EK HI THAPPAD?!

When we saw Mr. Sharad Pawar getting slapped on TV, most of us chuckled. We thought,"this was imminent". We may or may not don't sympathise with Harvinder Singh's cause, our eyes and minds were on Sharad Pawar. Not Sharad Pawar as the Union Minister in isolation.

What we nodded to is that India's politiical class was slapped by one from the public. Don't we wish this happened more frequently? Political leaders, representing us stalling Parliament for 3 consecutive days didn't take our permission, when entire India is waiting relief from inflation, corruption and despondency. We are irritated and confused, wondering how would the people we voted for tackle issues if they stopped the process of legislation.

But when Anna Hazare's "Ek hi thappad Mara"becomes a slip of tongue, we would be lying to ourslves.

I felt alienated from the leader, who as a Gandhian showed Satyagaha is relevant even now. Not for a second did he resort to firing up supporters. That made us proud. We can say proudly and loudly : Yes we subjugated the poltical class without resorting "formal politics". We attracted their worried attention without clashing with the police, & burning buses. Discreet dissent voiced by a united India did the trick.

And now that the masses have taken an "off", ready to rally behind a people's leader if needed. We are confident because we discovered the strength of the citizen of democratic India. We do not wince over any incident that degraded man in front of man.

I didn't see the Anna Hazare the leader in the social activist who asked "EK Hi Thappad" with a previously unseen brashness and in a mocking tone that we didn't see before. It made me frown and I nodded my head from side to side.

We have rallied behind this social activist which ultimately made the Parliament bend over. He was a good leader because his points were uncomplicated, he spoke in a languge which we laugh,cry and lament in our personal lives.

The Lokpal Movement (in which I participated too) is theoretically undemocratic, broke rule books but we strove on with mild resistance in our way because all of us knew the end would be affecting the times beyond it. It had a message. Lokpal or not, a good leader can still mobilise good Will, and no codes, laws, amendments can in the way of a billion Indians chanting the same words, rooting for the same cause, cutting across caste, religion. It revealed the actual might of Indian democracy. In unision for the sae cause, no bullets are required. Peaceful Satyagraha is our democratic weapon.

Anna led us from the front. The leader brought rural and urban India to protest together in peaceful coexistene. It was ethical, discreet - something one shall always say : here was this morning.
"ek hi thappad" can be laughed over, enjoyed over at home. Not here. He is a leader. With leadership comes certain responsibilities because people are following and cheering every movement. A leader doesn't have the privilege that his followers are. Hardly bothering to condemn we can rave and rant, even over coffee. A leader cannot. He cannot even resent the absence of privilege because he chose to be the leader himself.

The followers of Anna Hazare were not only sincere, they bothered about propriety, not letting things happen which we ourselves condemn, when cadres of various political parties fight, break the law, burning buses, pelting stones, arson. We hate them all the more because the party leaders will argue first about how reactionery outbursts, and owning up in front of citizens.

Anna can. He shouldn't. He will lose myriads of supporters if he speaks in this language, something which middle class Indians are sensitive about.
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

LETTERS TO MY DAUGHTER - Discovering Art

------ "You might ask me what ART is."

(She tiptoed for sometime, then found out that it's a better option to let each of her entire foot carry her weight way. That way she found it easier to sway and twirl in rhythm to the beats she seemed to be listening to keenly. She was completely oblivious of what lay outside the little bridge where her feet follow in rhythm, to beats coming out of nowhere.

Today as she turned 2 years 6 months 10 days, did she try to dance? I don't know.

As I watched my daughter finding rhythm even in a blast of beats, I remembered that just the other day I'd found her discovering melody in a barrage of noisy notes that blasted out from those ever-enthusiastic amplifiers, ready to jump the gun on any festive day.)

-----"Now that you read these words, I ask you : Do you love to dance? Do you feel the Freedom in Dance? Do you hum tunes still? You used to, you know..You were discovering the Feeling when Art reaches out to touch.
You might ask me what ART is. I am not an Artist, neither have I studied Arts!"

Though Formal Art is not my cup of cold coffee -- I haven't pursued Art as a subject of vocation -- I am fond of Art just like any other person, I love to savour Art in certain specific forms out the infinite forms Art manifests itself (graciously saving a few finite forms for human senses).

Incidentally the art-forms manifested, that captured my heart to rule my senses when I was a child, old enough to 'Feel Gratified'
are the ones that still pamper me with the most and the best and the deepest of pleasures.

Gratification led to Greed. And Greed led to want of Time.
The Want that would leave me pining for the moment, for "the next". I simply waited greedily wanting Time to pass by quicker. Yet it was Time that I realized the Infinity of Art... well, it was rather a juvenile concept that made me believe, than "realization".
Time led to Realization.

I am still on my way, egged on by Realization (Surprisingly Knowledge turned out to be the worst guide. At times it needed guidance, and Realization provided that )
I know that Realization would be there forever, just like Art manifest for a 3 year old me pleases me still.
Realization would lead to Grace. Finally.

I guess it is the quality of the interface, where Art and its Lover meet to give and take, that matters, and makes up the most of the reason why the forms of Art that a child is exposed to, remain (or should remain if allowed to thrive in natural ways) remain as pleasant to the senses as ever.

The most effective interface is the child's Mind -- kept un-corrupted, unblemished from the dirt and stain of the adult world ; a heart that knows no tricks, no hidden corners, no dark depths. Art gives its Heart. The child promises Truth.

Gifts, generously given and promised to be sheltered under Truth, never withers away, as Nature Creates on, The Artist behind all things beautiful and timeless.

Gratification led to Greed.
Greed led to want of Time.
Time led to Realization.
Realization would lead to Grace some day.
Grace would make me believe.

I don't know what Art is. But I do believe this
: Art is Truth manifested and Time immortalized.

Go out and find your Belief. I might not be there with you now as you read on, but I'm there around you, in these words will be there with you forever.

