Bangaal Nama...... of the third world Bengali's

It was 1905, more than a century ago when we were divided for the very first time... ever since like a cell arrested in some stage of cell cycle we have been dividing after every few decades....Post 15th August 1947 - we began to be called East Pakistanis, after 16th December 1971 now we were called Bangaldeshis, after the plebiscite of 1971 Sylhet was no more a part of Surma Valley and joined the Republic Of Bangaldesh, those who returned to India were called Refugees in what was once their motherland.....we have ever since been in a state of eternal change, in quest of an identity, altering our boundaries redrawing the political territory...morphing our religious identity....in that eternal quest.....but we fail to shed the identity of being a bengali... After so many divisions, it is but natural that a taxonomical classification have been introduced to locate ourselves, in the complex dynamics of geo-politics. In 1905 Lord Curzon assured the division of longitudes and divided Bengali into East Bengal and West Bengal, some rejoiced....some cried....the nobel laureate poet documented this event with a couplet that reflects the deep rooted pain in his heart.....

" Bongobhumir Rahstroshima hotay Nirbashita Tumi

Jononi Srihotto Bhumi..."

He appeals to Srihatta (the present province of Sylhet in Bangaldesh) as Srihatta Bhumi and sympathises with his motherland in her moment of grief.....It is the pain of separation which engulfs him...and forces him to abruptly end the couplet), easier said than done. His emotions and his writing has over the last century failed to percolate into the minds of many a bengali, who would otherwise wear a dhuti-panjabi or speak in chaste bengali in the streets of Kolkata or Kentucky; to retain their image as an quintessential Bangali Bhodrolok, with a rich knowledge of his tradition and his culture. And the very next moment, he would look down upon a fellow bengali whose ancestral village happens to be some 50-100 miles east of his own(perhaps in Nadia or 24 Paragannas), located somewhere in Dhaka, Mymensing, Comilla or Sylhet as a Bangaal. Bangaal: the word uttered with an intonation as if he were a socially unfathomable creature with lowly etiquettes, a coarse dialect, and a tongue that never knew how to appreciate the so called Royal-Bengal food(Chingri Maach). Bangaal is always the third class citizen in the so called Bengali society of West Bengal(of If I may have the liberty to call it the Hindu Bengal).

But the defiant Bangaal is not a soft nut to be cracked with the incisors.....he would make his predators feel his might while they try to crush him with their canines....and more often than not it is the tiny but mighty nut that wins in this battle by sheer perseverance and courage. Bangaals have in a way contributed to the development of West Bengal unmatched by any other race... Kolkata is Kolkata because of the Bangaals. A fact much to the displeasure of the indigenous diaspora of West Bengal.....and to satiate their soul they have resorted to the age old trick of conscious ignorance much like - Shak diye maach dhaka. But their ignorance has off late become inconsequential in the age of globalisation.

Don't misjudge my take on the issue as regional chauvinism rather look at it from a higher plane and the depth and expanse of it, will surely captivate your imagination. I can say with certainty only because I have seen and heard with my own eyes and ears of the struggle by the syhletis during each of the division and their never say die attitude which lead them to success, perhaps their numerical majority in India helped. It forced them to en-shoulder the captain's duty of marching ahead with the flag of East Bengal fluttering high. Every where a sylheti has migrated he has carried with him the seeds of his identity...his food, his language, his idioms and phrases which he uses every now and then, and his culture as it were in his own native village in erstwhile East Bengal or what today is a part of Bangaldesh. And wherever there has been a confluence of a few sylhetis, they have formed a Srihatta Sammilani. A geo-linguistic organisation that admits people who fulfill the criteria of hailing from a few adjacent provinces on the shores of the Bay of Bengal and speak a coarse version of bengali(Sylheti -an eastbengal dialect). That's it and u can be a member of a Srihatta Sammilani , which exists from Kolkata to Manchester to NewYork to Tokyo to every other place a sylheti has put his foot ....Perhaps it would we right to say that Sun never sets over the Sylheti domain . These people have clung on to their mental imagery of a land that never belonged to them, nor will ever belong to them - with only a coarse dialect not even a language that they can speak ; as their prized treasure. These people the Bangaals have in their own way shown the way to the indigenous populace of West Bengal that their's is the way to celebrate and rejoice life....Once a Bangaal, Forever a Bangaal.........

