Badinage

EEGad!

2009-09-22T21:52:00.001-07:00

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

2009-05-25T07:21:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-25T07:15:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-23T09:58:00.001-07:00

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

2008-02-05T04:01:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-02T23:16:00.000-08:00

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'.

2007-12-27T09:52:00.000-08:00

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

2007-08-10T10:28:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-10T09:33:00.000-07:00

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.

Joy to the world

2007-07-22T00:17:00.000-07:00

One of our teachers is taking the initiative. It is preparation for a performance during Christmas. Anybody interested from any faculty could register. PGs and staff members will volunteer too. I have joined the choir last week. The previous session was in the maestro's house.

It was an elaborately decorated and heavily furnished hall. Glossy wooden furniture, guitars, piano, flowers, cushions and people had jammed the place. All the wall hangings, posters were in praise of Jesus and spoke about the nobility and holiness of Christianity. There were crosses everywhere. She started playing the piano. Low notes. So that more of singing could be heard. Voices set off on "Joy to the world...."

I myself used to keep a cross. About six years ago, my brother met with a near fatal accident. The car had taken certain somersaults on a National highway in Bangalore. He was admitted in St.John's. Everybody believes in the power of a prayer in crisis and this was a big one. I vividly remember the scenes which played in the time between those two phone calls. One which informed about the mishap and the other much later from the doctor who had said nobody was going to die, as we were driving down to Bangalore. For the first time I actually prayed in a church. In the hospital church. After the discharge, this cross was bought from the hospital gift store. For rememberance and gratitude. When I moved back home after pre university college, I had kept it along with other idols in the pooja room. One of my uncles had got deeply offended.

I am tolerant. But no matter how much I tried to shrug off the feeling during practice that day, I felt mildly restless. I like the way they pray, the churches, the quiet a lot. But somehow I was not OK with the preaching and influencing. Not that anybody was thrusting it on me. I went there myself. It was maybe because of my own lack of that kind of religiousness and sincerity. I do not associate myself strongly with anything. Every influence in mixed.

Coming to think of it, we celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi in college like it is the ultimate universal festival and everyone actually joins in gladly. So what harm will a little glimpse and few songs do.

Root Canal Theatrical

2007-04-25T07:57:00.000-07:00

Enthusiastically, my diagnosis was gingivitis
Supplemented myself with vitamins the mess food deprived me of
The throbbing pain and redness only increased to my dismay
Consoled that after next day’s dental appointment I’d be gay

An abscess it was which had to be drained at the earliest
The adjacent teeth roots were involved too, pus being the pest
Not even in my eyes did he see
With no sympathy he said 3 teeth needed R.C.T.!

Terrorized I was, "Nightmare it is going to be!
A good girl I am, what wrong have I done to offend Thee?"
No pain killers prescribed, I was in pain and mute
A bad day happening, the PG wasn’t even cute

Losing faith in corporate hospitals,
Sometimes I doubt all the nobility associated with doctors
Charging 80 bucks for a pair of gloves is phony
Yes it is important to me, but I didn’t think it’s all about making money

The private dentist was going to extort a heavy price
But a single tooth Root Canal Treatment would suffice
Still I was full of fear, hopelessness and disdain
RCT agony is considered most intense, next only to labour pain!

Embarrassed, I closed my watering eyes as I got pricked all over
All alone I screamed and I needed my mommy
With nobody to hold my hand, I endured
Almost nearing my final sitting, an all-ceramic prosthesis is being made

Of all, the front incisor had to get a smash
I shall remember to hesitate every time a smile I’d flash
It seems the nice set used to make quite an impact,
Nobody ever complimented when they were intact.

For the college magazine

2007-04-19T04:10:00.000-07:00

Uninteresting as it already is with all the variety, salad was missing from the menu.

Considering the peaceful geographical locations where most of us hail from, it was a sensation! The street across the hostel being featured on national television, smoke bombs, silence penetrating the corners of the city, screeching rescue vans zipping the isolated roads, local casualties and trauma centers flooded with patients, calls from worried folks, etc. With the university exams just around the corner and a legitimate reason for missing posting, getting safely locked up in the hostel seemed like an ideal circumstance. Little did we know what else the curfew had to offer.

It is amusing how might is always right and there is no place for logic in mass mentality. Seeing gargantuan amounts of man power directed towards atrocities and trivial fights is depressing.

If you are the kind who likes to roll eyes, ridicule and laugh at others, lot of situations were lined up. Day 1 was relatively smooth. Most made productive use of the available time. Though the mess mostly served only rice and plain salted dal, people ate sincerely and certain ones with cautious foresight even stored some in bottles and mugs. (Situation #1) Towards end of day 2, junk food was getting exhausted, air was stale and there was monotony. The adversity had begun to flush off Fido Dido’s “Normal is boring” cool fad and restlessness had settled in.

With empty stomachs, panic struck grandly. On day 3, LPG got over. Breakfast was two slices of bread. Most miss breakfast on bread-days unless eggs interest them. But that particular day, there was a long queue in the mess. Girls quietly collected their share. Although, there is no campus, the sultry weather deserves 150 words of abuse, some toilets have non functional flushes, there is no ‘metropolitan life’, this place is home now. There are some who don’t agree. The type who complain. Even they were in the queue, picking up the end slices also. (Situation #2)

Old furniture was burnt to make lunch that day. That evening the queue to the tuck shop extended till two floors for 100 ml tea and glucose biscuits. However as it had hardly progressed a couple of yards the rare commodities were exhausted. For me, that was precisely when my spirit broke. (Sensation/adversity/national news, remember? & situation #3)

More than anything, it was the uncertainty that was disturbing. We were bored, hungry and frustrated. De-stressing techniques included playing peek-a-boo with policemen from rooms facing the main road, knocking on a grouchy senior’s door and running away, etc.

