The indolent have arrived

Onlookers

2009-11-03T09:03:00.003+05:30

A year ago, during the presidential election hoopla, I started a post about the significant others of significant people, and discarded it. What had made me start the post at that time was Michelle Obama, the voice of sanity behind all the staging. I think by now, things have been said ad nauseum about the first couple of the United States and I will choose not to add to it, no pun intended. However, what does bring a somewhat related topic to mind is working at the ICU for five weeks.

The ICU is always drama. If real medicine resembles the unfortunate medical TV shows anywhere, it would be there. Lots of scrubs, harassed residents, cussing, codes, "Bring the crash cart!" calls, life saving and death. Most of the time, especially when one is a part of the drama, its hard to get perspective. However, at the end of twenty four hours of being on call, someone else takes over. Then, like I said a year ago in another post, one gets a chance to look back at the previous day. Last month, with the slight added luxury of being a resident and not a harrowed intern, I had the chance to evaluate a little more. What impression do I carry with me from nine thirty-hour calls? Its not how many people we shocked with electricity, not how many people we dialysed urgently or how many died, even. Its the people with the amazing family.

The weird aspect of the ICU is 'amazing' means so many different things depending on the situation. The patients are on so many machines that they don't look like actual people. The family is what makes them seem real. This brings to mind the husband of a woman with really bad H1N1 influenza, whose husband put pictures of her in the room, so we could see how much of a real person she was before she got ill. I shy away from being 'senti' as we call soppy sentimentalism in India, but sometimes, I have realized lately, it is almost justified.

The meaning of the word 'amazing', like I said, does differ with circumstances. It sometimes represents the grittiness of a daughter who decides her mother really would not want a tube down her mouth and a machine breathing for her. A son, who played classical music for hours on the violin for a dad who was unconscious, is one of the biggest heroes I have seen. The doctors and nurses who work there constantly and continue not to despair, appear great to me, the person who just passes through there for five weeks a year.

Sometimes, it is not even anything outlandish like the above instances. It is just the parents, husbands, wives, sons and daughters who come in day after day, and peer at their loved one through the glass doors, who see the person behind the tubes, who must be so scared when they see so many frightening things being done to that person. The strength of these people amazes me.

I do not think the work of a doctor in the ICU is the ultimate test of a good physician. It is one way of making a small difference. However, I do think the circumstances there are such, that they separate love from its imitation, and that, in spite of the bad timimg, is a beautiful sight.

Business class?

2009-09-20T08:09:00.002+05:30

The following is something I jotted down during a layover in Chennai, when I was flying back to the US one year ago. I found it today and thought it was worth sharing.

"Another first. Thanks to a benevolent uncle, I am flying business class from Chennai to New York. I am actually still waiting in the business lounge, yet to board. Already, I feel like I have sprouted a halo. I checked in to smiles and deference. There is a tempting spread of food, but perhaps the most interesting spread is the variety of people in the lounge. Obsequious attendants who seem to have the "Soooper" Chennai attitude hidden behind the grooming. Rajnikanth lookalike (or wannabe lookalike) lounge occupant, complete with shades at 9 45 PM, pink shiny shirt with multicoloured stripes, and a blazer, sits champing "chickan sandwich". He is accompanied by a multiply ringed, pot-bellied gentleman. they seem to be making full use of the eats, and I will be astonished if there is any alcohol left in the place after they are done with it.

In spite of the name, there seem to be very few businessmen types. There is a distinguished gentleman opposite me with a vaio and a small tika on his forehead, which strangely adds to his looks of distinction. There is also a lady who seems to have the entire flora of Chennai on her head. Blackberries abound, so do golden wristwatches with wide straps. Quiet conversation in one corner, burps in another. All this vouchering must be leading to this odd mixture of sophisticated rich guys, other not-so-sophisticated rich guys with dink-chik ring tones, foreigners who have a touch of self-importance about them, and people who got plain lucky, like me.

When I came into the lounge, I was conscious of a need to appear more genteel than I really am. Looking around at this mishmash of types, I suddenly feel at home."

Written later, when I was seated in the plane-

"Cool! I've just been promoted to Goddess status. My seat has a back massager, it becomes a recliner, cradle or a bed. I get a free night-dress to wear during the flight. I wonder if they will also dance for me?"

Read that one?

2009-08-26T05:04:00.004+05:30

Anyone with a true love for reading will know this. One good book leads to another. It happens by so many mechanisms. It may be several books by an author that you discovered was great. This is what is happening to me with Alexander McCall Smith. It may also be books that are referenced in other great books. The works of Charles Lamb mentioned 'The Guernsey literary and potato peel pie society' made me go and get all the Charles Lamb books. Although I am not proud of it, I read a lot of Shakespeare only because Agatha Christie quotes him so much.

Since I love bringing up questions, I have to wonder this aloud. What leads anyone to pick up a specific book? I was just looking at the list of books Mr. Obama is reading on his trip. I must say that it must be hard to have an entire nation critique what you read. Imagine resisting the temptation to read a crappy book because it wouldn't look good on the news! Apparently they even compare you with past presidents and judge you. The verdict seems to be that while BO is a more sophisticated reader than GWB (duh!), he doesn't match up to Bill Clinton. Apparently its also a problem he doesn't have a female writer on the list. While the entire nation's freedom lies with you, your own little choices are open to criticism, ridicule and dismissal. And people actually run for president?

But I digress. Coming back to wondering useless things, what leads anyone to pick up a book and read it? I used to read the back cover. It seems that the publication companies (who are asses) have done away with the back cover summary and have put it on the inside cover, which is extremely annoying. If you pick up a book and read the back cover as a reflex (which it is with me), you instead find what the Washington Post said about the book. Very little use, since the enterprising publisher, being very clever, has picked and chosen what words he will put there. Still, the criticisms sometimes do sway me and I read a book because the Newsweek says it has to be read. So I am letting a random critic make choices for the development of my mind? Disturbing thought. What if he was a serial killer on the side? What if all the critics were just posing?

The books I usually regret having succumbed to reading are the ones with the author showing up on TV and touting their book. They dress very nicely and speak on random TV talk shows about their so-called influences and I am sold on them. Only to find that they were talking through their hat. Malcolm Gladwell's 'Blink' is one such. Generalizations galore and blowing things out of proportion. Also crappy are the books which I read when the movie trailer looks good. 'Julie and Julia' to name one. She cooked an entire recipe book. So?

The ones that usually turn out well are the mildly apologetic looking books that stand on the library shelf, usually not in the 'new' rack. Which is where I found 'The Guernsey...society'. A book-lover friend is a great resource, I find. Another great way to find a corker is to look at the library book club list. That means the book has something to talk about, always a good sign. The classics are also where I usually have more luck, since to survive generations, a book usually has to be some good.

However, beyond these vague and unreliable tactics, I haven't found anything reliable to tell me how to choose books. Covers, authors with previous good books, reviews, talk shows, movies- everything can be deceptive. Which is perhaps why its such an absolute joy to find a stunner. Its like looking for a needle in a haystack, and actually finding it.

Viva

2009-06-24T06:43:00.003+05:30

My name is most commonly misspelled as above. Its the name of a flop girl band in India. Has a cliched association with Las Vegas. And means "long live". Popped into my head due to chain of thoughts beginning with Michael Jackson. So he died, mysteriously, sadly, but most importantly, in the eye of the public. I was sufficiently moved to update my status on facebook in his memory. I saw that many others had waxed eloquent as well. If this guy had died at ninety, in a nursing home, forty years from now, would it have the same impact? No, mainly because people who would have a faint memory of his good music would be gaga themselves by then, but also because living to a ripe old age somehow undermines your achievement. We attribute genius to the van Goghs,the Ramanujans. The Alexanders, the Heath Ledgers move us to eloquence. The lines by Webster "Cover her face, mine eyes dazzle, she died young," pull on the heartstrings and remind one vaguely of Marilyn Monroe. The young are immortalized by death. But somehow the P.G Wodehouses and the Lewis Carrolls don't get the same romance allied with their names. Is this because we consider they got their due by living to a sufficient age? Surely, there is more credit in consistency than in dying early? When I read about these achievers who have led long lives, it seems to me that they have always been filled with a zest for living and a respect for life that I have not found in those we romanticize. I think the greatest character J.K. Rowling has yet created is Dumbledore, the old wild genius. There are probably a lot of Dumbledores we haven't spotted.

And in the background was playing..

2008-12-11T02:13:00.002+05:30

Movies have enriched all our lives in many ways, I can safely declare. They have brought life and laughter to many a gloomy evening, they have sparked off many romances and they have created innumerable memories both not only by themselves, but by association. The many many times my family and I have spent watching the same movie and deriving more enjoyment every time cannot be replaced. However, if there was one invaluable gift which I had to pick among all the ways cinema has impacted people,it would be the background music.

The clash of drums is the most reliable way of knowing that something momentous is about to happen in an Indian movie. The lilting music on a shehnai has almost become associated with sadness and grieving. The typical rising tempo on a sitar or veena is one with optimism. All of us, if we search our minds can come up with the music we associate with rain, with romance, with loneliness, with flowers, with comic happenings, and pretty much every situation we are in. The "Taan-ta-daan!" and the "ta-dah!" we each utter when we show off something, is reinforcement of this fact.I had not realized it before,as I had taken it for granted, but any event, especially in a movie seems almost incomplete without a background score to drive it home.

The most talented music directors have perfected the art of making us almost unconscious of its presence, making us feel the situation through the music rather than listening to the music alone. I remember the excitement induced by the background score during the chase in the movie 'Cellular',but afterward, when I sought out that song by itself, it seemed commonplace enough. It is the marriage between the action on screen and the music that gives them both that added power. People who have watched the Tamil movie 'Mozhi' and remember the scene where they show the process of the music being added to the scene, will be able to relate to this.

What is it about the background that makes it so influential? I don't know but I suspect that it is the fact that each of us are born with an innate sense of music and we are happy to recognize the same faculty in the rest of the world. It is also a form of wordless communication. All of us are strangely made happy by that, it seems. We all even associate each product with the music in its ad. Who does not know the Airtel music and the Titan watches music in India? Similarly, everyone in the US seems to recall the Burger King music and many such.