Ilish-Shoshshey.....cholbe toh? Kita re ba , Bhala Ni?

...to be continued(with individual posts highlighting distinguished People, Food, Festival, Culture, Customs, Rituals of East Bengal with special emphasis on Sylhet)

NB: The author a third generation Indian-Bengali(rather a Sylheti/Bangaal) is a medical undergraduate at Silchar Medical College. Both his parents were born in India but his Grandparents from the maternal side hail from Sylhet province of Erstwhile EastBengal [Grandfather from Nartan (a village under the Kulaura subdivision of Sylhet) and Grandmother from Karimpur Tea Estate(under Maulavibazar subdivision)]. A Bangaal in mind and spirit, he continues to fight for the rightful place of his language and culture, is prudent of his roots, proud of his hometown Silchar- The land of 11 language martyrs, loves being a part of the mixed East-Bengal diaspora and takes pride in being a Bangaal......

Long time...back with a goal

Its been long since i wrote my last blog entry, more than a month ago, strangely all these years as a medical student , i wouldn't say there weren't pressure situations but I always found time for my own little world outside the course books, cluttered with all these mumbo-jumbo. But Final MBBS is slowly eating into my timescape and makes me seriously time starved.....its been weeks since I last saw even the dashboard of the blog , leave alone leaving a post. Somehow the simple joys of life has been eroded in the process , that began 4 years ago.... With the arrival of the FIFA world-cup in South Africa its been kind of a reminiscence time for me. The last time the venue was different , Italy were the winners much to my satisfaction and the world cup came at a time whenI was just about to join medical school. The entrance exams were over and the results declared on the 13th of June , 4 days into the world cup ... I had qualified, much to the satisfaction of every one at home...and had absolutely nothing to do, so in all my adult life, Germany 2006 was that world-cup that I could absorb with all the time i had in my share of bounties......A few days after the world cup I got into medical school and ever since could not enjoy any such international sporting event...I'm never a keen follower of the Olympics....the last ICC World-cup was a nightmare for Team India and Commonwealth games are yet to happen....in Delhi around the corner...So FIFA world cup comes at around the same time, June 2010; four years after the last edition and the paucity of time that restricts me to watch just a single match or at best two makes me realise that life will never be the same again as it was back in school under the assured roof that my parents continue to provide but under which I can't restrict myself all my life... This are transitional times and soon I'll have to venture out of the confines and get out open into this wide wild world and the very idea is making me go numb......But Waka Waka has somewhat lifted my spirits to a new level and after the desired results so far from South Africa 2010.....it is gradually luring me into the viscous web of late night match watching, frantic stats chasing, filling up innumerable tables that gives you a chance to predict the winner and win a lucky draw.....life's once again retrenching me into the timescape of the summers of 2006 and I must say I'm loving it.....will keep posted for the rest of the foot ball season........

Till Then Te Quiero, te Amo a Argentina .....hail the man in white and celeste.....

NB: Support the 1GOAL mission for child education in Africa. It send 72 millions kids to school for the first time...

