Author Archives: Dr Swati A Gadgil

About Dr Swati A Gadgil

Anaesthesiologist , practising since last 30 yrs in Mumbai and medico legal advisor. Counsellor for Children at Puberty , Parenting , Stress Management , Motivation and Peace MBBS DA LLM Postgraduate in Human Rights Postgraduate in Hospital management Founder President of NGO, Dombivli Women's Welfare Society and it's youth wing NayaSavera Published three books of poetry Columnist and writes on various topics like Stress Management Appointed by Times of India as Consultant for their NIE Newspaper In Education Program Recognised by Medical associations and Rotary Speaker and panelists on Tele media, print media and National and International conferences Taekwondo Red Belt

Pile of Words

Do I write to escape
or do I escape to write
Is pen my strength ?
or just a weapon
to fight ?
lonliness creeping around
vaccum sucking me down ,
so I create a pile of words
to climb out of the well
and not reach the hell ,
A meaningless rattle
to fight my battle ,
empty mind
blank heart
with punctured chambers
All having thick sludge
nothing is red
neither it is blue ,
coffins in white
and that’s the clue ….
all that begins
has to end ,
seven colours
and rainbow bent ,
There is no escape
escape you cannot ,
whether you write
or you may not ….
Jargon of words
or poetry it is ,
Expression is white
albeit blank it is ……
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .


swarming together mindless
across the skies boundless
miles across continents
is it hunger or daftness ?
for the farmers to brave
crops turning in to graves
sense of foreboding
amongst settled enclaves ,
am I talking of locusts
or humanity lost ?
aren’t we worse
abusive cruel and crossed ,
robbing everything around
not just crops on the ground
we dig under
and we cut abound ,
not after years but
day in and out
insensitive are we
the skies we rout ,
and the rivers the sea
also the mountains so high
for self absorbed us
they are just wealth to amplify !
Thank God , He was wise
He did not gift us wings
else avarice in guise
would zoom across in rings …..
locusts swarm
and they disappear
but unfortunately , we are here
to stay forever ……
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .


I do not know how to live ,
I do not know how to love ,
I do not know how to cry ,
I have forgotten how to laugh ,
I know not who am I ,
I am boxed up , I am holed up ,
‘ Closed for the Day ‘ ……
clueless about time ,
clueless about day ,
I am frozen and still
sitting by the bay ,
When the Sun will shine
and melt me away ,
you will find a puddle
much to your dismay ,
now if you say dndndndnd
there will be no one to address ,
I am boxed up , I am holed up ,
‘ Closed for the Day ‘ ……
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .


My poetry is naive …
she is sometimes brave
sometimes nascent
and mostly an enclave ,
of emotions deep
of piercing pain
which I get in heaps
of high octane ,
the bruises of past
and brunt of the cuts ,
unpleasant things
under the carpet tucked ,
unearthed by storm
threadbare and torn ,
loads of it
mourning on my paper ,
life is waning
no worries Oh Gautier ,
moments and days and weeks
drift by
I do not question
my mast is high ,
though frozen in pain
the flowers bloom
pink lotus in the lake
tells me it’s not doom ,
am I a self healing polymer ?
whom do I believe my dear ….
the lotus , or the sting
of the bee flitting around ,
or the words of my poem
which are bursting profound ,
comfort or discomfort
love or hate
if I don’t flow in poetry
it sure is a checkmate …..
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .

Irani Cafe

Tables quietly huddled
along the inside wall
the shutters were half down
and boys on a crawl ,
thin legs sticking out
in sets of four
with chairs upside down
clear off the floor ,
a small boy half clad
clambering under ,
his back taking the curves
implausible , I wonder !
of the legs carved beautiful
brown and shiny
heavy on top
but pointed and tiny ,
European bentwood
hitting the chequered floor
reflection in the mirrored wall
of the old Zoroastrian at the door ,
watching the scrawny little boy
mopping with his might
stretching his arms long
winding around tight ,
the tables with marble top
and the small butter blob
which the small boy and his dad
had dropped down plop ,
aroma of crusty bruns
brown and buttered
thick milky tea and white cups
through the day clattered ,
feet shuffling by
from sunrise to sundown
the Parsi old man watched
under his round cap crown ,
with the last set of tea cups
plopping in to the sink
and the young boy scampering
almost at the brink. …..
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .

A Woman called Me

I am a daughter
pampered and carefree ,
though sometimes spanked
for my brother is dearer than me …..
I am a sister
always loving and ever doting ,
sometimes angry as denigrated
for being arrogant and misbehaving …..
I am a wife
very demanding and judgemental ,
grumpy , eccentric , losing my cool ,
pampered daughter from a conservative pool …..
I believe am not a wife material
more suited as a friend ,
I can’t stand trial by the balance sheets
and have my poetry to defend …..
our equations are varied ,
with situations they differ ,
yet I must mould myself
as he has so much warmth to offer …..
I learnt it the hard way
better late than never ,
now I believe in admission ,
submission and cohesion forever …..
I am a mother
now , I have loads of love and compassion ,
whatever is the trigger
I can keep away aggression …..
I am a mother
and would always love to bear ,
all the stress and pain
though my kids might fear …..
I am a woman
sangfroid and indestructible
life is always beautiful
unfathomable indissoluble impenetrable …..
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .

Krishna Consciousness

She is Radha …in love … fascinated by commitments … Krishna in her every breath … Krishna in her dreams ….
Krishna in her waking eyes still dreaming … krishna her soul …
For her life is Love …Life is compassion life is harmony … life is yamuna … life is music lilting from Krishna’s flute …
She adores him … she loves him … she misses him … she puts him on pedestal and offers everything that she has …
Her smile … her coyness … her brown eyes … her soft tresses … her flowing robe …. her fragrance … her soul … her body …
She is his existence … she is his shadow … long or short … waxing or waning … but essentially it is dark … her Krishna is dark … isn’t he ? …
Dark but a bright soul … light of millions of moons … rays from millions of suns in the cosmos …
Radha is ecstasy … she flows through Milky Ways … unbridled … unharnessed … she is abstract … she is just an emotion …
She is cool breeze … and she is sometimes tornado … she is an endless ocean … of boundless love … essentially always trying to contain her bursts … to not erupt in to a seiche …
Krishna the cosmos …Radha his galaxy … Krishna theoritical logic … Radha is notional … Krishna impressionistic … Radha is symbolic … Krishna metaphysical … answers to her dilemmas …
She harmonizing his dissonance… Krishna is Radha’s conclusion ..Radha is Krishna’s blissfulness … by the serene Yamuna … !!!
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .

This is influenced by Baul compositions where the Celestial Love is described in very Earthy terms ….

I want to be free….

I want to be free….
free of pain
free of gain
free of greed
to be born again….
to be released
from shackles
of this life and debacle
my sins and derelictions
and forget my pinnacle
I want to be free….
from the bonds of karma
and fear of dharma
in search of life
to find the soul
who am I
and what’s my goal
I want to be free…..
love passion compassion
adore or infatuation
do we fathom
they are connected
or divergent ,
I aspire to be congruent
yet desire freedom…..
I want to be free , to be born again
I want to be free , to be bound again …..
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .


I was choking
my head bursting
I was like a hot pan ,
at the Pearly Gate , I was dying….
though I was blue and clueless
they were brave , fearless !
an army ready to fight
determined to survive the night ….
through my fading vision
I could see the commotion
they were mute
behind their space suit ,
I was the reason !
of turmoil and tension
a glass chamber on my face
he , watching the monitor
with a steel fixed gaze ….
I knew of ventilators
I knew of death
But I also knew
of chloroform man who saves breath ….
he puts us to sleep
he brings us alive
it’s no hyperbole
he is God , when death arrives !
God ! why had I screamed
and yelled and cursed
last time when at the hospital ?
yet here he is again
draped in blue and white
staying away from home
for me to survive and fight ….
I realise my misdemeanor
am begging for my life
they are my saviours
God you were right !!!
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .

Am Evolving …..

Am Evolving …..
Am evolving all the time
mutations occuring overnight ,
I wonder why I feel scattered
nothing more than peace mattered ,
then why do I feel unexplored
Am I unplanned , not configured ,
or did I make myself one
what am I craving for ?
I am perturbed over what ?
did I miss the bus somewhere
or I slipped off one…. ,
lying injured in amnesia
trying to find a direction ,
moving ahead or retrograde
need a magnetic compassion ,
before I die
just once want to receive life ,
looking in to its eyes
and say to myself ,
yes you have done it
yes you are dying empty …..
want my critics to be more acidic
to shake my life which is so basic ,
to purge out lethargy
and infuse me with some energy ,
drive some sense
in to my dead neurons ,
I do not know
when I will be gone ,
when the Pearly Gates open
or will the Satan come to threaten ,
But I need someone to guide
put me on the path to ride ,
my horse trotting and galloping
my horizon widening ,
but just one sun and not many
yet stars countless uncanny !
God please let me feel empowered
before my coffin is lowered ,
my dust to enrich the soil
for my Cypress to be green and royal !!!
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .