor who, with a combination of knowledge, experience and skill, works tirelessly to decode the enigma that is plaguing your body and usher in much-needed respite thus exhausting himself, physically, mentally and emotionally in the process. However, by forgetting this service once our illness is cured, aren’t we, ladies and gentlemen, being self-centered? For a person who has saved our soul from the evil clutches of death, doesn’t he DESERVE a more humane treatment? Should he be discarded from our lives not unlike a used napkin, his purpose served, life outlived? If not as an individual, doesn’t his work at least merit respect, appreciation and acclamation?

Doctors have affected the lives of millions worldwide. From Siamese twins to congenital heart disorders, they have corrected and reconstructed the lives of hundreds and thousands of people. I don’t advocate you worship only “life-saving professionals” like your cardiologist or ophthalmologist, even your family physician, when seen in proper light is worthy of your prayers. Every morning, when you say your prayers, remember God doesn’t come down on earth to save you. The altruistic souls who guide you every time when you are lost, those people who come to your aid when you are in need, they are the true incarnations of God! Remember, your God isn’t in the temples. He isn’t in the churches, nor in the gurudwaras or in the mosques. He is also an human being, racing from one checkpoint to another in this insurmountable race called life. He lives and breathes, like you and me. He is dressed in white, and lives not far from you. He is none another than your doctor!

Ladies and gentlemen, on this glorious day, let’s all promise to lend these gentlemen-in-white the credit they have for long deserved. A game of chess, an invitation to your daughter’s marriage, a surprise birthday party, let us make doctors a part of our family, a soul who attends to not only our sickness and sorrows, but also celebrates with us our victories, triumphs and joys. Let’s take a moment to acknowledge and appreciate the benevolence, magnanimity and charity of our neighbors in white.

To every single doctor in this world, I raise my hand in admiration and adulation. You have played a very crucial role in maintaining the peace and harmony in this world. You have been doing a marvelous job and I urge you to continue playing this wonderful role for generations to come. Great work, gentlemen!

And thank you one and all for being such an awesome audience!

Good day!

<This is the speech I delivered at the Indian Science Monitor organised BC Roy Memorial Award Function at the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan Auditorium, Mylapore, Chennai on the 1st of July 2010>

gif-giis scholarship acceptance form - annexure 1

#1. Seniors must be treated with respect at all cost and all times. When walking up the stairs or sitting in the dinner table, scholars must ensure that they remain standing until all the senior residents have gone or eaten.

#2. The washroom and the adjoining areas are strictly out of bounds for incoming scholars after 7 am. Seniors are hereby empowered to reprimand the junior hostelites if found in the washroom after 7 am.

#3. Scholars must go to bed at 11 pm and get up at 6 am sharp. The timetable must be adhered to religiously. Any deviations from the schedule will be investigated rigorously. Even if the scholar isn’t sleepy, he/she must close his eyes and act as if sleeping in the presence of a senior.

#4. In case the scholar is talented (music, dance, drama), he/she must take prior permission from the seniors before showcasing them.

#5. Seniors can call upon the scholar at any time of the day for monetary, dietary assistance. Such requests must be attended to nicely for a 'Preferred Junior' status.

#6. In case a scholar owns an iPhone, or Mac, or any technological goody, the senior immediately acquires a 51% majority stake in it. The appliance will be under lock and key with the senior and prior permission must be taken in order to use it. In case the appliance isn't returned on time, the senior can confiscate it. Also, the scholar must restrain himself from flaunting it before members of the opposite sex.

#7. Scholars will be allowed to go out for shopping IF AND ONLY IF they bring back Apple Pie, Shaker Fries(Varun), McChicken[3], Shaker Fries, Ice Lemon Tea Large, Foot Long Veggie Delight, Fish Zinger, Large Coke, Cheese Fries, Mayonnaise and Curry Sauces (Sathish), Large Coke, Shaker Fries(Sudip), McSpicy(Subir) and other essential commodities for their seniors.

#8. Doubt-clearing in any subject is strictly prohibited in the hostel premises. Only under extraordinary circumstances, may a scholar ask his/her senior for help. In such cases, the senior must be notified at least an hour before. If the senior is unable to clear the query, it must be understood that the query is way inferior to his/her intelligence and doesn't imply ignorance.

