Previously on Gauri's anatomy...

"Dissection hall" is supposed to be a significant milestone in a medico's life. When I entered it for the first time with my new crisp apron, armed with instruments, Hutchison's manual and saw the cadaver, I did not feel most of what one is conventionally expected to feel except bit of apprehension and excitement.

It has been a while now and I hate to look back. For many reasons DH was nightmarish for me. Throughout first year I dreaded those 2 hours in the day. I did not like my company. My friends were assigned different tables. My table mates were mostly localites who went to the same colleges earlier for pre university. They knew each other from before. Outsiders are not easily welcomed into the group. Most lived up to the 'day scholar=geek' image. They had earned handsome entrance exam ranks and had each got a merit free seat. I had got in through merit too, but only difference being I pay four times their annual fee. I was quick to take offence then. It was a touchy topic. "What's your CET rank?" seemed to be an important criterion to assess your intellect. I am going to be with this same group for the rest of my time in medical school. In hospital postings, practical classes, community medicine field trips etc and I was already bored.

I was not good at the subject. Yes, human anatomy is fascinating. I enjoyed the discussions, applied aspects and watching the corpse being skilfully cut up. During each part's teaching schedule I'd get inspired to specialise in that area. What I liked from the experience is the threshold for finding something gross increased greatly. Exam oriented studies is a chore. It is mostly mugging up. I used to get targetted a lot on the table. My preparation was never good enough to handle the mock vivas decently.

Somewhere along the way I told myself that it wasn't going to work that way. "I am stuck here. I might as well learn to like the situation." I began to build a working relationship with my table mates, laughed more, made new acquaintances and mugged up enough to avoid embarrassment. I made a compromise. There were good days too. Staffwise it was a superb department. Very organised and classy professors.

My friend wh0 was allotted the adjacent table to mine, for one particular month was being taught by this PG who was exceptionally good at the subject. Students from other tables used to flock around. Towards the end of term we mostly had revision classes. All the organs were dissected and piled up on the table and whoever incharge would take a grand viva everyday.

No matter how many times I narrate this incident, it fails to dampen the humour for me. This friend of mine was also not having a particularly great time on the table and this PG harassed her unnecessarily sometimes. She went prepared to classes and I felt she did not deserve it. That day I also went to their table for revision. Sir pointed at an organ and asked her to pick it up and identify it. It is a rule that whichever side the organ belongs to, you have to hold it in that hand. It was the left testes with the spermatic cord. She identified it right but she was holding it in her right hand. Sir asked her to hold it in the anatomical position and she did something with a lot of us remember vividly. She did not understand what he meant. She gave a puzzled look. She moved her right hand, still clutched on to the cord with the testes hanging from it and held it close to her pelvis.

It was mean but none could help it. The situation was boisterously amusing. She cried that day out of humiliation.

When I look back now, it is an awesome memory! She more than agrees with me.

Ganesh travels and the regular customer

Anticipation of the 13 hours journey totally ruins the last day of stay at home. Fast approaching exam,(Too much of mention about it but ask me what I'm actually doing about it) end of holiday and the thought of back to routine to add on to it. Sigh.. Being grouchy fetches extra hugs, extra sweets and at times extra money too.

I had lost my bus ticket which was not purposeful though my parents think otherwise. No ticket was not a problem at all to my dismay. Small town life has its own advantages. Everybody knows everybody. During my primary school days the post man used to deliver letters which had just my father's and town's name as address. There was a newly opened 'Hero honda clinic' next to our house. The majenta pamphlets which advertised for it distributed along with the newspaper had his hospital as the landmark. I was so proud!

As a kid every summer vacation religiously was spent in Bombay. There are no direct trains. Dadar Chennai express on our way back till Guntakal. A Premier Padmini would pick us up from there. Grandmother wouldn't let me have a berth for myself. I was petit and fragile. For as long as I can remember she shared hers with me. Small town mentality again. No, she was worried about my safety, of course. Till Guntakal I cried for all that I left behind. Then on I thought about the nice things that awaited me back at home.

