Real Letter.

Ask anyone: I am often found discussing about chocolates, Sachin Tendulkar, hill-stations, animals and off late I have been taking the name of Dr. Devi Shetty and Narayana Hrudayalaya too much. Getting to know more and more about this individual and his organization is only making me a devotee of him. I am working on a massive article on this man with a real example. And it's known that I am so choosy about everything I do. All the people who are associated with me are all literally hand-picked by me at some point of time in my life, be it wherever they are and whatever they are. And all this implies to the clothes I wear(not always, but still), the food I eat, the places I roam around. I am constantly watching, observing, making notes silently, drawing inferences till I am comfortable. I will be failing in my duty if I dont say that I was also handpicked by many into their lives and I have always lived upto their thought and belief. Afterall, they have chosen me over others. So it will take some real long time before I can come up with words to describe the knitty-gritty of Mr.Shetty and Hrudayalaya given the time I take to evaluate anything. But till then, let me share the below letter with you. This letter was written by Dr.Devi Shetty to all the 4000 or 5000 odd children who have went under his knife successfully. And interestingly, Dr.Shetty was the personal cardiologist of Mother Teresa. I dont know..There's something about this man.

If at all your eyes could get a lil misty after reading the below written letter......

Sail through...

A LETTER TO 4000 CHILDREN WITH A SCAR ON THE CHEST

"My Dear Children:
I have been planning to write this letter for quite some time. May be I just waited for you all to grow up to understand what I am trying to convey. The story goes back many years. When God sent you to this world it was perhaps the best thing that had happened to your parents. Every little nudges and kicks in your mother's womb opened up a new world of happiness and expectations. Then one day, a miracle happened...You were to begin a new journey. From the warm, happy, secure world of your mother's womb to a world that is cold and full of insecurities. Nevertheless, the joy that your parents felt after this journey knew no bounds.. They were on top of the world. But, unfortunately, this happiness was very short lived. That very day you started turning blue in colour. The doctors had found a hole in your heart that shattered the dreams of your parents. They were devastated and could not understand why they were being punished in this way. They had no choice but to accept the inevitable reality and decided to give you the best possible medical care.
Before that they had to overcome two major hurdles. They could not afford the cost of your heart operation and they could not wait since you were turning blue every time you cried. I guess this is a penalty you have to pay for being born in a third world country. Yes, when you were ten days old you had a price tag on your life. If your parents paid the price, they can have you, if not you would have to go back to where you came from. Your mummy and daddy went through phases of self-pity, denial, mutual accusations and anger towards the society, which was indifferent to their problems. Your daddy was most upset since he knew that the price tag on your life was less than what his boss would spend on a Saturday evening party. But that is life and one has to accept it. Time was running out and your daddy was getting desperate until he came to know about me. The first thing he told me when we met was "I heard you love children". Yes, I love children and I have four of my own. My profession is giving hope to people suffering from heart diseases and giving them a chance to start life in a fresh new way. I am essentially a technician who can cut and stitch people's heart; they call me a heart surgeon.
When I met you first you were barely 10 days old, cuddled in a warm blanket close to your mother's heart. Except for a bit of rapid breathing and bluish nails on your finger, you looked like an angel. I am sure you cannot remember but I asked you a question "do you want to be my friend"? This is the question I ask all the children I see. I did want to be your friend and I worked so hard to gain your friendship. I clearly remember your mother's face when she was handing you over to the operation theatre nurse. She kissed you and looked at my face with an ex-pression that she is handing over her most precious possession to me; also with the total confidence that I will take care of you. It was a different sort of love triangle between your father, mother and myself with you at the centre. We would have done any thing in this world to get you back. It took me six hours of intense concentration to operate upon your heart and so many sleepless nights before you started smiling again. God was kind to you that time and you made a marvelous recovery. It was a big day for your family when you were being discharged from the hospital. Both your mummy and daddy would have thanked me a million times before they left the hospital. But they didn't have to tell me anything since I knew every word what they wanted to say. Tears of joy rolled down their cheeks. But you were blissfully unaware of what was going on clinging on to your mother's chest. My eyes began to swell with tearsand I turned my face the other way since a cardiac surgeon is not supposed to cry. Through the corner of my wet eyes I saw your face one more time and I knew I found one more friend. Your friendship and love is the only fee I expect for treating you.
As a heart surgeon I have performed more than 4000 operations on children like you suffering from heart disease. Most of them came from poor families.Despite their backgrounds, I treat all for free. I think this is the best way I can repay God who has given me everything I wanted, a good family, a wonderful wife and loving children. For me this world is such a happy place to live in and in my own small way I strive hard to make it happy for others around me who are not so fortunate.
You must be wondering what inspired me to take this path.I guess, I became a doctor because of the recurrent illness of my parents.My childhood was spent with the fear of losing my mother. My father who was a diabetic had multiple episodes of diabetic coma. In the life of the nine of us God was a distant image and his clear image was that of Doctor who could save the lives of our parents.
Another childhood incident left a lasting impression on my young mind. I remember, it was a Saturday afternoon; I was trying to build a car, I think, out of matchboxes and sticks, like all the other children in my village. My mother was speaking to a distant relative of ours in Bombay. This lady was telling my mother about a particular surgeon who apart from saving her child's life also offered his service completely free of cost. I could hear my mother blessing the mother of that surgeon for giving birth to such a wonderful person and ended up saying that this world is still a wonderful place because of people like him.

