WHATSAPP FORWARDS

"You will not read any of my WhatsApp messages and so it is useless to send you anything.” My mother said to me. I acknowledged her by my silence mentally reciting," I read all that you sent to me".

So, here I am busy reading all about Indian spices and medicinal herbs used as daily household ingredients, thereby indulging in more studies on naturopathy as compared to any other ‘pathy’ which has side effects.

I speed dialled my mother when my patient refused to undergo the procedure of scaling to clean her teeth in favour of 'alum', or "phitkari," a desi nuskha. No wonder patients shirk away from scaling. I ruminate. "I just called you up to confirm if you WhatsApped something to my patient "I vented.

Ever since, I have been scrolling through all her erstwhile messages to know more about natural healthier medicaments, their benefits and roles in dentistry and health.

Oh! WhatsApp was not there when I was a student. No wonder, my gold medal involved many sleepless nights devouring the dental Bibles while the days were full of rigorous work of treating patients provided in steady streams by our professors.

If only WhatsApp was there, I would just have to read the forwarded messages on WhatsApp.

The Night of the Rain

It was one of those nights when the rain seemed determined to wash the whole town away. Sheets of water hammered against the windows, the roads were nearly deserted, and most people were asleep behind locked doors. My husband was resting lightly, as doctors often do when they know the doorbell might ring at any moment. Sometime past midnight, the bell rang. The emergency night staff called him downstairs. “Doctor, there’s a patient.” When he reached the entrance, he saw two young boys standing at the gate of the clinic porch. The smell of alcohol hung thick in the air. One of them was struggling to keep the other upright. The injured boy was slumped against him, barely conscious, his weight hanging heavily on his friend’s shoulder. “What happened?” my husband asked. The friend spoke with urgency. They had slipped from the motorbike. Even in that brief moment, my husband could tell the injury was serious. Head injury. Possible internal bleeding. It was the kind of case that needed...

Yoga se hoga… pr yoga kaise hoga? (It will happen by yoga- but how will yoga happen?)

If you have ever tried starting yoga, you know the struggle: motivation fades, and mats gather dust. For me, yoga was always on my bucket list, but what I needed was the intent to start. Then something unexpected happened. My yoga group formed an unusual trio: my 80-year-old mother, my niece visiting from the USA, and me. Every morning at 6:30 am, we gathered not in the garden but in front of our TV to tune into live yoga sessions by Saurabh Bothra. And guess what? Yoga did happen. It wasn’t perfect, but it was consistent. We stretched, laughed, and even dozed off in shavaasan, but slowly, breath by breath, a habit was born. Because sometimes all it takes is showing up together.

Happy Teacher's Day

Happy Teacher's Day Life is full of teachers we don’t even recognize. The ants marching on teach us discipline without supervision, faith without recognition. The squirrel, carrying its tiny grains, shows us that contribution is not measured by applause but by necessity. Our human teachers are no different. Some speak in words, others in presence. Some correct us with chalk, while others do so with silence. What they all share is the flame of seeing us leave a mark. On this Teachers’ Day, I honor not just those in classrooms, but every teacher, visible or invisible, that life has given me. For each one taught a lesson that survives longer than memory. Happy Teachers’ Day.

Newerways

Search This Blog