The alarm buzzed at 5:30 Am, but of course, aradhya had already been awake for last 15 minutes. Lying in bed, already dreading the day (nhi uthna, wo bhi when she already knows that her day is going to be mixture of running in hospital like a headless chicken and listening to consultant's rants how they don't work hard enough, how they don't deserve to be there and how they had it easy compared to them- ughhhhh already rona aa raha h😭).
The room was still dark, air slightly chilly after last day's rain and her scrubs were lying in a crumpled pile on the chair from last night- or rather, early evening.
Coffee in one hand, phone in another and with her trademark messy bun and nude pink lipstick (kyuki meltdown kitna bhi ho raha ho lipstick perfect honi chahiye), she stared at herself in mirror: Dark circles- itne ki no concealer can hide them, hope-questionable, confidence- barely surviving.
((because no matter how big the meltdown is, the lipstick has to be perfect))
By 6:45, she was at the hospital, ID badge clipped to her scrubs, stethoscope slung like a warrior's sword, and a mental list of admitted patient's ongoing treatment (kyuki rounds me kbhi bhi unexpected viva ho sakta h so she needs to be prepared if she wants to save her thodi bohot bachi-khuchi izzat).
((because an unexpected viva can happen anytime during rounds, so she needs to be prepared, if she wants to save whatever little dignity she has left)).
Her shoes made soft squeaky sounds on the corridor tiles as she walked past sleeping attenders,a cleaner humming softly, and an intern who looked like he is five minutes away from dozing off.
7:45 AM-Morning rounds
Why do you look like you wrestled with somebody and lost? asked Dr Amit, the senior resident, with his usual smirk.
Aradhya rolled her eyes.Because I did. Spiritually.
He laughed, flipping through a file. You're presenting bed no. 12, right?
Do I have a choice and also he's a talker, he thinks I'am his granddaughter or something, poori life story bata di unhone apni with family tree and relatives gossip in 10 minutes and called me beta and asked me if I had eaten or I want some homemade lauki ki sabji his son is bringing for lunch. I told him I had breakfast before coming. I lied. (Subah paach baje uth kr aadmi hospital time se aa jaye wo kafi nhi h)
((Do I even have a choice? And he's such a talker- he thinks I'm his granddaughter or something. In ten minutes, he told me his entire life story, complete with family tree and relatives' gossip, called me beta, and asked if I'd eaten or if I wanted some homemade bottle guard curry his son is bringing for lunch. I told him I'd had breakfast before coming. I lied. (Like, getting up at five in the morning, coming to the hospital on time, apparently that's not enough.))
He chuckled- He likes you and trusts you, That a good thing. Would help you in your long case.
She gave him a mock salute, suppressing a yawn.
Dr Amit and Dr Swara were tough, but not unkind- exactly the kind of seniors you need when you want to learn but also to hold you when you're one pulse rate away from breakdown.
9:15 AM – Consultant's Rounds
Enter: Dr. Sharma, the head of medicine
With his expression set to "permanently unimpressed" and footsteps that echoed a storm cloud wrapped in an apron.He glanced around the ward like he was already disappointed in everyone's existence.
Postgraduates. Update? Any new admissions last night? Dr Sharma's voice cut through the air like a knife.
Aradhya took a breath , and stepped forward, nerves already firing off. "Yes Sir, 60-year-old male came in with—"
"Straight to the point, Dr. Choudhary. I asked for the case, skip the poetry."
Of course. No intros, no stories. Just pure, clinical facts. She bit back the sarcasm burning in her throat. She wanted to say that if I manage to write a poetry toh aapko sunna kr waste thode karungi sir, but instead she recalibrated and presented the case with all the precision she could muster, but Dr. Sharma had a way of turning even best efforts into question marks and still found ways to interrupt.
(She wanted to say that if I manage to write a poem, why would I waste it on you).
"And what exactly was your differential, Doctor?"He Pressed.
"Sir, considering his presentation—"
"You're missing something important. Anyone else?"
Aradhya clenched her pen just a little harder. She knew the answer. She knew it. But under that gaze, her brain had turned into khichdi.
Amit chimed in with a calm tone, stepping in to back her up. Dr. Sharma barely nodded and moved on without another glance.
