Doctors Are Divine

I hold doctors in deep reverence and see them as divine. The opinion I formed from my early years and hold on to till date, has its basis in the fact that our family has been specially fortunate to have always found doctors who deserved to be worshiped for their great proficiency and godly personality, especially these two, whom I wish to pay my belated tribute on Doctor's Day:

Dr. Ghoshal, Jorbagh, New Delhi.

Early fifties, we were still new to New Delhi, trying to settle here after having left Lahore in the aftermath of Partition. I was in my final year of college graduation when I got seriously sick. Since the final exams were not far away, my father wanted to consult the best possible doctor he could afford then, having started from a scratch in the new city. A family friend, who knew the place well, suggested he would try to get Dr. Ghoshal, his family doctor, who was a doctor of exceptional merit, yet affordable. The spirit with which he attended me was amazing. And the way he treated my typhoid that lead to my recovery in record time was simply superb. Since then Dr. Ghoshal remained our family doctor whose very visit was enough to give us confidence that any kind of ailment would be cured in no time. But ever since he saved my father's leg, which was severely infected, avoiding amputation that any other doctor would have found unavoidable, Dr. Ghoshal is always seen by the family as an angel doctor.

Dr. K. S. Arora, Alwar (Rajasthan)

During construction of the house in Alwar, where I had my last job in India, my wife suffered some allergies and infection from dust and cement that took us to Dr. Arora's clinic in the neighborhood for consultation. Dr. Arora, who had taken retirement from his very prestigious position of head of the general hospital to do his own private practice, was definitely the busiest doctor in Alwar. There was always a crowd of patients at his clinic waiting for their turn. After waiting for a while when our turn came, it did not take us long to realize that the long wait was worth it. Dr. Arora, we found from our very first meeting, was not only the most capable doctor in Alwar, but also a very pleasant and humane person, who would forego his fees from several patients who seemed to him to be poor. We made instant rapport with him to the extent that he told us whenever we wanted his help, we need not wait at his clinic but just call him and he would visit us at home for no extra fees. This is the best that the busiest doctor in the town could do for anyone. His treatment proved very affective and we did not have to call him for quite a while, till there was a reason that was not even remotely related to his medical profession.

Alwar, the city we had adopted to spend the rest of our life after retirement, we soon found was too sleepy to have any life. We started to seriously consider selling the house and buying one in or near Delhi. We thought of Dr. Arora, who had casually mentioned his plans to enlarge his clinic by buying a bigger place in the vicinity. We called him to inform about our intentions to sell our house to which he responded that he had recently bought the plot adjoining his house but ready to help us find a buyer, and came to see our house. Dr. Arora was impressed by the house, but not by our answer when he asked us why we wanted to sell it.

“If lack of company is the only reason to sell your house, then don't sell it. I will send you company.” The doctor seemed genuinely helpful when he said this. Very next day the doctor's friend came, he too a doctor, accompanied by another friend, a businessman. For the first time since coming to Alwar, we enjoyed real good company and conversation, and were motivated to change our mind to move to Delhi. Thanks to Dr. Arora, we continued to live happily thereafter in Alwar in the company of his friends and their families. Of course, Dr. Arora also became our best friend, besides providing the most professional medical help whenever we needed. Indeed, another angel doctor!

My Father's Lahore Days

The fondest memories of my father are from his days in Lahore, the political, educational and cultural capital of pre-independence Punjab province in India. His typical day in Lahore was much longer than most other working men of his time. It started at eight in the morning and ended past midnight, most of it consumed in concentrating on his two jobs with passion and pleasure, so that he could provide a luxurious life to his large family. His primary post was of Vice-principal and senior teacher of English language in D.A.V. High school, the most prestigious school in Punjab, which topped in studies as well as sports every year. The school had the biggest library, located in a separate building within the school compound, the most modern gymnasium, a great swimming pool and large play grounds, apart from the top ranking faculty no other school could afford. I felt specially honored to be a student of the Middle school of the same institution because of my father's position in the High school, even though it was in a different building at some distance from my father's school. The over pampering by my class teachers sometimes was embarrassing but all the same enjoyable. At times the whole class profited by the special treatment I received from the teachers, because they too escaped punishment for making some collective mischief, when my presence softened the teachers to serve us all with a warning only, instead of the severe punishment of caning they were accustomed to give.