Two hours relaxation period was announced on day 4. Hysteria followed. Not that we were allowed to cross the gate, but the different rule in boys hostel was enough to make a difference. Every girl was talking over mobile phone and within minutes the front of the entrance was buzzing with activity. The excitement of reunion, sighs of relief and interwined fingers through the gaps of the railing completed the picture. Romance was in the air and the forcefully controlled emotions surfaced like toothpaste upon suddenly uncapping a compressed brand new tube. Knights in shining armour, and saviours walked towards the guard (mediator) with goodies laden polythene bags. Some had parked the bikes far on purpose to make the ramp long and have more moments of fame. (Situation #4)

Every room was loaded with milk, instant noodles, biscuits, chips. Neighbourhood restaurants were taking orders. Never had the sight of food made me so triumphantly joyful.

When the intensity of bonding is assessed by the size of an Archies card and what you buy for someone depends on what you had got from the same, the curfew was a superb excuse to avoid buying birthday gifts.

News was that next day onwards, it would be ok to attend postings. However just to be safe, we were locked up for one more day. We got the terrace opened and acted like it was liberation day.

Jinxed

2007-04-03T23:41:00.000-07:00

The mind's subconscious way of increasing the probability of a desired happening is to anticipate the possible disappointing outcomes. Or it is probably to mentally ready the self. The more the result pondered about, higher chances of the opposite occuring. Works that way. The thought process has to initiate naturally though, not with pre planned intentions to avoid the unpleasant. Yet there is utter disbelief as the unahappy ending unflolds following the jittery wait. Tears sting. The void seems bigger. Darkness pricks, penetrates and widens the emptiness. Figuratively, the heart pains. Till it dies, feels like the unscrupulous, conspiring world does not deserve one's honest toil. Still we forget, we hope, we trust, we venture. Because, when initial set backs are forgotten and great efforts lead to the hard earned-dream come true, it is ecstasy. Pure ecstasy.

Adieu patootie

2007-03-13T21:33:00.000-07:00

To,
The twinkle of my eyes

In my cruelest and crudest moments, I am a defensive man, but beyond these base emotional responses, I am still in this tormented prison of a soul that I have created for myself dwelling over my unrequited love for you. Hope is a dream, my despair a reality.

I want you to wake up tomorrow and feel alone. I want you to feel empty. I want you to feel a deep bruising in your heart and a hollowness in your stomach. I want you to wake up tomorrow and know that leave me was a mistake. I want you to rethink everything you said, spend hours recreating the conversations that we have had, replacing your goodbyes with pleas for me to stay. I want you to not accomplish anything all day, all you can do is miss me. I want you to know what my life has been like since you walked away. Wholly. For once. I want you to beg me to come back, to vow to make everything right, to promise to love me again and not leave. I will then tell you that I am walking the aisle with another woman, though there is nobody. I would end this anyway. Then maybe I'll be ok.

Love, in the deepest meaning of the term,
me

PS: This was my entry for the Love letter writing competition which was a part of the off stage events of Inter Class.

Cataclysm this time

2007-03-10T21:21:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the kind of day memories are made of. Typically the type which you would relish looking back a year or two later but a torture when it is actually happening. Seems like I need to wait forever to write that ecstasic, impulse driven piece. I wanted to scream without inhibition, do a victory tango. I craved for the fairy tale ending.

All the arterial blood had flooded my face. I could feel my head throbbing. My sweat drenched pony tail had become a single mass. My perspiring palms could barely grip. Every bit of my existence was burned up, dehydrated and absolutely fed up of feeling unpleasant. My sympathetic system was hyperactive and the excessive adrenaline made me dizzy. I could feel the 50 pairs of eyes on me. People I did not know existed, ex crushes, cute guys, rowdy boys, seniors cheering. My friends screaming my name. I was playing the women's singles in the finals of Inter Class 2007-Table Tennis. I was nauseous with nervousness.

Every batch is represented by a team of two boys and a girl. Each game consists of five matches. b1's singles, b2's singles, g's singles, doubles, mixed doubles each being best of five sets. To qualify to the next level, a team needs to win three out of the five matches. There are two pools with three teams each. Every team plays against one another in the pool and one teach from each is eliminated. #1 from the first pool plays with #2 in the other and vice versa in the semi finals. The best two meet in the finals. Winning TT would be contributing 150 points to the batch in the final points tally.

Apart from the christening consistent with the fest theme - Cataclysm, each batch is identified by the year it joined the course. My pool had us('04), PG/interns, BPT. The other had '06, '05, '03.

Reasons why I like playing TT here
1. It is something I know rather than it being a class-participation-sake thing.
2. It is not a sport which has seperate teams for boys and girls where boys play league matches and the sissy girls' competition is finished off in a knockout for the heck of it. 3rd and 5th matches are deciders. The girl is important. People are almost as respectful as towards a guy in a game.
3. My team mates are great.
4. In the land of blind, one eyed is the king. I get to play inter university. I dig the college jersey and all the picnics to Manipal.

Quarterfinals was a breeze. We won B1, B2, G in a row against BPT. PG/interns' best female player has final exams in less than 2 weeks. They did not have a substitute. So technically they had already lost two matches without playing. They could not afford to lose anything else. However our boys managed effortlessly and we were #1 in our pool. We had to play '03 in the semifinals. Last year at the same stage we had lost to them.

Lost B1, won B2, my turn.. That girl's cheering team intimidates me. She was in her formal hospital clothes, as though it was not even necessary to wear sports gear for the petty match. I had hesitated to wear my Tommy shoes because I really think it is wrong to flaunt anything unless you are great at it. Her boyfriend would be around to give her a consoling hug, a word or two of encouragement or a shoulder pat. For weird reasons it annoys me. However my friends were there too to make some mockery and make me laugh in the breaks. It was a close match. I jumped once. My first sign of excitement in the whole day. I have mask facies in front of the table when I am being watched. Like a zombie. No expressions, mute. b2 asked me what the hell was wrong. I played a "girl's" game it seems. I tried offensive but none of the shots worked. She wasn't hitting anyway, so I played the sissy way. I asked him to shut up for a while and go win the doubles. It was still settling in. I had won three sets straight.

We qualified for the finals. For the first time in three years we had reached this level and I couldn't help my thrilled grinning.