That was the time I found the purpose to my life, the purpose of bringing happiness to all the children of this world. I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time.I was trained to be a heart surgeon at Guy's Hospital, London. My colleagues there called me an "operating machine" since I loved heart surgery.

I left England in 1989 to start a state-of-the-art heart hospital called BM Birla Heart Research Centre at Calcutta. It was a great experience to set up a heart hospital, which soon became one of the best heart hospitals in India. And almost immediately after we set up the research centre we started the pediatric cardiac surgical facilities to take care of children suffering from heart diseases. Little did I know that this centre was to rewrite medical history? My mother at that time was living in a small town near Mangalore. It was my father's death anniversary and she spent almost the entire day in the prayer room. In the evening, my sister who was watching the news at the national network, all of a sudden screamed out for my mother. My mother hurried to the living room to see her son on TV with a nine day old baby who underwent a successful open-heart surgery.He was the youngest baby at that point of time in India to undergo a successful open-heart surgery. It was the beginning of heart surgery on newborn babies in India. I guess at that time many mothers too would have prayed for my mother's well being.
Let me tell you about another incident.Do you know the definition of a paediatric cardiac surgeon?The dictionary says he is a surgeon who specializes in the treatment of heart ailments in children.A few years ago, when Mother Teresa suffered a heart attack I was put in charge of her heart care. One day, Mother, who at that point of time was convalescing in the intensive care unit of the hospital, saw me examining a blue baby. After few minutes of thought she turned towards me and said; "Now I know why you are here. To relieve the agony of children with heart disease, God sent you to this world to fix it". To my mind, this is the best definition ever given of a paediatric cardiac surgeon and perhaps the best compliment that I have ever received.

One day you will become an adult and probably a very important member of our society. You will have lot of responsibilities and commitments. All I ask you for is, can you spare few moments of your precious time every day for someone who needs it? And that too without expecting anything back in return. Do you know, to save your life, a few hundred people worked sincerely without expecting any remuneration other than the joy of making your family, friends and relatives happy?

Dear children, we are all creation of the God and He is in control of all the events happening in this world. Unfortunately he is not supposed to be seen, heard or felt.So, he runs this world using people like you and me. And when you do your work without expecting anything in return, just for the joy of bringing happiness to others, that's when you'll realize it is not your hands, which do the job, it is the hands of God.

Yours lovingly,
(Dr. Devi Shetty)

"

Restless,

Jd.

Seasons thoughts.

Happy Pongal to all! The celebration of prosperity traditionally associated with the harvest of crops. Proud to write that I am infact the grandson of a farmer who did his duty as Michelangelo painted, as Beethoven composed music or as Shakespeare wrote poetry. Increasing affluence has transformed the wonder years. We are going to concrete offices now trying to please people around and making our way. Clear that farming is a bygone profession. But I shall always look up to my Grandfather (of farming) just like I look upto Keith Richards of accounting or Jimi Hendrix of human resources. Yes, they all gave the performances of their lives.

Anyway, I don't know why we are still celebrating when there's no reason. We are the IT/BT products (with a shameful undertone). We are planting seeds and looking after them and some one else is eating the end product.

Anyway speaking business,

I trust the new friend I made recently,(actually, it took some time and effort to make her understand that I am not insane, I might be eccentric). My mother trusted Dr.Dibanath Chakraborthy of Manipal Hospital when he said he can operate me and save my life two years back when I had a devastating accident. I trusted Dr.Shridhar.N of Wochardt when he repaired my dad's heart. And I trust Madhu who prepares some wonderful Bhel Puri as soon as he sees me approaching towards him. He is so happy to serve me. And I trust so many people with whom I might have just broken bread once or had coffee once. Only to note that this is not the case with the world right now.