My father was also the Chief Representative of the Oxford University Press, the world famous publishers, for Northern India. When at home, he would be seen most of the time engrossed in his book, the latest publication of The Oxford University Press. Although it would have been enough for anyone in his place to just go through introduction pages of a book in order to promote it, as their Chief Representative for Northern India, but for my father it was essential to read the full text before talking about it to anyone. He could not imagine how someone could promote a book without having thoroughly gone through the book and formed his opinion on different aspects of each chapter there in. An interesting example was when he received the Oxford Encyclopedia, one of its earliest editions, for promoting it in colleges. He not only went through the entire volume from beginning to the end, but also marked many portions with noting on the margin, indicating what according to him could be a more appropriate meaning or elaboration of the particular words. He had received several letters of appreciation from his bosses in London for bringing to their knowledge the grammatical or factual flaws that he found in the books, which they would correct in the subsequent editions. Sitting on his classic easy cane chair with hookah on his side, kept alive by frequent refilling with burning charcoal by the old family servant, he would be engrossed in the new arrival from the publishers till past midnight, when the rest of the family would be fast asleep. His library in our large living, spread subject-wise in over a dozen glass-paned cabinets was the instant attraction for visitors, especially my brothers' college friends, who would also borrow books of their interest which they would invariably forget to return. Father's library was the force behind founding a library of our own, The Boys' Own Library, along with my classmate Ravi, when we were still in our fourth grade. Hazarilal, employed by father for maintenance of his library and other miscellaneous jobs and errands, would pass on to us the books that he knew were surplus and also suitable for our library, mostly story books and ovels for school-age children. The idea attracted everyone's attention, including our teachers and made us the most popular students in the middle school.

August 15, 1947, my father was still in Lahore which was now a part of Pakistan. He had continued to stay in Lahore for quite some time after the Partition. Father firmly believed that sooner or later the atmosphere would calm down and people would settle peacefully, well protected by the new Pakistan administration. His logic was that if the Hindus and Muslims could live amicably in Lahore under the British rule, a foreign power, why couldn't the two communities live together in Lahore under the Pakistan government, which was controlled by our own countrymen. But his logic proved irrelevant at that particular time, when mobs of fanatic Muslims were roaming on the roads of Lahore, vowing not to let a single Hindu or Sikh live in Lahore. They were on a killing spree and it was a miraculous escape for my father when they forced their entry into our house on learning that he was still living there. Our wonderful Muslim friends living next door helped him escape by crossing over to their house from the terrace and later escorting him across the border to India. And thus ended my father's Lahore days, leaving behind whatever he had in Lahore, including his two jobs.

My Mother's Open House

As much my father liked to be left alone with his books, my mother loved to be in the midst of family members and her friends, both big in numbers. Her circle of friends spread from the elite of the society to its weakest sections, the later being her weakness. She not only liked their company better, but also felt happy caring for them. Her greatest happiness was hosting guests, friends and relatives, some coming from other cities and overstaying for weeks to enjoy her hospitality. A true believer in the age-old saying that God visited us disguised as a guest, she kept the house always open for everyone to enjoy its hospitality.

My wife was my mother's best friend after our marriage, and a true follower of the traditions my mother believed in. Between the two of them, they had made the house look like a marriage home, where festivities and feeding never ended. There was hardly a day when God had not visited our house. Our open house always had a guest, invited or not. Some guests frankly admitted that they found peace in our house whenever they had a disturbed mind and came just to enjoy the festive atmosphere here when the going was far from good at their place. And mother reciprocated by giving such guests the special treatment that they remember all their life. On Sundays specially, it was always a full house. We had to come prepared at the breakfast table with information on our friends coming over to spend the weekend with us, as she must plan the menu for their lavish lunch. And if by any chance we did not expect any guests some Sunday, we must come to the table with planned program of full day outing on the day, a substitute for the Sunday guests. We really had a wonderful time with mother around, and we as well as our friends very much missed her absence when my brother persuaded our parents to move to his palatial house in Pathankote, where he had headquarters of his large lumber company. He thought he could afford a far more luxurious lifestyle with his large household establishment that would allow them complete rest, enjoying all the comforts of affluent life.

