mystic muses

Dead sea strolls - Jordan

2011-11-25T07:00:00.000-08:00

One of the recent fads hyped up as a panacea for skin diseases are skin care products derived from ‘dead sea salts’. The mud derived from the Dead Sea apparently has an amazing variety of minerals and is being increasing promoted for anything from the treatment of psoriasis and allergic disease to skin aging. So if you are a self /publically proclaimed old hag, just jump into the Dead Sea, roll around a bit in the blackish mud and voila! You come out with glowing skin a la Mama Aiswarya Rai! It’s not really an apt place for suffering husbands who are planning to dispose their ‘bitter’ half by the good ol’ ‘death by drowning thing’….not only will these wives remain floating on the surface, they might actually come back looking unrecognizable!
A couple of weeks back I too had the grand honor of dipping/floating in the Dead Sea (from the Jordanian side of course). Unfortunately no ‘ugly duckling to beautiful swan’ thing for me….my skin remained pretty much the same…extraordinarily thick and itchy. Besides, if this Dead Sea thing actually improved itchy conditions you would have expected that the Arabs and the Israelis would have a less scratchy attitude towards each other by now……but I suppose even nature’s cures have their own limits.

The Dead Sea

We visited Jordan in early November (We, as in my family and my friend with his family). The weather was great, the food was great and the people were great. We drove into Jordan from the Eastern end of Saudi Arabia and as expected the long drive was an experience in itself. It is about 1700 km from Hofuf to Amman , virtually a criss-cross across the breadth of Saudi Arabia. Major cities on the way were Hafr- Al Batein, Arar, Rafah and Turaif .We broke the journey and spent the night at Turaif. The ‘Omari’ border crossing is from the Saudi town of Qurayat. This time the Saudi side took just about half and hour (surprisingly!), while the Jordanian side took a good two hours, mainly for the visa on arrival thing and the car insurance (Visa is around 20 jordanian dinars per person and car insurance works out to about 50JD for a month). Most Jordanians speak at least a smattering of English, so conversation is not as difficult as in Saudi. Amman is around 2 hours from the Omari border and our first impression of Jordan en route to Amman was quite disappointing….mostly desert stretches for at least 150 km…I mean if you wanted to see deserts we have absolutely no shortage in Saudi! The other very interesting and mysterious thing is that every few kilometers you find a ‘police training center’. The Jordanian police apparently is a very professional unit, but so many training centers? I was half expecting to see some ‘Bad guy training centers’ ahead so that these cops would be kept occupied!

Things started picking up when we approached Amman. The desert started giving rise to more greenery and then we started experiencing the typical ups and downs of Amman. Amman is basically built around hills and it shows in the roads…it’s a bit like a marriage..Up-down, up- down with few level stretches!

We’re traditionally not very much into the planning thing, so we were cute enough to reach Amman and then search for a hotel instead of booking in advance as level-headed mere mortals would do. As expected (and as that guy Murphy found out) , we were going in circles and we had no idea where we were exactly (It felt a bit like my life story…going around in circles and not reaching anywhere..but apparently the others claimed to be more normal so they apparently felt uncomfortable). Finally we decided to trouble Dr Radi , one of our former Jordanian colleagues in Saudi, who is now settled in Amman. Poor Dr Radi went out of his way to help us. He found us a furnished apartment, invited us for breakfast and lunch the next day ( we were sweet enough to extend that to tea and dinner too!) and also gave us a little guided tour to one of major the attractions near Amman - the roman ruins in Jarash, around 65 km from Amman. We spent almost the whole of the next day at Dr Radi’s ancestral home in the village of Naimah, which is near the major town of Irbid (quite close to the Syrian border).The whole area has beautiful hilly landscapes.Besides the omnipresent olive trees and the lovely people we were treated to great food. Breakfast was ‘Khubuz’ (Arabic bread, something like a more obese cousin of our Indian roti), with hummus (made of chick peas…it’s another things which the whole middle east fights over …as to who has original patent rights – the Lebanese, the other Arabs and the now the Israelis are all laying claim to hummus….as though these dummies didn’t already have enough on their plate to fight about!) .We also had Felafel with a very tasty sauce made of vinegar and spices. In the afternoon we had Ouzi….essentially rice and chicken with lots of nuts and interesting flavours ( although Ouzi I think has more of a Lebanese slant compared to ‘Mansaf’ which is more typically Jordanian…who cares…generally if you put rice over a murdered chicken and rub salt into its wounds and cook it, it tastes good!). Anyway I’m sure we upheld the glorious image of our country in Jordan…Dr Radi will henceforth think twice (at least) before inviting Indians over again!

Amman city is more or less similar to most Arab capitals. What strikes you most is the almost monotonous white limestone buildings everywhere. This particularly white stone is very imaginatively called ‘Hajr al Abyad’ which means ‘white stone’ in Arabic (Ok…I’ll cut down the sarcasm next time……you think!) .Otherwise its typical congested roads, government buildings, malls and lot fly-overs, fly-unders and fly between over and unders. The people seem to be generally very well dressed (my wife though is convinced that even Bappi Lahiri is better dressed than yours truly, so maybe that’s just a relative thing).
Sometimes we sorely missed the luxury of talking in Hindi or Malayalam to every other person (like in the other Gulf countries).Indians generally seemed to be in short supply around here…till we bumped into a jovial mallu from Kannur who was in charge of the play area in Mecca mall, one of the largest malls in Amman. He was ‘simbly’ overjoyed and even gave free game passes to the children who were also ‘simbly’ overjoyed. The other major attractions within the city include the majestic blue mosque and the Roman theatre…but you should definitely not miss the “Citadel” on a hill in the center of downtown Amman…an area which has remains an ruins from half a dozen civilizations and is considered to be one of the world’s oldest inhabited places. So here you have the ‘pillars of Hercules’ and an ‘Umayyad mosque’ all jostling each other in the same space. The citadel also gives an absolutely grand 360 degree view of the whole Amman city around it.

Citadel, Amman and
The Pillars of Hercules

The two must-see things in Jordan of course are –Petra and the Dead Sea. Petra is around 400 km from Amman, while the Dead Sea is around 100 km. ideally you should do Petra and Wadi Rum together, but our schedule was a bit tight, so we skipped Wadi Rum. Wadi Rum is apparently famous for eco-tourism – things to do include desert drives, rock-climbing and horse-riding. The area is famous because of its association with T E Lawrence, of the ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ fame. The port of Aqaba is another place near Petra- famous for water sports and shopping.
Petra of course is quite magnificent…especially considering that the whole city was virtually carved out of rocks somewhere around the 6th century BC. The admission ticket is priced magnificently too…I’m sure that a lot of the rocks are actually guys who got ‘petrified’ after hearing the admission fees! Maybe that’s why it’s one of the new ‘wonders of the world’….you hear the price and then you ‘wonder’ whether you really want to go in or not! One Jordanian Dinar (JD) is around 1.4 USD .A ticket to Petra costs 50 JD per head..But jokes apart, it’s worth every cent. The ‘rose city’ as it is called needs to be viewed in leisure. The easiest way of course is to walk, but there are other options like horses and horse-driven carts, especially if you’re going with older people or children. The piece-de-resistance of course is the ‘treasury’ building, made famous by the Indiana Jones movie – ‘The last crusade’

Petra

The USP of the Dead Sea is the floating thing. You can actually lie down and read a book while floating effortlessly on the Dead Sea. Personally though I felt the drive into the area was more breathtaking. The Dead sea is the lowest point on the earth and is surrounded by a fabulous landscape which stuns your visual senses as you descend down the hairpin curves. Many Jordanians believe that it is not good to spend a lot of time here as it is a ‘cursed place’, alluding to the story of Sodom and Gomorrah of the ‘destroyed by fire and brimstone’ fame (The area around the Dead Sea is believed to be site of these ancient cities). There are quite a few historical areas nearby including Bethany along the Jordan river.
There are many areas to actually take a dip into the water, but most recommended is the ‘Amman Beach resort’. You have to leave before sunset though. Our guide mentioned that this restriction had something to do with the ‘not so friendly neighborhood Israelis’ being concerned about their security. The West bank is clearly visible from the Jordanian side. Our guide, an interesting and resourceful motor-mouth named Khalil, a Palestinian –Jordanian, intermittently put in nostalgic comments on his homeland where he was no longer allowed in, whenever his gaze drifted to the West Bank. Seeing the beautiful and serene Dead Sea, it would be hard to fathom the amount of conflict and hate deposited on its banks…..

Floating in the Dead Sea

Some general tips:
The best accommodation is around the area of the Jordan University. All major hotel chains are present. You can get a pretty good room starting from 50-60 JD a night. However if you’re going with a larger group getting a furnished apartment would also be a good option. A three bedroom furnished apartment comes for about 60-70 JD a day.
For moving around Jordan, it is better to catch hold of a taxi (even if you have your own car, the route can be confusing).The yellow taxis charge by the meter and seem the best option. For longer trips (like to Petra) you try a taxi, take one of the Jordanian Express Transport (JET) buses or rent-a-car. There are plenty of car rental outlets – a standard sedan like a Toyota corolla goes for about 200 JD a week (most places don’t rent for less than a week)
Prepaid sim cards are easily available at most company outlets. One of the best options is the Zain card which is available for around 10 JD
Petrol ( or benzene, like the Jordanians call it) is pretty expensive here, so if you’re driving in from Saudi, make sure you fill up your tank at the border.

ATMS are surprisingly scarce in Jordan, so keep some cash handy.

Nadia and gang at the Treasury in Petra

Please feel free to use the photos with permission.Thanks!

Going Dutch! (Groningen, Netherlands)

2011-10-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

My association with the city of Groningen apparently went back quite a few years. One of my arch enemies was from Groningen (only I didn’t know it until recently…that too courtesy good ol’ Wikipedia)….now if you are thinking that I was some medieval Spanish king with a more than passing interest in capturing Groningen, I was actually talking about Mr. Daniel Bernoulli….one of those multitalented creatures that were quite a plenty in renaissance affected Europe. Never quite understood his crazy principles of aerodynamics and fluid motion. Unfortunately my high school physics teacher Mr RK did understand, and was apparently enamored of the guy and he also understood that I didn’t understand much about Bernoulli ji and his musings, so as expected things weren’t quite ‘uplifting’ when he got down to business to discuss how an aero plane takes off in-spite of its heavy butt. I of course tried to convince him that we should not be bothered about explaining things that are already known…we should be looking to the future etc etc. Mr RK apparently was not the ‘great vision’ kind of guy…so he just gave me very unflattering marks. Period. That was the first time Mr Bernoulli pissed me off…not the last though. Apparently this guy’s fantastically unbelievable super duper principle had some crazy implication in the blood flow in the human body. Obviously I couldn’t care less with my great vision of sticking to the future etc. Dr S my examiner in my medical school physiology viva however turned out to be another great fan of Bernoulli ji. So it was déjà vu with Dr S with her psychotic eyes replacing Mr RK with his invisible eye ( because of the -15 lenses he wore…..fitting in with my theory of him not having great vision).The rest of the event was pretty mundane and predictable….I think the marks were also pretty much on same low scale. We parted on good terms after though; I even asked Dr S if she had a brother who was teaching in high school….which she apparently didn’t.
Well the whole flash-back about my depressingly glorious past was basically because I was in Groningen for a couple of weeks as part of a training thing in the medical school of the University of Groningen, and while looking up Wikipedia before I left, I was struck with the revelation that sweet ol’ Bernoulli ji was one of the many famous sons of the Groningen soil. It kind of a put a bad taste in my mouth and an odd sense of foreboding.

I could not have been more wrong though! Groningen was a wonderful place with a capital W. By the way the pronunciation of Groningen according to Wikipedia is 'ɣroːnɪŋə(n)’….which I’m sure literally seems Greek to you (and me), but the simple idea is that the ‘G’ is pronounced something like an odd mixture of k, h and c when you have a bad cold. The advantage is that if you have something struck in your throat just say ‘Groningen’ and voila! Throat clear!
The moment our vehicle pulled into Groningen (Its around 2 hours from Schiphol airport, Netherlands), the first thing that struck me was the bicycles and the second thing that struck me was the bicycles and the third thing that struck me was….well you get the idea. Groningen is considered the ‘cycling capital’ of the world and it shows. Everybody irrespective of age, sex, caste, creed and species is on a bike. No I didn’t get the species thing wrong……you’ll pretty frequently find canines and felines cosily sitting on wicker baskets while the owner cycles away to glory. Like I often mention I’m really not impressed by the concept of exercise…..but got to hand it to these guys…the cycling probably partly explains the totally pollution free air that you get around there. You save on petrol, you burn calories, and you don’t have to worry about parking….and no oil change every 5000 km! You also don’t have ego clashes of the ‘Mera gaadi tumhare gaadi se chotta kaisa’ type…except for very few almost all the cycles seem to be of a standard issue type.

We were put up at the NH Groningen, one of the famous NH chain. It was a really pleasant place with great facilties and friendly staff. The highlight was a basket of fresh green apples which were always there for you in the lobby…retrospectively I wonder though if it was symbolic…we were a pretty large group of doctors…maybe they thought a bunch of apples a day would keep these doctors away…talk about wishful thinking!!

The not so pleasant thing at times was the weather…it was typically what Obelix (of the Asterix comics fame) would have nonchalantly remarked as “This Dutch weather is crazy!”.Luckily most of the days were pleasant, except when it was raining…which was like always though…and it also seemed that the rain clouds over here are a bit like a lady in a clothes store, finding it really hard to make up their mind on the big ‘to pour or not to pour’ question…so you have these irritating little drizzles in irritating little spurts which can make you more than a little irritated. This was especially an issue in the night which was the only time we had to ourselves as the mornings and afternoon were busy with the training sessions.
There are plenty of canals here too…as in the rest of Netherlands and they make quite a pretty picture. On one of the canals near the medical school there’s a quaint little restaurant in a boat called the ‘Pancake’ ship.

The center of the city is the Martini square with the Martini tower which is probably the most famous landmark in Groningen. Next to it is the major shopping streets and the Grote market. The story goes that this area (too) was apparently pretty badly knocked up by the crazy Nazis during WWII. Groningen is very close to the German border and this was one of the last pockets of German resistance around this area to prevent the allies entering Germany. The Nazis didn’t hold on…but apparently managed to make a mess of the city, especially effectively blowing up a lot of the bridges over the canals…the famed German engineering in reverse!
Shopping can be a pretty expensive affair in Groningen ( in spite of not being with my wife!), however while you are here you should get some souvenirs from the tourist office next to Martini tower (typical ones being small windmills and miniature brightly colored wooden shoes) and also recommended are the typically Dutch ‘Stroopwafel’ (syrup waffles) for those with a sweet tooth. Groningen like the rest of Netherlands is quite into flowers too…you have an interesting flower market near the main square , with a wonderful collection of fresh flowers. There are some great shopping malls like V and D, Hema and C and A…especially good for sweaters and shawls I thought. I was looking for some original made in Holland Phillips products…but it seems even that has been outsourced to our friendly Chinese neighbours!

Being a typical university town there are plenty of small eating joints all around the city and the Indians and Chinese are also amply represented (which is quite natural considering that their biggest contribution to the modern world is human beings) .There are also all the typical junk food outlets in plenty – including McDonalds, KFC and so on. Our group tried out a couple of ‘Indian’ restaurants both of which are de facto run by Bangladeshis and this was pretty evident when the ‘lamb biriyani’ was announced as ‘lomb’ biriyani and the ‘Murgh’ biriyani became ‘Morgh’ biriyani:) , the food was OK, a bit on the expensive side though. There are a slew of Turkish ‘doner’ kebab shops too (a ‘doner’ is basically like a mutated burger heavily stuffed with meat and salads).We had typical European food for dinner on a couple of days….a bit low on the spices these Dutch …if you’re Indian it might help to keep a small sachet of ‘garam masala’ in your pocket which you can drop over the food on the sly! The desserts were fantastic though. There are plenty of small cafés around ….and then there are the ‘coffee shops’ which apparently are not for coffee really but other hot stuff (which we will not discuss further as this blog has or at least claims to have a ‘U’ rating)

On a Saturday we were taken to a place called ‘Bourtange’, which is an interesting ‘star’ shaped fortress near the German border. Apparently like rest of the world and especially us Indians, the Dutch too were not very much into the ‘love thy neighbour’ thing and vice versa ….so at times they were fighting the Spanish , sometimes the Germans and sometimes the British ….they would have fought more, but then there were only so many neighbours around. ‘Bourtange’ was something which helped the Dutch maintain control over Groningen. It also houses a cute lil village and an interesting wind-mill inside with a couple of restaurants and souvenir shops. We were also given a guided tour by a guy dressed in one of the mercenary outfits of yore. Worth a ‘dekho’ as one of our polished bollywood movie reviewers would say.

The other great thing about the Dutch is their appreciation for art.You’ll find sculptures and art galleries in every nook and corner. The University hospital itself is laced with some great creative work….of course with my limited knowledge of fine art I could not appreciate the more abstract of them (but then I was never really into art appreciation….I’m the kind who would always think that Phantom comics is better art than Dali’s surrealism…but that is just poor mentally challenged me!).Incidentally there are a couple of good museums around,including an interesting comic-strip museum.

And last but not the least ( that’s one cliché I’ve not used for a long time!), the highlight of the trip was the group at the University of Groningen who were responsible for our training….and it was an absolute pleasure academically (and socially).I really thank all those involved –including but not limited to – Prof Borleffs , Prof Cohen, Prof Molenaar, Prof Tio, Jan, Remko, Hana, Harry, Hanke,Elaine……….and of course the problem-solver, logistics expert and ‘jack of all trades’ rolled into one –Renzo!

N:If you feel like you using any of my pics please do go ahead, but would really appreciate it if you use it with permission.Thanks!

Thai diaries 1

2011-07-11T09:42:00.000-07:00

This being my second visit to Thailand, I thought there would not be much of an issue getting around.However I forgot that the ‘eleventh commandment’ around hereabouts continues to be -‘Thai’ shalt not speak English !-Most Thai people you meet don’t speak English at all and many of those who speak the language are not quite fluent in it. In a country that depends a lot on international tourism this seemed a bit strange.So if you want to get around by yourself makes sense to brush up on a little basic Thai language…and a little trick I learned is speak real slow.Slow as in S…L…O…W.For example if you’re ordering coffee you don’t really get coffee till you say COF (1sec) pause for half a sec and then FEE (1 sec) – total duration of 2.5 seconds - and incidentally tea and coffee around here is cold tea and cold tea by default, so if you want your daily cuppa hot coffee you have to specifically say H-O-T (1 sec) - half sec pause -COF (1 sec) – half sec pause -FEE ( 1 sec)…..and whatever you say add ‘Khap’ ( If you’re male) or ‘Kha’ if you’re female at the end of the sentence….it really doesn’t translate to anything specific in english, but is a sign of good manners.(The general courtesy and manners of the Thai people really needs to be appreciated)

The last Sunday me and a friend ( who’s been in Bangkok for over a year now), decided to pay a visit to the historical town of Ayutthaya.In spite of my friend being a so-so Thai speaker, we had trouble at times negotiating our way through.We ultimately reached Ayutthaya by taking a direct bus from the Bangkok bus terminal (chatuchak/mochit).Ayutthaya is around 80 km from Bangkok.The other options are mini-vans, taxi, train and even boat, but the bus seems to be the most convenient,cheap and comfortable option.Taxis cost around 1000 Baht one way and mini-vans around 175.Train tickets depend on the class …the bus costs only 50 Baht one way.
In Ayutthaya we had to rely on our ‘friendly neighbourhood’ tuk-tuk man for the local sightseeing.For those not in the know the tuk-tuk is basically a three wheeled vehicle – a distant cousin of the ‘Auto-rickshaws’ you find in India.The tuk-tuk guy I think ‘took took’ me for a ride literally and figuratively charging about 650 Baht for a 4 hour whirlwind tour (I wonder if this was how the name came to be?After a tuk-tuk ride the common refrain is that the guy took a lot of my money and also took me for a ride!) , but we really didn’t have too many options though.There are bicycles available for 40-50 Baht and hour , but the weather was quite hot and humid, also we had no real idea of where to go and how to go…..and cycling is kind of like exercise, and me and the concept of exercise don’t really get along well.

