Wrong about ‘About Me’

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Hi. My name is Dr. Ankit Sharma. I am like any average Ankit Sharma except for the fact that I have an MBBS degree, hence my knowledge about private parts does not come only from porn.

I was born in a middle class family. To make my financial status more clear, just imagine a kid who would have been a social outcast at any Delhi Public School branch but would have been a chick-magnet at a Rajkiya/Sarvodaya Vidyalaya.

I spent a normal childhood where I was allowed to go to play outside after I had completed my homework, tuitions and preparation for exams. Yes, exactly, after Eternity. Due to lack of physical sports and over-enthusiastic genetic make up, I grew taller than 6 feet with a body structure for which X-rays are not necessary to diagnose fractures.

I was raised as a typical ‘Parents ka Raja Beta‘. That is why I was made to believe that I looked ‘just fine’ while the world felt puke-ish at the mere mention of my name. I realised that fact when I looked at the mirror after hitting puberty.

Puberty, like all other normal boys, made me awkward and under-confident. Yes, like today’s Rahul Gandhi except the fair skin and low IQ.

I didn’t always want to be a doctor. I was OK at maths too. But then, shit happens. It was either a session of perverted thoughts after reading the chapter on Reproduction in biology, or generalised family tendency to want to have grey hair before achieving job security, that made me opt for this career.

I want to be known as a funny guy. Totally unrelated fact, mostly I cry myself to sleep.

I know how to play drums. Honestly,  I can only fit a 4 by 4 beat into almost any song. No, I have never done, nor am I interested to do Mata ke Jaagran.

I had a short acting career in college. People never threw eggs or tomatoes. So, Yay.

I am a movie buff. My wildest fantasy includes watching DDLJ at maratha mandir or Avengers at IMAX. Now, you may think that It’s sad, but… I agree.

I am not a teetotaller. I think beer is awesome because of many reasons. I think wine is awful only because it is beyond my affordability.

No, I am not drunk right now.

Hopefully the above ‘About Me’ tells you more than the usual “Now wat do I say bout mahself, I m loving, caring, luv to live life fully, mah close friends knw me…” style facebook introductions that you read.

Yours truly :-)

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Being Intern – VII: Jai Ho Rural Doctor

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The End is Near…. or IS IT?

(Disclaimer: The following nonsense is not about any human being living or dead. However, it contains the thoughts of a former human being, now known as an intern.)

Finally, a fresh MBBS graduate’s
nightmare is going to be realised very soon. Mandatory. One year. Rural service.
Or as the Congress calls it ‘ Akhil Bhartiya Rahul Gandhi MBBS ko MD karne se roko Yojna’.
As expected, there are a lot of
protests and heated debates going on.
It’s all over the TV too, be it Arnab Goswami whispering “WILL THE GOVERNMENT PROVIDE THE DOCTORS WITH FRESH GREEN LEAVES OR A STANDARD PAANIKA LOTA TO GO BEHIND THE BUSHES- IS THE QUESTION THE NATION IS ASKING RIGHT NOW”, or be it India TV’s special
section on ‘Gaon ka Daktar- Maseeha ya Nausikhiya?’

Just the thought of doctors being
against this move is being taken as an example of unethical practice. Well, I beg to differ. I believe that we have our own issues. Issues of salary, safety, services, and most importantly- the lack of free stationery by MRs in the villages.
Over the lack of services, I pondered a lot (Read- let my imagination go
absolutely wild after a session of
serious intoxication) and tried to
imagine how the OPD’s would run in villages-

Villager: “Saab, I have a swelling in my groin.”
Doc: “It’s a hernia. Needs to be
operated upon, in a city hospital.”
*
Villager: “Saab, I’ve had a fever for the last three days.”
The doctor takes a history narrows it down to about 683 differentials, none of which he is sure about, and then prescribes with full confidence- T. Paracetamol 500mg SOS.
Refer to Medicine OPD LNH for
further investigations and expert
management.
*
Villager: “Saab my wife is pregnant!”
Doc:- Refer to ANC OPD LNH for antenatal check-up.
If you were out of station in the past few weeks, refer to a good lawyer,
Tis Hazari court.
*
I firmly believe that it would take a lot of systematic planning to put an intern’s expertise to good use in the villages. Some of the talents of an average intern are as follows:
1. We can fill forms at lightning fast speed. We can cater to demands of ‘parcha banana’(filling forms) of an entire ANC OPD (aka the whole pregnant population of
Daryaganj) in just 5 hours.
2. We can lie, cheat and steal to get blood on cross-match.
3. No matter how many pricks it takes, we will ALWAYS get blood out of a patient’s vein/artery/whatever else it could come out of.
4. We can work with used gloves, re-used gloves and anything which looks like gloves.
5. Our skill with intra-caths… well, it varies on a day-to-day basis. But hey, form is temporary, class is permanent.
CLEARLY, there are many many
gaping holes in the government’s half-baked plan. But the government still tried to
justify it by saying that at least
during an emergency, a doctor will be there. For example- a woman in
labour. To this I respond-
What??! Delivery karaun? Main??
OMG ye to LOL ho gaya!!!

