The First Wedding...

Lagta hai jaise saare sansaar ki shadi hai...Aaj mere yaar ki shadi hai...


I kept on singing it for long, the day I heard about this good news. My friend Rahul has got his relation being tied up with a cute girl. I was (kindly don't wonder why) so excited hearing this for the very first time that I congratulated him with a very long text message. He cleared this to me that the wedding was going to be after two more years of study. So it may or may not be the first wedding among the friends. But I replied that since this was for the very first time that I had heard such news about a male friend of mine, it had to be special. Though many of my female friends have been engaged and some of them even married, but for the first time I felt the craze of imagining myself dancing at a friend's baraat.


Ophthalmology exam...I messed up everything for him by repeatedly turning back and singing some or the other wedding song. I enjoyed each and every time when he said, 'Yaar Abhishek Bhaiya, kyun meri band baja rahe ho. Chupchap exam dene do na yaar. Uski yaad mat dilao...plz'. But since nothing can stop me from using my mouth, he had to finish up the paper soon and I followed him out of the examination hall.


Well, readers may or may not understand how glad I am. But one thing is clear. The wedding is definitely not Begaani and I am definitely not Abdullah. As I write this post, am sending him another text...Lag ja gale yaar mere Maine dil se dua di hai...Mere yaar ki shadi hai...


God bless the wonderful couple (especially my dear friend Rahul, for I am gonna keep singing and dancing for the next two years until he bags Bhabhi home).
I guess no one would be able to feel what I am feeling writing this stuff. But what I am feeling (in a nutshell) is...Lagta hai jaise saare sansaar ki shadi hai.....

The First Surgery...

Recently I finished up with my postings in Paediatrics Department. Another month full of experiences. But this time, our actual teachers were those little flowers who sometimes made us smile at their worth-seeing activities and on the other hand rendered us with aching hearts seeing them in pain. I wondered every time how does a doctor understand what is going wrong with the child. But gradually I learnt that nature has made no problem without a solution. And that is how we make out what lies at the root of the cries, shrills or grunts of those babies. Of course my favourite section was the Neonatal ICU where I spent the most adorable moments of my life. When last year I was posted in the same department, I wrote the first prescription of my life, for a newborn baby. I clicked a photograph of that document.

Clinical postings make you so strong that you start doing those things which you are afraid of. But the fact is, as soon as you abstain from clinics, you go back to the first step again. During my postings, I myself have felt the confidence of intervening in almost every medical problem that comes into my way. This reminds me of yet another adventure I did with my friends at hostel. According to my diary, it was 30^th January 2009, when Ishan rushed to my room at around 10pm and showed me the thorn stuck to the dorsum of his foot. He sustained that thorn prick while playing football barefoot. He never followed instructions to wear shoes while playing. And I remember that football which I used to call as ‘iron-ball’ since it was damn heavy and hard.

Every time someone got injured, he used to come to me for proper cleaning and dressing of the wound since my room is the nearest to every place one can play at. So, Ishan also came to me finding it difficult to take the thorn out. First I felt that he had come to me merely out of habit of showing injuries, but when we attempted removing the thorn, I felt it was no easy task. The thorn, probably of rose plant, seemed to be angular and had followed a curved path across the skin. So it was not coming out easily. I heat sterilised my forceps, took out a fresh scalpel blade and started on his foot with a great fear in my heart. But he encouraged me to go ahead and told me that it would not give him pain even if I cut his whole foot off. I knew that sounded filmy but yet I started trying with great care. He encouraged me to keep confidence reminding me of how good I had been at dissections. And thus I went ahead.

The real challenge was yet to follow. I had earlier cut dead bodies with no blood in them. But this was a live stuff and as soon as I pricked my blade on his skin, there was blood all around. A large amount of blood coming out of just a ‘next to pin-prick’ cut, and I felt like running away. I kept on cleaning the blood with antiseptic solution and kept working with the other hand. Ultimately I succeeded in taking the pretty big thorn out. It was really from rose plant, curved at its middle portion that made it difficult to come out. I dressed the wound and gave him a hug for showing such faith in me. He regarded that day as my first ever surgery and I regarded him as my first (and fortunately, a courageous) patient…

The Day Out With Hardik...