Eagerly wanting to spend great moments with mother, we were excited as never before, to take the train to Pathankote on the very first day of the summer vacations. Our happiness to see the parents in my brother's great mansion with so many servants on their beck and call, did not last long. They, especially mother, missed the hustle bustle of life in Delhi, where in her open house the guests were welcome anytime of the day, all days. The joy of hosting her friends, our friends, and relations from far and near, was now a far cry. The frequent knocks of the friendly neighbors, the sound as beautiful as of the bells at the temple entrance, was not to be heard here. It was too lonely for the liveliest person on the planet. She could hardly hold back tears that kept pouring from her eyes, when she pleaded for taking her back to Delhi. But that could not be. There was no way we could convince, even talk to, my elder brother on the subject. That would amount to undermining his true intentions to insure the most comfortable life he could provide to parents compared to what they were having at our place. Having spent splendid vacation with her, we were heart broken to hear her parting words, “I'll see you soon in Delhi. I don't want to die here, so far away from you.” And she was so true to her words; she did not die there.

Within a few months, mother did come back to Delhi, though not destined to live in her open house. She was driven direct to hospital in serious condition. During her last days when doctors had given up on her cancer, mother continued to have her high spirits intact. She asked me to bring packets of the finest sweets, and gave them to doctors, nurses and the hospital staff, as a parting gift from a grateful patient, whom they had taken care of so well. They had tears in their eyes, but smiled all the same, as they had never seen anyone celebrating life so beautifully till the end. Before she breathed her last, she kept holding my wife's hand and spoke the last words, “I may not come back home with you, but promise you will continue to keep the house always open for everyone to enjoy its hospitality.”

"Will You Marry Me?"

Here is a great news no blogger can ignore. Some newspapers have approached Amitabh Bachchan for permission to print his blogposts on regular basis in return for compensation yet to be considered by him. Here is how he put the proposal on his blogpost (Day 372, April 39, 2009): “There has been talk among certain media of wanting to carry my blog in their paper. That I come to an understanding with them that I allow them to publish it exclusively. The deal being that the blog shall, as a result of the vast circulation of the paper, give me and my posts a larger reach to the people of the country. ...It is flattering to learn that an acknowledgement of independent internet, a medium I believe to be a most powerful one in the days and years to come, to be causing interest or discomfort to the traditional media.”

As old media races to catch up with the Web and figure out how to successfully monetize print content online, some newspapers are taking a drastically different approach: web to print. In cities across the US and some European countries, they are aggregating popular blog posts, specially by celebrities, to be printed prominently in newspapers to attract more advertisements. The hope is that the hype content will attract more advertisers who can reach out to their increased target audience. The papers have already lined up a number of fashion-based businesses for its debut. Some bloggers — without betraying a hint of irony — have denied the papers of the right to republish their posts, but the overall response has been positive. What blogger or photographer would turn down an offer for more exposure, especially in the confines of a luxurious printed page?

“We’re not necessarily looking for the people who have a readership, we’re looking for compelling content in a variety of areas,” said an editor of a prominent paper.“The person who’s a celebrity, an industry expert, the person who worked for a campaign and is blogging about it, the person who has some insight into our financial system.” He admits the printed blog is an experiment for now, but he is optimistic in its success and with the low production costs it isn’t much of a risk. With old media struggling to stay afloat, any experimentation with new business models is better than doing nothing. Newspapers need to be more forward thinking by incorporating bloggers / citizen reporters into the mix. With staffs getting cut you need to get fresh content somewhere!

While some experts are predicting that archaic forms of media, like newspapers, magazines and other print publications will fade away; the papers printing blogs are confident that new and old media will be able to collide and reach a greater number of people. There has been some interesting discussion recently about the fate of print media. While no one can say for sure that newspapers and print media will die, one inarguable point is that they are definitely bleeding. Is there a way to stop the bleeding? This is an issue we're going to continue to watch closely. It's always difficult to say goodbye to products, but it is important that we focus on products that can benefit the most people and solve the most important problems.

