Bharit, Bhakris and the Fire Within

“Stop this vomiting,” she said firmly, her voice steady enough to make even the nurse stop fidgeting with the clipboard. “Ease the pain a little. Once I gather some strength, I’ll take you to my village. You’ll sit on the mud floor, eating from banana leaves. Hot jowar bhakris, fresh off the chullah, with just … Read the essay

Walking With Vitthal

Pandurang (name changed) is not a guru. He doesn’t stand on a stage, preaching to thousands. He isn’t a YouTuber making millions from daily wisdom. He hasn’t written books, nor made money from his teachings. He is a daily wage laborer from a village near Hinganghat, a 73-year-old man who never went beyond primary school. … Read the essay

Of Kachha Chiwda and Aloo Bonda

Don’t forget to eat that 𝑎𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑜 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑎,” he said again, his voice steady now. “I will,” I replied with a smile, stepping away. Only a week earlier, his son had wheeled him into the hospital OPD, visibly anxious. A driver in our hospital, his face betrayed his helplessness as he pushed the wheelchair into my … Read the essay

The Silent Surrender

In our quiet ward, a son softly asked, “Can I take my mother home?” Usually, such requests mean relief. Patients leave with hope, their struggles behind them. Grateful families thank the doctors, smiling. It feels like a victory. But this time, there was no joy. No happiness. His question wasn’t about hope—it was about saying … Read the essay