Finals '04 vs '06. We lost B1, B2. '06 is a terrific talented bunch of kids. I remembered ourselves as freshies. I had oiled and pinned up all the loose locks of hair. I was a terrified pup during ragging. I had walked into the main college with an unsteady gait, hiding behind the boys. Inspite of the tremendous bladder capacity, I had to piss so often. All the time when I wasn't playing I was fetching water for seniors and calling every person at sight as sir. It was an awesome day. We did not go far but we kicked the then council batch out of the pool. It was a big thing. We had lost our first pool match to PG/interns. We were playing '02(council batch) next. Lost B1, B2. I won my singles. We had a fighting chance to still get back. Guys won the doubles and mixed doubles was the decider. My symptoms started, obviously. If you are susceptible to getting psyched, they will thrash you. Literally. I was superfluously psyched out. My partner b2 and I took position. People used to think we were dating each other. More comments and psyching for that also. He was unbelievably cool and everytime I got a point he would jump, bang his fists, slap my back. I am totally the silent type. My team mates treat me like a baby and I like it. We won one, lost one, won one, lost one and won the final set! Together we were quite a team. Soon we were 'the pair'. '02 lost against both teams and it was goodbye time for them!

I wished on every falling eyelash, made lucrative bribe offers to god, crossed my fingers and asked Him to recreate the magic just this once and I would never beg for anything. Not even during the universities, for which I was obviously going to toil day in and out.

Being the final, every match was best of seven sets. Forget about psyching them out, our cheering squad was more cautious because she is the terror orthopedics professor's daughter. Her mom had come to watch. I could hear myself breathing. My t shirt was wet and I was exhausted. It was up to me to get the team back into the game. First set went to deuce thrice. Why does He do this to me? He clearly knows I am not made of the kind of stuff to handle this. I won it.

But I lost the match. 3-4. Along with letting the rookies win, individually, I blew up my chances of winning the "female player of the year".

I shook hands with their team. Limp handshakes, the kind I hate. I gave an apologetic sad smile to my friends and quit the scene. I did not want to talk. I did not want to dilute the emotion. I wanted to feel it in its entirety. Alone. I wanted to let it sink inside completely. Losing TT is not end of life but the mind transiently denies logic and refuses to get perspective.

Later that night, we went to a fancy restaurant and celebrated the loss. 75 points added on to the tally.

My picks

2007-02-23T22:18:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-21T02:32:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-14T04:06:00.000-08:00

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.

I picked up the blog pen again!

2006-12-14T21:30:00.000-08:00

My bottom was numb. I was sitting motionless on the cold stainless steel stool from the past one hour. But my brain was hyperactive with a hundred thoughts hitting me at the same time. I could see my identity card clipped on to my soiled apron making a tiny leap every time my heart ejected and got filled. I was almost hyperventilating. It felt like somebody had put a hand into my abdomen and was churning and knotting my intestines. I was dizzy with glee and nervousness. And I used to think only romance could do this.

In not more than an hour my 2nd MBBS would get over. My last viva and I could grow my wings again. Only 272 still, 10 more people to go. I could relax for a while. My mind drifted to how I had spent the last few days of my teenage. The one week hostel confinement because of the curfew, third sessional, the very forgettable volleyball tournament, preparatory holidays, the break downs and of course the terror-1 month long university exams.

“Oh this is nothing. Wait till you get to final year.” I hate it whole heartedly when people belittle my emotion. Final year might be something else but I am writing this exam for the first time in my life and it is BIG for me and for anybody else who is writing it for the first time.

Last 2 months have been the longest months from as long as I can remember. I had never been so stressed out. I could not hang in there. I could not see the light. The tunnel was never ending. It seemed like falling into a bottomless pit. I just wanted to land or maybe even just crash. Gracefully, ungracefully, on all fours, on my butt, I did not care. The preparatory holidays are unpleasant, to say the least. I have had more coffee in these prep holidays than my entire consumption in 20 years. I developed gastritis.

It was particularly bad for Micro paper 2. I hadn’t slept for two days straight. Even earlier, it was not more than 2-3hours/day. All the deprivation cumulated and showed up. I was sleepy, neuroglucopenic symptoms were showing. I could not answer 10 mcqs in a row. I calculated if I could cross the border. I sat back and wondered if things could get any worse. This is just another test that thousands have passed, I tried to tell myself. This too shall pass. But ‘When’ was the big question. I got out of the hall and I was throwing up.

The day I finished my theory exams I came back to my room and with full vengeance I ripped off all the post it notes from my wall, except the tiny rectangular fluorescent pink one which read this quote by Benjamin Franklin. “Energy and persistence conquer all things.”

279. Phew! Almost there. Few more minutes for my turn. But why am I this nervous? I have crossed so many hurdles, this is the last… Maybe because I hadn’t read anything at all the previous day. I was too happy to do anything. A friend and I were struggling real hard to stay with the books. During one of our ‘short’ breaks we decided to watch the recorded CD of this year’s interclass. Interclass is our annual inter batch college festival. It goes on for a month and they are some of the best days of every KMCite’s life.

I wanted to see how badly I had embarrassed myself. I had taken part in the fashion show. I simply wanted to be a part of as many things as I could. Keeping busy crowds out worry from the head and I precisely wanted to do that. Fashion show in our college is a blog topic. There are innumerable fights, politics to be a part of it. It is hugely popular with the staff and students. Our one month fest ends with this. Like they say, save the best for the last or whatever. More than half of the funds are spent for it. It is a mindless extravaganza. Most people are air headed pigs. But I wanted to be in it. For the heck of it. The auditions were great fun. Forget about being my natural self, I don’t do a single thing right when I am being watched. So my friends were amused when I started walking. I myself was surprised that my super self consciousness hadn’t taken over yet. So far so good. I had reached the end of the ramp. I had to turn and get back. How the hell are you supposed to turn gracefully? I flipped my hair and struck a pose. I was extremely sure if I was in the audience watching any of my friends do this I would have poked fun for atleast a week. Still they were there cheering for me. I got selected.

The actual show was a big chaos. Few girls took the initiative. We did not have a choreographer. We were short of funds. Even the props could not be hired. So it was just us. The girls were acting like they had conducted Lakme fashion weeks earlier. My favourite timepass as always is to sit behind, comment and not do anything productive at all. They were all wearing sexy halter necks, tube tops, flowing elegant frocks and I was this Arab girl who had to wear the belly dance costume stitched by this local tailor who doesn’t do a good job even with something as simple as our aprons. I don’t know why I agreed in the first place. That wasn’t all. At the end of the ramp I had to do this Arabic jig with a tambourine. I knew I was the scape goat.