Be good to people. Be good to life.. But never "too good" so as not to speak out your heart and mind, if you Believe : no matter who-what-where-how ever.

That is one Freedom everybody has as a Nature's child, which not even Nature can take away from you. Remember, you are a Free soul. Believe in your Freedom.
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

LETTERS TO MY DAUGHTER : Discovering Art

---- "You might ask me what ART is."

She tiptoed for sometime, then found out that it's a better option to let each of her entire foot carry her weight way. That way she found it easier to sway and twirl in rhythm to the beats she seemed to be listening to keenly. She was completely oblivious of what lay outside the little bridge where her feet follow in rhythm, to beats coming out of nowhere.

Today as she turned 2 years 6 months 10 days, did she try to dance? I don't know.

As I watched my daughter finding rhythm even in a blast of beats, I remembered that just the other day I'd found her discovering melody in a barrage of noisy notes that blasted out from those ever-enthusiastic amplifiers, ready to jump the gun on any festive day.

-----"Now that you read these words, I ask you : Do you love to dance? Do you feel the Freedom in Dance? Do you hum tunes still? You used to, you know..You were discovering the Feeling when Art reaches out to touch.
You might ask me what ART is. I am not an Artist, neither have I studied Arts!"

Though Formal Art is not my cup of cold coffee -- I haven't pursued Art as a subject of vocation -- I am fond of Art just like any other person, I love to savour Art in certain specific forms out the infinite forms Art manifests itself (graciously saving a few finite forms for human senses).

Incidentally the art-forms manifested, that captured my heart to rule my senses when I was a child, old enough to 'Feel Gratified' are the ones that still pamper me with the most and the best and the deepest of pleasures.

Gratification led to Greed. And Greed led to want of Time.
The Want that would leave me pining for the moment, for "the next". I simply waited greedily wanting Time to pass by quicker. Yet it was Time that I realized the Infinity of Art... well, it was rather a juvenile concept that made me believe, than "realization".
Time led to Realization.

I am still on my way, edged on by Realization
(Surprisingly Knowledge turned out to be the worst guide. At times it needed guidance, and Realization provided that )
I know that Realization would be there forever, just like Art manifest for a 3 year old me pleases me still.
Realization would lead to Grace. Finally.

I guess it is the quality of the interface, where Art and its Lover meet to give and take, that matters, and makes up the most of the reason why the forms of Art that a child is exposed to, remain (or should remain if allowed to thrive in natural ways) remain as pleasant to the senses as ever.

The most effective interface is the child's Mind -- kept un-corrupted, unblemished from the dirt and stain of the adult world ; a heart that knows no tricks, no hidden corners, no dark depths. Art gives its Heart. The child promises Truth.

Gifts, generously given and promised to be sheltered under Truth, never withers away, as Nature Creates on, The Artist behind all things beautiful and timeless.

Gratification led to Greed.

Greed led to want of Time.

Time led to Realization.

Realization would lead to Grace. Some day.

Grace would make me believe.

I don't know what Art is. But I do believe this
: Art is Truth manifested and Time immortalized.
Go out and find your Belief. I might not there, but these words will be there with you forever.
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

PATIENTLY PLAYING CRICKET

17/10/2011 : 11:40 pm

* "Much ado about" : THE Ongoing One-Day international cricket match series in India, between England & India.
* Series status : India 2 : England 0
• 1st ODI : Margin of defeat > 100+ runs
• 2nd.ODI : Margin of defeat > 8 wickets

* Personal Commentary :

"Now, whatever happened to the Brits? Where are the champion warriors that mauled an exhausted, injured, depleted to effectively an India - B side to a 4-0 white-washed subjugation in Hyde Park?"

A starting sentence like this aimed at the English side or rather the cricket they play on field, (which is actually a rub-it-in query, soaked in sarcasm, dripping wet in caustic vengeance), should demote me from a cricket-lover to a blind, loud, aggressive, illogical fanatic. Fanatics hardly bother about promotions & demotions of their support-profile status. And history does give me a fair right to do so if I remember what was being written in the sports pages of Indian newspapers and British tabloids when the 4-0 mauling was being white-washed.

As an Indian cricket - lover who supports his national team, I'm here for some boisterous celebration of India's victories and not to sledge England on every defeat. I acknowledge their goods and appreciating their cricket with due respect.

But I should gun for the 'Connoisseur Coterie' -- the cynics who wrote off the world champions as an overhyped, spoilt, unprofessional, cash-hungry, over-paid bunch of players who needed a good spanking, particularly writing off "Brand Dhoni" to an eternal exile in oblivion? This bunch of cricket appreciative analysts should be spanked and debarred from public expression. Perhaps cash payments for appearing in the A-V media should be stopped.

Denouncing T-20 cricket as the guide to Armageddon of Indian Cricket at the drop of a hat or a poor performance of a player is their forte. Going for the throats of national players who play in IPL is their philosophy. They are ever-ready to demean lavishly every act of glory Team India has performed. They see cheating and swept-under-the-carpet conspiracies everywhere which supposedly provide millions of ill-gotten cash to defaulted cricketers. They readily diagnose out-of-form cricketers as money making betrayers, villains who are here to get rich and not to play for the country.

It seems these pathetic paranoids have surrendered a Virtue to a lust for instant gratification, of the T-20 kind. The Virtue of Patience, an integral part of the king of games, or the game of kings. They want Persistent Instant Success. It stinks of a 'colonised Indian mentality'
which should have been extinct by now.

A note of advice for these Pundits with an eternal frown : Cricket is not baseball or American football. While I empathise with modern jet-speedos trying to catch up with the rushing hours of a day where Speed is the mantra, you should first learn about a word called RESPECT before proceeding to comment on 3rd millenium cricket & cricketers.
Precisely speaking, : SHUT UP. FOR GOOD.

Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

ME, SHE, AND MY FRIEND

This year in the midst of all the pre , intra and post - Puja , greetings, pleasantries, I reconnected hiatus of 10 years, with a friend - a medico who was my colleague when I was working - my first "job in the private sector" (1994 : Kothari Medical Centre, Alipore, Kolkata). I was especially pleased to see that the son of a gun had posted all the way up from Queensland.

He was one of the most vicious animate objects to engage in any conversation with. An inborn armoury of the blackest humour that supplemented a tongue that turned increasingly caustic over the years, built for me, a repertoire of sharp one-liners, each new and fresh, that could jab and stun, more than an Ali or a Tyson.

Anyway ...

He had written in our regional language, in his own inimitable way. The First sentence was not a statement. It was a Question. It, if translated in the Queen's Language, crystallizes to : " ANI, HOW'S SHE?" (the rest of the words, mere reinforcements to the query don't need translation. And shouldn't, too. Ethics.
The first question is this! Yet I wasn't surprised or shocked at all.

There was a time when She was in both of our lives, simultaneously.. She, at that age, had captured a fancy for both of us. And Boy! Did she seduce us! She played second fiddle at times, and dominated at times. We just gave in to HER. Soon She 'Had' us.
She bedded us both, giving us our First 'Taste'.
She did it endlessly, almost like a Maniac, like a 'she-dog', with an Obsessive Passion -- which neither I nor my friend could override even once.

Both of us were frank about our privacy, talking about HER Promiscuity, and Jealousy or Masculine pride never intervened. In fact, we did empathise handsomely, while sharing our Amorous episodes. How She would get us 'Up and High' like never before, only to get us slumping and dropping dead, exhausted completely.
Her Passion simply overpowered us, and none of us had the masculinity to 'subjugate' her, to a slave, whom we would have in our way, the way the Primordial Primal Primates -- our forefathers --- would have done eons back.
So after all these years, as my old friend asked 'how is SHE', I smiled wryly. I wondered how passionately deep she'd controlled us that he remembered her so as to ask about Her, ahead of all other questions which we both wanted to know, about how things have been since.

I remember a casino waiter asking : "Shaken or Stirred?" to which Daniel Craig muttered coldly,
"Do I look like I care a damn?"

No wonder.

I wrote back, " LIFE IS STILL A BITCH..."

** Note: the title of this note is the English translation of a Bengali movie. I did it myself, and have not checked about 'Copyright Issues'.
The fertility of my brain (a paradoxical self-contradicting pseudo-reality) told me that it fits. Anyway I never put a befitting trust on it.. (I never trusted the oft-loathed jelloid!)

Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

BOTANY 2.0 3/25

A few days back here in Facebook, one of those brick-head conversation was on .. One of those typical out-of-the-blue irrelevant ones that I start off here, compelling my indulgent friends to add comments however bizarre the topic and my starting observations might be.

Anyway, in some convoluted way, at one stage I revealed this statement about none too glorious episodes when I was in school in the 11th. Standard : "In one of the class tests in class 11, I had got 3 (THREE) out of 25 [ 3/25 ] in Botany." Seriously! I did get 3 out of 25..

I'd been thinking about 'Botany' since then, someting like Botany 2.0 . And I came to this conclusion :
I think my Maternal Grandmother, my beloved cute DIDA, was a good 'botanist' of her times... The seeming eccentricity in the statement (as always, nothing new huh!) requires a bit of "detailing" (even by my standards.. Ahem..).

In the early and mid 70s, middle-class life in f Calcutta were in an oscillating mode : Most of the times dull, insensitive and Unfair. And at times, brightly understanding, benevolent and Giving with a Big Heart.

Whenever it oscillated across two smiling points, tender and favourable, Life would gift to me Prized Occasions, weekend nights that would ensure that I would sleep at night beside her. The location would remain the same -- It was a dreamy, beautiful, awfully constructed 2-storey eye-sore of a dwelling, my Palace of Wonders.

It had moist, algae infested walls with a nauseating dampness, the smell of which still remains the most common theme of my aromatic deja vus.

The steps were painfully high for me which I climbed one step at a time. Every step exhibited, with a bit of Adult Stocism, nasty cracks (which told the adults : Time's up). It was an excited spirit of adventure that added to my royal self-pride every time I climbed them with its nasty cracks -- the beautiful rocky heights capped by a Gothic tower where a princess slept....I called it MAMABARI.
I still do.

Sleeping the nights there with DIDA meant, for me, that I could repeatedly press her, without adult interference (that seemed obsessed with Discipline) for her detailed personalised narration of ghost stories of rural Bengal. She would continue to narrate with that beautiful, quivering pitch of hers till she saw me off as I would board my (MY) Dreamland Express, which stopped at Station Dawn.

All her accounts included Trees. And She knew Special Trees like the back of her hands (which, by the way, belonged to a Culinary Genius). Special Trees hosted unpleasantly Special guests. Ghosts.
She knew exactly which tree hosted which 'ghost'. And there was a time when I had a rather formidable knowledge of some deep enlightened truth of Botany.

So no wonder Botany 2. 3/25 reflects my pristine innocence, not any ignorance. I am not ignorant. I can't help if my 'Brain' ignores me persistently..(And no! I'm not going to take any "First Steps" to warm up to that narcissistic self-obsessed jelloid.) Reminds me of a chair umpire -- At the beginning of war, he sits up there and declares just once : "LOVE ALL". Later, throughout the war when points, games and sets are conquered, quipping in with "Quiet please", nodding to "Fault"s and inferring : "DEUCE" between unequal warriors...

During that test, I explored an eight year old half-grown brain, trapped inside a botanically challenged 16 year old budding man, who, by the way, was taking extreme care that the answer sheet retained its pristine white (oh c'on you paranoid comedians! I did respect Botany!)

Botany, thus for me, means the knowledge of an uncorroborated fact that Special Trees hosts Ghosts.

प
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

Macabre

Each of us naked and bare inside,
Vile an animal ready to kill,
Each of us rendered merciless,
Brains on leash by the reptilian complex
That hides behind Neo-cortical camouflage.

