If leaving the campus doesn’t make you cry, you haven’t lived a college life

It is as if we were all baby birds chirping cheerfully yesterday, then tomorrow we need to pack up our back and fly out of our home, our college; unto an unknown, strange sky.

When you hit the first step here, the trees greet you with their gentle rustling.

When you take a breath here, the breeze swells you up with warmth.

When you look up, the stars are showering their protective spells upon you.

When you try to find your way, the signage by the road, find you and guides you.

When you enter the hostel, the walls welcome you with a hug.

When you get into your room, she snuggles you up and sings you a lullaby.

When you eat in the canteen, the simple poha puts a smile on your face.

When you sleep late, your roommate’s alarm wakes you up.

When you walk towards the lecture halls, the ancient benches calm your heart down.

When the professor comes up, you feel like a Wizard, Harry potter yourself.

When you do your first night out, even the warden yells, ‘get out, and your buddies cheer you up aloud.

When you try the first things, you realise, how much you act like stupid beings.

When you have late-night talks, nothing compares to it, with a walk

When you propose, that’s when your life gets its course.

When you fall in love, poor soul, in the hell you dove.

When your heart is broken, your friends make sure something else too.

When you pass out, bless the soul, which cleans your lot.

When the exams are prime, the sleep is forsaken for another time.

When you are done with the last year, you wish for just one more year.

When you enter the hospital, you feel like an adult already.

When you live like an intern, you feel like a helpless, naive kitten.

When you graduate, you realise that it is getting real.

When your juniors give you farewell, you feel the big brother flowing out of you.

When you chill in the evenings, you realise, you are going to miss these innings.

When you are on the terrace, the city drenched in the cold night gives you a kiss.

When you leave the campus, you feel like you are leaving your own mother.

When you have to get up and move out, you feel like somebody is dragging you, from her soothing lap, away.

When you finally start to fly, that’s when you realise, she was nursing you all these times.
And,
You can never go back.
Ever.

Yours Only,
Dinesh Raja,
The one who feels.

IT’s the Last lap! C’mon, you can do it doc!

P.S. I dedicate this to my friend, co-intern, who’s one step away from breaking down.

Credits: Pinterest

There comes a time in the life of an intern, when she or he thinks of giving up.
Thinks she can’t do it anymore.
Thinks she’s done with it.
But when she raises her head to see the horizon, realises there are loads of laps to be run.

And it is okay to feel this way.
It is okay to feel exhausted from the internship.
It’s okay to feel not to want to do it anymore.

We all are humans after all.
Just running and trying to save lives wearing the white cape.
We all are literally babies who just got out of med school trying to walk on the
path of being the Doctor.

You have done a great job doc! We all are super proud of you.
The very fact that you are interning is an achievement on its own accord.

Going through the grilling obstacle course of NEET-UG->1st to 4th year->Internship is absolutely not an easy task.
Mind you, not everyone can do what you have done girl!
C’mon give yourself a pat on your back.

Just one more step.
Just one more day.
Just one more patient.
You know right? We are in this together.
Let’s see it through the end of the line.

You can do it.
You can make it my friend.
I believe in you.
We believe in you.


While the battle is far from over.
It is perhaps the end of the beginning.
Soon we shall wear huge responsibility of being the Doctor whether in the form of PG or M.O or IAS.
And it will be a lifelong one.
It wouldn’t be a trial tussle of 365 days as this one.
But one of huge magnitude, of stellar consequences.
So my friend let’s strive to equip our arsenals and get ready for the holy war with the most heartwarming smile.
Because that’s who it is won.

This war shall be won by three things.

It shall be won by Love.Warmth.Care.

And yes of course, I was speaking of life, not your profession.

Home Sickness Sleeping Syndrome


After sleeping straight for 14.5 hrs., on the pretext of being tired, I (literally) woke up to the realization that I was missing home. And sleeping was just an escape.


I come hostel around 6.30 pm yesterday, after slogging my ass at the Surgery ward 18, since 9 am, gave my best today since it was the last day of my rotation and I will be joining Orthopedics from the day after.
It was a splendid day, did Blood collections, wrote some discharges and Revived a (suspected Cardiac arrest ? )gasping patient.
Since it was the final day here, I conversed for a long time with my patients (I pray that Krishna* cracks UPSC! He’s suffered a lot already), my nurses and my residents.