Welcome to the world shortage of trust!
Last week I read about a cab driver who was picked up as a suspect for raping a minor. Well, if it's proved, I will be the first to shoot him..but it's yet to be proved.He is still a suspect and the evidence against him is next to nothing. But even though he can get bail, no one, not even his friends or family, is ready to stand guarantee for him. He has no money to pay the bail. His wife has run away and promptly married someone else, saying she couldn’t live with a man suspected of such a heinous crime. His family has abandoned him out of fear of being ostracised by the neighbourhood. He can’t even return to his home as he fears he may be lynched. And the evidence against the man hasn’t even gone to court! But his life has been destroyed by the news of his arrest. He has been punished not because he’s been proved guilty of a crime but because we, as a society, suffer from a trust deficit. We are always ready to believe the worst of anyone.

When I was in Cuffe-Parade, Mumbai, to meet a friend who lives in the 22nd floor of the apartment, I was startled to see the security everywhere more than the folks living there! He said that no one is allowed inside without a Photo-Id. Yet, how long has he left his front door open?Never. Look at myself!..How often have I left my car unlocked and run out for an errand? Never. How often do I stop on the street and help someone in need? Not as often as I ought to. How often do I stop and feed a hungry stray dog? Not as often as I could. Why? I am programmed to fear it may bite me. How often do I help an accident victim? Rarely. Why? I worry about being drawn into a police case. How often do I give money to an urchin? Not as often as I’d like to. Why? I fear I may be encouraging begging. Behind every small act of ours is a deficit of trust.

It’s this new thing that makes us enjoy stories in the media about romances breaking up, friendships collapsing, marriages wrecking. We always turn around and say: I told you so! We are always warning friends, associates, colleagues, spouses, children to be wary. Never take candy from a stranger, is every mother’s first tip to her child. Never hire a great looking secretary, is every wife’s first threat to her husband. Think twice before you marry a great looking or successful girl, is every friend’s advice to another, she can always ditch you for someone else. In fact, the moment you ask someone for advice, on anything related to a relationship or a health issue or a property deal, be sure to be warned. Our first reaction to everything is: Watch out! We even sign off, saying Take Care.

Even the media is so enthused to show up stuffs which involves them.The more they show up trustless relationships, the less trustworthy our relationships become. It’s not only marriages that are breaking up. So are romances. So are families, homes, communities, states. Yadavs in UP don’t trust Dalits. Dalits in Bihar don’t trust Brahmins. Sunnis in Pakistan don’t trust Shias. Shias in Iran don’t trust Sunnis. The locals in Bangalore don’t trust anyone. Elders in Haryana don’t even trust their daughters. They brutally murder them to uphold family honour!

Anyway, nim karma. Everyone’s becoming increasingly lonely simply because we can’t trust anyone any more. It’s true the world is not as simple as it once was but the moment we abandon trust, for whatever reason, we shut ourselves in and become lonelier. We love less. We fear more. We imagine wrongdoing even where there’s none, simply because we all live in a constant state of paranoia. Anything, anywhere can be misread, misunderstood. The problem gets even worse when we mistrust everyone and start seeing wrong everywhere. That’s what makes us all unhappy, scared, suspicious.

I am happy. I bet on people. I bet on relationships. I treasure some deep human connections. Some of life's best pleasures are its simplest ones. So go ask for the best table in your favorite restaurant and have a chatty evening with that special one. Nothing really happens until you move. Shake hands, do lunches, show genuine interest. Spread your goodwill. Evangelize your message and Business is all about relationships.

Woke-up to a Pleasant Morning,
Jd.

Answer!

Alright, I have some 1000 friends. And I have been heavily gunned by some bullet questions like what's your new year resolution bla bla.. Sail through folks.

I am actually getting fed up of this high voltage life in Bangalore. No, this isn't an indication that I will be stepping out abroad. Strange!...folks around are always asking me when are you flying abroad..Nonsense man! People have lost perspectives! Irrational souls, I must say.
At worst I might step out for a naughty honeymoon with my wife after marriage. And for nothing else. India will be my home. It gave me birth and rebirth. Anyway, happy to note that 11,000 of the 65,000 mandated H1-B visa slots are still available and went obviously a waste. Big reason to celebrate.