The Dimensions of Dreams

Eleanor Roosevelt was a very influential women of the 20th century America, FDR's constant friend, political advisor, and above all a reformist to the core. An UN Diplomat , Humanitarian and US First Lady , once at a state dinner she was asked to speak and made a statement “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.......The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams". I have always believed in this edifice in life and the poster next to my computer table where an airplane is taking off with those beautiful words written underneath have been a perennial source of inspiration and joy. Something that has given me the strength to face the darkest hours of life, moments when I have felt low or felt like escaping from the shackles of the mundane life into the freedom of wilderness. It has inspired me to dream and in a sense some of these dreams had so strong a conviction in them that over a period of time, I started believing in them in a way as if they are tomorrow's reality.....and have visualised many a tomorrow through the kaleidoscope of these dreams......Not long ago a friend of mine questioned If i believed in dreams adding a word of caution as always , not to dismiss them with " I am too busy for such flimsy thing" attitude.......most certainly I won't do as my friend apprehended....and the reply is in the form of this post which shall not only sketch out my opinion but reflect upon that dimension of life that has been my best friend in worst moments.....conspicuously these dreams have sprouted within and have grown into animated creatures with limbs and legs and have been in a state, much like the colloid particles in Brownian motion.....

In fact, a dream is not an isolated thing , thought or an idea that germinates in the mind of a man during his sleep hours and withers out before the first light of the dawn.....dreams are pieces of our hopes, aspirations, conscious and sub-conscious desires. And a in a way much like any other object with a form, dreams too have dimension..... it reminds me of reading Gregori Antonovich Gamov...popularly known as George Gamow.....an american( of Russian descent) theoretical physicist and cosmologist...who had suggested the idea of Multi-Dimensions where with his not-so-sophisticated setup of the 1950s suggested the moving shadow as the Fourth Dimension .....from where comes the word 4D........Much like Gamow's imagination, dream is a multidimensional phenomenon....arising from our Desires.......arousing in us fundamental Doubts, giving rise to double edged Dilemmas and often ends up in Determination or Desperation and the path we choose(between determination and desperation) decides the fate of our Dreams.....some would again like to argue here, that fate is nothing but our Destiny......so in a way dreams are connected to a web of Ds....each one of them functional as pivotal axis.....upon which depends the way our life's revolve......sounds Greek at this stage?....well this was a metaphorical comparison where I have tried to draw a chord joining science and philosophy.....in a way I think is very healthy. The symbiosis of science with philosophy has always kept me excited because if scientific reasoning is applied to comprehend philosophy it becomes much easier.....and rational....

Apart from this metaphorical bridge.....in my personal life I stand straight with the conviction that dreams can conquer realities if we strive with great determination to achieve them. And it is that courage to dream big that puts us ahead of others in the next moment.....but the story never ends in simply conceiving the dream, otherwise the idiomatic use of day-dreamer would have long ago been in its grave......Honest effort is what the courage to dream calls for...not necessarily all my dreams will come true, neither will all of them go in vain....But I must be honest enough in chasing or pursuing them to the point I can, and then perhaps rest my case in the hands of that unseen unified controlling equation that governs the energy of the universe.....till then i must try.....i must strive.....i must believe.....that dreams will and God willing they truly will come true someday.....struck amidst the intellectual populace much of whom are up in arms fighting against each other vowing for the top spot on the lonely hill top by the year end......it is the beauty of my beautiful dreams that keep me ticking...that makes me believe that this battle of nerves is not the end result of our intentions....not the end result of our dreams.....it is but, only the beginning and in a mortal world where intentions alone do not matter the magnum.....a top spot would not necessarily mean mission accomplished....but for those who dream with such ferocity...I appreciate them....for in their perspective they have the intent and the passion to chase it......and I truly entertain a great admiration for such people deep down in my heart.....but as I said earlier.....determination and desperation direct our efforts in the same direction but only in a differentiable amplitude and in a different phase....(phase as in a trigonometric function being differentiated over a limit , showing phase difference to be in-sync or out-of-phase....preferably a Sin function where Sin x tends from infinity to zero...).... I dream of a tomorrow....in a lonely hill station listening to the chirrup at the crack of dawn.....i dream of a small English cottage where i have a cute study room , all to myself.....I dream of a tomorrow...when I can go for a trip to one of those quiet hamlets in the swiss alps .....I dream of a tomorrow....when i am freed from the shackles of these pseudo-intellectual gibberish......and for them I do have a design and the way is well charted out.... so in a nutshell......I have a beautiful dream and I cherish and nurture it delicately so that it blooms tomorrow to be the prettiest flower in life's garden.........till then keep dreaming and keep believing in them....wish that they come true and strive for them.....and we Deserve to get what we Desire in our Dreams if only we believe in them....the future belongs to those isolated species of people who are dreamers......

