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!)
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Thursday, December 6, 2007
the world through little eyes (Nadia's diary 4)
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!!)
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!!)
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Old ,Bald and not so beautiful...
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.
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.
Friday, November 2, 2007
What's in a name??
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…
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…
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Marriages are made in the registrar’s office!
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!”
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!”
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The world through little eyes ( Nadia's diary :2)
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)
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!
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 )
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 )
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