Ever since I entered college, I expected life to give me moments to roam with friends. But as I already narrated somewhere before, I never got such a chance until one night Hardik came and told that he had to go home for his parents’ 25^th wedding anniversary and that before going, he wanted me and him to enjoy the whole day in the city. That was Sunday, 18^th of January 2009. We got up early and got ready to go out to the city. It was a sunny but cold day.

We first stopped to eat my favourite cheese patties. Then moved ahead to one of our favourite eating destinations, Chhappan Dukan. There we had so many snacks, we drank coconut to its fullest, clicked each other and in order to have a photograph together, Hardik requested the coconut-seller to click it for us. We walked and walked, talking and talking. Then we reached another famous eating desination of Indore, the Sarafa (the jewellery market), where you would wish you had another spare tummy to absorb all those delicious items available. I don’t remember what foodstuff we left from eating. Then we walked across the narrow streets of the city market whereby small temporary shops set up every Sunday in front of the closed big shops. We bought some posters from a small child and Hardik insisted paying him an extra ten rupees for him being so gentle and poor. Hardik had always shown pity over the poor and the needy (his greatest asset being his generous nature).

It was around 2pm. We were walking through the streets where I would have been as a child with my parents. But for a large part, they seemed to be so new to me. We came in front of Jankinaath temple where Ramayan-paath was going on. Seeing my expressions, Hardik suggested to go inside. (I always wondered how did he know what I wanted) There were around 60-70 middle to old aged people having the divine pleasure of Ramcharitmanas. People singing devotional phrases with good music instruments have always been a charm for me.

I saw a harmonium kept at the centre with nobody around it and the bhajan was still going. I asked a man, probably as old as my grandpa, if they minded me playing that instrument. He agreed and I sat infront of the singing group. I bowed my head to the harmonium and played it for them. After the song was over, one of them asked me whether I do sing or not and they all insisted me to sing something when I played the instrument such nicely.

“Ram naam ras pee le pyare, Pyas teri mit jayegi” (meaning to quench one’s divine thirst with the name of Lord Ram). My bhajan rendered some of them quite nostalgic and so was I. I took their kind permission to leave since I had to leave Hardik to the bus depot and I had to return back to hostel. They all showered numerous words of blessings and asked me to keep visiting. We both came out. I bursted out crying while wearing shoes. He just let me cry, knowing that I miss my granny at such instances.

We moved towards the place where he had to catch his bus. But he asked the auto rickshaw driver to take us from a different way. It was through Chaawni where in a single minute he ran and fetched delicious Mirchi-bada, Kachoris and tasty tea for both of us. We slurped the whole stuff in minutes and we reached the bus depot. I was quite heavy hearted while seeing him off but was happy to have him in my life. I sent him a text, “U are actually wat ur name means…hapy jrny bro..God bles u ever”

I once again read what all I just wrote and am again full of enthusiasm, being reminded of those precious moments of life. I wish everyone gets to experience such lovely instances…

The Whole Night Discussions...

It has been long since I wrote last. The reason being my return to the hostel where I do not frequently go online. Today I got quite some time to resume my favourite activity, that is, writing.

We, at hostel, usually do not talk serious things. But when we do so, we go beyond our characters and images. Yes, we sometimes do talk serious matters that touch our hearts. Like today, I don’t know from where Priyesh and I started talking about some very serious sad stuff that I had to just hide the pain on my face. He remembered his recently passed away grandpa and I did the same about my late grandma. But at the same time, I would always feel lucky to have such buddies with whom I can share those very painful things that I usually don’t share with anyone.

I remember once we started talking about Indian politics. It was around 11 pm and a chilling night of January 2009. The discussion kept on running and all of us kept poking our nose at each other’s views. Ultimately we all got on to our nerves and the discussion went so loud that the night watchman had to peep into our room to see whether we were actually talking or fighting. The discussion ceased for some time. And suddenly I asked, “Who the hell started this discussion?” And another discussion started on the question, on whom to curse for wasting the whole night over a discussion that people at least twice our age talk about.