gud nite and sweet dreams

Muslim Chacha

The title might sound a politically correct one chosen for secular sermoning, but its nothing of the sort. Muslim Chacha, himself is a character who defies the traditional pen picture of a so called holy muslim....he has hardly worn a salwar (the traditional dress worn by muslim males in the middle east) nor has he stuck to the religious rigidity of not touching alcohol(if it literally meant so, and a touch is a touch no matter whether its your finger or your lips)...in fact his life has revolved around the pints and quarts for more than seven decades.....and he continues to mind his Ps and Qs in his own style, minimal, subtle, orderly and very sophisticated. An orderlies etiquette that's truly reminiscent of the days of the British Raj in the country.

The first time I met him, was sometime in the summer of 1989, at the Old Cachar Club ( I use the word Old because the Cachar Club back then use to be in the Old building that has been demolished to make way for the new elegant building that stands tall over Club Road, today), though I fail to recollect the minute details of our first meeting, I still very much remember that even on that day he looked as old as he looks today. A face concocted by in-numerous creases crisscrossing it all over,an arched back that formed the half of a shady bower, nimble fingers that bore signs of decay over years of use and reuse and his graceful movements , as he covered long streches over the lawn where the party way going on, there was an unusual silence and grace in his movements and he is still an embodiment of these qualities to the day.

It was the other evening last week when we had gone to the club for dinner, when maa called upon him as Mushlim(with an extra H as in her bengali vocab), one of my uncles who had come from Delhi looked a bit surprised....but maa was quick to dispel his doubts when she told him that this was his name and there was nothing unusual about it. Maa went to add on a few words about him as she always does, whenever she speaks of Muslim Chacha....and of his 75 years of service at the Cachar Club...well that's right .....its 7 and 5...seventy five.....born in a village near Silchar sometime in the first quarter of the last century, Muslim Islam as he was named by his parents, came to work in the club in 1934 as a 14 year old boy, who would attend to the english gentleman, mostly tea planters and their ladies, and was the pick of the orderlies for his etiquette and efficiency. Even today he speaks of those days with as much clarity as if it were only yesterday. After the last days of the Raj, the Cachar Club was annexed by the Govt of Assam, like every other company solely held by the Englishmen, and was later owned by the influential Dev family of Silchar.

Muslim Chacha continued as he was retained along with few other employees of the Cachar Club Co. when the Dev's took over th reins of the Club after Independence. But as the years rolled by most of his colleagues retired or faded into the obscurity of old age or death. But Muslim Chacha went on, serving the club and professing his never ending loyalty.