According to a study conducted by a media research analysis firm, the printing of blogs in national magazine and newspaper publication has increased more than 16-fold over the last five years. This stunning growth in blogger influence magnifies the importance of employing common sense when contacting bloggers. Knowing the blogger and his/her focus is the critical element in a successful blog relations campaign. While many blogs are highly visible in their own right, the growing influence with the mainstream media elevates their importance.

The newspaper business is dying. Revenues were down even when economic times were stable. Advertisers have moved on to TV, Radio, and the internet to find their audiences. Even established paper are gasping, and their survival is uncertain. Many people put down the papers and turned to the internet to voice their opinions on the sorry state of the print media; and perhaps, more importantly, to find prose worth reading. To a large extent they were rewarded. Good, great writing can be found for free, and outside the confines of newsprint. With all this great writing out there, doesn't it seem like the current purpose of the newspaper has been supplanted? Throughout the world, local media outlets are attempting to adapt to the changing economic environment. The papers have learned they have to be streamlined, focused, and efficient to not just draw an audience, but to break even. Whether they are successful or not will determine the written "face" of local coverage for the foreseeable future.

Bloggers will find they are not counter culture anymore. We're mainstream. But this is what many have fought for. Respect and relevance. It's closer than you think. The era of online journalism is just started and this is the time of the greatest vitality of the medium. It will, as a matter of course, stratify and coalesce into a more formal arrangement that will replace the one we are seeing pass. It’s not that this is better or worse, it just is – no matter how difficult it is for the various actors in the drama. The newspaper isn’t dead, and the blog hasn’t won. They’re just learning how to work hand in hand to provide society with the most effective, efficient means of one of our most basic needs: information.

Today the traditional media, bending on its knees, has proposed to the blogger in Big B, tomorrow it may be Amir Khan, Shahrukh Khan and a host of other high profile bloggers, and eventually it may be your turn when the media asks you, “Will you marry me?”

Dedicated To Mother's Day!

The lives you live as wives, moms and homemakers, while going out to work - where can you, as women, get the greatest fulfillment? Ask my wife, and she will at-once answer, nowhere else than in a warm loving home in a joint family? She was lucky to have been married at a time when joint family was not history, but still struggling to survive the onslaught of the fast moving metro life, which disrupted families. She was doubly fortunate to have her mother-in-law as her best friend. Parents' presence in the house was not only a blessing, but also a big support to us, the working couple. It indeed helped us through many of the tougher times with child raising and childcare needs. Unlike many parents who may suffer through finding babysitters and childcare providers for their small children, we never had any such problem. Our parents were only too willing to watch our little one. In short, my wife had it all – nice fulfilling job, great kid, a comfortable home and much of the credit for it goes to her compatibility with in-laws who lived with her under the same roof. So, any career woman, when ready to marry, would be very lucky if she can join a loving joint family after marriage.

All good things must come to an end. Our only child was hardly four years when for the first time my wife faced the hard realities of coping with the responsibilities of a mother and a career woman, without the help of my parents, who had moved to another city to be with my elder brother. She soon realized that motherhood was not all a bed of roses, especially if you happen to be a career woman. She now had to strive to make it successful, which she succeeded doing wonderfully well. First thing she did was to thank God for having teaching as her career, which was then not as paying as the career in a company. But now as a mother she found it paid off exceedingly well by giving her ample time to raise our child. Incidentally, she saw the sense in so many matrimonial classifieds then, clamoring for brides from teaching profession. Her working hours were best suited to devote the rest of the day after school to bring up our boy and fulfill his needs. Then there were so many vacations – autumn, winter and the long summer – coinciding with our son's school holidays, she never was short of time for our child, although a working woman. So, lucky is the working woman who has a job that complements, not clash, with her home life. There is nothing worse than having a lousy job that leaves you drained at the end of the day and ill-prepared to face your family when you get home.

