EEGad!

Refreshing a dozen dear memories at Synergy + haggling on Pep with chum on muck filled craters in the mad rain + Shahid flick + buddy's birthday party = a day well spent I thought. Weary and satisfied, I overslept through two hours of duty the next day. I quickly found out where the CME was being held and readied my newest excuse for going late.

PG: Take this boy for EEG. Go now. Hurry.

It was a ten year old boy with cerebral palsy, moderate mental retardation and seizure disorder. He looked at me, clutched harder on to his mother as she carried him and got ready to leave.

Where should I take them? How do I take them? Who will pay? She spoke fluent Kannada, Tulu and Hindi. Why should I go along? I called friends who had finished here. "Dude relax. Did you expect to intubate babies and save lives and all? This is what you have to do."

I went through his folder as our auto ride started. He was thrilled about getting out of the hospital and was busy wide eyedly looking at every passing object. I tried to talk to him. He responded by babbling and pounding my palm. He took great interest in my key chain which had a G carved out of wood. He was happy and playful. Shouldn't the kid be asleep for the procedure, I wondered...

PG: Give Trichlorfos. Rounds. Don't call. Bye.

Tri what??

Dad: It is a sedative. Sold under trade name Pedicloryl. So he is 10 years old and weighs 20 kg. Give him 5 ml. You may repeat after half an hour if required. Don't fret the small stuff. Enjoy whatever you do.

We reached the place. Waiting hall was full. We managed to make place to sit. She was carrying a bottle of the medicine. I gave one dose. We waited. One hour up. I was bored and irritated already. One group of shiny burqa clad women entered.

Technician to the mother: Wenlock inda alla? Kelage koothkoli. (From Wenlock? Sit on the floor.)

I was shocked. In my thought of choosing the right response, I managed to ask "Why? I want to talk to your doctor about this." She walked away nonchalantly. I got angry. The mother signalled at me that it was ok. I told her sternly not to budge.

Two hours up. He was wide awake, looking outside the window from her lap and smiling to himelf.

PG: Didn't I ask you not to call? Repeat the dose.
G: I did.
PG: Give some more.
G: It is almost over.
PG: Get from somewhere. Bye.

I had already given 15 ml. I decided to just wait. He would look drowsy. We would gently take him to the procedure room. Technician would start placing electrodes. He would wake up, act aggressive, pull the wires, try to pull his hair and howl. These episodes repeated four times. Fifth time, his mother lost it. She started beating him and joined his howling. I didn't know who I felt more sorry for. I tried to calm her down and convinced her that this method would not work.

G: Do you have Trichlorfos?
Technician: No
G: How do you put patients to sleep.
T: Can't give for Wenlock patients.

It was foolish to even ask. I decided not to talk to her again.

T: Parwagilla. Tagoli. Aadre solpa. (It's ok, you can take. But little.)

I went to the nearest pharmacy and got a bottle. I had decided to thump it into her hands before leaving, but I didn't remember.

More waiting. Three hours up. I beat all my previous high scores in all the games in my cell phone. I watched half of a Vishnuvardhan movie in the waiting hall. I was watching an old lady's jewellery as she went for a CT. I called dad and cribbed.

The procedure finally started. 45 minutes more.

T: Report ready untu. Abnormal EEG.

Wow! Really? What a revelation.

I sat and wondered about the glorious prefix to my name on the ride back to the hospital.

This Weekend

Streaks of a full fledged Ob-Gyn PG were appearing. Though unwantingly, I was turning into a screeching and screaming person in the Labour Room at the Primary Health Centre, Moodbidri. I could not help it because everything I had seen and learnt back at Mangalore was drastically different. Now I was in another time zone. I was left alone with the Dai, far away from civilization with very untamable and very pregnant ladies.

Amma and Pappa decided to visit me for the weekend. They reached by Saturday noon. She was disgusted to see that I had lost more weight after a week of viral. That is enough to make my tendons jut out and make me look like all bones. Since I had one more hour of duty left, I sent them to see Soan’s farm. It is about 5 Km from the PHC. It has exotic fruits and flowers grown over 100 acres. It is also a delight for bird watchers. It is the kind of a place which people like Raghu Mama would dote on. They were supposed to pick me up at one and drive back to the flat. Meanwhile I called up room mates to get rid of scandalous items and straighten my mess a bit.

The drive made me a little queasy but I tried to distract myself by drooling over the goodies. It was much better than the bus rides though. It had rained last night and the Ghats were green and pretty. We reached in forty minutes.