#9. IMPORTANT: Under no condition, must a scholar attempt to contact a member of the opposite sex through phone, electronic mail or any other mode of communication. Any such attempt will be noted, recorded and the collected evidence will be sent to Mr.GSS Rao at principal.qt@sg.globalindianschool.org with cc to alphonsa.paul@rediffmail.com. All communication must be routed through Mr.Varun Sarwal & Mr.Sathish Raghuraman.

#10. Any extraordinary loyalty shown towards the Warden or sympathy towards Devesh is a criminal offence and the consequences will be severe.

I ......................... (Scholar's Name) hereby affirm I shall abide by all the rules and regulations laid above and keep the flag of the GIIS hostel flying high.



Signature

india 2020

The Thuraya satellite phone buzzed to life.

The man took the call and thirty seconds into it, ordered the caller to evacuate and killed the secure transmission.

Rizwan al-Zawahiri, the self-styled provisional commander of the Lashkar-e-Taiba, was a worried man. His personal bodyguard, Salim Ansari, had noticed a sudden flurry of activity in the countryside. The last few supporters of their cause had reportedly been picked up and questioned about Rizwan’s whereabouts. There had been a significant increase in air raids, many young and able-bodied men had visited the village in the recent past, and most importantly the much feared General Pervez Kiyani, Commandant of the Army Special Ops, was touring the village.

al-Zawahiri had the antennae of a moth. Months and years of hiding had cultivated his survival instincts. He was a survivor, and was determined to win this long and tiring game of hide and seek with the Army. Ansari was to meet him in half an hour with a dozen trusted men and together they would all move deeper into the hills, ready to battle it out to the last man if need be.

As he rummaged through his den, he located his preferred AK 56 assault rifle, an Army combat jacket, a Beretta pistol, two additional magazines, half a dozen grenades and two bottles of water. There was a sudden spurt of wind, and a few sheets of paper fell out of a dossier marked ‘MAXIMUM CLASSIFIED’. Cursing himself at his absent-mindedness, Rizwan bent down to pick up the fallen sheets.

Prime Minister Roy smiled back at him. How he despised that smile! Try as hard as he and his army could, Roy’s smile never ceased. Multiple assassination plots, attempts at spreading discord among Indians, fractured foreign policies, communalism, factionalism, regionalism, everything that they had tried had ended up with fluctuating degrees of failure. Increased defence expenditure, popular support, revolutionary and radical policies both at home and abroad, Roy had outwitted him every time. India was metamorphosing and Roy was the custodian of this change. Charismatic, flamboyant, intellectual, scrupulous, promising and uncompromising, Roy’s regime infused in Indian politics a sense of fresh blood and vitality, in sharp contrast to the decades of senility associated with the Prime Minister’s Office. Rizwan hated Roy’s guts and found him one hard-nosed sonofabitch and had sworn to see him dead.

Rizwan grabbed the paper and stuffed it down his haversack. His eyes glared angrily at a newspaper cutting titled “A small step for man, a great leap for mankind”. Over the past decade, their enemy India had achieved several landmark milestones in science and technology. Indian scientists had decoded the enigma called AIDS, successfully put man on the Mars, created high-yielding crops which ensured no Indian ever remained hungry and deciphered nuclear fusion such that the whole of Bombay now ran on nuclear energy. The plans to sabotage the India-Pakistan-Iran gas pipeline had been shelved after an ambitious chemist at the National Institute of Advanced Chemistry figured out how to use water as an alternative fuel. Darn! Damn him! Damn them all!

He was ready to leave. He took one last glimpse of his hideout for the past eleven years. Pinned to the walls was a picture of the Taj Colaba, taken on 27th November 2008. It invoked in him a sense of pride. The daring plans, the chilling executions, the kill ratio, the shock waves it sent across the world…those were the good old days. Mothers wailing, marine commandos baffled, bodies sprawled all over Mumbai, stock markets closed, national outrage at the police’s lethargy…his boys had done the impossible. His face regained its animation at this thought.

However, another part of his uniform mind soon put that thought to rest. There was work to do and he couldn’t let himself fantasize. His heart told him “26/11 is history. 25/12 is present.” On 25th December 2017, the unlimited reservoir called India’s patience ran out. After years of preparation, months of surveillance, days of readiness, the Indian High Command gave the go-ahead. The armed watchdogs named the National Investigation Agency, Intelligence Bureau, National Security Guard were unleashed on the terrorists. They were angry, smitten and vengeful. Within hours, over 1500 “sleeper cells” were busted, 7 out of 10 India’s Most Wanted terror operatives killed, and the borders cleansed of infiltrants. Operation Thunderbird had succeeded! India had hit back at its invaders. Words of adulation flowed from Washington to Tel Aviv. The why was understandable but the how still perplexed Rizwan!

