Sunday, March 3, 2013

In The Corridor : A collection of poems


This is a collection of random memories and thoughts
Bothered me at times or visited me as dreams


This collection of poems  is
Dedicated to all the
 Unnamed villagers
Who
Unknowingly shaped my childhood



Contents

The Code Blue days.
The  Ashes.
The Sleep.
The Journey to The beach
Seasons
The Areca nut Picker 
Interview
The Funeral 
The Haircut
Certifying Death.
The Mill 
The Vendor
Summertime Haiku.
The Party
The Divorce.
The rain drops
The Waves




The  Ashes


The subway train stopped on the curious looks
The hot gushing wind made the last gasp
Dreams crushed under the rubble
My journey does not end here.

The sun hid under the dusty cloud
Melting steel and glass, showering ashes
A grey rose, a teddy bear, a fireman's helmet
Entangled in the miseries of life and death








In The Corridor by Sauparnika (Oct 14, 2012) at Amazon.com

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The Tears of Dwaraka




A novel based on the stories from the Mahabharata, the Hindu epic.  
Over the years following the Kurukshetra war, Dwaraka, the coastal metropolis witnessed the rise and fall of Yaduvamsha, finally had to face the curse of flood waters. It wiped out everything Lord Krishna fought and lived for. 
Was that just destiny or a curse? 
These are the stories of the divine presence being transcended to the minds of men and women who lived and died in the valleys of Sindh approximately 5400 years ago.


(There is a sample of this novel originally transliterated to Malayalam below)







The new task was hard and kept the black smith going for long time.
He expected that he would have more work in the coming days. People were making weapons. Everyone was scared of the lootings, the civil war.
Everyone needed him. He was the expert tool maker for the village. Many of his ancestors had worked for the palace. No more jobs in the palace as there were more kings than a palace can accommodate. Warriors changed professions. Some started fishing. There were no more prospects in the field. The drought had killed the crops and the cattle.
The sea was also less merciful to the village
Many days fishermen came back with empty nets and hunger filled stomachs. Their women cursed their destiny.
People became less tolerant and small arguments led to big fights. The firewood was used up; more for the cremations than making the bricks they used to build houses.
Jara, the hunter boy waited on the heap of fire wood while the black smith and his son made the arrow head as sharp as they could.
Sweat was pouring down from the forehead into the misshapen socket below the eyebrows. Blacksmith wiped it with a torn headscarf which he kept loosely over the head protecting him from the sun’s rays burning the last of the grey hairs left on his head. The skin around his eyes and cheek were dry, blackened like charcoal from the heat of the hearth. There were splinters and sparks escaping when his son pulled the bellows open and close.
He pulled the yellowish orange piece of metal with a tong and put it on the anvil. He hammered it as if his entire grudge against the humanity was concentrating the power towards that metal piece, which seemingly was non pliable, like an evil spirit trying to escape.
It then flipped out to the sand, melting the soil around it and producing an earthen, burnt clay smell.
His son quickly jumped out of the shed at the very sight of his father’s commanding look. He grabbed it with the metal tong and put back in the hearth.
It was getting dark. The faces of the blacksmith and his son were visible with an orange red shade with eyes darting like drops of mercury in a black pot.  Their dark shadows plastered to the walls of that shed built with reclaimed wood pieces secured with a mortar of clay and cow dung. The wall was blistered out in places which bore arborized termite tracks both new and old.
The hunter boy Jara kept his anticipation kindled at the sight of the metal piece transforming its shape into an arrow head which changed color with each forging and then the steam was escaping when it was dipped into a rust colored water dish kept next to the hearth.
Three of them had no idea what destiny they were part of, so were the thousands of inhabitants in that remote island.






The Tears of Dwaraka

List Price: $7.99

5.25" x 8" (13.335 x 20.32 cm) 
Black & White on White paper
148 pages
ISBN-13: 978-1481036955 (CreateSpace-Assigned) 
ISBN-10: 1481036955 
BISAC: Fiction / Fairy Tales, Folklore & Mythology


The novel also available in Kindle e-book format

 at www. amazon.com  Price $ 2.99

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The Tears of Dwaraka by Sauparnika
The Tears of Dwaraka 
                          


(The following is a sample of this novel originally transliterated to Malayalam)

