Remember when you were in second standard, somehow all the adults made a huge deal about who your best friend was? The first question would be ‘what are the names of your friends, and the second would be “who is your best friend?”. And yes, like everyone else, I got excited choosing my ‘best friend’ and proclaiming to the entire world that she was my best friend. And literally blushing with pride when I heard her reciprocation.
My first best friend. I was in second grade when I learnt about someone called a best friend. She was new to my school. And I was told to talk to her, and be her friend, for she was lost, and new. It was simple. There was mutual respect and affection. Saw eye to eye. Uncannily, and unknowingly purchased similar swimsuits. Ace rivals in class. Hated her guts for competing with me. But couldn’t do without her as well. We walked together, talked together, studied for pcm exams, made excuses for not going for swimming classes, spent time gossiping in the playground under the pretext of resting during pt classes, chanted the bhagawad gita, attended enrichment class, vied with each other to be the teacher’s pet every year, managed to bring out a mid school magazine with other friends, made her listen to my rantings and obsessions with presidents and the genetic code, had our own arguments, and after verbally abusing each other, albeit with our limited 'abuse' vocabulary, agreed to disagree and moved on,tried talking high school philosophy, bunked classes to go for millions of extra curricular ‘competetions’, carbon copied notes for each other when the other was unavailable, copied each other’s handwriting to make ourselves more similar,tried reading shakespeare,read a lot of other books,wrote articles and poems, me in english, and she in sanskrit,avoided getting caught for the anniversary plays, she successfully, and me unsuccessfully, made other friends, bursts of jealousy in between,moved apart for a while, we managed to finish school and grow up. Parted ways after the tenth board and I saw less and less of her.Saw her last, 5 years ago. Lol. Psenti stuff.We're miles apart, literally, and figuratively, she being an engineer, and a soon to be mba, and me a doctor. But she’s still my first best friend, and no prizes for guessing who she is. And best friend, if you’re reading this, I miss you! I miss being 10 years old and being excited calling someone my best friend.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Text Book Humour
As a student, and a medical one at that, I think I have spent more than seventy five percent of my last five years, poring over humourless, serious, boring, and sometimes disgusting textbooks, that too in small print. Maybe as a direct consequence of that much insult to my brain, my way of looking at things might have changed. Because I have now started finding humour in textbooks. Sad though it is , on one hand, it is extremely hilarious to think what the author was trying to convey when you look at some of the sentences I’ve found in my course of experience in medical textbooks.
Will quote some for an example. And begin with my favorite.
1. “ IgG, alone, among all human immunoglobulins, has the ability to fix to guinea pig skin, but the significance of this is not known”
( Text book of Microbiology, Ananthnarayanan)
Now, when you read this, at the beginning, one gets this feeling that IgG is a class apart from the other fellow Igs. And it piques your interest. Then you realize that its only because of its certain fondness for pig’s skin, that it is termed different. At this point, your interest is somewhat dampened. But then you move on, thinking if the author is mentioning this, it must have some medical, or clinical significance. And that’s when he decides to kill you by saying even he, nor any of the hundreds of people who have spent hours of research to conclude IgG’s unique guinea pig adherence do not know the significance. That’s when you want to throw up.
But believe me, when they asked me to write a short note on IgG, this was the only thing I remembered. So I wrote it. And italicized it, underlined it, in bold, with a different colour pen, so as to show off my ‘knowledge’.
Why, why would he do that? Increase the number of pages of the textbook, for something so inconsequential, that even he admits to?
2. “ The heat stable toxin also induces fluid accumulation in the intestinal loops of neonatal BUT not weaned piglets”
( Textbook of Microbiology, Ananthnarayanan)
Again, thanks to Dr Ananthnarayanan, I spent half the time I read micro, looking up weird statements like this. And these were all I remembered at the end of it as well. Neonatal, but not weaned piglets? I haven’t even seen a pig in years, leave alone a neonate at that, or a weaned one for that matter. I really really wonder what significance all these information have in a medical student’s life. Its torture, really.
And then there was more about monkey kidney, monkey brain, chick embryo, duck embryo that was 12 days old vs one that was 13 days old etc etc.
3. “According to devoted ‘amyloidologists’ who congregate every few years to discuss their favorite protein….”
