Call Us : (+91) 0755 4096900-06 - Mail :

Rakesh Kumar Shrivastava : Blogs


I got a Motor Bike

Baba wrote the first comment in one of my books ever written by him; when I was to embark on the longest journey of my life, joining medical school. By then I had acquired a bit of intelligence to understand the life in broader perspectives. He scribed in his cursive British style hand writing in my first book of Medical Science; Gray’s Anatomy; “Create an idealized image of yourself, and try to resemble it (Nikos Kazin Zakis: a Persian Philosopher).”

It was my beginning to understand his approach to life that influenced me to admire him for living with casual strides taking every day and its challenges without toiling hard on my nerves and emotions with ease and comfort. He never proffered any advice to me nor tried to influence my decisions in life but stood by me in every situation.

He had his unique ways to communicate his thinking and perceptions of a situation or any of my decisions.

When I was in my school studying for secondary level, I came to Bhopal in summer vacation. One evening, I didn’t notice him coming in his official car and kept on puffing my cigarette with my local friends at Peer Gate Square. When I returned home in night, he didn’t react, on the contrary we enjoyed supper chatting and laughing.

Next morning, when he was ready to go to his office, he asked my grandmother to increase my pocket money and called me and told in a calm voice,” nothing is wrong in smoking or drinking, but be sure that it is of good quality.”

It was his way of reacting to my activities leaving the fine subtleties to my own discretion. He was taking parenting to different dimensions than he took to his son; my father, as a strict disciplinarian father with a stick in hand.

Baba’s childhood friend, Hazari Chacha, was diagnosed to have Hyperplasia of Prostrate with strong suspicion of its being malignant in pathology. The local surgeon in Bhopal decided to remove it by supra- pubic resection. Learning that he is suffering with cancer, Hazari Chacha said good bye to everyone in his family and friends, and took a train to New Delhi. There were number of volunteers to accompany him but he declined all the offers.

My hostel room was never locked. Once when the adjacent room in hostel was vacated by a senior, I called a mason to demolish the parting wall. Now my hostel room was twice the size of other rooms. My director took great offence but to no avail. Since, it was the common recreation room of all the students of that hostel block, there was no question of erecting the parting wall once again.

So, Hazari Chacha was found in my room one fine morning, already washed and fed from hostel mess when he informed the hostel mates that he was my uncle. After learning about his problem, I took him to our professor of Urology, who removed his enlarged benign prostrate by TURP the next day. We kept him in surgical ICU for couple of days for intra- bladder irrigation and later shifted him to our students ward.

Every medical institute has a special medical ward where medical students cum patients are admitted for treatment of their real or faked diseases in isolation from general patients in the hospital and to prevent them from breaking the myth of decency associated with medical profession in the perceptions of patients by their idiosyncratic behavior.

There they are allowed to take their daily dose of Rum or Whisky or any liquor of their choice irrespective of the type of disease and its treatment. They could play Flash here while munching on lamb kebabs and roasted chicken legs. Here, they are free to flirt with willing nurses, if girl friends are not available.

Most of unmarried nurses happily prefer this duty in a hope by experience of others to hook an eligible bachelor medico to tie the nuptial knot, thereby settling in life.

Many young doctors became fathers first and then married the prospective mothers of their progeny. Some of the sordid saga of love and compulsion are witnessed by this ward. The stories of betrayed affairs are in plenty. But the ward is also witness of many stories of blooming love and blossoming families.

Consultant professors are not supposed to visit this ward under an unwritten agreement. One Senior Medical Resident is appointed to look after medicines and disease without interfering in daily routines of his charge de affair. The Resident on duty is not supposed to break the rules of this ward. After all, it’s his ward also in case of real or faked sickness. The ward is always chaotic in nature, but full of fun and laughter on weirdly indigenous and indecorous jokes. And fortunately, nobody dies here of diseases.

Keeping Chacha in this ward was a risk in itself, but it was my best bet to solve my problem of attending to his incessant demands. And juniors in medical institutes are best servants.

On his safe return to Bhopal, Chacha approached my grand -father with a grim face. He advised him to take control of me before I slip out of the family control. He had been live witness that I was always surrounded by young girls, and that I was wasting my precious youth on swarthy nurses.

With a twinkle in his eyes, my grand-father thanked him profusely with an unexpected comment that left Hazari Chacha bewildered. “I was always worrying about the important gender characteristic of that stupid boy, because I never ever heard of his involvement with any girl. You made me somewhat a relieved man. I only hope that he is in company of good girls from healthy family backgrounds.” Chacha looked at his face with disbelief and astonishment and rose to leave. And Baba packed his bag to board the next train to New Delhi.

Baba’s arrival was not a surprise for me; he would often come to me after his retirement from services whenever he felt for his deceased son; my father. But I became a little apprehensive when he asked me to take a day’s off from my duty.