The habit still remains. Only by 2nd half of the journey am I enthusiastic about being back to college. To get over the initial sulkiness I opened the newspaper wrapped snack box. It was the front page of an old Sunday times. 'How happy are you?' was the article. Interesting statistics about surveys conducted in metros with author's comments. I was keen to know how it was concluded. But that part was torn. I sat back and thought. How happy am I? When I flip back pages in my diary (favourite late night activity) I sometimes find totally contradicting moods on two consecutive days. External stimuli, surroundings couldn't have change that drastically that soon. All said and done, we all know, but how many of us do really realise that it's all in the mind? I get to choose what I want to feel like, I reminded myself.

It was getting dark plus the thought process was getting serious. I tossed it aside. The window in front of me wasn't closed properly. Cold air was almost stinging from the long ruler sized space. Almost all other windows were shut completely, bus was going fast and this was a small space. There was a whistling noise. Talking to strangers in the bus is one of the many other things I hate without reason. I hesitated to ask my co passenger.

In some country, I cannot recall which, if your spouse's breath smells of garlic during bedroom intimacy, it can be taken as a ground for divorce! Snoring is included too. Sometimes the latter provision doesn't seem too frivolous to me when I think of the extent to which somebody's snoring annoys me. The person across the aisle snored away the night blissfully with mouth open. It was loud and clear. I could imagine the texture and consistency of his snot.

So I let the whistling noise be and decided to put up with the cold. That way I could also get away with not talking to anybody.

Evidence of sebaceous glands' secretion and numerous tangles in hair is the proof of my over night journey. Reached my room at last. Thoughtful roommate had left it open.

Sight of Fuzzy(stuffed gorilla), Steve(stuffed turtle) and my teddy bear whose name I cannot take for certain non obvious reasons cheered me up. Steve is named in memory of Steve Irwin. I like people who are good to animals.

There is a poster of a baby with his chin laid heavy into his palms. He has a confused exclamation cum interrogatory expression. Caption: To be or not to be. A friend had given it to me. 'This is totally you" she had said. My constant companion - indecisiveness. What about morning class? After a mental debate, I texted her (her=master of the fine art of proxy) to handle things for me. With appreciation and wonder I thought about the whole concept of proxy and slid under the covers.

On the foot-hills of Western Ghats

Mechanism of action of the anti motion sickness tablet I swallowed? I thought hard. Who had taught us about promethazine?

It was one of the things I tried to think about, concentrate to deviate myself from feeling the nausea. I feel it is mostly psychological for me. I think about how horrible the sensation can get, how I could actually puke, how I'd make a scene in the bus, so on and so forth. The feeling would only get worse. I have learnt it is best to nip the vicious cycle in the bud.

I whole heartedly hate the consequences of changes in my cochlea and uterus. Not that the other ailments are enjoyable but partiality to these because probably I suffer most often from them.

It was a hep and happening DVD coach. I forced myself to follow Jaggesh's crude and coarse punch lines. His wife got pregnant and what other way of confirming it on TV? They actually showed the vomitus.

A simple 3 worded sentence, yet such meaning in depth. Health is wealth. When you don't have a sound body and mind, nothing seems right. No matter what.

Like a beginner trying to overtake a vehicle which is only a little slower than him with a truck coming in the opposite direction at a distance, I just wanted to get done with it.

Old buddy/partner in crime and I had coined a phrase. 'Phase songs'. Potentially saddening but highly romantic at the same time. Gives a hollow feeling in the tummy. Makes you think of hypothetical situations when you would sing or feel that way. (Read 'James Blunt' for the latest addition in my list.) I always carry a set of those with me. They make me sadder when I am sad and happier when i'm gleeful. For then I just wanted something to occupy my mind.

As the bus went topsy turvy along the hair pin bends, the breathtaking view outside my window amazed me. Dense fog, lush greenery, moisture everywhere from the early morning drizzle, ferns on stone, tiny clear streams and the large mountains in the back drop in various shades of green. Extraordinarily picturesque. It can get anybody passionate about Agumbe.

Promethazine, my saviour had begun to act and I was having a cool time by myself.