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Childhood in the 90s: Middle-class memories

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This piece is the result of having spent 2-3 hours with under-fives of my family. So please, after reading, do not label me as immature and childish or idiotic. That is already a well-known fact.

Every minute spent with kids makes me proud of having spent my childhood in a way much more awesome to theirs. And I’m not only talking about the fact that we had better Pokemons.

The kids these days usually spend leisure time at home playing video games. Then there is insatiable greed for newer versions of those games. We, on the other hand, did not have anything called ‘leisure time’. Our day was divided into following time slots:

1. School,
2. Homework,
3. Running out of home without telling, and
4. Getting beaten up by parents
5. Sleep

During the time we were not copying homework, we used to play games which required actual movements of hands and feet and didn’t amount to premature dependence on spectacles. Well, for being a male kid, I had to endure Hide-and-Seek and Gallery and Corner-Corner and other estrogen-rich games, but they definitely played a role in bringing out my sensitive side(read: crying myself to sleep daily when I was not able to win any game for weeks together).

Cartoons these days are excessively boring too. We had Mickey Mouse and Duck Tales and Johnny Bravo and Pokemon. By the time cheap spin-offs like Pogo came, we had moved on to better things like Bigg Boss and better animation *cough*Hentai*cough*. Compared to those times, re-runs of Doraemon are converting normal kids of this generation into Kangna Ranauts.

We didn’t have every single one of our wishes fulfilled. Most of the chocolates and other confectionary products were divided into ‘Mom will never allow’ and ‘worth a main-khana-nahi-khaunga‘. We didn’t have facebook accounts, nor did we have Rota-virus vaccines. So we know what it was like having real childhood friends and having our parents tell them our  embarrassing diarrhoea stories.

They have smart phones these days, but everyone knows that they can’t beat the thrill of knowing someone who owns a Nokia 6600. We had family movies starring SRK, whereas kids are exposed to Sunny Leone these days. Honestly, I am not sure who wins that argument.

To sum it up, I am proud to be a 90s’ kid. It was the best decade ever.

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Home-coming of a hosteler

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The experience of coming for a function at home for a guy who has come back from a phase of hostel life 5.5 years long can vary from pleasant to back-breaking. Literally back-breaking because there are about 80-plus pair of feet that you have to touch and take blessings.

In no way should this piece suggest that I don’t like my family. I love them. We are as united as a family can get. Don’t believe me?? Play a Yo Yo Honey Singh song and we’ll show you what ‘Bhojpuri vulgar soul in a Punjabi born-to-dance body’ means.

In addition to that, most of the brothers and sisters are now married and have kids. That means a lot of cute babies and kids around you to pull cheeks of, but that also means more names to be remembered and more gender goof-ups. My siblings are okay with it but somehow my elders start giving me those ‘Kids-these-days’ looks when I refer to a baby boy as a baby girl or vice versa. And unfortunately, I do that very often.

Yes, I like it when people refer to me as ‘Doctor’, but the questions that follow may or may not be answerable. Best ones…
1. What are you/want to specialise in? What’s that?


2. Beta we are going to need you in the future. You plan to stay here or go ‘foreign’?


Foreign?? Yeah sure. Export quality certified doctor in the house y’all!! Other than uninhibited lust for Madhuri Dixit, I am not planning to be another Dr. Nene.


3. Where is your posting these days? Do they treat knee joint pain?


4. So what are your plans after this?


In this NEET era where I’m currently unemployed, this particular question makes me cry.


5. What are your plans for marriage?

My answer to the last one is usually a fake “Ha ha” but honestly I feel like saying “I’m a Salman bhai fan. Celibacy till Katrina says yes”.

Then there are political discussions with elders where they ask us what we think because they want “point-of-view of the new generation” but is followed by looks that clearly shout ‘A generation which mocks Alok Nath and watches Sonakshi Sinha movies can know nothing about politics”. Factually correct but honestly, I don’t want to be a part of Rahul-Modi arguments, as long as Moditards are winning the argument.

It is fun but not easy to be a part of a joint family. But yes, like in all other respects, in political discussions too, Family Comes First.

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Archives: A Love Letter

Few months ago I was asked to write an article as a ‘guest’ writer for Lady Hardinge Medical College magazine. ‘Atithi tum kab jaoge’ sentiments prevailed and due to social/ communal/ political/ obvious reasons, the article couldn’t be in the magazine. Hence, the magazine went on to become a success and I am still unemployed as ever.
A big thanks to Suman Pal for the design. You are the second most creative person I have ever known, next to Sunny Leone obviously.
Also, thanks to LHMC editorial team for giving me the idea.
Please take the article in good humor. It doesn’t intend to hurt any feelings or impress anyone.

