I was barely six, when my grandpa suffered a massive heart attack. And if someone asks me to narrate an awful incident from my childhood, I will promptly try to make this story dance in their eyes. But when someone (which is seldom) asks me to narrate an incident that made my heart bounce with happiness, I will tattoo the picture of my grandpa smiling, after recovering from the very same predicament, to their gleaming retinas. The only author of that happy memory, as I now realize, is the doctor who treated him.  

This world is right now a swirling hell of molten lava and the amount of effort and time that's been invested into relieving the condition is immense. Doctors who have, right now, left the pleasure of being with their families and teaching their children numbers and alphabet, are the whole and sole heroes of the troubled condition we are all going through.

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 We've failed to realize that doctors are as human as we're. They are prone to all the ill effects of the virus just like we are. When this microscopic organism is causing a chaos and making us follow so many precautionary measures, our real heroes are out there, writing happy poems (most of the times) to the diseased through their dedication. They've risked themselves for our well being. 

So this is an encomium to the warriors who are stuffed in PPEs while we at least have the freedom to breathe in fresh air. Let us be grateful to them and  support them in all possible ways.

Vaidyo Narayano Hari.