മധ്യാഹ്നം അവസാനിക്കാന്‍ ഒരു നാഴിക ബാക്കിയായി . തിടുക്കത്തില്‍ വെള്ളിപാത്രത്തില്‍ പഴങ്ങളും പുഷ്പങ്ങളും ഒരുക്കി അവസാന നാളിലെ സാന്ത്വനവുമായി സുകന്യയും സുനേത്രനും കൊട്ടാരത്തിലേക്ക് യാത്രയായി . പല്ലക്ക് ചുമക്കുന്നവരുടെ  ഈണം ഓടിയകലുന്ന കുതിരക്കുളംബടികളില്‍ ചിതറിപ്പോകുമ്പോള്‍ സുനേത്രന്‍ തിരശ്ശീലക്കിടയിലൂടെ ദൂരത്തെ കുംഭഗോപുരങ്ങളില്‍ ദൃഷ്ടി പായിച്ചുകൊണ്ടിരുന്നു. 
വര്‍ഷങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് മുന്‍പ് രാജാവിന്‌ വേണ്ടി ഗ്രാമത്തില്‍ നിന്നും തന്നെ വിളിച്ചു വരുത്തിയപ്പോള്‍ ആദ്യമായി കണ്ടത് ഈ കാഴ്ചയായിരുന്നു. അന്ന് വെയിലില്‍ തിളങ്ങിയ കുംഭ ഗോപുരങ്ങള്‍ തന്‍റെ ഭാവി ജീവിതത്തിന്‍റെ വഴി ത്തൂണുകളായി താന്‍ കരുതി.
പുറംകാഴ്ചയില്‍ നിന്നും കണ്ണെടുത്ത്‌ അയാള്‍ പല്ലക്കിനകത്തേക്ക് നോക്കി. 
അധികാരഭ്രമത്തേക്കാള്‍ ഏറെ താന്‍ വില കല്‍പിച്ചത്‌ രാജകുമാരനുമായുള്ള ബാല്യകാല സൗഹൃദമായിരുന്നു. 
ആ ദിനങ്ങളില്‍ കൊട്ടാരത്തിന്‍റെ ഇടനാഴികയിലെ അമര്‍ഷവും മുറുമുറുപ്പും ഒരിക്കലും തന്‍റെ കാതുകളിലെത്തിയില്ല
ഇളം പച്ച നിറത്തിലുള്ള ശിരോവസ്ത്രത്തിന്നിടയിലെ മഷിയെഴുതാത്ത ആ നയനങ്ങളില്‍ ഒരു അശ്രുധാരയുടെ തിളക്കം
വര്‍ഷങ്ങള്‍ എത്ര പെട്ടെന്നാണ് കടന്നുപോകുന്നത് ?
സുകന്യയുടെ എതിര്‍പ്പിനും താന്‍ ഒരിക്കലും വിലകൊടുത്തില്ല.
രാജ്ഞി പദം വേണ്ടെന്നു പറഞ്ഞ്‌ തന്നെ വരനായി സ്വീകരിക്കുമ്പോള്‍ സ്നേഹബന്ധത്തിനാണ് അവള്‍ വിലകല്‍പിച്ചത്,
തീര്‍ച്ചയായും ഭാരത വര്‍ഷത്തിലെ ഏതു പുരുഷനും സ്വന്തമാക്കാന്‍ ആഗ്രഹിക്കുന്ന ഒരു സൌന്ദര്യ ത്തിന്‍റെ ഉടമയാണവള്‍
പക്ഷെ രാജകീയ ജീവിതം അവളെ ഒരിക്കലും ആകര്‍ഷിച്ചില്ല മഹാപുരോഹിതനായ സോമജാതന്‍റെ മകള്‍ ഒരിക്കലും കൊട്ടാരത്തിലേക്ക് വരാന്‍ താല്‍പര്യം കാണിച്ചില്ല. 
വര്‍ഷങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് മുന്‍പ് താനും രാജകുമാരനും ആരും കാണാതെ ഉജ്ജയിനി തീര്‍ത്ഥത്തിലേക്ക് പോകുന്നത്‌ ഒരു പതിവായിരുന്നു
സുകന്യയടക്കമുള്ള സുന്ദരിമാരെ കാണുക എന്നതിലുപരി മറ്റൊന്നിനും ആ ഗൂഡ യാത്രകള്‍ ലക്ഷ്യമിട്ടിരുന്നില്ല
എല്ലാവരുടേയും കണ്ണിലുണ്ണിയായ രാജകുമാരന്‍റെ മനസ്സാക്ഷി സൂക്ഷിപ്പുകാരനായിരുന്നു താന്‍ തീര്‍ത്ഥക്കരയില്‍ വച്ചാണ് അവളുടെ കൂട്ടുകാരികള്‍ തന്നെ വഴികാട്ടിയായി രാജകുമാരനോട് സൗഹൃദം സ്ഥാപിക്കാനായി ശ്രമിക്കുന്നത് പക്ഷെ അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്‍റെ താല്പര്യം സുകന്യയിലായിരുന്നുവെന്ന് അറിയുന്നത് തനിക്കുമാത്രം.
പല്ലക്കിലെ യാത്ര ഒരിക്കലും അവസാനിക്കാത്തതായി സുകന്യക്കു തോന്നി
പുറമേ മൂകമായിരുന്നെങ്കിലും അവളുടെ മനസ്സ് അതിവാചാലമായിരുന്നു
ഒരുപക്ഷെ തന്‍റെ പതിയുടെ വിചാരധാരയറിയാനുള്ള കുതൂഹലം പോലുമില്ലാതെ ജീവച്ഛവമായി അവള്‍ ഇരുന്നു.
അവളുടെ ചിന്ത രാജാവിനെക്കുറിച്ചുമാത്രമായിരുന്നു. ഇനി ഏതാനും നാഴികകള്‍ കഴിഞ്ഞാല്‍ രാജാവിനു ശാപമോക്ഷം ലഭിക്കും ഒരുപക്ഷെ ഈ മനുഷ്യജന്മത്തില്‍നിന്നുമുള്ള ഒരു നിതാന്ത മോചനം
ഒരുപക്ഷെ ഇന്നോളം ചെയ്ത സല്‍കര്‍മങ്ങള്‍ തിരിച്ചുകിട്ടുന്ന ആ അനര്‍ഖ നിമിഷം അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്‍റെ ദൃഷ്ടിയില്‍ പെടാതെ വളരെയധികംവര്‍ഷങ്ങള്‍കഴിച്ചുകൂട്ടിയത്എന്തിനായിരുന്നു ?
രാജകുമാരനെ മനസ്സുനിറയെ സ്നേഹിച്ചത് ആരുമറിയാതെ ആയിരുന്നു പിന്നീട് തന്നെ പരിണയിക്കാനുള്ള ആഗ്രഹം അദ്ദേഹത്തിനുണ്ടെന്നറിഞ്ഞപ്പോള്‍ മനസ്സു ചഞ്ചലപ്പെട്ടു. സുകന്യേ നീയൊരു വിഡ്ഢിയാണെന്ന് ആരൊ കാതില്‍ മന്ത്രിച്ചുകൊണ്ടിരുന്നു വര്‍ഷങ്ങളോളം അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്‍റെ മനസ്സറിയാനുള്ള ആറാമിന്ദ്രിയ മുണ്ടായിരുന്നെങ്കില്‍!!!!
അവളുടെ ചിന്തകള്‍ ഒരു നീണ്ട നെടുവീര്‍പ്പായി  പുറത്തുവന്നു.