Maa says that she had, long years ago as a child (when she went to the club with my grandfather) saw Mushlim as a young man, in his thirties or forties. But that was long ago. Muslim Islam has always been the best of the best when it came to his job, a skilled ace who excelled extraordinarily in the ordinary things he did. Muslim Chacha, once said and was later confirmed by sources that during the early 1950s when Pt. Jawaharlal Nehru had come to Silchar accompanied by his young daughter Indira, for a political rally he stayed at the Cachar Club for a couple of days and he was so pleased with Muslim that he insisted on taking the boy with him for his two day trip to Aizawl, so that Muslim could attend to Panditji.... This was the only time this man(Muslim Islam) had the experience of a chopper ride, and accompanied Pandit Nehru as his attendant to Aizawl.(Folk lore says that It was his perfection in the art of Mixology, and that it was a perfect peg the first evening, that was his boarding pass for the Aizawl trip). But even today whenever there's a big occasion in the club, its Muslim Chacha Behind the BARs.... And the skills are still sharp....(I would expect all of you to understand; given the fact that I have had a first hand experience of his art)....It was from Muslim Chacha I had first learnt how to hold a soft drink glass wrapped with a tissue paper , or the correct way of sipping through a drink, using a stirrer to mix a *ocktail.....and many such etiquettes, that one perfects at a finishing school today ......The art of handling dinner forks , using the napkin, how to place the spoon gesturing that one wants a second serve(I always wanted a second serve at the club, in fact more than a second serve), and many such fine etiquettes that added finesse and completeness to my being. As a child, I was one of the naughtiest who went to the club with his parents , but he would take moments off his duty to politely change my fork grip or take out the fork from the left hand and place it in my right or hold the soft drink glass for me with 3 fingers by the rim and the little finger beneath.....in a way Muslim Chacha has been a teacher for a lifetime.

A man who barely had an incomplete and informal primary education taught you the finest of English etiquettes, in a way that was very gentle as well caring. The man truly deserves a mention , he is worthy of. Today as the club is being rebuilt, the new building has a Sepia photograph of Muslim Chacha reclining on one of the pillars of the old club, the photos were clicked by Shrayya Dubey .....a fifth generation heir of the deb family...SM Deb's granddaughter, and has been placed in the entrance lobby. Rightly so, because today he is the oldest surviving yet functional unit of the Cachar Club, the old building too has gone down under the hammer but this defiant man fails to fade into obscurity. It reminds me of a remark, which was once said of famous music composer Friedrich Chopin, that Chopin is more Polish than Poland.....to portray the fact that he was the epitome of everything Polish, so can be said about Muslim Chacha.......the man who stand tall with his arched spine, a souvenir specimen of yesteryears. Hope that he continues in his same simple minimalistic style as always, for his sheer presence makes one Feel at Home in the club, for people who have gone there for too long. Muslim Chacha truly stand apart in a league of his own, a man who truly smells of the essence and spirit of the club........Hat Off Muslim Chacha

Minors fail to spread Joy

Late last night i had been playing the synthesizer for quite sometime when it occured to me that the minors do not spread joy like the majors do.............though i like playing a few songs with a lot of minor chords in them ...one being "Do lafzoon ki toh ...yehhai kahani..." picturised in a Venetian canal......it starts with a Cmin then moves on to a D# then an occasional C or Csus4 moving on to its basic chords......these songs are emotional, sometimes they are overflowing with sentiments.....some strike a chord in my heart but the ebullience evaporates soon after. Many of these songs are apt for certain situations in life, when the lyrics mean all the more relevant. But a careful reflection reveals that those are moments of sorrow or grief.... of loneliness and silent sobs and unlike the songs that flow from one major chord to another they fail to lighten up the spirit.....perhaps there lies the essence of music that speaks the language of our heart.......music shall live on in my heart for years to come...........

I stand testimony to the Mumbai Magicians.

For the last many years I have constantly been preoccupied with this thought. Time and again, It has come to me, and every time I have relished it, every moment of it. But GWALIOR was perhaps the pinnacle point, and I couldn’t resist myself, In fact I have been compelled to pen this down.

Neither Cricket nor Celluloid, are as old as I am. Both have existed in their modern form right from the turn of the 20^th century, and many greats and legends have ruled the roost over the years, but we have been testimony to two of the greatest, Cricket and Celluloid has ever seen. Born to a generation of parents who would often recount the good old days of Indian Cinema and Indian Cricket to us. I guess, what we can recount in the decades to come would perhaps , not perhaps in fact certainly surpass their experience. I often imagine myself reclining on a old arm chair, playing the role of a raconteur to my grand children ( If I and my progenies are able to overcome the hazards of electromagnetic web around us and the myriads of destiny to procreate, at ease…..And given the fact that Indian’s excel at it……I bet, we will). The day shall come when I can proudly tell that… Yes, I have. I have seen the Mumbai Magicians at their very best, I have seen Amitabh Bacchan and Sachin Tendulkar do, what they did best, one filling every micron of the 70 mm screen, the other stamping his authority over the 22 yards and much beyond that , all over the road that leads to our heart, these milestones were really special. The Uttar Pradesh lad had seen many highs and lows, survived crashes and bashes to give us wonderful gifts like Sholay and Deewar.