Extending this to everyday life, it really makes a chore such as cleaning the kitchen seem pleasant when you are doing it with hindustani music in the background. The same applies to a dink-chik score during exercise or the latest bollywood number while folding clothes. Association of radio city with coffee, of Upendra numbers with autos makes all these things doubly enjoyable somehow. Simple pleasures and true ones.I am sure all our lives will bring varied problems and many tricky ones, but thanks to our friends in the cinematic world, we can at least face them with a song in our heads!

As I would like it

2008-11-28T14:17:00.006+05:30

If I were to somehow have a say in high school education policies, it would be one of my first experiments to introduce a 'shadow month' in which each student would pick four professions and shadow them each for a week, just to know the nitty-gritties of actually living life doing that job. It would be a fascinating month, I think.

Even though I don't actually want to be doing a million different jobs, there are so many people I want to follow around, just for a day or maybe a week. Its my way of saying " Come, tell me how you live!" as Lewis Carroll so neatly put it.

So here are four kinds of people I would love to watch:

1. Music directors : I cannot think of a time when I have not wondered how these people do what they do. So, if a song has to be composed, who does their bit first? The music director or the lyricist? If a song has been written, how is it possible to put it into music without sounding forced? The same way, how can a tune just be fitted with lyrics? In addition to all this there is also the problem of actually conveying the message in a convincing, novel, manner. It has to be a fascinating study.

2. Archeologists: Everyday, these people get a peep into the lives of men and women who lived hundreds to thousands of years ago. The scope for imagination would be tremendous. In addition to physically reconstructing ancient pottery, they have the opportunity of reconstructing, in their minds, the lives of their contemporaries of another age. The conferences and debates between archeologists would be the most interesting thing to watch. Plus, carbon dating is cool!

3. Presidential body-guards: Being alert for twenty minutes in a row is a challenge. What skills do these people have to develop, that they stay that way for hours? How do they get trained in presence of mind? Also, what I really want to know is whether everyday is eventful and interesting for them or does it get trying to always be on the lookout and more often than not, have nothing happen? I also really really want to know the number of them that develop paranoid behavior!

4. Ball boys and girls at Wimbledon: They come and go like magic. They seem to have a system of continuously recycling and supplying players with tennis balls. They also always roll the balls straight. Sometimes, I have felt they read the player's mind somehow! It might be an exhausting business to follow these quicksilvery people, but I would love to try.

There are so many more questions on so many more professions that I hesitate to put them down, for fear of raising more queries than I can ever hope to answer. On second thoughts however, even if a few of them get answered, life will be more interesting. Also, sometimes, like in the middle of a rainy day, thinking of the questions is a lot of fun too!

So,one more of my pet castles in the air. Whether this one materializes or not is probably going to make no difference to my life, but it sure was fun to build it!

MICU

2008-10-19T03:07:00.004+05:30

Its great to be able to live in the moment; its excellent to enjoy the journey and not focus on the result. If you can do it, that is. If not, hindsight is your answer. I divide my life into what-fun and only-when-I-look-back-will-this-be-fun activities. Ideally we would all have the former all the time, but remember what chemistry teacher said about ideal gases? "There is no-o such thing, children."

MICU- the Medical Intensive Care Unit, is one of the required rotations for an internal medicine resident, which is what I am these days. I am halfway through the one month rotation and every fourth day, I am on call for a continuous period of thirty hours. I come in one day, stay the night and leave the next day at noon. During this time, I admit people who are ill enough to be in the ICU. I also cover for the other three lucky ass residents who get to go home. So roughly the job about managing twenty five to thirty patients. More importantly, its about dealing with half that many nurses.

In my top ten list of the places to be at two AM, the ICU will not figure. No,really. 'In bed sleeping' will be the top eight. The other two will be 'watching movie' and 'gossiping with friend'. And why will this unique experience not make the list? A. Three beepers, all going off, alternately, all night. B.Twelve ICU nurses who have been there an average of ten years, letting you know what their opinion is of you, the poor eight month old resident. C. Ill and dying patients. All this every fourth day is enough to make life in that moment not so desirable. The resulting muscle ache also probably supplies about half the income of the pain killer industry.

That being said, I still find the strength to make it to the hospital and win the struggle with my cowardly self. This mystery can only be explained by the power of hindsight. Each on-call night drags by, but each morning there is this brilliant moment where one of my colleagues coming in to work asks me, "How was your call?" Then I look back and try to relive the night. Although I do remember the frustrations, the things I recall most vividly are things which like one of the nurses telling me, " Take a deep breath. It only seems like this will never end." Other gems like one of my ninety year old patients telling me she thinks I am doing a great job with her (She is ninety and sick enough to be in the ICU. There's your explanation for that!), and that one patient among several who get better overnight, make me believe that it wasn't such a bad time after all. This also gives me the shaky confidence to believe that I may even survive to the end of the month.

Yes, what-fun moments need to happen in life. The more, the better. However, one has to fill in the gaps too. What better way than thinking, "I am going to look back on this moment and feel like I have lived!"

A Saturday afternoon

2008-05-18T03:45:00.004+05:30

Tomorrow is Sunday. Its my first day off in ten days. I can wake up late, not set an alarm and eat when I like. The fact that tomorrow is a holiday makes today more special somehow. Its always been that way, and when I got off at 1 30 PM today, it brought back that heavenly feeling of a Saturday afternoon from school which was a 'half-day'. Added to this feeling was the relief that I finally completed my Masters in Public Health yesterday.

It has been a lazy Saturday afternoon. It was cloudy outside, and cloudy weather is somehow appetizing. Went for a walk, with the vague idea of getting something to eat. Walked for a mile and then realized I specifically wanted a cinnamon crunch bagel from Panera bread. So I hopped on the next bus, had my bagel with hot coffee. Set out to get some groceries from an Indian store in the area. Window shopped along the way at the university store. This of course led to buying a sweatshirt for myself to commemorate completing my MPH. It started raining, a light drizzle. Opened my borrowed umbrella, which turned out to be HUGE. Walked in the rain with my eyes full of spring flowers which I could see everywhere through the hazy drizzle. As I was walking, dwarfed under my blue-and-white umbrella, I hadn't realized I was frowning with thought. A stranger on the sidewalk looked at me and said "Smile!". So I smiled. I had every reason to.

Dynamics of a resident's life

2008-05-17T05:55:00.003+05:30

A month of Internal Medicine floors, almost a month in Pittsburgh Cancer Institute and one month of an elective may conceivably be taken as sufficient experience to write about the first year of residency, 'internship' as it is called. This term leads to confusion. For a colleague, I am an intern and will be a resident next year. For a layman I am a resident. So I consider the question "Are you a resident?" highly unfair these days.

Its amazing how medical shows seem to lay down the criteria for us to live up to. So now even if one stays up for 33 hours, all credit seems to be taken away from it because 'Izzy' and 'Neela' do that and a LOT more, easily and glamorously. Whenever I get the inclination to crib to my peers and superiors I am told to 'wait' for something potentially worse , to boot. "Oh you think PCI is hard? Wait till you rotate in the ICU." I am waiting, I am waiting!

Notwithstanding the extreme sadness caused by early rising, dark circles, nonexistence of energy, possible clinical depression or to put it plainly, lack of a life, residency does come with some perks. Trying not to laugh as a team at one of the 'fellows' ( a fellow is a person who is superspecializing), for one. Now this guy is very knowledgable, I am sure. The only problem is, he seems to think we are all living rent free on the earth that he owns. Rules or policies or courtesies don't exist for him. When he is reminded of their existence, he retorts with "I will speak to the people who say so" or words to that effect. Nice attitude buddy. You make our morning gossip worthwhile. Lets just say it isn't exactly stimulating to spend an 'on-call' day stuck with this guy 'supervising'.

That blot-on-the-face-of-the-earth aside, residency (or internship?) does have its moments. Elevator conversations provide some of the best moments of the day. The amount of coffee drunk, I am sure, is supporting an entire South American country. Its a great feeling to be treated by consultants with wide experience, as if you were every bit as good as they. Again on the other hand, I also am considered a prize idiot with good reason at times. To suddenly have a minor brainwave, only to discover that everyone had landed on it a while ago, takes me a peg down and that somehow feels like Living Life with capitals. It is also strangely interesting that doctors from different specialties behave in entirely different ways. Also, I think this is the same worldwide. It would make an interesting read, but we will leave that for another day when I have more examples.

As I write this and read it over I realize that my work has more or less taken over my life. I hardly think about anything else these days. That I think, is a sure sign that I have to take a step back to get some perspective and realize that pleasing attendings, co-workers and the powers that be is not all in life. Patient care would be so much more effective in my opinion, if I did not have to worry about pleasing a lot of people. Also, there are other things that deserve attention, namely hair, nails, books, friends, family,travel and so many more things that have had to take a backseat. I think the learning point here is to be able to completely cut off from work when one is not working. To live a little.

Looking out!

2008-04-13T00:33:00.005+05:30

Spring is finally here, and Pittsburgh has finally renewed its acquaintance with the sun. I never thought I would be so glad to see something I took for granted twenty three years of my life. Its hard not to gaze out of the window as I work, these days.

I was reading Shreyas' blog about his experience looking out of the window, and I remembered all the windows I have gazed out of. I don't know if this is common, but it seems like a large part of my life has been spent looking out of the window and trying not to. The most vivid one is looking out of the the grilled window of our room in Tiptur. My father and grandfather, both advocates, saw their clients at home. The clients travelled to Tiptur from surrounding villages and I remember them sitting on our cement walkway (!) patiently waiting for hours. Lots of white panches and I vividly recall that they wore those striped long chaddis underneath where they seemed to store tobacco, money and all sundry! Meena, my first great chum and torture victim, was a neighbour, and most of our communication was through the aforesaid window. All this among coconut trees, rose bushes and 'croton' plants. Sunshine and cloudless skies a matter of course and there lots of smuggling tamarind through the window , so we could make some concoction with tamarind, salt, chilli powder and garlic that we astonishingly ingested without ever being sick! My school rooms in Tiptur had so many windows and so many sights that these offered, that its a wonder I ever passed primary school.

