Dear Doctor, Stop Crying

I think we doctors are crying too much these days. A few points I’d like to point out (excuse the pun).

1) Nobody put a gun to our heads to force us to become doctors. It was entirely our choice, and if it was our parents’ choice, it was our choice to succumb to our parents’ choice

2) Yes, we have to study a lot. But who are we kidding? A long college life means a long time to have fun

3) Yes, our profession is being unfairly targeted these days. But most of it is our own doing by gleefully encouraging corrupt practices by pharma companies and diagnostic labs. And shall I remind you that the abysmal sex ratio has been brought about by the unbridled greed of a lot of our own colleagues?

4) Yes, there’s a lot of deplorable violence against doctors these days. But a lot of that can be prevented if we show solidarity amongst ourselves and force the government to take action. But we’re too busy in our practice and in fighting among each other. Government doctors hate private doctors for earning more money.

5) True, we’re often insulted by illiterate politicians and functionally illiterate bureaucrats. They can easily insult us because we go crawling to them when we need some favour, to cancel our transfer orders or just to avoid offending them. Dear docs, if you keep degrading yourself, why shouldn’t they?

6) Besides, most of us earn a lot of money, which is enough to live a comfortable luxurious life.

7) Finally, if our profession was really that bad, why do we continue to let our children enter it, even pay huge fees in private medical colleges to ensure they do exactly the same thankless job that we do? Are we our childrens’ enemies?

The fact is, that like all other people, we do our jobs to earn money for our needs and luxuries. Some do the job well and some do the job not so well, and some do a very corrupt job. We’re no different from any other profession.

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Mirror

Your shocked face I saw
In the mirror,
As you stabbed me
In the back of my heart;
In the mirror of your eyes
I saw my face twisted
In a smile no different from everyday,
And though you sought desperately
The question in my eyes:
“Does one really know anyone?”
The only question reflected
In the mirror of my eyes was:
“Does one really know oneself?”
And that meant there was
Nothing to forgive

Posted in poem

Corporate

Chase your dreams, they say
And you run, and you run,
For what?
Are those dreams yours?
Or are they the scraps
Thrown from your master’s table,
To well-fed beasts who rush
Baying through the forest,
Trampling the trees,
Tearing love, humanity, fraternity,
Gnashing teeth, salivating profusely?
Are you men or are you
The dogs of rich men’s wars?

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She and Me

She’s brave, while I cower from fate,
She’s practical, I’m a pseudo-philosopher,
She plans, I dream,
She dances, I gesticulate
She guzzles her cocktails,
Greedy as a calf sucking milk,
I sip my scotch like the sun
Sucking the ocean dry,
She believes in the world,
I think it’s damned,
She effuses warmth, I chill the poles.
When we get into bed,
Her legs binding my butt,
We become the emptiness
That made the universe.

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The Bitter Feminist Goddess

angry superwomanWhen Superman was first created he had the power to jump tall buildings, run as fast as a train and dodge bullets. His creators gradually increased his powers, till he had strength enough to lift planets, speed equal to the speed of light, and a host of other superpowers that made him completely invulnerable. And then they realized that only one person is completely invulnerable, and that is God – and let’s face it, God is boring. You can be afraid of an omnipotent God, you can even force yourself to love Him, but you cannot really emotionally connect with Him on a mortal level. And so they had to introduce weaknesses in Superman’s indestructibility that made him more human and less alien – and importantly, more lovable.

The acolytes of Feminism are making the same mistake as the creators of Superman did – they’re creating the myth of a female as a superhero(ine). An indestructible, invincible, omnipotent being who is perfect physically, emotionally and spiritually. They have succeeded in creating an intellectual atmosphere where it’s politically incorrect to impute that a woman can be anything less than perfect in any sphere of life. Even her imperfections are supposed to be perfections. If a morbid emotional dependence on calorie-rich food makes her fat, you’re supposed to love her natural curves. If she’s acting bitchy, you’re supposed to empathize with her tribulations in a male-dominated world that have driven her to the edge of her emotional cliff. You can never criticize her body, her intellect, her clothes, her opinions – not even her opinion about you being a chauvinist, potential-molester pig male.

Being reasonably active on social media, I’ve often seen instances of women who consider themselves perfect in every possible way, without the hard foundation of evidence to back that claim. Now I agree that this is a general human phenomenon of modern times – affecting both genders equally. But in case of such pricks of the male gender, there are more than enough people willing to prove with copious sarcasm that they’re nothing but shallow, entitled pricks. However when women act like Ms Perfection and Ms Know-it-all, there’s a curious lack of opposition to their flimsy claims. On the contrary, there will be many men who would be actually contributing to such women’s megalomania by encouraging statements like “More power to you girl!” And if a boor like me were to raise questions on the veracity of her opinions, these men mount their brave horses, take up their lances of words, and descend on such as me in a flurry of war cries.

To be independent, to have one’s own opinions, to be strong when times are difficult – these are all desirable qualities in women (and in men). But strength does not lie in the denial of one’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities – true strength lies in acknowledging them, accepting that one is not perfect, and carrying on in life as best as one can. Without accepting one’s blemishes, we tend to create a fake paradise around us, in which we are Gods and our opinions are angels whose glory and power has to be accepted by everyone around us or run the risk of being butchered into pieces by the flaming sword of self-righteousness. Do you wonder then that such women are so loud in their vehemence, so unforgiving to opposition, so implacable in their sanctimony?

Feminism has also taught women the virtues of permanent victimhood. By virtue of belonging to the female gender, you become a victim. No matter you’ve been born into spoon-fed privilege, no matter you’ve never had to even dream of an iPhone before your papa bought it for his little princess with effusions of gratitude for her hug and peck on the cheek – you are victim simply because you’re a woman. Now the problem with having a victim mentality is that you begin to harbor bitterness towards the nasty world which has victimized you, you tend to become self-centered and narcissistic because hey, the whole world owes you complete attention in lieu of victimizing you. And when you’re a narcissist, you don’t give anything to others – you are only interested in taking your dues: materially, physically and emotionally. You become a superficial, entitled, shallow, whining bitch.

Is it a wonder then that such women roam the corridors of social media looking for true love and never find it? Because someone forgot to tell them that love is not about taking – it’s about giving. Love is standing in front of your lover naked with all your blemishes and vulnerabilities – unashamed of them, because he is your lover and he is supposed to love you as you are, not as some sort of imagined statue of perfect beauty, strength and invincibility. You’re not a shallow God lady – you’re a human being and you can only be loved as a human being.

 

 

 

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Posted in Satire

Adam and Eve

We look out of the window pane
Hear the muffled roar
Of the patient monster waiting outside
To snap us up in its jaws.
The tick of clock behind us
Like the raindrops of time
Corroding their ruthless way
Through the furrows of our faces.
I hold you tight in my ropy arms
Your soft skin breaks up into dust,
You clamp your lips hard on mine
But mine are parched like desert sand.
And we cry without water
And we scream with our smiles
And though God is winning again
Paradise was ours for a while again.

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Ode To A Bird

Winged traveler of life,
Painting clouds on the sky,
Riding the horses of wind
How high can you fly?
Not more than can I
With the arrows of my mind
I travel to more distant skies
Than you can ever find.
But happiness, ah that’s another thing-
Do you find it in your flight?
Or do you find that sorrow lurks
In the shadow of the light?
I fear you are led on
By a passion that’s unconfined
By the murky paths that unfold
To my clearly reasoning mind.
You think not of anything but
The lash of wind to lift you high
And not seeking any more joy
Your path does not through unhappiness lie.

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