There were number of fathers of prospective brides were visiting him almost every day. Some of them had even approached me directly. And marriage was the last thing to occur in my wildest of dreams. After all I was a free bird enjoying my freedom away from the piercing eyes and constant vigil of my grand-mother and gossiping neighbors.

However, when we were moving out of the campus in a taxi, he casually asked me how I manage to go for outings. I replied, ‘becoming a pillion rider of a friend on motor bike or scooter, taxi if I can afford, or by bus.”

“Why don’t you buy a small car?” I was aghast.

Not even a senior of mine had a car except one filthy rich Ramesh Kapoor. And why I was offered with such a costly bribe. My apprehensions were obvious.

And having a car in hostel was too embarrassing for me. I will become a center of jealous attraction and a butt of jokes.

No, not a car, I replied. Than what about buying a scooter? I replied in affirmative.

Finally he suggested for a motor bike. And we reached the showroom and selected the color and model with all the necessary accessories to be delivered in couple of hours.

He paid the amount asking to prepare the necessary papers until we take our lunch in a hotel. There he ordered as usual his lavish lunch. He asked me if I would like to settle for a beer.

It was too much of appeasement for me. I declined with polite. But my apprehensions kept on growing.

While returning in evening on my newly acquired motor bike, he commented that scooter is too feminine while motor bike is dashing. Moreover, it has a common seat for rider and pillion rider, if a pretty girl is the pillion rider instead of an old man like him, it might be a pleasure.

I thought my worst dream coming true. But nothing as expected came out to my relief.

But his forecast was going to be proven right on more than one occasion. From that month onwards, my pocket money increased to a considerable amount despite my getting my healthy remuneration as Resident. I was a rich person.

And Baba left for Bhopal after two days without any of my apprehensions coming to leave me a worried man. Indeed, he never talked to me about my marriage but always reposed a faith in my discretion that I may leave the matter to their decision or I might take my own with simple expectation of family values in the girl whom I marry.

Only my Grandmother used to tell me whenever she got the opportunity in asking tone that my father got married when he was just a houseman after graduation. And every time I used to reply, “Dadi! He might not have made any girlfriend. Time is changed. I’m searching a decent daughter-in-law for you. There are so many girls to scan before bringing one for you. Anyway, just now I’m too young to marry and get settled with one woman.” And my Grandmother always rebuked me saying that her son was obedient and of high morality and wasn’t shameless brat like me. And I always used to assure her that I will marry the girl that she will approve; a promise I couldn’t keep.

After leaving Baba on train to Bhopal, I returned to my hostel room.

There was a piece of paper on my study table peeping from the corner of one my text book having a message, “that now you are mature and educated enough to understand the worldly wisdom. Do what you like with pride and confidence assuring that you do not offend the sentiments and sensibilities of others by your work or deeds. And we are always there with you in your every decision in life expecting it doesn’t hurt a single soul.” It was the hand writing of Baba.

Baba and I had simplicity in our relations. We had unrestrained affection for each other with necessary element of behavioral discipline. Baba had his unique yet unoffending ways to communicate his feelings and his likes and dislikes; I had my own ubiquitous ways to react in positive or negative maintaining a semblance in words and behavior. Baba was reliving his life and time of rearing his only son amending or adding whatever he felt could have been missed then. I presume I do not miss my father or mother must be in his subconscious that had made him more congenial and friendly.

His grooming me inspired my art of living that despite emotionally affected, I do remain aloof and unexpressive most of the time. Fearlessly challenging with nerves of steel, he made me a core competitor in any adversity without losing the basic human touch. He affected my psyche and behavior in such a way that I am loved and admired with awe and reverence by the same people at the same time.

Bemused, I look retrospectively at my life now I see plethora of contrasts. A young man trained in adventurous and dangerous sports turned a healer. A young man immune from delicate emotions with a play boy attitude turned a caring and protective father and a husband. A young man, always ready to take a plunge in the turbulent waters, feel comfortable in close confine of his house, in the company of his kids and in the arms of his most loving wife.

Now my world consists of some sweet old memories, my kids, my wife and my friends that we all want to cherish for life. And apart from my professional commitments that keep me busy to enjoy the free moments that come in scanty, I enjoy my home ambience.

(Excerpts from the “Confessions of a Certified Idiot”)

Post your comment


About The Author


Rakesh Kumar Shrivastava


Madhya Pradesh ,  INDIA

My profile can be writeen on the reverse of of a revenue stamp (borrowing from Khushbant Singh on Amrita Pritam).

I am a medical professional studied, practiced and taught medicine in India and USA.

Presently, working as a Consultant in Advanced Medicine in Bhopal ( India)

Like reading and writing (ocassionally).

Dr. Rakesh Kumar Shrivastava


E-2/ 265, Arera Colony, Bhopal - 462016

Telephone : 0755- 4249973, 4249982

Mobile : +919893054254


View More 


Recent Blogs By Author