It was 5 am and we all laughed together at the silly time pass we adopted for the whole night. I am sure my friends would not remember this stuff. But I do so because such moments only make me feel that friends are a real gem of one’s life.

Another discussion about ‘ghosts’; I would narrate some other day…

The Dissection Hall...

I don't exactly remember when did we have our first dissection session. But it was quite exciting for us. We were damn enthusiastic as well as a bit doubtful of whether we would be able to stand that feeling of cutting a dead body or not. The dissection was scheduled post-lunch and we all were advised to have a full-stomach meal in order to stand in the dissection hall for two hours together. Well, we all reached the dissection hall with all the required material. Since ours was the very first batch, we saw the cleanest possible dissection hall in a medical college. And thus we could not imagine what all was there to follow.

Finally, the first cadaver was being brought, then the second, the third and so on. Dark dead bodies preserved in formaline solution. All cadavers were being placed on the respective tables. I remembered the Almighty and touched my scalpel and forceps to my head as a sign of respect to the pretty instruments. Rubber gloves, scalpel in one hand and forceps in the other, it was a damn good feeling. Somebody somewhere deep inside me felt proud of being a medical student, rather a would-be doctor.

Our instructor showed us how to make an incision on the skin of the cadaver. As I saw the instructor's scalpel running over the dark wet skin, all my enthusiasm turned into smoke. I immediately retracted my hands and folded them at my back pretending nothing happened. The view of that first incision and what I exactly felt that time is still inside me. I was afraid how would I make a cut to someone's body. Further, I didn't want to make my scalpel and forceps dirty in order to avoid washing them. (I know it sounds silly, but yes, it was what I felt) But the instructor would not let us go like this. Out of the fifteen students standing around the dissection table, he had to choose poor me for the very first time. I cursed the moment in mind and hesitantly touched the head of  scalpel with the skin of the upper back taking care not to spoil it much.

That day, I made only a few incisions and nothing else. But the next day had something worse for me. The instructor told me to demonstrate the previous day's method of incision to those who didn't come that day. I abused the damn previous day's absentees and held my instruments in hand, a bit more firm this time. Gradually I started making finer movements on the old man who measured around six feet long (not tall of course, the body was lying on the table) The next day still had something worse for me. The instructor taught us how to detach the back muscles from the spine and again it was poor me who had to do all this. But I thank that moment since it was the day I left all my fear and worries regarding dissection and attained a good command over anatomy.

The not-so-good part during dissection was the foul, pungent, tearing, throat-choking smell of formaline that would sometimes make us feel nauseated, specially at times lacking electricity. The worst thing happened when we were ordered to break the thoracic cage and take out the heart and the lungs. The instructor had given us full liberty to dissect out in our own way and enjoy as much as we could. Girls, definitely resorted to talking (they only start to talk when it comes to enjoying) and one by one left the table asking us to call them back when we were finished taking out the organs. As they left, it was only Hardik and me who were left with a bone-saw to cut the ribs out. We did a lot of hard work in cutting the ribs with immense patience. We were left with a single rib to be cut and so we decided not to cut, but to break it. Katack!! And it all happened at once. Both of us were sprayed with formaline everywhere on us and each tasted the bits of muscles that flew into our mouths...yuck!! I felt so screwed up that I didn't even bother to realise that also my hand was injured a lot by the broken bone.

That was quite bad a feeling of having human flesh in mouth (neither did that taste good) I felt much more pity for Hardik, since he never tasted non-veg being a Jain (though I was also not into eating a dead man!!)

The First Come-Back-Home

It was this day when three years ago we set to return home for the first vacations being declared on the occasion of Diwali. Around fifteen days and we all felt as if we spent years together in the hostel. With a bit of heaviness somewhere in the corner of heart, we all packed up. 1st November, 2007. It was a very special day for me since it was the housewarming ceremony of our new duplex and I was supposed to reach as early as possible.