( Robbins, Pathology)
For some reason, I found this statement extremely funny. None of my classmates agree with me, though. But I think its because it breaks the monotony of the amyloid drawl, and to think that those who actually study it are in fact human beings, was like throwing ice water on myself. Of course, I went around saying I wanted to be an ‘amyloidologist’ for the next one year, but that’s not for discussion :P The usage of the word ‘congregate’. I imagined little men, like birifringent crystals, walking around and whispering to each other in excitement.
4. “It has been suggested that yawning is a nonverbal signal used for communication between animals in a group, and one could argue that on a different level, the same thing is true for humans.”
( Ganong, Physiology)
He he. So someone had to do serious work on yawning to realize we are closer to monkeys and chimpanzees. Poor Darwin, he needn’t have wasted so much time. Sometimes when I read lines like these, I keep expecting to see a smiley, to confirm that its actually a joke, or atleast meant in good humour. But the next lines shock you back to reality. They would have proceeded to someother boring detail about monkey’s brain kidney, sorry, wait, this is physio right, then moving on to some hypoxia something blah blah, that you never get the full humour of it.
5. “… explaining the rapid dehydration that occurs in shipwreck victims who drink seawater. However a shipwreck victim’s pet Australian hopping mouse could drink with impunity all the seawater it wanted.”
( Guyton, Physiology)
Why in the world would a shipwreck victim be bothered about his pet Australian hopping mouse? But that was a totally funny statement. But no one other that me found it so. I was singled out as the weird one, for actually thinking so. Sad. But the first and the last ones are my favorite.
Anyway, these are just a few. Medical information sometimes is humourous. Will post more later. Am going to get back to studying!
PS: Yes, I do have a weird sense of humour.
Will quote some for an example. And begin with my favorite.
1. “ IgG, alone, among all human immunoglobulins, has the ability to fix to guinea pig skin, but the significance of this is not known”
( Text book of Microbiology, Ananthnarayanan)
Now, when you read this, at the beginning, one gets this feeling that IgG is a class apart from the other fellow Igs. And it piques your interest. Then you realize that its only because of its certain fondness for pig’s skin, that it is termed different. At this point, your interest is somewhat dampened. But then you move on, thinking if the author is mentioning this, it must have some medical, or clinical significance. And that’s when he decides to kill you by saying even he, nor any of the hundreds of people who have spent hours of research to conclude IgG’s unique guinea pig adherence do not know the significance. That’s when you want to throw up.
But believe me, when they asked me to write a short note on IgG, this was the only thing I remembered. So I wrote it. And italicized it, underlined it, in bold, with a different colour pen, so as to show off my ‘knowledge’.
Why, why would he do that? Increase the number of pages of the textbook, for something so inconsequential, that even he admits to?
2. “ The heat stable toxin also induces fluid accumulation in the intestinal loops of neonatal BUT not weaned piglets”
( Textbook of Microbiology, Ananthnarayanan)
Again, thanks to Dr Ananthnarayanan, I spent half the time I read micro, looking up weird statements like this. And these were all I remembered at the end of it as well. Neonatal, but not weaned piglets? I haven’t even seen a pig in years, leave alone a neonate at that, or a weaned one for that matter. I really really wonder what significance all these information have in a medical student’s life. Its torture, really.
And then there was more about monkey kidney, monkey brain, chick embryo, duck embryo that was 12 days old vs one that was 13 days old etc etc.
3. “According to devoted ‘amyloidologists’ who congregate every few years to discuss their favorite protein….”
( Robbins, Pathology)
For some reason, I found this statement extremely funny. None of my classmates agree with me, though. But I think its because it breaks the monotony of the amyloid drawl, and to think that those who actually study it are in fact human beings, was like throwing ice water on myself. Of course, I went around saying I wanted to be an ‘amyloidologist’ for the next one year, but that’s not for discussion :P The usage of the word ‘congregate’. I imagined little men, like birifringent crystals, walking around and whispering to each other in excitement.
4. “It has been suggested that yawning is a nonverbal signal used for communication between animals in a group, and one could argue that on a different level, the same thing is true for humans.”
( Ganong, Physiology)
He he. So someone had to do serious work on yawning to realize we are closer to monkeys and chimpanzees. Poor Darwin, he needn’t have wasted so much time. Sometimes when I read lines like these, I keep expecting to see a smiley, to confirm that its actually a joke, or atleast meant in good humour. But the next lines shock you back to reality. They would have proceeded to someother boring detail about monkey’s brain kidney, sorry, wait, this is physio right, then moving on to some hypoxia something blah blah, that you never get the full humour of it.
5. “… explaining the rapid dehydration that occurs in shipwreck victims who drink seawater. However a shipwreck victim’s pet Australian hopping mouse could drink with impunity all the seawater it wanted.”
( Guyton, Physiology)
Why in the world would a shipwreck victim be bothered about his pet Australian hopping mouse? But that was a totally funny statement. But no one other that me found it so. I was singled out as the weird one, for actually thinking so. Sad. But the first and the last ones are my favorite.
Anyway, these are just a few. Medical information sometimes is humourous. Will post more later. Am going to get back to studying!
PS: Yes, I do have a weird sense of humour.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
At the Crossroads
Ah, this oppressive heat blinds me
How much longer will I be stuck
Here in this, airless, arid, sweltering place
All the energy out of me does it suck
Did I make the wrong turn? If I did,
When, and how did that happen?
For I do not remember it this way
All I do is long for the beauty
Of the tall confident trees that stood
Brave and majestic, their brown wood
Steady in the blowing breeze
Of the cool shade that they gave
Of the bees and the butterflies
Fighting their way to the sweetest flower
Of the chirpy birds that gave me company
In the lonliness of my life’s journey
They seem faint and distant now
Mere memories in the larger frame of reality
Of that Rippleless pond on a stormy night
Of the clear blue sky bereft of any clouds in sight
I long for those lucid and clear moments
Transient though, they are
When I am freed of this torment
Of the decision that I have to make
Of choosing the path that I have to take
The path in front of me is stretched out
Long, and unwinding, without respite
Or so it seems from here, from now
Life, I know, is not a bed of roses
But is there an end, an end to this all?
An end that would culminate
In a sense of fullness and joy
If only I knew, if only I knew
That this would lead me there
Where I have always wanted to be
I would cross a thousand seas
A thousand mountains I would climb
I would leave no stone unturned
To lead myself to the end
To the finale where I would taste
Perfection, and order, and beauty
When I would be proud of
My time, my life, my dreams
My hopes and my everything
When I can look back
After my work here is done
And tell myself, and everyone else
That it was a path well chosen.
How much longer will I be stuck
Here in this, airless, arid, sweltering place
All the energy out of me does it suck
Did I make the wrong turn? If I did,
When, and how did that happen?
For I do not remember it this way
All I do is long for the beauty
Of the tall confident trees that stood
Brave and majestic, their brown wood
Steady in the blowing breeze
Of the cool shade that they gave
Of the bees and the butterflies
Fighting their way to the sweetest flower
Of the chirpy birds that gave me company
In the lonliness of my life’s journey
They seem faint and distant now
Mere memories in the larger frame of reality
Of that Rippleless pond on a stormy night
Of the clear blue sky bereft of any clouds in sight
I long for those lucid and clear moments
Transient though, they are
When I am freed of this torment
Of the decision that I have to make
Of choosing the path that I have to take
The path in front of me is stretched out
Long, and unwinding, without respite
Or so it seems from here, from now
Life, I know, is not a bed of roses
But is there an end, an end to this all?