On the stage, adrenaline dazed me. The cat calls, the batchmates cheering hysterically, the spot lights, all the attention.. It was awesome! I could understand what the big deal was about. I thoroughly enjoyed it although I felt like I was in fancy dress more than a fashion show. At the end there was a model introduction round. I had to walk with this 6 footer who is quite popular. More cat calls, more cheering. I was smiling this time and I did not bother how I looked or walked. I enjoyed the moment, went to the rest room and flung my trinkets.

The CD got stuck. We got back to books. I am still the butt of my room mate’s ‘fashion show jokes’. So that was how the last evening was spent.

282! Here I go.

Now it is a wonderful luxury to sleep without having to keep an alarm. Spirits are soaring high! Feels like my life has just begun.

Previously on Gauri's anatomy...

2006-09-24T07:36:00.000-07:00

"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

2006-09-13T21:59:00.000-07:00

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

2006-09-07T03:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Ganeshotsava

2006-08-30T08:09:00.000-07:00

I put myself into a non KMC associated Mangalorean layman/outsider's shoes. It is past midnight. I see that the campus is buzzing with activity. I smell incense. I hear merry chatter of young boys and girls as they are making arrangements for the next day's pooja. Floral decoration, rangoli, plantain stems, mango leaves, bright marigolds all around. I hear Bryan Adams keeping them company. (This is not Rehman advertising for World Space.) I see a couple sharing a joke as they are putting up the banners. A student friendly (over friendly actually) professor is not only ok about it but haves a laugh too.

It would have definitely amused me, to say the least if I were in his place. Forget about other hostels, colleges. For my own standards this place is pretty unorthodox, liberal.

The temple lake where the idol is immersed the next day is around 5km from college. The procession itself makes up to a quarter km. It is headed by a truck carrying the generator, followed by another truck which has the 6 feet long speakers and the DJ, student folk from various faculties- medicine, dentistry, phisiotherapy, both under-graduates and post-graduates, professors, an authentic & traditional Dakshina Kannada band, followed last by the best decorated, biggest truck carrying the idol.

There are times when you lift a foot off the ground to adjust the back strap of the sandal and then you do not get enough earth to place it back. Like the sultry weather isn't unpleasant enough, the humans add on to the heat. Along with the humungous crowd, geekiest of the geeks, shiest of introverts also promenade on to the streets and groove away inhibitionlessly to the music blasted.

You wouldn't understand what Ganesha has to do with rock music, item numbers and catchy remixes. As though the DJ just read your mind, he would stop in between and make the crowd shout slogans in praise of Him in unison.

Junior, senior, student, professor, male, female, everybody enjoys alike. If you look around you might spot a professor dancing with his kid daughter on his shoulders, the scary unit head smiling back broadly at you. All with tilaks and head bands, dressed outdoorsy for the occasion. This time we shook a leg with our teacher who had taught us in first year. He was bubbling with enthusiasm. He showed us some moves. I couldn't stop laughing. I think he saw. But WTH, nobody minds anything this day. By the end of it he gave us high-fives.

When you get weary, best is to watch the onlookers' expressions. Passengers in local buses, poeple who come out of their shops, the police who guard us. Fussing babies are carried to the balconies by their mothers. Medical students going insane on the roads. I feel like asking one of them what they think about the whole thing.

At apt times there are these unexpected showers. This is the best I like about the coastal weather. It washes away the fatigue and you are filled with double the zeal.

Alumni, if they happen to be in town would usually join. To refresh their memories I guess. Talking about nostalgia, You change the brand of your deodorant. After a long time you get back to the previous one. Along with the fragrance, the memory of events accompanying that phase also comes back. Ever happened to you?

Finally after the task is completed, the staff would have arranged for the transportation to get back to our respective hostels. It is so 'as a matter of fact'. Like it is natural for us to have dance extravaganzas at 1 am in the morning on the streets.

The next day we utilise the thoroughly deserved 'shouting holiday'.

PS: I know 'campus' would get a lot of us touchy.

One morning at the RTO

2006-08-19T22:33:00.000-07:00

Section 87 of Indian Penal Court permits me to:
1. Cast vote
2. Get married and consummate it
3. Provide consent for surgical procedures
4. Possess a driving license

Almost 2 years past since I got the privileges, yet I hadn't made use of any.
#1, The Government was already formed.
#2, Ha ha. Since there are certain elderlies (ones I am answerable to) reading my blog, I would prefer not to voice my valuable opinions on this matter.
#3, Fortunately (for most) or unfortunately (for none, I hope) I have managed to be in a single piece, haven't gotten myself into unnecessary hassles (not predisposing to invasive procedures atleast)
#4, Progressed here recently!! Technically not a license holder yet, but I successfully cleared the test.

The pre test formalities in the RTO were in progress. Five applicants including me from the same driving school. We were instructed to go inside the officer's cabin together. We were waiting for our turn. I caught glimpses of him when the 2 way doors swayed back and forth as people entered and left. We were quickly given last minute revision about the hand signals. I felt like I was waiting for a viva to get over.

He was an obnoxious man who went around raising his eyebrows in contempt, disdain and sneering his arrogance and disapproval at ordinary mortals. Actually most of the people there looked alike to me. I had an unfair advantage over the others with this officer atleast, mostly because I was of the fairer sex. That was the only possibility I could think of because I was the only girl. He was courteous and polite to me, made small talk and addressed me as "Yen ree doctre". He pointed out mistakes in three of the others' forms. One other boy and I, only we were allowed to take the test.

I wondered how his spine hadn't frozen that way. Our driving sir is almost always 45 degrees bent in the RTO, cultivating people of power to curry favour at the opportune moment. It wasn't technically a favour though. I remembered him chattering away gleefully with authority about everything under the sun during our driving sessions. I felt sorry for him.

After 2 hours wait in the sultry, hot weather he made an entry. He made people go for 2-3 lapses on steep tortuous circuits. Anything but reverse I hoped. That's not exactly my strong point and especially when I am being watched. He more than just simplified the task for me. I had to drive a few yards on straight road. I hardly even changed gears beyond the 2nd. He was pleased enough pass me. That was cake walk. Unnecessarily I worried, I thought as I got out of the car. My driving sir winked at me. I returned it.