Important sights to see in Ayutthaya mainly include – a lot of Wats like - Wat Phra Si Sanphet, Wat Phra Mahathat, Wat Ratchaburana, Wat Thammikarat (before you wonder ‘wat’ the heck is going on, ‘wat’ basically alludes to temple in Thai, and Ayutthaya is basically famous for what remains of it glorious temples after it was ransacked by the Burmese somewhere in the latter half of the 18th century. The ruins of the old city now form what is called the Ayutthaya historical park, which is now recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.One of the interesting aftermaths of this ransack program is the large number of ‘headless’ Buddha statues you see across various sites in Ayutthaya.The other attraction in Ayutthaya is the interesting ‘floating market’ – a good place for food, shopping and general fun activities – including elephant rides, snake parks, traditional thai dances based on the hindu epics and so on.If you are the real nerdy encyclopediaphilic nut there are a couple of great museums around mainly highlighting the history of Ayutthaya.

If you do opt for a tuk-tuk I would suggest that you take a quick round of the different ruins and when your time is up ask the driver to drop you off at the floating market, where you can have grub and simply walk around.After that you can pick another tuk-tuk to drop you off at the bus-station or train station.

Food is a big problem in Thailand if you are not the carnivorous type.Even the selective carnivores like me find things tough.The one thing in abundance in all food stores seem to be ‘moo’ (and if you like me immediately conjured up an image of a lazy cow….sorry ‘moo’ in Thai means pork….though a well raised conventional pig according to me should go ‘oink’ as in the Asterix comics).I don’t eat pork so one of the staple diets for me while in Thailand has been ‘Pad Thai’ (or Phat Thai), which is basically is an odd but tasty combination of rice noodles, bean sprouts, tofu and eggs. Normally either shrimps of chicken are added to the combination….and in the ‘floating markets’ of Ayutthaya too I resorted to good ol’ padthai. What was different was the setting…with all the cooking and serving done on little boats parked next to longitudinal piers which were decked with tables where people could sit and eat. It was a real novel concept.Another good thing about such an arrangement of course is that you can wash your hands right in the river water before eating( If you’re one of those dumb hygiene freaks who don’t get along well with the poor germs on your body) …….and even lovelier is the fact that if you end up eating something that does not agree with your stomach you can easily throw up in the river without bothering other people too much..though the fish in the river would not think very highly of you!)

All images copyright - Feroze Kaliyadan - please do not copy without permission.

Road trip to Doha!

2011-04-24T12:35:00.000-07:00

Driving across countries is an interesting experience in itself. Add to it the lure of traversing through miles and miles of empty desert stretches in the sandstorm season and you could have the grand honour of being labelled as adventurous or plain, simple, hopping mad. When we set out for Qatar by road last weekend, from Hofuf (Saudi Arabia), where we live, we weren’t expecting much. Especially because this was going to be our second attempt in as many weeks. And if you’re thinking that the 250 km drive to Doha is something like scaling Mount Everest, requiring multiple attempts, that was hardly the issue. THE issue was, or rather IS that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia remains one of the only nations which has a rather elaborate and curious ‘exit-re-entry visa’ for all expatriates, even if they have a residency status. To put it simply: ‘no exit visa, no leave country’!
We had got our visa all right (We as in me, my wife and daughter + my friend and his wife).Unfortunately the first time we reached the border, the customs guy was not too impressed with my daughter’s visa. So we got out of the car and went to have a lil chat with the ‘mudeer’ (Arabic for top honcho).The mudeer was quite cordial (unlike some of our previous border experiences where the guys in charge of the border seemed to have distinct psychopathic ‘border’line personalities..yech! ...bad pun, even for my low standards...), however in spite of playing tug and war with the computer entry system for the exit visa, he too gave up. “Fi mushkil visa...irja” (In plain English ‘Visa no good ...go back’)....and we irja’ed back home to Hofuf vowing to return another day a la Shahrukh bhai mouthing “Picture abhi baki hai mere dost............!!”
(N: Incidentally if you want to do a quick check on your exit/re-entry visa status you just have to type in your visa number/passport number in the e-services section at http://moi.gov.sa/wps/portal/homeEN.
You can also check for any outstanding traffic fines etc. also)
And back we were the week after (After a bit of hectic running around to get my daughter’s new visa).This time the paperwork at the border was pretty smooth and we got through the Saudi side in less than half an hour. The distance from Hofuf to the border, Salwa, is 150 km. If you’re driving in from Dammam it’s around 310 km. The road is pretty good, wide with three lane traffic. There are some areas where you need to be careful of camels crossing the road (especially if you are adventurous/intrepid/stupid enough to drive at night).These camel guys apparently are quite top-heavy, so if you happen to ram one at speeds of 120 km/hr, you might end up with an assorted mixture of your meat and camel meat ...not a very tasty combo. So be careful.

There are virtually no petrol stations after entering the highway from Hofuf, so makes sense to fill up your tanks at Hofuf. Petrol of course is pretty cheap in Qatar too, but not as cheap as in Saudi, so it also makes sense to do a second top-up of your tank at the border before crossing into Qatar.
At Salwa, before the customs area, you have a petrol station, some shops and a Pakistani restaurant where you can grab a quick bite. Interestingly there is a hair cutting place too, the logic of which I couldn’t figure out. Not sure if there is some deep philosophical basis in having a haircut before you cross international borders. If you have time you can spend a while on the beach adjoining Salwa on the Saudi side. Not a very clean beach but the water’s good and there’s scope for some fishing too.

My daughter Nadia- Salwa beach Saudi side

Once you cross Saudi customs there is a 5km stretch of no-man’s land after which you enter the Qatari side. The Qatari immigration set-up is done up pretty well with some neat, impressive buildings and lawns. Expatriates are issued a ‘visa –on –arrival’ based on their profession. There’s an extensive list of professions eligible for a VOA, available on the net. The visa fees is 100 QAR per person and they don’t accept cash, so you have to go to the attached unit of the Qatar National Bank and convert the money into a e-cash card and then pay. Car insurance is around 100 QAR for a week (can be paid as cash).There are at least 6-7 immigration counters working at a time, so normally the whole business finishes in less than an hour or so.
From the border it is a straight 100 km to Doha. Doha seems to be full of speed radars and round-abouts, (Roundabouts really drive me crazy....never could figure out why civil engineers prefer a roundabout instead of a 4 way traffic island), so go easy on the accelerator pedal. Traffic fines apparently are pretty steep in Qatar. The city itself can be a bit of a maze for first timers, even with a GPS .Always better to get a rough idea about the city roads from someone in Doha you know beforehand. We were helped immensely by an old student of mine – Ashik who is doing his orthopaedic residency in Hamad Medical Corporation, the premier medical establishment in Qatar. If it wasn’t for him we were in for quite a long period of aimless wandering.
It isn’t difficult to find a hotel in Qatar even without prior booking, but always better if you’ve phoned in some place in advance. The average rates per night for a varies from 300 qar to 1500 qar depending on whether you’re the three star or the five star type. There are plenty of serviced apartments also available at good rates. We went for a Hotel Ghazal, which was quite near the corniche. Quite cozy and comfortable.
So where do you go once you’ve settled in? Again plenty of places to visit in Qatar, so you’ll have to prioritize based on the time available. We had kind of a whirlwind tour lasting for a couple of days, but we managed to cover most of the major attractions.
Suggested places:
The Corniche
You can just drive through the corniche enjoying the sights, especially at night, or if you have time, take a quiet little stroll. If you have the time, inclination and the money you could go for a dhow cruise too. There are quite a few parks adjacent to the Corniche. The Rumailah is one such well maintained park. If you’re driving by at night you also get to witness the fabulously lit sky-scraping buildings on the West-bay and also the Qatari parliament which is wonderfully illuminated in a pearly white hue.

Beaches
Quite a few beaches – at least try for the ‘Sea line’ beach which has a resort attached to it. Very clean beach with great water. Has dune-buggies and camel rides for those interested.

Museums
Again you’re a bit spoilt for choice. The Islamic heritage museum and the weaponry museum are famous. However a bit away from the city you have the Sheikh Faisal bin Qassim Al-Thani museum which is a must see .You need to call in advance for an appointment. The whole place would take a day in itself if you’re planning to see it in leisure. The biggest attraction for me was its wonderful collection of antique cars and bikes. On the way back you also get a peek at the Emir’s palace...don’t peek around too much though, or you’ll soon be playing peek-a-boo in a Qatari jail.

Khalifa stadium /Aspire tower
Monuments to Qatar’s emergence as a major sporting venue. The work for stadiums designed to host the 2022 FIFA world cup are also going on. Sporting buffs can also peek at the Qatar golf course (Never though golf was a sport though!)

Malls
City centre mall – with its great multiplexes and food courts is near the corniche, but even you’re not really the mall type you should see the Villagio mall adjacent to the Khalifa stadium. The Venetian atmosphere built into the design is fabulous. It even has a boat ride in a canal in the middle, with Gondoliers thrown in. Parking is a big issue at peak hours, and this I suppose applies to all Malls in Doha.

Education city
Education City is an initiative of the ‘Qatar foundation’. It covers around 15 square kilometers and has a number of educational complexes catering to wide variety –ranging from schools to research units. The complex has a number of esoteric, interestingly designed buildings. This apparently complex is part of the plan to develop Qatar into a knowledge-based-society. Wonder if the explosion in media growth in Qatar – Arabic and English (think Al-Jazeera), has any direct relation.
Souks
These are a bunch of clustered shops built in the style of the traditional Arabian market .The market itself is quite old, but the buildings were done up recently. Good place for collecting trinkets and souvenirs and quite close to the city centre. Special things to look for are – rugs, perfumes and jewellery. The largest one is the Souk Waqif. Should go in the evenings...we missed it coz most of the shops were shut in the afternoon when we visited. Incidentally there is a ‘Gold souk’ also nearby, but for obvious reasons (Read WIFE) we skilfully steered clear of that danger area.
Pearl Qatar
This is something built on the lines of the Atlantis in Dubai, with high end malls and flats straddling clear blue waters .Worth a visit if you’re into photography and window shopping (If you have deep wallets you can do actual shopping too...though I’m yet to really meet a genuine idiot who has actually done some shopping in these hi-end kinda malls).

Food
We stuck mainly to our mallu food from a little, but comfortable restaurant named ‘Swagath’ a short walk from our hotel, near the Mansoura signal. However all kinds of cuisines are available in Doha. The city-centre mall itself houses a larger array of all kinds of eateries in the food-court.
Cinemas
The malls have good multiplexes which play English, Hindi and Malayalam movies. There are quite a few ‘traditional’ Indian style theatres around too. We took in a movie at the ‘Doha cinema’....where we were witness to Mammooty chettan as ‘Dy SP Perumal’ single-handedly (as usual) unravelling an assassination conspiracy against the chief minister of Kerala. The movie seemed to be a bit a of a propaganda thing for the communist party, but watchable all the same.
Aqua park
This is one of your run-of-the-mill water theme parks which is around 30 km Doha on the Salwa road, to Saudi. So we put in a visit on our way back. Not very large, but still quite enjoyable, especially for kids. Only issue is that it is basically an outdoor set-up, so the weather is a major factor. When we went it was drizzling and the water was a bit on the colder side.....a bit of a put-off. Nice ambience all the same. Tickets are 100 QAR per person, free for children 3 and younger.

General points
Language unlike Saudi is not a major issue at all in Qatar. English is generally well spoken and understood. Of course Indians (especially mallus), Pakistanis and Bangladeshis will crop up in every nook and corner, an universal phenomenon in the Gulf (with mallus I think that should ‘simbly’ be the whole ‘werld’)...so you can get by with Hindi, Malayalam and Bengali too! Qatar is not as conservative as Saudi Arabia, but the general sensible advice is to dress, talk and behave in a manner that does not go extremely overboard the local culture.
Things to keep with you in the car include – copies of your travel documents, a portable air compressor unit, extra pair of car-keys, charging cables (In case you end up with a dead battery) a bit of lubricant oil (in case you need to change tyres) and of course a complete tool kit.

(All images copyrighted under cc license- feroze kaliyadan- please use with permission)

Democrazy

2011-02-25T10:59:00.000-08:00

Some of my Egyptian and Tunisian colleagues here tell me that I’m lucky to be an Indian…..Indian as in belonging to India, the world largest ‘working democracy’, India as in a country where you have rights to equality and freedom of speech and thought.
I had goosebumps ( I already have bad skin…but now I’m talking about the national pride kinda goosebumps) and was inspired to go back to one the subjects I hated back in school –‘civics’- to brush up on the 6 fundamental rights that I as an Indian have:
1.The right to equality:
Right.We’re all equally fed up with the system……with the corrupt cops, corrupt bureaucrats, corrupt judiciary and of course our consistently rotten politicians.We are all equally strong in condemning and bitching about the ‘system’ and we’re all equally good in acting impotent and doing nothing about it.
2.The right to freedom
Right again….as long as your freedom doesn’t cross roads with the freedom of a politically better connected idiot, to do anything he/she feels like.
3.The right to freedom from exploitation
Think of it this way…the previous right mentioned gives some guys the right to exploit..and they use it pretty well….so maybe we have a lil conflict of interest thingy on this one.
4.The right to freedom of religion
No comments.Any comment on religion in India is too sensitive……(so much for freedom of speech)!
5.Cultural and educational rights
I’m not really sure why culture and education were clubbed together.I suppose the fathers of our constitution assumed that the more educated that people got, the more their culture would grow..and vice versa.The term ‘cultural rights’ itself seems to be bit of an oxymoron…..what exactly is a ‘cultural’ right?Every regional culture in India has a bit of chauvinism embedded in its psyche….the mallus secretly feel that they are culturally superior to the the tamilians and vice versa….ditto with marathis vs gujjus, punjabis vs bengalis…..Maybe it is the right to this cultural chauvinism that this part of the constitution refers to?!
Education…well if you have money you have a absolutely have a right to good education…otherwise you have the explicit right to struggle through a competitive system to educate yourself!!

6.The right to constitutional remedies
Now even the not so bright ones among us (writer included) would realize that the first five ‘rights’ aren’t worth a single paisa as long as the last one is not exercisable in a proper way…..and there lies the whole problem with India.Basically right no:6 means that if some goon has done some wrong to you ,you can go for legal recourse – the police station or the courts.Ask any ‘aam aadmi’ who has some experience in seeking such legal recourse and you will hear repetitive and familiar stories of how the original ‘goons’ finally came out as the lesser evil when compared to the ‘goons’ in khaki and in black coats.The whole damn system has rotted at all levels, and we’re contributing whole heartedly (You will notice that the tense is ‘present continuous’) to the rot by greasing palms randomly to make sure that our work gets done somehow.Bribing someone is considered so natural that nobody really thinks of it as a major wrong….unless of course the ‘bribee’ is making unrealistically high demands!
The right to set things right
Obviously not part of the official 6 ‘rights’…but we do have this right…if only we used it in the right way at the right time!!For all my congenitall acquired sarcasm, I realize that compared to many places, India is like heaven on earth..but the problem is while other countries are crying hoarse for reform, we don’t realize the strength of the freedom and democracy we have….maybe we will do so only when we lose it……or have we already???
Jai Hind…..

hubbies hobbies

2010-12-21T06:43:00.000-08:00

Hubbies and Hobbies

Photography had been one of my old passions which has retaken wings recently. The move from film to digital photography has indeed converted many nut cases into amateur, and sometimes even professional photographers. This however can become a hazard for married people ( read husbands )…especially when the photo-sessions start taking a bit more time than that spent with the equipment you officially tied the knot with. The more you shoot pics, the more the wife feels like shooting you (with a good gun, not a camera) and turning you into a great still image…in black and blue tones….
(Actually I never understood why she gets so worked up about this photography thing ….I mean once in a couple of months I take her pics also….incidentally bugs are one of my favourite subjects)
And when the camera slowly starts becoming the third person in the marriage, the wifey may start getting a bit more pro-active like mine did….and what better way to counter an irritating hobby of an generally irritating kind of husband than getting into an irritating counter -hobby yourself.
My wife apparently has become a bit too interested in cooking as a hobby recently .The ‘Masterchef’ series on TV providing a strong trigger to her culinary intents. So with the present distressing circumstances, the good lady took up her weapons and started frying, roasting and baking away to glory, whenever I was in proximity with my beloved cameras. The way things were going, some day I was sure that she wouldn’t mind deep frying one of my cameras too. Nadia our 4 year old would often be witness to her crazy parents fanatically indulging in their respective hobbies, scowling at each other (Nadia’s pretty much resigned to the ‘crazy’ part…the scowling was an refreshingly entertaining change for her!)
However another recent TV program on ‘Food photography’ might help us find a middle way. For those not in the know, simply put ‘Food photography’ involves arranging food and photographing them so that they look yummy (even if it actually tastes like ditch water). So now she cooks, and me clicks what she cooks…we’re both happy..Almost...Only problem of course is that after me clicks, me also eats……and unlike the hollywood cop movies where they keep yelling ‘You have the right to remain silent…”…I have ‘absolutely no such right ….I have to speak (Literally meaning I have to praise)…or at least smile.
“Suffering ennobles a person” Dr Christian Barnard (!!)
Disclaimer: All characters mentioned aboved are purely fictious …at least if my wife happens to chance upon this blog.

The circle of life

2010-10-26T23:45:00.000-07:00

The other day I was conducting a viva for my students and was getting increasingly amused with the sheer inventiveness of the answers given. At least those human right activist guys can’t accuse me of stifling the freedom of expression. You often notice that the more benign the teacher /examiner- the more imaginative the answers…but at least they do answer and more often than not we get a clear picture of their level of knowledge. ...something you never achieve when exams are conducted in something like a ‘war on terror’ atmosphere.
I was suddenly taken back a decade when we had our internal medicine postings with Dr S .I ‘m not really sure if Dr S was a genius…but she definitely gave us 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration (to stay away from her classes…especially when in a foul mood..which was basically like always)
Madam S , was terror personified…..to explain the gravity of the situation I present this dialogue horribly adapted from the hindi movie ‘Sholay’ of Gabbar singh fame :“If some medical student falls asleep while mugging for the exams, his/her roommate would wake him/her up and say “Wake up Baccha nahi to Kal exam me ‘Madam S’ aa jayegi” “
Every case discussion with here would be like a Hindi saas-bahu soap serial ….full of tears (especially if the person presenting the case was a female of the homo sapiens Linn species, barbed dialogues (all from her)…and seemingly no end to the story….see you tomorrow same time ,same place for more!!)
One of the most colorful episodes I remember with Madam S was when one of our colleagues, a certain miss KJ was asked a deeply philosophical question regarding the colors of the stools in various types of jaundice (Not the sitting kinda stools dude ..the shitting kind).Miss KJ was dumb-struck and color blind, for a precious few minutes and mixed up her palette. In the end Madam S decided to settle for the color of normal stools as a compromise , but KJ still wouldn’t give in. So ultimately Madam S handed KJ a rather colorful assignment …to check on the color of her own ‘you know what’ and return the next day. KJ was off-color for the rest of the day…..(The final results of this great scientific mission were classified – for Madam S’s eyes/ears only….so we never were enlightened regarding the true colors of human waste!)