An end that would culminate
In a sense of fullness and joy
If only I knew, if only I knew
That this would lead me there
Where I have always wanted to be
I would cross a thousand seas
A thousand mountains I would climb
I would leave no stone unturned
To lead myself to the end
To the finale where I would taste
Perfection, and order, and beauty
When I would be proud of
My time, my life, my dreams
My hopes and my everything
When I can look back
After my work here is done
And tell myself, and everyone else
That it was a path well chosen.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Stages of Internship
The stage of Elation
Final year exams just got over. Results declared, you find out by god knows a stroke of luck that you cleared all 4 subjects. And now you’re ready to unleash your ‘knowledge’ and ‘expertise’ on poor unsuspecting people. But with the results, you have also acquired a false and rather alarming sense of new found confidence. I mean, you can actually call yourself Dr something. Seems like the end of a long, winded, rocky and slippery path. But you wont realize the steep descent until you actually wake up after the concussion that you get on falling or rather tumbling down. Anyway, you come back from the ‘well deserved’ vacation, and with all the enthusiasm that only a newbie intern has, get your name tag with the doctor prefix on the very first day, wear the steth like it’s a diamond chain, and walk into the hospital with your head high high up in the air, looking down on the poor 8th semesters, forgetting that you were in their place just a few months ago. Lol. You get this feeling that you’re ready to handle everything. Poor poor you. Because in exactly one day, this ecstatic and elated state will disappear, melt, and drift away into the next stage
The Stage of Denial and Anger
You don’t want to believe it. That this is the kind of work that you get to do. Collecting reports, writing orders, and running around the hospital. Measuring blood pressures, and pulses. Monitoring like your life depended on someone else’s vitals. You’re so angry that you’re made to do irrelevant and mostly clerical work. Typing discharge summaries. You don’t see the point. No one does. You ask yourself, what exactly am I learning? You try and give your pg angry stares when he asks you to do something that you think is inconsequential. Try to keep your head high up, wanting to believe that what you do actually makes a difference. This stage usually lasts for about 2 or 3 weeks. And then all the emotion just dissipates. Because there is nothing that you can do about it. Nothing really.
The Stage of Depression
This is the bad part. Lasts for more than a month or two. That’s when you feel like a total ass, a total loser, incapable of doing anything, even thinking. You feel like a machine, a robot, that was made to order, to do things that no one else wants to do, that is always at someone’s beck and call, operated by remote control. You hate waking up in the morning, you don’t want to do anything else other than lie down in the bed, and count sheep. You stop eating, drinking, and wish you stopped living as well. I personally went on an iced lemon tea diet. For 3 weeks. But the good part is I lost weight :P when you close your eyes to sleep at night, all that you’d be able to see is rolls and rolls of white cotton and guaze, and a lonely bottle of betadine. There’s no company either, coz all your friends are depressed as well. There is no escape. That’s when you decide to change professions. You wish you had majored in history, or literature. Whatever. Anything but this. But then this too shall pass.
Stage of Acceptance
This is the last stage, when everything around you suddenly becomes unreal. You learn to dissociate yourself from the surroundings. Its like watching a movie, or watching the whole thing happen from a few feet above the ground. Insensitive to pain and all other emotions, anaesthetized with a drug called Internship. That’s a beautiful feeling, though, because no one gets any response from you. If they shout at you, its their energy that is being wasted, coz you will be at that level high above the ground, where it will sound like someone is playing violins and showering roses on your head. But you have to be fore warned. Because this is also the stage when you begin to accept dirty work so easily, that you ask for it, even if they don’t give it to you. That’s what I did yesterday, offered to hold a 30 year old well built man’s edematous leg for a surgery that took almost 5 hours. They were only too willing to let me do that. And when I wasn’t holding the leg, I was compressing his leg, giving pressure, or whatever they want to call that crap. And I fell asleep. I woke up because I almost fell down. That’s when you know nothing else matters. Lol. But this is the best stage by far, because you are laughing at everything. You are not you anymore. You are something else. Nothing can touch you. You have gone beyond what is euphemized as internship. Its like attaining nirvana.
Ps: This is not intended to discourage future interns, but if you think you’ll be doing something great, just a warning sorts, so you wont be extremely disappointed later.
Final year exams just got over. Results declared, you find out by god knows a stroke of luck that you cleared all 4 subjects. And now you’re ready to unleash your ‘knowledge’ and ‘expertise’ on poor unsuspecting people. But with the results, you have also acquired a false and rather alarming sense of new found confidence. I mean, you can actually call yourself Dr something. Seems like the end of a long, winded, rocky and slippery path. But you wont realize the steep descent until you actually wake up after the concussion that you get on falling or rather tumbling down. Anyway, you come back from the ‘well deserved’ vacation, and with all the enthusiasm that only a newbie intern has, get your name tag with the doctor prefix on the very first day, wear the steth like it’s a diamond chain, and walk into the hospital with your head high high up in the air, looking down on the poor 8th semesters, forgetting that you were in their place just a few months ago. Lol. You get this feeling that you’re ready to handle everything. Poor poor you. Because in exactly one day, this ecstatic and elated state will disappear, melt, and drift away into the next stage
The Stage of Denial and Anger
You don’t want to believe it. That this is the kind of work that you get to do. Collecting reports, writing orders, and running around the hospital. Measuring blood pressures, and pulses. Monitoring like your life depended on someone else’s vitals. You’re so angry that you’re made to do irrelevant and mostly clerical work. Typing discharge summaries. You don’t see the point. No one does. You ask yourself, what exactly am I learning? You try and give your pg angry stares when he asks you to do something that you think is inconsequential. Try to keep your head high up, wanting to believe that what you do actually makes a difference. This stage usually lasts for about 2 or 3 weeks. And then all the emotion just dissipates. Because there is nothing that you can do about it. Nothing really.