Predictably, the scenes through later windows sobered up. On a long visit to Bombay in July, we were more or less placed on house arrest due to incessant rain, and being on the 16th floor, there wasn't much to amuse ourselves with. Sophia's women's college was next to the apartment building and every morning would find us gazing at the vividly coloured umbrellas the girls carried to college, which was all we could see from above. That was the highlight of the morning! The French windows in Bangalore look out to a field that hosts volleyball tournaments where the commentators are earthshakingly hilarious. They even have floodlight volleyball till the wee hours of the morning. No one sleeps in my house those few days of the tournament, not because we are avid V-ball fans, but because no human being can sleep with those lights shining through the window and managing to pierce the curtains!

The study window was another source of interesting times. It looks out on the terraces of our neighbours' houses. Friends were made this way, and I also remember watching and hearing one of our neighbours practice dramatic scenes with his drama troupe (!) repeating lines over and over with different intonations and emphasis.

Our cousin was visiting one day, and was rudely shaken at midnight, with promises of a rare vision through the window. She followed my sister and me, wondering what was so fascinating. My sister and I, great detectives that we were, had spotted smoke coming out of a neigbour's house at midnight, had done some superb spy work through the curtains and spotted our neighbour, a teenaged female, smoking in her living room. My cousin, more worldly wise, was disgusted with us for finding this thrilling and told us to get a life, but the memory remains as one of the most awesome discoveries my sister and I made.

More gazing through windows has followed, notably in Victoria hospital, looking at pink and yellow flowering trees, patients wheeled on stretchers and wheelchairs, nurses in impossibly white saris and salwars, an occasional harassed intern. Then there has been Pittsburgh, where I caught my first real glimpse of snow through the window. Looking up from a reverie, I glanced out to find that the world was literally white! My main complaint with the hospital I work in is that most windows are tinted or shaded, so there isn't a proper view. In my world where looking out of the window is a major occupation, this is cramping my style.I have a suspicion they want me to do some real work.

Back home writing this,I glance out and I spy gloomy skies (again!). Never mind, spring is here and soon there will be bright colours and blue skies once more to look at, that I promise to never again take for granted!

The dream

2008-03-21T05:27:00.003+05:30

Yea yea..long time, waiting for inspiration, whatever!

My first trip back to India was last month. The expectation of going back is the best feeling one can have. When you actually get on that plane, you feel like you have literally sprouted wings. Didn't even realize in my mind that I was finally going home, until I was waiting at Pittsburgh airport, waiting to take off. Here is some advice. When you are flying back to your family after eighteen months, do NOT listen to the song 'Maa' from Taare Zameen Par on your i-pod. If you do, total strangers will be subjected to the spectacle watching a psycho cry for mummy. Not that I cried..oh no!

India 2008 was a surprise. Surprise that it has changed so much and so little at the same time. The traffic hasn't changed. Nor has the crowd and the get-going attitude. But these are externals. Its what you bitch about being foreign-return and all. No, the surprise lay in the people. Bangalore as I remember used to be infested with eve teasers at every corner. Now, maybe I am older and less attractive (yeah, right!), but the rate of eve teasing was surprisingly low. I only got one 'Hi beautiful' on my street this time. Sad for me, but good for the community, they say. They are raping and killing more, according to the papers, but I think ordinary people are no longer jobless enough to stand on street corners and gape. Another change, which was rearing its head when I left, is the consumerism. The malls are full, reliance fresh is full everywhere, the restaurants are brimming and so are the book shops. People are buying up just about anything and seem to be thriving on it. T-nagar in Chennai has some sort of a nightmarish flyover coming up in the middle of Pondy Bazaar, but is that stopping the aunties from buying silk and jewellery? That was a rhetoric question, by the way. What can stop the forces of nature that drive Chennai aunties towards gold and silk? Not mere concrete.

There is so much that remains to change. The airports, the bribes, the petty thieving, the beggar children, the street dogs, the worried looks, the smoking teenagers, the long lines, the littering, the spitting, the pushing and the fumes. In spite of this, I see almost a guarantee that these conditions will change. Why? Because there is no longer an acceptance of squalor. I think the wishes have finally combined with the means. We want to better our lifestyle and we have the money to do it. I know that advocates of socialism would probably not agree with this statement, but nothing can be true for everybody, anywhere. We'll get there, in time.

Oh by the way, coming back blows. For about five days, I was contemplating the futility of my life in the US. Then I got sucked into the vortex of residency and I no longer have the leisure to contemplate on the aforementioned futility. The sweets have been eaten, the gifts have been given away, leaving me, looking up flights to India for next year. The India trip feels like it was a dream, the best one I ever had.

One auto and one Pepsi please...message sent.

2007-09-07T04:08:00.001+05:30

I used to be a regular reader of the Times of India online. Gradually over the year, my interest flagged. Everyday one read about more antics of amazingly creative politicians in their area of specialty, bribery. The admiration for their innovation wore off and there wasn't much else to read about.

You know what they say "If Mohammed can't go to the mountain..." etc etc. Surprising and delightful bits of news come up every day these days although I don't go in search of them. The first one was about NCERT text books incorporating political science. Wait.. It wasn't going to be 'Fundamental rights and duties' or ' Role of Judiciary'. The new addition was current politics with 'Rise of the Bharatiya Janata Party' as an instance!!! Who would have thought we would finally get perspective even in text books? Proud moment indeed!

The next one, predictably was of the cricket win in the match which was reported , among other adjectives as a 'blinder'. And one that we won. Now, I am among the multitude who thinks every move in cricket is predecided and agreed upon with considerable moolah changing hands. But such close matches do shake that belief.

The final and the glorious one, was the 'Easy auto' in Bangalore!! Most of the memories of my good times in Bangalore are tainted with recollections of standing in the middle of the street at the end of the day, waving frantically at a non-responsive auto driver. I have wondered if I was transparent. If you haven't had to face rejection in your life, and want to, just go to an auto and ask the driver to take you to Vijayanagar from M.G. Road at 7 PM. You can also do the same if you have cash to spare, lots of it. And now they tell us these days may be at an end!! What a red-letter day for Bangaloreans! No overcharging, courteous drivers, being able to SMS for an auto which arrives within fifteen minutes, and get this, purchasable soft drinks in the auto!! It seems too good to be true. I hope it lives up to its publicity. It would be a great thing for Bangalore if it did. Maybe there will be 'Autorickshaw tourism' next! Feels like the beginning of better times. Pipe dreams? Perhaps. But to even be able to contemplate such change is a great feeling.

Maybe one day we will also have faster government officials, manageable traffic and no eve-teasing? No, I go beyond the realm of probability there. Or do I?

My Experiments with Resistance

2007-07-22T08:50:00.000+05:30

Angel Me : You have to study for your exam, dear girl. Its a major, life changing exam. Its in twelve days. Don't succumb to the temptation!

Devil Me : Aww.Come on. You read fast. Finish it and get the suspense over with!

Angel : What if you can't prepare well because of the time this will take up?

Devil : What if you go crazy needing to know what happens?

Angel : Go on. Listen to her. Better ill prepared than crazy, I guess. Anyway, I am dying to know what happens!

So ladies and gentlemen, I read it. The book of the moment. And what a book it is!

My to-read-or-not-to-read struggle started when my sister and two cousins went and bought three separate copies. Spoiled rotten they are, I agree. So they all came home to my place in Bangalore, sat in three corners of the room and started reading. Different reading paces. So the jokes hit at different points of time. They giggled alternately. All very natural to them. My mom, the only person without the Hallows in her hand, begs to differ. She said it felt like she was transported to a mental home with the inmates giggling to themselves at their inner jokes. The joy of being in the same room with three Potter maniacs. I heard the above story and that set me off. I had previously determined not to read it, although I had the book coming. The sensible thing to do would have been to time my exam accordingly. I've known (for what-ten months?) that the book was getting released on this precise date. But like I said to a friend, timing is my talent. I had to have my exam two weeks from the release. I had to go through the to-and-fro with myself. Yet, I had to read it.

So, the day arrived. Overslept and felt anxious. What if I had missed the courier guy? I went outside and looked. No delivery notice saying they had been there and missed me. Thank God! I called the website people and made sure it hadn't come, just in case. All was well. Then, I realized my doorbell is not working. More anxiety. Repeated checks through the morning to look for the package. Could take it no longer after a while. I sat on my front steps and waited. I probably gave my neighbors the final proof that I was cuckoo, in doing so. The book arrived not fifteen minutes from the time I started waiting! Delivery guy came up with a package. "You wouldn't happen to be from Apartment two, would you?" he said, grinning knowingly. Of course I was from Apartment two!I almost hugged the poor dude. Well, I didn't. Much to his relief, I am sure.

I opened the package. Again a moment of truth. Would I let myself do this? The aforementioned struggle happened. The result was a foregone conclusion. I buckled. Eight straight hours. I finished it. It was worth every moment.

And the exam? Well..I'll tell you what happens. If I do well, one part of me wins. If I don't, the other part does. Either way, I get to say "I told you so."

Time tables and otherwise.

2007-07-09T05:33:00.000+05:30

I still have to get used to sunsets at 8. 30 PM. Well, I have to undo the circadian clock of a lifetime, so its not a surprise that my mind refuses to believe yet,that the sun can actually hang around past 7 PM. It is a crazy process. Doesn't even turn twilight, really. 8 30 PM - light. 8 45 PM- Dark. I tend to have this lazy nonchalance that its still evening, till I look at the clock. Then its a frantic rush. Crazy is the word.

Be that as it may, its a whole lot better than darkness at 4 30 PM, which happens in January. Universal depression is not even an exaggeration.

Even as the temperatures and light schedules swing madly,its amusing to see how every season demands specific activities.
Early winter- shop like a crazed animal for gifts.
Late winter- Go skiing or get depressed and ponder on the futility of life.
Spring-Pretend like its summer and sun-bathe on every day the sun comes out. Garden till you drop.
Early summer- Complain about the heat, put on sunscreen in cartloads.
Late summer- Realize that summer is slipping away.Start grilling everything in sight.
Early fall- Sigh about the summer thats gone. Start obsessing about pumpkins.
Late fall- Start planning for Christmas.