(Speakin’ of stools , one of my surgery teachers would often comment on the vivid yet questionable descriptions in some medical texts. Apparently some medical conditions , according to some texts, are characterized by ‘foul-smelling stools’….now whoever heard of stools smelling of lilies and roses??!!!)
(N: All said and done I must admit that most of what madam S ,taught me still remains quite fresh…fear at times can indeed be a potent tonic for an effective memory!! And honestly looking back, many of the interesting lil episodes with her do tend to bring a little smile to my stupid face!)

“Talk shows” on TV- the ultimate reality show!

2010-09-09T01:21:00.000-07:00

Talking of news talk shows…I sincerely feel that they make for the best reality TV fare….
Scene : Three ‘gentle’men and one ‘gentle’ lady ( or any other gender combination ) with very similar, foul expressions on their face, leaning on shiny wooden podiums arranged on points of an arc, face a fresh looking young female with a smirk on her face. The scene reminds you of a ringmaster trying to control a quartet of wild animals. Except the characters are not in a circus (at least not in the literal meaning of that term).The scene I described is one of the variations of the political debates that we have got so used (bored?) to seeing on national television. The topics vary from ‘trivial’ issues like naxalism to ‘serious’ national issues like whether Sania Mirza should marry a Pakistani…..or even whether Sania Mirza should marry at all!!! (Sarcasm very much intended)I have often wondered what purpose these debates serve. I have yet to see one of these shouting/slanging matches come up with any worthwhile consensus or solution. I mean what would you expect when you pair up an opposition party spokesperson with a ruling party spokesperson……the only thing they would certainly agree to do is to firmly disagree. By the time the ‘holier –than- thou’ anchor concludes the show, more often than not, opinions would have been more polarized than before.
Well TRPs do go up I suppose. That’s about it .Whether you are a news channel or a ‘masala’ entertainment channel (Incidentally some of the Hindi ‘News Channels’ are pretty indistinguishable from the masala channels); it’s either fast rising TRPs or a slow but certain death. When you have seemingly grown up, allegedly mature and supposedly famous people shouting themselves hoarse at each other over anything from the price of onions to national security, you do get a perverse pleasure in watching the ‘tamasha’.
I think when we ‘progressed’ from the almost rustic, simple 30 minutes a day Doordarshan news in the eighties to 24-hour news channels; it was natural that pure, unadulterated news would take a beating. So the news channels needed to improvise……and improvise they did by creating ‘value-additions’ to the news. Harping on absolutely inane (but apparently sensational) incidents like the Sania-Shoaib wedding is one of the accepted TRP raising stunts. The other is of-course to conduct debates and discussion on hot issues to make issue hotter and more controversial than it was in the first place. One of the main problems with these so called panel-discussions is that most of the people in the panel have already got a set and rigid opinion on the issue at hand. You add in a pinch of political mule-headedness and you basically get something sillier than school-kids fighting over candy….absolutely pure and unadulterated farce. I mean how many politicians can actually see the other persons point? And how many politicians absolutely adore listening to their own voice? You answer these two rhetorical questions, combine the answers and you can understand why panel-discussions (with politicians on board) will never go much beyond childish slanging matches)
All said and done, these debates, I feel are the best form of reality TV entertainment. It has mystery and suspense(Half the time you have no idea what these guys are harping on about ….though you feel that the startling truth is just around the corner), violence (mostly verbal, but I suppose the day is not far when we’ll be treated to actual ‘dishum-dishum’ stuff!), comedy (More than one politician discussing a serious issue……what could be funnier?) ,vendetta (that one does not need elaboration I suppose) and of course top class acting (sometimes you’re actually fooled into believing what these ‘netas’ say!)……..if only we could actually have a few politicians agreeing to perform an ‘item’ number or two during the debate, then Bollywood would have serious completion! and the best part? IT’s REAL!!!
Keep’em coming!!!

To strike or not to strike…..for doctors that is a BIG question…..

2010-09-09T01:06:00.000-07:00

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/media-practitioner-heal-thyself/5824/0

A little piece I had written for the Indian Express a few years back….still relevant I think

Meanwhile the medical strike controversy continues unabated with the fresh issues n Jodhpur and Safdarjung.‘Doctor assaulted by irate Mob’ –‘Doctors go on strike’ –‘Patients dies due to doctors strike’-‘Do doctors have the right to strike’- ‘The ‘hypocritical’ oath’………..All these headlines and scroll lines (scrolling news seems to be definitely getting more popular that dire old newspaper headlines – especially from everything from an air-crash to a B-grade bollywood star’s latest affair is prefixed with a bold ‘FLASHING NEWS’ or ‘BREAKING NEWS’ in bold yellows and reds)
And madam Barkha Dutt, Mr ‘Know all’Arnab Goswami et al were at it again and busy the last few days following a string of medicos’ strikes in different parts of the country.

The issue of whether and how doctors can strike is probably going to be unsolved for a long-long time. One thing I feel is that whatever the provocation we doctors should never the alienate the general public. There were instances when doctors boycotted official duties but at the same time set up make-shift medical camps outside the hospitals to treat patients. To take things a step forward you could set up similar camps on more visible areas like outside government buildings/police stations etc.More often than not the root cause for any underlying related problems is a stupid ,khadi clad politician or a shrewd ‘suit-boot’ clad bureaucrat…..this would be one way to take the strike to their door-step while ensuring that public opinion does not turn against us doctors.

Nadia's Diary : Off to school :(

2010-08-13T03:06:00.000-07:00

My first day at school (Smiling through difficult times was always one of my strengths)

With great power comes great responsibility…..I really don’t mind a little bit of power but am not awfully interested in the responsibility stuff.
Anyways ,if you thought I was bitten by a radioactive bug and started spinning spider webs, you’re far from the truth.(Though I still do manage to spin a few webs around my stupid parents, and incidentally I was actually bitten a few days ago by some cute leeches, courtesy my nutty father’s idea of a holiday in a rain forest in the middle of the monsoons….unfortunately they weren’t the radioactive type and didn’t give me any superpowers…it would have been kinda interesting though, I could be one of those anti-hero/ine things …maybe they’d call me the blood-sucker girl!!).
Coming back to the more serious issue..thing is I have been rather unceremoniously dumped in a horrible,horrible place called SCHOOL …..and SCHOOL sucks. Period.
I did try a bit of the old ‘cry yourself hoarse till they give in’ trick with my parents, but those stonehearted idiots didn’t bat an eyelid before they sentenced me to school.
As if to soften the mental trauma and sheer agony, the idiots who run this joint, call this arrangement a ‘play-school’. If the idea was to play,why bother with the school part?I mean I play enough back home, so why institutionalize the whole thing?It’s like that place called jail, they send dudes who do bad stuff….what bad stuff did I do??Since when is growing up a crime?
Now every morning I have to sacrifice my beauty sleep and get decked with a stupid ,very uncool bag (pink color with shiny Barbie pictures….yech!!totally not in vogue…but that’s what happens when you have a couple of dumb, unfashionable creatures as parents) and get dumped in that depressing place. I have started having that thing they called Monday morning blues…though this place gives me the blues all days of the week except the weekend.
The only good thing is that there are quite of a few us like- minded suffering pre-schoolers in this dump and someday we hope that we can throw of the yoke of these imperialistic, fascist so-called teachers. We tend to have great stimulating exchanges too ( we exchange words, flu viruses and of course occasional pinches and slaps when the word exchange parts don’t end up in a consensus).
Those teacher things haven’t started with the ABC,123 stuff, but one dude who’s been inside for some time before me, warned me that the unpleasant stuff would be coming soon.As of now it’s all fun and games….a big façade I suppose, before the real torture starts.
Anyway , I just don’t get the point of this education thing.My dear old mum and dad apparently had to study till they were like really really old …and they’re still dumb enough to buy me a pink Barbie bag to take to school and as far as I know they don’t have much dough in the bank either…apparently education doesn’t do much to make you more sensible …or rich.On the other hand lookit all those politician people in our country.Stinking rich, no education.So what the heck is the bloody point??
I rest my case.

(Nadia is my 4 year old daughter,prematurely blessed with an attitude of a teenager)

Listening to the sounds of silence...

2010-08-06T06:45:00.002-07:00

The entrance to silent valley national park

Travelogues are really not my cup of tea (Actually anything in which I cannot mix in huge portions of sarcasm and poor jokes are not my cup of tea).
However a rain-drenched visit to Silent Valley inspired me to pen this lil piece.

Where, how and why?
Silent Valley is a reserve forest located in the Palakkad district in the north-east border of Kerala.It is part of what is called the Nilgiri biosphere (which is an International Biosphere Reserve in the Western Ghats, in the Nilgiri Hills range of South India).
To get to Silent Valley, you have to first reach Mannarcaud ,which is near Palakkad town. Palakkad is well connected by train and bus to all major towns in Kerala.The nearest airports are in Kochi and Kozhikode (around 3 hours by road).From there you have to travel up through about 20 km of hairpins to reach the small town of Mukkali.The entrance to the ‘buffer zone’ of the forest is here.The actual core zone of the silent valley reserve is about 23 km from the entry point.No private vehicles are allowed beyond the entry point.You have to shell out about 1000 bucks to hire an authorised Jeep with a driver and a guide + around 200 if you’re carrying a camera.(If you’re planning on a trek you can avoid the jeep, but still have to hire the guides.The number of jeeps and guides are restricted, so you’ll have to book well in advance, especially in peak seasons).If you’re planning on a single day programme, you don’t need to make any stay arrangements (Normally the guides bring you back by 2:00 pm max, so you can return to virtually any major town in Kerala by the end of the day).However the real fun is in staying a couple of days and really enjoying the treks in leisure.If you do plan to explore the place over a few days there are a couple of options for lodging (All outside the core area of course)– there are cheap lodges in Mukkalli, a rather pricey resort slightly away and also some government owned cottages (you might have to pull a few strings to get accommodated here though) farther away in Agali (which is around 17 km away from Mukkali)

We had our trip interrupted in between due to a fallen tree.Luckily our guides and the driver managed to clear the path soon

The history of Silent Valley is rather interesting.The area is locally known as "Sairandhrivanam" literally, Sairandhri's Forest. In local Hindu legend, Sairandhri was Draupadi, wife of the five Pandavas, who disguised herself as Sairandhri, queen Sudeshna's assistant, while they were in exile. Apparetly the Pandavas during their exile moved into a untouched virgin forest in what is now Kerala.(Our Guide who belongs to one of the indigenous tribes claimed that the remains of the cave where Draupadi and the Pandavas stayed remains to this day). The first English investigation of Silent Valley area was in 1847 by the botanist Robert Wight. There are various versions as to how the name ‘Silent valley’ came to be – One versions mentions that the British named the area Silent Valley because of a perceived absence of noisy Cicadas. (Surprsingly the moment we entered the core area of the forest we were greeted with the monotonous and unique creeking tune of thousands of Cicadas apparently orchestrating a symphony.Our guide (who interestingly belongs to one of the indigenous adivasi tribes of the area ) mentioned that apparently Cicadas and Crickets are now very much present in Silent Valley, unlike before ).Another story attributes the name to the anglicisation of Sairandhri vanam. A third story, refers to the presence there of many Lion-Tailed Macaques- Macaca silensus.(Unfortunately due to the pouring monsoon showers ,we could not get to see any of the Macaques ….of course my daughter Nadia was there,no lion-tail, far from silent, but quite the monkey most of the time!)
[The history part is heavily borrowed from wikipedia]

A rather interesting slug commonly seen in silent valley

View from the observation tower

Things to keep with you:
Hiking boots – essential unless blood-letting is one of your hobbies.Whether or not you get lucky enough to see macaques or elephants ,you will definitely meet leeches of all kinds by the hundreds (especially if you ,like me , are nutty enough to go in the rainy season).For the same purpose you need a pack of salt.Applying salt apparently makes the leech walk away in disgust! (Plucking them off might result in their mouth parts remaining in your skin and can later induce a rash ).However half the time you never know that one of them lil suckers was sipping your blood away to glory for quite some time as the bite is completely painless.Keep a few band-aids handy too coz the bleeding from the leech bite tends to go on for some time due to a cute little anti-coagulant called ‘hirudin’ that these guys inject into your blood.
A Swiss-army knife, a torch , rain coats, insect repellent creams and a rope …those are the other things you need to keep with you.Of course a camera (with spare batteries) and binoculars …and if you’re into serious photography protective hoods for your lenses. You can take any kind of food with you but ensure that all the waste is put back into plastic bags and taken back with you.

Leeches enjoying themselves on the legs of our friend Mr Ajay Bhanu

As of now the core area has very little mobile reception, but keep a charged mobile with you all the same (Unless the trip is partly to get away from the stresses of office or married life or both!) and finally while silent valley is a great spot for young people to enjoy nature it may not be a great place to take very young kids with you.

All photographs copyright feroze kaliyadan - please do not copy without permission

Today’s match : Me vs My Wife, Venue: our living room

2010-07-18T00:20:00.000-07:00

There’s something about the world cup atmosphere that substantially promotes inter-spousal animosity.
Luckily for me the world cup matches were at a very convenient timing as far as Saudi Arabia is concerned.Unfortunately the timings also coincided with those of some of my wife’s favourite TV soaps.So now most days we had our own little matches going on in the TV room, with the TV remote being kicked around instead of the glorious jabulani.We have no vuvuzelas as yet , but Nadia (our 4 year old monster) more than makes up for the sound effects!

So while Higuain was busy with his hat-trick ,striking the jabulani into the Korean goal,I was forced to see heavily decked up gujju mothers and mothers-in-law stuffing dheplas and dollops of omnipresent ‘gajar-ka-halwa’ into the wide mouths of their ever eager mentally retarded sons or daughters-in-law or both.

I think it’s about time somebody did some serious genetic engineering to clone wives who have an interest in sports!After all the basic aim of science is to improve things for ‘man’kind right?!

The Chinese ‘lock trick’ and a need to pee….

2010-05-21T09:45:00.001-07:00

I recently read a joke in Readers’ Digest magazine- A teacher sincerely tells a bunch of 5 year olds “You should know that God made everything”.One of the kids lifts his hand and innocently opines “But my Daddy says that everything is made by the Chinese?!”.
The Chinese are everywhere….gone are the days when the term ‘Chinese’ made your mind fill up only with appetizing images of noodles and soup or of Bruce Lee ‘chettan’ and his potent Karate skills….now the Chinese are into everything…they do everything ,they make everything. Apparently they make cheap door locks too by the dozen, and export them all over, including the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia…and many a time these innocent looking things can mess up your life. A few weeks ago one of my friends got locked up in his room courtesy one of these cheap Chinese innovations, but c’mon that couldn’t happen to a smart, intelligent, resourceful and humble dude like me. I mean getting yourself locked in …..how dumb can that make you feel?? Pretty dumb …as I learnt in the course of time.
A couple of days back I was alone at home , with the wife and kid gone visiting relatives for a week. I was planning to retire early, after gobbling up some poorly made(a.k.a self-made) noodles (Chinese again) .So around 11:30 I drag my lazy self to the couch in the drawing room. I am about to plop down when I realize that it’s quite hot ,so I switch on the AC in full cool, and bang the drawing room door shut.
After half and hour of blissful sleep my bladder conveys a lil feeling of fullness to my brain ,so I make the grand decision to pee….…I re-drag my , by now lazier and sleepier self to the bathroom…voila!!!!…the door lock has jammed …as if by pure magic!
So now its me with a burning need to pee but no means to flee…..the perfect antonym of glee ( Having to pee and not being able to, does bring out the poet in you)
For a few confused seconds I try various innovative calisthenics with the door handle ….but apparently the handle and the lock are working hand in hand…one of those Chinese conspiracies, against poor Indians of course. So now I think of plan B……and realize that there is no plan B ,which is logical too, considering there really wasn’t any concrete kind of plan A either in the first place.(Unless you give the plan A status to the grand peeing program)

Now the advantage of living in Saudi Arabia is that most likely your landlord will not understand a word of what you say and vice versa, so you pretty much mutually leave each other alone (Which I sincerely feel is the best way to carry forward a landlord-tenant relation)…. normally communication is via extremely broken Arabic and sign language (in the reverse order mainly).So a telephonic communication with your landlord is basically like voting for crazy politicians during elections in India….pretty useless, yet it has to be done.
‘salaamualaikum’ says me
‘Walaikum salaam…kaif hal doctoor’ (How are things doctor?)
‘Wajid mushkil….bab sakkar… ana maujood inside…stuck….maloom’ (Big trouble….door closed, me inside,stuck.....get it?).For sake of decency I avoid any references to the other burning issue.
Duh??
‘mawjood miftash extra?’ (do you have an extra key?)
Duh????
By now I realize that the conversation, like me, is going nowhere and its already past mid-night. So I decide to hang up and call one of my rather resourceful contacts who’s been In Saudi for the last 10 years or so. This was the same guy who rescued my afore-mentioned friend from a state of self-inflicted imprisonment a few weeks ago.
“Hello” Me
“He…..ZZZZZ….llooo” My obviously half-asleep maybe-may -not -be savior
“I am stuck ….locked in ..the doors jammed…have to pee also…I ‘m going crazy!”
“ZZZZ….oh.sorry …ZZZ..you seem really busy….ZZZ…will call you later…good night” The phone clicks off

Now the stark reality starts sinking in with all its dreaded possibilities….earlier the big questions in life ( mostly around this time of the night ) were on the lines of ‘ to pee or not to pee’…..now it was basically down to simply how not to pee…..
Whenever I am in a difficult situation I often try to visualize what a Hindi movie hero would do in a similar situation….but unfortunately here I couldn’t remember anything filmy to inspire me. So I do what common sense tells me…….I switch off the AC..the heat I assume will make me sweat more thereby reducing the need to release fluids by any other orifice .I follow my decisive actions with what I sincerely feel is a look of fierce determination on my face ( I must have looked like a stupid dodo when I think of it retrospectively) and lie down on my back, close my eyes and try to remember all the good things that happened to me in my crazy life…….

Voila!!Magic again…..I wake up at around five…….fresh, and most importantly not having a dire need to pee. I call up a friend who arrives soon with a rope and tools ,tosses it up the only accessible window and I manage to wedge the door open. Soon after I manage to rest in ‘Pee’ce!

Moral of the story:
1. Don’t trust Chinese door locks……..they may be cheap, but may end up putting you in trouble deep!For that matter don’t trust anything cheap!!!
2. If you have an uncontrollable desire to pee in an unpeeable environment….switch off the AC/fan if it is on!! Works especially well if you have a Saudi Arabian summer to back you up!

Some links on how to deal with a jammed lock.(Chinese or otherwise!)
http://www.ehow.com/how_6458016_fix-jammed-door-lock.html
http://en.allexperts.com/q/Locksmithing-3110/jammed-lock-removing-door.htm
http://uk.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080920131926AAtqSTF
Image courtesy: www.1912bungalow.com/Outside_Handle02-thumb.jpg

30000 idiots……. (learning to cure –Part 1)

2010-03-06T23:35:00.000-08:00

FLASHBACK (in 24 bit colour....I’m not that old for a black and white/Eastman color flashback)

1995, February….anatomy dissection hall, Medical college Trivandrum.
Scene – half asleep, gangly, geeky, nerdy guy (The character in this flashback may look, talk and behave nutty like me , but is not me....similarly the other characters may resemble real life nut-cases, but that obviously is just co-incidental ;) .The first person narration is purely for my own ease) looks through his thick spectacle lenses, with a sense of ‘shock and awe’ at the specimen of a dissected human upper limb placed in front of him (His mind is pretty blank as usual but at least now he realizes why this stuff is called ‘gross’ anatomy).A slightly more gross, but live, human form is staring at him through thick-lensed, thick-framed spectacles, across the table – no awe ,just shock….mixed with equal measures of disgust and contempt – my anatomy examiner.

