12. The West for us
A wk-end at the Beach, Panama City Florida, I wrote,” As I walk on the wet sand, the foot marks keep getting washed away, lost and gone, leaving me lost and gone. The tides hit me and I fall. I am up but am hit again and fall further away. I dig my feet in, to stay firm, here it comes, a big one, the sand slips and I fall. I jump, swim and try to stay afloat. The Sea comes, keeps coming and almost drowns me.”
My depression worsened.
Professionally I was doing well. I was also adding a different patient populace to our group, being a woman and with a bend towards psycho-therapy. I ran the inpatient group with the Pastoral counselor John Sims and other staff. The Medical chief would send all residents to me for a Psychiatric Orientation Program and any personal problem they needed to resolve. My Psychiatric partners began to call me ‘Gendi’, they meant Indira Gandhi.
I had become the President of the Indian Association of Birmingham. Each year the city hosted a festival where they saluted a chosen country. We educated school kids about India by doing fun projects. There was a cultural Bonanza for a Whole week inaugurated by none other than, the then Ambassador Dr. K R Narayanan. Performers included Mallika Sarabhai doing the Oddisi, Hari Prasad Chaurasia on the flute, Uday Shankar’s troup doing an dance act from the Maha Bharata. There was also of course, sumptuous food from North, South, East and Western parts of India.
Whilst earlier, at home there had been swimming parties with Booze and Barbequed Murga in the evenings, now I began to spend solitary hours floating in the pool in semi darkness.
Another crisis occurred which took Rakesh and me to India. Papaji, his father was in the hospital following a gastric bleed which was a result of serious Liver Cirrhosis. Following a Blood transfusion he developed further Jaundice and renal failure. He passed away at the early age of 58. All Hindus put Ganga jal in the mouth of the dying man. I don’t know if it could wash away the alcohol in his system now. Papaji had really loved me like a daughter as there was no girl in the family prior to me. This of course further saddened all of us.
I began to share ‘myself’ with friends in USA and family at home. There were frequent trips to India with and without the kids.
I needed to put things in order. What did I want and what could I save.
It was the beginning of my questions about the Marriage and stay in the West. What had been subtle and accepted began to be serious issues.
I had never felt that I wanted to settle abroad. I was always giving in to Rakesh because of his weak family ties. I had always ‘wished’ to return. As soon as we started making good money, Rakesh started mishandling it. Living there was comfortable physically but a vacuum in the West constantly haunted me. It was a place of plenty but never felt like ‘my home’.
I decided I wasn’t going to let Rakesh continue like this. He was going to help running the house now from his earnings. I had worked extremely hard all these years and I was going to save mine for going to India later. At least I needed to give it a try. I felt I had to save the children and myself.
Ironically, our American citizenship papers came through now. I did not feel American. I didn’t want to become American. I didn’t want to lose ‘my’ Indian identity but being unsure of the future, I accepted. I answered questions about American History at the interview although I felt no part of it. I could not let go of that to which I felt I belonged, centuries of my own ancestry and the soil of the Geography of my land.
The last year was very difficult. Divya chose to stay there as this was her final in High School and then she would go away from Birmingham to University. I worried about her, was frightened of leaving her, and yet could not go on there. I was trying handling Rakesh and the children and dealing with their feelings around this issue of Family split up and Country move to India, both at the same time.
Rakesh had finally accepted hoping it may be temporary.
There was a superficial calm. There was the question “Am I doing the right thing? I made a mistake when I married Rakesh. I rebelled against my family, my parents to whom I am so close now. Am I now rebelling against this present family?”
With opposition from all quarters, I decided to take the plunge. I felt frightened but stood my ground. While emotions and deep, deep pain devoured me inside, something else, a much stronger force continued to instill a sense of confidence at the same time.
I needed to prepare Divya who was to stay back. She was already ‘driving’ to School by now. At Christmas that year, she, Karan and I, drove 1500 miles to New York through Snowy roads, with her at the steering wheel. We were spending a week at my friend Kusum’s place with her family. We talked, they cried, they talked and we cried. Then we spent the 31st eve at Times Square where the Big Apple descended at midnight and the world went crazy with shouts of joy, heralding the New Year.
I needed to prepare myself too. I had been having problem ‘periods’ for some while. With the Gynecologist’s advice, I had a Hysterectomy.
I was in room 274 Brook wood hospital. Jim, Ed and Carol, my partners at work, all came to see me, also to say Good-bye. They were wonderful. We had good times working together.
I finished ‘Work’ at Princeton and bade remaining Good-byes. Emptying the office was sad. Tons of memories of my faithful patients, will always occupy the crevices of my brain.
Outside, it was dark. The Red lights in the Tower house and the Green of
‘the Vulcan, Steel God’ twinkled constantly, brightly, hopefully.
“All this will be behind me and I shall be starting a new life, new life, and new life”.
At home, the Shipping container arrived and 14 years of my life were packed and shipped to India.
As the plane took off with me and Karan, the Sun Set outside my window, it sort of Set on America for me.
Veena
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
11- Birmingham
11- Birmingham, Alabama USA
We moved deeper South. It was Spring and the Azaleas, the Gardenias and Dogwoods were in full bloom.
The house looking like a ranch stood on a hillock facing a Catholic Church in the best part of Birmingham, Alabama. At the end of the steep driveway, was a Deck holding a Kidney shaped pool over which hung a lush willow. Bedrooms faced the water, its sunny reflections playing games on the walls inside.
We started our respective practices. Rakesh joined a large private Hospital and a Dialysis unit individually. I joined ‘Birmingham Psychiatry’ as part of a ‘group of Psychiatrists and Psychologists’ connected to 2 hospitals. Patients were of mixed ethnicity, largely Caucasian, with openness and readiness to get better.
Children began at Mountain brook Elementary in a good School system adjusting well.
There was a fair sized Indian/Punjabi community, as is, in most cities in US and we were welcomed to the ‘wk-end dos’ with emphasis on Desi Food, Desi music, Scottish Brew and more than just a dash of ‘material opulence’ thrown in.
We could now afford a live-in help and things seemed to look good.
After Spring, was Summer, Autumn and then Winter. I don’t know when things began to ‘not look’ so good.
