I’m fine. A lie. Fib. Pretense. If you could only sense! My cry for help is faint But small, my pain ain’t. So, stay. Even if you have nothing to say. Stay with me. Just stay. Your presence is the essence.
I’m fine. Happy! I crack the loudest joke But inside I’m so broke. If only you could read my mind, All this gloom you would find. So, stay. Even if you have nothing to say. Stay with me. Just stay. Your presence is the essence.
I’m fine. Perfect! On glory’s zenith I stand Yet, no one can understand. Why do I feel so alone, All on my own? So, stay. Even if you have nothing to say. Stay with me. Just stay. Your presence is the essence.
I’m fine. Alright! Just leave me alone, I yell Yet all I want is to be held. I need a hug and your presence. All my anger is just a pretense. In me is a gloom That sometimes makes me fume. So, stay. Even if you have nothing to say. Stay with me. Just stay. Your presence is the essence.
Life is not what it seems. We often miss the silent screams. “How are you?”, we ask. But “I’m fine”, is often just a mask. So, stay. Even if you have nothing to say. Stay with them. Just stay. Your presence is the essence.
This poem won third place in the World Mental Health Day 2025 poetry competition at St John’s National Academy of Health Sciences, Bengaluru.
I was on my way to work when the traffic signal turned red. Five minutes to wait. Instinctively, I reached for my phone—only to realize it wasn’t there. That’s when it hit me: I had left my phone at home. Panic mode switched on immediately. What if someone from work needs me? What if there’s an emergency at home? How will I make payments? Should I go back and get it? A hundred thoughts raced through my mind at once. After a deeper breath, I started rationalizing. Going back would mean two more hours in traffic, being late to work, and dealing with the morning chaos—not a great idea. I can call home from my friend’s phone and ask them to contact her in case of any emergencies. At office, colleagues can always reach me on the extension number . And yes, my friend would have to treat me to coffee since I cannot make digital payments. Problems solved.
I didn’t know I had a serious addiction-until that day. Sometimes it’s the withdrawals that reveal the depth of our dependence. All day, I kept subconsciously glancing at the void where my phone would usually be. I even heard a phantom notification. Hallucinations, a true sign of withdrawal. That is when it hit me- I reach for my phone far more than I ever thought. Is there a new message?Is there a call? Did I miss anything?Let me check WhatsApp status. Maybe I will see if there are any good deals on this site. Maybe I should check this site out. Maybe I should listen to some music? Maybe I should….there is always something to do on the phone. Always.
When I paused to reflect, I realized that most of it boiled down to one thing- boredom. I reach out for my phone the very second I feel slightly bored. With an endless stream of distractions one tap away, it really is a great antidote.
However, boredom is apparently not bad. I learnt this while researching toys for my daughter. I was considering buying her more toys as I thought she was bored. But during this process, I learnt that boredom helps foster self-reflection and stimulate creativity. Children need to be bored, only then will their creativity and imagination work. Just like in our childhood when there was not much to watch on TV and internet was inexistant for us until much later. We got bored and so we started inventing games, drawing, doing crafts, reading books, writing etc.
Then why do we run away from boredom? Why is there a constant need for stimulation?
I spent an entire day without my phone and surprisingly, it felt good. Quieter. Freeing. It made me feel bored but also gave me more time to think and write. Turns out, a little boredom really does help! Maybe it’s time to unplug more often.
I hugged my daughter a little tighter. She was peacefully asleep, completely unaware of all the chaos unfolding in the world around her. Though she had drifted off a while ago, I found it difficult to sleep. Watching news of the plane crash in Ahmedabad at night was a bad decision. So many lives, so many dreams, wiped out in seconds. The fact that the airplane crashed into a medical college resonated more with me. I imagined myself in my college canteen, happily having lunch with my friends. Laughing, gossiping, complaining, worrying, but not prepared for death.
The first thing I did when I heard of the news was to ensure my friend working at the disaster site was safe. The time between my text and her reply felt long. Very long. And the relief was huge when I got her reply. But I know many others were not so fortunate. Imagine hearing of a tragedy and calling up someone who might be at that place, clinging to hope that they are okay and not getting a response. For many, that nightmare has been a reality. No matter how futile you know it is, you hope. You hope that your loved one would have miraculously survived. Somehow. You pray. You pray like never before. You seek miracles. And sometimes, you go numb. You don’t think. You can’t think. You just wait.