As I already told somewhere in previous posts that our college was quiet far from the main city and so it took us almost an hour and a half in reaching the place where we could get a bus for our home, Bhopal. The taxi cabs charged us anything they wanted for taking us those 25-30 kilometers and we had to pay whatever they demanded. Finally, we came to the bus stand only to find no AC buses being scheduled up till the noon. It was around 8 am and I couldn't afford waiting in order to reach the holy 'Vaastu-Pooja' ceremony at my home. So I decided to set for the journey alone in the non-AC bus and leave Manu and other friends to take the girls later in the AC bus. But ultimately all of us set in the same non-AC bus thinking it would be fine when we all were together.

One of my pretty HS (High Society) friends sat beside me in the 2x2 seater bus. I wondered why she offered me to sit with her. The journey started with all sorts of nuisance created by the vendors both inside and outside the bus. I don't know how people tolerate those shrills that sound both comic and tragic. On the other hand I wonder how much would those vendors earn by selling a few 5-rupee items per day. Only God knows how they feed their families. Here, by my side, she put on her expensive-looking goggles and took out 'Femina' from her bag to read. I had seen people applying glasses for reading, but never the goggle-ones. I controlled my laughter by suppressing it into an idiotic grin. In between turning the magazine pages, she kept on making weird faces looking at the other passengers of the bus. (I tried to make out what made her make those faces, was that the journey or the magazine that contained models more prettier than her...?)

I was too tired of packing up the luggage and setting things quiet right and safe in the room the whole night before the journey. There I found the answer of  how do people sleep in such buses? I fell fast asleep hugging the tiny soft toy, a small cow or something, that Hardik handed me up when we left from the hostel (Hardik had told me to bring it back to him from home as it was just to remind me of him in the vacations that followed.) I would have woken up around an hour later to see the bus over-packed with passengers. Manu told me that they were the passengers of some other bus that failed somehow on the way and so we all were left together to choke and boil in the same bus on that pink cold day. I felt like jumping away out of the bus. But I kept calm in order to pretend as if it mattered the least to me. My co-passenger was apparently annoyed by my comfortable naps I was able to manage in such adversities, but I couldn't help it. (Probably because she had kept on telling me just before the journey that she had never travelled in a non-AC bus and had taken some medicine for motion-sickness due to which she could fall asleep any time, and it was me, not her, who was sleeping like a monster who had never ever slept for the past 200 years together). The journey that started from our hostel, boys and girls all singing, travelling together for the very first time, ended up like being fried up in a non-stick pan.

Finally, we got down at Bhopal in around five hours and Manu's father took us to my new home so that all of us attended the final part of the ceremony, the 'Poornahuti'. The first journey seemed to be average, in terms of adventure, until one of my friends called me up to ask for the travel agency's contact number, since he had left his briefcase in the overcrowded bus that contained all his original academic documents. I thanked God for I didn't throw the ticket before his call, to forget that messy journey.

Thereafter, I threw that ticket and forgot all the discomfort we experienced that day. But still I remember those goggles 'on' to read Femina and that anti-motion sickness drug taken by my co-passenger, as a side effect of which, I slept cozy...

The Hind-wall Adventure...

As I thought to start writing this post, my cell beeped...our hind wall collapsed bhaiya. It was Rohit, my roommate, telling me something I never imagined. I just called back. He told that in an attempt to clear off the heap of construction material by the side of our hostel room, the JCB machine hit the wall and made a through-n-through hole in it. I was amazed at the news, not knowing how to react. At first I thought he was just trying to panic me with a false news but soon, a number of text messages heaped up in my inbox either annoyingly congratulating me or funnily consoling me over the mini-disaster. The news was no joke but true. Rohit further relaxed me by taking some quick actions over getting it temporarily and then permanently fixed. I wish I was there to see what it looked like, since now I am still at home, no more on recovery leave but on Diwali bunk. We never let our administration take any pains to declare holidays rather we bunk the classes prior to the official announcement of vacations.