I breathe Pure, thrive yet conspire
To kill each day, the Mother's Hapless Child
That comes from the same womb as I,

One day shall see no green, no thing left,
but me in the arena to massacre,
The Mother shall witness Macabre Fratricide,
As I shall kill without Mercy the heartless,
With them Rose Hearts that loved once too.
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

GRASS BLADES I TRANSPORT

Each of us naked and bare inside,
Vile an animal ready to kill,
Each of us rendered merciless,
Brains on leash by the reptilian complex
That hides behind Neo-cortical camouflage.

I breathe Pure, thrive yet conspire
To kill each day, the Mother's Hapless Child
That comes from the same womb as I,

One day shall see no green, no thing left,
but me in the arena to massacre,
The Mother shall witness Macabre Fratricide,
As I shall kill without Mercy the heartless,
With them Rose Hearts that loved once too.
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

URBANE CHAT

The other day a good friend of mine was discussing virtues and vices of man in contemporary times, a discussion loosely philosophical by urban standards. Nothing serious at all if one doesn't put philosophy and seriousness in the same bracket. In fact I would be repelled by the type which doesn't exactly need the stoicism with which luminous intellectuals offer viewpoints, with self-contradictions so polarised that the average brain gets shocked to silence.. And the seriousness persists...

Unfortunately a friend of my friend appeared from nowhere. Actual it was mere coincidence (that which happens coincidentally), but this frail figure, luminous definitely as I could see a faint halo behind his head in the roadside-discourse that followed. Hearing the word "Virtuosity" (I don't remember which one of us uttered the word), but he started on a monologue :

"The stage of evolution that human consciousness has reached with a lot of philosophical fanfare, has witnessed, in the last 97 years, two well-planned, well-conspired, well-cheered episodes of the most cruelly nauseating mass genocide our lot has ever concocted. Each of them have been 4-5 years long , each of them having been injected with a lot of patriotic fervour by cheerleading women, the elderly and children (no matter how much they might have been influenced by subconscious acts of transglobal "mass suggestion") to serve "political purposes"..

At this point I had the urge to cut him through, but the suspectedly seeming veteran of many a dialogue was too quick for me, and continued :

"On that note, As I curse to myself often, "warring means to serve politicking ends" by an animal species capable of performing the most dangerous act of predation driven by physiological reflexes other than hunger and preservation of species& self-sustainence, in battle-fields or private bedrooms... We have long abandoned Virtuosity in our journey forward...."

I dropped dead..
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

THE BLADE OF GRASS I TRAMPLED

Each of us naked and bare inside,
Vile an animal ready to kill,
Each of us rendered merciless,
Brains on leash by the reptilian complex
That hides behind Neo-cortical camouflage.

I breathe Pure, thrive yet conspire
To kill each day, the Mother's Hapless Child
That comes from the same womb as I,

One day shall see no green, no thing left,
but me in the arena to massacre,
The Mother shall witness Macabre Fratricide,
As I shall kill without Mercy the heartless,
With them Rose Hearts that loved once too..
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

PURSUING TAGORE

"I've been passing my time,
Every hour of it since Dawn,
I've Yearned to hear the notes Of Thy Melody
That Thou Created At the beginning of Time,

It is Dusk now;
And I still find myself in complete awe,
My mortal soul trying to harmonise
With the Celestial Notes of Thy Primordial Music
that resonate In all things Divine by Thy Creation...."

--
Sent from my mobile device

CHINNO POTRO : 1418

KOUSHIK MITRA : (in Facebook today)
"I was spending my time in the doldrums
I was caught in the cauldron of hate
I felt persecuted and paralyzed
I thought that everything else would just wait
While you are wasting your time on your enemies
Engulfed in a fever of spite
Beyond your tunnel vision reality fades
Like shadows into the night

To martyr yourself to caution
Is not going to help at all
Because there'll be no safety in numbers
When the Right One walks out of the door

Can you see your days blighted by darkness?
Is it true you beat your fists on the floor?
Stuck in a world of isolation
While the ivy grows over the door

So I open my door to my enemies
And I ask could we wipe the slate clean
But they tell me to please go fuck myself
You know you just can't win.."

------------------------------------------------
Anirban Chaudhuri : in Facebook

"Your words evoke Silence IN me. And they shall keep me silenced for a long time.
Maybe I shall seek refuge in the hideous hide-outs of my dark soul where your words just promised Silence.

No din, no noise, no Hardy lamenting about madding crowds & How Green Valleys used to be once (did they really?) --
TELL ME,

No Twain staring down the barrel during his Pre-Bolshevik one-man Russian roulettes,

No Jibonanda Das "ruing" the death-less eternity of Banalata at the end of a Sravasti sunset, as tired knees give in.

Sleep....Miles to go - somebody told all of us long before. Tell me, is it worth the effort, worth the Miles, worth the journey?
TELL ME..
Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

HOLY SMOKE & BLOODY LIMBS

7th September, 2011 -- A WEDNESDAY
Delhi : 12 dead, 78 injured

ON FORGIVENESS :

Can you forgive terrorists who've brutalised, killed your own ones? Can you really forgive a person with a permanent, Distorted-Religiosity-Complex who can abuse, brutally kill innocent children or women? Can forgiveness change him? A human brain's developing rate is at its lowest after 15 years of human's birth? Can an adult, an actor in past heinous crimes, change his past ways after being forgiven?

People forgave people somewhere deep in their own psyche, that's why Armistice was called in 1918. Very well, better late than never. If only the Same People had committed the Holy Act of Forgiveness (including 2 Bavarian blue-bloods who cried "revenge" as poor ol' Ferdi bit the bullets)
4 yrs before, just after King Ferdinand was killed, 7 million people would've walked alive on Europe, North Africa, & Asia Minor?

So why don't we preach this crap to those who stood and yet clapped, widowed and orphaned, on Armistice Day, 1918?

