Author’s Note

“Bang. . . Bang. . . Bang. . .”

The sound was relentless, like a cosmic drum echoing through the chambers of my consciousness. It wasn’t inside my mind—yet somehow, it was. I lay still within the white, humming cocoon of the MRI scanner, a tunnel of technology designed to peer into the sanctum of thought itself. Above me, a silent giant—the magnet—spoke in frequencies too high for human ears, sending waves of invisible light to dance with the water within my brain. Each molecule, like a tiny monk in meditation, responded in alignment, forming sacred mandalas of thought and structure. And from this silent ballet, an image emerged—my brain, unveiled without a single cut of the scalpel.

A marvel not just of science, but of human imagination made manifest.

Just weeks before, I had entered my doctor’s room in Scotland with a hesitant confession—moments of forgetfulness that were growing more frequent, like mist drifting quietly into a once-clear valley. She was not alarmed. But the echoes of my lineage which in medical jargon is called family history—those mysterious strands of ancestral memory—prompted her to send me further, deeper, into a formal exploration of the terrain of my mind.

I was instantly cast backward into the vulnerable innocence of a school boy naming fruits, tracing shapes, repeating stories that vanished like dreams upon waking. The cognitive test was simple—but the stakes were profound. I passed with grace, yet a whisper within urged me to go further, to open more doors.

Hence, the MRI.

The rhythmic, mechanical thumping of the machine filled the tight space. Bang, Bang, Bang. . . Clatter, Clatter, Clatter. . .

The sounds returned, but my thoughts had taken flight. I recalled a conversation with a friend—a consultant neuropsychiatrist—who once told me, “It’s all in the genes.”

Yes, those ancient codes written in the ink of stars. We inherit more than just the colour of eyes or the tilt of a smile; we inherit stories, shadows, and songs. The joy and sorrow of our parents echo in us. Their unfinished poems, their silent screams, their quiet grace—all live in us. “You even pay for their sins,” he added, perhaps only half in jest.

My mind wandered to the monk in the monastery garden, Gregor Mendel, whose humble peas revealed the blueprint of all life. And then, to the double helix—a divine spiral ladder stretching from earth to eternity—discovered by Watson and Crick and brought alive in me by the Nobel-winning work of Dr Har Gobind Khorana. That sacred alphabet of life, three billion letters long, dances within us in a song of purpose, mystery, and becoming. Thirty thousand genes—a cosmic symphony coded in light.

Inside the metallic tomb of the MRI scanner, my mind began to play a strange trick on me.

The mechanical cadence transformed into a rhythmic chant, a singular word echoing in the chambers of my thoughts: Gene. Gene. Gene.

The machine grew silent. And in the pause, I found stillness.

I let go of fear. I let go of sound. I allowed the inner screen of my awareness to light up with memory and insight. I meditated, not to escape, but to enter more fully into the mystery of who I am. Thoughts flickered like scenes from an exquisite, addictive Netflix series—but these were my own.

A reel of love and loss: dreams achieved, dreams abandoned.

My ascent in a foreign land. . .and my mother’s silent suffering across the ocean. The convergence of DNA and destiny. Of dreams and genes.

And then. . .a quiet clarity. A story was taking shape—not just of my life, but of all the lives I had touched and been touched by. A mosaic of healing, heartbreak, resilience, and redemption. Over 50 years of walking alongside the ill, the grieving, the joyful, the wise. Friends, patients, teachers—each one a mirror.

Now, with a sense of reverence, I offer this story. The names have been altered, but the truths remain. These tales—sacred, raw, real—are not meant to judge or wound, but to illuminate the path for others who walk the labyrinth of human suffering and seek the doorway to healing. This, in effect, is my journey through medicine, grief, trauma, and consciousness—exploring how belief, relationships, and awareness influence healing.

If memory is the soul’s diary, this is my offering—etched not in ink, but in light.

Dr Dinesh Verma

MBBS, MD (AIIMS), DO (Eng), FRCS (Edin),

FRCOphth (UK)

Founder CEO, Dumfries Visionostics, Goa, India