“Tell me the surface anatomy of the ulnar nerve” Madame X threw her question at me with contempt (ps: the names have ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with the glamour quotient of the characters in questions….it is purely for sake of being unidentifiable).

“Uh…the ulnar nerve…duh….it’s surface is …er…smooth..??” I am sure Madame x does not have a high opinion of rhetorical ,dumb questions as answers to her straight questions…but c’mon I wouldn’t have answered that way if I was sure of the answer would I? Besides from the specimen I had in front of me the ulnar nerve did look kinda smooth.

Madame X’s anatomy ,physiology and biochemistry all got quite ruffled it seemed.The lady was turning various interesting shades of purple and blue.

Madame X upped her ante.

“Tell me about the elbow joint”
This was easy
“The elbow joint…..it kind of folds at the elbow…”I even demonstrated this magical phenomenon for her sake.
Madame X wasn’t impressed, unless it was routine for her eyes to pop out of their sockets when she is impressed.

Madame X was at loss for words (Expletives actually) “ Have you ever attended your dissection classes??????”

Now that was taking it too far.I mean the dissection classes were THE place to discuss movies, cricket, girls, non-existent love lives, ....I mean we even discussed Shakespearean literature....”To pee or not to pee” was a constant dilemma haunting our tortured souls.

Anyway the point was I did attend dissection classes .......very regularly.

“Yes Madam”
“And what pray did you do in these dissection classes?sleep?”
I would’ve liked to explain how the previously mentioned activities kept us wide awake during dissection hours, but Madame X obviously was really not into that empathy thing.
“No Madam”

Next she went right into the heart of the issue (forgive my rotten puns) and pulled out a formalin preserved section of a human heart from the steel tray in front of her.
“Tell me about chambers of the heart”
I didn’t have the heart to do this (there I go again), but adventurous that I was I quickly pointed with my quivering index finger to the 4 shrunken cavities -this,that,this this.....chambers of the heart” So there.
Now madame X obviously was interested in hearing a wee-bit more detailed explanation- like the names of the chambers for a start, but she wasn’t going to pry it out of me that easy.Brevity was always one of my innate strengths...especially when answering in Viva exams!

There was a grave expression on her face now “Hmmm ok...I’ll give you a last chance” Her hands reached out to a set of polished human bone lying on one corner of the table. She meticulously selected five of the bones and handed it across. With the kind of mood she wouldn’t have been surprised if she just threw them across the hall and said “Fetch”

“OK...identify each of these correctly and I’ll give you a pass grade”
I looked with an even graver expression than hers on the remains of some poor soul who was probably watching me from up there and laughing away to glory.
So now 5 distinct, interesting looking bones, stood between me and failure.

I picked up each specimen gingerly like those guys would do in CSI Miami (Only difference was here the murder was not yet over...though you could never tell when madame X would tip over and do a little dissection on me)

“This is the..er....hmm.....femur”
Slightly amused expression on Madame X’s face.
“This here is ah...a humerus.....?!” Smile on Madame X’s face ....maybe that was humorous to her.(That's the last bad pun, I promise)

“This is definitely a tibia” Smile + surprise?
“This one is a Fibula” Smile 2x + surprise 3x

Now I picked up the last long bone from the pile, gave it a good look...and realised that I was at the end of my luck...
I kept silent for a minute. By now Madame X was beaming and writing something on the sheet of paper in front of her. Seeing that I was maintaining my silence she pushed the sheet in front of me. A big zero stared back at me.....it was all over....I was crushed.
Madame X was still smiling though and as if to rub salt into my wounded anatomy she tapped on the elaborately drawn zero with here pen again, this time drawing a line right through the middle of the zero. OK...so now she feels that even a zero is too good for me!!!
Now she looked curiously at me ...and again tapped the centre of the zero.
What the heck....???????

Post-script

I passed the exam; though it took a while for me to understand that the honourable Madame-X was actually trying to help me by drawing what she thought was the radius of a circle. Don’t you get it?...line through the zero is a diameter and half of that is the radius and well the bone in my hand also happened to be a radius etc. Etc. After the exam I thanked Madame X profusely for her leniency. She replied that she had earlier had a look at my theory marks (Which were not all that bad, I might mention) and so assumed that I was just having a bad day at the office and so didn’t want to flunk me......besides I got my bones right...right?!

Post-script to post-script

The truth is that theory exams are easy meat for anyone who cares to sit and mug up the whole curriculum...but to apply the same practically you need to understand what’s going on why and how exactly. I never did make an extra effort for that during non- lecture classes like dissection sessions (It was understood that lecture classes, like night, were created by god for rest and sleep) and honestly neither did most of the tutors around inspire me even remotely to make an effort. It was basically mug and vomit. The more eloquently you vomit, the better you score. Interesting having a thorough mugged up knowledge often helps you through viva sessions also because many of the viva examiners are really no better than a theory exam. Evaluation of students is also an art in itself I suppose...an art which unfortunately very few medical teachers care to master. There are around 450 Medical colleges in India, churning out about 30000 doctors and scattering them all over the country and abroad. This still falls far short of an ideal doctor to population ratio …..that however is a different issue altogether.
What set me thinking of penning this bit was the movie ‘3 idiots’. I am sure a majority of those who had seen the movie would identify at least partly with ‘learn by rote’ system satirised in the movie. I can obviously speak with authority only for my own medical education (actually my undergraduate medical education..... because I was blessed with some fantastic teachers during my specialisation period) and I must say when I was doing my under-graduate medicine, the only route to take for ‘success’ was the ‘rote route’.
Medical education is apparently undergoing changes. There ARE a lot of faculty around who are really interested in changing things …..and things ARE changing…at least they’re beginning to….but back then things were quite different...

image courtesy:http://hillbuzz.files.wordpress.com

A passport to hell!!

2009-07-23T07:49:00.000-07:00

Getting a passport for my daughter was something on my mind for quite some time. However my constant practice had indeed honed and perfected my procrastinating abilities.(Actually my modified policy is more like – don’t put off doing anything….just don’t do it!!!)
Anyway circa July 2009, I was finally on the doorsteps of the gateway to the world. I’m sure the babus (More of ‘babis’ actually….if that is the feminine of babus…actually what is the feminine of babus? Bibis?),inside the Kochi passport office describe their hallowed abode in even more grandiloquent terms. I had already made an online application form for my daughter and had an appointment for exactly 9:00 AM.So here I am with all the documents and Photostats of documents and back-ups of the Photostats all in plastic folder walking up to the security ‘chettan’ and confidently announcing “I have an appointment for 9:00 clock”.
Security chettan stares blankly at me in reply.Hard of hearing maybe me thinks , so I lift up the application form from the file and show the bold print saying ‘9:00 AM’.
Security chettan continues to stare (a wee-bit more blank I think).Hard of hearing and sight?? Dumb too maybe?
“Appointment eh? Eh?EH?” a gruff outburst pours out. OK not dumb….at least not in the ‘can’t talk’ mode. Actually quite a talkative guy, as I find out during the next few minutes, when he launches into explaining that the appointment thingy and the online-application thingy is something like himself…quite a farce. “You want give application, you take token, you stand line , you wait, you give ,you understand, you go”.
I go.
The next joker I have to meet is stamping out numbers on the application form. This is how the fully computerised online application works. You get your token number stamped, You wait till your number is called and then you give your forms to another babu/babi who points out each minute mistake in the form and often affords you an invitation for a revisit to correct the deficiencies. (Now what ‘online’ has to do with the whole system was getting curiouser and curiouser for me…something like alice in wonderland…..with a bit of malice in wonderland thrown in free!).

Anyway I finally mange to get a darshan of the first ‘babi’ in the hierarchy after waiting in the line for a couple of hours (oh maybe online was ‘on’line’?!!).Anyway babi dearest , a rather stern and ominous looking lady touching the wrong side of 50, made short work of my application. Apparently I needed either me or my wife to have each others name listed in the passport as spouse so as to ensure that we are married ,so that we can ascertain the fact that we are both Nadia’s parents and apparently there was some confusion whether a marriage certificate actually proved that me and my wife are actually me and my wife ……at the end I wondered (with a slight grin ) whether I was married at all….ok now if that confused you as much as it did me, you should be getting a hang of how the passport office works and secondly, there was the need of both the parents original passports, (not one parent’s alone) for verification (which I admit made much more sense than the former issue which I’m still trying to figure out exactly).Anyway more than the substance of the lady’s comments it was the tone that made my day. I’m convinced that the staffs in the passport office have to pass some basic (or maybe even higher course) in rudeness before they get a job there. The absence of smiles and politeness was so consistent that you simply have to hand it to them!!

Anyway , having a perfectly good day messed up ,I decided to have a little revenge. Actually I really wanted an old fashioned hindi movie type thing where I could beat up all the staff in the office till I reach the big boss himself and then say something like “ Yeh meri beti Nadia ke rejected passport application ke liye” followed by the customary dishum-dishum and so on.However I restricted myself to calling up the higher-ups in the passport office to clarify issues. Now this was a two hour long attempt at various numbers listed in the web-site of the Kochi passport office (including one apparently for complaints) and at the end realisation struck me that the higher-ups are apparently so high-up that they simply can’t be reached ! (at least not by mere mortals like me).I finally ended my own misery by shooting off an e-mail to the only id listed on the web….I know it would be a miracle if I get any kind of response…God might respond to your prayers once a while ,but the regional passport officer never (Old jungle saying).

The good part is I think I’ve hit upon a fantastic solution to prevent brain-drain from India. Just set up more passport offices with exemplary staff like the above mentioned office…..nobody will dare going out…..and even if they do, most of what brains they had would have been drained out by the RPOs!!Jai hind!

PS: Apparently after some recent public outcry the functioning of the Kochi passport office had been improved. If this is ‘improved’ I shudder to think what the previous situation was!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NU4rR98ve_4
http://www.hindu.com/2008/08/16/stories/2008081659851000.htm

Yes we can! (Nadia's diary -5)

2009-06-05T06:52:00.000-07:00

There are some days which kinda change your life dramatically..something like waking up from a hypnotic spell on the cue of a finger snap.(Actually that snapping stuff happens only in the movies I think).Anyway yesterday was one of THOSE days for me….the day I got my first Churidar!!!!(See attached pic) It goes without saying I looked uber-cool (kind of like that word whatever it means), but more importantly it made me realize that one of the essential rights of under-5s is the right to dress with dignity and style (not necessarily in that order).Think of it ,when it comes to dressing we are mute spectators to our overbearing mothers (crazy fathers sometime joining in this sadistic pursuit).How many a times have we been subjected to frilly yellows and garish pinks and been gawked at following this ceremony with shrill choruses of ‘oh cho chweets’ and other such condescending ,primitive gibberish.Under 5s of the world unite….it’s time to rebel (Anytime is a good time to rebel at our age…but that is another matter)…you can’t pick your parents (though you should learn to pick ON them),but you can certainly pick your dresses!!and if you don’t like the silly garbs your dumb parents foster upon you…throw,tear,crumple,destroy…use any constructive technique to drill your viewpoint into their thick-heads.Remember violence is not just an option…when it comes to weirdo parents, it is the ONLY option!!!Rebel in style ..to dress in style.As that Obama guy put it ‘YES WE CAN!!’

(nadia is my daughter - actual age 2 and half years,mental age - 2 and half years, attitude - somewhere around 18 years)

delhi sick!!!

2009-03-01T00:20:00.001-08:00

I’m not normally into movie reviews, but the degree of mental trauma I suffered on account of being a mute (more like shell-shocked into muteness) witness to this man-made disaster forced me to pen these words…..and like our good-for-nothing politicians repeatedly do, I condemn this act of terrorism in the name of entertainment and empathise deeply with the other affected idiots/suckers who fell for the promos. The movie does have some plus points I admit ….(I know ,I know …plus points duh?) ,Well Rahman’s music is cool (so go buy a pirated MP3), Sonam Kapoor is cute ( so go download pics of her and keep gawking if you have nothing better to do) and the few shots of the Taj Mahal look great (So go get a post card )……..but for heaven’s sake a movie attempting a sermon on the moral ineptitude of modern Indian society based on a ‘Kaala Bandar’ analogy!!!???I mean just switch on any news channels and you’ll find scores of ‘Bandars’ of all political hues and colors…why bother spending 150 bucks in these recession hit times?As for Abhishek Bacchan ….well all I can say he saved the best for the last ..maybe if he had donned the ‘Kaala Bandar’ outfit through out the movie it might at least have had a semblance of an attempt at comedy.Husband as 'Kala Bandar' and wife in the Pink Panther….the Bacchan family is sure turning into one colourful and exotic zoo !!!

Driving glory

2008-09-14T10:07:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer
The below details are absolutely non-fictious.Any resemblance to any living or dead idiot is as intentional as possible.

“I’ve got a fast car…..”.Whenever I hear that famous Tracy Chapman song my mind conjures up the pleasant image of a cool guy in a flashy red sports car ,a ‘scorpions’ tune on his lips,wind in his hair etc etc.Nowadays the image remains more or less the same except that the dude is now replaced with a dudess (cool female of the homo sapiens linn. Species), a ‘scorpions’ tune on HER lips, wind in HER hair etc etc.Duh?
It was a couple of weeks ago when I was cruising along in my not so flashy car when something red and in a terribly tearing hurry whizzed past me (overtaking from the wrong side too) .Was it a bird ,was it a plane….no… it wasn’t superman either…at least not the man part. I was literally shaken and it took all of my presence of mind (whatever little is present )and incredible skills (incredible as in you wouldn’t believe they’re so bad )behind the wheel to keep my poor car steady. The joker in the red Skoda Laura was a 40 something lady, generously built and nourished …and generously made-up, decked under a couple of coats of heavy make-up in an apparently not so successful attempt at looking younger.The finer details of the creature of course registered only when the Skoda rather hesitantly skidded to a halt on the red signal ahead.(For a moment I wondered whether the bull would actually get turned on by the red light and cut through it).But she did know at least some of the traffic rules it seemed.
.There was a time not so long ago when you got angry at female drivers because they were too slow.You kept honking away to glory and the only discernable result would be a stinging in your ear.The sari or salwar in front would be absolutely unfazed, and when you finally go past them they’d give you a frosty look as if to suggest that honking the car horn was either plain indecent or only for emergencies. There was also a time when a women driver basically meant an elegant lady in some ‘feminine’ kind of vehicle –Maruti 800s,fiats ,santros etc.But now you have these characters riding anything you can imagine from bikes to SUVs and riding them as recklessly as the guys do!The worst part is you can't even cuss them freely …no matter how wrong they may be!The liberated ‘Bharatiya Nari’ is surely going places…..fast.

disclaimer 2
This blog is pure nonsense and readers are advised to take it as such.I am not sexist, racist or any of the similar despicable ‘ists’ except maybe a bit of an eternal pessimist.

The agony of Immobility!

2008-07-04T09:32:00.000-07:00

The last week I was reminded of ‘without glasses’, one of the classic essays of Robert Lynd I had read in school. It was a rather more grave situation…my normal existence itself was in question.Anxiety was seeping into the cores of my heart with each passing minute.I was sad, angry ,confused and helpless….I was literally immobile.
No I didn’t have a paralytic attack or a catatonic attack and neither did I receive my credit card bill….I was without my mobile for a day.24 hours of pure unadulterated ‘immobile’ agony!

Flashback (Try to imagine it in black and white…feels more flashbackish)
I was trying to act a bit too cute for my age, attempting a ‘long jump’ across a not so tiny puddle decorating the centre of a road on my street…I did cross over a la Anju Bobby George, but my dear mobile had other ideas as it decided to take a casual little dive from my shirt pocket into the muddy waters below.

For a brief moment time stood still (as did yours truly), then with palpitations progressively increasing in amplitude and frequency, I ditched out my poor wet little phone from the evil sea (ok..puddle…but you must understand that the melodrama was quite suited to the context, considering the terrible ‘existential angst’ I went through in that moment of despair and by the way that ‘existential angst’ bit was borrowed from a friend who of course used it in a more spiritual context).The mobile was dead. As dead as a dead mobile can be.

The next few hours, I flitted between sanity and my true self, trying to figure out what best to do next.The brave person that I am, I managed to pull myself together to get a bit proactive.So now here I was holding a hairdryer in my not so sure hands waiting to revive my little baby.I had hardly embarked on the operation when I saw the LCD screen getting a bit wavy like a Salvador Dali abstract….Eureka!!!Apparently heat can damage LCD screens !! Well that was that …I had added insult to injury (or death ,I wasn’t sure ).So I decided to play it safe.I disassembled whatever parts I could disassemble and laid them under the fan for an overnight drying session.After all ever night is followed by a sunrise and all that crap.

Well the sun didn’t rise to the occasion this time. My reassembled phone refused to breathe. I would’ve tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, if I new which part of the mobile was the mouth. Anyway, I trudged to the service center and handed over the corpse to the morbidly obese guy behind the counter. His acromegalic face had a striking resemblance to the ‘great Khali’(and for the ignoramuses among you who don’t know Khali, tune into ‘Headlines today’ or ‘Aak tak’channel anytime, anyday )
“Had a bath with the little guy?”queried an amused looking Khali.The irritating grin on the guys face made me want to turn him into a corpse too.
“No,fell down..into a puddle”
“Hmmmppp…you should be careful.These are delicate things”
“Well..so will it live?”
Now Mr Know it all’s face was grim “Nothing can be said now..I need some time”
You’d almost think that he’ll also ask you to arrange some blood, and intimate all the near and dear mobiles.
“How much time?” My voice felt abnormally desperate.The last time I felt this was when my wife went home and I asked her how long before she’d come back.Of course then I was hoping for a lengthier duration!!

“Come back tomorrow ,same place, same time” The nutcase was seeing too many TV shows.

End of flashback (Back to Eastman color)
So that’s how I ended up in catatonic stupor, biting my nails to glory.It’s like Robert Lynd says in his essay (which is basically about how the author had to spend time miserably without his spectacles), you don’t even need to use your mobile, but just knowing that you can use it if you want to gives a kind of emotional security. It’s really amazing what all you can do with this little gizmo.
Well anyway miracles do happen…little ones at least. The next day I met the ‘Khali’ look-alike, he had a grin and some extremely good news to offer me.My mobile would live to ring, sing, sms and mms another day.

Bloggers' block therapies – pros and cons!!

2008-02-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

I’ve been quite inactive on the blogging front recently.Work has been hectic ,family commitments ,conferences….none of the above actually…just plain lazy.It’s what they call the bloggers' block.I just have to put finger to keyboard …..and lo and behold …my brain suffers a power failure and turns blank.(The ‘blankness’ I must admit does tend to pervade the insides of my brain a big part of my waking hours even otherwise!! ). Of course it isn’t like an earthquake striking the literary world…a little landslide mebbe :) …I mean .I’m sure my ‘nobel’ prize (or prizes) can wait a few more years…..or decades.Thing is ,I still haven’t really decided whether I want my ‘nobel’ in medicine , peace,economics or literature.Being a dermatologist,Medicine is a distinct possibility if they include acne and baldness as the major public health problems of the 21st century.Peace is also a definite possibility considering that I’ve managed to remain married for more than 2 years .Economics ..well micro finance is after all the ‘in thing’ and as far as ‘micro’ goes ,no better adjective to describe my bank balance!!).Anyway ,considering the possibility that my blogger’s block would lead me to literary depression, I started researching the net for easy- fixes …..
The number of sites offering advice on the above subject is astounding to say the least.I’m sure that in due course ,bloggers’ block will rank right up there with impotence and love -conundrums as far as advice columns are concerned.Some of the gems I milked from the internet cow..
1)NOTE DOWN YOUR IDEAS AS SOON AS YOU GET THEM –
Sure ,jotting ideas for your valuable blog and going to the potty when you feel the need…two things that just shouldn’t be delayed…
2)TRY CHANGING THE GENRE OF YOUR BLOGS –
Yessir!In my case it would be changing one kind of shitty writing to another kind of shitty writing …I’m sure they wont smell much different!

