Curd Rice Daily: Blog

It’s always difficult to receive news about someone’s passing. Death is not one of those things you get fully used to hearing about, thinking about, or witnessing. For me, it’s always been the same cycle. Each time I hear about someone’s passing, my brain flashes back instantly to my last memory with them, then rewinds back to my first memory with them, and slowly fills in the gaps. Right from start to end. It’s almost like a ticker tape, tick-tick-tick, which each tick marking off one less time I would be able to enjoy someone’s company. It’s not like I knew that then, but each time these memories play back for me, I find myself wondering if I’d interact with them any differently, or if there’s something else I would say to them. If I knew this was the last time I’d get to see them, definitively, would I do something different to ensure that my last memory offered closure?

I struggle to find the answer. Each time I hear about death, this cycle repeats, and I come up short, torn between the possibility of a perfect final memory, tailored to suit the human mind, and the affliction that is the human condition – unwise about the future.

And so too did my brain work away today when I returned from my exam to see a message on my phone about Dr. Kamala Gemson’s passing.

I’ve always shared a close relationship with the doctors who have treated me. My parents cultivated that at a very young age. This habit of developing relationships with those who are in the service sector. I’ve been fortunate to have had excellent medical care available to me throughout my life, even within my family (through my father’s brother), and that has in some part contributed to the kind of value I assign to the work they do. But it wasn’t always this way. I remember wondering why, as a child, we drove 40 minutes to go see the doctor. I was very sure there were other Paediatricians who were close by. I was also fairly certain I could find an Ophthalmologist within 10 minutes. Yet, whenever I fell ill enough to warrant a trip to the doctor, one of my parents hopped me into the car, and drove me straight to Unicare. I remember sitting on the couch and watching Tom & Jerry reruns till my name was called by a familiar face, and taken to another familiar face where I was greeted with a smile by Dr. Samitha. 10 minutes later I was fairly certain I could conquer the world, despite my insides protesting.

Graduating into adulthood was disconcerting that way. I no longer visited a Paediatrician and ended up acquainting myself with all sorts of fancy terms like the ENT, the Orthopaedic, and identifying whom my parents would take me to each time I fell sick. Moving to Bangalore presented its own challenges – not in the least because I was a skeptical soul about everything that was Indian, including the quality of medication and doctors (which is ridiculous, considering that my doctor in Dubai was also an Indian), but that’s just how my brain was wired.

Enter Dr. Kamala Gemson. Rather, I enter into Dr. Gemson’s cabin.

Dr. Gemson was experienced. I could tell that very quickly, not in the least because she used fountain pens like the ones my dad described to me when I was young – with a gold nib and a gold cap. She wore her half-moon (almost) glasses in the middle of her nose while reading the newspaper, and chuckled, gesturing to my mom and me to take a seat, and smiling. This was the first time she had seen me. My mum and she had interacted previously, but I was a blank slate to her.

And slowly she worked her magic. It started with biodata – my age and such and moved to whether I was allergic to any medicines, to which I prayed deference to my mother. Soon, like with Dr. Samitha, I felt confident enough that my throat would eventually come around. I remember asking my mother what kind of a doctor she was, and hearing the phrase “Family Physician” back. That did it for me. Through several trips (thanks to my immune system) to Dr. Gemson’s cabin, I gleaned that she was truly a Family Physician. Not because she cared for all age groups, and all sorts of illnesses, but because you may have walked in a stranger, but you always walked out as Family.

It’s so weird. I’m sitting here smiling as I type these nice things about Dr. Gemson, but my memories of her are associated with two of the physically most excruciating experiences I can recall. Both stitches. Both the result of horrible incidents. Both patched up by her. The first time I injured myself badly enough to warrant these things, my mum and I looked at each other confounded by what these things were. My mum’s seen me hurt myself way too much. Both my parents have. But for the first time, we had no idea what the repair procedure was. I remember crying in the car on the way there scared that it would hurt like crazy when I was getting stitched up, and asking my mom how bad it would hurt on a scale of 10. My mom called Dr. Gemson up, informed her we were on our way to the clinic, and Dr. Gemson was there. Sutures and all, needle in hand, ready to fix up my arm.

The second time I got stitches I literally remember praying in the car that she would be in the clinic. I had to get them on my upper lip this time and I was scared as all hell, pretty certain I would faint the minute I set my head back on the bed. It took her 3 minutes, I think, and I went back home feeling mended. Repaired. Whole. Like a soft toy whose stuffing had come loose, I had been stitched back up, stuffing intact.