At Cincinnati, Rakesh’s alcohol use had increased. Back home in Bombay, his father drank heavily to the chagrin of his mother and younger brothers who were also bearing the brunt. It began to bother me. We would get into arguments to no avail. It was after one such ‘scuffle’ I made an appointment with a Psychiatrist for us. He did come initially but as we began to address issues, he withdrew, labeling it as ‘my problem’ which indeed it had become.
It was then that I decided to continue in therapy along with my Residency training. I did it, also to sort out my own questions and self ‘perceived vulnerabilities’.
This proved to be a ‘significant chapter’ in my conscious life.
“The eldest girl who grew with father’s domination and mothers passivity, choices dictated by him- leading me to rebel, following his first long depression, inducing a guilt, perpetuating further need to conform to the now man i.e. husband. The marriage was an impulsive decision, once taken; I took the ‘role’ seriously as was my nature. While I was equally versed intellectually and emotionally, I accepted a position of ‘submission’ and played the martyr, as I thought was or ‘should be’ the norm for the ‘wife’. I was the passive, obedient sexual partner and conceived a child and then another, thus having to change the direction of my life prematurely and immersed in half hearted motherhood and half hearted medical jobs and education. There was little sharing between husband and wife. In fact now, his Alcohol intake was more regular, a cause of concern to me. It felt as if this was a price I had to pay.”
It was in therapy that I began to ‘grow again’ internally, subtly. It was in therapy that I began to take ‘responsibility’ for my future choices with deliberation and careful thinking.
Having worked and trained hard as Professionals, parents, home makers, we together had taken the decision to move for Private Practice to Birmingham.
Now, the house that we had, had our living-room at one end with the TV, which was Rakesh’s den, with his newspaper and Whiskey. On the other side was the ‘kitchen and Dining area’ where I would be and the kids’ rooms were in between. This physical distance at home between Rakesh and me became symbolic of our growing emotional distance. We were under one roof but really under different roofs.
I began to sense sadness within me but continued to devote my self to Divya, Karan and my patients. Rakesh and my Philosophy and ideas were completely different from beginning of marriage. He lived to eat and I ate to live.
As we settled more, once again, it began to seem that the last 13 years of my Marriage, children, home and Profession were not my own. I had constantly ‘conformed’. I began to feel a stranger in my own ‘self’. I kept trying to make adjustment.
Our conflicts, my growing unrest, had taken me to an ‘Analyst’ in Cincinnati.
I called him and resumed sessions on phone.
Another year dawned. Divya began rebelling like any teenager, partly because of the silent rift at home and partly the need to conform to School where she and Karan were the only Indian kids. Her rebellion surfaced further dormant feelings in me.
One day, a call came from the School. They said she had some ‘Valiums’ with her. Some time ago we had given her a pain pill and a valium for monthly period stress .The School board was tough. Rakesh and I felt they were being discriminatory. They were totally closed to hearing us as parents and as two senior medical professionals. No matter what we said, mattered.
Besides Divya’s problem, for the first time we felt alienated as Indians in this Caucasian culture.
We were directed to have family counseling which I thought then, was a blessing in disguise. Whilst Divya opened up, when Rakesh’s drinking came up, he once again refused further therapy.
Another crisis occurred.
Suddenly one day ‘The IRS’ called home. We were in big losses and no tax had been paid since the beginning of our move. To my horror, I discovered that Rakesh had been losing money in ‘speculative stocks’ not once but consistently. He would spend all his earnings in it, whilst telling me, his practice wasn’t still good and all house expense went from mine.
This woke me up. I felt cheated.
It was not just the loss of money in stocks but the realization that this was part of the syndrome of gambling. He always had a ‘streak’ but never like this. From Soccer-betting in UK to Horses, to ‘Grey hounds’ to Casinos to speculative ---- to now the impending take over of our ‘every thing’, perhaps everything that we owned----
There was complete denial of the magnitude and enormity of the problem by him.
He assured me, every thing will be ‘OK’!
I was not so sure---
Veena
We moved deeper South. It was Spring and the Azaleas, the Gardenias and Dogwoods were in full bloom.
The house looking like a ranch stood on a hillock facing a Catholic Church in the best part of Birmingham, Alabama. At the end of the steep driveway, was a Deck holding a Kidney shaped pool over which hung a lush willow. Bedrooms faced the water, its sunny reflections playing games on the walls inside.
We started our respective practices. Rakesh joined a large private Hospital and a Dialysis unit individually. I joined ‘Birmingham Psychiatry’ as part of a ‘group of Psychiatrists and Psychologists’ connected to 2 hospitals. Patients were of mixed ethnicity, largely Caucasian, with openness and readiness to get better.
Children began at Mountain brook Elementary in a good School system adjusting well.
There was a fair sized Indian/Punjabi community, as is, in most cities in US and we were welcomed to the ‘wk-end dos’ with emphasis on Desi Food, Desi music, Scottish Brew and more than just a dash of ‘material opulence’ thrown in.
We could now afford a live-in help and things seemed to look good.
After Spring, was Summer, Autumn and then Winter. I don’t know when things began to ‘not look’ so good.
At Cincinnati, Rakesh’s alcohol use had increased. Back home in Bombay, his father drank heavily to the chagrin of his mother and younger brothers who were also bearing the brunt. It began to bother me. We would get into arguments to no avail. It was after one such ‘scuffle’ I made an appointment with a Psychiatrist for us. He did come initially but as we began to address issues, he withdrew, labeling it as ‘my problem’ which indeed it had become.
It was then that I decided to continue in therapy along with my Residency training. I did it, also to sort out my own questions and self ‘perceived vulnerabilities’.
This proved to be a ‘significant chapter’ in my conscious life.
“The eldest girl who grew with father’s domination and mothers passivity, choices dictated by him- leading me to rebel, following his first long depression, inducing a guilt, perpetuating further need to conform to the now man i.e. husband. The marriage was an impulsive decision, once taken; I took the ‘role’ seriously as was my nature. While I was equally versed intellectually and emotionally, I accepted a position of ‘submission’ and played the martyr, as I thought was or ‘should be’ the norm for the ‘wife’. I was the passive, obedient sexual partner and conceived a child and then another, thus having to change the direction of my life prematurely and immersed in half hearted motherhood and half hearted medical jobs and education. There was little sharing between husband and wife. In fact now, his Alcohol intake was more regular, a cause of concern to me. It felt as if this was a price I had to pay.”