So far so good. Time for some showing off now. Time to make a scene. "Yen ree doctre, still here? Not getting late for the hospital?" OMG! I wished I could ask him to mind his own business. I'd feel stupid if there were to be an emergency and they really needed a doctor's services.

My role model, super stud, my guru, philosopher and friend had once told me, "If my wife can ride my bike, I'll be her slave." Suddenly the concept of biking held a new meaning for me, was a big deal. I placed it high.

Instead of being annoyed, I smiled and replied that I had also applied for license for geared 2 wheelers. I liked the expression he gave.

I was inappropriately dressed for the occasion. A georgette salwar kameez with a slipperly chiffon veil. Half the time I was steadying it. So I decided to put on my back pack to hold it in place. I sat on the Enticer. It must have been a sight. Around 30 men on either side of the street. I was very self conscious and nervous. I tried to kick start thrice, nothing worked. I felt so many eyes on me. I wanted to disappear. I decided to make one last try and it started. The sound was so melodious to my ears. It was smooth from then on. My lost confidence was back. When I was getting back to where I had started from, I felt my face flaunting the poised, cool, biker chic attitude.

The officer told me I'd be getting my license in a week's time. I'm thrilled!

Life and times in Nandagiri

2006-08-17T08:20:00.000-07:00

"Wear your sexiest underwear, your best smile, your nicest outfit, smell divine. If you don't have pride, nobody's gonna give it to you." I quoted with cocky professional accent straight from the pages of the latest edition of Cosmopolitan I had recently flipped on an exceptionally boring night in the reading room. My friend and I were discussing how she should get over a broken relationship during tea time in the mess. We had a good laugh.

Cutlet on the menu. I took a bite and thought what was worse. The preponed sessionals or eating that piece of tasteless, dried biomaterial which I thought was in perfect consistency and shape to play hopscotch with. Having soaked dried peas was out of question when frozen ones were marginally acceptable. I never understood what the big deal is with using fresh green peas, during the season atleast. I complain lot lesser now, but that was honestly inedible. It was stuffed with the dried peel of dried peas and nothing else.

They wouldn't let our fathers inside to have a look at the rooms during admission to the hostel. But because of the renovation there are more men than us in the hostel at any given time. Any dress worn above the ankle is sure to fetch you stares in the corridors. Red haired guys checking you out, passing comments in the lift has becom a common nuisance.

I wouldn't let crappy patties alter my mood when there were better things like the fast approaching exam. I tried to enjoy the chocolate induced endorphins as I walked past the notorious corridor, back to my room. A friend playfully grabbed my choc and ran. In my attempt to chase her I tripped over my own slippers and ultra clumsily landed with a thud on all my fours.

The probability of being watched is directly proportional to the stupidity of your act. One red haired guy came to help me out. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shoo everybody away. I was already in pain to exert myself more. I politely refused the help, quietly lifted myself and managed to reach my room without limping like nothing happened. I slammed the door and brooded. Over everything.

To add to my agony the hostel speakers just wouldn't shut up. The lady who makes the announcements sounds like she has a litre of mucous clogged in her nose. Every 2 syllabled name sounds like mine to me. Each name is called thrice followed by the purpose of being called (eg: 'phone call', 'visitor', 'courrier', 'parcel') also repeated thrice. It is usually hilarious, but for then, I just wasn't in the mood. (Try calling me on the hostel line to get a taste of it. The mike is right next to the booth.) One of these days I'm gonna chop those wires off.

Along with the knock on my door I heard "Nottinghill on HBO. Coming?" Candy floss and Hugh Grant. Yum. Instant pep up solution. Will surely get up early tomorrow and start off, I told myself. Just for today, Ignorance is bliss.

Go America!

2006-07-30T04:17:00.000-07:00

I was told to buy hair ribbons, ('unconventional colours' was the specification) a metre each. There are no people of the ribbon tie-able age at home. The atmoshphere was tense and everybody seemed to be doing something important in a hurry. My brother was leaving for the US that evening. I decided it was best not to ask. With my oh so dependable aesthetic sense I picked up the necessary stuff and returned, still anxious to know what it was for.

I entered the house and saw one of the 2 gargantuan suitcases laid in the hall. When you open it, you won't get 2 halves on either side of the axis. The partition line in the horizontal plane is not exactly in the middle, it is way above. It is more like a rectangular case with an attached lid and few zips on the top. The ribbons were cut and bows were tied in all possible places on it. Zips, handle, locks, etc. It is easier to recognise and pick up your luggage from the conveyer belt this way it seems. "What if they put it upside down on the belt?" I managed to ask in between my uncontrollable giggles. Silence for a while. That was a valid possibility. All the toil would go futile then. Somebody came up with the idea of tying on the supports for the wheels aslo. So they were also decorated. The once sophisticated looking black American Tourister had colourful pretty bows all over. It looked ludicrous. Similar fate awaited the next bag too.

Interesting things in the hand luggage also. Pani puris minus the stuffing and water were being sent for the folks abroad. They are visiting us in sometime this year and there has been a new addition in the family. Variety of nappy pads being sent to see if Indian brands would be tolerable or they had to carry them from there. This atleast was somewhat a genuine necessity as compared to the card board shoe case filled with pani puris. Still the whole scenario provoked amusement.

He wasn't even spared from instructions like what to eat, what not to drink on the plane, when it's apt to use to use the loo, etc. Timely jokes from the youngsters popped in. The popular one being 'avoiding the 3Bs'. Some aunt would give a stern look and the inhibition of not having to laugh makes the joke ten fold funnier. How i love those situations..

He looked like a war hero with the tilak and all. We took turns to get pictures shot with him.
No matter how unsentimental a person you are, the airport ambience makes you have that feeling of leaving someone behind, a non descript fear. I have this habit of thinking about the good times at occasions like these. One hug was enough for me to turn to another direction and pretend to clear something that had fallen into my eye. It was sad in a nice way.

Utmost care about the minute details. Nevertheless chaos followed after he went inside. The bows were too heavy. The bags had crossed the weight limit. The gang went bonkers outside. Fully animated talks over the phone. Like Calvin says, "Some days the lucky rocket ship underpants also don't work."