And so it goes... year after year.

A major thing I have had to learn is to have a schedule planned for everyday, maybe months in advance. I used to wonder vaguely why people needed activity planners. I mean, I knew those things existed, but I thought only big shots would have a need of a schedule for everyday. You know, Presidents of nations or software companies. Not ordinary mortals like me. Its surprisingly difficult to do. Put each thing as it comes up on your calendar. Check your calendar and commit to that activity at that time. Whatever happened to creative freedom? Well, that has to have a time too. But now I definitely know I am not a teenager anymore. The state of denial has passed and I realize my memory is as fallible as the next person's, so I better put things on my schedule. Responsible attitude, or foretaste of old age? I'll find out.

Planning fun, I have realized, can enhance it. Road trips, for example. Whats more fun, to have an exact idea of the best places one can visit, fun places to eat and have a schedule for all that, or randomly drive, eat at some random place and realize that a five minutes' drive further could have taken you to a restaurant of your dreams? 'Down to the last detail' does not sound so bad anymore. Thats mid twenties talking, for you. Or the beginnings of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Again, I'll find out.

The opposite end of the spectrum, strangely, is a fun place to be also.As things stand now, major changes are going to happen in the next few months, professionally. I don't know what city I will end up in, what sort of a job I will have, what friends I will make. So there are some things that have no schedule. Its like the feeling just before one turns the corner of a blind curve. Tantalizing.Mid twenties rock.

Parallel thrills

2007-07-01T07:04:00.000+05:30

Parallel thrills are my new way of getting kicks out of life. When I ride on the bus, I listen (unashamedly ) to the conversations of people around me. When I log on to orkut, I read other people's scraps and follow their conversation. Its a way of getting maximum value of an experience. Its a universal phenomenon, I bet. I have been made uncomfortable by many a stranger sitting at a neighbouring table in a restaurant, smiling at the conversations on our table. Next best thing to an i-pod. Maybe better when you are listening to 'Maula mere' for the millionth time.

Sports commentary is the best illustration of the above phenomenon.Why would anyone pay people to talk about the game if nobody wanted to listen in?

As you have probably guessed, this whole beating-around-the-bush stemmed from a ridiculous example of commentary between two American commentators. They were commenting on the Mauresmo-Santangelo Third round match at Wimbledon. Americans being Americans, have to go completely over the top on everything and that is what is expected in commentary too, I guess. Commentator One was this I-should-have-been-in-management type who was all about the money. Commentator Two was an I-am-so-laid- back-compared-to-this-guy type. This is what they had to say. I do not vouch for the exact words, but I am pretty much sure I get the spirit across.

Topic-Tradition of taking Sunday off in the middle of the tournament at Wimbledon.

Wannabe MBA-"If I was commissioner the first rule I would change is-' No play on Sunday'. Play on Sunday!"

Kewl Doode- "No."

WM- "In the middle of the tournament already delayed by rain, on maximum viewership day, they decide to take Sunday off?"

KD-" I enjoy middle sunday off. Not having to shave, taking a walk.. Dick is grilling hamburgers.Come on.. We need a little 'selfish' here. Plus its the tradition."

WM - "I am just thinking about the good of the game. Imagine all the sponsorships that are being done away because of this."

KD- "I don't think this tournament is exactly suffering from lack of sponsorship. I don't think thats a problem here."

What about the game that was going on, you say? Frankly , it wasn't that thrilling. So I just listened to these guys bickering about the commerce of weekends.

No wonder commentary is so much a part of cricket. When players have time to pick their noses in an obscure part of the field, it doesn't require a genius to conclude that its a pretty slow moving game. Imagine the dullness without commentary. If there were to be no Harsha Bhogle with his overflowing enthusiasm, no Ravi Shastri with his open partiality, no Tony Greig with his constant exclaiming, would the game be half as enjoyable? Whoever came up with the concept of sports commentary was a genius. Not only because the general public needs someone to walk them through the nuances of the game, but also because it makes the game seem so much more real if there are two idiots chattering in the background all the time.Try muting out commentary for half an hour. Wont feel like there is a game on.A psychoanalyst might say its a way of catering to the need for eavesdropping that exists in all of us. To that , I would say "Dead on!"

one year! yuppie!! or is it hippie? am I a yuppie or hippie.. confusion with indians in the american society ...

2007-06-03T05:29:00.000+05:30

"And the award for the most nonsensical title goes to......Varsha!!!" Thats my sister. She came up with it. Don't ask me what it means. If you do, I will have to tell you what she told me. And you don't wanna know. Believe me.Not if you are still fond of sanity.

Well, only the first two words are what I needed. One year since I started blogging. Doesn't feel like it. I remember typing the first one sprawled across the bed in Bangalore. It still feels like it felt then. Amateurish. The wonder when I got the first comment repeats with every new one I get. Someone actually read what I wrote..and thought it worthy of reaction. Even though anyone can blog, somehow there is still that kick when I see my posts on the World Wide Web.

The best thrill I got out of it? When I google my name , the blog comes up. Fancy! Diverging from the topic, apparently, googling one's own name is one of the favourite occupations of everyone who uses a computer. Secret Narcissism. Interesting. Also, its heartening to know that I am not the only jobless soul out there. Whats more interesting is,it seems that prospective employers do it all the time on interviewees, just to check them out. So ye innocent souls, do NOT put that dance performance that you gave, under the influence of a couple, on YOUTUBE. Next thing you know, your boss will be rolling in the aisles watching it.

Well, its been good to have people reading the sometimes idealistic, sometimes useless, sometimes surprisingly good, stuff I write, but we shall not make a big deal of achieving something which most people with ability to type can achieve. No flowers or gifts, please. And all monetary gifts will be donated to an NGO which rehabilitates people with bad grammar, mainly the frandship requesters on orkut.

Have written myself into a corner here, and I don't exactly know how to sign off. The beauty of the blog is,I don't have to know.Signing off.

Something fresh

2007-06-02T07:34:00.000+05:30

A friend found a word to describe my long blog drought. He asked me why my blog site was stale. Stale. That says it pretty accurately. So now I need to find something to write about and I need to make it something fresh. Whats fresh? Summer, flowers, thunderstorms, post rain smell...Unlike William Wordsworth who made pretty good royalties out of daffodils and such, lesser mortals like me can't hope to expand indefinitely on summer, flowers , thunderstorms and post rain odours (and lets face it, who wants to read that stuff?).

I was watching TV and what should come up on the channel guide but 'The Wonder Years'!! What could have been the most extreme opposite to 'fresh' than that? I don't know how many of you little-ektaa-kapoor-misguided-kids know or remember that show. Like I said earlier, its not new. But its got something. Its got freshness. Kevin's face, Paul's awkwardness, Winnie's charms. The introductory song that never goes out of your head.

The episode I watched today, after about ten years was so clear in my head, that I could remember dialogues. It was the one where Kevin is trying to sneak into an X-rated flick and his nerdy-turned-smart friend Paul goes and loses his virginity in reality. Kevin can't contain his curiosity and Paul cannot disguise his awkwardness. Although I might not have watched the series if it had begun today, back in the early nineties it represented the strange way in which these strange American kids grew up. More than that, it depicted the world from the point of view of a quasi-loser which is what most of us felt/feel like, during most of our adolescence,and half the time in our adult life. I remember that I had cried when they said Kevin and Winnie don't end up together.

I like the mostly-fake nostalgic feeling the show gives me today. I saw that episode, felt that this represents the main way in which I idled away time in childhood, and hence I have to get the dvd. And of course amazon has to have eight different versions of it. Somehow, that put me off buying it. I like to think that 'The Wonder Years ' is my own private find. Delusional thinking, of course, because I only watched it in the first place to imitate my cousins. Nonetheless, eight versions of the video makes it much too well known. I wont have that, and that is why I will not buy the dvd. I prefer my semi-confabulated memories.

Here's to Kevin, Paul, Winnie and Wayne. And the stupid things they did. And the big deal they made out of it.

P.S: Does anyone else in the world remember that David Schwimmer (better known as Ross from F.R.I.E.N.D.S) played Kevin's older sister's boyfriend whom she marries eventually?

To , me...

2007-04-07T08:52:00.000+05:30

USMLE 1 score report-Pass,237,99.
No. I have no words. Its done. I did it!!

Oh, predictable me...

2007-03-20T03:47:00.000+05:30

To be sung in the irritating tune of 'Oh,wonderful love'. Emphasis on the OHHH, and predictable me, as an afterthought.

And why predictable me?

A. I am writing for the sake of writing.

B. I was going to write about the Cricket world cup a.k.a crimefile.

C. I was thinking of calling it 'crimefile'.

D. All my blogs seem to be lists of some sort these days.

So one more-

Recently thought of and abandoned blog topics.

1. Post exam. Doesn't even interest me, let alone anyone else.

2. Cricket. In denial.

3. Weather in Pittsburgh.Oh Yeah Right, you would have read that one through.

4. Holi and how I've never had a colour fight. The word processor is irritating me by correcting my spelling of colour and I want to spell it with a 'u', or not at all. So, not at all.

5. First time I actually heard an owl hoot. Drives me nuts. But thats all it does.

What I am actually gonna write about is Mungaru Male. So, more predictable me. Its a recently released Kannada movie which is supposedly great. I havent seen it. My mom, dad, sis and aunt did, though. Against their better judgement, although I am still foggy as to why, they went to a conveniently located but awful theater. Visuals of the movie are supposed to be amazing. So say sis and dad. But mom doesn't know. Because she didn't see any. Because she caught some kind of a bug in the theater and was itching all over. But still didn't flee the place. Strange I say.

The wonders of a mediocre movie theater are indescribable ( then why describe? but ah! I will). I have had the misfortune (or good fortune) of visiting many of them. The horrors range from rodents under the seat to Rangeela-style heroes with unpleasant parts of their anatomy stationed in the wrong places. All contributing to the movie watching experience,making up for the disaster on the screen .