To add fuel to fire, the Attorney-General of India Kiran Dutta ordered all pending murder, kidnapping, rape, corruption and embezzlement charges to be probed and acted upon immediately. That officious whore! By New Year 2018, India’s prisons were spilling. Corrupt bureaucrats, MLAs, ranking police officials, rapists, mercenaries, killers-on-hire, dons, drug peddlers, pimps…Dutta spared no one. New courts were instituted, the judiciary expanded to thrice its current capacity, all cases fast-tracked. Dutta had promised an India of the Mahatma’s dreams, and she had delivered. India was back with a vengeance!

As he stepped out of the cave, the words “Alwida Abba Jaan” echoed in his ears. He remembered Ahmed and Alisha, his darling kids. And Natasha, his loving wife! His had been a happy marriage. He loved and was loved. Until, until his hatred for India had blinded him to let go family. Rizwan had been radicalized and trained at Camp 101, where he was exposed to the harshest LeT indoctrination. Natasha had been stunned at his violence. The kids feared him. He was no longer the man she had loved and adored. She tried to talk him out of his fanaticism, his savagery, his abhorrence. For her, for their children, for them all. He had dismissed her. The LeT propaganda wing had been very thorough. He now found her weak, vulnerable, a nuisance. Rizwan dumped Natasha and joined the ranks of the LeT without a second thought on how his family would survive.

However, Natasha wasn’t alone. She had the people of India behind her. Natasha was ambitious, determined and sincere. Natasha toiled and rose to become the Executive Director of Media Corp, one of the biggest media corporations in South Asia. Her rags-to-riches story was a source of inspiration for every girl in the country. It highlighted the heights a woman could attain in India, when ambition combined with hard work. Women were no longer contained in the fumes of the gas stove; they flew planes, led armies, became astronauts, and held high offices in the country. As for the children, the Right to Free and Compulsory Education had ensured that they received proper education and were fully equipped to achieve their dreams. They had been educated at the IITs and IIMs on scholarships and were successfully pursuing their dream careers. Inshallah had been benevolent!

Rizwan felt a sudden pang of guilt. He had bled Mother India dry but she chose to reciprocate in the language of mercy and love.

"NO!” cried the LeT part of him. Natasha was past, Ahmed was past, Kiyani was the present. He was a product of Camp 101 trained to kill and kill he would. He was getting too sentimental, too unstable. LeT couldn’t have it; he wouldn’t have it. This way he would die, and he couldn’t let that happen. He would destroy India!

Carefully and slowly, he trudged the few hundred metres towards the rendezvous with Salim. He whispered among the trees, “Salim, Salim...”.

The sound of klaxons pierced the air.

Breaking Dawn

Yet another day has come to an end. We've all aged by 24 hours and 1440 minutes. Even by my sluggish standards, it has been a truly memorable day. Started off quite the normal way. Appa desperately trying to evacuate the bed, Amma's unlimited patience reaching all time lows.

Today was a day of delightful joyous Mom-Son nonsense-ing. The Image of the Day would surely be one of complete amusement and surprise on Amma's face as Shreya DidiG and me held an hour long Hindi-English bilateral talks. We gossiped about mascara, eyeliners, one dashing young lady who defied every over-made-up law that governs the realm of society and fashion, BINDAAS or was it BAKWAAS?

The afternoon passed off in its usual brisk manner with me doing some serious Chem for a change. 1 Page!

Evening...yeah! Downed a coffee. Jumped onto bed when Chandana came home. Chandu, a Class X student, still inspires in me a sense of fear and dread. A smart young lady, Chandu brightened the evening with Class X discussions. Then, went for a game of cricket. Following the Kotla debacle, our game too was abandoned due to bad light. Missed an easy catch, though more than made up for it with a Jonty-Rhodes-Impressing runout. Went for a stroll with Vinay and Varun, two really sweet guys in my colony. Discussed everything from Polestar to Avatar!

Got back home and had a brainstorming session with Dad about my C++ project. Sam called. Usual bro-sis mokkafyin'!

"Had"[Amma stuffed it down my mouth actually!] Pulao for dinner.

And now off to bed.

Gtalk Style, gn sd tc!

the sathyam SAGA

Mudiyadu, Amma, NO WAY!

