If an Elephant passes through a forest and no one sees or hears it, was it never there?

I’ve wanted to be a Veterinarian since I was 15 years old, from the moment I first saw a wildlife veterinarian languidly observing several herds of elephants framed by Mt Kilimanjaro in Amboseli national park, Kenya. It was a romantic dream, fueled by literature both African and European. This dream drove me around the world, searching for a niche for myself. Somewhere I could supersede the logjams and politicking of failed and unscientific wildlife conservation policies. This was obviously a fantasy.
Over many years of working in remote jungles with expired drugs, rusty stethoscopes and blunt, infinitely recycled needles, I pushed myself to understand as much of all of these alien environments as I could. I was so focused on my life and those of the animals I worked with that I had to learn to make do and improvise given any set of materials and equipment. I was consumed by a drive to make these as best as I could but my thoughts were always fixed firmly on the day I would be a wildlife veterinarian running my own conservation or rehabilitation program. Still a vision of romantically fighting against massive odds to create some measure of incremental change.
During my clinical training in Veterinary College in Bangalore, India nearly a half decade later, I felt myself pushed into the same corner. I witnessed Doctors working in conditions and with equipment that frustrated them without attempting to make that change. I wasn’t about to let that happen to myself. My first act of frustration was to cut my stethoscope at the head, severing that ancient rubber neck that was just never comfortable. Without that rubber neck, sounds coming through the stethoscope ended abruptly in air for which my pinched ears were thankful.
My generation in Asia is probably the first to witness the ubiquity of the Walkman with electronic headphones. We grew up in an age where the digital world was beginning to touch the lives of the public. And many of us at the time bought our first pair and have since always owned a pair of earphones or headphones. Digging through a box of old electronics I pulled out a dusty microphone and a pair of my old headphones. I broke open the microphones plastic casing, took out the mic and shoved it into the open neck of my decapitated stethoscope. Plenty of electrical tape later, I had a rough set up where my stethoscope fed sounds into my laptop, and my pair of old comfy headphones allowed me to clearly hear them(These sounds are very faint on laptops and other small speakers).
I brought it to college, not thinking much of it at the time. To me it was just a way to hear heart sounds that were pointed out by our professors but inaudible to our inexperienced ears. I also felt it was a travesty that I could not choose to increase the volume of faint sounds or that our loud working environment was the worst location to use it. Almost immediately, students and professors alike were drawn to the clearer and louder sounds that were possible. I bought a Chinese made digital stethoscope in this time period, so that I didn’t have to carry around my laptop to get a clear sound. Soon I was being ‘summoned’ for various cases to use my digital stethoscope. This device was not affordable to my classmates and was not user friendly enough for my professors and other medical professionals. The poor user experience however did not put off several doctors who persisted on trying to get information out of the device that it would simply not give.
At this point, while frustration with this device was building, I recalled my years spent working with wildlife when I refused to accept any half baked solution. Here, my needs, my passion, my adaptation and my vision coalesced into what we know today as Taal.
Find us on www.museinc.in and check out "Taal Digital Stethoscope" on Indiegogo
https://igg.me/at/taalbymuse/shre/7633553