Even when the theater and movie are good, humour can arise from unexpected quarters. Like when I was watching Ice Age 2. Next to me were these angelic looking twin boys, about five years old, on a day out with dad. There was some mention of hind parts in the movie and one of the twins , in his crystal clear voice chimed out "Daddy, butt andre?"(Daddy, what does butt mean?). The movie was funny enough, but this was just too much. Everyone around was splitting their seams, and the spluttering dad did not help.

I miss crowded movie theaters. Cheering, whistling, catcalling and treating the movie like its being staged for you exclusively. All unknown to the American population. I have heard rumors of New Yorkers begging for a song in Dhoom 2 to be played again, so they could watch their 'Ash-wurrya' dance, but thats the wildest one I've heard. Can the taporis from Bangalore please go on a US tour?

The Secret of the Rhyme

2007-03-09T01:05:00.000+05:30

How does poetry happen? I have written my share of juvenile poems, but they all started out the same way. Find what you want to write about, find words which are relevant, find words that rhyme with them and try to make a sentence. But is that how real poets do it? Or is it like an inspiration? Rhymes and metres just pop into one's head..Is that it?

If I set out to write a silly poem, I can do it as well as the next person, I think.

A girl was so sick of books
That she started writing stuff
She knows she spews nonsense
But to stop the flow is tough.

But the point is, no one ever sets out to write silly poems. Everyone wants to be one of those poets whose poems have one or two words a line, with deep deep meaning which is hard for mere mortals to fathom. About deep dark feelings or mysteries. Ok, lets try that now.

Flowing water
running away
with my
dreams
of untold
happiness.
if dreams
are gone
what remains?
the hope
of a new dream..
to be
washed away
by another stream?

Now, how was that? Reading it again, I am unpleasantly reminded of General Science classes of Soil Erosion. Plus, its not unfathomable. Maybe my thoughts aren't deep enough. Thats sad. I am too shallow to be a poet. And too understandable to be a good one.

After all the nonsensical experiments, my question remains unanswered. What makes feelings come out in rhyme and metre? Ye poets of great repute, I await enlightenment.

Sooner or later...

2007-03-08T09:25:00.000+05:30

I was watching Everybody loves Raymond the other day . It was the episode where Ray is asking himself what he wants out of life. I didn't watch to the end of the show but it got me thinking. What do I want? I decided there is no major goal right now. No earthshaking one, that is. But there are lots of things I want to do someday. So for now my goal is, to get to that 'someday'.

1. Bungee jump- Just looked it up in Wikipedia and I see that it can cause lots of trauma. Well, rather this way than any other!

2. Visit Harappa and Mohenjodaro- I want to see that plumbing everyone talks about !!

3. Visit the Dead sea and check out if I can really float on it because of all the salt..or was it the Red sea? No, I think its the dead one.

4. Look at snowflakes under the microscope and see if they are all really different. This is going to be a tough one!

5. Visit London and check out all those places I've read about a zillion times-Trafalgar square, Piccadilly circus, ride the 'tube'.

6. Study Archeology. Seriously.

7. I once got reprimanded in a court of Law for crossing my legs!!! For God's sake! I really really
want to go back, do it again and if someone says something ( I really hope they do), I want to make a huge hue and cry. Just for kicks!

I'll leave it at seven for now. Hope they come true. If they do, it will make the other nonsense worthwhile. For sometime. And then, there will be more sevens.

Alternate hypotheses

2007-02-08T03:06:00.000+05:30

Here's something that made me smile.Just saw that they found a couple of buried skeletons in Italy which are hugging each other. All the archaeologists and anthropologists are going crazy thinking up romantic theories. The fact that this was 25 miles away from Verona, of the Romeo and Juliet fame, does not help. I am thinking of possibilities also.

1. They died during a wrestling match.
2. As this is from the neolithic era, chances are they weren't too fussy about burials and just threw all their skeletons together.
3. Gruesome but possible-One was throttling the other.
4. Some undertaker's idea of a joke.

The oh-so-romantic theory might be the plausible one, but how are you going to prove that the above didn't happen? One can always count on me to destroy the romance , can't one?

P.S:You can check out the story here if you choose

Dream ride

2007-02-07T05:51:00.000+05:30

Ever get the feeling that things aren't real and you must be in a dream? My sister did, while watching 'Main Prem ki deewani hoon' and justifiably, but this isn't about that. They should have a scientific term for that feeling. Like they do for deja vu. Almost everyone I know has had that dream like feeling sometime or the other. Today it was while riding on the bus. I usually sit at the back of the bus because thats where the weirdos are. Its like sedimentation. All the freaks collect at the back.Granted, that makes me a potential freak myself, but its usually worth it. Like it was today.If you are kicking and screaming, wondering when I will come to the point, you may as well give up, because this is going to be one big ramble.

There were these two people sitting at the back of the bus, talking. My attention turned toward the conversation when the fiftyish looking dude asked the girl where she had gone to school. She replied with the name of some obscure town, and then he asked her how old she was. Upto this point, I had taken it for granted that they knew each other from before and they were chatting. But these questions obviously conveyed the opposite. The girl replied "Twenty three". Then the guy named a woman-Shannon something and asked the girl whether she knew her. Apparently this Shannon who is twenty five is married to this guy and went to the same school as the girl. The girl said she didn't know Shannon.So far, so normal except for the huge age diff. Then the guy asked her if she knew Shannon's boyfriend who went to the same school. Not ex. Current boyfriend. The girl said "Her boyfriend? Thats weird." The guy said "Yes, and she lives in that town still." The girl told him Shannon must be taking him for a ride. Brilliant conclusion, I thought. The guy then went on to give her the, ahem-minute details of their marriage. Now this girl is a stranger. And there is a bus full of people, potentially listening.The girl finally said "Thats TMI, man! I dont want to know." I am acronym-challenged, so it took me a while to figure out that TMI stood for Too Much Information. Then this other guy who was sitting near them said the marriage wasn't a real marriage. Another brilliant deduction. The girl said they should get the marriage annulled. The first guy then said that they couldn't do that because they weren't allowed to by religion. Then the girl said "Ok, here's my stop. I have to get off. Bye, guys".

Ok, let me see if I got this right. Three complete strangers. In a bus. Discussing all and sundry. No one else in the whole bus seems to think this is unusual.
Now,you would think I have a point with the whole story, but I don't have any. Nor a moral. Apologies. Am still wondering if it was a dream.

P.S: A friend just pointed out that it sounds like my sister loved the crappy movie. That is not, repeat NOT the case. She felt that the extent of crappiness could not be possible in reality.

All that does not glitter

2007-01-29T08:06:00.000+05:30

A writing project in school brought home the reality in my country. It does not show me in a good light as a Public Health student, but today I realized that India has the highest rate of increase in the number of Polio cases when compared to all other countries. Granted, there are only three other countries which are reporting polio but ours is the only one which crossed a four hundred, why, which even crossed a hundred last year. Here we are proudly declaring a big growth of our economy, making big salaries in our MNCs when people a little distance away are so poor that they cannot boil water and so ignorant that they throw stones at polio teams. I am serious. Moradabad, a district in the erstwhile UP, reports the highest incidence of Polio in the world and that is because the children in the area suffer such frequent diarrheal illnesses that the vaccine can't even stay enough time in their gut to give them immunity, and the community is so hostile to the polio teams that they pelt them with stones. I would, too. These people do not have water to drink and they are asked to be sanitary. They do not have a doctor to see them when a woman is dying at childbirth or when a person is dying of a scorpion bite, and along come the officials every six weeks to put drops in their mouths without telling them the whys and the wherefores. Does this breed trust?

We have big innovations and run to and fro with monovalent and multivalent vaccines and whatnot. What will we achieve if the people whom this is meant for do not want them? That has to be remedied first. Why wont a doctor agree to serve in the area? Its because he/she will have to work in the dirtiest possible workplace, will not have transport and will not be paid regularly. Let alone these 'luxuries', the physician will not even have a loo at his quarters!

Call it a hangover of watching 'Swades', we have coddled ourselves too long with sweeping statements about our rich culture and tradition. Why does our 'culture' allow us to let a one year old get crippled before he can even walk? It is easy to blame the people for their illiteracy and lack of sanitation, but do they have a choice?

All of us aim at huger salaries, at bigger malls in our cities, at bigger weddings. All these are not unworthy goals, but we need to spare some of our efforts to do something about the kids who are losing their limbs everyday. Its time.

Happy hours... In school!

2007-01-25T04:51:00.000+05:30

I just got an invite for a student-faculty beer party in my department. Apparently, this is going to happen the first friday of every month. Wow! Leaving the beer factor alone, whats making me cheer is the idea that students and faculty can get together for an informal afternoon and have a good time. I don't think this would have ever been heard of in the home country. I am not looking to ruffle any sensitive feathers here. I hate people picking on India too. But I have to say this. The level of informality the phirangs achieve in the student-teacher relationship is phenomenal.

I was first shocked at students eating and drinking in class. I was wondering how the professor does not find it offensive. And the students, how could they eat and pay attention at the same time? I slowly got used to the idea, and now, I eat too. I find that I can pay attention better if I am not hungry and thinking about what I will eat after class. Maybe the guy who is teaching has the same thought.

Its not just the food factor ( although so far, all I have written seems purely alimentary). Its just the comfort level. I think that arises out of the fact that these guys ( my current teachers) don't need us to think they are superior to us. They may be or they may not be. Very often, they are. Teachers in India wewre superior to us too. Only, they made sure we knew it.

I may have made too many generalizations so far. But largely, I think I am right. I have thought about this a good deal. The individual systems seem to be traditionally established in India and the USA. I don't know much about cultural roots in the USA but I have wondered why the system is the way it is,in India. Are we experiencing the legacy of the gurukula? Serving the teacher and being obsequious? But surely, that is only our interpretation of it. If the teacher and all his students lived and travelled together, they surely would have developed intimacy and informality between them?Maybe that is what the pupils learn better and not the service factor.