I had to get up again.There was too much on my mind. I couldn’t help but think of how fragile our lives are. We run around chasing after the perfect life-pursuing goals,fulfilling desires, never quite content. We look at others, what they have, what they do and we often count the problems we have; the things we wish we had like others. We are rarely satisfied. We forget that all it takes for everything to end is a second. We forget how fragile life is. We forget to be happy with what we have. We forget to be grateful for all that we have been blessed with.
I had to get up and pray. I had to thank the Almighty for all the blessings he has showered. No, life is not perfect. Yes, there are many things I wish would change. But for now, let it all be. My loved ones are safe and healthy. We have food on the table and a roof over our heads. Enough. Because no matter who you are or what you have achieved, it is all incredibly fragile.
I stand quietly in the corner and observe my little one as she tries to roll over, a skill she has been working on for the past few days. Each attempt begins soon after she wakes up, almost like she has a deadline she is racing against. At first, she would tilt to a side and attempt to lift her head. Soon she realised she needs to move her leg over. After a few days of trial and error,she has mastered most of the move.But she is yet to do it completely.
Now,as an adult,I am aware that she will not succeed in her attempts immediately as she has not really mastered proper neck control. Yet, I stand by and watch her try. The emotional mother in me wants to help her avoid the struggle, but the rational part of me reminds that this is her challenge to overcome and I should let her do it on her own. I can help strengthen her muscles and achieve good neck control by giving her tummy time. I can make sure she is in a safe place as she practices. But I should not roll her over and complete her task for her.
My mom reminded me of the story of a caterpillar transforming into a butterfly. It has a struggle, without which it will emerge from the cocoon deformed. In the same way, I need to let my child learn her lessons on her own while ensuring she is safe and well nurtured. She can be assured that when she is on the verge of falling or is in trouble,I will be there by her side. I’m just a call away.
As I stand observing my daughter vigilantly,I am reminded of my Heavenly Father. He allows us to pursue and work towards our goals, knowing there are struggles along the way. Just like I watch over my child,He sure is watching over us, allowing us to learn our lessons but never leaving us alone in times of tribulations. He is just a prayer away.
She was a frail elderly woman. Delicate but graceful. I noticed that she was slightly breathless as she was explaining her symptoms. After examination and the necessary explanation, I extended the OPD slip with the prescription to her. While taking it from me, she placed her hands on my head and chanted a few words of blessings. This would have shocked me some time back, especially when my grip on the language was poor. But these days I am used to this gesture by the elderly patients who visit us. I realize that there is nothing else they can offer us. So, they give us something priceless- a phrase of blessing.
A word of blessing. Something the elderly seem to be very happy to bestow. I have no idea if she will benefit from the medications I have prescribed. I have wondered if the blessings can be reversed if there is no relief! Can a blessing uttered be converted later to a curse? I sure hope not!
The gesture of blessing. I remember my days as a medical student. We had a medicine professor who always went the extra mile to comfort his patients. He used to talk to the elderly like they were little children. He would place his hand in their hand or over their shoulder and spend a while asking them how they were feeling, irrespective of the detailed history his postgraduates or juniors would have presented him. Give them an extra minute of your time and they will be really grateful; Sir had taught us. Perhaps that additional minute could transform into a precious breath of blessing and be saved in the treasury of eternity.
He was wearing a shabby white half-sleeve vest and shorts. He had come to our health center with complaints of body ache. “I go around with a cart selling mattha. I leave home at seven in the morning and come back by seven in the evening. I am outside the whole day walking around. By the time I come back home, my legs ache so terribly. I make my kids stand on it, hoping for some relief. Please give me something for the pain.” I asked him about various other symptoms and started the clinical examination. Many of his features were leading me to the obvious culprit. So, I had to ask. I have no idea why I do it, but every time I ask about alcohol intake or smoking history, my voice lowers a bit. Involuntarily. Or maybe not. It could be because of the various responses and reactions I have received over time. Some deny it outright and look at you like you have used a cuss word. They shake their heads so much as if I could almost have questioned their fidelity. Some give a gentle nod. Few lower their voices and say, “Yes, occasionally”. And then there are some who hold their head high and accept their habit with maybe a tinge of something edging on pride. My patient belonged to the last category. But there was no pride in his voice as he tried to justify his habit.” I do drink daily after dinner and then fall asleep. I work the whole day and the alcohol makes me feel better. I feel less tired and can fall asleep faster.” This made absolute sense to him. It was a necessity for him. And this necessity is slowly devouring his liver. Our conversation made me realize something important. There is a very thin line between necessity and addiction. A line running parallel to the one between life and death.