It was in therapy that I began to ‘grow again’ internally, subtly. It was in therapy that I began to take ‘responsibility’ for my future choices with deliberation and careful thinking.
Having worked and trained hard as Professionals, parents, home makers, we together had taken the decision to move for Private Practice to Birmingham.
Now, the house that we had, had our living-room at one end with the TV, which was Rakesh’s den, with his newspaper and Whiskey. On the other side was the ‘kitchen and Dining area’ where I would be and the kids’ rooms were in between. This physical distance at home between Rakesh and me became symbolic of our growing emotional distance. We were under one roof but really under different roofs.
I began to sense sadness within me but continued to devote my self to Divya, Karan and my patients. Rakesh and my Philosophy and ideas were completely different from beginning of marriage. He lived to eat and I ate to live.
As we settled more, once again, it began to seem that the last 13 years of my Marriage, children, home and Profession were not my own. I had constantly ‘conformed’. I began to feel a stranger in my own ‘self’. I kept trying to make adjustment.
Our conflicts, my growing unrest, had taken me to an ‘Analyst’ in Cincinnati.
I called him and resumed sessions on phone.
Another year dawned. Divya began rebelling like any teenager, partly because of the silent rift at home and partly the need to conform to School where she and Karan were the only Indian kids. Her rebellion surfaced further dormant feelings in me.
One day, a call came from the School. They said she had some ‘Valiums’ with her. Some time ago we had given her a pain pill and a valium for monthly period stress .The School board was tough. Rakesh and I felt they were being discriminatory. They were totally closed to hearing us as parents and as two senior medical professionals. No matter what we said, mattered.
Besides Divya’s problem, for the first time we felt alienated as Indians in this Caucasian culture.
We were directed to have family counseling which I thought then, was a blessing in disguise. Whilst Divya opened up, when Rakesh’s drinking came up, he once again refused further therapy.
Another crisis occurred.
Suddenly one day ‘The IRS’ called home. We were in big losses and no tax had been paid since the beginning of our move. To my horror, I discovered that Rakesh had been losing money in ‘speculative stocks’ not once but consistently. He would spend all his earnings in it, whilst telling me, his practice wasn’t still good and all house expense went from mine.
This woke me up. I felt cheated.
It was not just the loss of money in stocks but the realization that this was part of the syndrome of gambling. He always had a ‘streak’ but never like this. From Soccer-betting in UK to Horses, to ‘Grey hounds’ to Casinos to speculative ---- to now the impending take over of our ‘every thing’, perhaps everything that we owned----
There was complete denial of the magnitude and enormity of the problem by him.
He assured me, every thing will be ‘OK’!
I was not so sure---
Veena
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
10- Shift to ' Psyche'
10. Shift to Psychiatry
It was now time for me to take a break and get my daughter Divya back.
Saji and Papaji, Rakesh’s parents visited and she came with them. London was difficult for her. I was still a half baked mother and that too a second after Saji, her Dadi. We also decided now to plan for a 2nd child and Karan came along.
Life was now home and family in my three bed room centrally heated, semidetached, beautiful, comfortable house. There were many ‘girlie’ things I could do besides. The trips to Oxford Street, learning designing clothes with lovely fabrics from John Lewis for Divya, shopping at Marks and Spencer, doing a journalism course writing about a ‘Women’s magazine’, entertaining old friends from Med. school at home--- tending the Garden and basking in the rare London Sun under the Blossom of our Apple tree in the back yard.
It seemed leisure for a while but the routine became routine. I started part time ‘family planning clinics’ after doing a short course. Divya started School and Karan could be left with our friendly Gujrati neighbor Ba, an affectionate family who had migrated from Kenya in the Idi Amin’s regime in Uganda.
There were senior nurses and health workers helping us the doctors. It was a pleasant change to deal with ‘people’ rather than ‘specimens in the Path lab and peering down microscopes’. This was my first exposure to ‘counseling’, dealing with teen age girls, boyfriends, young and old mothers, and different situations, issues around planning life, relationships, sex and abortion. Prescribing the ‘pill’ or inserting IUDs was only a part of the exercise. I came in close contact with personal ‘lives’ and liked it.
Rakesh became a senior Registrar and finished ‘Membership of the Royal College of Physicians’ of London.
We had all left India ‘supposedly’ for post-education abroad which seemed attained now.
There was recognition that whilst the British needed us for their ’National Health service’, there was a professional ceiling and we could never become Consultants. Considering future options, the choice was to move back to India or further West. Those in USA were still in the magical throes of the Dollar. Rakesh felt England had been comfortable but not to give us a Bank balance enough for settling home – so we continued and moved further West to the ‘Wonder land of the Disney’.
Cincinnati, Ohio was our next home where Rakesh accepted a fellow-ship in Nephrology.
Destiny opened its doors and a vacancy in Psychiatry happened for me. That seemed fascinating. Rollman’s Institute was under Univ. of Cincinnati, historically basically Freudian but becoming eclectic now. I had a round of interviews with the Professors and was told that instead of the Microscope, I would here, have to look at the deeper mind telescopically and shift my focus away from the ‘body’. I had always been a thinker, feeler and life was more ‘philosophic’ rather than just tangible. I considered this and Instead of repeating Pathology and dealing with specimens, with some excitement, took the ‘decision to accept’, which turned out to be the best for me.
England had already put us in a groove, a ‘logical reason and method’ to ‘do’ in life and not to ‘pretend to do’. USA was the playground – it was open, it welcomed freedom and autonomy of thought and action.
The ‘Whites’ here seemed friendlier, not ruling, but still felt the native owners of the ‘Land’ and we ‘the additional foreigners’.
From an initially, rented townhouse in Hawaiian Village, soon, we bought a pretty big home with Swim pool in the big Back yard and all else to Finney town. Kids were good in School. Rakesh was good in Nephrology.