3)TAKE A BREAK FROM YOUR BLOGS
Great!I thought the whole idea was to find how I could end the rather long break.C’mon advise-giver..go take a break!!
4)TRY WRITING AT DAWN INSTEAD OF LATE NIGHT
Ah Dawn…one time of the day I haven’t met face to face in a loooong time.My ‘dawn’ is basically a extreme case of efficient multitasking and time management.Getting up somewhere between 7:30 and 7:40 and leaving for the hospital somewhere between 8:00 and 8:10…..personal hygiene sessions (Ok in plainspeak…brush ,shave ,potty,bath,dressing… in varying orders depending on my mood ) and breakfast,all crammed into a lovely 30 minute blitzkrieg.And you expect me to type in a few words in between?!!I have heard crazy people waking up early in the morning to go jogging…but blogging??!!Gimme a break guys!Besides ,I really don’t understand those nutcases who wake up at ungodly hours and do ungodly things like jogging or walking…I mean it’s not as if the sun will feel bad if it doesn’t see your loony head first thing it pops up!God gave us the cover of darkness for rest (and for underhand activities)..so lets stick to the scheme of things OK?

5)CLEAN UP YOUR WRITING SPACE,IMPROVE THE WRITING ENVIRONMENT AVOID CLUTTER ON YOUR DESK
HEE HEE HEE…pass,next please.

6)LOWER YOUR STANDARDS

Now that IS one of the best pieces of advice I found…but I suppose I’ve been steadily following this beautiful bit of philosophy subconsciously over the last few months already!and anyways, there’s a limit to what even I Can stoop!

7)START WITH A SHITTY FIRST DRAFT..EDIT IT LATER –
Well,I’m a man of great principles.I stick to my stand…shitty drafts will remain shitty…no de-shitting stuff.

8)START WITH A CATCHY HEADLINE AND CARRY ON FROM THERE –
Not bad…in a short while I’ll have a whole bunch of headlines and blissful vacuums following them.Maybe I’ll write a blog displaying the imaginative headlines I cooked up!

9)GET HELP FROM YOUR FRIENDS –
Yeah sure…soon they’ll be starting ‘bloggers anonymous’ and other support groups for depressed souls suffering from extremes of bloggers’ block.Most of my friends being doctors,the only blocks they’ve dealt with are pertaining to various tubes and arteries in the body…not much to write home about!

10)READ GREAT LITERARY WORKS FOR INSPIRATION –
Nossir….what if I ‘subconsciously internalise’ what some of these great dudes have coughed up…a la Miss Kavya of the ‘Opal Mehta’ fame.

11)…Hey wait a minute….I FINISHED A BLOG!!!!...so lets respect my right to laziness and discuss the issue later!

(At least I stuck persistently to the ‘lowering standards’ bit!!!)

(Jokes apart,there are quite a few interesting sites on the web for people into serious writing ,a big chunk of the sincere advice listed above is from a beautiful piece written by Chanpory Rith …sorry for the sarcasm mate,but I suppose all’s fair in blog ,love and war..especially blogs like mine that suck!!!)

Reunion

2008-01-01T09:24:00.000-08:00

We had a rather informal get-together of our batch of 94 ,medical college Trivandrum a day before new years eve……8 long years after leaving the hallowed passage ways of our alma mater.8 years is not a long time I guess…but long enough for people to change in so many different ways.
I mean think of it …in times of yore when we guys got together,in a short while the majority would be semiconscious (booze being the appetizer ,main course and dessert) and whatever legible conversation that did take place was mostly about girls,girls and girls ….specifically in that order.This time the only girls we could talk about were our own wives ( which isn’t a very exciting topic for discussion anyway ) and because of the former irritant the latter issue regarding some more interesting liquids didn’t even arise.
Many of the ladies had changed too..from goody –goody types to married goody-goody types.Some remained the woody –woody types and some remained the moody-moody,broody –broody types.
People who would break into song ,invited or otherwise (mostly the latter ) kept blissfully mum for the whole period and people who wouldn’t open up even at gun point were pouring out words like a leaking roof in the monsoons .
The last time we met, making a phone call meant waking up a drowsy Manoharan or Prasad (our hostel caretakers ) and requesting humbly for the key to the phone lock…. A key which would open a long session of unadulterated ‘panjara’ if the dialed number was located in the ladies hostel.Now everybody had mobiles and blackberries….but sadly not a bit of good old ‘panjara’ .
We even called each other by our official first names ,which was strange because we actually had forgotten that some guys had real names on the college record and not just the often superlatively imaginative nick names.

Initially everybody did seem a bit stiff as though being stiff was in fashion.
Ultimately though ,through the thin film of age induced pseudo-maturity our basic instincts shone through (wow…sentences like that make me feel ever so nearer to the literature noble).To put it in layman’s or laywomen’s terms we started gossiping freely.Soon the conversation was drifting comfortably towards….‘You know that guy married a foreigner’ or vice versa and ‘That guy married for money’ to ‘Guess who got divorced’?(I personally thought that the third in the list was the luckiest )and believe me guys are just as good at gossiping ,if not better.

I left a bit early coz little Nadia was getting a bit cranky (think of it… earlier I rarely used to leave college functions early not even if I
felt cranky!!) and we had to drive back all the way to Cochin ,but I really wish I remained till the very end.All said and done things change …..and the changes are sometimes good, sometimes bad…like life itself..but meeting all these people after so long did remind me that there were times when life was definitely much less complicated!!

(dedicated to the batch of 94 ,MCT ,Trivandrum…..whacky,cool…the best!)

the world through little eyes (Nadia's diary 4)

2007-12-06T06:46:00.000-08:00

Birthdays and all that hype...

Well …sorry for the long gap guys..was on that whatsizname….. sabbatical thing.Trying to understand myself better..blah blah blah .
Anyway I’ve crossed quite a few milestones. I can walk now….a bit wobbly …but c’mon guys I ain’t going for those Ms World things ( not for some time at least).So like that Armstrong character ,who was dumped on the moon said….small step for mankind but a giant leap for me ….blah blah blah.
I also turned one this month…great party and stuff …all those crazy adults were enjoying on my behest.I mean think of it …I didn’t get a piece of the cake literally. ….and the presents…yuck. My parents have absolutely no taste ( not difficult to imagine ,considering the fact that they chose each other ).I got half a dozen frilly frilly dresses….not one tube top or a pair of jeans…God,they still treat me like a half baked neonate. Turning one put me in a pensive mood though… I have noticed that my skin has become a wee-bit rough…and I think I may have just noticed a frown line or two getting a bit deeper…not long before I’ll have to give serious thought to that botox stuff.

Got to see a couple of movies….but our TV got damaged when we were seeing that ‘saawariya’ thing…all colours except green and blue disappeared.Luckily when the movie got over the TV became normal.

Incidentally I fell sick a couple of weeks back.Boy!!… 3 days of loss of productivity. Must have been that ‘chickengunya’ something something that people are talking about.The worst part is the medicines ..both papa and mama enjoy taking turns to thrust those yucky syrups into my delicate oral end…… and guess what ?The pediatrician guy also advised something called a suppository which is supposed to be inserted into my other more sensitive end.Doctors suck dudes….and to think that both of my esteemed parents belong to this crazy profession.I feel betrayed even before my birth!

I’ve started being a bit of a scientist though….I love the concept of gravity.Believe me dudes, gravity really works.I’ve learned to drop an assortment of things from various heights and trust me ….NOTHING comes back!!.Throwing things down from the 1st floor window is the ultimate though.Interestingly I’ve observed that things made of glass do tend to break up quite bad.

(Nadia is my 1 year old daughter…in a hurry to become an adult!!)

Old ,Bald and not so beautiful...

2007-11-11T05:57:00.000-08:00

The other day I read a bit about a new TV channel aimed for the youth.To my pleasant consternation the period of ‘youth’ as envisaged by the channel was between 15 and 34 years.Lucky me..here I was slowly but steadily slipping away from youth and entering into the rather ancient sounding 30s and suddenly I have hope again!! Actually a lot of people these days seem to be more afraid of the ageing process than death itself!
So why are people really afraid of ageing ?
In my professional capacity I get to see a lot of people who could loosely be categorized ‘old’ ,asking if something can be done for those rapidly multiplying age spots or those invading army of wrinkles.When I started practice I used to have a sense of disguised disgust when I saw these ‘oldies’ fretting about the aesthetics of their physiques as though they were going to participate in a Ms / Mr World contest. I used to have a smirk hidden in my mind when I gave what was supposed to be sincere advice regarding chemical peels ,dermabrasions or Botox……..Now I tend not to be so judgemental ,simply because I can see myself a couple of decades down the line ,searching out for that elusive black hair in a sea of depressing grey.
So is attempting to look younger really bad ?Guess not ….but having unrealistic aspirations regarding the same is dangerous.Given a choice ,not many of us would mind having a few wrinkles lifted,a little tuck or a push and a nip here and there.Money and privacy would probably be important issues.I mean if you offered people a free facelift in the complete privacy of their homes ,not many may decline.In other words deep in their hearts everybody does want to look younger.
A recent conversation with one such ‘eager to look younger’ patient I came across went something like this
(Disclaimer :All resemblances to any living or dead or in between people or animals are intentionally coincidental)

“Hello doctor ,how are you” Mr S looked a jaded 30 something,What few hair remained on his head were meticulously dyed jet black.Apparently Mr S was still single and looking.Unfortunately he felt nobody (read gals) was looking at him.
“I have one big problem Sir” Lucky guy!I mean I definitely have quite a few more big problems
“This….” Mr S dramatically taps a couple of times on the side of his skull
Duh?!The psychiatry OP was the next block.Did Mr.S lose his way?

“Very little here ” He elaborates still continuing the tap dance with his right index finger

Low brain weight?Welcome to the the club mate!……would I have to refer it to neurology or psychiatry me is thinking………He looked quite intelligent though.

“See….. all coming of so easily”This time Mr S pulls out a few of his hairs and displays it on his palms

Oh…very little of that.Welcome to that club too mate!

Mr S went on to elaborate on the mental trauma and deep anguish caused by the thinning of his pate.I could empathize with him to an extent …..most guys who’ve reached the 30’s could do the same I suppose.

Anyway, after that sob story ,it was my turn.I explained to him the available options right from lotions that promote hair growth to hair fixing and transplants ,elaborating on the pros and cons of each.

“Transplant??does it really work..do I have to find a donor?”
Now that would be something …..finding people to donate their hair for a noble cause

“No”I reassure him “ We take hair from the back of your scalp and place it into the frontal areas”

“Oh ..but then wont that too fall away after some time?” Mr S queries anxiously
“Well…”I go on to explain to him in detail concepts of ‘donor dominance’ and ‘resistance of occipital hair to androgenic alopecia”.To put it in very tiny nutshell ,the hair from the back of the scalp is relatively resistant to male pattern of baldness and the hair that are transplanted to the frontal areas tend to grow with the characteristics of the donor site i.e they tend to remain resistant to the normal balding process.

Mr S is happy
“Er Doc….why is it called androgenic alopecia”
“That’s coz the male pattern balding is mediated by male hormones specifically testosterone”
“You mean..I may be balding because I have a lot of that testo …whatever ?” Mr S is happier
“Well..in a way yes”
“You mean …. A balding man is more of a man than a non-balding man?”Mr S is happier than happier
Uh oh . “Hmmm…well…..kind of I suppose”
“Interesting…..you think they know about this”he whispers conspiratorially
They??!The CIA ?
“I mean girls…do you think they know ‘bout this testicle thing?”
testosterone actually ,but there was no point telling Mr S that now.He seemed to be possessed.

“I am sure they are aware”
By now Mr S was positively guffawing

“Well doc…thanks a lot…I’ll think about the treatment options you mentioned and get back to you……then again maybe I’ll keep my shiny pate.May be the girls will dig my testicle thing”

Sure.

What's in a name??

2007-11-02T10:53:00.000-07:00

I recently chanced upon the famous hip-hop-sob story director Karan Johar staring at me through one of the ad laden pages of India Today magazine.The guy was peddling some kinda watch .The punch line of the ad made me smile though .Mr Johar apparently was stating …and I quote “It doesn’t matter what your second name is…what’s important is what you do with your first”
Cool.The problem with me is though….officially my name goes as ‘Kaliyadan Feroze’.The ‘Kaliyadan’ bit ,which is the family name on my dad’s side ,was prefixed instead of being suffixed by my Father dearest when he admitted me to school (One of the many parental conspiracies I’m yet to unravel).So now I have half a dozen scraps of calligraphed papers ,ranging from my school leaving certificate to my hallowed MD degree proclaiming yours truly to be ‘Kaliyadan Feroze’.Some of my amusingly pricking memories are of teachers in medical college fumbling with my name during roll calls.It is true though that there were some other equally serious victims of parental abuse in my class…..Bejoy Chandepillai ,Qurrathul-ain-Farhana…..names,tongue twisters all rolled into one.The worse part was nobody could proxy for me during roll calls coz unlike the more common names the teacher invariably looked up to quench their curiosity regarding this creature having a strange nomenclature.My wonderful friends found it as amusing as I found it irritating……my nicknames ranging from Kali , Kaliya…and some unmentionable variants.
But then ,every stupid name like a coin has two sides.I mean just google ‘Kaliyadan Feroze ‘ on the web…you wont find much ..but whatever you will is only me!Also I happened to marry a classmate of mine….a certain Ms Kaberi Biswas with whom I had to spend virtually every clinical posting during my medical college days,primarily because both our ‘first’ names started with the same couple of letters…Now whether THAT turned out to be good or bad is of course another question!!!!

So borrowing from Shakespeare … what is in a name?A ‘feroze’ would be just as crazy by any other name…

Marriages are made in the registrar’s office!

2007-09-13T11:03:00.000-07:00

The argument of whether or not there is a happy here-after for the goody – goody types will continue till Armageddon…maybe even after that.However ,as far as holy matrimony is concerned ,the ‘Made in heaven’ tag is slowly going to ease out of fashion.Apparently the Indian government is planning to make official registration of marriages compulsory.Great !!…That would have been my response a couple of years ago (some time before I got hitched to my bitter half )…but now I wonder.You see I’m one of the few people around who actually got married two times( And before you guys get crazy ideas of polygamy ,both the marriages in question were to my one and only wife ).The first one was a dour affair in the presence of 500 odd guests ,everything going according to script,both of our posteriors being taught an exercise in patience ,and believe me our fixed grins would have put all those wannabe Ms Worlds to shame.The other affair at the registrar’s office was something else!!I mean things were really exciting .We had to do the round of the registrar’s office so many times and we still weren’t really certain when / if he would allow us to marry right till the very end.

Day 1:

This was the scouting trip. I bunked work to get a firsthand view of the battlefield.I reached the registrar’s office around 2:00 in the afternoon. Wasn’t much in terms of the glamour quotient …routine governmental setup. Dilapidated brick walls passionately clinging on to a decade old coating of paint with minimal success. The whole area seemed deserted. It wasn’t any kind of state holiday as far as I knew. I stuttered into the office space …a 5 X 5 feet room with 4 desks ,4 chairs ,a few dozen cobwebs ,many dozen dust coated files and one forlorn looking gentleman sitting in one corner.Couldn’t see much of this guy too ,his entire face was enshrouded in cigarette smoke.

“Excuse me Chetta” You know we mallus are really going places with manglish these days

“Huh???” I wasn’t sure if this was an acknowledgement of my presence or just another exaggerated puff of his fast disappearing bidi.

“I want to register a marriage”

“Huh???”.Much the same tone…a bit gruffier maybeThe smoke was clouding his brains too I assumed.

“Marriage …I want to marry”Now I know that came out something like salman khan talking to Bhagyasree’s daddy in ‘Maine pyar kiya’.I hoped that this joker didn’t have a marriageable daughter of any kind.

“Time….2:00 clock” Mr.Smoker continued with his smoking after this enigmatic statement.

I instinctively looked at my watch .He got that right alright….zigacly 2:00 ( as Obelix would say to Asterix during peaks of inebriation ).

“So?”

“lunch break…..officer not here”At least he was speaking longer sentences.I was getting through to him!!
“When will he come?”

“4:00 clock”He was slipping back to his laconic best.

“4:00????” I mean was he having lunch or an elephant?

“4:00”

I left for the day ,without having the pleasure of meeting the great man himself

Day 2 :
Not much to write about coz it was only after I landed there that I knew that the office was closed for the day for repairs. I wondered whether they’d repair the guys working there too…..

Day 3 :
This time I came armed with my bitter half, just in case the registrar guy wasn’t convinced that anybody would actually marry me. We made it a point to reach ground zero much before the registrar’s sacrosanct elephant -eating break. This time ground- zero did show perceptible signs of normal human life. I’d like to stress on the word ‘normal’ coz of the Neanderthal nincompoop I met the other day .To cut a long story short, I finally managed to get a ‘darshan’ of the great man himself…the marriage registrar. Didn’t look very imposing …hardly 5 feet ,steel rimmed glasses partially obscuring shifty slit –eyes, scrawny facial features with a prominent dyed moustache,ever so slightly curved upward at the edges …..a miserable failed attempt at a handlebar variety I think .The guy was quite amicable though…..

“So you want to get married to this lady” His eye darting from my face to the ‘lady’s’
“That’s right sir”
“You are running?”
huh?Maybe I did look really fit. “No sir…I go for a walk in the morning ,once in a while,when I ‘m not lazy ,which is not often …no jogging or running”

The scrawny face screwed up in disgust “ No ..are you running away from home?”
Oh that!
“ No Sir..we have our parent’s whole hearted blessings sir”
He sarcastically looked at my nervous hands which were hiding in my pant pockets ,as though he expected me to pull documentary evidence of the aforementioned ‘blessing’ from my pockets.

“Hmmm….OK ,OK…you need three witnesses ….and of course both of you. hee hee!” I assumed that this was his attempt at humor ,so I joined in with a damp giggle.The honorable registrar went on to explain the boring complexities of the Indian Marriage Act in detail. At the end of which, me and my bitter half were exchanging tired glances wondering whether all this trouble was really was worth it.

Day 4:

(The witnesses)
Now we had more idiots joining our bandwagon, one male friend of mine,a surgeon and two female colleagues of my wife .This registered marriage thing was a first for all of us, so while me and my wife were in a slightly apprehensive mood (This being our first marriage and all ),I witnessed my dear friend enjoying the novelty of the occasion ,flirting around with the other witnesses.
After a short while I and my wife had just signed the magna carta and our esteemed witnesses were about to follow suit ,when the scrawny registrar’s scrawnier assistant sweeps into the room and whispers something ominous into his boss’s ears.
His honour ponders gravely for a moment and pronounces his judgment.

‘I am sorry, I cannot allow this marriage”
Now what??!
“Your place of residence…”His honor paused for effect, before announcing grandly “….does not come under the purview of this office”
Huh?
“You may have to try the office nearest to your place of residence”
That did it .I put my brand new ‘hero’ pen, specially bought for the occasion , back into my pocket ,caught hold of my bitter half ,gave one of my most threatening ‘I’ll show you’ looks to Messieurs Scrawny and Scrawnier and got out of the registrar’s room much faster than you could say “I do”

It was when we reached the car that we realized that we had left our dear witnesses behind. Even after a few minutes there was no sign of the trio. I was starting to wonder if my good friend hadn’t decided to register a marriage or two with one of the witnesses, when out he came of the office flashing a piece of white paper and some not so white teeth. It turned out to be the receipt of our marriage registration. I was officially married!!

None of our witnesses really disclosed how in a matter of minutes my place of residence shifted under the purview of the holy registrar…however one of the witnesses in question did later comment cryptically that “ Love maybe blind…. but money can be quite an eye-opener!”