Too much read into a beer party invitation? Maybe. But think about it. Beer may not be socially appropriate in India for a teacher-student party. I will therefore not elaborate on the number of awe-inspiring Medical College professors who have been seen dancing in advanced stages of intoxication during conferences. But have you heard of any department getting together with its students for, say, orange juice, every week?

I have had a great time in college in Bangalore and I am having a great time here. The only difference is, now I dont need to hide when a professor passes by beacuse I bunked the previous class. I can say "Hi, I went to Niagara falls last week. Can I clarify a point which you made last class?" And chances are, the point will be clarified. They even have alternate dates if you cant make it to class to a test. No questions asked.

The margin for error is simply great. It leads to a huge comfort level and their economy is not exactly suffering because of it. So, what do you say to saturday afternoon bajji parties in BMC?

PS: Looking to get bombarded with indignant patriotic comments. Dont disappoint me!!

Reality anyone?

2007-01-21T12:56:00.000+05:30

Judging by the websites, a reality show seems to be hogging all the space on all news channels and websites. Apparently, Shilpa Shetty got 'racist' comments on a British show. I am still foggy with what the show is about, but I know all about who abused whom and what words they used. So what have we here? A publicity stunt? "Exposure of the nasty underbelly of racism"? A celebrity wannabe taking the quick and dirty way to make some press? I think the producers went too far with a publicity gimmick and it ended up being an international issue.

What I ask is, what is the big deal? Actress goes on a show. Doesn't have a pleasant time. Period. Why are a million people sending anti-racism letters to the producers?And the so called slurs seem to be ill chosen and ridiculous anyway. Like all countries, we have our shortcomings. Pick on a genuine one! Cooking food with hands and being thin.That is offensive!! And calling Shetty a dog-wow! That was brilliant. Maybe we should really make a fuss and levy sanctions on the UK. Stop the Tur Dal exports, I say! And patent Chicken Tikka Masala and don't let 'em have the recipe!! That will teach them!

The British people seem to have used this to go on a voyage of self discovery. Are they racist deep deep deep down? Do they have enough cross cultural tolerance? Well maybe the real question to ask is, are they so hard up for amusement?

The only sensible reaction I can find is that of the Indian press and public. Barring a few people(Notably, Shetty's mom who seems to milking this for all its worth), we dont seem overly concerned with the issue and I even detect a note of amusement in the Indian tabloids when they describe the extreme reactions of the British. People falling over themselves to apologize to us. Thats a new one.While they are at it, maybe they can apologize for having enriched us with their pleasant company for two centuries. But that was not a serious issue. Nor is the Koh-i-Noor theft. But this is. Oh yes!

On second thoughts maybe the issue is not a total loss. A lot of people seem to be profiting from it. First, me. I got a blog out of it. Second, Shilpa Shetty. She is getting to be everyone's poor little 31 year old girl. Third, the British people. They finally have something pleasant to look at in the papers. And finally, all Indians. We get to curl an amused lip at our Angrez friends and say, "Come up with something a little better than that!"

Musical thoughts

2007-01-14T07:05:00.000+05:30

Looking at the last two blogs, I seem to have been churning out sob stories big time aka Ekta Kapoor. Well, we cant all be cheerful all the time. No reason to bug us with your miseries, you say. I agree. It shall happen no more.

Heard yesterday that a friend has formed a band and the band is performing today in Bangalore. I have never been to a performance by a friend in a band. This would have been unusual. Maybe they will get really famous and come perform in Pittsburgh. Maybe I should stop talking nonsense and get a life.

Having practically no company does have its advantages. I have now discovered that I like carnatic music. Really like it. I used to be cajoled into going to learn singing. And giving exams in singing. Trust exams to take the joy out of learning stuff. The coercion probabaly resulted in some good things, like being able to distinguish good music from bad, but because of it,I never realized I have a liking for music.

In my opinion, one of the most uplifting forms of musical tributes has always been the Tyagaraja Aradhana. I have watched most of them in the past years and hearing thousands of musicians come together has always given me a high. Wikipedia has a page on it! ( But they have one on Anu Malik also, I just discovered). To come back to the topic, what is perfectly fascinating about the festival in honour of Tyagaraja is the fact that any small time musician can pay tribute to him on that day and feel one with the great masters. I think that is what Tyagaraja would have liked about it too. It is a pleasure to see the good, the bad, the ugly and the paunchy musicians sit on the banks of the river Cauvery and sing with the enthusiasm of kids. Camera conscious old men, female musicians wearing Kanjeevaram sarees and jasmine strands reaching their waist, interpersed with a famous musicians, all singing in one voice. Feels great to look at, to listen to. The melody seems strangely enhanced by the number of voices and feels almost mystic to me.

It has always been a dream to attend one of the Aradhanas. I got a pleasant surprise when I saw that Cleveland has a Tyagaraja Aradhana in April . Sadly this year it coincides with my exams. But next year, come what may, I will be in Cleveland in April. And maybe , who knows, the year after that, I may be in Thiruvaiyur!

Sobriety is claiming me!

2007-01-13T09:43:00.000+05:30

I feel this overwhelming need to write today. I sit down to do that and I don't know exactly what is driving that need. I finally decide its all the changes that are happening around me. Changes everywhere.

Life was idyllic one year ago. Working at the hospital, going out with friends, having a good time. Not much aim but one didn't care. Then came the end of internship. With that came worries about the future. Will I get into postgraduation? Is my decision to go abroad going to work out? I didn't know. I still don't know even now that I am here. I feel the struggle in everyone. To make a mark. To get to a place where one can feel content. But what is also beginning is a new dream of being independant, not in terms of breaking away emotionally, but in terms of discovering how equipped one is to get on in the world. I see this in everyone around me. My friends who were in Medical college with me, especially.

The people I graduated with are on the point of entering post graduation. Some are on the point of getting married. Some already are. Everyone is changing in their own way. This is frightening. It makes me think if I am competent enough to be like them. Am I "grown up" enough?But then I question myself- What is being "grown-up"? Its just being ready to be. If I want to be my own person, I am already on my way to being one.

Has coming away been a good or a bad decision? I struggle with that thought everyday. Not having my mom to hug, my sister to laugh with. Not having my cousins to hang around with. Being away from my friends.No jasmine to smell. No street vendors to get woken up by. All these things which were so woven into me. Suddenly gone.

I look back and I see all the great moments of life. The friends in primary school, the quarrels, making up.The silly giggles and crushes in High school.The mostly disciplined but sometimes uproarious times in PU college. The wonderful moments in medical college where I made friends and memories for life.All this looks like a rosy dream. In sharp contrast to now. Today is filled with uncertainty, with fear of a kind, with responsibility. This is not a good place to be, I think. But then I think again. All those things which gave me the great memories weren't a party everyday. Some of those days were hard too. I almost quit Medical College after the first day. But somehow I decided to stick it, and its been something I will cherish. So , even now, complain as I may, I may be making memories for life. The process is a struggle. But if it wasn't, the reward wouldn't feel right.

Like everthing else so far in life, this will be another gamble. Because all my decisions have worked out, they haven't felt like gambles so far. But they were. Maybe this one will work out too . Maybe it wont.The journey is not a bed of roses. But I can say this much. It is an exciting one.

Re-starting trouble

2006-12-24T22:03:00.000+05:30

Why the long silence? Petrified out of my guts, thats why. Talk about having too much on one's plate! Studying for exams to be written immediately, studying for exams to be written next year(No, this is not some stupid New Year wisecrack). Getting freaked out by geeky juniors getting perfect scores.

I am trying to write this without having the word pop up. But unless I can do a JK Rowling and refer to it as 'you know what' or something, its not gonna leave me alone. USMLE. There! I said it. To the people blissfully unaware of what this means, its an exam.One in which every Tom, Dick and Harry gets a 99. that doesn't mean its easy to get that. Oh no!! It just means you dont get any extra credit if you do get a 99. And if you dont, you are looked upon as someone barely fit to inhabit the planet.Well, thats what I may be in a years time when I finish with the three exams which last 7+ hours.

The uncertainty is what kills me. I know thats true of every exam but other exams last a day. This one is three exams, over a year. Ok, the sympathy letters can go to my google account which, I find, has linked up with Blogger also(Anyone else feel that google is taking over the earth?)

Ok , if you are saying why write a blog after a gazillion years to crib about exams which wouldnt interest anyone ,I would agree. But I did NOT write this to crib.Got you there, didn't I?
After making enough circles around the topic to satisfy a politician, I will come to the point. "In a world filled with uncertainties, there has dawned one ray of hope". Strangely ,my point seems to have been summed up in a sentence which seems like a TV advert of a B Grade thriller movie.Nevertheless, I will elaborate.The ray of hope(hold your breath) was Harry Potter Book 7 announcement. I hear the jeers(aaand, now we have poetry). Well, seriously. The book is sure to come out some time.It sounds good with Deathly Hallows and everything.And its the only sure thing on the horizon.She cant very well back out after announcing the title, can she? Well, to people who are still jeering about the childishness of reading HP books, sucks to you.I know you always wanted to read one, but never got round to doing it, then it was too late and now you console yourself by talking about 'Childishness'. Reaction formation. Thats what its called if I have my technical details right. If I dont, its also called Sour Grapes.

After the attack against unseen enemies, we will come back to the other amusing interludes. Being stuck in a cricketless nation is hard. But Google videos does make up for some stuff(I will NOT tell you how much Google pays me for these built-in ads). I saw the video with Sreeshanth doing the jig after hitting that six off Andy Nell( Is that spelt right?). Harsha Bhogle called it 'refreshingly rural'. It was more. In your face South Africa!!

Christmas is here and yet what I have written so far hardly seems to reflect any Chrismas Spirit. Well, someone has to make the season interesting!

P.S: The title just says what I felt after reading what I had written.

It Just Shows..