If people are serious in preaching FORGIVENESS, they should tell all countries to FIRST lay down their arms, nukes & other potent instruments of inculcating Forgiveness, and then preach at the United Nations oval table. It would be interesting to watch the jig for free...

FORGIVENESS IS A VIRTUE. IT'S JUST THAT WE, HUMAN BEINGS HAVE TO EVOLVE TO THAT LEVEL VIRTUOSITY TO EARN THE VIRTUE. NO USE READING OUT THE RIG-VEDA TO A RABIED DOG..
(this dark soul is willing to be enlightened, but plz no 2 hour discourse - another blast might occur right under your chair. It'd be too bad to lose another bum)

Sent from my BlackBerry®Smartphone ------------------------------------------------------
Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

7th day - Anna still fasting

This UPA 2 government seems to have embarked upon a self. Destruction -- which is mind baffling

Any self-respecting citizen who wants to shine in his nation's glory (we all do, in varying degrees of public exposure to which we make our opinions subject to) as much as we want to make our country proud of her children.

Let's take a look at historical facts in the last three decades of British rule in India. All of us know this, we feel proud of them, respect them to the extent of worship. How many members did the Indian National Congress, or the Muslim League,(the latest entrant, Forward Bloc, was arm-twisted to stop their movement from entering the national politics. It was dirty politics even during the last years of the British Raj, when M K Gandhi too apparently forgot about the actual agenda -- and became more involved with intra Congress political manoeuvres, The people of that generation, not the leaders, but those followed them, had taken brute batons for them because the leaders needed numbers to confront the British Lawmakers both in India and in the British Parliament, in the House of Commons.

They say Anna is underlying parliament and democracy. NO. Anna is trying to revive the near-extinct institutions of democracy. These UPA dogs and all the worthless predecessors, whose names appear in textbooks of history, have made thr parliament their own fief. Shameless vile criminals.

Whatever little respect I had for our PM died today. Corruption is everywhere, Pakistan is buggering us at the drop of a hat - he has been so meek (he is a refined man , doesn't like 'traditional politics. And this hypocrite with two faces, this /gentleman, son of a gun, talks tough yesterday!

The movement wouldn't be for one day. We shall be in protest in nonviolent civil disobedience until Anna is released from, and leads us all to The Jan Lokpal Bill being tabled in the Parliament and Shall be Passed. There is no turning around from here. If today is the day of reckoning in independent India, let it be Today, or our children shall upon us hurting questioning eyes like the way we look down on Indian polity.

I am fasting & shall stop if our leader stops. I did the last time. I wanted to feel the Source from which a septuagenarian fasts to fight for us, our children & our future..

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Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

Cynical noses rubbed

This post is one of vindication. Last few days I've overheard in TV news channel debates, and here in FB too, words that defied my overstretched imagination that it was impossible to gulp down. Opinions of well read of Wisdom, opine in the same tune :

1) Anna's movement is being remote-controlled by foreign powers, and that the vast mass support that we see now has been paid for. And in that sense my support with active fasting has bartered for money, by foreign powers (this was officially stated by the Prime Minister in the Parliament as destabilising forces sponsored by enemy nations,.

2) The movement is an overhyped spectacle and the ground reality is totally different. An audio-visual show the galleries. While I can only opine that such corrupt thoughts can only originate by corrupt minds and corrupt intellect. And also the idea it is mass hysteria.

Have a look at what is happening in Ram Leela Maidan where the social activist is protesting with his indefinite fast. If this is mass hysteria as projected by some voices, i would like to alter the context in which these two words find juxtaposed : mass & hysteria.

Yes it Is a Movement of the Mass, and for the Mass.
Hysteria seems to have got the better of the origin of the minds that were questioning the morality and intent of this movement.
As corruption can be slowly uprooted from the Indian psyche, it is important to throw these corrupt voices into the Arabian Sea. Not because of their opposing opinions (no system can be sustained if a healthy criticising opposition is not their. Because these corrupt voices will again put seeds of corruption in the new System.
Unapologising with modesty,

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Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

PEOPLE OF INDIA, I SALUTE YOU

Anna Hazare's stand on the choice of the place of protest perhaps is causing a little irritation in patriotic minds who are impatient now, waiting for a clear reality act to happen.
Enough of greys where the colours permitted are white colour and the absence of colour.

Actually the choice of place in Satyagraha serves a symbolic purpose ; like JP , India Gate etc. These places have witnessed massive mass movements in the past e.g Jay Prakash Narayan. Also it should accommodate the maximum number of people - followers & protesters. He's declared from the very beginning that he would organise a people's movement, not mere tokenism. Otherwise he & followers can might as well fast at home.

It is "Satyagraha" that 'just another common Indian' is being inspired to do by Anna. That has got many aspects to fulfil to drive home its protest.

* People join a Satyagraha by themselves, and not by given money and free lunch packets. The leader does something that the target of protest is cornered to concede, and the mass is inspired by the leading light ahead, and follow the exemplary leader.

* The protest and its reason intends to reach maximum number of people all over the world. A successful Satyagraha rides mass support in other countries in addition to the support of its country. It needs audio visual exposure to be noticed by one and all. The target bows down to mass protests, genuine grievances of the suffering lot, and dissenting voices.

M K Gandhi called off the Civil Disobedience Movement in 1929 when he had the support of the entire country behind him. He called it off because of a stray incident of violence when protesters burned 7 policemen alive in Chaurichaura Police Station. This act of seeming 'benevolence' should never be forgotten by forgiving broad-minded hearts, because the country's independence was holding a stake in 1929. Gandhi might have had a good night's sleep, with Non-violence being upgraded, but he stole and ruined a good night's sleep for Indians for the next 18 years, and perhaps history of Divided India would've been different.

Gandhi put the priority of his philosophy ahead of the county's well being --- it can never be defended, because Gandhi himself was against Fanaticism -- religious or ethnic. But here is one example of philosophical fanaticism he committed himself and India paid an expensive price.