Thus, another point has been officially included in our list of adventures at our college by the successful and dramatic collapse of the hind wall. That was a real BREAKING NEWS for me. It has reminded me of the countless previous adventurous experiences in the college and hostel, the most outstanding ones of which, I would be talking about in my subsequent posts. For the time being, may God prevent any creature enter the room through that hole till it gets repaired by the next afternoon...

The First Festival At Hostel...

Yaar, I never imagined I would be out of home on a festival like Dussehra!
Was my exclamation to Manu. It was Navratri just started when we first went to the college and so going home just in a week was not possible. We were, thus, there at our hostel on Dussehra. It was yet another silly but hard reality for us to accept that we had to celebrate festivals away from home. I don't know what makes festivals joyous only when you are with your family, or perhaps its just a subjective thought.

Well, I woke up early and compelled everyone leave bed to get ready for something interesting I had secretly planned out. I was done with offering my prayers to Lord Rama and then announced to my colleagues about the cricket match we had organised as a mark of the holy fight on Dussehra. At the same time I advised everyone not to take the match by heart and just play it for fun. But I somewhere knew that was not going to be the fate of the match, because the two opponent teams had actually been silently opposing each other since the very first day of the college. God! Let not holding this match become my mistake!! I prayed though I knew none of them was going to know who was behind organising that match. Still, I didn't want to get defeated, nor did I want any actual fight.

In the very early days, we had this loudspeaker for announcements in the hostel. We took it out and gave it to a staff member Abhishek Singh (whom we now better know as Dabloo Bhaiya) to carry out commentary in such a way that would try keeping the game spirit high and keep them off any possible quarrel. Dabloo bhaiya did that well. I cheered up both the teams and requested other viewers also to do so though people knew who supported whom. Heading towards the end of the match, my team was short of two runs and the last wicket was left. The last batsman was (I didn't knew how) declared 'run out' and they won the match by one run. I was glad all took this good at heart and nothing bad popped out of that first small secret event planned by me.

Cricket matches, since then, became a regular battlefield for the boys at our college though, by God's grace, no quarrels ever arose apart from the game. And of course, I was never ever a part of any cricket match since it was not my cup of tea...

The Sword of Admission...

Hey! Did you hear all our admissions have been cancelled by the admission authority?
This had been a usual exclamation and could be heard from almost everyone almost everyday. Our medical college had been in its first year of education that time. And as usual, there were some problems we heard regarding the recognition, affiliation etc. of our batch. We, coming from various parts of the country, were one at worrying about our admissions. No matter howsoever diverse our languages, cultures, customs and backgrounds were, we all used to be tense in a single language. This added tension of admissions was yet another factor that added to my home sickness. And not to forget one of my then most favourite songs from Chak De India that said,'...Laut ke aayega re shart laga le...' (...you would come back, I bet...) that made me feel I was destined to go back home. But still there was something that kept on telling from inside, Study Abhishek, study. Your admission is confirmed. I didn't give up studying, rather kept on telling others to study so that we may not panic when our admissions would get confirmed and we would appear in the university exams in a couple of months.

Today, when all those initial issues are no more, I wonder how and why we worried for such small things that time. But yes, then we too were little kids out of our homes away from our families for the first time in life and we didn't know what to worry about and what not. We were so immature that we did use to bother about what everyone said about everyone. We were so immature that we could not imagine life without pals. We did not know how to go to a cinema hall alone without friends. As if we didn't know that we were from different homes, different families, different states and the foremost, we were different. Yes! We all were different, though many of us still don't believe it. But, differences arose. Sometimes on the matters of education, management, faculties, girls and sometimes on matters we couldn't understand and so we called those as issues of personal ego. Well, gradually we learnt that these are not very big but usual things one encounters throughout the whole life.

On one hand, things were running ahead and on the other, I kept standing for sometime for my fellow friends to come together so that we all could become a part of all the fun and joy of studies, parties, outings, movies and all that one could expect college students do. But to my surprise, I was somewhere thrown aside by my dear younger brothers in almost all the activities we did, except studies. My job was then confined to just going to college alone, attending lectures and practicals alone, marking proxy attendances for them and then coming back to hostel to find all of them disappeared. The late evening I would come to know they went out for an outing or a movie. My own roommate had withdrawn his admission himself and so I was left in the room all alone. As the days passed, this word kind of became my personality, my destiny...ALONE.