Dr. Gemson helped me quickly finish off attesting medical records before I came to University. She helped me figure out my first first-aid and medical kit, which has lasted me pretty much through my five years. When I went back home and fell sick at the end of my first semester because my body forgot how to Bangalore, Dr. Gemson gave me the drugs that reminded my body what home felt like.

I interacted with her lesser and lesser over the years, because there was a doctor in Gandhinagar to help me out, but whenever I fell sick in Bangalore, I would ensure I had the opportunity to see her.

My last memory with her is actually me stopping by her cabin to tell her I was entering my final year of law school. And as always, she smiled, told me I had grown (she always meant I had become plumper, I saw right through her), and wished me the best. We caught up on what her schedule was like these days – and as I left her cabin, I noticed how thin her hair had become. As I had grown, so she had aged.

I left.

You never think that doctors die. It’s so weird to think the thought. The people who know the cure to the strangest things that afflict the human body – whether mental or physical, you always seem to think they’ll cure themselves. When my dad’s brother got married to another doctor, I remembered thinking how he wouldn’t have to figure out which medicines to take for himself if he ever fell sick. I also envisaged them fighting over which medication would cure him quicker. But it’s weird. You never think they pass. I’ve never known a doctor who has.

And today I heard about Dr. Gemson. And it made me sad. I’m going to miss her service, and my family and I will hunt for a Family Physician to take care of us. But I’m going to miss the warmth of her smile. It was that warmth that helped me graduate into adulthood and seeing these adult doctors with a little more ease. As I came into my own, it was that grace that helped me remember answers to questions like “what all medication have you already taken?” and “what did you take last time?”. That prepared me for college, man. I’ve self-medicated a fair amount thanks to the guidance she imparted and etched in her squiggly handwriting (the stereotype about doctors is true and her fountain pen did not resolve the issue), and it wouldn’t have happened without her.

I just looked down at the scar on my elbow, where I injured myself and split my arm open after falling off my cycle, needing 5 stitches. Usually, when I look down at it deliberately, it stings – because I remember the pain of falling and crashing into the floor. When I looked down now, I just felt healed. Fixed. Repaired. We may no longer have Dr. Gemson with us, but as a patient, I carry some of her finest handiwork. That’s going to stay with me forever.

May she rest in peace. Amen.

I went to sleep really early last night (11pm early), in the hope that I would wake up this morning rejuvenated and ready to study for Private International Law, my next examination. Instead, I woke up this morning hungry & sleepy – a combination that doesn’t really spell out “energy”.

It took a cold water shower to knock me properly awake. A cold-water bucket-bath if we need to be (and we always need to be) accurate with our descriptions.

Through the day I’ve suffered from grogginess, and I slept for about 3 hours in the afternoon. Tonight is going to be a long night – I knew that coming into this subject, but the sleep I’ve slept means it’s going to be slightly longer than I anticipated.

Exams bring a strange kind of discipline to people. While mine is limited to the amount of sleep I ensure I give myself (although not in a conventional sleep cycle), I’ve noticed that for others it extends to a timely intake of food (people flock to the mess at 8pm sharp in large numbers), a lot of individualism (more people have earphones in wherever they’re walking), and generally, a higher consumption of caffeine. People might say, “well that’s not discipline”. I’d argue otherwise. Consistency is discipline. People are consistent during exam-time. They find something that works for them and they stick to it. That’s discipline enough, to be honest.

I really want to think about changing the way this blog interacts with people who are interested in reading it. Maybe that’s something I’ll think about and implement over the winter as well – in newsletter form, or some other mechanism.

In other news, I have 3 days to meeting my paternal grandmother, and I’m really pleased to be able to go to her soon.

Today’s exam was interesting. It was the first exam I’ve had in Law School where I’ve had sufficient time to write in my own handwriting. When I write normally, I’m fond of using cursive. I like the style, and I particularly enjoy weaving it with my fountain ink pen. It usually brings me moments of joy, and a lot of comfort because it’s so deep-rooted in my memory. I’ve been writing in cursive since Grade 2, and it was a genuine struggle to get it to look decent, not in the least because of the way pencils used to smudge as I wrote across my book with my left-hand.

However, college exams have meant my handwriting has taken a turn for the worse. In the exams, I write to make sure my letters are discernable, but ensure that where I do not know case names fully I write just about enough to make them think I do. I don’t know how effective I’ve been in employing the skill, but till date, I haven’t got in any trouble for the writing. I’ve always walked out of the exam hall a little disappointed in myself – knowing that the representation of the words on paper have never fully accurately represented me, and my identity. I know it’s counter-intuitive. Exams are meant to have anonymity to ensure a lack of vindictive marking or any form of discrimination by faculty members. However, I find comfort in leaving my representation on whatever I write. To have that opportunity stolen away from me owing to lengthy question papers, an inability to write quickly, and a lot to write – it’s always heartbreaking.