So started the training to become a Mind healer, a Mood healer and all else pertinent and not pertinent to human body alone and learning ways of dealing with the whole person. It stimulated me and filled me with life and energy. Every thing needed to be explored and understood in the language of thought and emotion. Every action was designed and had layers of intricate threads woven in years. It was a Freudian School with heavy emphasis on ‘his method’. Psychotherapy was the backbone of learning. While it was not mandatory, it was recommended to undergo ‘self analyses’ as part of the making of a good therapist.
At the end of three years, I finished the program as the ‘Chief resident’ and was offered a ‘faculty position’. As a Nephrologist, Rakesh now needed to be associated with a ‘Dialysis centre’. An ex-colleague from Med. School offered a position at Birmingham, Alabama.
We decided that, this was where both of us would start ‘private practice’ in our respective fields of specialization. The lure of that Dollar should now be fulfilled and one day perhaps, we would be able to head ‘Home’ to India. At least I wished so and vaguely Rakesh did too.
Veena
It was now time for me to take a break and get my daughter Divya back.
Saji and Papaji, Rakesh’s parents visited and she came with them. London was difficult for her. I was still a half baked mother and that too a second after Saji, her Dadi. We also decided now to plan for a 2nd child and Karan came along.
Life was now home and family in my three bed room centrally heated, semidetached, beautiful, comfortable house. There were many ‘girlie’ things I could do besides. The trips to Oxford Street, learning designing clothes with lovely fabrics from John Lewis for Divya, shopping at Marks and Spencer, doing a journalism course writing about a ‘Women’s magazine’, entertaining old friends from Med. school at home--- tending the Garden and basking in the rare London Sun under the Blossom of our Apple tree in the back yard.
It seemed leisure for a while but the routine became routine. I started part time ‘family planning clinics’ after doing a short course. Divya started School and Karan could be left with our friendly Gujrati neighbor Ba, an affectionate family who had migrated from Kenya in the Idi Amin’s regime in Uganda.
There were senior nurses and health workers helping us the doctors. It was a pleasant change to deal with ‘people’ rather than ‘specimens in the Path lab and peering down microscopes’. This was my first exposure to ‘counseling’, dealing with teen age girls, boyfriends, young and old mothers, and different situations, issues around planning life, relationships, sex and abortion. Prescribing the ‘pill’ or inserting IUDs was only a part of the exercise. I came in close contact with personal ‘lives’ and liked it.
Rakesh became a senior Registrar and finished ‘Membership of the Royal College of Physicians’ of London.
We had all left India ‘supposedly’ for post-education abroad which seemed attained now.
There was recognition that whilst the British needed us for their ’National Health service’, there was a professional ceiling and we could never become Consultants. Considering future options, the choice was to move back to India or further West. Those in USA were still in the magical throes of the Dollar. Rakesh felt England had been comfortable but not to give us a Bank balance enough for settling home – so we continued and moved further West to the ‘Wonder land of the Disney’.
Cincinnati, Ohio was our next home where Rakesh accepted a fellow-ship in Nephrology.
Destiny opened its doors and a vacancy in Psychiatry happened for me. That seemed fascinating. Rollman’s Institute was under Univ. of Cincinnati, historically basically Freudian but becoming eclectic now. I had a round of interviews with the Professors and was told that instead of the Microscope, I would here, have to look at the deeper mind telescopically and shift my focus away from the ‘body’. I had always been a thinker, feeler and life was more ‘philosophic’ rather than just tangible. I considered this and Instead of repeating Pathology and dealing with specimens, with some excitement, took the ‘decision to accept’, which turned out to be the best for me.
England had already put us in a groove, a ‘logical reason and method’ to ‘do’ in life and not to ‘pretend to do’. USA was the playground – it was open, it welcomed freedom and autonomy of thought and action.
The ‘Whites’ here seemed friendlier, not ruling, but still felt the native owners of the ‘Land’ and we ‘the additional foreigners’.
From an initially, rented townhouse in Hawaiian Village, soon, we bought a pretty big home with Swim pool in the big Back yard and all else to Finney town. Kids were good in School. Rakesh was good in Nephrology.
So started the training to become a Mind healer, a Mood healer and all else pertinent and not pertinent to human body alone and learning ways of dealing with the whole person. It stimulated me and filled me with life and energy. Every thing needed to be explored and understood in the language of thought and emotion. Every action was designed and had layers of intricate threads woven in years. It was a Freudian School with heavy emphasis on ‘his method’. Psychotherapy was the backbone of learning. While it was not mandatory, it was recommended to undergo ‘self analyses’ as part of the making of a good therapist.
At the end of three years, I finished the program as the ‘Chief resident’ and was offered a ‘faculty position’. As a Nephrologist, Rakesh now needed to be associated with a ‘Dialysis centre’. An ex-colleague from Med. School offered a position at Birmingham, Alabama.
We decided that, this was where both of us would start ‘private practice’ in our respective fields of specialization. The lure of that Dollar should now be fulfilled and one day perhaps, we would be able to head ‘Home’ to India. At least I wished so and vaguely Rakesh did too.
Veena
Saturday, August 7, 2010
9- Marriage/ Family /Pathology
Marriage/family /Pathology
College ended and time came for the daughters to get settled and parents sent for them for the next task before them.
Father brought me up as a son but when it came to marriage he wanted to select the right ‘master’ by advertising ‘me ‘in the matrimonial market of the newspaper.
Life took a turn, a sharp one. I felt crushed – I lost my own control and felt a slavery of thoughts and actions. Things started losing meaning with an upsurge of emotions. Whilst mother had been conservative, father had always encouraged liberal views, but here he was not going to compromise.
Looking back I really cannot tell if we knew what ‘love’ was. Of course there had been what one thought then, some matching of chemistries and pairing up. For me, as for many like me, there were triads and confusions. Rakesh had followed me and had wowed to get me in the end.
So I rebelled and in my confusion and helplessness got married to him secretly.
To our good fortune, when disclosed, both sides of Parents acted graciously and accepted our ‘act’ announcing it formally by a ‘reception’ at the Oberoi, the then, only 5 star of Delhi. After all I had been the ‘star’ of Babuji’s life.
Rakesh was the eldest of 4 brothers so; I was welcomed as the first daughter of their house.
My Marriage however threw my father into his first serious ’Depression’, which effected me for years to come.