2006-10-18T18:38:00.000+05:30

I flew to the USA two months ago.No, this is not going to be a day by day account describing any sort of weirdos. As a result of me quitting the scene, mom had no timepass. No one to fight with or pamper or pull out of bed at 9 AM. Sis is still at home but valiantly resists any efforts by mom to wake her up at any time. But I digress. As I was saying, mom has lots of time on her hands. Result-Art of Living classes. Now, she has always been wary of religious groups, so you can imagine how bored she was in order to have to sign up for the course. She continued to be suspicious of them even though she was attending the classes. She was secretly liking it, I could tell, but she was always on the lookout for how they would turn commercial. On the last day of class, she was rewarded. The instructor asked them to buy a cassette(!) with hymns or bhajans or whatever and bring it as a gift to class. My mom did think the instructor should not have asked for a present for himself, but , being an obedient soul, she bought the first one she could find even though she heard a sample of the songs in the cassette and thought they were awful.But why spend time hunting for another one?

She bought it, giftwrapped it neatly , went to the school to give it to the instructor. Instructor was astonished because A) The present had not been asked as a gift for himself but for other people in the class B) another guy had done the same thing and brought the cassette as a present for the instrutor! He had a brainwave, asked them to give the gifts to each other.Problem solved. Not quite. Mom comes home and opens the package and lo and behold!( I am sure you will have guessed so dont pretend to be surprised and all ), the same cassette was staring back at her!

Mom reported this to me yesterday and I thought the story has a fable-like character to it.I have promptly exploited its potential.
So my dear children,as you now know, you will reap what you sow.

SWAAAMEEEE....!!!!

2006-10-10T08:13:00.000+05:30

Its R K Narayan's birth centenary today.To be honest( maybe its to my discredit) I did not know when he passed away or even whether he had. The books have always been bigger than the man for me.Today, there was a slight change in that. I read this article written by his nephew R S Krishnaswamy -about the man, his foibles, idiosycrasies. It makes sense that this man would write "Malgudi Days" where playing truant from school to eat lime pickle on the river bank is just something you do, everyday.

Being born in Mysore and having spent some of the best summer holidays there put me in a right frame of mind to appreciate RKN's novels, which are all supposedly snapshots of his life there. The Mysore he describes (thinly disguised as Malgudi) might have been before my time, nonetheless, that state of mind is not.The lazy summer days, wandering aimlessly with friends,petty quarrels are all typical of a typical kid growing up in a small town. I remember( not the exact words) he says in "Malgudi days" that small children never notice the heat even if they are playing in the hottest midday sun of the summer. I remember thinking exactly that. I used to wonder, as a kid, why my mother would repeatedly ask me to come in because it was too hot to play outside. I didnt know what "too hot to play" meant.Old and grey that I am , now I do. RKN must have remembered that particular thought from his childhood too. To be middle-aged and remember the thoughts of childhood is no mean feat.It just shows the greatness of the man.

His nephew, Sudarshan says "He(RKN) felt it was a child's birthright to create mischief". What could be more true? Why should any child have to acquire that strait-jacket discipline and angelic manner which seems the mode?Widely diverging from the topic,why do we need to bother about childhood obesity if every child runs next to a train everyday?( Like the endearing Master Manjunath in the serial shouting "Swaaameeee").

His niece Pavithra says “If we told him that we didn’t feel like going to school and shed a tear, nobody in the world could stop him from not sending us to school."How cool is that!!!

Yes, I know he is one of the best writers of English literature in India and all that but to me, RKN's biggest literary triumph is that he defined the ideal childhood through "Malgudi days."
I was not surprised at all to read that he was no supporter of formal education or indeed, anything formal.

As I said earlier, the books had always been bigger than the man. Reading this article today, I feel the man and the books are one. Only RKN could write them. Because he was an inspiration, as is his work.

PS: I was thrilled to read that he actually told Indira Gandhi that her cook doesn't make good coffee!! Feels like revenge of the South Indians for Mahmood's accent in "Padosan"!

Flight of thought

2006-09-17T04:28:00.000+05:30

For all practical purposes, I had disappeared off the face of the earth. Now I have reappeared again and I am writing from across many seas from where I was. Oh chuck it!!I cant't do the mystic stuff.

Airport nightmares over, plunged into househunting and school, lots of noteworthy things happened, weren't noted and have been forgotten. Too bad for people who will write my biography.

Question running in my head for sometime now - Why doesnt anything in this country seem new?
POssibilities-
A. Have been watvching so many American sitcoms in India that I feel I have just been transported into one.

B. India has half transformed into USA.

When I said eralier that the airport nightmares were over, I think I jinxed it. I am at the airport right now(atleast I was when I wrote this first),waiting for a domestic flight and they have just announced that my flight has been delayed by two and a half hours.Interesting bunch of people around though.

1. Ubiquitous Indian "Uncle and Aunty" Aunty in red and yellow saree. Almost too good to be true.

2. Corporate bigwig(?) with secretary. Boss regards secretary as nonentity crawling the earth with limited brains and purpose. Secretary clearly loathes bossbut has to be courteous and fight his impulses back.
By the way the new 'derogatory 'term is 'secretary. Suggested substitute- 'Assistant'.
'Helper' or 'Servant' will get one thrown in jail, I think.

3. Globe trotting African-American group being highly-ahem-voluble because their connecting flight to London will take aaafff without them

4.Mom and Four-ish daughter witha trolley full of daughter's toys.

5. another mom and daughter pair. Mom is wheelchair(well past eighty , I think) and daughter caring for her really well. Not that fussy way.Family solidarity is really big here. I think thats where sitcoms stop giving you the right picture.

6. Gorgeous second generation desi who makes me go green with envy.

7. I-pods which outnumber the people.

The plane is seemingly taking forever to get here. I am only complaining because the airconditioning is turned realy low and I have to go to the bathroom. Again. Signing off.

Thriller on wheels

2006-08-03T11:09:00.000+05:30

"No Kurla express on wednesdays, Madam". As luck would have had it, we had hit the jackpot of travelling on the one day of the week when the comfortable express takes a holiday. Instead we were faced with the option of a ' Fast Passenger' train (fancy name for a shuttle) or a bus. Leg space being of the essence, we chose the train even though it promised to be a considerably longer journey. Being told that the train was generally crowded, we barged into the first compartment with empty seats as seen from the platform. It was soon obvious why the seats were empty. the kind occupants of those seats had decided to take a nap on the luggage rack above. The train was not a vestibule( compartments were not connected) and we had to occupy those seats with the prospect of grevious head injury in case it started raining men(and their luggage).

' Courage and faith' being our motto, we braved the threat , waded and crunched through four feet of peanut shells strewn for us by the other travellers, and occupied the seats. The Man Above(on the luggage rack) soon woke up and I, good citizenship at the fore, decided to kindly point out that his sleeping place was meant for things much lighter and more inanimate than him. Hearing stifled chuckles, I took a closer look to find that the dude was wearing earphones and hadn't heard a word. I do like to entertain. I continued the monologue, pretended I hadn't noticed the earphones or the laughs and sank back to my seat. Oh, that the earth would give way beneath me! (but not for the guy above, thank you).The Lord finally took pity on us and the luggage rack music lover got down at the next station.

'Non stop thrills' must be the new watchword of Laloo's merry men. As soon as we had passed the station, we were told excitedly to look out of the window. They had found a body on the tracks! All we could spy from our window were a few policemen gathered around something, but the guy opposite (who must have had X ray vision) told us that there was a body wrapped in a gunny bag, with only the head sticking out. We made suitable shocked and sad expressions, were secretly thrilled, and the train moved on.

But did we lack for further mental stimulus?Never.More excitement at the next station.This time the Railway department joined in to provide us with a first class brawl. The Ticket Inspector of the train,on the previous day, apparently drunk on authority, had assaulted a guy travelling ticketless. The dude retaliated during our journey with a pack of friends. They were successful in making a lot of noise and held up the train for quite a while.

Forty five minutes and a bleeding ear later(the Inspector's, not mine) we were on our way again.Only to stop after 300 yards. This time someone had pulled the chain. Why? you ask. Hadn't the entertainment lasted long eonugh? It had lasted a little too long for some spectators, as it happens, because they had forgotten to get back on thr train. Their near and dear ones had decided they were indispensable and hence, the chain pulling.

Everyone safely back where they should be (except the Ticket Inspector. I think he belonged in a hospital) the engine driver decided he had had enough and zoomed off. We sat back contentedly on our seats, happily discussing the rights of officials and civilians to biff each other. Who says train journeys are monotonous?

You asked for it-Now make sense of this one

2006-07-30T23:54:00.000+05:30

Yes , I know. Its been an age since the last one. Much to my pleasure, quite a few people have been asking for an update. The heart is glad.

I always have an answer ready to explain my laziness away. "I wait for inspiration to write." I do. Sometimes when it comes, I look the other way because I am watching Desperate Housewives.

One much criticised but religiously read tabloid said everyone tends to write about themselves too much in their blogs. I agree. Why else would there be seven 'I' s in this one so far?Okay now that I have laid suitable ground for focussing only on me, lets get down to it.

Its my last nine days in the country starting today.Have been thinking about what the most prominent ones are in the memories I take.

One of the earlier ones- Watching Saturday evening Kannada movies with the whole neighbourhood gathered in my house ( only TV around) Living room filled with people. No one needed an invite. No one asked if they were troubling us or anything. It was a wonderful feeling. Being taken for granted means a lot sometimes. No sarcasm. I mean just that.

Forgetting that I had taken my bicycle to school, riding back in the school bus. Gnanodayam at home. Driven in the car to school to get the bicycle and riding the bicycle back home.

Lagori in the rain with a pack of monkey cousins and an uncle younger than his years. For those of you who dont know what lagori is, all I can say is, I pity your souls which will forever walk the earth wondering what fun is.

Inspired by cousins who said they used to read Mills and Boon novels under their blankets with a torch! Tried the same at home. Caught by mom who asked why the hell I was bothering to read it that way when I was allowed to read it in the open!!

Watching this couple from the car. The road parellel to the railway tracks. Pavement is lined by a slum. The lady is learning to ride a bicycle.One of the busiest roads of Bangalore and the guy is supporting the bicycle and running alongside. Nothing could have been more beautiful.