Today’s question paper has just made me pleased, as a result. I’ve written in cursive that Grade 11 Tejas (who was undoubtedly at peak cursive levels) would be proud of.

I left a little bit of myself on that paper. It was a Drafting exam, so I not only had the opportunity to leave a mark in the form of my handwriting, but in terms of some of the  names and aliases I assigned to the parties to the various instruments I was expected to draft.

Things aren’t great – but they’re on the mend.

Today was the last Sunday on campus for 2019. The next Sunday I spend in Gandhinagar will be in 2020, an oddly comforting thought. Tomorrow’s exam is Drafting, Pleading, and Conveyancing: it’s a subject we’ve had few classes in (owing to some unfortunate circumstances), where the faculty who has lectured us has attempted to educate us in the formats of legal documents which are to be presented to Courts and other fora.

This is a course we’ve already indulged in to some extent. We had Legal English in our second semester, in 2016, and we learned very similar things in that course too. Which is why I don’t particularly understand the purpose of this paper. It feels like they’re putting in subjects for subjects’ sake – because once they started a five-year course they couldn’t go back on their word. I’m more convinced now that the integrated degree can be a four-year venture. Or if you want five-years, teach more stream subjects. My juniors get this advantage now, but it’s just a little frustrating that we haven’t been beneficiaries of the change. I’m just hoping to avoid a repetition of my Legal English midsemester. I scored an abysmal 12/30, the kind of score that’s confidence-crushing in second semester, given that my brain switched over to percentage calculations and questioned if I knew the English language at all. I lost marks for a foolish violation of some Exam Rules. Oh well. We learn and grow, right?

In any case, I think these formats shouldn’t be taught at law school. You pick them up in practice, when you do internships and work. Plus, with drafting, unless you’re teaching precise, concise drafting, or a skill that’s definitely applicable to the cause, it’s a little redundant – especially since drafting is one of those things that lawyers develop their own style for, and try to put their stamp of uniqueness on. Some firms even have an in-house style guide to ensure that they’re putting a consistent product out, and they’re renown across the industry for a particular style of drafts.

As you can tell, I’m not particularly interested in the course material. I spent time watching the Test Match, watching the Manchester United-Liverpool game (a travesty, United deserved the win), and studying/napping. I also shared a massive Dairy Milk family pack with some friends.

That family pack was given to me by a very close friend. It was a small act of pure kindness that really changed the way I looked at today. There’s this social media account I follow called 8bitfiction, whose tagline is “Do your best and love well”, and these acts of kindness I have experienced over the last month just remind me of the power of that message, and how much I believe in the value of being a good-natured individual.

Do your best and love well.

Onto tomorrow.

Today was my first end-semester exam. It went well. It was a lengthy paper and everything, but I think nine semesters down, I’m a little numb to the length of papers and the number of pages I’m expected to write for each answer. I do calculations the minute I get the question paper. It’s frustrating, but it’s habit, and I’m so eager to see it wean off me in under six months.

I slept, played RuneScape, and spent some time with a friend who came to my room and “chilled” after absolute ages. I know that when I leave college it’s not so much the various activities I took part in, but just this freedom – that people could come into my room whenever and hang out, that I’ll miss. It’s not like I’ve indulged in it too much, or encouraged it even – I’m usually running around campus scurrying from place to place. But I’ve slowed down for various reasons this semester, and I’m quite enjoying the current pace.

Tomorrow is a Sunday, and Monday’s the next exam. There’s a Manchester United-Liverpool match I’m keeping a very close eye on because I’m nervous, but optimistic as always, and I’m hoping to fix the sleep cycle by ensuring I don’t take an afternoon nap (so I can sleep soundly at night). Fingers crossed that works out for me.

https://www.theplayerstribune.com/en-us/articles/gerard-pique-a-long-story

Exam season has always meant some change in my routine and habits. I’ve always written about the positive change it brings to my sleep cycle, where every break, and every single small achievement in eroding portions is rewarded with a nap (which eventually becomes an hour of sleep). It also leads to some changes in the kind of food I consume, and the frequency of my food consumption.

But it has also meant the quest for distraction. Studying subjects I’m not too happy with, or not enjoying too much is difficult – especially when I need to concentrate on it fully throughout the day. So I ensure there’s something good awaiting me as I complete each Chapter, apart from the napping.

