From the diary of an Indian

It is quite unusual for me to even look away from my textbooks while my university exams are going on. But today, I have things to say, I have a story to tell and a point to make. So, I am writing this.

Today, I have the time. The Forensic Medicine and Toxicology paper that was scheduled to be held today from 1430 hrs has been postponed indefinitely. The reason, a few terrorists had entered the Hotel Taj, Oberoi hotel and the Nariman house at the financial capital of India- Mumbai. The incidence took place last evening. There are already hundreds dead or injured and those that are alive are either apprehended or are in a state of shock. It is hard to believe that this inhuman manslaughter was done in the name of religion, that in the name of religion these youths were misguided. People who have hardly understood their religious texts (or sometimes have hardly read them) go on to become masterminds in various militant organizations. The problems are many.

My intention is not to discuss the problems. It would be the topic for the TV channels and the media for the next couple of months. I have just one intention- to tell my story- the story of an Indian. The story dates back to November 21, 1988- the day I passed out of my mother’s womb into this world. My mother recalls, it was 1428 hrs- the time I cried for the first time. What a paradox is life! You cry at your birth, others smile; and you smile as your soul departs, others cry.

It was nearly 2000 hrs when, as my mother recalls, the doctor got time to do the post-partum duties. That makes five and a half hours delay-the height of negligence on the part of the doctor! Besides, my mother was also given a packet of distilled water that was meant to be my first food (a usual practice of those days, totally wrong according to the concept of “exclusive breastfeeding for 6 months”). Yet, I was nearly 6 hours old and my tiny stomach was totally empty. My stomach needed something to be filled with. On the other hand, my mother was fearful of feeding her first child with her then inexperienced hands. So, there I lay with an apprehensive Ma and a packet of water. It is a situation that is still common in this country, with only one and a half doctors for every 1000 people. But my Ma has always been an excellent manager. So, there she lay in the labor room with no professional help by her side and the family members had been sent home. However, there was someone else in the room- a Muslim woman having completed her 4th delivery.

My family despised Muslims-the cause was the partition of India and the subsequent migration of a penniless family into this country. But the time had come where this age-old enmity, probably meaningless, needed to be resolved. It needed to be resolved for the sake of the stomach of a few hours old baby- yet unnamed, unexplored, uncorrupted and most importantly unfed. So, my mother requested and the lady smiled and readily accepted to feed me with the packet of water.

Thus, I was transferred from an apprehensive hand to a more experienced one. There I lay, in the hands of that angel and it was there that I had the first meal in my life- a packet full of water. Yes, a Hindu Brahmin by birth, I was fed for the first time by an angel who happened to be Muslim. Today, nearly two-thirds of my body contains the water that had its origin from the hand of a benevolent Muslim lady.

Later I was sent to a Jesuit society school. I was imparted Biblical values at school. Many of my teachers have been Reverent Fathers and Brothers. At the same time, my family members imparted Hinduism to me. And so, 2 great religions impacted me in my impressionable school going years.

Thus, my life may be a perfect example of the southernmost point of this country-the coast of Kanyakumari, where three large water bodies converge. The waters form waves that become inseparable and constantly wash the feet of this unique country. I am Hindu by birth, Muslim by an act of sheer compassion and Christian by education. Besides, I am Bengali by birth and was brought up in Maharashtra. Today, I am dedicating my life understanding medicine at a rurally located medical college, watching closely, the heart of India- its villages.

As an Indian, I think that we need to come together in support of the people of Mumbai. Come together, as Indians, leaving behind all the conflicts we have. Today we need each other to make India a superpower.

“Art is long and time is fleeting.”

So let us fight together as Indians, dream together as Indians and win together as Indians.

Let us consider ourselves, Indians first and Indians last!

-‘Jai Hind’