The Scut Work




I started writing many of these stories about 10 years ago.

Some of these were originally published online at my old website which lived at now defunct Geocities. Recently, after having ventured into the e-book publishing, it became somewhat a mission of me to retrieve those files from the CDs lying in the basement of my home.
When I was searching for a title for this work related to the life and professional stage of the narrator, many words came to my mind. However, those were used many times and transformed to be  clichés.
Then I remembered about the scut work.
“Scut work” is a term possibly over used by the  junior residents till the millennium, and I doubt whether people from other vocations would understand it’s meaning well or not.
As per Merriam Webster Dictionary, SCUT WORK is defined as: routine and often menial labor.  First known use: circa 1962


There were painful memories and not so painful memories. My hope was to bring those back with a coating of absurd humor which readers might enjoy.
Few days ago while talking to a colleague, who was reflecting on some incidents from his past,  amazingly I felt that  there were lot of similarities. Life however, changes over time.
With all the new regulations came into effect limiting the number of hours trainee doctors spend in the teaching hospitals and  the improvements in the ancillary support, the term Scut Work will hopefully disappear in to oblivion.
This collection of short stories or novella - whatever you may want to call it- is based on various times, random incidents, spanning various countries, cultures, and fictional dreams with a common thread of human misery. 


                              (Here are some sample pages from the book)


The Identity




Christmas night in hospital was festive. There were ward clerks sitting with elfin ears and nurses walking around with Santa’s hat and Residents with rain deer antlers, speakers singing “Jingle Bells” and “Christmas Tree.”
What that meant for me who was on call,  that the hospital Cafeteria was closed.
 The glass shutter was painted with fake snow and a large Christmas tree was blocking the entrance to the vending machine area. This was however my last resort to get some calories to survive till the next day when the street vendors would open their carts again.
In the city, you learn the usual habits and quickly get used to the short cuts and develop the ‘acquired taste’ faster.
I went outside. The road was covered with slushy snow which was three days old by then, as were the soggy orange parking tickets stayed as decorations over the windscreen of the vehicle near the hospital entrance. People imagined that if they had already earned one ticket, that gave them immunity from further onslaughts by the parking inspectors.