It was centuries of pent up hatred, disgust & anger exploding having a vent somewhere. Though burning people alive cannot be condoned by any means, in any situation, it wouldn't be fair if I look at the incident without an eye on the pages of history of colonial rule, keeping the crueltyn and unprovoked dastardly acts of crime that had been unleashed during colonial governance.. .
Not willing to denigrate of Dr. Bertrand Russell and Voltaire's intellect in any way, I'd rephrase their quotes. Times tends to rephrase, if not replace, everything ('when times they are a changin..')
"The origin of Extreme actions lie in extreme anger, or extreme defeat" - true. It shall be more correct if the stress is laid on the 'extremes', and not anger or defeat per se. This can analyse the Chaurichaura horror, but can never justify it.

Well M K Gandhi would have been awe struck if he was around today. Not a single episode of violence & vandalism in the greatest mass movement in the history of India. I wonder if there's a peer anywhere else. I salute you, people of India.

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Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

ISLAM - THE CONFUSED MUSLIM

A CONVERSATION WITH A GOOD FRIEND OF MINE, WHO IS A MUSLIM. I'M COPYING HIS ORIGINAL POST AND MY REPLY. I HAVE TRIED TO BE CUNNING HERE AS I TOOK BITS & PARTS OF HIS POST AND. WROTE IN A DIFFERENT CONTENT AS LOGICALLY HE WON'T BE ABLE TO SAY ANYTHING.
DO POST YOUR OPINIONS IF YOU FEEL THAT I'VE ERRED SO THAT I COULD LEARN.

• S R :
If the person who killed 90+ people in Norway was a Muslim, the Press would have declared him as terrorist and the act as terrorism. For now, he is just an "Assailant ", "Attacker" , "Gunman" (BBC, CNN ). Looks like "Terrorist " is a name reserved for Muslims??? The US Dept of State calls it an "Act of violence" (not an "Act of Terrorism" ). Share this status if you are against such hypocrisies and let the world know

4 hours ago · Unlike today
You and 8 others like this.
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• Anirban Chaudhuri :
Whatever names this psychopath are being conferred upon, the fact remains that he has committed mass genocide in the name of religion or issues based around religion.

As a secular Indian coming from a secular whose members were/are followers of a religion or faith, I'm not at all bothered about what the US dept. thinks about the killer. He is a KILLER. He KILLED innocent men.

"Social commentators" might philosophise the act of genocide where innocent blood was spilled. We might as well see a new generation comprising of Next Gen or Neo- 'Bacon's, 'Rousseau's, 'Voltaire's, 'Russell's, 'Cant's, 'Virgil's, 'Nietzche's.

"Thinkers" might Intellectualize the build up of events & background leading to genocide.

"Human Rights" activists can shout from the roof tops that it was the reaction to being subject to indirect 'victimisation', perhaps even linking the act of genocide to a possible existential threat he was forced to confront and perceive, as he got caught up in a quagmire of falsified facts, lies and hypocrisy , as part of a continuing process over a considerable time, that has been glorified as acts of bravery as crusaders of & for the religions, mainly Islam & Christianity.
In a civilized world no intent no matter why and how glorious, can justify MURDER.

These inhuman concepts have been nurtured by the clergy of religions to a point that Man became a Fanatic who prioritized duties and demands of his Religion over preservation of human life. Such murders in the name of religion, have led to distorted perceptions and feelings of hatred and vengeance around another set of genocide that too was in the name of religion.

A murderer is murderer no matter why and how it has been committed - by gunning down, by assault, by attacking, by terrorising, directly, indirectly, by blowing one's self up, by remote detonation, by flying passengers into buildings, all this while targeting innocent families whose women have been raped, children been tortured in the most gruesome of ways. People have been beheaded, with their killers uttering religious incantations
that literary mean :
" I do this in your name,
by my faith,
to preserve your religion
on earth and the heavens
for you are the only religion in the world,
give me strength to carry on this tradition down generations so that this holy duty and act of glory can be done in future, as non believers in your religion should be eliminated."

This terrorist is in exactly in the same class as Pakistani "gunmen" or Afghan "gunmen" or the "gunmen" in our Jammu and Kashmir, where they assault, attack, shoot, bomb, trying to subjugate Humanism down to its
Knees.

It's so very encouraging to observe people like you to stand up and protest against what you think is wrong. Mankind needs it, the unborn child needs it so that it can live to lead life in peace. I also strongly feel that eminent people especially of your religion should be more forthright, and declare in public to all over world to reach its most desolate and darkest corners.

Since 1980, 95 % of such attacks of violence, or terrorisation, mass genocide, have occurred 'in the name of Islam'. Because no true religion on earth can ever demand manslaughter as a duty of its believers.

It might be purely coincidental that now it is Islam, maybe 100 years ago it would have been Hinduism, or maybe 70 years later it might be Christianity or Jainism.. Whatever religion it might be, if innocent people are killed in the name of religion, then it is imperative that we, you and me, shall be more vocal with more frequency, and stand up to declare in front of the entire world that a religion can never or could ever have elements that empower a believer with the right to kill man in vengeance or hatred. The entire world should be told that this Norwegian murderer is a Murderer , one cannot bring religion into manslaughter. And there should not be misperceptions in any country as to no murderer's 'nomen clature' be given so much importance that there is a multitude of synonyms which might, technically, seem to classify an act of violence that killed even one innocent man. (I would be at my happiest best to see a mass genocide inside a community where these animals kill each other to extinction.)

If at all there has to be a 'qualification' for possible legal reasons, it should be uniform :
Anders Breivik is a killer who is a Christian, who try to justify his act by the name of conflicts between religions. Hafeez Syed, Osama Bin Laden are all mass murders, who are Muslims, and they killed innocent life in the name of "holy crusade" because they have a distorted perception about Islam that preaches genocide.