People are amazed that my wife can be a good mother, a good wife and a good principal at the same time. Indeed, it is not easy for a woman to work as well as manage her family, and this is where support from husband highly matters. I was pretty sure that working women cannot be good mothers, unless they are blessed with a family willing to do their part in insuring her success at home and work. And although the family may feel happy having Mom handle all the cooking, washing, and cleaning, it is an unrealistic expectation when her paycheck is required to keep the bills paid. Just as a working man depends on his wife to allow him time to work and be with his children, so should he return the favor. Household chores should be shared equally by the husband and wife if they both work full time away from home. The choice is clear - we can spend our time whining about the impossibility of the situation or we can work together to make it workable situation for all. With my absolute belief that we as parents would greatly benefit from joining together and sharing the trials and tribulations of parenthood, supporting each other, learning form each other, and lending loving advice and helping hand, I sincerely strived to play my part as a husband who is helpful. Let me elaborate my role by relating to an amusing anecdote: Our son was still in his elementary school when he upset his teacher by being adamant on answering incorrectly, which as per his teacher, was a very simple question of social studies. After she had taught the class the basics of our daily life from a lesson in the book, wherein it was clearly stated that in the family, the father goes out to work and the mother does the household, she asked our son, “Who makes breakfast for you everyday?” To which he replied, “My father makes breakfast for me everyday.” And repeatedly gave the the same answer in spite of being corrected by the teacher. We had to explain to the teacher that this was the only truth he knew. While his mother went to work early in the morning, I fixed breakfast for him and tiffin for the school, saw him off when the school bus came, and then went to office.

In order to get along in the world today, a woman must work, to earn a decent household income. I have always thought my wife is a remarkable woman because she has successfully raised our brilliant boy, kept our house running by supplementing the household income substantially, and remained a respected school principal for 30 years till retirement. She really is a good role model who is worth emulating by aspiring working mothers. Dream big and grab those opportunities that come along. No path to success is strewn with roses. But the going gets lot easy if the loved ones extend a helping hand.

Happy Birthday, Brother!

You are not 88 years old today, you are 88 years young!
Wishing you many more happy and prosperous years!

Here's to celebrating you with happy memories of wonderful moments and shining years:

Let me start with those exciting evenings of the bygone era before Partition at the Government College swimming pool in Lahore. After finishing with your daily practice, with unaccountable lengths of the pool, for the State swimming marathon championship, you would be ready to show your matchless power in the friendly water polo matches with your winning shots. It was no surprise to anyone when you won the Punjab state championship for free-style marathon and helped your team take home the trophy for water-polo. You cannot imagine what an inspiration you gave me and to my school friends, who spent the evenings admiring your stamina at the college swimming pool and learning a lot from your skills.

“Milk Does Body Good”, the commercial slogan made popular by the milk lobby in USA since late Nineties, was passionately promoted by you decades earlier during your youth years , and later throughout your life. Remember the milkman who was always so amused seeing you gulp a couple of bottles of the pasteurized milk, before even the bottles made their way to the kitchen? It sure helped you have a body that made your friends envious and aspire others for such a healthy physique. There is no doubt, your healthy habits and hard regimes resulting in your having a robust health kept you ever young, in fact, providing you ample excuse to proclaim you were only forty-nine on your every birthday beyond that age for many years. It also paid off in providing you enough strength to fight and show remarkably fast recovery whenever you confronted serious age related ailment recently. We all have to learn from you how important it is to take necessary steps to safeguard our health well in time, so that we can ward off, as much as possible, the ill effect of old age on our health.

Hats off to you for the exemplary courage and bravery you demonstrated during the Partition when the militants entered our house in Lahore on learning that you and father were still living there. Your presence of mind in enlisting help from our wonderful Muslim friends next door helped you both in miraculous escape by crossing over to their house from the terrace and eventually across the border to India. And thanks again to you, although father had lost everything he had built in Lahore, the financial hardship of the family did not last too long. Your great career break in your friend's lumber company enabled the family to come back to the same lavish style of living as we had in Lahore. There was no looking back thereafter, as year after year, your career-graph kept moving up and up, eventually making you the managing director of the company you devotedly nurtured to become the biggest lumber company in Northern India. I can never forget those happy days in the family, especially your organizing the unforgettable tracking trip for me and my friends, from Simla to Missouri through the forests in the interiors of Himanchal, with excellent arrangements made by your staff throughout at all the forest guest houses on the way. That trip we cherish for ever.