Somehow the problem was resolved and he successfully checked in. He turned towards the tinted glass and waved a final goodbye. Sighs of relief, sense of accomplishment, bouts of excitement outside. We all cheered in unison and waved back vigourously knowing fully that he couldn't see or hear us.

We were around 30 of us. We sat at a nearby coffee shop to destress. Photo sessions continued. It was no less than a picnic. Small joys of being middle class I thought.

The eyes saw what the mind did not know

2006-07-12T23:55:00.000-07:00

On the fourth day of our posting we were told to have a look at the in patients. There was a general ward which was locked and guarded. Assuming that might be it, I asked the guard before entering, "Idu psychiatry ward alwa?" He replied after some thought, "Alla. Idu mental ward."

Being the 'baby juniors' (as some like to call us) we were given simple instructions about making conversation with these people. As I went to my assigned bed and looked at the smiling person sitting there, I somehow knew I was going to remember this for quite some time. He was shabbily dressed, wore 2 shirts one over the other, cheerful, eager to talk. His case sheet read he was 60, married, no issues, used to work as a representative for a pharmaceutical company. He was one amongst the 20 others who were diagnosed of Schizophrenia, which arguably is the worst disease that can affect mankind, AIDS not excepted.

He spoke broken English and refused to talk in any other language. His replies to our repeated queries regarding his name, occupation, marital status were never the same. According to him, he is Seethramaiah (Congress president). His wife is Hema Malini. He has 2 children. (He even told us their names and education.) He had a Citizen watch which worked only outside India, i.e in Maharashtra. He was previously in Italy. He could speak 14 languages. Edward 'General' invented injection and he invented the thermometer. He travelled only in helicopters and he had one lakh rupees in his SBI account. He even wrote a comprehension on 'Lotus - my favourite flower'. He also made some diagrams. We were visibly amused with his responses and he was enjoying the attention.

He is totally not in touch with reality and has no insight to his illness whatsover. His script was unintelligible. But he read from it and when we asked him to re read the whole thing again he precisely repeated the same sentences. He had drawn some flowers and a picture of the brain. The brain was a big ball with small lines over it. He had tried to depict the sulci! We were amazed at the intricate details and the creativity of his writing. He gave us a mini speech in the end. He addressed us as "Ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, my colleagues" and repeated it thrice. He gave us tips to stay slim and how important that is to lead a healthy life. He ended it by asking us how they could put him in this ward when he could speak such fluent English and talk intelligently. He looked at me and asked, "Do you think I'm mental person?" I did not know what to say. I just shook my head.

Sir later told us, his other side would be seen when his wife came to visit him. She has started working to make ends meet and afford his stay in the private hospital. He is violent/arrogant, mouths the foulest possible words to her. He has paranoia of persecution. If at all a disaster has to occur, partner's physical handicap is so very easier to care for, support and cope with, I thought. Atleast your spouse would understand. God doesn't leave us with choices at times.

It was time for us to leave. Sir asked us to give him a sweet or something. That would make him happy. I wished I was carrying something. None of us had candy. I asked him if he would like to have biscuits. He refused. Then with child like innocence he peeped into my apron pockets and asked me what I had got. I took out the remaining 2-3 Good day biscuits with the wrapper. The glazing cover attracted him. He grinned, grabbed it and said he would take it since I gave it with love. As we turned to leave, he tapped on my back and whispered, "Madam, not to mistake because I said the love." I felt a smile spreading on my face, assured him I wouldn't and left.

Movies masti and malls!

2006-07-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

The new multiplex cum shopping mall which opened recently has become hugely popular. It is a novelty, first of its kind in Mangalore. Pizza eat outs, coffee shops, international brands and all that jazz. People flock in all the time even if there's nothing in specific to do. It is one of those 'cool to be spotted at' places.

It was a weekend and we had planned on watching a movie. I was little early. I stood waiting near the railing of the quadrangle and glanced at the fancy names of new flavours of candy at the toffee shop. I noticed some stylishly dressed, elaborately made up middle aged women with chandelier ear rings, high heels and trendy outfits. I remembered what my class guys back in school used to call these ladies who tried to look hep and young. ACF. Aunty Cum Figure. Memories of high school and one ACF whom we had made maximum fun of made me smile. I noticed somebody looking in my direction.

From the corner of my eye I saw he was coming towards me. He looked like one of those who could come up with creative lines. As I waited curiously, I heard a "Hey have we met?" Disappointed, I said I didn't think so. "You resemble a friend. I was wondering if you could tell me where screen 2 is. I'm kinda lost." I didn't understand if he was trying to be flirtatious or he was plainly dumb. There are directions all over big and clear. Nevertheless I politely directed him. "Do you believe in love at first sight of should I walk past by a few more times?" was written at the back of his T. Atleast his T had a better line. He turned around and winked when he was at a safe distance. Duh! Some cheek he has got I thought. Before I could react friends joined and we rushed to our screen.

I'm not a big fan of Superman. I knew it would be like the comics only. I had laughed even at the idea of watching our swadeshi boy performing similar super natural stunts. Krrissh (or however that it is spelt. I don't get this numerology and all that. Ekta Kapoor has named some soap of hers as Kkusum cos K is supposed to be lucky it seems. Whenever I see that ad I try to pronounce it in SRK's stammering style.) Still, there I was sitting, geared up for 'Superman returns'.

I haven't studied ballistics in forensic medicine that well. Some kind of a powerful bullet is directed at our hero's eye. It hits his lens and the bullet is totally shattered!! (Rajnikanth could flick some ideas.) Ta tada!! That's superman. There was this another scene where he is lying in the hospital. The heroine is about to kiss him. Full fledged smooching sounds from the audience. It was cheap but I couldn't help giggling. Adlabs is little posh, so no laser lights on skimpily clad females on the screen. There wasn't much skin show in this particular one anyway. The comments, laughter and the movie to some extent was entertaining. Plus I had to enjoy it. 60 whole bucks for the ticket! That too just 3 rows away from the screen.

"As a student, watching movies from stalls builds character" my uncle says. I am building quite a bit of that these days.