The Stage of Depression
This is the bad part. Lasts for more than a month or two. That’s when you feel like a total ass, a total loser, incapable of doing anything, even thinking. You feel like a machine, a robot, that was made to order, to do things that no one else wants to do, that is always at someone’s beck and call, operated by remote control. You hate waking up in the morning, you don’t want to do anything else other than lie down in the bed, and count sheep. You stop eating, drinking, and wish you stopped living as well. I personally went on an iced lemon tea diet. For 3 weeks. But the good part is I lost weight :P when you close your eyes to sleep at night, all that you’d be able to see is rolls and rolls of white cotton and guaze, and a lonely bottle of betadine. There’s no company either, coz all your friends are depressed as well. There is no escape. That’s when you decide to change professions. You wish you had majored in history, or literature. Whatever. Anything but this. But then this too shall pass.
Stage of Acceptance
This is the last stage, when everything around you suddenly becomes unreal. You learn to dissociate yourself from the surroundings. Its like watching a movie, or watching the whole thing happen from a few feet above the ground. Insensitive to pain and all other emotions, anaesthetized with a drug called Internship. That’s a beautiful feeling, though, because no one gets any response from you. If they shout at you, its their energy that is being wasted, coz you will be at that level high above the ground, where it will sound like someone is playing violins and showering roses on your head. But you have to be fore warned. Because this is also the stage when you begin to accept dirty work so easily, that you ask for it, even if they don’t give it to you. That’s what I did yesterday, offered to hold a 30 year old well built man’s edematous leg for a surgery that took almost 5 hours. They were only too willing to let me do that. And when I wasn’t holding the leg, I was compressing his leg, giving pressure, or whatever they want to call that crap. And I fell asleep. I woke up because I almost fell down. That’s when you know nothing else matters. Lol. But this is the best stage by far, because you are laughing at everything. You are not you anymore. You are something else. Nothing can touch you. You have gone beyond what is euphemized as internship. Its like attaining nirvana.
Ps: This is not intended to discourage future interns, but if you think you’ll be doing something great, just a warning sorts, so you wont be extremely disappointed later.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Little Pieces of Life
The little things in life are forgotten. We kill them, murder them ruthlessly, until they make no more sense. We dissect, analyse, think, and try to give so much meaning to everything, that it finally blows up. On our faces. Blackening us with soot and dust. Our lives finally become a stretched hot air balloon, that some poor kid is desperately trying to make bigger, until finally it bursts. We are the kid, we are the balloon. And we are going to burst. So much that, that which has meaning no longer does, and that which doesn’t, which shouldn’t, which cant, will suddenly will. Simple things are simple, but we don’t get it, do we? Everything in this world, everything that we feel doesn’t really need an explanation, a justification or a meaning. Sometimes there is none. But we cant live with it. Some people like me go over the edge, even, needing a flowchart explaining the road that has been taken to the present moment of happiness or sadness or whatever it maybe. And we get stuck at some infinite loop, unable to explain how we got to that moment. But we don’t really need to know, do we? All roads do not lead to happiness. Rome got lucky with that one. So as long as you’re there, in that moment, happy and content, why does it matter how, and why you got there? It’s an irritating obsession. The whole element of adventure is lost, with so much thought. Who cares? Sadly we all do, and we all give up on the little things in life, so we don’t have to wait for bigger tragedies to happen. Apparantely. Tragedy doesn’t announce itself, by the way. It just happens. If we have to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not happen, we may as well die this moment, and kill it all. And take all the little things that we like, but don’t do, with us to heaven or hell. If you believe in that kind of thing. Otherwise we just die. And the little things don’t matter anymore, and this time for real.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
An Ode to the Setting Sun
Yellow ball of fire! Don’t go yet, Tarry, stall a bit more
For your egress ends this chapter in the book of life
Grant me more time with you and with today
I see the flock of birds fly back to their nests
The boats returning from a hard days’ work at the sea
I see you, and I can see you don’t want to go away too,
For you linger, just above the horizon, orange and pure
As you slowly descend to sink into the blue tranquility