I was surprised to know that all this was just because I behaved like an elder brother and they said one could not share doing such activities with his elder brother. I wondered how and why did I never notice any of my school friends not sharing things with their brothers. I thought a brother was the best person to share all good and bad things with. Well how would have I known, the ultimate fact was that I didn't have a brother. And somewhere I started realising that I was much happy with my Papa-Mumma and both elder sisters since I could share almost everything with them. Yes, that was cent percent true. But still, something kept on aching inside...

My First Day At College....

I set on for my journey to an entirely new life on 13th October 2007, with a huge luggage with me (I wonder whether I was being sent for studies or driven away from home forever.) That day I didn't go to my hostel. The very next day, 14th October 2007, I reached hostel after traveling on a road where one would shake his spine on the humps and bumps of the so called national highway. My hostel is around 25 kilometers away from the main city. Everywhere around the college campus was only fields and farms. No one to see, no noises to be heard and nowhere to escape away. A completely peaceful (then silently haunting) place where one could easily study in the calm environment provided we went there for studies.

How the hell you could give the room allotted to me to somebody else?
That was my first conversation with my warden. And shockingly, he didn't know that I had already been allotted that room on my first visit at the time of admission. Still I managed to keep my luggage in the same room just to find a face that was in no way interested in staying with me. That was the very first moment I called out in my heart, Oh Mumma-Papa, where have you sent me?

Hi, myself Pawan. What's your good name?
That was the very first introduction by one of my dearest fellows now, Pawan Maheshwari. He was the one with whom I felt that people can talk to me here. Because when you step out of your home for the very first time, you wonder whether the world is gonna talk to you or not. And when somebody talks to you, you feel you are not all alone. Well, I realized that all of us had left their homes to study there and all would be as uncomfortable as me. Still, that was my tendency not to talk to strangers at once.

Gradually many of us met with each other and by the night, around eight of us were sitting by volleyball court in front of room no. 13-14. Yes, this 'Room no. 13-14' was the usual nomenclature people used since it was one the most popular groups since the very beginning. Room no. 13 was allotted to Manu and Abhijeet. And Sagar and Pawan were there in room no. 14. All others such asa Sudhanshu, Rohit, Vatsalya, Rohan, Manish, Anwar and myself (only if I haven't forgotten to name somebody who was present there since the very beginning) used to have fun for the whole day and some of us even whole night in room no. 13, even Sagar and Pawan would leave their room to gossip in there. Sometimes even six-seven of us would sleep together on just two iron strip beds which used to bend like boats by the morning. (And now I wonder how I don't get space on a double bed meant only for two).

First night in the Student Mess was horrible for all of us, finding something to eat out of that so-called homely food. But food was not at all significant that day since the very next day, i.e. 15th October was our first class where we would meet the administrative and faculty members and of course, the most important, the residents of the other huge building around 100 feet away from our hostel. We now call it as GH (abbreviated Girls Hostel).

Do I know you? Have we met at the pre-medical test center? Where are you from? May I have your number please?
These were some of the quite usual questions for a couple of days in the college among both the genders. Gradually, as MBBS started trying its strength over us, these questions subsided and gave way for new questions as Hey, whats fishy between them? Do you know she is committed to him? Are they really seeing each other? Do you feel he would be able to woo her?

I didn't, at that time, understand why everyone was in a damn hurry to impress the opposite gender. (And now when I have understood that, there's no use of knowing it).
During all this running over everywhere, studies were lost somewhere. But yes, we used to visit library almost everyday, just in case if someone from GH would pop up with a doubt in Anatomy in her small innocent mind. Of course those innocent, cute and studious chicks (who used to re-do their lip glosses every five minutes even in the library) had some doubts in Anatomy. But they used to get their doubts cleared only by the guys with the hardest and hottest anatomies. In due course of time, everyone was studying everyone's anatomy, leaving aside our Anatomy theory books.