Behind the consultant's back, Swara gave her a subtle thumbs-up, It's ok. Inke roz ka scene h ye, stress mat kr.
((It's okay. This is his daily scene, don't stress.))
11:00 AM – Canteen break(a.k.a Venting hour)
Canteen break: the most important and only peaceful twenty minutes of the day. The only therapy PGs could afford.
Aradhya sat at their usual table sipping coffee with Reva and harshit, the other two PGs in her unit. They were halfway through their samosas, which tasted nothing like what a samosa should taste like.
"I swear, Dr. Sharms wakes up and chooses passive aggression ," Reva muttered, slumped on a chair.
" You misunderstood, he doesn't choose it. He is it,"Aanya offered dramatically, eyes wide. It feels as if hum logo ne subah ja kr unki coffee me nimbu daal Diya ho.
((It feels as if we had put lemon in his coffee this morning.))
"Wow.Analogy 🫡," harshit deadpanned. "Maybe that's what you should've said during rounds."
At least he remembers your name.I'm still 'that tall guy, jisse x-ray konse side se dekhte h wo bhi nhi pata".
((who doesn't even know which side to view an X-ray from)).
They laughed. They always laughed- even when everything felt overwhelming. Somehow, these little jokes, sarcasm, missed meals, exhaustion after just two-hour night sleep, created a strange comfort. They were in it together-cranky first year PGs, never ending machar and paani wali coffee.
3:30 PM – Ward Duties
Aradhya was knee- deep in discharge summaries, trying to decipher handwriting that looked like an ECG rhythm gone rogue. (Matlab theek h, doctor's ki handwriting buri hoti hai- but itni?🙂) She squinted at the scrawl, half-convinced she'd need a cryptographer, when Dr. Amit and Dr. Swara passed by.
((Well, okay, doctors' handwriting is usually bad- but this bad? 🙂))
"You're still here?" Amit asked, raising a brow.
Without looking up, Aradhya muttered, "I'm thinking of changing my address to this ward."
Swara tilted her head. "You've eaten?"
Aradhya blinked. "Does leftover coffee count?"
Amit gave her a pointed look. "Come. Canteen's got that overly dry poha. We'll even let you rant about your existential crisis."
She chuckled, finally setting the file aside. "Deal."
They walked together towards the canteen, steps unhurried. Outside the ward, the fluorescent harshness dimmed, and they all became a little more human.
"I miss my ten-hour sleep," Aradhya blurted suddenly.
Swara smiled. "I miss my sanity."
"I think I left mine somewhere between OPD and this morning's sarcasm apocalypse," Aradhya added, deadpan.
At the canteen, the three sat around a table, food lying untouched for a while. Silence lingered before Aradhya sighed. "You ever feel like you're not doing enough? Like no matter how hard you work, you're still....behind?"
Amit paused before answering. "All the time. But you don't have to outrun everyone. Just show up, every single day, even when you don't feel like it. That's enough. And also- don't take anything anyone says at hospital to heart. Key to surviving postgraduate life."
Aradhya studied him, lips twitching. "That's uncharacteristically deep. Who hurt you?"
Without missing a beat, Amit deadpanned, "Dr. Sharma k alawa kisi aur ki zarurat hai?"🫠
(("Do we need anyone else if Dr. Sharma is there?"🫠))
7:00 PM – Done. Almost.
She handed over the last file and signed out. She was done. Already dreaming about red pasta and sleep.
Just as she stepped out, her junior called in a panic.
"Boss, I forgot to check that potassium report for bed 7 and now—"
"I'm coming," Aradhya said, without thinking.
She turned back, shoulders drooping, thinking gaya mera pasta, but still showing up.
11:00 PM – Her flat,Finally
She tossed her bag on the chair and collapsed on her bed fully clothed, shoes still on,too tired to even plug her phone to charger.
A ping sounded.
A message from Swara:"You survived. Gold star."
A small, sleepy smile formed on her lips.
No dramatic heroics. No thrilling save-the-day moment.
Just another long,tiring ,emotionally draining day of existing. Learning. Fumbling. Showing up.
A mundane day in medicine, maybe.
But in those sarcastic exchanges, tired smiles, seniors ki gaali and rare kindnesses.....something felt warm
She felt- slowly, quietly she belonged.
-1.5k words
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