In a recent workshop on “Skills for writing a scientific paper”, held in Meerut, one of the speakers raised a thought-provoking question about our reading habits. This inquiry served as a reminder that I hadn’t devoted much time to my beloved pastime lately. Somehow, it is easier to turn on Netflix and chill. It takes not much effort. It is simply a few clicks away. But reading a book requires effort. Processing the words, creating the scenario in your head. Letting the imagination flow. Giving the characters color and contour. Dog-earing or carefully placing a bookmark. Re-imagining the story again once you come back to the book. Yes, it does take effort. That effort feels like a task these days and so I simply turn to the OTT platform.
This time, however, I made a conscious effort and managed to complete a book I had started a few months ago. The book, a beautifully crafted narrative centered around the loss of Shakespeare’s son, Hamnet, surprisingly contained a few valuable insights into the epidemiology of the plague too. I placed the book carefully in my library. Looking at all the books arranged meticulously, I felt my heart swell. This was my secret addiction. Buying new books although my bank balance warned me against it. I have this urge to visit the bookstore at the airport and buy a new book every time I travel. I always end up sleeping on the flight. Yet, somehow I have always convinced myself that I need to read a book during my journey. On the last trip home, I had successfully fought the urge to buy a book from the airport. But I reached home to find this beautiful book- Hamnet- on my brother’s bookshelf. I found it with me on my flight back. Not stolen. Just borrowed. Borrowed forever.
Hopefully, immersing myself in this reading experience will remind me of the joy of reading. And writing. It has been two years since I posted anything in this space. I sure have written much during that time – exams, research publications, application forms, acceptance letters, complaints, love letters….But nothing that found its way here. Till today, when I finished reading. So, ya. I read. I wrote.
I watched her insert the IV cannula effortlessly. She made it look like a piece of cake. Deceived, I tried it on the next patient as she stood by the patient reassuring him. He yelled out in pain and most probably cursed me in his head! She quickly took over and completed the procedure smoothly. “Its alright Doctor! We all learned with practice.” The male nurse who helped me with my first catheterization attempt (it ended up more like him doing the procedure with me assisting!) had the same piece of advice for me. And how can I forget the other nurse who gave me the confidence as my hands trembled trying to put my first sutures on a six year old boy. The head nurse who would whisper to you during rounds that there are sweets in the nursing station (look malnourished, resemble her daughter and be a workaholic…you are definitely getting more food) and the sisters who made the extra cup of coffee for you during night duties… It was many such kind and efficient nurses in my Alma mater who taught us interns basic medical procedures. Though we learned the theory and many important procedures from seniors and consultants, it was the nurses who taught us the basics. And every doctor has the similar story to tell. The nursing staff taught us, scolded (throw the gloves in the wrong bin and they would make sure you paid for it!), and most importantly tolerated our haughtiness.
Are these caregivers not truly unsung heroes? Nursing is the largest occupational group in the health sector, accounting for approximately 59% of the health professionals. According to the World Health Organization, state of the world’s nursing 2020 report, nurses constitute 47.0% of health workforce in India. They literally “nurse” the patient back to good health. It is not just the medicines that the doctors prescribe, it is this care and watchfulness of the nurses that help a patient recover and get back on the road to health. If they don’t do their job well, no prescription from the doctor will do the hospitalized patient any good. Yet they are paid so poorly and treated with so little respect in India. During this pandemic, let us remember all the nurses who are struggling in PPEs to help patients survive. But this annual remembrance is not enough. Maybe it is time, we call out for better payment and benefits for nurses. With that, I pay my honors to all the nurses who cared for me during my hospital admissions, who taught me the basics of patient care and dedicate this to my favorite nurse, my mother.