PS: I realise my blog titles are getting li'l too monotonous these days. No more MMMs, WWWs. Promise. And hey! My site turns a month old today.

Bend it like Ballack!

2006-07-01T09:11:00.000-07:00

My friend had kept some place for me next to her in the packed TV room. She asked me who I was gonna support. I didn't know. I was neutral. My doubts regarding the game are far too basic sometimes. My pals of the opposite sex get impatient. So I save all of them to ask her. Plus I don't have to worry about sounding stupid. Argentina made a goal. Frenzy in the hall! I didn't know football was so popular among the girls.

When last ten minutes were left, Germany was still on zero. The victory was almost certain. But you never know what happens in a game of football. I wanted Germany to score one. I didn't care who won. I wanted drama. I love it when a match ends in a penalty shoot out. They did score a goal. I so very much enjoy checking out the team's reaction after goals are scored. Whenever we caught glimpses of Ballack there were many "Aww.. So cute"s. I was wee bit partial to Germany because of him.

Extra 30 minutes also got over. It was still 1-1. Penalty shoot out. Yippie!! Both the teams were superb. It was a great match. They should have met in the semis atleast I thought. Full puppy face expression on the Argentinians. I felt quite bad for them. Hysteria followed in our hall after the match. Some girls even almost started crying! I looked at them and wanted to laugh. I rolled my eyes exactly like that emoticon does on the Y! messenger and hoped one of them saw me. Some people overdo this so much. Just because soccer is supposed to be yo and all. I don't remember seeing anybody cry when India lost to the Aussies in the WC. Ok, I wasn't in this hostel then. But still this seemed pseudo to me. I got little irritated and got back to my room.

My usually quiet heavy porcelain butterflies in the chime gently collided against each other and merrily filled the room with pleasant jingles. There was strong wind and it started to pour. Breeze in my hair and the rain.. 2 things which almost always manage to buoy me up. I went to the balcony to watch the rain. I sat staring and was wondering where to fit it under in Forrest Gump's classification. 'Big fat rain' i thought. It was beautiful and smelt great.

The weather is completely eccentric. When it decides to be harsh, it will even make you resort to taking electrolytes cos of the dehydration. Then there are these bulky downpours. Monsoons in Mangalore is an experience in itself. I sat there feeling the spray on my face. I love the rain. It makes me so peppy and animated. I remembered reading somewhere that Charlie Chaplin loved walking in the rain cos nobody could see his tears.

As I got convinced that the week wasn't totally devoid of something bloggable, the sound of the falling drops lulled me to slumber.

wedlocks and wenlock

2006-06-24T03:50:00.000-07:00

After hitting the snooze for the sixth time, I decided to put the alarm off. I was anyway wide awake, would get out of bed in a couple of minutes. It was 20 minutes past 9 when i woke up! Just the previous day our new unit head had briefed us about how he wanted the things around to be. He sounded more than just particular about punctuality. Ok, I had ten minutes to reach. Thank god for aprons, any shabby thing you wear underneath goes unnoticed. Popped in some candy into my pockets to help me sustain standing for long hours. There have been quite a few episodes. I'm known for it. So much so that, when class gets boring in wards my friends signal me to fake some fainting. Prof usually stops the class there or we get a break atleast when somebody faints. Not that I oblige, it's pretty embarrassing when it actually happens.

I raced to the auto stand and hopped into an auto. I realized I was already late. Another realization struck that we were supposed to have read some topic for that day's class and I so casually had forgotten about it. I opened the book to atleast look through the headings. Some set of questions are always shot at the junior batch with the antecedent 'Fresh from anatomy' title. Bah! How I hate that phrase. Sometimes I feel like telling them what my definition of 'fresh' is. I also feel bad that if not for my flimsy job at it a year ago, I could have handled these situations better. Also realizing that it wasn't the apt moment for retrospection, I read on.

I reached. I straightened my hair, stroked my puffy eyes to look as presentable as possible as I held my breath while rushing through a particular corridor to avoid the stench of toilets. It has become a habit now. I was late, nervous. Before I could have two minds about attending clinics that day, I made an entry into the ward. I was relieved to see only my unit mates who were loitering around. I was told that HE had slipped in his bathroom and fractured his elbow (so loyal to the dept I thought) and won't be coming for some days. After a while I wiped the grin off my face and scolded myself for being secretly happy.

Some PG came for case discussion. He showed us the X-ray and asked us "if we can able to appreciate the trabaculaes." I let out a small giggle, so he handed it over to me and asked me to read it. A senior briefed us on the history. This case was a 62 year old man who had sustained 5 fractures altogether in a disastrous road traffic accident. Forget about paying for his hip replacement surgery, he couldn't even afford to replace his tattered rags. For financial aid/consent for surgery, presence of a family member is required. When his wife and son were told about the catastrophe which was almost a week ago neither one of them took responsibility whatsoever. But this man thinks there has been definite lack of communication. He is sure that his wife is going to turn up soon and still is waiting in hope. However, he is going to be operated this Saturday I think.

He was fast asleep. We were asked to examine him. Seeing our hesitation to wake him up, the PG slapped him on the back and coarsely ordered him to answer our queries. He looked miserable but managed a meek smile on seeing so many enthusiastic faces. All this only because he is being charged minimal. Big difference. But still what do people lose in being little gentle.. This is an exam case with all the findings we were told. I remembered what the dean had told us on the orientation day. The Wenlock govt district hospital is a gold mine for acquiring clinical skills. That's all these people are to us. Teaching subjects.

Seeing the disapproval on my face he told me, "We are not responsible for the misery in the world. We can just do our duty. Being sorry helps nobody." True. After the discussion, I went back to my hostel and forgot about it.

It is like reading about an adversity in the newspaper. You are pitiful for a while. Then turn the paper and you are solving the crossword or chuckling at a comic strip.

life's little lessons

2006-06-18T00:21:00.000-07:00

I would hardly even pick it up from the refrigerator myself. I need royal treatment when I am studying. This is a favour I do (for whom I don't exactly know.) Otherwise also the walk till the kitchen is too long and it kinda tires me. Chilled, firm, saccharine sweet, toothsome, neatly peeled Alfonsos cut into cubes, mixed with condensed milk, shredded cashewnuts and almonds served in China ware dishes. This is one of my all time favourite desserts. Still I'd fuss about how mom lacks ideas and made it so often and how her over feeding was responsible for my cellulite. I hated it when at times the cubes got soggy.