You set, to banish all the light you bought in your wake
Purging all the mistakes that have been and was today
The hate, the anger, the disappointment, the misery
To leave behind the sweet after taste of satisfaction
But I hope, you’d be back soon, to bring back the
Lost light of the day that was for the day that will be
It seems like you give me a fresh sheet everyday
To write on, to draw on, and to make my own life
In colour, or in grey, however I wish to portray it
For tomorrow is but another day, a clean sheet and
I will see you again, as a young bashful wave of crimson
Far far in the east, moving up, as you age into
The brilliant golden fireball of the midnoon
That surpasses everything with its resplendent form
Your rays reach out to embrace us with heavenly
Love and warmth that is beyond description
And then like all life comes to an end, so does yours
As a distinguished visitor to our planet
As you begin your descent into the infinite lacuna of space
Like a man enveloping his old age tentatively
Slowly losing your strength, but still retaining the
Same amount of respect and command as before
Smiling a varied hue of orange, red and purple
Still lighting up the sky in your fading glory
As you sink deeper and deeper to usher in the darkness
I begin my long dark vigil through the night
For I cannot wait for tomorrow, to see you again
Far far in the distant east, I shall wait for you
For your egress ends this chapter in the book of life
Grant me more time with you and with today
I see the flock of birds fly back to their nests
The boats returning from a hard days’ work at the sea
I see you, and I can see you don’t want to go away too,
For you linger, just above the horizon, orange and pure
As you slowly descend to sink into the blue tranquility
You set, to banish all the light you bought in your wake
Purging all the mistakes that have been and was today
The hate, the anger, the disappointment, the misery
To leave behind the sweet after taste of satisfaction
But I hope, you’d be back soon, to bring back the
Lost light of the day that was for the day that will be
It seems like you give me a fresh sheet everyday
To write on, to draw on, and to make my own life
In colour, or in grey, however I wish to portray it
For tomorrow is but another day, a clean sheet and
I will see you again, as a young bashful wave of crimson
Far far in the east, moving up, as you age into
The brilliant golden fireball of the midnoon
That surpasses everything with its resplendent form
Your rays reach out to embrace us with heavenly
Love and warmth that is beyond description
And then like all life comes to an end, so does yours
As a distinguished visitor to our planet
As you begin your descent into the infinite lacuna of space
Like a man enveloping his old age tentatively
Slowly losing your strength, but still retaining the
Same amount of respect and command as before
Smiling a varied hue of orange, red and purple
Still lighting up the sky in your fading glory
As you sink deeper and deeper to usher in the darkness
I begin my long dark vigil through the night
For I cannot wait for tomorrow, to see you again
Far far in the distant east, I shall wait for you
Friday, August 14, 2009
The loose morals obsession
People are obsessed about character. Its one thing that everyone, irrespective of age, gender or size love to talk about. Everyone wants to give their opinion. Valuable or not. Talk about unity. It’s the only binding emotion in the world. Forget all that you have learnt about love and happiness being the universal language. Its gossip I tell you. And if you’ve heard that women gossip more than men, I’m sorry to say you’ve been misguided. It’s a rumour. Men gossip even more. Shamelessly, ruthlessly, and quite happily, in fact. I’ve heard it and seen it. Anyway back to character assassination, its ubiquitous. It’s a commonplace trait, which goes hand in hand with breathing. Some people even have dreams about mindless senseless gossip. You see a girl smile a wee bit too widely, she has loose morals, I say! Its funny, though how men and women are so blatantly judged by their sleeping patterns. And you don’t even have to be sleeping with someone either randomly or regularly to have people talking about it. It might have just been a single dinner, or a walk, or just about anything. And don’t even get me started on women who drink. Oh my, what is she thinking? Women who drink automatically fall one step closer to women with loose morals. Whether they are any better is still debated widely and is a matter of public concern, somehow. The way they make it sound, one feels that the moment you touch alcohol, its akin to losing your virginity, and if it becomes a habit, then you’re a slut. She’s corrupted, they like to say. Every other infallible nature that she has fades into oblivion. Forget that she maybe a skilled surgeon, or a brilliant lawyer, or an excellent teacher, she is still the slut and the whore she is. What sort of a world do we live in? Its beyond contempt. Archaic , misguided, misanthropic logic.
