THE SURGEON’S SYMPHONY
The pre-dawn light filtered through Mohan's blinds, a silent alarm that never failed him. He rose with a practiced ease, the symphony of a gurgling coffee pot his morning overture. The strong brew was his fuel, a jolt to kickstart the day before the real battles began.
Mohan wasn't your average soldier. He wielded a scalpel, not a sword, his battlefield the sterile expanse of the operation theatre. A gifted surgeon, his days were meticulously planned. He'd scan his schedule, a general strategizing the day's campaign. Every surgery was a meticulously choreographed dance, each step precise, each movement measured. The pressure, a constant hum, fueled his focus.
Breakfast, a fuel stop more than a leisurely affair, was usually a protein bar inhaled on the run. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was a sanctuary – the gym. There, he pummeled the stress into submission, each rep a release, each drop of sweat a cleansing purge. A fresh shower washed away the remnants of war, leaving him strangely energized. The clanging of temple bells, a familiar comfort on some days, soothed his soul before he dived back into the whirlwind of OPD consultations.
Lunch was a fleeting affair, a healthy salad devoured between consultations. But his day wasn't complete without a stolen moment with his daughter, Vrinda. He'd weave fantastical stories during playtime, her laughter his sweetest reward. Back to the clinic, the rhythm of diagnoses and prescriptions filled the afternoon.
Dinner, a family obligation, often found him alone at their favorite restaurant, savoring the familiar flavors but missing the warmth of companionship. It was a stark contrast to the symphony of his day – a quiet solo amidst the crescendo.
Sleep, however, was a fickle friend. Insomnia, his unwelcome companion, often stretched late into the night. To lull his mind, he'd turn to poetry, the soulful strains of Urdu Shaayri resonating with his deepest yearnings. Sometimes, hymns would replace the verses, the ethereal melody a balm to his restless soul.
Mohan's life was a well-oiled machine, efficient and predictable. Yet, a silent yearning thrummed beneath the surface – a longing for a love as deep, as fulfilling as the sleep that eluded him. He craved a partner, a confidante, someone to share the quiet moments after the symphony ended, someone to fill the space beside him at that lonely table for two. Perhaps, one day, the rhythm of his life would find a new melody, a harmony that soothed not just his mind, but his heart as well.