Anyway, there were the Lebanese food vendors still making gyros and falafel sandwiches for the taxi drivers. While paying for the food, I noticed my pager (beeper) went off.
Call from the ED.  I jumped over the puddles of melting ice, my toes frozen, fingers numb from holding the polythene bag with food in the frigid air, negotiating oncoming traffic in between the taxis to the ED.
At ten o’ clock, the emergency room was not at all empty, but had full of usual action.
There were city police bringing people in handcuffs, an old demented homeless guy in a stretcher, touching everyone who went through the corridor, nurses constantly calling for people to various rooms, fire force officers in smoked out yellow overalls coming out of the elevator laughing and joking.
My patient was a clean shaven young man who was very polite and comfortable in a bed which was separated from the next one with hanging curtains. I looked at his name and other details; he was eighteen years of age.

(to be continued.......)





The Transport




We managed to squeeze in to the elevator with few other people. I was the only person with a white coat and a name badge.
The elevator seemed to be going very slow.
Two senior ladies in the elevator looked at me and then at the patient. "What is wrong with him?" one of them asked. I told her that he suffered a severe neurological injury in the past.
(It was before HIPPA)
 They wanted more details; their faces said.
 I looked at the patient.
He was getting another one of his seizures again. His mouth started bubbling with froth and the elevator beeps were engulfed in the low saturation alarm of the pulse oxymeter. I adjusted his oxygen tubing hurriedly as we pushed him through the hallway which had the directions to Pediatrics floor.
The nurse at the desk stretched her neck over and tried to read my name.

 I introduced myself and told her that I was bringing one of their patients back from our facility after a gastro-enterological procedure.
 “You must speak to our Doctor here." The nurse said.
The doctor was however standing nearby and watching this drama through his thin bifocals.
"Hi Doctor... we are not expecting any patients from your institution. We never send anybody there today." He said.
I looked at him as if he was speaking in an alien language. I asked him "Is this St. Joseph's Hospital?"
 He replied “Yes."
"Please have a look at this paper and see whether this patient is yours."
He glanced at the paper and said "This patient belongs to St. Joseph's Hospital, Washington County."
"So?" I asked him.

 He said calmly. “Doctor, I am sorry, there must be some sort of mix -up because this is the St. Joseph's Hospital of Franklin."
I was lost for words. The child was still frothing and stiffening in the stretcher. I was miles away from our hospital and many more from our destination.
Somehow I gathered some courage and then asked the ambulance crew to hurry to our destination.
 While I was rechecking the patient's vitals and listening to his chest, the technicians were making some secret plan. Probably they did not want to admit that they made a mistake in locating the hospital or they were searching for an excuse that their dispatchers gave them the wrong directions.
"Doctor, we cannot proceed with an unstable patient, we have to notify our HQ."
"What do you want from me? Do you want me to admit this child in this unknown hospital if I can, and stay with him till you feel free to send another transport team to transfer him if he becomes stable?"

"You have to understand Doc...We are not equipped to handle this." The crew said apologetically.
I was totally lost.
 I did not know the patient. I did not have my credit cards or money... I was never in a situation to admit somebody in the hospital.
 I did not know who his next of kin was...
But I knew one thing. This child's life was my responsibility. I was the only person responsible. Not the EMTs. Not the senior resident. Not the sub specialist who did the procedure. Not the parents who were waiting miles away in that small rehab center. It is me. If I could stabilize him, the ambulance crew would take him.
I had an idea. I asked for the directions to the emergency department and pushed the trolley as fast as I could. The crew followed my suggestions like robots.
The doctors and nurses allowed me inside and quickly arranged whatever was needed..
(to be continued)



The Interception



The waves were trying to separate the two boats apart.
 I was holding on to the hand rail at the side of the deck. My glasses became misty while I tried to balance on the undulating vessel.
My stomach was rumbling with the churning of the sea. The afternoon sun was mercilessly burning my back.
The Filipino boat workers were asking me to jump in to the other boat.
 “Oh… no!”
 I am not going to do that. I am here to save a life; not to lose mine I said to myself.
The journey had started one hour back. I boarded the supply vessel to get to the oil tanker anchored offshore. I had a mission to attend to a sick seaman on the ship. The shipping agent was not sure whether he could make it to the port.
It was a sort of kidnapping that he cleverly started the boat while I was just talking to him in a boat anchored at the port.
Agent said, "Doctor, we better go in this boat and intercept the other boat; that will save lot of time."


   
I never expected the trip would be like that. The two boats were pushing each other to stay side by side like two wrestlers; but they were changing heights according to the wave pattern.
I saw the patient lying in a stretcher on the deck of the other boat. (to be continued.....)


The Scut Work: Short Stories
 List Price: $7.99

A Collection of Short Stories.
These are based on medical fiction and humor spanning many countries, times and cultures with a common thread of misery in the time of illness, suffering and death.




5.25" x 8" (13.335 x 20.32 cm) 
Black & White on White paper
150 pages
ISBN-13: 978-1481160865 (CreateSpace-Assigned) 
ISBN-10: 1481160869 
BISAC: Fiction / Short Stories