I remember I once thought that medical college was not meant for me since I would never be able to fit into this frame of a juncture striving hard for everything (except studies). But yes, we started studying soon, since that was also a part of the very strategy to achieve our ultimate goal (any hot friend from the GH). Meanwhile, studies had found their importance, so did I. Just because of my so-called caring nature, Manu once spontaneously called me Bhaiya (meaning elder brother) and soon many of those who used to call me by my name earlier, started calling me Bhaiya, Big B, Abhi Bro etc. I enjoyed that feeling of being called so since I always wanted, beside my two very loving elder sisters, to have a brother over whom I could shower all my love and care like that I had received from my parents and elder sisters ever since I started understanding things. By a very short span of time, I had got many younger brothers who gave me love and respect and got, in turn, love and care from my side.

Life had started showing me the golden days it concealed in itself for me.....

The Present.....

Right now I am at home, enjoying my medical leave after being operated for a bad appendix, rather a VERY BAD appendix, as my professor-surgeon said to me just after stitching the contents of my body again into one. I experienced one of the most severe abdominal pains, as they say, for the very first and hopefully, the last time of my life. (I wonder how women bear child birth.) They have advised me to take rest, have a good sleep, walk for several times a day and not to lift weight or any such work that apparently increases intra-abdominal pressure.

I am religiously following all the precautions and advices since I have encountered this pain merely for my ignorance towards my own. Yes, I don't look after myself. I have always enjoyed taking care of others (though at the cost of my own joys, happiness and health). But yes, I have no regrets. And why should I? I always get huge satisfaction when I see myself being able to help someone because I think, rather I believe, that God doesn't give this ability of helping and caring for others to everyone. And if he shows me the path of doing good to anyone, its me who is actually blessed.

My pals say this tendency of mine is responsible for my ignorance towards the pain I was experiencing since one week prior to the surgery and that was the only thing rendering me in intense pain for two whole days and a night.

Well, why to talk of pain when there are other pleasant things to say about? 'Pain' has always been a part of life as salt is to food, can't do without it, can't bear much of it. So I hope we shall talk about the pleasant aspect of the present. The most exciting thing is that I am sleeping for around 12 hours a day after a long period of around 8 months when I was frequently bombarded with episodes of insomnia. I have never ever let tensions rule my head but sleeplessness, somehow, found its way in the form of examination anxiety, my sister's wedding, a friend's accident, the annual fest, Ganesh festival, Durga festival and so on. But still, Abhishek Bachhotiya is a happy man.

In my next post, I am going to write about my first day at college and hostel, of which I celebrated the 3rd anniversary on 14th October 2010. Giving rest to my fingers now isn't my own choice, but have to go since Mom is standing with a glass of milk near me and I don't want her to complain ever again to my professors that I don't eat well and that I don't give an ear to her advices on eating. Till then....

The Beginning....

I am starting off with the present, though the stories I am going to tell are, of course, from the recent as well as far past. But I hope my readers should first know who I am and why am I eager to share my stories.

First of all, let me have an opportunity to introduce myself in brief. Myself, Abhishek Bachhotiya, a medical student in the heart of India. It is only the third year of mine in the field of medicine, since I am studying in MBBS-III professional. But I have had experiences in my such a brief (and still continuing) college life, as many as one can observe and absorb. I am eager to express many of my big and small experiences for my friends and those who are yet to become my buddies. It is not that I am a superstar or something for which people would like to know and talk about me, but I have been sincerely loved by people some of whom, have now encouraged me to write about myself. I, being totally a beginner in the sphere of blogging, found it a bit energetic to write about things occurring around and those already occurred. I had always seen the logo of "Blogger.com" on many web pages but never thought I would once move writing in it. So my first heartfelt gratitude to my family, my pals and "Blogger.com".

As I proceed towards the main content of this blog,i.e. My College Stories, I thank everyone for being there in those events occurring to me. My College Stories is not solely my own stories, but OUR stories being narrated by me. 'Who all are included in my OURS?' would be subsequently revealed in my later writings. So here I have completed my run up and I am finally taking off the flight of My College Stories.....