Memoirs of a Sinner

By Allah Rakkha

Memoirs of a Sinner is the firsthand account of major impacts and various incidents people have had with the author since his childhood. It details the pithy teachings of various happenings, subtle and mundane, that have shaped his life so far.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Apr 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503504233

Allah Rakkha

Dr. Sharma is an Indian with an MD in pathology and is presently employed with the Ministry of Health of Saudi Arabia at Regional Laboratory, Najran, KSA. He has also written an academic book with Jaypee publishers in New Delhi. Memoirs of a Sinner is his first nontechnical book.

Book preview

My Definition of Sin

A s I understand, any action that breeds guilt is sin. I don’t agree that sins are to be defined according to some rules laid down by religions. In this definition of mine, I include the interpretation and reactions that follow some actions.

I am not referring to the ethics as all of us have different personal standards for ourselves.

The reader may find some objectionable statements in the write-up. This is so because I have described oft-stated virtues, like sensitivity and love for one’s teachers, beyond a certain limit as erroneous zones in one’s psyche. The reasons for such unorthodox statements are galore. The primal being that getting and remaining hurt while dealing with oneself or the world on a daily basis is always going to be counterproductive. It is like ingesting poison to kill one’s intestinal parasite.

In the memoirs that follow, there have been very few serpents. Most of them were ropes that I mistook as otherwise. There were also the instances when I suffered myself real hard just because I was not able to put the bad times behind me. I simply won’t budge from a seemingly never-ending orgy with myself and move forward. Long trails of self-blame and misery and more misery.

I end the book with remarks on the one sin which, if one can avoid, one can be saved from the effects of all others.

The art ultimately is long and time is short. So let’s draw blood.

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CHAPTER 1

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The Eternal Transience

H ailing from a Brahmin family of North India, studying has been my primary business. What else could have I done? Being a doctor or an engineer were the only two options. I had to make it or be broken. I succeeded to be a doctor, literally speaking. Today whether I’m true to my definition of a doctor—a healer—or no, some answers I will never get! I staunchly believe that no one has ever healed another human being besides his own self. In this noble cause, I keep failing day in and day out.

My fondest memories from the bygone days are those of Lucy. I can still feel the warmth of her belly in my lap. On the sultry summer evenings, I would bathe her—a monthly ritual she loved. And on my coming back from school, it was my foremost responsibility to share lunch with her. Such a cute pup!

Yes, Lucy was the first pet I kept—a milk-white Alsatian she-dog.

My first disease—obesity—had started to show. Besides a few shuttle games a week, I have never been an athlete. Combined with long sittings of studies, my overgrowing and ever-hungry teenaged body was starting to bulge at wrong places. What surprises me today upon reflection is the fact that Lucy never seemed to bulge at seams though her eating sprees were as frequent and heavy as mine. She was as proportionate as ever. Really! Has anyone ever seen a deer, a sparrow, or even a tiger suffering from obesity? Humans seem to be the only living beings suffering from this affliction.

Lucy was still an infant when my brother brought her from a vet friend of his. While sleeping she would utter moans—painful cries.

‘She is remembering painful memories from her past life,’ my mother said.

‘She is missing her mother,’ my sister said.

Whatever those moans meant, my love for Lucy grew from strength to strength. She was so innocent. With her level of cognition too, she knew the value of memories. Although life’s twists, turns, and beatings were alien to her, she was learning thick and fast. Her overt love for our family, fed by her dependence for food, shelter, or security, made her grow fonder and fonder to all of us. It was my first encounter with love. Like a cool shower on dried soil, the hothouse flower that blossomed in my heart was going to teach me much beyond life itself.

Whenever I returned home after a few hours of absence, Lucy would go crazy. She would lick me all over, jump over the sofas, or else just coyly wag her tail.

She was an epitome of enlightenment for me. No complaints and no explanations. And no demands too. Surely I was attached to her.

At school and also at weekly prayer hours, I was being taught the importance of detached living. That it is deleterious for one’s peace of mind to shatter one’s ego boundaries and love unconditionally anything or anybody. My heart was telling me to do exactly the opposite. The conflict was building slowly but strongly. I was also being taught that as a human, I am weak. That to sin is human. And I was in a continuous process of sinning by getting deeply emotional with Lucy. It may have been human to err this way, but it surely made me feel wonderful.

I distinctly remember the summer of 1984 when just a week after Operation Blue Star in the Indian state of Punjab, I noticed Lucy trying to vomit. Those days she had been eating less too. Slowly she became lethargic and denied eating anything offered to her. I took her to a veterinary doctor, and he declared what was the realization of