We went for our Honey-moon to Bombay and Goa.
The Sea was green – it was deep – it was vast. It was stormy, the waves relentless. The pearls scattered in river Mondovi got mixed in the waters with the lights of Panjim. And so lay life before us.
Not knowing how fertile I was, I conceived ‘Divya to be’ immediately.
Jobs were scarce, doctors not well paid. It was the year of the mid-60s, the ‘Brain drain’ had begun and at least 80% of our batch mates flew away, mostly to UK others to USA. It was a wave that swept us too to leave home and country. Ironically, we had pushed the British out of India and yet followed them back.
We were given ‘job vouchers’ as entry tickets and jobs were allotted in small city hospitals. Rakesh started his Medical House-man ship on the Isle of Wight at the southern tip of England. I followed as a wife carrying my 6 month old Divya dressed in a Pink knitted suit, on my shoulder.
The change was sudden, landing at huge Heathrow. In the bathrooms, Indian ladies clad in Salwar kameez smiled, cleaning the floors. It was strangely not a welcome ‘Welcome’. Well at least there were no Coolies at Charring Cross railway station. The train ride to Southampton was comfortable followed by hovercraft to the island. The hovercraft did hover on the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, carrying about 30 of us reaching the other shore.
St. Mary’s hospital provided us with reasonably furnished 2 room apartments with a cleaning lady for the kitchen shared by 2 married doctors, the other from UK. We the wives made sure the kitchen was not too dirty and the dishes too greasy ‘before’ she came. The initial graduation was from the Indian to the Western toilet, the washing to wiping with paper, the bucket bath to the tub bath and the learning to clean the pot and the tub. Dealing with the meals with sparse vegetables, Uncle Brown’s rice and British or New Zealand lamb to begin with and then ‘tinned foods’ for us as well Divya. “Yes Mama! I should have learnt how to cook”, here I was……. No doctor status, ‘no many things’ that go with it in India, but pretending to be happy with ‘my handsome husband’ and ‘big black eyed beautiful daughter’.
Doctors were needed; I would do locum casualty/emergency clinics to fill in. It was amazing how much the nurses knew and how good they were, totally disciplined, dedicated and helpful. The English knew when to work and when to play. Work was work, serious, intended for a purpose. One learnt because one wished to learn, one wished to learn because it came from within and needed to be understood. It was after going ‘West’ that I started to learn, not to finish the course or pass the exam or become a doctor as ‘had been planned’.
During a wk-end trip to London to see Kusum, my friend from MAMC, I forgot my ‘pill’ and lo and behold got ‘fertile’ again. An angry me but had to pay the price for the mini /maxi carelessness. Became a ‘mother to be’ again. I reconciled to my homely life and the Winter Snow of the Island till one ‘antenatal check’.
It had been a bright, rare, Sunny day in the month of November. I wore a special flowery dress I had made. The midwife, who had complained that I was getting rather too plump last time, put me on the machine and adjusted her scales. “Well the baby is taking some of your fat – you are the same, my dear”. Inside I went for the ‘Check’ “Kicking about?” the doc asked; patting me and then ‘it’ he inquired.
“Think it is taking a bit of rest” I said- “been a little quiet this weekend”.
He was feeling it up and down, side to side; he was putting his ear to it. He was listening with another instrument, another machine. I had been lying still – and all of a sudden the news had come. There was no fetal heart beat.
“But why? Why doctor, has it happened” I had gone on repeating, feeling numb inside. The doctor could not say!
Rakesh came looking cheerful; Boss had been pleased with him that day.
“Rakesh our baby is dead – it is dead, do you know?”
The baby was dead. “There is no need to be panicky it is best to wait; soon there would follow labor and I would deliver.’’ The Doc pronounced.
From that day on, every morning when I lay in the bath there it was, before me, the sight of the dead thing inside. I writhed with the thought. At night I got the worst night mares. I felt like my body was a graveyard wherein was buried a precious thing of my life. Days passed by – nothing seemed to happen.
Now it was the eve of Christmas. Every house was gay inside. Every room had decorations as if to welcome the holy baby. Outside the window were soft snowy flakes that came noiselessly and majestically layer upon layer. Suddenly I felt a twist in my tummy, it was only a moment – it happened again and again and again.
“Oh God not tonight”, – tears poured, another wave of the terrible pain.
It was morning, still snowing softly. I did not have it inside me anymore.
Instead was, a strange emptiness, a pain deep within. The agony so unbearable I wished I would drift from this world. A mist covering the eyes dried by it self. All the time was that nagging, quivering continuous pain – pain not expressed, not seen, just felt----.
It consumed me, my thoughts, my very being.
Rakesh traveled to Bombay and left Divya, a year and a half old, with his mother who took care of her for some time.
I decided to do Pathology as had been earlier decided by my father, to go with ‘husband’s medical practice’ in possible future settlement in Delhi.
The first was a house job in Hematology followed by Bacteriology at Mile-end Hospital in East London. Needless to say, it felt good. I was a student again, commuting to meet Rakesh on wk-ends, who also had shifted to the vicinity.
Then I did a years’ stint at Hosp. for Sick Children Gt. Ormond Street, doing Virology under Proff. Dudgen.
He was the giant researcher of Rubella. This would take me to the central parts of London like the Soho square with its cobbled stone lanes, so familiar in a way after having read Dickens, Bernard Shaw’s ‘My fair lady’ and other English fiction growing up.
Finally, took Histo-pathology & Morbid Anatomy at Edgware Gen. Hosp.in the North which I liked the most. By now Rakesh and I were both Registrars at Edgware, ‘he a Chest Physician’, never mind how much he smoked.
Our old friends, Sabharwals enthused us to buy a Home which we did, although we had to borrow the ‘down payment’ from Shashi’s husband Mohan. Shashi’s marriage had followed mine within the year as my Father wished, of his choice and I felt ever grateful to her for acceding.
The discipline of living, of thinking, of doing, of planning, of succeeding began to take a deeper meaning. What ever one did at home or in the hospital was not to please father, husband, or the ‘other’ but to perform a better task for the sake of the task itself. No supervisor was watching how much time and how I was spending it, but how well I actually did in the end.
