Tuesday 18 August 2009

Apollo's Ire

A good doctor treats a disease. A great doctor treats a patient. The medical education system, which I am a part of, is probably suffieciently equipped to churn out good doctors. But, rarely does this framework go beyond the realms of scientific teachings and cultivate a batch of great doctors. Free medical services do not give you the license to compromise on the quality of healthcare - something which professionals associated with government hospitals all over the country need to be reminded. When you become a doctor and undertake the Hippocratic Oath, you embark on a voyage in the sea of humanity. Storms in the forms of diseases have to be weathered and newer and better routes to good health need to be constantly chartered. Sadly, the money-making tendencies and the lack of a moral dimension to medical practice has brought about a partial, if not complete, erosion of these extremely essential social ingredients of medical profession.

I have watched with my own eyes, a patient first become a clinical history, then an examination, a diagnosis, a chart, a case number and eventually a shabbily stored hospital record. I have seen a sick man stand in line for six hours, waiting and still waiting, to be shuffled through an inefficient system of impatient receptionists, an overworked nursing staff and a breed of doctors who couldn't care less. I have seen patients in a pathetic state being robbed of whatever little comfort and dignity they carried when they entered the hospital premises. I have seen them languishing in their beds by the day, oblivious to the hustle-bustle in the wards. I have heard them howling in the nights with noone to alleviate their pain. I have watched a patient being told bluntly that he had cancer - irrevocable and invariably fatal - and then shoved out of the clinician's room to ponder over his impending end. I have seen twenty abdomens being examined in thirty minutes without so much as a glance at the fear writ large on the face of the patients. I have seen the facial muscles of an old man's wife twitch as two junior residents mutter gross jargon with sardonic smiles over her husband's ailing body.

I am ashamed that such inhuman actions are perpetrated under the guise of State-sponsored charity. I am ashamed that the sick of the society are seen as liabilities and obligations. I am ashamed that we have become so insensitive and academically carried away that we are more interested in the disease rather than the diseased. The worrying rise in the incidence of nosocomial (hospital acquired) cross-infections is another indication that all is not well with our public tertiary health services. Patients instead of getting treated, often go out in a worse situation than ever before. They are overloaded with empirical pharmacological agents and acted upon as experiments for the young and the ignorant. Mind you - the situation is this bad only in the civil hospitals. Their private counterparts literally pamper their patients even if it is eventually only to fill their own pockets. The time has come to infuse humanity back into medicine. The time has come to understand that your patient is someone's father, brother, husband or son and if not even that - atleast he is a fellow human being, created and loved by God, just as you are. The time has come to win back the faith of the Gods and carry out in earnest the job entrusted to us. It might be a mere professional routine to us but for someone else it is a matter between life and death...

Saturday 15 August 2009

Saffron, White and Green

Today, on independent India's 63rd birthday, let us not talk about where we are lagging. Let us not whip the lousy bureaucrats or the stinking hypocrites who tarnish our country. Let us not spin an incomprehensible tale about two Indias - one fresh and fervent and the other inactive and indolent. Let today's narration register my feelings of pride -

The pride I feel when I am called an Indian. The pride I feel when India is considered as a member of the league of global superpowers. The pride I feel when the happenings at Dalal Street evoke serious reactions in Wall Street. The pride I feel when an exuberant Dhoni hoists a silver cup and a dejected Ponting stares into nothingness. The pride I feel when a Saina and a Sania wield two different racquets with the same compassion. The pride I feel when Sachin Tendulkar's face at 35 shows the same delight when he reaches triple figures as it showed when it was 18. The pride I feel when an Indian jawan patrols over impossible terrains to protect his motherland. The pride I feel when the musical genius of Rehman effortlessly renders 'Jaya He' with Pandit Jasraj and 'Jai Ho' for Danny Boyle. The pride I feel when an Indian beauty mesmerizes shutterbugs in Cannes and Venice. The pride I feel when our cine-legends get to marvel their wax effigies in London. The pride I feel when an Indian kid beats his American counterparts in their own language at the Spelling-Bee competitions. The pride I feel when despite years of communal strife, Hindus still flock Ajmer and Muslims still pay homages at Banaras. The pride I feel when Ratan Tata silences his detractors by giving the people of India the first and the only Common Man's Car. The pride I feel when India flexes its military muscle in the field displays at the Republic Day celebrations in Delhi. The pride I feel when rubbishing all modern cultural influences, an Indian youth still doesn't fail to touch the feet of his elders. The pride I feel when I see the entire healthcare system of the nation collectively persevering to battle pandemics and epidemics all round the clock. The pride I feel when books of Chetan Bhagat and Salman Rushdie sell like hotcakes at the local book-stores. The pride I feel when Mumbai and other blast-hit cities show unparalleled courage and concord to make the shards of terrorism blunter with each attack. The pride I feel when a group of fourth-graders discuss Pachauri and global warming with authority and interest. The pride I feel when I see the sky decorated with a thousand colours on Uttarayan and a shower of lights on Deepawali. The pride I feel when a billion aspirations take flight at the break of every dawn and quite a number of them manage to soar till enviable heights. The pride I feel when the lullabies of the night put those billion avian aspirations to sleep with the knowledge of having inched closer to their destinations. The pride I feel when the tri-colour unfurls over the roof of a building. The pride I feel when soul-stirring patriotic songs pour out of All-India Radio transmitters. The pride I feel when I call India my love, my home, my motherland. The pride I feel....a pride we all ought to feel.

Happy birthday, independent India. May your Gods bless you.



NOTE: That was indeed quite a long list of prides. Knowing the cynical fools that we are, the list of shames would probably be even longer. But, we have until the next fifteenth of August to talk about that!