Agassi-ng away

2006-07-04T17:36:00.000+05:30

No more Agassi at Wimbledon. He gracefully flying kiss-cum-bowed out of his way today losing in the third round to Nadal. Its the end of an era. The last of the Emotional Ones gone from the most emotional of Grand Slams.

As the now bald and seemingly sober Agassi thanked the crowd at Wimbledon for embracing him over all these years, the memories that come back are not of his great wins at Wimbledon, but of his great chemistry with the people there. Who can forget him lifting up his shirt and asking a ball girl to wipe with a towel?And why was not anyone astonished when the girl obliged?His wild hair and ways will live on as memories of an era where tennis was not all surgical precision as it is now. It was a game. People had fun watching it, playing it.

It seems that the new players have very little emotional appeal.I am not saying they are not great players. Far from it , some of them are brilliant. But why cant I remember anyone's style or distinguish between them ? Why don't they express their personality on court? Maybe its because the game has become so competetive that players cannot afford emotions. It would be a waste of energy in a world where winning is everything.

Today I saw a rare sight. I saw the normally 'dignified' spectaors at Wimbledon cheer at the top of their voices, whistle, even catcall to Agassi. I saw an always stoic Steffi Graf hide her emotion behind her sunglasses at the way the Wimbledon crowd expressed their affection towards him.

I suddenly realized that everyone had forgotten the man who won- Nadal. And then I realized that there is some truth to the cliche. Winning is not everything.

Chutou toco da Inglaterra!

2006-07-01T23:23:00.000+05:30

Writing this as I watch the hot girlfriends of English Players cry their eyes out. Call me a sadist. I is the liking this!! Finally, finally a match has had the result I wanted.

Penalty shoot-outs are scary. Good scary. Its the most unjust thing in the world if you are on the losing side(that happened yesterday,boo-hoo) and the most wildly exhilerating stuff to be on the winning side. The look in the striker's eyes and that in the goal keeper's is worth staying awake all night, I think.

This is not going to be about football. I don't know enough and anyway, it has been written about ad nauseum. If by some freak chance you want to know what I think about any game of football being played, just listen to the Indian guy in the ESPN studio with the french-beard. My opinions are the opposite. Period.

So what is this going to be? Nothing in particular.Nothing happening which can support a whole blog.

Got MMR and Hepatitis-B shots the other day with a vague plan of going abroad. Minor disaster happened. Ended up getting a subcutaneous injection of distilled water thanks to carelessness on the part of everyone involved.One word. Painful. It was this weird pain going in waves. Never felt such a thing before. Never want to again. Anyway, the upshot of it was, I had to get another shot.Why me, God?

Ok now they have blogthings-what a specific name!! One of them is a quiz called 'How normal are you?' Come again? How normal am I? Isn't normal an all or none phenomenon?You are normal or you aren't. What's with the 'how' normal? Jobless being my first name these days, I took the test. I am 55% normal , if you please. I should have known, Taking the test means you are half gone. Me being me, the extra five percent.

Ok, if you got through till here, you have earned it. The title means ' Kicked England's butt'
Ok, I am breaking my promise and getting back to God's own game. Brazil v/s France.Time to go.By the way, I learned that "joga Bonito" means 'The beautiful game'. Thats what the nike ad says, to jog your memory.

P. S. For people wanting to prove their joblessness- check this out
http://www.blogthings.com/hownormalareyouquiz/

Shantaram

2006-06-18T20:51:00.000+05:30

"... And the choice you make, between hating and forgiving can become the story of your life."
Shantaram, my latest inspiration and the one of the most profound ones so far.
A friend of mine has this book. I asked to borrow it. He, normally a generous guy, refused. Asked the reason, he said that he was very attached to that book and that he thought I should get my own copy. " Kanjoos," I thought, "how attached can you get to a book written by a self confessed dope addict and gangster?" Turns out, he was right.Intrigued by his attitude, I bought the book, and now I am hopelessly in love with Gregory David Roberts, the author.

They now have a 'Shantaram tour' in Mumbai. That says it all doesnt it? Out of the countless people who have written about Bombay, the list including many prominent Indian writers, they pick an Australian guy's book and show off Bombay from his point of view.And what a point of view it is!! All of us have seen the slums of Bombay, the dirt that has settled on the apartments, the corruption,the people and their seeming callousness. We at best have come up with excuses to justify the state of Bombay. But has anyone of us said"The dishonest bribe is the same in every country,but the honest bribe is in India alone."? Has any one of us fallen in love with the slums? If I have, atleast on print,it is only because Shantaram has taught me how.

Who does not love praise? And what greater praise than these lines? "The simple and astonishing truth about India and Indian people is that when you go there, and deal with them, your heart always guides you more wisely than your head. There's nowhere else in the world where thats quite so true."Given an unlimited leash on space , time and attention span, I would quote the whole book. But, dont worry , Thats not going to happen. Like my wise friend before me, I am going to let you discover the joy that is Shantaram. It is like falling in love, the most common experience , but unique and personal for each one of us.

The experience of several lifetimes crammed into a little more than a decade-this is the impression the book leaves on me. I thought my life was devoid of incident. Now I realize, each minute is a story. If I choose to see it. If I choose to look at the beauty.If i choose to look at the ugliness and make even that beautiful.

pics as promised

2006-06-12T21:03:00.000+05:30

here are the pics.. first one is somanathpur temple, hoysala temple, beautiful carvings

A lone crane in the middle of River Kaveri. No pesky noisy people, no litter. What more can you ask for?

Red tape, garbology and all that jazz

2006-06-12T19:09:00.000+05:30

As everyone who survives in our country knows, Red tape= Government offices.Yes, when people get recruited into government jobs, they dont get an appointment letter.They get a lifetime supply of best quality , crimson tape.Their promotions depend on who can tangle it the best.I swear this is true. How else can you explain the magnificent amount of it that gets under your feet each day?

The privilege of being a student in a Government college, and working in a Government hospital(the greatest place to know life, well, thats a whole new blog) comes with the pain of having a Government office to deal with. The people who work there(I use the term loosely) have one great philosophy, a corollary of Murphy's law.If there is anyway to avoid work,Avaaaid like there is no tomorrow. I had applied for the usual certificates one has to take after graduation.That was two months ago.Fifteen days after I applied , I got to know I had some more to apply for(all the gyaan I got was thru the grapevine, the notice board only informs people willing to time travel to 2003)Ok, did the applying, getting multiple signatures on the applications, attaching all required documents etc etc. Was told to come in ten days time to collect the documents."Not bad " I thought because there were quite a few things I had asked for. I came back after the aforesaid ten days."No madam, your documents have just gone to get typed"said the gargyole who is in charge.Ok, I reflect, I will come tomorrow.Its just typing. I returned on the morrow to find that the typist is refusing to work because there is no assigned table for her to work on(beat that excuse, come on , I dare you..The whole office was almost empty!!) What does one do in these situations?I lost it, took my anger out on brave souls who call themselves my friends.Promptly lost those few I can cling to. Having learnt my lesson, I decided to preserve my sanity and make an exit.Well, slowly, unwillingly,I got the documents like a trickle from the corporation tap.

My unasked-for-advice to people who have to go through this crap.Never have expectations from the officials.If you do, you are screwed or you will have to part with cash, lots of it.Apply months in advance, sit back, let nature take its course.They like their 'in' trays to be cleaned up once a year.After all, they are also almost human.

On a more optimistic note (or atleast a note that has less resemblance to a horror story), discovered this site called Wordsmith.org.Has this feature called A-Word-a -Day.Excellent. I not only got some weird words to give my friends an inferiority complex with, I also got new concepts.Two of the more interesting-
1. Garbology- Study of culture of a race by making a study of their garbage!!! I'm not kidding, its actually a course offered in Arizona University! Well, these smart guys have extended the concept and apparently these days, garbology is used in Espionage..WOAH!

2.Erythrophobia-I quote from the site.." Pick up just about anything under the sun and, if you look long enough, you'll find someone who dreads it."
This,in addition to being the term for the fear of the colour red, apparently is fear of blushing too! Ok, what do you do when you get scared you will blush? become more self-conscious, leading to more blushing and then get scared of that also..viscious cycle, anyone?

Had the best weekend possible.Went to this place called Somanathapura on the banks of river Kaveri. Beautiful. Look out for the pics in the next blog.

essentially me

2006-06-06T20:21:00.000+05:30

Wokay, the first one is gonna be full show off. And what do i have to show off ??I go to the gym these days..regularly too.Every single morning! well, set aside the fact that its not Talwalkers( the discount at that place is 3000 bucks.How much do they bloody charge??) and its called " Essentially You", AND is a bit small AND has a scary cat blocking the doorway everyday AND has a questionable music system(yo, whats with the deprecating smile? atleast I am fit , Your Chubbiness.)

Talking about music systems(why am I linking the paragraphs?its MY blog. I can be totally disconnected), I come to this stupid question bugging me.What kind of music should be played at the gym, ideally?If anyone gives me the 'one, two, three 'routine or "aerobic" remixes of songs that were lousy in the first place, I will A. Scream bloody murder, B.resign myself to a life of rotundity rather than listen to something which sounds like cats fighting.

Well, should the music be fast and beaty(is that a word?)Would the fast rhythm really make people do rhythmic exercise or enjoy the push ups more? I can imagine everyone doing a Michael Flatley on the treadmill.Not too easy on the eyes..and lots of potential for orthopedic disasters..ok we shall banish the beats. And we will not even bring up soothing nature music cuz Hello!! we struggled enough to wake up and go to the gym, this is gonna be like an invite to relapse into unconsciousness. Classical music being not everyone's cuppa tea, what will we play?I think the answer is Himesh Reshammiya. Before you feed me to the dogs, I shall explain.
Well, the people who love him(you poor lost souls who crawl the earth waiting for the end) will obviously enjoy the nasal disaster, and the people who hate him will work out exxtra hard cuz the motivation to build enough muscle to kill that blot on the horizon will provide surges of adrenaline like there is no tomorrow..There!! problem solved! Essentially You is going for The Nose from tomorrow.

P.S:
All Himmesh haters-my comment box is yours
All Hiimesh lovers-Please leave a comment, we want to mark you guys out for future elimination