Witty Bean

It's not Thanksgiving day and therefore expressing gratitude on social media is banned or worse, "uncool".But I'm going to do it, anyway. After dropping off the kids at school with my shirt, inside out the whole time and almost waving at somebody who wasn't waving at me, I'm sort of on a roll don't you think? Riding the dork wave here! Anyway, here are a few things I am so grateful for. Not an exhaustive list, by any means. 1. A good lipstick.  2. Wet wipes. God's own gift to harried moms with snotty kids and everything else. 3. Coffee. An endless supply of foamy coffee. I have dreams occasionally about drinking coffee, which is how addicted I am. 4. A battery pack, for when your phone runs out of juice. Now if only they made one for humans. Imagine that!  5. Angels in disguise (AID, patent pending). These pure souls are everywhere if you know how to look for them. It could be the nice old lady in front of you at the story or your son's tea

Nostalgia. That word takes you back, months, years to a different century. Sepia toned and fuzzy at the edges. A wonderland filled with memories and the joys associated with those memories.The sounds of childhood summers and rain drenched afternoons. Road Trips with friends and school trips to the zoo. The smell of your mom as she snuggles you to sleep. Lazy Sunday mornings and the scent of cotton candy. Your favorite singer crooning his easy song. Summer romances and matinee shows. You close your eyes and wish hard, so hard to be back there in that magical place where you're still young and carefree. Nostalgia is very forgiving. The pain, the heartbreaks, and the tears are masked by fluffy, shiny reminiscences of an uncomplicated time.  And that's pretty understandable. Your brain wants you to remember only the good parts. Why be a downer and make you relive the gloomy stuff.  I take it one step further. I get nostalgic for times I don't even have a clear memory o

It was late 2002.I was in my second year of MBBS, and pretty new to clinical rotations. I loved the patient encounters and was pretty good at eliciting a solid history. Patients usually liked me or tolerated me with some amusement (my conversational Marathi was pretty awful back then).  We were almost finished with our internal medicine rotation and the only thing between us and a 3-day weekend was the practical exam. I had prepped hard and was confident that this test was mine to ace. The morning of the exam, we reached the ward and our professor/examiner walked in. Our collective smiles evaporated in a quick instant. This professor was new to our College but had quickly gained a reputation for being a total hardass. He delighted in humiliating interns and students, and the general response to seeing him was to scurry away in the opposite direction.  So here we were, fresh-faced and wobbly, weakly supported by our frail 18-month medical knowledge. Some of us still quivere

I grew up in a tiny city, on the west coast of India called Bombay. I was a surprise baby - a happy surprise, my mom insists. She raised me in a warm cocoon of love and laughter, with my grandparents helping out when she needed them to step in.My dad did his best when he was around, which wasn't too much because he worked for an airline. Even with a full-time job, she tutored me and helped me with school projects. An accomplished chef, she made sure I ate a reasonable balance of healthy and junk foods. She joked with me and cried with me and essentially was the epitome of selfless and unconditional love. She was (is) a cheerful soul, taking life's blows and brickbats with a smile, and she never ever dumped any of her baggage on us. She made it look so easy- my sister and I grew up thinking that motherhood was just a casual phase of life. Easy as pie.  I was proven so terribly wrong after the birth of my son. I was reeling from postpartum depression and an especially diffic