To Afterlife and Back: Tales from the Operating Table

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To Afterlife and Back: Tales from the Operating Table

Illustration: Sushant Ahire

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verything was a little different in my house. Where my friends had their dollhouses, skateboards and teddy bears, I had my father’s blunt scalpels, empty syringes, and stethoscopes. When my friends came over to play, I’d be the surgeon and they the ones in need of having their brains reattached to their bodies after a road accident. My mother realised that my fascination with my father’s profession bordered on the obsessive, when she found me playing a game of pregnant lady with a guy friend of mine (obviously, he was pregnant and I was the one administering the C-section). It was then that my parents decided it was time to deglamourise surgery.

I sat across the table from my father, who asked me, very matter of fact, why I liked surgeries so much. I told him I just wanted to see as many internal organs as possible. At which point he looked at me as if I’d just said I wanted to be Hannibal Lecter when I grew up.

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