What is the worst feeling in the world? Looking at the pulse oximeter on your finger and seeing a SP02 level of 55% in spite of being on oxygen support? Or being this patient’s doctor and having to lie to him that he will be fine? My heart was sinking as I helped my colleague in the ICU fix the BIPAP mask on this patient. He was just 36 years old. After admission to our ward two days back, he seemed to be stable though he was on high oxygen support. We had started him on all the medicines being tried for severe COVID-19 disease. But his oxygen levels started dropping in the morning. We tried dual oxygen support and simultaneously sent out the SOS to all the ICUs. But there were no vacant ICU beds. It was by 11:00pm that we got a vacant ICU bed. But we were late.
At around 11;30pm, I watched helplessly as the young man started to panic seeing his pulse oximeter reading. His brother had to hold his hand down and lie to him that his saturation was improving. I said a prayer for him and went on to lie to him. “Please don’t worry, its improving. Relax. You will be fine”. But I knew it was a lie as I saw his saturation not improving despite the ventilator settings. “Going to intubate him”, my ICU colleague informed after a few minutes. “Ma’am, let’s go back. I am really tired and the ambulance is waiting down to take us back to the ward”, the ward boy was almost pleading me through his sweat stained PPE. He had struggled to push the wheel chair and an oxygen cylinder through the unending maze of the hospital in a PPE in this summer. I nodded and walked out as the ICU team surrounded the patient with the intubation set.
“Ma’am, will he live?”, his friend/relative wanted to know. This man had literally carried an oxygen cylinder over his shoulders as we were unable to find a trolley to transport the patient from the ambulance to the ICU. How do I explain to him that all his efforts were most probably in vain? Hence, I looked him in the eye and told,” The condition is a little serious. The ICU team is doing everything they can. Let us hope for the best.” A little lie. Or maybe twisted truth. The ambulance took me and the ward boy back to the ward. It was 12:00 AM. The road was empty. Yet, the driver had turned the ambulance siren on. Maybe it was a habit for him. Just like it is a habit for us doctors to not let our mind ponder too much about the little lies we tell dying men.
I was going through the patient list on the online portal. And there was a familiar name. But then I noticed the “current status” column…. “Expired on 28/04/21, 4:00 am.”
To whoever is still holding to the belief that “COVID is a myth” or “I am young and strong. Nothing will happen to me.”……He was just 36 years old. And not being able to breath is a terrible way to die. So, stay home. Stay safe. Follow COVID protocols. If not, some doctor will have to lie to you that you will be alright as he/she struggles to help keep you alive.
I have simply never been able to compromise on the window seat. It is probably the joy of craning through to get the first glimpse of hometown when the flight starts to descent. Or maybe that’s just an excuse. But as the scene outside changed from blue to green, I was already singing. As soon as the flight had completed landing, the stewardess made a gentle request for all passengers to remain seated and to get up only after the person in front exits. A sensible policy to prevent crowding and maintain social distancing. But guess I was the only one who heard that announcement (my excitement to be home giving me hallucinations?!). As soon as the doors opened, EVERYONE had to get up and take their bags out. Was it fear that they might get stranded? Or were they all more excited than me to be home? Or did they want to check if their precious bags are alright? Why the hurry, I wondered.
“All passengers travelling by xxxxx flight, please collect your face shields and masks,” the airport staff announced. The very next second, people crowded around him for the personal protective items being distributed. I found that crowd quite ironic! Why could everyone just not wait and come in a line? It was absolutely assured that one will not be allowed to enter the flight without a mask and a face shield. So these items would surely be provided. But I guess, we are so impatient. We humans simply have to hurry. We need to make sure we have it before others. But will this hurry cost us our lives?
Yet another factor I am still trying to get around is the hurry to board the flight. When you have a boarding pass and you are at the boarding gate, the flight will surely not leave without you. Unlike a public transport bus one does not have to hurry to get a seat. Your seat is reserved for you and there is no way you will have to travel standing. So then why? Why crowd at the boarding gates?
Man is always in a hurry and my air travel experience during COVID-19 times reminded me of it. This was a personal emergency and I could not cancel this trip. But I hope I don’t have to travel soon. The airlines provide you with PPE and give instructions about social distancing, wearing face masks and hand hygiene. But I worry about the hurry this world is in. Will this rush lead us straight to our graves?
Nothing but Grace 