This year, I have decided to restart playing Runescape. I was addicted to this game as a pre-teen. Largely because everyone in Dubai played it at the time. It isn’t as popular now, and none of my friends play it (atleast none I know of), so I’m entirely responsible for the amount of time I spend on the website. I’ve decided to replay Old School Runescape. I was tempted to try Runescape 3, but I am a creature of habit, so I couldn’t get around to it.

It’s a ton of fun. It’s the exact same world I remember from my last login maybe 8 or 9 years ago now. And nothing’s changed, and the Old School community looks fantastic. I’m hoping to just make it through everything and find challenges to take on to keep me occupied week-on-week. I also know this is something I’ll carry through beyond exam season, so my winter is going to be absolutely amazing!

On a sidenote: the other game I used to play was Club Penguin. I’m sad that shut down.

I’ve had an eventful day attempting to study for my first end-semester exam, which starts on Saturday. The fact that it’s two days away means I woke up this morning with the awareness that I had one day (at the minimum) to squander away. Despite my steely resolve to attempt and hope for all the productivity I could muster up, the urges of relaxing and wasting time did creep up on me from time to time. They did take away a few hours, I must admit. I even contemplated shaving, just to pass more time. Ultimately decided not to though. My mom and I haven’t video chatted in a good week now, so she hasn’t seen my face in a while. As a result, I haven’t heard about the need to shave from her. Although, some of my school classmates decided to fulfill that role for me instead, chiding my appearance and laughing at the beard that has grown on my face within a few seconds of us acquiring good internet connection.

After yesterday’s news I was able to book tickets for the places I will be travelling to over the winter break – between November and December. I’m eager to visit family. Really looking forward to that, and some good food.

Other than that the winter break is going to be filled with applications and such, plus a routine I’m probably going to get pushed into from my first day home. That’s always fun, isn’t it?

Today I discovered that a friend of mine was reading the blog. As always, I thanked them for it – its always nice to know people read the kind of words you want to send out into the void. It was nice to hear someone found something I posted as a point to check up on me or to start off a conversation with me. Warmed my heart. But it also reaffirmed a lot of why I write, and why I don’t enjoy days where I don’t post. Writing has become a process by which I have been able to publicly self-reflect, and it’s a part of me I don’t want to lose or fall behind on. The daily blog has become a journey into that, and I’m trying to see what challenge to take up next year to keep things fresh. Momentum and forces of the Universe willing, I should be able to make three sixty five this year.

November and December will be a lot of 2020 planning. I say that like I’m a Presidential candidate or something. But actually, I’m in my boxer shorts getting ready to sleep.

Today I found out the results from my interview. You know, the one I blogged about earlier today.

I didn’t make it.

It sucked for a good hour or so. And I think maybe more. It’ll probably suck for a while to be honest. It isn’t because of the fact that I didn’t make it through, but more because of the kind of value I attached to it. There is the fact that I’ve known about this for a while and I’ve aspired toward it, so I’m a little disappointed it hasn’t worked out for me this year. I enjoyed myself and worked hard through the process too.

I’m grateful for the opportunity it gave me. To think and figure out some stuff about what I want to be doing with this degree I’ll be getting soon.

It just bums me out that it didn’t work out this year. I know its not the end of the road. I’ll figure stuff out, and there’s several more opportunities I’ll work toward for myself.

This one’s going to take a bit to sink in.

In recent times I’ve found myself anchoring to faith more than I have previously. It’s an oddity I’m coming to grips with. But I guess keeping faith: in whatever shape or form that is, and whatever it brings with it, and working hard/being true are the only things I can do to move forward and move along.

That’s just what I’m going to do.

Plus, it’s end-semester season. We’ve got things to do.

Tomorrow’s the last teaching day of the semester. It’s not been a particularly excellent one, but I’m glad that it’s happened. It means we’re closer to the end of the degree I’ve been working toward since 2015. There’s a lot to take away from all of these experiences I’ve had, and I know I will. I know I’ll carry them with me wherever I go: all of it.

The last week got me reading again: properly. I recently finished the Ben Rhodes’ memoir of the Obama White House years. It gave me a ton of food for thought. Obama’s always been a President I’ve admired. It helps that he was in power through my “formative” years, so to speak. I learned about his policy positions a lot later: and I agree with some while I disagree with others. What I admired about Obama was his ability to present the United States of America as a country that, irrespective of the drama going on, had things under control. That emotion of calm within the storm: something I found akin to Dhoni, when he led teams.

It was just emotional processing at a different level.

Reading Rhodes’ book reminded me of that time. It also taught me the value of a support team. That matters, and it gives you perspective when you need it. The book’s a stunning read, and its got me thinking and reading a lot more about American politics than I normally would be.