Well, coming to Bangalore...Everyone here is so busy running around that I often wonder when they actually get some work done because most real work demands a certain degree of stillness, contemplation and thought. No one has time for that any more. Everyone feels that if they don’t rush around, they will miss out on something they can’t afford to. This fear of missing out drives the new consumer obsession.It persuades us that the absence of that product or experience from our lives lessens us. Today we are yoked to compulsive ambitions forced upon us. Like Pavlov’s dog, we run on a treadmill that won’t stop. What’s worse, we pretend to enjoy it! Nodi swamy.

Bangalore’s energy is now boringly predictable. Perfectly decent roads are being messed up to build walkways in the sky that no one uses. Exquisite old villas are being torn down to be replaced by highrise apartments, where you pay monthly maintenance bills that could fetch you a fine 3 bedroom flat on rent. We pay fees for clubs we seldom use, gyms we never visit, doctors we have no faith in, time share resorts we will never go to. It’s all part of the same syndrome. Keeping up with those who you think are better off than you. It could be a friend, a neighbour or that guy in the office you hate the most. You want what he has without figuring whether you really need it. Or even want it.

We are idiots, blindly responding to the stimuli of commercial messaging.

Can we escape from this shit? Yes, Surely we can..and how?

The answer lies in breaking the sameness, deconstructing the routine of our lives, finding new things to do. None of this costs money. What costs money is staying on the treadmill, constantly running. Migrating from your Nokia to an iPhone may be expensive but leaving it at home and hanging out at the local bookshop is not. No, it doesn’t diminish you if you carry last season’s jeans or drive a Nano. You don’t have to afford that paint job in your house every Ugadi. Instead, frame those family pictures and hang them up. You may recall many lovely memories that a spotless wall can’t offer. Skip some episodes of Bigg Boss; learn to play the guitar instead.Go have a Pani Puri with your girl. Drop that Ceasar’s salad; try a vada pao with your loved one. It won’t wreck your diet plan. Even if it does, it won’t matter as long as you’re happy. Feed a street dog. Buy a flute from that young flautist outside the national market in Majestic. Go trekking. Skip the newspaper. Stroll in a park and give a flower to that special person. Put up a sparrow shelter outside your window.

Live easy folks. It's much more fun. Why are we always rushing around with strategies and plans and insatiable desires all the time? Can you carry it to your grave?! I cannot for sure. I don't know about you. The resolution is I walked/am walking/will walk my above talk.

Angry,
Jd/

heegu unte? ..... heege untu.

New Year! A very happy new year to all the beautiful men and women who have made my life beautiful and beautiful. I am using the word 'beautiful' very frequently off late. By the way, I had a beautiful new year celebration with my closest friends in a beautiful farm house indulging in beautiful activities. Christmas bash with a close friend in a church, followed by the new year; followed by shhh....'loose lips might sink ships', they say.

Ok speaking business;

Word on the street has it that, girls nowadays are getting strange guys to their startled parents!? Ok, I will blame both equally. Itseems that they are narrowing down to a metrosexual lover who you can smell coming in from a mile away, soaked in Axe woodooo. What he wears may disconcert you. But what should worry you is that he swings every which way, like a baboon hanging from the root of a banyan tree. Even more worrisome may be those young girls who hang out at strange places at twilight in search of a vampire lover like Edward Cullen or a werewolf like Jacob Black who they imagine will give them the kind of love normal guys would baulk at. Then there are the rich lover boys in incandescent purple velvet jackets who drive over pavement dwellers at night, snorting on coke. Or nerds with phoney firangi accents who propose online to girls they have never met. The options are many. But where have all the good guys gone?

namage yaake swaamy...but still:

What happened to the gigantic, plain and handsome stranger kinda men? ok first lets see what is meant by gigantic, plain and handsome stranger....Well, gigantic never meant 6 feet 6 inches. Gigantic simply meant someone to look up to with admiration. Someone who’s dark, admiring eyes you could stare into and think exciting, even wicked naughty thoughts. Similarly, plain did not mean a Moorish boy. Dark was never about complexion. It stood for mystery and enchantment in a roguish kind of way. Someone in whose strong, powerful arms you could get lost forever. Handsome also never meant dumb good looks, the kind models sport. It meant someone you could take around without feeling embarrassed. A companion who made you proud, whether you were in front of your friends or your family. Finally, stranger did not mean an unknown man, someone you pick up at random from an internet chat room or a speed dating centre. A stranger meant someone who would come in from nowhere into your life and transform it almost serendipitously. Do you see this kind of guys around any more?

Itseems yes. Someone told me.

Infectiously impatient and restless,
Vintage JD.