My picks

gypsies
picnics
picnic baskets
beaches
beach games
broad wrists
long fingers
dancing, losing inhibition
collar buttons
rolled up sleeves
monsoons, letting them drench me
baby smell
new messages in my inbox when I wake up
planning surprises and surprises planned for me
silver trinkets
typically south indian surnames
gooey lyrics
jackets
huge patches of untamed grass
listening to lousy excuses
rolling eyes when someone is watching
inventing phrases and patenting them
sissyness and laughing at it
ferns on rocks
fresh flowers
bear hugs
husky voice after sore throats
shabby dressing
strong wind
good hair days
jitteriness
aunts
custard apples
scarves

ICMR protocol and woes

ICMR= Indian Council of Medical Research, STS= Short Term reserach Studentship

All the torpidity and inertia had to be overcome. I could not resist the following anymore and I had to make up my mind to apply for the STS-2007.

• Nagging sister
• Self-assertive mother
• Peer pressure
• 3rd year joblessness
• Lectures about making the CV look "attractive"

Although my reasons for taking it up were entirely non-academic initially, somewhere along the way, as I did some looking up, I realised that it is potentially something I could like.

#1 Choosing the department

I have always fancied fast paced life saving intervention. Trauma, emergency, accident, sutures, surgical procedures.. I was considering general surgery. I admit that Grey's Anatomy did have a small influence. Although they over romanticize and glorify surgeons left right and centre, I am a huge fan of that show.

#2 Choosing the guide

This wasn't hard at all. He has been the only teacher who has evoked so much interest in me for any subject in KMC. Every week before class I used to read up Bailey, make notes, go prepared, answer questions, jot down more notes etc. Attendance is not an issue. He doesn't check proxies. Yet the hall is full. For me, he is totally Dr.Burke. Prim, proper, precise, perfect, tall, dark, successful. White full shirt with rolled up sleeves, tucked into beige trousers, sharp watchful eyes, mild frown on the face and the right amount of right attitude. I could easily have a crush on him. I was apprehensive to approach him. He is such a high profile, super busy surgeon. Why would he be interested in some petty under graduate short term research I thought. Moreover I did not have a substantial idea. I had nothing to lose. Impulsively, I dashed into his cabin. With a nervous voice and the visible heart beat through all my layers of clothing I told him all that I had in mind. "If you ar willing to work hard and show enthusiasm, I am glad to help. But I am going to be busy. You may have to spend more time yourself." He was actually agreeing! He gave me more ideas to broaden my search. With a stupid grin, I noted down the next appointment and left. I was so happy that I could have hugged someone.

#3 Forsaken

Little did I know that it would be short lived. Throughout the week I did my homework. Though my intentions were directed more towards impressing him, it still counts. He was seldom available in the hospital. I vainly kept chasing. He was genuinely very busy. Knowingly I went to him. I had nobody to blame. After ten whole days with no significant progress at all, he told me, "I've too many commitments already. I cannot agree to more headache. I can suggest someone from my department." I was heartbroken and very very angry. Thanks but no thanks. I left.

#4 Desolate

6 days for the deadline and I had to start from scratch. Lovely! I sulked, cried, cribbed, made myself miserable. I gave up. The ex-vice chancellor of Rajiv Gandhi University was my mother's teacher during her under graduate days and now our family friend. She wanted to talk to him. Just because I had taken this so much to heart and blown it out of proportion, it still doesn't make this such a big deal. Moreover I did not want any high fi recommendation. It became more like a challenge. For the next two days I went to every department at sight and told my story. All of them were guiding candidates already or busy or going to be out of town or not interested. It was draining all my energy. I had no preferences, no specifications. Biochemistry, Community medicince, pharmacology, anything at all would do. I was desperate. 4 days left.

#5 Ray of hope

Still game for some guide-hunting, I went to the Microbiology HOD. She suggested a lecturer and asked me to approach him. He is a docile and friendly man. He had taught us one of the staining procedures in the lab. He told me there was very less time to think. He wasn't sure if he could come up with something. He wanted me to ask other people also. He did not want to keep me waiting. I was supposed to meet him that evening after class. I wasn't too sure if he would commit. A friend's friend's uncle's orthopedician's colleague was supposedly free. I spoke to him also. In fact, he himself was looking for some students it seems. He wanted reasearch exposure. When he was so keen, I started having second thoughts. But beggars can't be choosers. We were surfing the net for some topic ideas. He was using google. Trying to sound humble, I suggested pubmed. He said ya ya, of course and typed pupmed.com

We decided on a retrospective study of pathological fractures in patients with breast cancer. Basically it just meant getting papers from the records room and copying it. I was not too thrilled and zealous, but I atleast was not giving up. That evening I went to the Microbiology Dept to tell him. He had come up with a topic too. First I had nobody, then 2 people willing to help me!

#6 Decisions, decisions all the time

After a lot of mental debate and consultation, I decided to go for Microbiology. I did not know how to tell the other guy. I have kept post poning it till date. I'm hoping his 3 year PG bond with MAHE would get over soon and he wouldn't still be teaching when I enter final year.