Br was home already. Ma started unpacking. She launched herself in the kitchen and starting making a quick meal. I had hot rice and poppu with ghee. I ate till a point where one more morsel would have made me vomit. That is how I eat when I like what I am eating. A lot. Else I do not eat at all. Eating for me is more for the taste rather than satisfying hunger. So, one cannot judge my appetite by looking at the quantity. There was a bright yellow bed spread with printed pink and blue flowers spread over my bed with pillows pushed into matching covers. Floral patterns are my favourite. We napped for a while. Dr also came back by then. Pa and I went for a walk to have coffee at the Darshini and gave an ultimatum to everybody to get up and get ready by the time we returned. We went to Blueberry Hills and sat on a rock to enjoy the weather and the tiny multiple lights from the industrial estate. We were giving them the latest college, hospital and friends updates. They were giving us back interesting family gossip. Ma was getting restless and wanted to get back. It was very dark and she thought there was nothing great about the place. We teased her that she is just disappointed that dad did not do for her what SRK did at such a place in Rab ne bana di jodi. She was very keen to go for the Gruha Shobhe exhibition in Mangala stadium. We did a lot of window shopping and trinket shopping. The usual routine. How I love such expeditions. We got back home and Ma made dosa, chutney and potato curry for dinner. She had carried the batter from home for which dad would have surely rolled eyes and called her twenty funny names.

A lazy Sunday morning followed. Dr left early for her NICU duty. Br and I were free. We went for a walk and coffee again and brought back some groceries. Ma made gunthupanglas and groundnut chutney for breakfast. I feasted on those. It was turning out to be a weekend flooded with my favourite things and people. We played carrom. Dad was showing off his stunning shots and tricks. Mb also came home after his duty. We giggled and chattered away into the game till lunch was ready. They had got dhal and coconut holige. Those were served with hot milk. Then there were pooris, mango puree, potato in a tomato-onion based gravy, rice, drumstick sambhar, curd and sago payasam. All of us had multiple gastrointestinal orgasms. Br had downloaded Koncham ishtam koncham kashtam. We arranged the laptop, beds and cushions and set the atmosphere right for the matinee show. Dad did not sleep through it. So you can imagine. The time, the ambience, the people had already gotten me high. I was rolling over and laughing for some brilliant jokes. Now I wonder if it was really that funny. There were constant comments and laughs. Specially at the typical Andhra Telugu dialogues.

We decided to go to Mudipu after that. The weather was perfect. So was the mood. It was about to rain. It was fresh green everywhere. The radio was playing appropriate music. Ma kept telling that this is why she insists on coming to Mang in the car. We were giving her lengthy compliments for her foresight. She did not mind any of the pun. There is a church which looks like Delhi’s Baha’i temple. Plus it is also located amidst hills, forests and fog. We clicked pictures, lit candles, prayed and prattled incessantly.

We got back home and tried to live stream the IPL finals. Earlier when we had stopped at a pastry shop, I was telling Br and Dr about which flavour cake they should order for my birthday this year. Mom demanded that we discussed her cake first since her birthday is closer. Then she said we better get her garlic bread instead. Such is her lovesickness for Pizza hut and its vittles. So before they left I wanted them to have pizzas. The match had begun. So we decided to order for delivery. But it was Sunday evening and it was pouring. So I ordered over the phone and then went and collected it. We gorged.

I wasn’t even interested or aware about how IPL worked, how the money is generated, why it is fun, how it can be interesting when there are players from different countries in the same team, whom to support, who the players are, etc. I was slowly getting into the flow and supporting Bangalore big time. I even had plans to call my Andhra cousins and hee hee haw at them after we won. I got very very sad when we didn’t and also angry that something whose existence I was oblivious to, hours ago, made me upset. I tried to console that Telugu is my mother tongue after all.

They left early in the morning. Before leaving they left notes on our self made thermocol notice board after my repeated badgering. I kept staring at those all morning and let my throat form painful lumps.

I am easy to please. I am a happy person. My folks are too awesome to be true. There is so much love to share. Br, Dr, Mb have become family. I love monsoons. I hope these things will never change.

Lists

I love making lists. I had made this one in Aug 2006 after being overwhelmed at my brother's graduation ceremony.