Whilst in the ‘Hospital for Sick children’ at Great Ormond street, an infant got diarrhea, not only his stools but the diapers he used, the mattress he lay on, the nurses station, the kitchen gadgets, the cooks had to be swabbed and tested for the source of infection. Hilarious as it may sound, it was after all the best children’s hosp. on the globe.
I remember a second year med. student came to see a slide of histology in the lab. to me. He had originally seen the patient with ‘pain abdomen’ in Casualty, admitted him for investigations, attended his surgery in the Operation theatre, followed up the specimen of appendix as we had sliced, paraffin embedded and stained it. He now came to see the acute inflammatory cells in the Appendix. (In Delhi, we would identify the slide from the small circles in the middle and guess the diagnosis for the exam).
My Consultant, Dr Patterson would sit on the double Microscope with me and showed the transition from a regular cell to one with enlarging nucleus, to one now getting more vicious, ready to swallow the one next to it and thus becoming more and more malignant in the process. Even Bert, the Mortuary attendant was so much help with post-mortems; I looked forward to do them.
There was certain dynamism in teaching and learning.
Shree who was also doing Pathology and I, would trudge to the Academic world at Hammersmith Institute to hear the ‘Authorities’. I finally finished with the learning of ‘what caused and happened in disease’ and obtained the ‘Diploma in Clinical Pathology’ from the University of London.
Veena
College ended and time came for the daughters to get settled and parents sent for them for the next task before them.
Father brought me up as a son but when it came to marriage he wanted to select the right ‘master’ by advertising ‘me ‘in the matrimonial market of the newspaper.
Life took a turn, a sharp one. I felt crushed – I lost my own control and felt a slavery of thoughts and actions. Things started losing meaning with an upsurge of emotions. Whilst mother had been conservative, father had always encouraged liberal views, but here he was not going to compromise.
Looking back I really cannot tell if we knew what ‘love’ was. Of course there had been what one thought then, some matching of chemistries and pairing up. For me, as for many like me, there were triads and confusions. Rakesh had followed me and had wowed to get me in the end.
So I rebelled and in my confusion and helplessness got married to him secretly.
To our good fortune, when disclosed, both sides of Parents acted graciously and accepted our ‘act’ announcing it formally by a ‘reception’ at the Oberoi, the then, only 5 star of Delhi. After all I had been the ‘star’ of Babuji’s life.
Rakesh was the eldest of 4 brothers so; I was welcomed as the first daughter of their house.
My Marriage however threw my father into his first serious ’Depression’, which effected me for years to come.
We went for our Honey-moon to Bombay and Goa.
The Sea was green – it was deep – it was vast. It was stormy, the waves relentless. The pearls scattered in river Mondovi got mixed in the waters with the lights of Panjim. And so lay life before us.
Not knowing how fertile I was, I conceived ‘Divya to be’ immediately.
Jobs were scarce, doctors not well paid. It was the year of the mid-60s, the ‘Brain drain’ had begun and at least 80% of our batch mates flew away, mostly to UK others to USA. It was a wave that swept us too to leave home and country. Ironically, we had pushed the British out of India and yet followed them back.
We were given ‘job vouchers’ as entry tickets and jobs were allotted in small city hospitals. Rakesh started his Medical House-man ship on the Isle of Wight at the southern tip of England. I followed as a wife carrying my 6 month old Divya dressed in a Pink knitted suit, on my shoulder.
The change was sudden, landing at huge Heathrow. In the bathrooms, Indian ladies clad in Salwar kameez smiled, cleaning the floors. It was strangely not a welcome ‘Welcome’. Well at least there were no Coolies at Charring Cross railway station. The train ride to Southampton was comfortable followed by hovercraft to the island. The hovercraft did hover on the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, carrying about 30 of us reaching the other shore.
St. Mary’s hospital provided us with reasonably furnished 2 room apartments with a cleaning lady for the kitchen shared by 2 married doctors, the other from UK. We the wives made sure the kitchen was not too dirty and the dishes too greasy ‘before’ she came. The initial graduation was from the Indian to the Western toilet, the washing to wiping with paper, the bucket bath to the tub bath and the learning to clean the pot and the tub. Dealing with the meals with sparse vegetables, Uncle Brown’s rice and British or New Zealand lamb to begin with and then ‘tinned foods’ for us as well Divya. “Yes Mama! I should have learnt how to cook”, here I was……. No doctor status, ‘no many things’ that go with it in India, but pretending to be happy with ‘my handsome husband’ and ‘big black eyed beautiful daughter’.
Doctors were needed; I would do locum casualty/emergency clinics to fill in. It was amazing how much the nurses knew and how good they were, totally disciplined, dedicated and helpful. The English knew when to work and when to play. Work was work, serious, intended for a purpose. One learnt because one wished to learn, one wished to learn because it came from within and needed to be understood. It was after going ‘West’ that I started to learn, not to finish the course or pass the exam or become a doctor as ‘had been planned’.
During a wk-end trip to London to see Kusum, my friend from MAMC, I forgot my ‘pill’ and lo and behold got ‘fertile’ again. An angry me but had to pay the price for the mini /maxi carelessness. Became a ‘mother to be’ again. I reconciled to my homely life and the Winter Snow of the Island till one ‘antenatal check’.
It had been a bright, rare, Sunny day in the month of November. I wore a special flowery dress I had made. The midwife, who had complained that I was getting rather too plump last time, put me on the machine and adjusted her scales. “Well the baby is taking some of your fat – you are the same, my dear”. Inside I went for the ‘Check’ “Kicking about?” the doc asked; patting me and then ‘it’ he inquired.
“Think it is taking a bit of rest” I said- “been a little quiet this weekend”.
He was feeling it up and down, side to side; he was putting his ear to it. He was listening with another instrument, another machine. I had been lying still – and all of a sudden the news had come. There was no fetal heart beat.
“But why? Why doctor, has it happened” I had gone on repeating, feeling numb inside. The doctor could not say!
Rakesh came looking cheerful; Boss had been pleased with him that day.
“Rakesh our baby is dead – it is dead, do you know?”
The baby was dead. “There is no need to be panicky it is best to wait; soon there would follow labor and I would deliver.’’ The Doc pronounced.