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PID: Post-Intern’s Depression

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For the ease of description and venting out of frustration, I will cover this topic point-wise.

1. One-last.
It’s the worst part of college-ending period. You have to celebrate ‘one last time’ of almost everything, no matter how senseless it may sound.
One last daru-party.
One last room me sutta.
One last balcony me sutta.
One last washroom vandalism.
One last nescafe coffee
One last hostel maggi
One last ATM “transaction couldn’t be completed”
It, apart from making us emotional, is also making us look old. If you ask me, as long as Syndicate bank is there, there just can’t be a last ‘ATM out of order’.

2. Autograph please.
This is a headache inducing exercise that a post-intern has to endure for time periods variable from a week to few months. Here, we beg Head of units and hostel care-takers and office staff for autographs and stamps. A few common replies that we get to hear are as follows…
Kal aana
Parso aana
Flag poore lagao
Flag seedhe lagao
Rakho 500 ka note table pe/table ke neeche
Purani receipt Lao
Tumhare pass pen tak nahi hai
Tumhari to repeat jaegi
Bh*****d fake signature!

Be it the librarian who is pissed off at library books vanishing faster than Rajnikant jokes after the introduction of Alok Nath memes or the Physiology office which rudely says ‘Interns only Monday and Thursday’ while some women can be heard bitching about their husbands and mother-in-laws inside, all compete with each other to screw us over.
It is very unfortunate that after getting a degree that gets us a lot of respect even from the Traffic policeman who has held us for jumping a redlight, we have to beg borrow and steal to get clearance on a meaningless small white diary. I have no idea what ‘No Dues’ from any hospital department means. My best guess is that they expect interns to steal BP apparatus, normal saline bottles or micropore tapes from wards. I definitely stole micropore tapes though.

3. Parting from friends.
This is a very sentimental time with the college days officially getting over and all of us celebrating being unemployed, feeling useless and being fed by our parents. But because of the ‘Internship folder’, while we do get to see each other almost on daily basis, all we talk about is Signatures and Offices and Signatures. I can’t remember the last time I had a heart to heart discussion with any friend. So it really proves that it’s been a long time since we had a drink together.

All this and much more is adding to the misery, making me miss internship and college even more. An intern cribs for the most part of the 365 days that he gets to be an intern. The sad part is that he does not get to live it ever again.

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Being Intern – X: The Goodbye

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My undergrad life at MAMC comes to an end in a week. It has been a rollercoaster ride through the five and a half years. This entry is nothing more than an emotional good riddance to a journey of a lot of laughter and a few tears.

I could easily sum it up in a few words for each professional year that I endured.
1st : confused and naive
2nd : scared and amused
3rd : bored and irritated
4th : tortured and helpless
Internship was a welcome change from the above programme. Plus this december has been awesome. But it’ll be incomplete without a goodbye letter.

I can’t even choose between my favorite things or time here. Right from the innocence of first year to evilness of second year, from scary exam times to utterly free time of 3rd semester, from being a teetotaller to becoming, well, whatever you call me right now, from movies at Delite to movies at Golcha, from getting wasted on beer to getting wasted on whiskey, from acting on stage to playing drums on stage, from Goonj to Synapse, from library lawn to hostel reading room, from Obh washrooms to nbh if-you-can-call-it-a-washroom, from Blues to Route 04, from Udupi to Zaika, from falling and failing in love to getting loved back, from making friends to making those friends a family, from 1st August 2008 to 31st December 2013, from a lot of smiles I fondly remember to a tear in the corner of my eye right now… It has been simply amazing.

A wannabe funny man in me entered this college in August 2008 and now is being sent off as a wannabe actor, blogger and rockstar. This college has amplified my feelings and ambitions right to the brim.

Be it extremes of emotions, or just idle time in this college, it all seems very very special right now. Friendship, love, anger, even diplomacy at times, every emotion at its peak. Yes, obviously I will miss mamc, not only because I have spent the last 5 years here, but because at the end of December, I would proudly say that those were the best days of my life.

Without taking any names, a big hug to all friends who stood by me during testing times and took my case afterwards to make sure I never forget that. A big thanks to all seniors who have guided/taught me and juniors who have made music/plays/magazines with me. A big pairi-painna to the teachers who passed me with grace marks and a big “Ha Ha you couldn’t stop me” to the teachers who realised my true potential and failed me. And to all those who have tried to hurt me… “Saalo bhagwan Sab dekh raha hai!”

Goodbye, MAMC!!
Goodbye, Home!!

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