A message to all my readers When I first began writing down my stories in this quiet space, it was nothing more than an open diary. A place to put memories that needed somewhere to rest, reflections gathered over a lifetime, and thoughts that felt too personal—or perhaps simply too ordinary—to share in conversation. Conventional wisdom often suggests that personal musings rarely accomplish much on the wider internet. There are no frameworks here, no quick advice, and no polished agendas. Just the raw textures of life as I have experienced it: the sudden turns, the quiet routines, the moments of doubt, and the steady work of beginning again. Recently, as a small corner quietly crossed 30,000 reads, I paused to look more closely at the numbers. What moved me was not just the milestone itself, but where those visits were coming from. While some readers join from home here in India, so many of you are reading from entirely different corners of the earth—from Singapore across the seas ...
A dhoti-clad man stood next to the reception counter where I stood to attend to my daily records. A brief look at his face made me question the nature of his work in the hospital. He opened up his file and handed me his papers.
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He had undergone surgery for sarcoma maxillary sinus, a carcinoma in the hollow bone adjacent to the nose, twenty years ago. He held a dentist responsible for the negligence caused in extracting his tooth. It resulted in this lifelong illness. My attempts to shake the belief he had held for twenty years seemed an impossible feat. So, I aimed to alleviate his current problem and provide him some relief.
The man continued further; he pulled up his dhoti to his thigh. What I saw was no less scary and unsightly. It imitated the brown extensions of the roots of trees above the ground. The lengths and heights varied. Truncated lines existed on those roots and merged well with the background. Nature has its way of designing things up. The thigh from where doctors had removed his skin to repair the sinus had left an ugly scar, a keloid.
To him, this keloid was a kind of historical document where a dramatic episode of tooth extraction lay memorialized. It reminded him of his journey, how far he had traveled, and how far more he had to, telling a tale of his survival.
Time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time the mind protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.
Rose F. Kennedy
With these incredible words, we close all wounds and veil them forever.
Very beautifully written; as I read the story's paragraphs, I could visualise the man's pain!
ReplyDeleteVery well written! Very moving! I can feel his pain and anguish. 😢
ReplyDeleteTouching…… well written . Some wounds never heal .
ReplyDeleteGreat write up.
ReplyDeleteVery well expressed, life wounds and pains
ReplyDeleteCouldn’t agree more coz I strongly believe that scars are forever whether they are caused by deeds or words but they are forever. Very well written Bhabhi.
ReplyDeleteTouching...
ReplyDeleteIn our journey we all had our share of wounds. Loved how you narrated this vivid story of an old man we all could empathise with and ended with profound words of Kennedy which summarised it well.
ReplyDeleteLoved it
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