People who should be with me for my graduation day:
Amma & Pappa
Veenakka
Shwe
Br, Dr, Mb & So (will be present obviously since it will be their G day too)
AT
Soni
Acchi
Raju
K & K aunts
Sri
Sush
Maya

Censored

It is quite old by now. But thoughts like these light me up when I am sad. It has to be recorded. I have taken names and done a lot of bitching, hence it is unfit for public reading. I am putting this here because there has been no activity on my site since long. If you are my loyal reader/well wisher/friend/all three I have sent a copy to your inbox. If I have forgotten anybody, you can remind me on gmail (Left to my discretion if you fit into any of the categories) You can leave me comment here. In a way only you and I can understand. Wink. Evil smile.
Enjoy.

For everyone who was told

The library office flooring is tiled. Each one measuring about 25*25cm. I was balancing on both feet so as to not touch the boundaries of the particular tile I was on. Superstition from childhood to hope for something good to happen in jittery situations. Analogous to finger crossing. It hardly works these days. What I had heard was true. Someone else has got the highest in E.N.T. and whatever said earlier was a mistake.

This blog was due next month. After Awards Day. About how life had changed in 3 years from being a volunteer to an awardee. The wait for the occasion. my parents coming to Mangalore for it, where my friends would sit and cheer for me as I would walk to the stage, how beautiful the convention hall would look with the lights at night, what I would wear, how I would accesorise, where we would go for dinner after the ceremony, how grand the ownership of the medal would feel, photographs taken while wearing it and uploading them on Picasa, how surprised certain people would get, how proud my father would feel and how he would show it off, how I would start feeling ok about myself with regard to studies, how I would see the college being lit up the previous night from my parents' hotel room, etc.

However, as it turns out to be, there is somebody with 3 marks more and the list was not properly checked before informing me. So after ten ecstatic days of dreaming these dreams, it shattered today. It feels like an awful joke.

In spite of cautious attempt to avoid embarrassing situations by containing the excitement for one whole day after getting to know to confirm and reconfirm, this had to happen today. Personally, by myself I had only told people of the inner circle. But when unexpected things happen, news spreads plus my folks being a bit hyper with joy had told a lot of people. I've tried to tell most, but if you haven't gotten to know by now, it's a big fat nothing.

Some more

potatoes in any deep fried form
straight leg denims
southpaws
book marks
canopies
fat nibbed ink pens
silvery pink nail paint
hooded sweatshirts
tomato based gravy
waiting for a song on the radio
that song getting played
souvenirs

Thank you, 'sir'.

There are 2 glasses of water. 'A' has a round worm, 'B' has a hook worm. You HAVE to drink one of it. Which one would it be and why?

I was ironing out the creases on the golden foil wrapping the Dairy milk chocolate bar which had a vintage car embossed on it. Tickets for the evening show of TZP were bought. Money was credited into the ATM for shopping. Bus ticket to home was booked. Aunts were going to be around. The tree was waiting to get decked up. I was far too distracted and fidgety. Studying for theory viva was out of question. So when the last examiner for the Community Medicine exam shot the above question at me, I shot back a blank look. He should ask me about Maternal mortality or Tuberculosis or Sanitation I thought. Without much thought I said, "B. Mangalore is endemic for Filariasis. Everybody takes a yearly prophylactic dose of DEC. So no harm will be caused."

There was an awkward silence. Filariasis is caused by mosquito bites. And in the first place he said something about hook worms. The mode of transmission for round worms is faeco oral and that of hook worms is transcutaneous. Thus the latter could not cause infection by ingestion whereas the former could. B was right but my explanation was ridiculous. Deserved derision. I realised my mistake soon and as I was about to correct myself, I knew that the damage was done.

I had somehow successfully fulfilled the champion's criteria. For what? I understood towards the end.

Fine, ridicule me. Then, ask me more questions. But no. Next 5 minutes were spent hovering around the same subject. Then a series of non medical questions followed about who I am, what my parents are, etc. The next subject related question was about barrier methods of contraception. List. Mechanism of insertion of female condom. Answer. Difference between diaphragms and female condoms. Answer. Oh, you are better informed about these than the worms.

How will you classify male condoms? The only 'classification' I could think of was lubricated and non lubricated. Come on, you can do better than that. What about scented and non scented? By that time I had stopped talking. For everything that he said, I kept quiet. Vanilla, strawberry, peach, chocolate.. What do you think about these flavours? What is the use of dotted condoms? What about musical condoms? I'm very surprised that you are not aware of it. (Stress on you.) You Mangalore-Manipal girls..

I tried my best to show no emotion on my face. I could not let him succeed.

As I walked out of his cabin, a bunch of my batchmates waiting for their turns crackled with the usual How was it? How did it go?? Very good, I said and left.

