In-between consultation periods with patients on a light day, I’d leave the consultation room with my jotter and pen, walk out to the veranda. My hospital was a 5-storey building on an elevated part of the city, and my medical business ended at the second floor normally.
Now I know it is not a most magical experience, but imagine how blessed a doctor feels to be able to wander up every veranda of that building, and finally stand on the topmost, a jotter or phone in hand, and writing obsessively as he looks over the whole city and men swimming in the stream of life.
This was the birth of my series of writing –From My Veranda.
I wrote at different periods of the day, from the different storeys, on different days (as the workload permitted). I have to say: these periods of writing were wonderful experiences for me, amidst the near-fun moments of consulting with patients. I lo…ved being a medical doctor, and I loved meeting with people and being able to help them with their physical and psychological ailments.
But, this other work committed into my soul; this other fire burning in my fingers (not to perform surgeries); this other brewing in my brain that makes me passion-crazy –
Is to paint out the unseen world with words, so that the seeing mortals can see and read, and acknowledge the reality of the supernatural; and recognize that it affects what they are and what they experience in this natural world.
It got so crazy that one morning, after my night shift, I left the hospital with a phone in my hand and typing as I walked on the road observing the people of that region, being different from where I live.
This is not borne out of a desire for fame. It is not borne out of a plan to leave medical practice and start generating income from writing.it is not borne out of a desperate desire to carve out a niche for myself as a versatile medical doctor, keeping in mind that I have so many other sides (refer to my “about” page and my nomination for one lovely blog award).
I have left that hospital today, but the writing has not stopped.
I have to do this. I have to do this. I have to do this.
The supernatural world is as a real as an unseen heart beating wildly under the thin skin of this present world.
Today, I also walk in this stream of life:
Amongst the crowd of men and women,
As they pour by and alongside me,
Carrying the weights and gains;
The stories and hopes;
Of their lives
So easily on their outward appearances;
And just swimming along.
Some to work;
Some from work;
Some others from night raves and vices;
Last others from and to nowhere.
A boy ahead with ear plugged to music maybe.
A woman smiles a greeting to a neighbour.
A market woman opens shop singing a prayer.
Groups of people sitting in different spots.
All seem oblivious to this crazy man.
Definitely none guessing he is a writer,
Typing furiously into his phone whilst walking on the road;
Eyes jerking between his phone and the street,
Head rolling awkwardly as he looks all around,
To ensure safety of himself and his phone,
Being a road.
It’s quiet this morning.
Everyone looks calm,
But carrying probably unspeakable noises.
Some truly calm.
Good morning, world.
The calm city poet is at it again.
While playing chess, as much as I can concentrate and block out outside noises, there is an inside noise now. This filtered through from the outside.
The noise of the splashings of the men swimming in the stream of life below.
It’s a lovely view from here, but a bit scary. I do not think it’s because of the height. I have sat over the roof-edge of our three-storey building at home once or twice. Now, I am only leaning on the balcony of the third -of five floors.
I am not one for the spotlight, I guess. I feel naked out here. I feel everyone is looking at me all at once, from the commercial van drivers to that young man-in-red pushing a car in the middle of the busy road. I feel like I am going to faint anytime. I feel like my phone is going to drop from my very cautious fingers. I feel like I am on the top of the world. (And not in a euphoric way this time.)
They don’t know what I am doing here. Many cannot even see me. Ignore my earlier anxious whining. They actually are NOT looking up. I am conspicuous here, but they don’t see me; and it’s only evening.
I know there are always the active and busy elements in this stream below me. Let me sample the idle ones. They should be able to consider their environment more accurately. For all they know, I could be a sniper with a gun aimed at anyone of them. And they would have absolutely no idea!
See the trio. Sitting on a bench are these young relaxed men. For a moment there, I thought THAT one was looking up at me. Then I see the lady who got his attention. They are the “scopists” I encountered in the “paraders and viewers” episode of this series.
I see! None appears to be indulging in any social vice. Wish I could climb higher and see more-secure spots.
I can see some houses in a distance. Some of the windows are open and the curtains drawn aside, but I can’t see what’s happening in the rooms.
Hope I won’t be sued for privacy infringement. Well, if you can’t sue a frotteur who masturbates rubbing against an unsuspecting lady at a busy station, then why and how would you sue a pair of innocent eyes who are gifted with insight and farsight! (NB: I am not longsighted on lenses!) I am just a curious observer, with my raffia-woven hat on, my gourd of palmwine by my side, lounging under my white shed; and observing the lives of men swimming in the stream of life flowing by me.
I have seen many seemingly idle ones, and none just seems to have noticed me.
How shortsighted we are!
Sometimes events happen around us, and we don’t even take notice. We don’t read our immediate environments well. We are blind to things happening in the society. We are oblivious to the lives of those dear to us. And we are completely ignorant of the unseen world which beats very loudly beneath the very thin ribcage of this world. A body that has been worn out and gaunt; by the effects of decadence, and times and seasons gone by in this world system. So much so, that the pulsation of the supernatural is so evident.
And even funnier is the fact that we are totally unaware of the next second (time) ahead of us!