Now, eating even the local variety mango is almost a luxury. I consult my friend behind me in the queue to make the best choice. After all this has to compensate for the sad dinner. The mess worker makes a face. I have half a mind to take longer and return her frown. But i choose to ignore. I pick one up after detailed examination and leave. No elaborate dissection, no garnishing. Rip it with hands and chew the pulp off the peel. Handling the slippery seed, trickling of juice till the elbow and fibre between teeth are my new skills.

This is one of the things my stay is the hostel has showed me - to look forward to and enjoy the messy experience. I also terribly appreciate good cooking. Sounds like one of those Tinkle's "humbling of the haughty girl" types, doesn't it?

My misty mornings in Mangalore

2006-06-17T03:45:00.000-07:00

Usually the whole of first week you just get to move the steering wheel like a dummy when your instructor handles the rest of the controls. But just by 2nd day I could take charge of most of it. Sir was visibly impressed. Being the sucker for praise that I am, little did I mention about the previous lessons from dad. (Then why I have joined a driving school is another story.)

The slot of this driving school mate is just before mine. He comes with gelled hair, butt hugging jeans and all early in the morning. He can easily replace Sallu in Tere naam2 if it's ever made. Can't point a reason, but he irritates me. We don't even acknowledge each other's presence. They pick me up and at a particular place we switch places and I get the steering. Each time sir pushes the seat behind by a good dozen centimetres and I look at this guy through my mirror and smirk mildly. My cheap thrills.

Notorious stories about few nasty driving instructors trying shady tricks are quite known. Women sometimes insist on female instructors it seems. Sir runs his school all by himself. So his 30 years old brain's solution, he calls every girl 'beta'. Even if you are 20.

His chatter ranges from a wide variety of subjects. He gives me the highlights of FIFA WC. He'll tell me how rewarding it would be if I choose to pursue an MD in gynecology. Next moment he talks about this newly opened store where his wife bought dress materials from. A rickshaw tries to overtake us from the left. This man now builds my vocabulary of filth in Tulu. (He is of some help, I must say. Like Calvin says, "Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words.") A while later the gossip update in the MLA's house continues. Before I realise, my half an hour's up.

flat tyres to hickeys..

2006-06-11T23:21:00.000-07:00

The weekend was almost over, sunday evening. (The same gloomy mood in anticipation of going to school the next day, that used to prevail after watching some Ananth Nag/Ramesh movie on DD9 which i so sincerely watched on Sunday evenings as a kid.) Next day's hectic ortho OPD.. Not that we do anything tiring, but then standing for 2-3 long hours and examining patients with low back ache for the twentieth time in a day is definitely not my idea of fun. I was pondering about my unfinished assignment. "Cursing a flat tyre does not fix it" were the words of wisdom for the day on my desk calendar. So I decided I might as well actually write it.

A couple of my friends suddenly had this strong urge to play Scrabble. I put aside my 'tyre fixing' job for a while and joined in. We put on some Blue and mixed ourselves some orange Tang and started off. I already felt better.

I wasn't faring too well. When they were coming up with 'BONNET', 'FORCEPS', 'QUEUE', 'LAX', 'BOXER' (Z and X are ten points each! Plus the double/triple letter scores used to be conveniently around) I was struggling with petty 3-4 lettered words. Thanks to the set of my 7 alphabet squares I kept getting which almost always consisted of vowels and an occasional R or T which again would fetch not more than a point.

My constant companion through adoloscence - acne had made the cosmetically over conscious me, look up the net on a few occasions. Nothing really helps, but I like to be informed. During one of those times I had come across this word.

I got Z-10 I-1 T-1 with Z on a triple letter score. 32! Hurray! I did not win the game, but I didn't come last either. After the squares got over, we were bickering over the purposeful silly totalling errors we had done with each of our scores. The annoying, grim senior next door barged into my room with her ever so knotted face and ordered us to shut our mouths and lower the player volume. Some exam was coming up it seems, little did we care. She banged the door and left. Peals of laughter followed. Another evening fruitfully spent i thought..

PS: Bala and umm.. you don't have a pet name.. I'll just call you CS. Excuse me for the 'tiny' deviations here and there from what actually happened yesterday. Winkie!

library blues

2006-06-10T09:05:00.000-07:00

Sessional's a week away
Know well gotto study night and day
Neither am i one of those who listens to all the stuff in class
Nor someone who'll study from the beginning kickass
Ought to cram max in the last min
Or flunking is gonna surface all my sins
So, here i sit in the library
Teaching myself the patho of aneurysm of Berry
My mind wanders a lot, Robbin's is pale and dull
God bless the power cut, gonna go into silent lull

one fine night..

2006-06-07T07:34:00.000-07:00

i was exceptionally jobless and lazy. i was feverish. i disregarded it as being psychological and decided to sleep it out. (i do NOT normally cook up illnesses unless i very badly need some pampering.) i woke up feeling no better. (4 sentences and 6 'i's so far. this blog is MINE, so whatever it is, so be it.) the day dragged on, felt weaker. i decided to get myself checked. at the casualty, the PG asked me to get the routine investigations done. urine test was one in the list.

first of all, i was so dehydrated. getting myself to pee was one thing. plus i was anorexic. anything edible/drinkable seemed revolting. after forced efforts to gulp down some tender coconut water and being the butt of my friend's jokes for ten minutes, i managed to get an impulse. went to the loo with the tiny bottle. now, aiming to piss into it was another task! (thanks to my paranoid dad, i too have become over cautious about hospi infection. he still gives me instructions before i get even a simple TT shot.)

finally the task was done. i came out carrying the bottle with a sense of satisfaction. i just realised there were a couple of my professors around. i suddenly felt conscious/awkward. i hurried to the technicians table and made an exit from the scene.

After all the drama, i was hoping for malaria atleast. i did feel really sick. atleast i could say i had something decently big. to my disappointment the PG told me the reports are normal and prescribed some paracetamol and warm saline gargle. no antibiotics also! stupid meager viral pharyngitis..