The world through little eyes ( Nadia's diary :2)

2007-07-29T10:56:00.000-07:00

Didn’t do much this week in terms of evolution.Still rotting in the creep crawly stage.Get a bit depressed when I see dudes my age standing up ,some crazy geeks even walking.I’m going to try harder from today….er …tomorrow ( C’mon I don’t want to be labeled a type A personality like my crazy dad,besides if the whole idea behind this walking thing is transportation ,I do manage to get around anyway. What are papa’s and mama’s shoulders for anyway ?besides both those guys are badly in need of some exercise )

I learned to talk a bit .Mama and Papa haven’t yet learned to decipher my eloquent speech though. Talk about dumb parents. They still think I am just trying to act cute with my ga-gas and goo-goos. Geez guys…as far cute goes ,do I even have to try ??hee hee.

I’ve decided that I want to be a politician some day . I may even make a great president one day.Papa says that ,female presidents are the in-thing these days .Papa says that these politician characters can get away with anything including murder.I do manage to get away with quite a few things now (including murder ,if you include some bug families I’ve massacred by rolling on them )…but I suppose that’s coz I’m little.Things will change when I’m older.Already ,I’ve started getting generous mouthfuls from mama for silly things …like not doing ‘it ‘ in the potty.I’ve tried to warn mama that she should learn to control her hot temper ,god knows she may be contributing to that global warming stuff Mr.Bush et al rant about. Mama actually believes that pottyfying is the in thing…..some kind of style statement I think. Bullshit is what I say……. The other day we went to a super market..and guess what? Every half hour mama dearest was peeking into my diaper to see if I had pooped…..this in complete public view.Boy..embarrassing would be an understatement.I mean imagine how mama or papa would have felt if I kept on peeking into their diapers to see if they’ve pooped??!

Another thing I hate is when those old aunties and uncles ,zoom into my little face and debate earnestly on the issue of who I resemble more – Mama or Papa.” Ooh she has papa’s nose” or “Aah she has Mama’s eyes.Honestly ,dudes ,they make me feel like some kind of cloned hybrid animal…..like that chimera something guy those greek idiots mention in their crazy stories..I mean ,gimme a break..don’t I have a bit of individuality.Besides both Mama and Papa look funny ( to put it very mildly and with a lot of effort not to sound disrespectful )

Anyway…will be back with more important issues affecting the baby community.Hasta la vista baby!

(nadia is my 9 month old daughter...just waiting to be a teen)

Learning French the ‘patient’ way!

2007-07-29T10:40:00.000-07:00

The hospital I work in happens to have quite a few patients these days from Burundi.
Duh??Yep ..that was my enlightened response too when I first heard that name.Burundi is a quaint little country in central Africa ,an erstwhile French colony.The primary language out there is called ‘Kirundi’ with most people being fluent in French ,which is their second language.The other day I met Mr.D from Bujumbara ,the capital of Burundi ,an affable kind of guy,a gentle 6 feet giant with a rather chronic skin affliction. Now my French is about as good as his Malayalam ,both of which collectively would be only slightly better than George Bush’s IQ.So as far as understatements go, we had a teeny weeny problem . So Mr D enters my cubicle ,with something between a quarter smile and a half smile on his otherwise pleasant face.
‘Bon jour, Monsieur Doctor !’ (Why can’t these crazy Frenchies write it as ‘Bonshu missue’ if that is what they are going to enunciate anyway ?)

‘Bon jour’ Me already reaching the limits of my excellence in the French language skills department.
‘What problemo ?’ Me reinforcing my idiocy with my obvious lack of knowledge of French ( and Italian )
Mr D apparently having an higher IQ gets the broad idea
‘J'ai ceci démanger partout le corps’ he replies earnestly

I smile in reply ,hoping falsely that my newly scaled teeth will deflect attention from my ignorance of French.

‘Ne parlez-vous pas anglais ? ’Mr D starts sounding a bit disappointed in me.

C’mon man …I mean I don’t even sport a French beard and I definitely don’t fancy French fries.

I finally break the bad news to poor Mr D.
‘No speak French ..u speak English?’

Mr D shrugs his broad shoulders in with a resigned expression on his face ,and continues to explain his problem in sign language
‘J'ai ceci démanger partout le corps’ he says again ,this time using his long spindly fingers to carry out a mono-act of a man scratching away to glory.

Now I get the idea.I mean an itch is an itch no matter which part of the world you’re in.Now I display my newly scaled teeth in sincere and undisguised happiness.I have always felt that Dermatologists experience a kind of perverse pleasure in seeing an itchy homo sapien.Of course the itching specimen also does feel a kind of guilty pleasure I suppose.As some famous person once elaborated “ Better by far than all the world’s riches …to rub where it aches and to scratch where it itches !”

Anyway ,after the scratch act ,I give Mr D the standard dermatological examination ……to put it simply I give him a good look all over.( A senior professor of mine once gave me a a brief talk on the basic difference between a physician and the dermatologist.Give a physician a case, and he or she will take a history for 15 minutes ,do a detailed general examination and a thorough systemic examination ,the whole show taking the better part of the hour.At the end he/she will announce grandly that he /she has no definite diagnosis ,but that there are definitely at least half a dozen potential differential diagnoses which may or may not be proved or disproved with the help of further investigations.The dermatologist on the other hand reaches the same conclusion…….by just looking at the patient’s lesions for half a minute !)

At the end of my meticulous clinical examination ,I explain to Mr D in sign language that he’ll require a few tests ,including a biopsy.Mr D is apparently a bit apprehensive.Not surprising because I do tend to overact when I’m performing with sign language….I had the distinct impression that Mr D winced when I indicated blood tests with the gesture of a needle jabbing my hand.To Mr D it probably looked like I was going to stab him with a 6 inch bowie knife.
Anyway Mr D leaves my cubicle with my precious advice to return with the reports of the tests.
He turns at the door and says “Je vous verrai en trois jours. Au revoir doctor”

“Yes.Sure..same to you ”I fumble …..not having a clue what I was replying to .It did sound a bit like Shwarzenegger ominously saying ‘I’ll be back’

Three days later Mr D returns with an expectant smile on his face and the customary “Bon jour doctor” on his lips.

“Bon jour monsieur” I paused for the effect and then absolutely startled him with “Vos essais en laboratoire sont tous normaux. Rien à s'inquiéter. Je te donnerai quelques médecines et vous devriez être meilleur en quelques jours”
(Roughly translated :Your laboratory tests are all normal.Nothing to worry.I'll give you some medicines and you should be better in a few days)
Boy!The expression on Mr D’s face was like one of those master-card ads ,there really are some things money can’t buy!
We continued to converse in French…very much at a snails pace, but very much in French all the same.
( Mr D did notice that I was getting distracted by the computer on my desk every other minute )

To cut a long story short .Mr D responded well to his treatment and went home a happy and less itchy human being .One thing he still hasn’t recovered from is the shock of hearing me speak in French .We still communicate by e-mail once a while and he continues to query once in a while regarding the secret of my instant French.Someday I hope to tell him the truth.

(For all of you who’re also wondering …check out the google language tools right on the google home page.Just type in anything you want in English and get instant translations in over a dozen languages )

The beggar

2007-07-10T08:30:00.000-07:00

I saw her every day.Always in the same spot ,sitting on her haunches ,one thin wrinkled hand holding on to the loose end of her tattered sari and the other cupped around her closest friend ,her begging bowl.I doubt if she herself had any clue regarding her age.She looked about sixty…her eyes looked older.I had been seeing her sitting on the side of the railway track near the Edapally railway station with an interestingly expressionless face.Every morning she would be there at 8:30 AM…she seemed more punctual than most of the people punching in at the place I work.She would have vanished by 6:00 pm when I returned from work.One day after almost a year of seeing her daily I went up and talked to her.She seemed shocked to see someone offering her a voice instead of the customary 50 paise or 1 Rupee coin.She recovered quickly and her wizened face contorted into what I assumed was a smile.We got talking….understandably uncomfortable with the conversation at first.
“Ammachi….where do you live”I enquired as naturally as I could
Her reply was predominantly in the form of hazy gestures and even hazier mumbles vaguely indicating that she had some kind of a dwelling about half a kilometer from her begging spot.
“ Have you had any food today ?Are you hungry?”Like a magician I produced a packet of biscuits from my bag with a flourish and offered it to her.I hoped to god that I wasn’t sounding condescending at any point.She gave me a curious look for a moment ,the kind of look you reserve for your psychotic acquaintances whom you can’t walk away from.She hesitantly rested her bowl on the stone laden track and then extended her hand to me.I gave her the packet.For a brief while we just stared through each other.Soon she was rummaging into her heavily soiled cloth sack Now it was her turn to act magician and pull out a rabbit. The rabbit,this time was in the form of a couple of torn lottery tickets ,that looked like a train might have run over them The pieces were still miraculously together.With a soft almost a smile like pursing of her lips ,she offered me one of the tickets. I couldn’t figure out if she was just offering me the ticket as a gift or whether she expected me to pay for them.With my obsession for political correctness I pulled out my purse from my back pocket and picked out 20 bucks.
“No..No…this is for you..no money”She simply refused to give me a chance to display any magnanimity.
Now I felt really bad …I mean considering that a pack of biscuits cost 10 rupees ,she wasn’t getting a very good bargain.She might have been marginally better off financially if I hadn’t intruded on her well set morning routine.I decided to make it up to her over the coming days.
We said good byes as uncomfortably and formally as fresh acquaintances could.As I strolled across the track I scrutinized the lottery ticket in my hand.I looked back to see her back to her begging in right earnest.She used to sit precariously close to the track.I though I’ll mention this point to her the next time I see her.
‘Kerala Bhagyakuri – 1st prize 10 lakhs’.As usual the ticket was embedded with a photograph of a sad looking maruti car ,which was the bonus prize for the lucky winner.The date of the draw was a week later.It had been ages since I had bought a lottery ticket.I had no illusions regarding my fortunes in such matters.At the same time I couldn’t help but think how the old lady could afford buying not one but two lottery tickets when she was never sure if she would have enough for her next meal.I intended to ask her next day…maybe advise her not to spend her meager income on such games of chance.

The next day she smiled as I approached her.Without much of a prelude I offered her a pack of biscuits.This time she took it without any hesitation and she didn’t offer me anything in return.In the brief conversation we had that day I broached the issue of wasteful expenditure.Some where in the middle of my sermon ,her face twisted back to one of those ‘Are you crazy son?’ looks and then back to her mona lisa smile.
“ I save every month for two tickets” she explained her economic policy in a slow deliberate manner ,with a gravity akin to our finance ministers during the budget sessions. “ I have been doing the same thing for the last 6 years” as though that justified doing it again.
“And I suppose you’ve made millions” I asked sarcastically …and regretted it immediately
Her face seemed suddenly covered by dark clouds.She sat pensively for a moment “No ..I do get a 10 or 20 Rupees once a while. ..maybe someday I’ll get the big prize”

“What’ll you do with 10 lakhs ?I enquired ,a bit of sarcasm still coating my words.

“10 lakhs ?Who wants 10 lakhs?I just want some money to put a tin roof over my house ….it gets very difficult during the monsoons” the lines on her face seemed to reflect the misery in her thoughts .

The lump in my throat was getting uncomfortably larger.I resolved to act good Samaritan and help her get a roof over her head.The next I forcefully accompanied her to her hut by the railway track ,half a kilometer down the track.She was visibly flustered at first when invited myself over ,her discomfort faded by the time we reached By then the discomfort was all mine.I couldn’t imagine how she could live here.The ‘house’ was basically a few distorted bamboo poles unhappily tied together with a extensively patch worked piece of blue tarpaulin acting as an excuse for a roof.It seemed a pretty exclusive locality though ,with no immediate neighbours in site.She didn’t invite me in ,primarily because there wasn’t enough room for two adult humans in there.She offered me half a semi-ripe banana as a formality ,which I gracefully declined.After hardly 5 minutes of extremely small talk I bade goodbye.I had seen what I wanted to.I estimated that the tin roof of her dreams would hardly cost a thousand bucks.I made up my mind to get her the same by the end of the week.I didn’t know how she would react to my planned act of charity .I imagined that she would be bashfully overjoyed.No matter what people say ,I think there is nothing wrong in gloating a bit over a good deed.To make matters slightly exciting ,the monsoons were slated to hit Kerala in a couple of days .Of course considering the accuracy of our met department, I assumed we were good for a couple of weeks at least.

On a Friday morning ,two days later ,I was back to work when my lazy eyes fell on a folded ‘Mathrubhumi ‘ newspaper on my secretaries desk.I sifted through the pages filled with dirty politicians and their dirtier deeds to arrive at my target the results of the draw for the ‘Kerala Bhagyakuri’ lottery.I had memorized my ticket number.As is our natural tendency my eyes searched from above to below,from the bumper of 10 lakhs to the measly 10 rupee consolation prizes.Somewhere in the middle my mind froze.I rushed to my room and picked up the tattered ticket from the side pocket of my bag and crosschecked ,my heart pounding in anticipation.There it was ..the same numbers ,exactly the same numbers …the ticket had won ten thousand bucks.In the flurry of emotions that stampeded over my mind ,there was a momentary pinch of selfishness ,which tried to coax me into holding on to the money…but I got over it ..great soul that I was.I just couldn’t wait to tell her the news.
As the clock struck six ,I rushed out with the golden ticket in my hand.I didn’t notice the darks clouds in the sky that had ominously started casting their shadows ,waiting for their pregnant bellies to rupture.By the time I reached the edge of the railway track a light drizzle had started.As I reached near her begging spot , I noticed her begging bowl sitting desolately on the edge of the track.It was strange for her to be around here at this time.My eyes panned about searching for her vainly. I ran as fast as I could and reached her hut in a little less than 5 minutes. It was raining heavily by now.I was completely out of breath by the time I pulled the tarpaulin sheets to peek into the place she called home.

She was inside ,drenched in the rain ,holding a piece of paper in her hand and a dazed look on her face.Besides her lay a worn out sheet of the ‘Mathrubhumi’ newspaper.
She gave me a cursory glance and then went back to her zombie act.
“I…I was worried …I saw your begging bowl there..on the track”
“hmmm” A grunt and a sigh “ Yes..I forgot to take it ,I came back in a hurry”
I waited for her to continue
“The lottery ….the result…”She was almost incoherent as she gesture towards the newspaper sheet.

I didn’t know whether this was the right time to break the news.She was obviously quite upset at having another unsuccessful attempt on the Kerala state lottery.With as much of dramatism I could muster I handed over the ticket in my hand and closed her palms over it.
“ Your ticket won…ten thousand rupees..you can get a new roof and maybe a new house altogether”

After another extended period of muteness ,she started sobbing ,gently at first to shift into full force in matter of seconds.I gave her a light hug and a pat on her back and got up deciding to leave her to savour her tears of joy in solitude.

I never saw her again.She wasn’t there at the railway track the next day. I went to her place in the evening and her place had vanished .No bamboo poles ,no tarpaulin.In the following days I did think of her often.I wondered what she would have done with her ten grand.Wondering why she didn’t even thank me for my generousness.

It was two weeks later that I happened to see a tiny newspaper snippet in a local newspaper about a beggar who had won two prizes in a single lottery draw.One for ten thousand rupees and one for 10 lakhs.

Friend or foe?

2007-07-10T08:26:00.000-07:00

The bed room door was half open.He entered…his heart beating heavily.He saw the monster staring straight at him….with a morose ,remorseless look.He was here in his own house.Sajith didn’t know how to react.What do guys normally do when you’re face to face with the guy who killed your wife ?

He looked around 35 ,standing erect to his full 6 feet height ,piercing black eyes underlined by dark circles of sleeplessness…guilt?His unkempt hair and two day old stubble competing unsuccessfully with the shabbiness of his clothes.Black polo shirt ,blue jeans.His gleaming ,brand new rolex wirst watch stood out in sharp relief.Casual ,stylish ,unwashed ,uncaring.What kind of monster was this?

Why?

He thought of Nisha ,his wife.His late wife.Now rotting away beneath 50 feet of river water.He had seen her being stabbed to death by this monster.He had watched her breath sagging helplessly.

The monster was still staring at him.Was he armed?Sajith thought he could make out the faint outline of a knife in his left pant pocket.Was it the same knife that killed his wife ?He felt a queer little chill crawling through his spine.

Sajith thought of Nisha.His beautiful wife.Famous TV anchorperson.Pretty ,intelligent ,successful…the works.He felt a vague ache in the depths of his heart.
But then didn’t Nisha deserve what she got?Sajith thought of her haughty nature.She had no respect for anyone including himself.Things had soured so much after six years of marriage.Then there was her affair.He never really found out who the guy was .Was this monster her lover?or one among many of her lovers?There were times when he wanted to kill her himself ,though he never had the guts.He realized that this was partly why he did nothing to save his wife ,in spite of seeing her die in front of him.

He thought of the insurance policy he had taken out in Nisha’s name a couple of months ago.He would be rich ..a widower ,but a rich one.Maybe the police would suspect him in Nisha’s disappearance….but they would never find her body ,the monster had taken care of that.

They continued to exchange stares in silence.One thing became clear…one of them had to die.Sajith’s hand slowly inched towards the Smith and Wesson lying snuggly in his right pant pocket.The monster’s eyes didn’t budge .In one fluid stroke Sajith took his gun and pointed it at the monster.A crooked smile forming on his face.

‘Bang ,Bang….you’re dead’ Sajith ejaculated ,animatedly jerking the gun in his hand.

The reflection in his bedroom mirror returned his twisted grin.

The world through little eyes – (Nadia’s diary :1)

2007-06-26T06:48:00.000-07:00

I turned 7 today ..not 7 years dude…...months
I’ve learnt to crawl on my knees. I’ve also learnt to lick the floor without mummy seeing. Believe me ,licking the floor beats crawling any day. Mama doesn’t seem to agree though “Dia (which is supposed to be short for Nadia which incidentally is such an old fashioned name my parents chose ....we’ll elaborate in detail regarding that injustice later)……Don’t do that” is her constant refrain.The other day I tried eating a cute little bug crawling in my cradle….and there she was again with “Dia …don’t eat that”followed by a rather crude tap on my sensitive posterior. God…..hasn’t she heard of the food chain and all that stuff ??Big animals will eat smaller ones etc etc.
I hate diapers.Diapers are simply not cool.Huggies or snuggies they’re all the same.Wonder how papa and mama would feel if I wrapped them up in a huge diaper ?I mean ok …I do have a problem with pissing around in odd places at odd times…but for heaven’s sake, have piss , will piss…..why make such a social issue out of it?.I’ve heard adults honking on about how you shouldn’t hold anything back ,feelings and stuff …,wonder why piss is different.Just thinking about these adult contradictions gets me pissed up!
I hate Cerelac too.I simply don’t understand why the idiots in the R and D wing out there don’t do something to make it more tastier and baby friendly.I am certain that this is all part of a bigger conspiracy against little babies.I mean I do love ice cream ,papa gave me a teeny weeny bit once..yummy!! ,but not again…something about ice cream not having any nutritional value blah blah blah.Dude..one simple thing I’ve made out in my lifetime’s experience is that the more the nutritional value the worse the taste.Say no to nutrition.One little piece of advise I can give you guys is learn to be firm with your parents.I tried refusing cerelac at first with polite and timely turns of my head ,but mama always managed to stuff it into my little mouth forcefully (PS :shouldn’t there be something like the Geneva convention thing for babies ?).Nowadays I’m more resolute in my refusal, I’ve learned to spit the cerelac right on mama’s mouth and my aim is getting better each day.I’ve heard mama telling papa that she too hates the taste of cerelac these days.Talk about getting a taste of one’s own medicine and all that!