From that day on, every morning when I lay in the bath there it was, before me, the sight of the dead thing inside. I writhed with the thought. At night I got the worst night mares. I felt like my body was a graveyard wherein was buried a precious thing of my life. Days passed by – nothing seemed to happen.
Now it was the eve of Christmas. Every house was gay inside. Every room had decorations as if to welcome the holy baby. Outside the window were soft snowy flakes that came noiselessly and majestically layer upon layer. Suddenly I felt a twist in my tummy, it was only a moment – it happened again and again and again.
“Oh God not tonight”, – tears poured, another wave of the terrible pain.
It was morning, still snowing softly. I did not have it inside me anymore.
Instead was, a strange emptiness, a pain deep within. The agony so unbearable I wished I would drift from this world. A mist covering the eyes dried by it self. All the time was that nagging, quivering continuous pain – pain not expressed, not seen, just felt----.
It consumed me, my thoughts, my very being.
Rakesh traveled to Bombay and left Divya, a year and a half old, with his mother who took care of her for some time.
I decided to do Pathology as had been earlier decided by my father, to go with ‘husband’s medical practice’ in possible future settlement in Delhi.
The first was a house job in Hematology followed by Bacteriology at Mile-end Hospital in East London. Needless to say, it felt good. I was a student again, commuting to meet Rakesh on wk-ends, who also had shifted to the vicinity.
Then I did a years’ stint at Hosp. for Sick Children Gt. Ormond Street, doing Virology under Proff. Dudgen.
He was the giant researcher of Rubella. This would take me to the central parts of London like the Soho square with its cobbled stone lanes, so familiar in a way after having read Dickens, Bernard Shaw’s ‘My fair lady’ and other English fiction growing up.
Finally, took Histo-pathology & Morbid Anatomy at Edgware Gen. Hosp.in the North which I liked the most. By now Rakesh and I were both Registrars at Edgware, ‘he a Chest Physician’, never mind how much he smoked.
Our old friends, Sabharwals enthused us to buy a Home which we did, although we had to borrow the ‘down payment’ from Shashi’s husband Mohan. Shashi’s marriage had followed mine within the year as my Father wished, of his choice and I felt ever grateful to her for acceding.
The discipline of living, of thinking, of doing, of planning, of succeeding began to take a deeper meaning. What ever one did at home or in the hospital was not to please father, husband, or the ‘other’ but to perform a better task for the sake of the task itself. No supervisor was watching how much time and how I was spending it, but how well I actually did in the end.
Whilst in the ‘Hospital for Sick children’ at Great Ormond street, an infant got diarrhea, not only his stools but the diapers he used, the mattress he lay on, the nurses station, the kitchen gadgets, the cooks had to be swabbed and tested for the source of infection. Hilarious as it may sound, it was after all the best children’s hosp. on the globe.
I remember a second year med. student came to see a slide of histology in the lab. to me. He had originally seen the patient with ‘pain abdomen’ in Casualty, admitted him for investigations, attended his surgery in the Operation theatre, followed up the specimen of appendix as we had sliced, paraffin embedded and stained it. He now came to see the acute inflammatory cells in the Appendix. (In Delhi, we would identify the slide from the small circles in the middle and guess the diagnosis for the exam).
My Consultant, Dr Patterson would sit on the double Microscope with me and showed the transition from a regular cell to one with enlarging nucleus, to one now getting more vicious, ready to swallow the one next to it and thus becoming more and more malignant in the process. Even Bert, the Mortuary attendant was so much help with post-mortems; I looked forward to do them.
There was certain dynamism in teaching and learning.
Shree who was also doing Pathology and I, would trudge to the Academic world at Hammersmith Institute to hear the ‘Authorities’. I finally finished with the learning of ‘what caused and happened in disease’ and obtained the ‘Diploma in Clinical Pathology’ from the University of London.
Veena
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
4- NEFA trip
4. NEFA- 15.1. 02
We drove from Kaziranga to Dibrugarh reaching about Lunch to Hotel Mona Lisa bidding goodbye to Narayan and the Sumo and shifting to the Black ‘Cielo’ of our host/ friend at Arunachal.
Driving Eastwards were, more and more Tea-estates spreading far and wide owned by various Williamson & McPhersons, Williamson & etc. etc. still symbolizing past or present history of British ownership. Most of the Head-offices were in Kolkota, most tea was exported but most workers were local, lots were women and just about surviving.
The roads were getting bad and then bad to worse. For my NRI friend Veena, used to driving on fast and mighty Highways of a mighty country, It was difficult to comprehend why ‘it had to be so’. Depending on my state of noon-somnolence I would react by simply smiling or going into our intricate ways of existing and ‘progressing’ in Mera Bharat Mahan.
We crossed the border into Arunachal. I remembered (too late) that our inner-line permits, which I had procured in Delhi after ‘some’ effort, were in the Boot of the car in my suitcase. “No problem” announced the Driver, “nobody will check in my Sahib’s car” WOW!
He did not even have to stop or slowdown at the Barrier ‘in these’ troubled times, although it ‘troubled’ both of us for Mera Bharat----you know what- Mahaaan !
We arrived at Guna town, Chowkham in Lohit Distt. to a large dwelling in the midst of lot of greens and were welcomed by Rajen and his wife Frica. Somewhat in a daze after the long travel, the hot Brandy with Madhu, Black pepper and Ginger was wonderful.
Arunachal borders with Bhutan, China and Myanmar (Burma). It is mountainous, remote and predominantly tribal.
Rajen belongs to the tribe of ‘Khamtis’. His ancestors moved here in the mid 80s’ from Burma. They are one of the most prosperous, have their own language, script and religion. His father Mr Namshun, now in his 80s was the tribal chief and later an MP. Arunachal at the time of Independence was the most backward state, the capital Itanagar being built only in 1982. Mr. Namshun was instrumental in its growth in education, general development and brought it on the Industrial map of India. Though born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was socially committed and almost developed the whole town including 2 Budhists temples or Stupas, local Schools, market, club and Parks.
At this time he was going through ‘grief’ after Ashok Kumar’s death who he said had been his contemporary and favorite Bollywood star.
