Saturday, February 21, 2009

Life in a test tube

I am a killing machine at work, the one who rips an embryo without a hiccup.

Not that I justify the pain I inflict on my lab animals, but my EQ is zero when I sacrifice them.

No, I don’t house any emotion-management strategies. Just that, at the beginning of my scientific career I convinced myself that I would be pursuing an empirically valid curriculum and sensitivity of any kind, whatsoever; should seldom follow it.

Until now, I held the view that I could keep my personal self discrete from the professional arena. But an absolute elimination of this professional-personal overlap sometimes becomes non-negotiable. Alas, my existence is more than a university address, a PC and an e-mail ID, a fact I invariably fail to acknowledge.

Yes, I do feel, sometimes; even if I’m at work.(I’m sure my bum-chums across the globe would be already belching over this! You megalomaniacs! Without me resorting to extreme physical violence, you better believe me!)

These days I’m working with clinical biopsies of terminally ill cancer patients, who are probably dead by now.

Big deal..right?

Wrong. It’s far bigger.

I’m chopping, grinding, and mincing what was once a walking-talking-smiling human being. They would have never imagined that their brain that got confused when first love happened or their heart that followed it would be mummified in a tube. It would be passed on to the hands of a stranger, who would be foisting an unimaginable insult to their remains, a final blow to an already hard enough life.

I may not feel, but I know what a cancer patient goes through. The worst thing about cancer is not only the pre/post-treatment aesthetics of it. The thought that “Cancer is killing ME” is what directs the genesis from a serious illness to death.

Radiations, potent carcinogens, cancer inducing viruses, so on and so forth, you name it and either I have worked or I am working with it . No doubt, I have taken an under-calculated risk with own my life and in principle I face a thousand times higher risk of developing cancer as compared to a natural predisposition. Just that the weighty argument, “Who knows what happens to you in this medley of life?” keeps me happy.

The path to near immortality is and will remain elusive. I know I would succumb to death too, sooner or later. Dying doesn’t bother me much. But I would not like to see it coming, growing on me every single day when I wake up!

If one fine day I realize my life is a countdown and my clock is ticking away, how will I read all the books that I want to? Learn dance (with my two left feet? I guess yes...yeah laugh!), churn out all those amazing goodies I’m learning from the oven? Make love in a place I’m not supposed to? Tell people how much I love them or for that matter express detest for my boss even if he was to sack me!

Only if one could live a lifetime soon enough!

And to think of my life ending up in a tube is dismal enough to give me biiiiiiiiig-biiiiiiiig knots in my stomach.

In one of my previous posts, I made a juvenile comment that I don’t want to live long. I would like to make an amendment to that, right here, right now.

I don’t know how long I will live, but I definitely know I will live only once.
And until I die, I want to LIVE and not just exist. Nothing less, nothing more...

P.S. This post is sincerely dedicated to all the cancer patients in my clinical records who fought the disease. You have left a legacy of inspiration.
And I honour the undaunted others who are confronting the challenge with their boundless zest for life.

Monday, February 16, 2009

I can.

I can soak the first rain and taste the virgin snow.
I can sit along the river, just like a stone; and listen to the ripples.
I can gaze at the dark night and reckon the uncountable stars.
I can look in the eyes of the sun. But how I wish I could melt, for it's too cold inside.

I can hum aloud that melody even if I forgot the words, long ago.
I can bump in to a sidewalk, meeting a memory I try to forget.
I can laugh at the moments, separated by time and distance.
I can leave something behind, to never find it, ever again.
I can pretend I don’t know, even if a part of me says, I do.
I can scribble my life, unwritten before.

I can hesitate less, if I’m judged lesser.

For I’m nothing but a speck of black smudged on white.
An oddity lost in the even.
An anomaly in the cluster of normal.
A stranger amidst the known.
A face dissolved in the crowd.

Let me stop by, to witness my life.
I can grow old along with myself.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Before I die!

If there's one thing that stands tall on "My bucket list of things to do before I die"..its got to be meeting THE A.R.Rehman. In person.

Its "Rehna Tu" making nth round on the player and Iam so very glad that he grabbed the mic and did the song.

With music so profound, everything he creates just feels like an anthem to me!


P.S.Those who do not believe in the audacity of the thought, you better do ;)

Monday, February 9, 2009



For the zillionth time, someone pasted that label on me!

Ten years ago and I would have said that the statement was unjustifiably judgemental; today it’s more than a cliché!

The world belongs to “the normal”, “the obvious”, “the usual” and “the politically correct”. Unfortunately I haven’t always done the right thing!

My birth certificate classifies me a Homo sapiens...I doubt if I belong to this world! HaHaHa

Sunday, February 8, 2009


"I wanna live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse!"- Nick Romano (John Derek), Knock on Any Door.

So do I ;)

Thursday, February 5, 2009

The Lab-rathon

As the watch struck 11 p.m., I finally called it a day.

The 17 hours long lab ordeal came to an end and I swooped on the empty bus seat just like Tom would pounce on Jerry who has been absconding with a biiiiiig block of cheese!

There are 206 bones in the human body. I read somewhere in my 2nd standard text book. Today I know exactly where they are!

Tuesday, February 3, 2009


Tomaar moton bhalo bangla likhte jaani na, bhool ta nischoyi korbo..Kintu chesta korchi...

Aami jaani, tumi konoh din aamar blog ta podbe na. Aar jeta aami aeikhooni likhchi oer kichu maine-o hobe na..Jai hok...likhte chaichi.

Just ichche kori, je kichu bochor por , kono din, haatat, jyodi tomaar mon kore...aar tumi aeita podoh..tumi jene jao, je tomar moton sneh aamaake aar kao daelo na.

Aar beshash koro, aami kono din jeebone kaoke aeto miss kori ni jei moton aami tomake kori. Proti din.

Ma..jyodi tomar jonno kichu likhtaam na ..aei space ta incomplete hoto. Love you.

Cleaning up my closet...

What is it with memories?

It’s funny.

Sometimes I wonder, there were ‘n’ number of people I met and events I witnessed in my life, then why is it that I don’t remember it all?

Did I make my own memories? I think I did.

I chose to hold on to people and moments I would have liked to register as my past. At times being manipulative, somewhere, somehow. Not recording the episodes raw and naked, the way life delivered it to me, but sifting through all.Clasping people and things I did not wish to let go and inconspicuously deleting the ones that chafed me.

And that’s the reason, when I search for who I am today, I don’t get an answer! And it’s not surprising. How could I, when I don't even know who I've been??

All my life I had shut my doors. Clutching on to defunct faces and gathering obsolete thoughts in my arms. Faking it to myself that this was my world and my memories .

I think I need to blow off the dust and clean up my closet.