Your amazing spirit in dealing with adverse circumstances came to the fore when twist of fate compelled you to close down your flourishing forest business. As terrorists infiltrated from Pakistan across the border into Kashmir and intensified their operations from the forests, the Kashmir government had no option but to ban all civilian activity in and around the forest areas to fight the terrorists. Your business was the worst hit by this ban as your all lumber work was concentrated in Kashmir forests. Forced to quit Kashmir, with all your investments in lumber business totally lost, on spur of the moment you made the most sensible decision, to move to the U.S. to start afresh from a scratch.

Here in USA, you did not take long to learn that you had arrived in the country where one could begin at the bottom and reach for the sky, with sheer hard work and determination. But to become big here, you have to first forget how big you were back home. Be prepared to accept any work, however small it may be, it will be worth it. Having learnt this basic aspect of the U.S. life, within weeks you were doing jobs that were simply unimaginable, especially for people from your circle in India, who knew you as the king amongst forest lessees – distributing newspapers early morning and doing construction work during the day. Even in the severest of storms your clients never complained of missing their morning newspaper for which the publishers awarded you a trophy that you showed to everyone with pride. You kept making progress at a tremendous speed and realized the American dream in a much shorter time than most others did.

Today, when you are enjoying your well earned rest, having gracefully retired, and reaping the fruits of your untiring hard work, it is my most joyous moment to greet you on your birthday. God bless you with good health and happiness always.

Happy Birthday, Brother!

Susan Boyle, the Reshma of Britain

Last weekend, Susan Boyle was just a face in the crowd. This weekend, clips of her singing on Britain's Got Talent have notched up almost 50 million views on YouTube. Her face appears on the front pages of papers in Britain and beyond. Hollywood agents and talk-show bookers are jostling for a few minutes with Susan Boyle. The rise of the 47-year-old spinster from Scotland has been a true global phenomenon.

On Saturday's season premiere of " Britain's Got Talent," from the moment she stepped onstage, was perhaps the most unlikely star, until she started to sing. Boyle, who had some limited previous vocal training and then mostly in church choirs, shrewdly picked "I Dreamed a Dream," a heartbreaking ballad about unfulfilled dreams from the hit musical "Les Misérables." A few bars into the song, as her earthy, pleasing voice took command and soared over the auditorium, the crowd could be heard letting out a collective gasp, then starting to cheer raucously. Her voice confounded all expectations - the judges' eyes bulged, the crowd went wild and Boyle became an instant star. Ever since, the "fairytale" has travelled the globe. It is the story of a talent unearthed. Boyle has shattered prejudices about the connection between age, appearance and talent. She has proved that you don't have to be young and glamorous to be talented, and recognized as such. The YouTube millions have cheered on the underdog, and seen in her the possibilities for their own hopes and dreams.

Boyle's story resembles that of Reshma, the mesmerizing folk singer of Pakistan, who blazed a fiery trail in the firmament of Pakistan’s music galaxy. Born in Bikaner (Rajasthan) and raised in Pakistan, Reshma’s voice has a distinctive, rustic Rajasthani touch. Reshma’s gift for singing was discovered during one of her frequent performances at the shrines. Much of her childhood was spent performing at shrines of saints in Sindh. It was at such a performance when Salim Gilani, Director in Pakistan's radio station, heard her and asked her to perform on radio. The wheels of her illustrious career were thus set in motion, and soon Reshma had become a household name. Immortalizing songs such as Oh rabba do dinan da meil, thay phir lambhi judai. the songstress touched millions with the haunting melody of her songs. Reshma’s voice is that of Mother Earth, coming from deep, deep within the bowels of our consciousness, echoing hauntingly through the cold, dark, empty void of the universe. It is a voice unlike any other. Truly it is the voice of the desert - unending in its breadth and unrelenting in its depth, making listeners believe not only in passion, but experience all its manifestations – the torture of waiting for a beloved, the ecstasy of union, the sharp pain of betrayal, the sadness of loss.

Both performers are classic underdogs, non-threatening people who, in pursuing long-held dreams, managed to triumph over easily understood disadvantages. They both did not have any formal education and training in music, however they sang from their heart in churches and shrines before they were discovered for the world of music. And when it happened, the world stopped to hear them. They both have a voice that comes from the heart and the one that always touches the heart. Their voice possesses that rare quality that is often aspired to, but attained by only a chosen few – what one might almost call the sublime catharsis of the soul.