You, I, everyday should rise and declare in the loudest of voices repeatedly, Osama Bin Laden was a mass murderer. He can't belong to Islam. Particularly the clergy section should be pressed upon if necessary by govts and citizens to detach the element of a distorted Islam from acts of homicide, and such people should be hounded out of human civilisation.
Have you noticed that no government or any Christian community-citizen or the Papal chair of religious authority has been seen to desanctify Anders Breivik from the faith of the church, or separate Christianity from killer Anders Breivik (who is a Christian). It can be understood why.

Anders Breivik didn't or hasn't claimed that he took inspiration from the pages of The Bible, or even his perception of what he read in The Bible. He didn't say that Christianity empowered him to negate unholy forces that threatened the very existence of men of his belief or that of his faith (that, though, makes no difference in the severity of crime, Pope or no Pope). I am sure that anything that is associated even remotely with the Christian Church, they would have denounced. Like in the recent past when there was communal violence in Orissa as Hindu extremists attacked the Church as(again justify) there were reports of forced conversion by the Church. The archbishop repeatedly came to TV news channels and debates to clarify that the Christian Church hasn't indulged in forced conversion as reported earlier. I feel that it has held a consistent stand which has been declared as informations into the domain of public domain.

Islam unfortunately hasn't been represented by the clergy, the thinkers and the common man in the backdrop of a very high percentage of Muslims in all the incidents over the last 20+ years that have witnessed
killing/terrorising/shooting/bombing/abductions crimes that the perpetrators committed in the name of Islam -- to the extent of glorifying murder of man who has been perceived as a threat to Islam.

Perhaps you and I can join hands (across an unfortunate bridge) as Indians to illuminate dark fanatic minds who might be having distorted religious ideologies, the cause of potential future disaster.

Thank you for voicing your discontent publicly , loud and clear.
7 minutes ago. • today
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Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

GUITAR RAVAGED FINGERS AND AN ANGEL

[Two and a half years back, I had been suffering from this neuropathy affecting my left hand which continued for a year and a half. 
Today while cursing through the pages of my old diary, which seemed to be a witness to events that had taken place in a time which looks hazy and unearthly and eons back, I came across this little sweet ancedote, which I had filed when my only daughter Khuku used to be with me, and grace this little small flat of mine to make into a princess's palace whiched on laughter, joy and Pure Love...
It seems weird that we aren't together now but I am sure wherever my little Angel is, there are angels are there to befriend her , only to smitten by her love anf grace. 
I am just copy pasting my old post, do keep the time factor ibn mind..]


"....Clinically one would brand the nerve disorder as Left Ulnar Mononeuropathy - the ulnar nerve is one of the 2 main nerves supplying the arm and hand - in my case it is the left one and it is my left hand that has been affected. I've been experiencing an ever-increasing pain, to the point of being excruciating,and an almost constant, weirdly tingling sensation in my left hand, particularly in the ring and little fingers, and the area of the palm below them which do not exactly move the way I wish them to.

"The condition seems to have developed, according to my neurologist, due to extensive playing of guitar, an exercise I had indulged in with passion, in my late teens and early 20's, when I used to play in the college rock-band which had a rather brief yet excitingly joyous professional stint later on. I had formally learnt classical and folk guitar (like flamenco, Catalan folk)which is played finger-style,and that requires a 'classical' acoustic guitar which traditionally sports a much broader finger-board than usual. That necessitated my left fingers to stretch extensively,and all the more so when I used to hold the broken chords in the background when we played those Scorpions numbers (I still remember those initially painful hours during rehearsals as we played songs like "When The Smoke Is Going Down").

"Over the last few months the left ring & little fingers had forced my hand into a clawed shape of submission, the fingers getting contracted and flexed at the little bone joints, a seemingly eternal state of Spasm that was not exactly painless. I find that rather ironic as the name of my rock-band(well it was 'mine' just as it was any other co-member's) was SPASM too, a name I'd kept myself along with the other band mates, mainly with the bass-guitarist who went on to become a hand-surgeon himself later on. (Now that's one of 'those quirks' of destiny,isn't it?)

"Coming back to my neuropathy, the pain had,at one point of time,increased so much that even the strongest painkillers were not being effective, and I had become literally sick of pain-killing injections. Nothing seemed to work,and the fact that I could no more hold chords, or even use my left fingers while playing guitar (ultimately I had to quit my favourite pass-time activity) only added to my frustrated, depressing woes....

"Three weeks back, as I was having my morning cold coffee, my 21 month-old daughter tiptoed her way into the hall, nimble-footed, and stood in front of me, looking at me with her sparkling, bright eyes. I knew that look. She wanted to climb up and sit on my stomach, straddling her legs on the sides facing her father - her favourite "seat" in the morning, as she would excitedly tell me how the pigeons had looked at her from outside the kitchen window or how busily the crows had pecked at the crumbs on the parapet. That day I found it difficult to give her a hand to take her morning seat. The pain was too much in my left hand which found itself too weak to carry her weight. I knew she would be disappointed.

"As I looked back at her eyes with helpless apology written all over my face and with a tinge of guilt too, trying to shake my afflicted hand off the pain, I spoke to her in my mother-tongue, (that's Bengali) telling her, 
"Aaj baba'r haate khub byatha je.."(which vaguely translates into - "But there is too much pain in father's hands today..."). 

"Now she isn't too familiar with that language as her father has got only a handful of relatives and none in Mumbai to pay the occasional visit so that the language is spoken.

"I really don't know what she understood, but she didn't show any disappointment. What she showed in her eyes was gentle and tender care. She took my hand in her soft, little fingers kissing it mildly, looked up at me and said in broken English,
"Baba?pain no...Baba?pain no no.."...................


"Well, my left hand hasn't exactly stopped paining since, but that was the last time ever that I felt the pain. I have not needed any pain-killers since then simply because I don't feel any pain anywhere, anymore. And as I watch my daughter growing up each day, every hour, every minute,I just wonder how beautiful life can be for anybody in the simplest of ways, in spite of all the pains & troubles, the aches and breaks it keeps on dishing out on a regular basis. No matter how much one cries, life always gets back to you as a great leveller, giving you something to smile about, and perhaps with a little reward at the end.