When you stay in a hostel you devise up tonnes of the reason for sleeping long, lying like a log of driftwood on the Arabian sea. Mine was, well, ‘I wasn’t feeling like getting up.’

slept at around 7.3opm, friends came bashing at the door stating for a dinner out, bleh, I declined, and went back to my heavenly abode, 10 pm Appa rings and checks whether I am alive or not, at 6.33 am I check whether I am alive or not, then at 9.3o finally, I am done, I am done with sleeping or the excuse of avoiding life altogether.



It hit me hard, all the while, I was feeling sad.
I was feeling empty and touchy, was hugging my bear the whole night, without even realizing that.
I was feeling as if a child has been locked at home, waiting for her parents return.
I was missing home.

It was the feeling of homesick that made me sick with sleep all night.


If you ask hostel people what are their dreams, what they want to do after graduation, contrary to what localite say, that being, Becoming the best Surgeon, Opening up an interior design company, starting up at startup, most humble hostelites, reply, they want a
good, happy, home.

When I used to be a localite I used to not give a second glance to it, but now, when I have become a full time hostelite, I realize the deep emotions, feelings, and hope attached to the latter responses and the word – Home.



“Only hate the road when you’re missing home”- Passenger


Like the way the English band Passenger has beautifully described in their song, “Let her go”, how, the absence of something makes you value the presence of it, only a hostelite knows the true value of the home.
Well, we, most of the localite, just take it for granted.

When you realise your home, is 1,655.7 km far, near the Cape Comorin, aka Kanyakumari, you literally start making plans to do when you get back home, you seek every opportunity to escape, you sketch how you want to get ‘settled’.

Nothing beats a good home when are done with your tough workday eh, maybe that’s why they taught us when
we were kids, ‘Home Sweet Home.

So for all of you out there, who are at the home, express and shower your love when you are still around.

And for all of us, who aren’t, fear not,
Apna time ayega.



[Also do let me know the crazy planning’s you have done to get at home in the comment section below.]
* – Names changed. Or are they?

Till next time,
Pyar Karo dil se, Jeeyo dil se.

Yours only,
Dinesh Raja.
A lover of life.
20th October 2021.

What should I do? My patient just died in my hands.

I am here sitting alone.

7 pm

The eerie silence in the side room makes your body cold but your heart alert.

There’s sounds everywhere. Here, there’s constant ventilator’s beeping of alive patient divided by intermittent alarms of dying ones.Here being sonorous means you are alive.

Welcome to CCU. Where the only thing you dread is loud, red sound.

710pm

As I am sitting here in the side room, I am feeling cold.

I am feeling teary.

I am feeling sad.

I am feeling numb.

My patient just died in my hands. Both metaphorically and medically.

And I can’t walk.

I can’t speak.

All I am feeling is this vast ocean of tortuous silence.

As I write this down, there’s another flood rushing from my eyes.

I am feeling lightheaded, as if just a small prick, and a like a balloon it will fly high away anywhere.

Why did he have to die? I don’t have the answer.

3 of us gave CPR the best we can. And yet we failed. This failure is much deeper than it looks.

As I look down on my palms, I feel there’s blood on it. His blood.

In this moment, I wish to be wrapped around in a warm blanket and be kept in my Amma’s womb. Again.

Take me home Amma. It’s too cold here. It’s too silent here. It’s to heavy here.

It is too heavy to be a healer.

It is too difficult to be a doctor.

It is too emotional to be a medico.

In this moment, I am just feeling my heart beating, mingled with buzzing of bellavista ventilators.

It is beating slowly. It’s afraid if it’s too fast it will make some noise. It just wants to fade away. Fade away into this syrup smelling air of CCU.

My soul wants to escape. Escape from this prison of a body and hug some warm soul tightly. So much tightly that an eternity passes away.

As I look around, my seniors, my super exhausted, super hardworking anesthesia residents are toiling in and out. Not wasting a second. They shed some tears. And move on.

May God bless them. Infinitely.

Move on to othe patients who can be saved. Who can be salvaged.

Salvage, it’s a pretty funny thing no?

One imperfect human determining whether another damaged imperfect can survive or not.

Can live or not.

As I peep out of the side room, my mind wants to hide inside itself. Doesn’t want to face the world. Doesn’t wish to see the cold body of his. Again.

What should I do now? My patient just died in my hands.

As tears flow and drench my white N95 mask, my heart wonders,

What should I do?

Yours Only,

Dinesh Raja.