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United we fall, divided we stand

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A recent conversation with a close family member was disturbing. We were talking about how close friends, and even family members, sometimes avoid family celebrations because of perceived differences in the way they approach life, faith, or even the event itself.  As we spoke, I suddenly realized that I, too, hold on to some of these perceptions, though I usually do not act on them. Perhaps I do so to avoid confrontation. (I am a peace lover more than a peacemaker, most of the time!) I should not have been disturbed or surprised. This is the age in which we live. Divided we stand. At every level of society, we find leaders, whether in socio-political circles, religious contexts, communities, tribes, or language groups, drawing lines that separate people. Why do they do this? Often it is for perceived and desired ends that seem worthwhile, at least in the short term. Sometimes such divisions are even pursued with sincere intentions, though they may be built on incomplete perceptions...
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Worried about concerns

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I am worried. Well, not really worried, but concerned. If I do not ramble, I might end up being worried and anxious.  Just to clarify: Concern says, “This matters.” Worry says, “What if something goes wrong?” Anxiety says, “I feel overwhelmed by the possibility that something may go wrong.” The matter I am concerned about is my ramblings. I generally write because I am confused or wonder about what is happening out there, or about things I see and observe, and the challenge of reconciling my understanding with my response. You can read the why behind why I write here:   Why Do I Ramble? . If you do not want to read the blog, here is the summary, according to AI: “The author concludes that rambling is less about influencing others and more about honestly processing life, learning, and finding personal catharsis through the act of writing itself.” As shared above, I write when I am wondering or confused, or when I am in a state of cognitive dissonance. Cognitive dissonance is of...
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I am a Protestant

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We are living in an era of protests. History has shown us that protests do not belong only to the powerless. The powerless protest because they desire change; the powerful often protest because they fear it. One seeks transformation, the other seeks preservation. Whether protest leads to anything meaningful depends largely on why it happens and how it is expressed. Yet long before there were placards, petitions, hashtags, and demonstrations, there was something much more personal. Deep within every human heart lies the instinct to protest. In many ways, life itself is a long journey of protesting reality, whether that reality is experienced or simply perceived.  An infant enters the world with strong opinions and limited means of communication. Every inconvenience is met with a vigorous response. Milk is delayed. A protest follows. A nappy is changed. A protest follows. A nappy is not changed. The protest continues. Put down, picked up, too warm, too cold; all are considered le...
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The Child in Me

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This weekend was spent with a group of schoolmates whose friendship stretches back nearly five decades. We come from different backgrounds, faiths, professions, and political viewpoints, yet we are connected by six formative years together from the 5th to the 10th standard. What struck me was that our differences made very little difference to our relationships. It made me wonder why. Was it because we first met as children, before labels and loyalties became so important? Or was there something deeper? Our country today often seems marked by divisions, with differences amplified and conflicts nurtured, sometimes for the sake of influence and power. If we had wanted to, our group too could have found enough reasons to disagree. After all, five decades have given us plenty of time to collect opinions, convictions, and a few stubborn certainties. Yet that was not the point of our gathering. There was an unspoken agreement to enjoy one another's company, laugh at old stories, revisit ...
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I worry about worrying

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I worry about worrying. I worry when I am worrying, and I worry when I am not worrying. Before you reach for the phone to counsel me - or gently suggest that I see a counsellor - let me say this: this is exactly why I ramble.  Sometimes I need to place my confusing thoughts somewhere outside my head, preferably before they start holding a committee meeting inside it. Those of you who are non-worriers, please feel free to stop reading and move on to some more meaningful activity. Do not waste your calm and well-organised minds on this blog. Let me try to explain. I grew up like many middle-class children, without too many worries. My parents took care of my needs. I knew my wants - and certainly my greeds - could not always be met, because we did not have the resources for everything. But life was simpler then, and we learned to settle for what was given. So, in those early years, worry did not occupy much space. It had not yet been given a room in my head. Alongside this, I was tau...
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Another Day in Duncan

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Five years ago, I wrote a blog called  "A Day in Duncan".   It was a snapshot of the critically ill patients I encountered during a typical day in the hospital.  read it here If you revisit that post, you'll notice that many of those patients were battling non-communicable diseases, while the major infections were tuberculosis and HIV. The rest were a mix of drug-related complications (such as steroid dependence leading to hyponatraemia), trauma, and a few immunological disorders. Fast forward to a recent "Day at Duncan". Among roughly 50 patients admitted in the wards, more than 20 were critically ill. What stands out is that the disease landscape continues to evolve. We are seeing unusual infections more often, the familiar HIV and TB pairing but with increasingly complex complications, rising addictions, attempted suicides, growing mental health concerns, all layered on top of the ever-present burden of non-communicable diseases. Diseases, it seems, are becom...
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