It is a Monday today! Monday means Mom's Day out here at home sweet home. I was thinking what could possibly go wrong today when Amma gave me a plateful of delicious Pongal. I couldn't believe my luck. Breakfast without brushing? What was wrong with Amma today? I was going to grab a bite of "Made in Heaven" Pongal, when Dad noticed the CloseUp tube idling in the stand. For a change, I must add. Dad applied his Scotland Yard Chief Detective brains and deduced I hadn't brushed since last night and chased me all over the house in a gallant effort to exterminate all the germs that must be honeymooning in my gums. Reluctantly, I obliged.

Pongal was truly out of the world. Ananta Padmanabha Swamy Temple's chief cook...you are truly amazing! I LOVE YOU. The accompanying kesari was equally yummyyy.

Meanwhile, seeing none of my friends online, I resolved to study. Sat with Complex Numbers and worked out one big two line sum[Relax, Shreya DidiG], when Mom entered the stage with the most feared thing in the household.

OIL!

Nope, she wasn't attempting arson. Chill! Just attempting to convince me an oil bath is good for my health. Ignoring all my "Chancy, Mudiyadu" protests, she made me squat down and yeah...

I'M SOAKING IN 5.67 GALLONS OF OIL AT THE MO'!

The really annoying flowing feel of oil, sheesh!, it is like covering yourself with leeches. AARGHH! But, Mummy doesn't see all this. Just that, like good old Paati says, oil baths help in keeping a glowing and smooth skin. But, I don't plan to walk the ramp at Lakme Fashion Week next year, Ma, PURINJUDA?

I can hear the "Ennai oda laptop eppo onakku romba thevaya. Kulika poda!" in the most nicest tone possible from Mrs. Raguraman. Before "poda" is replaced by "poitolayenda", I must be off.

Bbye!

Off FB!

Thank you, Barkha, for helping me discover that the Internet is beyond Facebook! I truly agree with your HT article . If anyone deserves the gallows, nope, it isn't Ajmal Kasab, it is scum like SPS Rathore that rule our country. My sympathies to you and your family, Mr. Girhotra, and Aradhana, if I were the President of the country, you would get an Award for Extraordinary Bravery next January 26.

BREAKING NEWS: SATHISH JOINS THE "NO FB" CAMPAIGN!

Reuters: In a move that has clearly surprised and even shocked all those who once had "Otteri Neri" on their Friends List, Sathish has put up an "Off FB" status and has resisted all temptation to check on his notifications. Adivaasi, spokesperson for Mr.Neri, in an interview to Al-Jazeera, denied speculation that Mr.Randomness Personified had decided to leave the social networking site notorious for its addicting capability once and for all. "He just wants to see how long he can survive without FBing. Plus he's coping really well with the Facebook Withdrawal Syndrome. He listened to songs, blogged, twittered, caught up with old friends, and is even considering getting a start on his C++ project", said Mr.Adivaasi.

Well, yeah, that kinda summarizes my life at the moment. With Kaise Mujhe Tum Mil Gayi playing on an endless loop in my head [Take that wide-eyed astonished look off your face, Nishi, I do listen to Hindi songs!], Shreya DidiG's "Maine wine piya, dance kiya, kal meri behen ki birthday hai, cake kaaongi, tumhe sab kuch bataoongi, kal call karoongi, because tum bankrupt hoge. GN, SD", dear sweet old Grandma's "Nee thirundaveamatta" and if really exasperated "Nee urupadamaari enakku theriyala!" statements, Mom wondering if I got an inflatable balloon for a stomach, Julie and me MRT-ing, Dad worrying if getting me a laptop was really a wise decision, listening to Vinay-Earth-Destruction-Karthik's "Anna! I'll annihilate the Earth" plans, mokkafying Sam every few hours, missed-calling Violin Sir, dividing 1000/x where x was once 15 and is currently 7, getting up leisurely at 11.30, watching really "WhydidIevercomeforthis?" movies like New Moon, cycling recklessly up and down the potholed alleys of Singara Chennai, downing half a dozen coffees in a day, forwarding really random SMSes to Sudip, "please cal. m bored"ing Divya and yeah! regretting my decision to drag 15 kgs of books all the way from 3 MCR to Changi Airport and to Chennai last 28th and forgetting them since then...life is seriously awwsum![Sheesh! AWESOME!]

I'm coming, Morpheus. Adieu!