Nammude Arogyam September 2017 | Page 70

Gähpw ck-I-c-amb " Sorry ' F¶ `mK-¯n amÀjn\v ]änb Hcp Aa-fnsb Ipdn¨v ]d-bp-¶p-ïv. CSXp -h-i-¯n-\p ]I-cw h-e-Xp-h -i-¯v ikv{X-{Inb sNbvX tijw Dïmb A_-² -s¯-¡p-dn¨v tcmKn-bpsS ap¼n Ip¼-km-c-¯n-s\ -¯nb tUmIvS-tdmSv interior designer IqSn Bb tcmKn ]dª adp-]Sn {it²-b- am-Wv: "I quite understand," he then said. "I put in fitted kitchens for a trade. I once put one in back to front. It's easily done. Just promise me you'll do the right side as soon as possible." Do No Harm þse Aneurysm F¶ `mK-¯nse Hcp hnh-cWw {i²n-¡mw. Once, when walking down the main theatre corridor, I had had a brief view through the small port-hole window of the neurosurgical theatre's door of a naked woman, anaesthetised, her head completely shaven, sitting bolt upright on a special operating table. An elderly and immensely tall neurosurgeon, his face hidden by a surgical face mask and a complicated headlight fixed to his head, was standing beside her. With enormous hands, he was painting her bare scalp with dark brown iodine antiseptic. CXv hmbn-¨m Hcp slmdÀ kn\n-a-bnse cwKw t]mse tXm¶p-¶ntà F¶v tUmIvSÀ Xs¶ tNmZn-¡p-¶p. sl\vdn amÀjnsâ cïm-as¯ ]pkvX-I-amb AUvan-j³kv (2017)  tPmen-bn \n¶pw hnc-an-¨ -tijw GsXms¡ taJ-e -I-fn {]hÀ¯n-¡m³ Xm¸-cy-s¸-Sp¶p F¶ -Xns\ Ipdn¨v {][m-\-ambpw ]d-bp-¶p-ïv. HmIvkvt^m -Unse {]IrXnca-Wo-b -amb Hcp {]tZ-i-¯nse XSm-I-¯n-¶-cn-In Hcp hoSv ]Wn-bp-¶Xpw t\¸m -fn DÅ kplr-¯n-t\m- sSm¸w {]mIvSokv sN¿p -¶Xpw Hcp kmln-Xy-Im-c sâ ]mS-h-t¯msS tUmIv SÀ Ah-X-cn-¸n-¡p-¶p. As death approaches, our sense of self can start to disintegrate. Some psychologists and philosophers maintain that this sense of self, of being coherent individuals free to make choices, is little more than a title page to the great musical score of our subconscious, a score with many obscure, often dissonant voices. Much of what we think of as real is a form of illusion, a consoling fairy story created by our brains to make sense of the myriad stimuli from inside and outside us, and of the unconscious mechanics and impulses of our brains. 70 \½p-sS B-tcm-Kyw | sk]v-äw_À 2017 AUvan-j-³knse amÀjnsâ Iaâpw ck-I-c-amWv: As I say to my juniors, when you make a stupid mistake, pick your patient carefully. sl\vdn amÀjnsâ \nco-iz-c-hmZw Hcp sNdn-b J-Þn-Ibn HXp-¡p-¶p-ïv. C¯cw Fgp¯v At±-l-¯nsâ sXfn_p²n-bpsS sXfnhpw IY-\-I-e-bpsS ssh`-hhpw hmb-\-¡mÀ¡v \ÂIp-¶p. .....I never believed in god, not even for a moment. At one morning service in Abbey I remember seeing the school bursar - a retired air commodore praying. He was kneeling opposite me on the other side of the gilded choir stalls. There was a look of the most terrible pain and pleading on his face. He disappeared from the school shortly afterwards and I heard later that he had died from cancer. Cu DZm-l-c-W-amWv amÀ-jns³d "tUmIvS-sd -gp¯n's\ hyXy-kvX-am-¡p -¶-Xv.