I love watching TV though….the news channels are my favourite.Papa has a rather serious look on his face while watching the news,which is strange coz I find it very entertaining ,especially that Laloo Yadav character..much better than cartoon network or pogo .I like MTV too…I love that joker with a cap who could give an inferiority complex to a wolf….Himesh something something.He rocks…our wails are so much similar.At full cry we both manage to get on mama’s and papa’s nerves, he does it a bit better though.

Bye for now.Will be back with more news from the cradle.

(Nadia is my 7 month old ,going on 8 daughter )

(Special acknowledgement to Ms Manjul Bajaj for inspiration…her writing rocks! )

A little knowledge……

2007-06-14T08:10:00.000-07:00

One of the new breeds of patients I’ve started bumping into quite frequently these day is the ‘I’ve done research on this disease on the internet’ type.While some of these patients accede to the possibility that in spite of their meticulous web research ,the good doctor might know something more about the disease ,some others simply know that they know more.
Often this knowledge relates to latest ,often obscure medications for some diseases.I had a kid with mild psoriasis ,his father,a lawyer , was the official spokesperson ,and apparently the he was well entrenched in web acquired knowledge regarding psoriasis.

“ Doctor…we would like to try biology treatment”He starts off without much of a preamble
Duh??? I had to remain composed while getting the rusty gears in my head moving to figure out this unheard of theapy.
“ You mean like …naturotherapy” I query cautiously
His eyes bulge ever so slightly and I can almost read his thoughts “This doc looks like an idiot and speaks like an idiot – so he must be one”
“ No doc …the latest in psoriasis treatment ….they use it in the states”he explains quite condescendingly .
What they do in the ‘states’ is of course by default ,the gold standard for medical therapeutics .
I started seeing the light “You mean biologicals ?”
He too sees a little bit of light “ Yes yes ..that one….shouldn’t we go for that”

( For the uninitiated, biologicals are basically a relatively new group of therapeutic preparations ,many of them based on the concept of monoclonal antibodies .In dermatology among other indications they are used as alternative drugs in the case of severe recalcitrant psoriasis. )

“ Er ..um..” Me trying to act the busy / hyper intelligent doctor weighing the available options “Actually ,I think your child can be managed quite well without high-end options like biologicals”

I can see the skepticism dripping from the spokesperson’s face.

“Doctor ,the cost is not a problem at all” Of course it isn’t .The guy was a lawyer after all.Our buddy-brothers in the daylight robbery business.

I wonder if I inadvertently mentioned something about the cost ,which incidentally like many of the newer drugs can burn quite a few holes in your pocket.
“ No ..it’s not just the cost …biologicals have their own unpredictable side –effects ,and like any other anti- psoriatic medication ,they do not guarantee a permanent cure.So I think we can start off with some lesser medications and keep biologicals as a back up”

Who was I kidding ? I don’t think I would have convinced even myself with that insipid sermon.

“Doctor ,why isn’t there a cure for psoriasis ?In spite of all this medical advancement?” our webber shifts gears dramatically.
Uh Oh…the conversation was drifting precariously to verrry verrry uncomfortable waters.
I could have gone on for a bit of philosophy on the limitations of human endeavour
( especially my own ) , but I realized that with this guy every word of mine is going to be met head on with a paragraph.
“ I’m sure they’re working on it in the ‘states’ ” I reply with what I thought was a apt mixture of brevity and sarcasm.
The kid of course improved without biologicals ,but I’m sure that with the next recurrence ,if it occurs , the father will go hunting for another doctor willing to start ‘biology’ therapy
( or whatever is the latest in the ‘states’ ).

PS : On a personal more serious level , I feel it is always better for patients to be more educated regarding their disease.I personally like guiding patients to relevant and RELIABLE web sites related to their disease.It really helps people allay unfounded fears and misconceptions. However it is necessary to understand that the web is at best an aid to knowing their disease better.The doctor remains the best advisor.

The clash of medical systems

2007-05-31T11:04:00.000-07:00

In the context of the double dose of chikungunya and dengue in Kerala ,there has been an ongoing debate on the merits or demerits of homeopathy vaccinations for the same.Most practitioners of modern medicine would find it extremely difficult to believe that these homeopathic preparations have any real prophylactic benefit.For one, I am not aware of any kind of controlled studies in this field .In fact one of the major faults of the system of homeopathy is this very lack of documentation. Many of the conditions in which homeopathy apparently produces dramatic cures are conditions having natural remissions after a course of time. I mean why is that conditions which do not have a definite cure in allopathy and are not self- subsiding, have no effective homeo cure? Say for example HIV infections ?If as homeopaths say ‘we treat the patient as a whole ,based on his /her symptoms’ ,then can’t you treat HIV infections too? Or for that matter cancers?
The very theory that extreme dilutions of toxic products like arsenic can be used to cure disease sounds a bit improbable.( Things like arsenic have been used effectively for various diseases in the past at higher doses ,but this practice has been stopped because of it’s toxicity ) In fact the whole issue has been put rather simply by a US FDA statement regarding the safety of homeo medication –The United States Food & Drug Administration considers that there is no real concern over the safety of most homeopathic products "because they have little or no pharmacologically active ingredients".( http://www.fda.gov/fdac/features/096_home.html )

There are good aspects of every specialty and an active, constructive interaction might help all systems of medicine ,but the basic problem is modern medicine stresses on meticulous documentation of clinical evidence, while homeopathy largely ignores this basic scientific principle.After the initial works on the Materia Medica by Hahnemann and later Kent , modern homepathy has shown very little original research .All you have to do is compare the average number of scientific papers bought out by the respective systems in recent times ( Though I admit ,the concept of healing goes far beyond documentation on paper ).Surprisingly the most elaborate study on the effectiveness of homeo medications in recent times was the famous Lancet study (Lancet ,Aug 2005 ) ,which was contested by a number of homepathic researchers.What is not commonly known is that there have been a number of other ‘evidence based medicine’ studies in relation to the efficacy of homeo medication in specific diseases in recent times ,all of which have shown results that are rather unflattering to homeopathy . (www.cochrane.org /reviews ).Actually if homeopaths really want to end the criticism of their system , they should conduct more controlled studies to prove the validity of their treatment modalities.It would be nice if they at least tone down their claims before coming out with reproducible evidence.Will the homeopaths who are promoting these ‘vaccines’ be brave enough to be inoculated with the chikungunya virus after taking the vaccines themselves ?(There will be the valid counter argument that can modern medicine practioners risk inoculation with something like the small pox virus after taking a vaccination ?Maybe not, but the point is that virtually every single modern drug or vaccine which comes out into the market has gone through extensive animal and human trials.In spite of this there are unexpected side effects ,like the recent Valdecoxib issue.So how can you justify mass treating people with a drug which has simply not been used for a condition before? Morover most modern medicine practitioners don’t go about claiming miraculous success for even established medicines ).
Like Shakepeare wrote in Hamlet “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy”.So maybe there are hidden ways in which homeopathy works ,which is beyond the comprehension of modern medicine.However if that be the case ,then it’s time that homeopaths thought of proceeding in a more scientific way with their system.If you think a medicine can work for a disease ,prove it first in a scientific manner ,try to find how exactly it works and then share it with the world.,instead of obstinately sticking to your claims without backing it up properly.Modern medicine is far from perfect but at least whatever is there, is out in the open.Any detail regarding any effect or side effect of a drug or disease is freely available on the net.
It is futile to argue on the relative merits of alternative systems of medicine vis-a vis modern medicine.Instead it is time that various groups put their heads together in a scienific manner ,to make the best of what each system has to offer .

To knot or not to knot….

2007-05-29T10:50:00.000-07:00

Saji John Tharayil believed earnestly that Shaadi.com was his salvation.33 years and not being married was bad, even for a guy, in god’s own country. Already he had old aunts surreptitiously querying if he needed any traditional medicines for problems pertaining to you know what. The problem however was that he didn’t like most of the girls he met live through official arrangements and the ones he did ,simply didn’t fancy him much.

This was the dire situation ,getting direr ,when his all knowing friend ,philosopher and guide,his cousin Renju ,directed him to the possibilities of internet romances , the in- thing as far as new age Indian marriages were concerned. Saji was hooked…..now he could skim through dozens of photos and profiles ,shortlist potential Ms.Sajis and if the girl was nice / stupid enough to reciprocate…..voila! you had another marriage made in the word wide web heaven. Saji was simply too nervous to talk romantic with a girl in the real world.The virtual world provided him with the ability to chat endlessly to half a dozen females everyday with a relatively higher comfort level.
His very Indian parents were much more conservative, like…well like very Indian parents are. They were bent upon proving that Renju was an evil influence on their ‘oh so sweet and innocent’ child. They staunchly believed in doing things the time-tested traditional mallu way.
To elaborate : Little known relative /marriage broker meets girls parents /boys parents
( “There is this good girl /boy who I know personally ,she/he has done his/her degree with first class,soooooooooo beautiful/handsome ,verrrry good family………etc. etc.”You do wonder why somebody hasn’t married such a gooooood girl /boy already!).This all too familiar conversation is followed by a exhibition of the photo of the bride to be in a stiff ,full length studio pic ,with jaded wall paper in the background.If the visuals are appealing enough ,a date is set for the girl viewing ceremony.This is when the groom-to-be and family set forth on a trip to the girls house to assess the girl and her house (importance varying in degree for different people).If the assessment goes well ,the date is fixed ,hands are shaken and the marriage broker pockets a hefty commission. Incidentally ,it is a big plus if the girl and boy also manage to like each other.It was precisely this kind of mating ritual that led Saji’s family to fall in love with Ms Sanjana Mathew Parackal ,26 years ,MBA, soooooo beautiful ,verrry good family…….the works.The only hitch was that the bride groom to be wasn’t smitten ,Saji plain refused to even take a look at the girl’s photograph. The matter would have ended there if a certain wager hadn’t been waged by Saji’s father…..

Mr.John Tharayan ,retired KSEB ( Kerala State Electricity Board ) engineer ,really had no idea what to do about his son’s newfound obsession with matrimonial websites and chat rooms.He decided to have a face to face talk with Mr Renju Jose Tharayil ,his unfortunate elder brother’s only offspring.
Renju was one of those lucky individuals who had no idea why they were put on this earth ,and had no intention of finding out either.He was the jack of all trades ,master of some of the shadier ones. His idea of life was relaxing on the backwater kissed inlands of Kottayam , on a regular diet of toddy ,tapioca and fish (precisely in that order ).It wasn’t that he had no formal education to boast of, in fact he had passed his MBA with honours . Renju was what you would describe as a unique combo of street suaveness and unadulterated laziness. He had started up a number of innovative and interesting business operations ,most of which fizzled out simply because of his laziness. The one family member Renju got along was his lil cousin Saji,who was a year younger to him.They had grown up together in the huge house that their paternal grandfather had right next to Baker junction, in the heart of Kottayam town.The house had sadly been demolished a few years back when Baker Junction gradually developed into the central hub of Kottayam town. That demolition had marked a kind of temporary separation for Renju and Saji.Life didn’t change much for Renju though ,he just continued to loaf around in a different surrounding. Both John uncle and his own appachan (father ) Mr Jose Tharayil (BSc Engg ,FIE ) had tried to get him married so that he would learn to shoulder responsibility. In the case of this particular horse it was virtually impossible to take even take him to the water, leave alone make him drink.

The conversation between John uncle and his dear nephew went something like this (expletives censored)

John Uncle : Da..why the *&^%*&* hell did you put up Saji to this shaadi.com nonsense ?
Renju : Nonsense ?What nonsense…at least now he can decide whether or not he really likes the girl he’s going to marry without you oldies breathing on his neck.
John Uncle : You started this mess ,now you better end it…..unfortunately you’re the only person he’ll listen to.
Renju : Nothing doing ….it’s a matter of principles ,besides ,I think it’s for his own good
John Uncle : Principles!! You and principles! You may yet get small pox ,but you can forget principles.
Renju : Well so be it …..but mark my words…the next marriage in this family will be an internet marriage
John uncle : Don’t bet on it
Renju : You know what ?maybe I will bet on it….how about an all expense paid vacation on a house boat in Kumarakom?
John uncle was by now too angry to think clearly ,but either way he took up his nephew’s challenge.He had decided that his son was indeed going to marry the aforementioned good lady Ms Sanjana ….of course he still had no idea of how he was going to go about it.

Enter the main co-conspirators in the wager ( in the anti-renju team ),namely a certain Ms Anita Mathew Parackal , software engineer and the nominated bride’s only sibling .Anita was nothing like her sister.She was one of those confused 20 and half a decade old ,new age Indian females who shifted from full time female libbism to coy ‘girl next doorism’ ,without a moment’s notice ,much faster than a Mr Jekyll could say ‘Hyde’.She had spunk though. So it was natural that when Mr Jose explained to her the plan of action ,she was all for it ,in spite of her more placid sister’s protests.
Thus began operation Barbaadi.com.The plan was quiet simple.Anita was to log in as a mysterious suitor interested in Saji ,entice him and then dump him.so as to make him completely disenchanted with an internet romance.
Well man proposes and god ( and most females ) disposes.Anita did start off in right earnest.She hooked Saji the very first day in the guise of a rather exotic pseudonym - mallu_nymph25 (yuck …sounds like one of those 70’s semi –porno Malayalam flicks) .Saji of course continued to chat under the very ordinary label of Saji_T111 (Whatever that was supposed to convey).They chatted and chatted and each time Saji asked Ms Nymph for a pic she coyly refused.Of course that didn’t stop Saji from imagining a very nubile nymphish mallu girl ,rising out of the water a la Bo Derek in Dr.No.(Not in a bikini of course but in a white sari with silk borders).For Saji there was a problem though ….he realized he got pretty ‘ keyboard tied’, something akin to being tongue tied ,even in virtual reality .At times when the late night conversations started swaying towards extreme mushiness, he felt his typing fingers simply freeze and he had to sign off in a hurry with very uninspiring repartees like “Hey nymphy ,got to go….dinner’s ready” (this at half past midnight ).
So now our hero no:1 turned as he would ,to hero no:2 …a.k.a Renju and ever loyal as he was ,especially with an interesting wager on ,Renju gleefully jumped into the cesspool of this murky affair. Renju donned the mantle of ghost chatter for his cousin. As far as Ms Nymph was concerned all of a sudden her conversations with her very dull would be bro-in-law started becoming uncomfortably interesting.One thing led to another ,and Ms Anita started taking a fancy for Saji_T111.To make matters really worse Renju started feeling very strange mushy feelings for Ms Mallu Nymph.The last time he had felt that way was years ago ..to a little grey-brown Pomeranian pup, which he had escorted home one fine on his way back from school.Unfortunately ,though he felt like doing the same with Ms Nymph ,he knew that things wouldn’t be that simple. As his heart disease turned chronic ,he finally decided to break the news to Saji. Saji mind on hearing the news,was rattled to a state somewhere between hurt and angry bewiderment.However ,being the gentleman that he was ,he decided to cede any copyrights he had over Ms.Nymph. Renju of course was overjoyed, and the very same day proposed to Ms.Nymph and suggested that they meet as soon as possible to discuss their future. According to the pre-written script ,Ms Nymph was to press the eject button at this point ,but as twists in the tale go ,Ms Nymph accepted the proposal,without consulting the director of the drama.To make matters really messy she sent her pic to her virtual lover.To make matters messier than really messy ,this pic which was saved on the desktop of Saji’s computer was later seen by Saji himself and as you would expect in a crazy story like this ,Saji simply fell in love all over with the lady in the picture.

The next day Anita spent in quiet contemplation. Finally she decided to open her heart to her sister.Her sister ,being the mature person that she was ,took things very coolly.They had a long discussion and finally made their decision….they would go together to meet Saji and explain the situation openly.
On the other side Renju too had decided that being truthful was the way to go.So on the day of the proposed rendezvous ,he had a man to jilted man talk with Saji ,and talked him into going to the Olio restaurant ,near the Thirunakkara grounds with himself ,to meet his future Bhabhi and help him explain the whole story in detail.Saji relented ,at least partly out of a desire to meet the beautiful girl he had almost fallen irreparably in love with..

3 months later:
Renju and Saji were relaxing on the open deck of a luxury houseboat ,on the Kumarakom lake.Anita was lazing on the port side of the boat ,with a heavily dog-eared ‘God of small things’ nestled in her laps.
Saji called out to his wife “Darling ,can you pass me that tender coconut juice”
Anita looked up as her twin sister Sanjana, lovingly tendered to her husband’s need.When she turned her head ,she saw her crazy ,adorable husband Renju casting a sly wink in her direction.
PS:
The foursome’s honeymoon vacation was completely sponsored by Saji’s dad…who had both won and lost as far as the bet was concerned ,but considered himself to be the greatest winner on the whole ,at the end.

© copyrighted – Feroze Kaliyadan 2007

The ghost of suicide point

2007-05-15T07:51:00.000-07:00

Rathish Karyatt was in a strange occupation – professional ghost chaser .To make matters worse he was not paid for his work.He started of on this rather novel pursuit after what could be loosely described as a ‘life after death’ experience.The 5 years that had passed after his freak parachute accident had dulled his memory ,but he could still remember the strange sensations ,the light at the end of the tunnel ,the eerie feeling of having a rather unpleasant aerial view of his own bloodied body, a bevy of sensory inputs of which he had read in books before and had dismissed as supernatural crap.The experience had changed him profoundly .Now he believed in spirits ( not the gulpable kind) ,in the afterlife and in the judgment day.From steady partygoer and philanderer ,he had metamorphosed into something of a saint philosopher with no time for worldly affairs.He was into spiritual pursuits …literally.His family and friends hardly got to see him.

So far ,so good ,but somehow he never managed to actually find a ghost.He had scoured all areas likely to be infested with unsatisfied spirits. Cemeteries ( of all religious hues,death after all seemed to be one great beacon for secularism ) ,suicide points ,prisons with histories of judicial executions ….you name it .So that was how ,one fine day he found himself staring down the unending depth of green grass and granite steeply sloping by the sides of the cliff at the suicide point at Lonavala. Lonavala ,for those not familiar with it, is a hill resort ,a few hours drive from Mumbai. The suicide point at Lonavala is known to have assisted quite a horde of disgruntled souls to the after life. Disillusioned lovers ,alone and in pairs, irrespective of sex ,caste and creed ,share brokers ,whose share of bad luck broke their will to live, students ,whose failure in their board exams ,drove them over board ,drug addicts and alcoholics who jumped down to reach a new high…….
The chilly night weather nipped at his bones ,he somehow felt that his long quest was finally going to bear fruits tonight. The pavement lining the edge of the cliff was empty ,except for the neatly arranged wooden benches and the irregularly strewn dried leaves. .The edge itself had been barricaded with barbed wire.It was worth thinking if a half a metre high wire fence would really dissuade a depressed human being from leaping into oblivion. The eeriness was accentuated by the dull glow of a half moon ,attempting to shine through a thick envelope of angry rain clouds.The fog was getting heavier.Rathish continued to walk along the winding pavement.Not a sound ,not one dejected ghoul in sight.As the clock in the central tower ,downtown, struck twelve ,the familiar frustration started taking root.
It was then he noticed the footsteps ..firm, regular. As if by magic a huge silhouette emerged out of the fog.
‘Bhaisaheb ,raat ke is waqt ,yahaan kya kar rahe ho?’.The voice had a rich baritone quality, Rathish could almost feel the echoes. As the giant came closer,he could make out his course facial features. Bushy eyebrows ,acne scarred face and a huge handle bar moustache that would have put Veerappan to shame.He was smiling ,more like guffawing actually,the moonlight reflecting off his huge bunny teeth.

‘Just strolling ,enjoying the chill….are you the chowkidar around here?’
‘Haan Saheb ,rotten job ,but have to keep the fire burning at home right?Where are you from?It’s very rare to see people at this time of the night.You’re not planning on jumping are you?’