We visited the Parashuram Kund which is a place of pilgrimage and especially famous for a ‘Holy-bath’ during Makkar Sankranti. There were about 500 steps going down the hill, which Veena descended in the hope of ‘being cleansed’ of her sins while I waited with Rajen in his Pajero. Once in those waters people actually remove and discard their clothes (with no inhibitions I was told) and wear new ones to ‘become new’ ??? perhaps.
Driving on narrow roads one saw luxuriant tropical rain forests giving way at places to paddy fields and human habitations. There were rhythmic hilly rivers checked by small dams, boats and bridges of various kinds including a floating Bridge controlled by the Army.
(We were told that on one such rope bridge Rajen’s brother Guna had slipped into the river and died).
There were small tin and jute dwellings, which looked like railway carriages, long and narrow. These belonged to the Mishi tribe, most of who were farmers. Each had atleast 4 wives and lots of children all living in complete harmony. The groom just had to pay some money to buy his bride and she was ‘his’ to command and help in the field.
The evenings were indoors with the Namshuns sharing local rice dishes cooked in Bamboo, fresh steamed vegetables and lovely fruits from Fricas own garden. Along with this I have to also mention the other sharing, discussions and confessions on life, love, marriage and values, VALUES of people who belonged to Arunachal, Kashmir, Punjab, South of Delhi, South of Manhattan. They were actually the same. Singing George Harrisons songs in a tribal home - the integration felt complete, not of the Indian but the Global-Mind.
Then the clouds gathered and the rain began to swell the waters along the roads. Not risking getting trapped in Arunachal, which they said could happen, we left a day early to reach Mona Lisa and next morning fly back to Kolkota carrying bagfulls of Arunachali Tea.
At Dum-dum airport over a cup of Tea from the Machine, over shared emotions of meeting and parting friendship we hugged good byes. We shook hands vowing to meet at Amsterdam at the International meet of Law and Psychiatry in July 2002, my trolley facing Indian Airlines to Delhi- hers to British to New York.
Veena Kapoor
13. 2. 02
We drove from Kaziranga to Dibrugarh reaching about Lunch to Hotel Mona Lisa bidding goodbye to Narayan and the Sumo and shifting to the Black ‘Cielo’ of our host/ friend at Arunachal.
Driving Eastwards were, more and more Tea-estates spreading far and wide owned by various Williamson & McPhersons, Williamson & etc. etc. still symbolizing past or present history of British ownership. Most of the Head-offices were in Kolkota, most tea was exported but most workers were local, lots were women and just about surviving.
The roads were getting bad and then bad to worse. For my NRI friend Veena, used to driving on fast and mighty Highways of a mighty country, It was difficult to comprehend why ‘it had to be so’. Depending on my state of noon-somnolence I would react by simply smiling or going into our intricate ways of existing and ‘progressing’ in Mera Bharat Mahan.
We crossed the border into Arunachal. I remembered (too late) that our inner-line permits, which I had procured in Delhi after ‘some’ effort, were in the Boot of the car in my suitcase. “No problem” announced the Driver, “nobody will check in my Sahib’s car” WOW!
He did not even have to stop or slowdown at the Barrier ‘in these’ troubled times, although it ‘troubled’ both of us for Mera Bharat----you know what- Mahaaan !
We arrived at Guna town, Chowkham in Lohit Distt. to a large dwelling in the midst of lot of greens and were welcomed by Rajen and his wife Frica. Somewhat in a daze after the long travel, the hot Brandy with Madhu, Black pepper and Ginger was wonderful.
Arunachal borders with Bhutan, China and Myanmar (Burma). It is mountainous, remote and predominantly tribal.
Rajen belongs to the tribe of ‘Khamtis’. His ancestors moved here in the mid 80s’ from Burma. They are one of the most prosperous, have their own language, script and religion. His father Mr Namshun, now in his 80s was the tribal chief and later an MP. Arunachal at the time of Independence was the most backward state, the capital Itanagar being built only in 1982. Mr. Namshun was instrumental in its growth in education, general development and brought it on the Industrial map of India. Though born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was socially committed and almost developed the whole town including 2 Budhists temples or Stupas, local Schools, market, club and Parks.
At this time he was going through ‘grief’ after Ashok Kumar’s death who he said had been his contemporary and favorite Bollywood star.
We visited the Parashuram Kund which is a place of pilgrimage and especially famous for a ‘Holy-bath’ during Makkar Sankranti. There were about 500 steps going down the hill, which Veena descended in the hope of ‘being cleansed’ of her sins while I waited with Rajen in his Pajero. Once in those waters people actually remove and discard their clothes (with no inhibitions I was told) and wear new ones to ‘become new’ ??? perhaps.
Driving on narrow roads one saw luxuriant tropical rain forests giving way at places to paddy fields and human habitations. There were rhythmic hilly rivers checked by small dams, boats and bridges of various kinds including a floating Bridge controlled by the Army.
(We were told that on one such rope bridge Rajen’s brother Guna had slipped into the river and died).
There were small tin and jute dwellings, which looked like railway carriages, long and narrow. These belonged to the Mishi tribe, most of who were farmers. Each had atleast 4 wives and lots of children all living in complete harmony. The groom just had to pay some money to buy his bride and she was ‘his’ to command and help in the field.
The evenings were indoors with the Namshuns sharing local rice dishes cooked in Bamboo, fresh steamed vegetables and lovely fruits from Fricas own garden. Along with this I have to also mention the other sharing, discussions and confessions on life, love, marriage and values, VALUES of people who belonged to Arunachal, Kashmir, Punjab, South of Delhi, South of Manhattan. They were actually the same. Singing George Harrisons songs in a tribal home - the integration felt complete, not of the Indian but the Global-Mind.
Then the clouds gathered and the rain began to swell the waters along the roads. Not risking getting trapped in Arunachal, which they said could happen, we left a day early to reach Mona Lisa and next morning fly back to Kolkota carrying bagfulls of Arunachali Tea.
At Dum-dum airport over a cup of Tea from the Machine, over shared emotions of meeting and parting friendship we hugged good byes. We shook hands vowing to meet at Amsterdam at the International meet of Law and Psychiatry in July 2002, my trolley facing Indian Airlines to Delhi- hers to British to New York.
Veena Kapoor
13. 2. 02
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