It is just only a matter of time. Let it be.............................


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Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

The way life is...

*[Many of you must/might have come across a narrative (one that's going to unfold over the following paragraphs) of a remotely similar essence in a story, about a little over three decades back, for that was when an eleven year old me had read the story. This narrative precedes the story by three years. When I'd read the story, little did I know that a 'story' would reappear, a bit dramatically when I would be 42 years old.]*

It was a Kolkata summer evening in the third week of April, 35 years back, when I'd got caught in a blinding dust storm aided by strong gusty Norwesters, that preceded a heavy downpour. I remember everything getting flooded quickly in the low lying pocket of the South Calcutta neighbourhood I'd grown up in.

I'd taken shelter, deeply inhaling the smell of moist earth, under the portico of the grandest house in the neighbourhood, and one of the oldest too. It belonged to a family one of whose members had the word 'Lord' prefixed to his name -- something that used to puzzle me more often than not because the school version of the word didn't agree at all with what I used to observe while coming back from school 5 days a week.

Minutes later a known face peeped out from the 1st floor balcony, calling out my name. A boy of the same age as mine, Shunu (Shaunak in the school register) came from the grand family (he felt grand about it too, and visibly so). Shunu had an enviable collection of books that were kept neatly stacked in his own room, and very often he used to gift me 10-12 minutes of 'book-gazing' with royal indulgence, when I used to go to the grand house in excited anticipation, a couple of days a week, during the dusky hours.

He told me to come upstairs, and I was in his room in a flash, instantly prepared for yet another gratifying set of ten minutes that was perhaps awaiting my arrival. That day he took out a book and let me feel the cover, for the first time ever (which was incidentally the last). Almost choking on my rapid heart-beats, with goosebumps all over, I touched the hard bound cover, 'feeling' it deeply, my fingers wandering over one of the most beautiful stormy sea-scapes I'd ever seen, that adorned the cover. I knew the famous name, and was thrilled to hear that the 'Lord' had gifted it to Shunu, on his grand-nephew's birthday.
At that moment I wanted to turn over the hard cover so badly, I really really wanted to..but the indulgent prince ruled that my 'book-gazing time' was over for the day.

At the age of eight, I was pretty much one of those archetypal quiet,meek,unconvincingly gawky types, non-demandingly content with whatever gifts my parents got for me on a regularly biannual basis - birthdays and Durga Pujas). But that night I did ask my father, for the first time in my life, whether he would buy the book for me.
I wouldn't copy his answer word by word here, but he did convince me quite sternly that it wasn't a good trend at all to 'ask' for gifts, leave alone such "expensive" ones, which were not supposed to exist in rented one and a half room flats, like the one we lived in.

Somehow the entire episode around that book stuck to my memories, that rainy dusk when I'd touched it, and that quiet night that felt so still after I learnt yet another truth -- I don't know why, because the episode doesn't have too many spoken words.
I've moved on from that rainy evening, traversed quite a distance over uncertain terrains, to reach this very moment that finds me typing these insignificant pronouns and articles. And the book disappeared too from the conscious mind, being replaced by a variety of the printed lot.

Well, that was till the afternoon of the day before yesterday. I was roaming around holding the hand of my two-year-old daughter, her mother beside me in a newly opened mall not very far away from my house in Mumbai. As I passed by a bookshop, I 'eyed' its interiors as usual (an old habit that has become a reflex). And I stopped still. In one of the racks close to the entry glass-door, under a template that read "Children Fiction : Adventure", there it was.. the name in prominent print, the letters reading from up downwards, oriented horizontally with a mild slope, as the book leaned lazily on its less illustrious neighbour with an air of dismissive royalty. Or so I felt at that moment.

I let my family move on, and quietly pushed in through the glass door. You know how it feels -- memories crashing down on you like the breakers on a lonely beach -- everything else in the universe stands quiet while the sound of the sea breaking upon the shore rules your senses completely with its eternal unrest. The damp moist smell, the dusty gale, the fading lights of that stormy dusk came crashing upon me, and every single moment of that evening rushed past, in that silent night, right up to that last moment just before I had fallen asleep. As I stood before the cash counter to pay, I eyed the cover of my glorious purchase. The beautiful stormy sea-scape didn't fail to fascinate me one more time.

It happens. It happens to all of us -- Life is strange. Of course it is, and that adds to its charm big time. Yet some events, as a matter-of-factly, perfectly normal events, just happen, when you expect them the least. They churn your senses inside out, briefly before things get back to normal. But the strange tag somehow gets attached, to normal events. I find that more stranger than what intellectually gifted minds qualify life as, over vague, philosophical musings(much to my awe and empty-headed admiration).

As I said before ; It happens -- nothing remarkable about it. The night before last, as I proceeded to take the book from its row, I wanted to enjoy it, the spoils of my final conquest.
But I stopped. I felt so afraid.... What if everything turns out to be a big disappointment? Shall everything be worth it -- every memory, every emotion I soaked in? And I've been thinking since..

I am not afraid at the moment. But I won't read the book. I'm sure that the magic that lies inside it is the same, it hasn't changed one bit. It is me who isn't the same anymore. That eight year old boy that I used to be once, who deserves the magic of the book, and whom the magic of the book richly deserves is no more.
The book doesn't deserve me anymore. And I don't want to disappoint it. Surely there shall be someone who shall be the deserving one. Let its magic wait. I'm sure it would want to.
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Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri, MBBS
Consultant Physician,
Mumbai, India. ------------------------------------------------------
"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher ------------------------------------------------------

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Dr.Anirban Chaudhuri M.B.B.S
Consultant Physician (special interest in
Cardiology&Critical Care)
Mumbai, India
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"It is important to just listen for a while instead of speaking." -- My teacher
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