#7 The protocol

My guide, Dr.Vishwas Saralaya and I got along quite well. He is a senior teacher, very much the research scholar type. The best part was that he had time for me. All the time I could want. Together we did the referencing, literature studying. Both of us wrote the introduction seperately. Mine was full of fancy words and dramatic language without much stuff. His was full of technicalities. We merged the both. In a span of 2 days we worked it out and I have sent the protocol before the deadline. The day I courriered it, my mother called me a fighter. How I thrive on praise! It did feel like an achievement, irrespective of what ICMR would do to it. I had gone to sir to tell about the dispatch. With all his Greek god charm, he smiled and said, "We will work hard if we get the grant."

I did not want to write this blog because I thought the grant would get jinxed. But I feel sometimes things work the other way. My fingers are crossed.

PS: It is called "Bacteriological profile in Neonatal Septicemia"

Susan

A formation made from asterisks and hyphens which looked something like a heart. How I loathe SMS forwards. Especially this kind from unknown numbers. "This is the holy symbol of eternal love. Send this to 20 people and if more than 12 return the message, a big surprise awaits you this valentines." Everyday promptly I get 10 missed calls, 10 forwards and 5 messages which have my name written in various patterns. The sender's pen name is Kiccha, inspired by one of Sudeep's rowdy flick. The idiot cannot even stalk in style. I wanted to reply with a formation of my hand showing three without the thumb and little finger with the READ IN BETWEEN THE LINES. I think I try to act too mature for my age at times, but then the corny valentine hot air is really not my type. Some girls in my hostel actually fast for their prospective grooms and I roll my eyes.

Weary of having received the same message for the sixth time, I put on the pod for some solace. It is commendable how my father parts with his stuff everytime, in spite of the recent phone dropping from 7th floor incident. Playing:Suzanna-Art company. My mind drifted.

To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind. So is procastination. But I had a valid reason this time. I was done with Pharmacology for life. Couple of days more and I wouldn't have to read the ballistics crap also every again. Rumours were spreading full fledged about half the batch failing in Forensic thory. But I was too high to worry about anything.

Strange turn of things had got me into the situation. I was gasping for air in the dimly lit, oxygen devoid, claustrophobic, dingy telephone booth.

I needed a gift to be delivered in the US the next day. Being the last minute person that I always am, I was getting flustered too easily. It was a simple task. I had chosen the stuff. I had my sister's credit card. All I had to do was fill up the details online. This blog is about my shopping experience. So no points for guessing how badly I messed up. I had liked 2 things from 2 different categories. No problem with the first one, but the second would reach 3 days later. That was the earliest shipping date. I wanted both to get delivered together at the earliest. I decided to call up the store and find out if anything could be done aobut it and thus began the merry-go-round. Since I had called up anyway, I wanted to place the order over the phone. Probably because it was my first time at e-shopping, talking over telephone felt more secure.

G for George. A for America.. USA? yes, i mean no.. only A of USA.. yes America. U for ugly.. ugly.. No forget it. U for USA. R for Robert.. yeah ok robber I for indigo.. No not San diego.. The colour.. Yes the one that looks like blue.. yes, indigo. I shouted on the phone, words coming from my mouth at the rate of 2/minute.

I could follow nothing of her accent and vice versa. Basically I had to split every word I uttered. The thought of having to make her note down my sister's complicated typically south Indian multi syllabic surname made me perspire. Meanwhile the call got cut thrice. I was desperate to get my work done. I did not even consider the possibilities. I kept calling back. She actually found the whole thing funny. She kept hanging up to avoid me from hearing the laughter. She even smirked loudly when I told her what message had to be written in the personalised card. It was almost getting over. She only had to tell me the confirmation number. I waited with forced calmness as she shared a giggle with a colleague when I asked her to repeat. She acted like I was an illiterate from some third world country, wasting her time. BITCH!

I restrained from swearing audibly. I believe it is an incompetent vocabulary which makes one use foul language. It is an insult to your intelligence. In the midst of noting down the last detail, she hung up again. I lost it then.

It was supposedly too much for her to take. Susan had asked a co worker to answer for her. It was Andrew this time. I quietly noted my number. After I made sure I had nothing else to ask from them, I started. "What is she so proud of? Being unintelligible? You get paid because of us. Who is doing whom a favour here? This call has costed me 400 rupees so far. Does the haughty missy know conversion? Let's see if she can tell how many dollars that makes. If you cannot follow foreign accents and dialects, put it on big bold lettters on your site and stop making lengthy speeches about customer service. I'm going to be a doctor and I have better things to tackle than impolite, airheaded blondes." I banged the receiver. After 25 minutes, 450 rupees, spelling tests and all my enduring I laughed. For a whole minute. Out of relief, for getting a vent for the frustration, for finding the situation amusing. I am going to be a doctor, I repeated in the same tone and laughed some more. This time at myself.

I wrote to the manager in detail about what happened. I wrote her full name, counter number, time of call, item code, confirmation number and emailed the complaint. I hoped strongly for 50% abatement or an email saying she is fired. However I just got an apology. Atleast the stuff got delivered.

So sometime when you are really bored and you have some cash, visit gifttree.com for numbers. Cat fights can be a lot of fun.

PS: This piece is dedicated to the chilled out CSB who endured the craziness, called me a sport and made the process enjoyable.