Rathish smiled ‘No ,not for quite some time at least.I am from Navi Mumbai ,just came for a weekend getaway.So you still have a lot of suicides these days?’

The watchman ,contemplated for a brief moment.’No ,not much ,we had one last year ,a young lady from Jaipur.Apparently some kind of love affair that had a bad ending.In fact it was almost exactly a year ago.I still remember ….she jumped wearing her bridal brocade.When they retrieved her body ,it was difficult to tell the red of her blood from the red of her dress.Ghastly site.’

‘She was married ?’

‘Yes ,but not to the guy she loved.She and her husband had come here for their honeymoon’.He glanced briefly towards the barbed wire and then turned back to Rathish with a smile ‘A lot of sad stories have had their endings across that fence Saheb’.

There was a strange expression in his face.Was it grief ?or some kind of morbid amusement?

‘I’m going to my security post ,Saheb ,it’s beyond the curve ,about half a kilometer across.If you need something ,I’ll be there .You better be going now ,though.I’ve been year more than a decade ,but this place still gives me jitters sometimes’

‘Don’t worry ,I’ll be fine’Rathish replied

The watchman ,disappeared into the fog.Rathish moved on along the pavement.The temperature seemed to have dropped further.It was getting really late now.Rathish was about to turn back when he saw her.She was sitting on one of the wooden benches ,staring into nothingness ,it seemed.Rathish felt like a hunter approaching his prey.He felt no fear at all ,just a feeling of raw excitement..As he came closer ,he noticed her bright red dress with rich zari work.He sat down next to her.She still seemed lost ,oblivious to his existence.

‘Rather late for a girl to be here alone isn’t it ‘?

She jerked her face to me with a startled expression on her face.Her face was pale ,and wet.She had been crying .Her eyes were glazed ,Her long dark hair was swaying in the light wind.The moonlight produced a strange halo around her face.

‘Who…who are you?….leave me alone..please’Her voice was soft and frightened.She tried to move away from him.It seemed as though she wanted to run away ,but didn’t have the energy to do so.

‘Hey ,easy.I ‘m not going to hurt you.I…I was just taking a late night stroll…I’ll leave if you want to be alone’His sincere reassuring tone ,seemed to have its desired effect.There was a brief pregnant silence.

‘I am sorry.I really wanted to be alone for some time.You startled me ,I didn’t think I’d find anybody around here at this time’ She continued staring ahead into the mist .

‘You live nearby?’ Rathish queried cautiously.

Another brief period of silence ‘Yes ,just about half a kilometer from here ,near the security hut’
‘Like you have a home there ?’
She stared at him incredulously as though he had asked a most idiotic question.

‘The honeymoon cottages…we just came today’ she gestured with her hand towards the direction of the security hut.
‘Kind of overdressed for this time of the night aren’t you ?’

She was back to her vacant stare ‘ Today was my wedding day’

Rathish continued to interrogate her ‘Had a tiff with the hubby ,did we?’

She seemed to be getting impatient.’ You could say that …not his fault though. It’s me…I ….’The rest of the sentence melted away into the fog.
‘There was someone else?’
She seemed genuinely surprised ‘Some one else?? No…Why did you ask?’
He thought for a moment ‘You were not planning on ending your life were you?’
She smiled for the first time ‘That was the original idea…..I guess crying in solitude…in the middle of nowhere helps flush out depression to some extent’She wiped her face with the loose end of her Sari. ‘I guess ,I’d better get going….I have to sort out my life by myself ,nobody else is going to do it for me ‘

She stood up and started to walk away.She hardly took a few paces when she turned to address me ‘I’m sorry I reacted the way I did….I ‘m sure you understand’ she came back and extended her heavily henna laden hand to him.

Her hand went through his …as though his hand was made of thin air.Her dilated eyes reflected the fear she felt.She ran….her scream echoing around suicide point.Rathish couldn’t blame her though …..after all she had seen a ghost.

‘

A sick degree of separation

2007-05-02T11:32:00.000-07:00

12 June 2006 ,
Beecholim ,Goa

It’s our anniversary day ,and she still won’t talk to me.It’s been exactly one year ,one whole year of brooding silence between us.I always like to brag to myself that me and my wife were a special couple.I mean how many twosomes do you know who split on the day of their wedding anniversary.Awesome ..right?
It’s even more awesome considering that we’re neighbours.We practically share a compound ,with not even a namesake wall separating our places.Four feet apart physically ,a light year apart mentally.
Our mutual friends and relatives come over once a while ,and they make it a point to visit us both.Nobody seems happy about us splitting.Most of our friend don a visage of shock mixed with palpable sadness when they come over.
It isn’t that we were always at loggerheads ,we had our fights ,but we did make up pretty soon.In fact most of our friends considered us to be very much in love ,in spite of our obvious differences.Linda was the archetypical girl next door ,the semi-geeky ,goody-goody girl ,who managed to provide an easy comfort zone to the people around her. While yours- truly was basically a three quarter misanthrope and one quarter universal cynic, who could needle the most placid of people to the verge of mad rage.Our jobs complemented our characters…..she a primary school teacher ,me a political journalist. She could find reasons to love the naughtiest of brats in her school ,while I could find reasons to pour vitriol on the most decent of politicians (Which luckily for me most people heartily supported . ‘Decent’ and ‘politician’ simply don’t seem to go well together ,like two sore thumbs sticking out from each other ).Yet surprisingly ,she was the one that wouldn’t give an inch after we split…and oh for what a silly reason too.Could you ever imagine a wife walking out of a marriage because her husband liked to use his cell phone while driving ?!OK so we had an accident ,but for heavens’ sake it wasn’t such a big deal and I tried conveying to her my resolve ,not to do it again.Sometimes I wonder if the head injury she got didn’t make her a bit loony.Well wives and knives they’re all the same ,they cut you deep when you least expect them to.Good riddance , sometime I think.

Today the friends and relatives were drizzling in ,like small scattered spatters of rain.Nothing like our first anniversary .No great celebration ,no loud greetings ,no booze ,no feast. No great presents either ….most of them brought flowers!It was almost hilarious watching them visit her house first ,spend a few minutes in idle small talk….blah blah blah and then repeat the tedious process at my place.Some were audacious enough to wish me happy anniversary! Wonder why they bother to come at all ,it isn’t like we like to be reminded of our sorrow ,not me at least.The scum!
Somehow, like last year, I hoped deep in my heart that she’ll forgive me….that she’ll come over and we’d have a candle lit dinner like old times ,with Kenny G in the background and contented sighs in the air.
The day passed ,the decaying fragrance from the flowers at my place seemed to merge with those at her house.She still didn’t turn a blind eye.Happy anniversary ,Linda ,my wife of one glorious year!

Post script:
The Goa Times
12 June ,2004
Couple killed in car accident.
-Linda and Lance D’cruz ,of Beecholim South were killed when the car in which they were traveling, crashed into a parked oil tanker, near Colva beach.Police sources later commented that the driver of the car seemed to have been talking on his cell phone while driving and probably did not notice the tanker parked after the curve. The couple were returning home after celebrating their first wedding anniversary .Both of them were laid to rest at the Beecholim St.James cemetery in adjacent graves.

blind and prejudiced

2007-04-30T22:59:00.000-07:00

(an adaptation of Ruskin Bond's 'the eyes have it')

I met her on the train. Rather bumped into her on the train. It was easy for me considering my visual disability, but couldn’t she look where she was going? She was saying something now. Her voice tickled my ears and my senses alike. Silver anklets rustling in a gentle wind. My sense of hearing was strong, compensating for my blindness. I think I could imagine soulful poetry in the most harshest of noises ,poetry with which I attempted to fill the blackness devouring my eyes.
She was apologizing and asking me where I was going,both at the same time.
“In search of my never ending quest of misery” I thought to myself
“Andheri” I replied “You?”
“Vile Parle ” the anklet continue to rustle in my ears “I stay near Cooper’s hospital”
The sounds of the train enveloped a short silence bridging our conversation.
“So what do you do?” the anklets asked
“Other than bumping into people on the train?” .My attempt at humor evoked a gentle giggle. Sympathy?
“No seriously….u got in at VT right ?”
It was now that I noticed her perfume ,the mild lavender scent seemed to complement the gentle pleasantness of her voice.I tried to imagine how she looked. My thoughts drifted momentarily. Thoughts of another time ,a time before my hands preferred to hold tennis racquets and not walking canes. Thoughts of a crazy car crash on a wet monsoon night on the Bandra flyover. Thoughts of waking up to perpetual darkness in the ophthalmic ward of the KEM hospital.
“ Don’t talk much do you?”the anklets and the train’s chug-chug were involved in creating a pleasant symphony
I smiled ,not something I did often these days. “Oh I do talk…that’s one of the things I can still do” I was at my irritatingly self - depreciating best. Somehow my dark humor seemed not to register with her. “ I consider myself a writer ,freelance….write little poems and short stories.Enough to buy me bread and maintain a roof on my head. Still assume that I have a big epic in me waiting to be penned. Too lazy to go about it though”

“Wow ,that’s cool….and do you read a lot ?”She seemed genuinely interested and even more genuinely stupid. I mean ,how much literary material do you think was available in Braille.
“ Not much …don’t like heavy stuff” Me back to my cocky humorous self and her brains remaining as oblivious as could be.
She continued to talk to me.She seemed comfortable talking to me.
It was kind of strange though… most people by now would be attempting to disengage from the discomfort of having to talk to a handicapped person.

We talked for the better part of an hour. We talked about the climate.We talked about music .We talked about nothing in particular and we seemed to have talked about almost everything under the sky. When the train came to a halt at Vile Parle ,somehow I just wished she wouldn’t leave. She almost didn’t.
“Revathy , chalo ,Parle aa gaya”An elderly female voice called behind her playing spoilsport to my imagination. I realized that I didn’t even know her name till then.
“Well ,it was nice talking to you”she was going to say good bye “Most people I know find it uncomfortable to talk to a blind girl for more than a minute”

money ,money ,money

2007-04-25T02:36:00.000-07:00

Circa 1994……I think I remember the year most because that was the year India produced a brace of ‘world class’ beauties Misses Sushmita and Aiswarya. Incidentally ,that also happened to be the year that I joined in the noble pursuit of medical education.
Hopes ,dreams ,ambitions ..a bevy of positive feelings.A spring in my steps and a song on my mouth.Life’s good ,or so I thought.Universal adulation and pats on my back..Just five odd years and I could add the coveted ‘Dr’ to my name.Life was indeed good

10 years down the lane…Sushmita ji and Aiswarya ji have gone places.(So what if neither has a real hit to their credit? ).I do have the coveted two letter prefix attached to my otherwise plain sounding name(Though ,Feroze Kaliyadan ,I admit dosen't sound all that plain).Somehow though ,the spring in my steps seems to have disappeared.I do hum songs ,but more often than not my musical interests seem to be inclining towards the melancholic melodies of the KN Saigal variety.

Ok cut to take ….I am not really overjoyed at the moment.Ok to put it more emphatically I THINK AM NOT HAPPY.There I said it! So now the 64 million dollar question..WHY???

Hmmm…Hmmmmmm…….Maybe I should rephrase that question in a more unselfish manner.Why are people unhappy ,even when an arial view suggests no reasons for them to be so.What is the single most important factor governing happiness in the majority of people.
Money?
- I thought a lot before putting money as the top ranking factor ahead of more noble elements like love ,relationships ,health or job satisfaction.I mean think about it honestly..it’s nice to say that love and relationships count more than fluffy little bundles of currency notes ,but I sincerely feel financial security (or insecurity ) is the single most important thing in a majority of people.Maybe in part it’s because many of the other seemingly more important things are taken for granted.For example you have a loving ,caring spouse and a couple of wonderfully cute kids…you take their presence for granted.It is only when something happens to this cosy family picture that you realize their importance.However till anything of that kind occurs your main constant worry is again money..even though it may be more for your family’s sake than your selfish interestsEven when a person is sick or heartbroken,things would look much less bleaker if he or she is financially stable.Seriously how many people do you see now carrying on with a broken heart in the ‘Devdas ‘style? Just think ..how many peple have a constant relationship problem ,romantic or otherwise?Health is again definitely a issue .Ask a person with a terminal cancer or paraplegia ,but then people with diseases significantly affecting their normal life are much less compared to people getting into depression after financial crises.Like I said most of the other issues are ‘come and go’ ‘maybe maynot be’.Money ,on the contrary is like a constant nag …even if you have too much of it (how much is too much depends on relative satisfaction levels of individuals ).To put it in a simple succinct manner ,human beings will always find something or the other to worry about ,but the single relatively constant niggling factor will always be money.

OK so now the next 64 million dollar question…what do we do about it?

Answer no: 1 is the ‘elementary .my dear Watson’ type – make more of it.Beg ,borrow ,steal.(or puting more hard work ,if you’re the old fashioned type).Now we have a slight problem here.When do we stop?How much is enough?Is there really an ‘enough’?This is where individual satisfaction levels come into play.On one hand there are the people who are seeming satisfied with the bare necessities of life (mind you ,as long as at least that is satisfied ) and on the other you have people whose definition of what is a bare necessity changes everyday with every new car model launched ,with every new exotic mobile launched.Can the latter type of personality ever make ‘enough ‘ money?I think the answer is obvious.Interestingly though since this whole bit is about happiness .it should be pointed out that these go-getters are unlikey to be designated as unhappy just because they are not satisfied with what they have.They become unhappy only when they don’t get what they hope to have.Then again isn’t that the same with any ambition?Does that make aspiring for heights a wrong thing to do?don’t think so.So if you’re happy with what you have..well and good.If you aim for more and get there... equally good.If you dream beyond your scope ,keep it in mind that failure is a possibility and make sure that you have to strength to digest it.

Considering the pearls of wisdom ,I imparted ,I guess I have more reasons to be happy than a lot of other poor souls.So for the moment I’ll stop cribbing and think of a more positive blog next time!

paradise

2007-04-22T08:05:00.000-07:00

Some of my agnostic friends ask me why they should be held blackmail to a concept of a ‘hereafter’ when nobody has really returned from the exalted place to confirm the story??I tell them that I can only tell why I believe in the hereafter.I ask them to imagine working under a boss they have never seen in person.This boss passes out all orders and instruction via a third person.One fine day the boss guy makes it known through the intermediary that all guys and gals who’re good this year will be given a paid 1 year vacation to the Bahama’s .No extra work ,just behave good.What do you do? There’s a good chance that the whole thing is just a hoax…but if you just have to behave good ,what do you have to lose?? It is the same with judgement day…maybe Darwin was right and the prophets wrong ,but does god really impose all that tough a life for you to reach paradise?So you really don’t have much to lose ..and a lot to gain!

Sonia Gandhi ,the Kerala police and a messed up weekend!

2007-04-13T02:29:00.000-07:00

We all have been at some time subjected to inconveniences because of scheduled or unscheduled VIP visits and the associated police ‘bandobasts’.I would like to recount a little experience I had .

Timeline : March 2006 ,Sonia Gandhi visits Kochi
My usual working pattern is from 8:30 to 6:00 on all days except Sundays.My wife of 2 months duration has an almost similar schedule .So weekends are kind of special for us.It’s a time to unwind ..listen to some music ,take in movie or laze around with a comfy book.As usual, the last Saturday was to have been spent in the same leisurely bliss…except that Mrs.Sonia Gandhi and her cats (of all hues ,including the mandatory black ) had other plans in store for me.I got out of the hospital by 5:30,the general idea was a quick shower followed by dinner and a second show movie.My wife had already reached home and was doing the groundwork.I reach the road cutting into NH-17 near Edappally and suddenly there’s a long caterpillar stretch of motor vehicles neatly stacked bumper to bumper.Suprisingly the main road is totally empty.What gives?So I get out my car and check with one of the ubiquitous khaki clad gentlemen littering the empty road.In the totally expected ,crude style of our ever so polite police force,I am told brusquely that the road has been cleared for Soniaji’s visit. Cleared? I query curiously. Well ,of course you nut, cleared as in ,the ‘pilot’ vehicles have passed by and now we’re waiting for the queen bee. “Ok.So when do you expect the queen bee to fly by?”.”Hmmppph…..no idea”(why are you so bothered, anyway?)I parted with the constable on relatively harsh terms.I simply couldn’t understand the zeal with these policemen were carrying out there ‘duty’. If the same enthusiasm was extended to their everyday work I think Kochi would be a much better place than it is.Anyway , I do think that I managed to get my viewpoint across,not that it mattered to Mr.Policeman though.
Anyway I get home bruised and battered after an hour of bumper to bumper traffic and with some strength of character managed to convey to my understandably angry bitter half that the days’ program stood cancelled.”I’ll make it up tomorrow I promise” . Thank god for instant noodles and soup I managed not to go hungry that night.

Come Sunday morning ,most of the dark clouds had shifted away from my dear wife’s face.So we make our next set of grand plans…a lavish breakfast at home,then I go to the hospital to rush through my rounds and then we go to the lending library in town ,get a few good books ….and so on and so on.Things were going according to schedule when Soniaji gave us another rude jolt .The roads leading to the library were blocked .As is the norm a horde of policemen were standing guard every few meters.I tried parking my vehicle on a empty piece of landscape ,but no sooner had I stalled the engines that a rapidly moving mass in khaki scurried over asking me to move out as though the future of the nation depended on it.It is a fact that I could have reached the library by following some rather circuitous routes ,but I was so utterly disgusted by then that I headed straight home.

Now just imagine if there had been some really serious matter I had to attend to (rather than bother about my wife’s happiness,which by itself could be quite a serious matter!)...I’m sure that the same day there would have been people with pressing need who would have been depressingly delayed just because Mrs.Sonia Gandhi had a fancy to visit Kochi.Personally I am as apolitical as a person can get (I really believe that there is no difference whom you vote for in an election as all politicians in time turn out equally bad),but this one experience ensured that no matter what, I am not going to vote for Soniaji or her congress ever again in my life.Interesting a large bunch of the so called part worker who had descended in hordes to Kochi were too drunk to listen to Soniaji’s speeches.It is evident that a lot of these people had been paid some ‘pocket money’ and a bottle or two of liquor to rally around their ‘leader’.Can our politicians really get cheaper?

Actually ,I really don’t know what makes me more angry…the politicians with their rallies and ‘hartals’ on the drop of a hat ,the policemen with their crass behaviour or the general public who seemed to have forgotten to question the wrongs happening around them.Everybody seems to just accept things as they are.It’s time people really started acting as responsible social animals .We have this tendency to engage regularly in conversation degrading the official machinery of our country ..but what do we do about it?Given an option of getting things done easiliy by shelling out a bribe ,most people go for it.I have had a rather bitter personal experience of having to spend 4 months trying to get my passport ,basically because I didn’t deem it proper to grease the hands of the police constable who came in for verification.I must admit that following the interactions I have had with the famed Kerala police, I now have a natural bias against them.But it should be understood that it is the general public which has contributed to making the police the monster it is now.(For example ,it is generally an accepted fact of life that if you want your passport ,you need to give a couple of hundred bucks to the verifying official.If everybody just refused to give in to the policeman’s need to be bribed ,things would change automatically.)
Just take another example.On the bypass between Edappally and Vytilla it is common to see ‘flying squad’ vehicles lying in wait to pounce upon drivers.Interestingly in the west (Infact in most civilized societies ) the general norm is not to bother a motorist as long as there is no valid reason.Here innocent people rushing about their daily routine are hauled up and literally harassed by the ‘flying’ and the ‘saada’ squads.The problem though is that many of these harassed motorists shell out a sum of money to get the issue settled quickly.True the policemen at times behave worse than seasoned criminals ,but what do we become when we bribe them?? ‘Arise .Awake and bribe not till the goal is reached’?