I locked myself up for a while to catch some breath. My face looked like a beetroot. My mother had once told me that when an examiner starts asking about condoms, he usually just wants to put you down. I called her up, exploded and gave vent to my pent up feelings. We decided to forget the incident and just pity him for his incapacity to be mature and appropriate.

Even if you are agitated enough to slap right across the face hard enough to make the nose bleed, one has to end up just swallowing everything. Some people think that they are demigods. Not very wrong in thinking so.

Chak de! India

Thanks to the five star juniors, Malaysians, exchange students and all the sucking up. The mess is going to be centrally airconditioned. Hammering and renovation everywhere. No TV since 6 weeks. So there was no hype, no expectation. The surprise only turned out to be bigger.

Too much attendance is harmful. The decision was made. It had to be first day first show. It is Shahrukh Khan after all.

What entertainment! Swell time. My only regret was that I watched it in Adlabs and not in Central or Jyothi or something. Packed cheap theatres intensify the thrill four folds.

The story line is nothing unpredictable. Full of cliches. Nobody thinks of the women's hockey team as more than a joke. With our hero's determination India wins the world cup. There isn't anything more to it. But it will make you feel good. Sugar syrup for the weak soul or whatever.

The girls hate each other, hate the coach. They bicker all the time. Coach gives them a hard time. They gang up against him and write to the association to fire him. He resigns himself because he feels terribly let down. On the last day he takes the whole team for lunch to Mc Donalds. A bunch of eve teasing idiots start acting nasty. Fight gets picked up. First time the girls show some team spirit. SRK watches quietly until this rowdy is about to pound someone's head with a cricket bat. He dramatically stops him and says something which goes like "Mardon ki tarah aage se waar karo. Woh kya hain ki hockey mein chakke nahin hote hain." What dialogue delivery! What expression. What charm. It was difficult to sit still. Then the patch up is cute. They all walk back to the stadium heads high and hearts full of challenge and aspirations and to especially show the chauvinistic pigs what stuff the team is made of. One big feeling stirs up in the chest. Quite a few times. Also a grin.

In the first half, the inter relationships of the team mates, how he tackles the haughty girls, the fights, the ego clashes have been nicely portrayed. Issues like the glamour, craze and media hype associated with cricket and its obvious absence with hockey have been touched well. Also all the criticism about Indian women only fit for handling chapathi dough, dosa batter and producing babies shamelessly running around in knickers. The background score is catchy. The second half is more or less foreseeable. But exciting and entertaining nevertheless. The last twenty minutes are great. You will want to get up and shout. I loved every bit. The whole of two hours and forty minutes actually. His looks august, aristocratic and classy. The thin beard and the serious face is adorable. Feast to the eyes. Drooly. He is back and how! The girls are enthralling too.

It is full of minute surprises and tiny details which have been taken good care of. You will be pleasantly surprised. And if you like him, you will hopelessly, ruthlessly enjoy it. Like I did. Bombshell.

Assorted

Everytime a professor asks a question that nobody can answer, I think that next time I am asked the same, things will be different. Such occasions have never come. Each time it is different. No repitition. Probably this is what people meant about the vastness.

All through the year you will develop skin rash here. Because of all the perspiration in the harsh, pitiless summer. And by wearing all those damp clothes in the unending rains which never dry. There are no other seasons.

There are some people whom I would really prefer to ignore. But I am obliged to smile, make small conversation when going in the same elevator or walking across a narrow corridor. When that someone pretends to not notice or fidget with the cell phone, I get greatly relieved.

Coastal Karnataka is beautiful. Especially during monsoons. Like God has spilled shimmer everywhere. There are so many of these lost paradise kind of places around Mangalore.

Kannada lyrics have been worded for A.R.Rehman's Airtel theme song. My latest pick. The female voice is all sugar coated, smooth, shrill and sissy. Likeable-sissy. Like Chitra's, Shreya Goshal's. My current ring tone. Quite nice.

When there is strong wind and rain, when I wear my hair loose and when the car I'm driving in plays songs which have lyrics full of the kind of sentimental crap I thrive on, I get high.

On the dinner table I will hate everybody who will get the cell phone out and play snake or text or open the gallery.

Friends who don't keep account of the money you borrow rock.

I admire the remaining teeth much more after my incisor has been plucked.

Couldn't believe it was Shekhar Suman. The same guy who picks on everybody under the sun. Plus manages to be witty quite a few times. He has come up with a music video where he is sporting the just out of high school look with body hugging clothes, first love antics and is romancing a bikini and shells clad female three fourth his age.