But in a sense the Marathi boy outscores him, for even BigB needs to do different things differently every Friday , to live up to his pedestal of Fame. But this man does the same thing without Difference and yet is lauded the world over. Given that I was yet to be born when Sholay happened, but 15^th of November 1989 was a day when I woke up under the same sun and breathed in the same air, that blessed him. Indian cricket saw the entry of the 187^th man on their roll, in a Test match against their arch rivals Pakistan, but the 15 runs scored was hardly a reflection of his true prowess. As years rolled by, the magician started revealing his tricks, and by the time I had reached my teens, he was the in the process of becoming the greatest in the making. Donald Bradman had endorsed this boy’s skills, for he could ruminate over his hey days watching this little over 5’ Homo sapien. He wallowed in the nostalgia of the willow and pronounced this boy to be someone alike. Indeed, Sir Don did not survive to see his magnum opus, but had seen sufficient of him to have entertained himself during the last years of his life, at his Bowrel home near Adelaide. Over the years, Sunil Gavaskar’s records faded in the hallow of this man’s achievements , until a time came when people(especially over prudent analysts of Indian Crciket were ready to write his Epitaph and write him off as an injury prone cricketer, past his prime.) But the gentleman wasn’t ready to hit back at them with sharp words but he did so with his sharp cuts and drove them from Extra Cover to somewhere in the obscurity of the boundaries. He was peaking again, this time it wasn’t Desert Strom, it was the Inter-continental Tsunami that was his playing ground. From the bouncy Wacca to the dust bowl in Colombo, from Mirpur and Dhaka to Nagpur and Eden, it was shining bright. And just when I was getting a bit anxious, came Gwalior. Arguably the greatest moment in the history of world cricket unfolded in front of this central Indian city , as he hit and punched those weary muscles that were cramping, he was at 199, and I; like any other Indian fan was expecting the inevitable, but just then I felt, we as a nation have always been wanting for the last 22 years from one man. A billion people wanting just one man to deliver. But it’s not without reason people call him the God of the Game… And without an aide to do the sprinting , he pushed the bowl and ran the yards. And that was it, the evening of 24^th February, 2010 was embossed in golden letters in the history of the game. Sachin Tendulkar was the first man in the history of 40 years of ODIs to score a double ton in this version of the game. Having had watched him, its been a true pleasure and a true honour. Here’s wishing him luck and all my good will for his century of centuries and his Test Triple Ton, and yes the a World Cup in his kitty by the end of 2011.

In fact Amitabh Bacchan has also mersmerised us in the same way, crafted his acts to pierce and percolate through our senses and sensibilities , giving rise to emotions and feeling that were truly priceless. I as an Indian born in the 1980s and having grown up watching these legends , feel Blessed. Hoping to see more from the Mumbai Magicians.

MBBS - The Morality Factor?

Hello everyone, I just want to explain the happenings in our college in a case format. Hope you guys enjoy it . The Case History Follows

Personal Details

Name : Mr. NRR

Age : 18 yrs

Sex : Male

Religion : Universal

Marital Status : Bachelor

Occupation : Student

Bed : Room No. X in the Boys' Hostel

C/C : Ambition to become a doctor since childhood

HOPI :An 18 year old male patient by name Mr NRR, presented in the college OPD with chief complaints of an ambition to become a doctor since childhood. He was apparently asymptomatic (except for minor episodes of testosterone overdrive) before the thought, and the presenting complaint was sudden in onset after seeing, gradual in progression, with an ever increasing severity since the past 2 years and was stimulating in character, aggravated by seeing the successful doctors, and relieved after enjoying with the non medical friends.

History of Past Illness : No similar complaints in the past. He is not a known ratta master and slogger. There were no similar complaints from the other members of the family. On general examination, he was conscious, coherent, co operative, well oriented to time, space and person, but is little disturbed. Higher functions - normal. Attitude - ambitious. No abnormality was detected on clinical examination. He was admitted, for observation to relieve his complaint, and was subjected to a battery of investigations spanning over a 5 and a half years, involving all the senior members of the college.

At first he was reluctant to get treated (ragging), the facilities have albeit deteriorated over the years due to strict and stringent rules laid out by MCI and the Supreme Court, but he was gradually cooperative. He was put under tremendous pressure in the later part of the first year. Complained of palpitations and nausea the day before the exam. Was not prescribed anything. He ultimately cleared the first year exam. This phenomenon continued till the third year, and a good response was noted as his chief complaint started to show some sort of improvement. All of his engineering friends were well settled. He was aging. He was feeling insecure. Somehow, by god's grace, he was able to clear the final mbbs exam. BUT, that journey-- was filled with a lot of pressure, tension, insercurity, etc. He became tired of the investigations and even questioned his mind during the announcement of results. He did not have any previous experience of doing this. Ultimately he did it.

Allergic History : Allergic to chutia's (Chatur Mahalingam types) but sensitized during his medical college days due to overexposure.

Dietary and Personal History:

Smoking : Heavily

Drinking :Regularly

Girlithology(Science of Girl Watching ): Adequate

Masturbal History(Equivalent of Menstrual History)

Ejaculate : Adequate

Jerks: In rolling motion (exaggerated)

Drug History :

1. Gold Flake 69mm(small size) - 10 sticks at 1 hourly interval for 2-3 weeks during episodes of severe stress

2. Blender's Pride 40ml(neat) x 3 - OD (oral) during episodes of unbearable stress

Nothing else suggestive

General Examination

->Decubitus : Loves to sleep

->Pallor : Severe

->Anemia: Severe

->Icterus : Not present now, but he had an episode during last winters following overdose of the 2nd prescribed drug

->Cyanosis : Gradually developing (Probable Lung Cause - Due to overdose of the 1st Prescribed Drug)

->Neck Veins and Glands : Not engorged neither palpable

Nothing Else Suggestive

Most Probable Diagnosis :

Today he doubts, he doubts of his intellectual curiosity, whether he really needed this. He is even more confused than before about his ambition. He wants to achieve and prove it to the world that he is something in the world. He realises that the journey which he faced is just a preview of the future. Digging his own road, he found himself landed nowhere. Now he wants to go back to that very time, and then change everything, but then he is confused again as what to change. The treatment and investigations the college gave were too much for him. And suddenly he realises one thing. ... it is this journey which makes him unique. it is this very journey that makes a man out of you, that gives you all the stress needed in the world, and top of all the individuality which is also a by-product of this arduous journey. He did a bit of soul searching and realised that this is the way life here is and hence his complaint grew in terms of severity. He realised that every person who joins medicine and is ambitious in finishing the journey is a successful person. Every doctor represents a success story. There is nothing like an unsuccessful or a successful practitioner. A physician is always a physician. This chap now realises that he was just grinded mentally and physically ,,,, and finally he became a doctor, without realising.

FOLLOW UP ADVICE :

MORAL - MBBS TEACHES YOU A LOT OF THINGS, SOME OF WHICH LIKE EXAM FEAR GET THE HELL OUT OF YOU. ENJOY THE JOURNEY AND FORGET ABOUT STRESS. RESULT WILL BE A BY PRODUCT OF YOUR UNFORGETTABLE JOURNEY. TILL THEN ENJOY THE FUN ON THE RUN ....