Someone told me once that he believed that a person with loose morals would be born as a tree in the next life. I was confused. First of all, whats wrong in being a tree? I thought it was wonderful. A tall evergreen shade loking up into the sun and the sky. Ablove everyone and everything else. Secondly do you mean to degrade all the current trees living in the world? Those lovely green creatures that give us food, flower, fruits, wood, shade and many other things. Where would we be without their scenic and asthetic presence in this otherwise dull drab and judgemental world? Atleast coconut trees don’t judge palm trees and vice versa. And lastly, imagine the ego, the colossal hubris that this person would have had while saying such a thing. What is he proud of? What are his accomplishments? Does it compare anywhere with the tree’s? Believing that our life is guided by the actions of a previous one, over which we have no control, how is that any better than wanting to enjoy the current life with as much energy, joy, and abandonment as possible? If that’s the way she wants to live her life, who are you to judge? Loose morals, my ass. Right or wrong, its all relative anyway. There’s nothing absolute about it. Even a murderer gets his defence lawyer. There is only one life that we get to live, only one that we can remember about, why spend that life walking tiptoe on a tight rope, paranoid that our actions now will reflect on later lives? We wouldn’t know, would we? Atleast there is some comfort in not knowing. We need to grow up, start thinking outside what happens inside someone else’s pants and start looking at what other things they may be good at. Its not always all about sex, you know. Or alcohol, for that matter.
Someone told me once that he believed that a person with loose morals would be born as a tree in the next life. I was confused. First of all, whats wrong in being a tree? I thought it was wonderful. A tall evergreen shade loking up into the sun and the sky. Ablove everyone and everything else. Secondly do you mean to degrade all the current trees living in the world? Those lovely green creatures that give us food, flower, fruits, wood, shade and many other things. Where would we be without their scenic and asthetic presence in this otherwise dull drab and judgemental world? Atleast coconut trees don’t judge palm trees and vice versa. And lastly, imagine the ego, the colossal hubris that this person would have had while saying such a thing. What is he proud of? What are his accomplishments? Does it compare anywhere with the tree’s? Believing that our life is guided by the actions of a previous one, over which we have no control, how is that any better than wanting to enjoy the current life with as much energy, joy, and abandonment as possible? If that’s the way she wants to live her life, who are you to judge? Loose morals, my ass. Right or wrong, its all relative anyway. There’s nothing absolute about it. Even a murderer gets his defence lawyer. There is only one life that we get to live, only one that we can remember about, why spend that life walking tiptoe on a tight rope, paranoid that our actions now will reflect on later lives? We wouldn’t know, would we? Atleast there is some comfort in not knowing. We need to grow up, start thinking outside what happens inside someone else’s pants and start looking at what other things they may be good at. Its not always all about sex, you know. Or alcohol, for that matter.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
On the other side of the OR
There are two ways of thinking of this now. One that a surgeon needs to be extremely multi talented. Another is the point of this blog.
I am posted in surgery right now. And today was OT day. Well the day started as usual, with me ‘reporting’ for work at exactly 8 30 am. In the surgery wards. Where my post graduates were missing as usual. Rounds were a blitzkrieg. And then I decided to show my face in the OT. Its funny. You have to get dressed to operate. So the multi talents of the surgeon start right here. There’s a huge protocol for washing hands. Its called scrubbing in and that’s the best part.They wash hands for 10 minutes. Lol. Wiping every miniscule germ and virus and whatever it is they think is being wiped away. Its actually the best profession if you have the traits of obsession and compulsion. I agree, though, there is a sense of extreme elation and satisfaction that one gets seeing all the microscopic inhabitants of your hand being kicked out. Sigh. If I ever become a surgeon, you know why. Well anyway, they were doing a laparoscopic cholecystectomy. So I settled myself in the corner and finished off the previous blog. Then they realized they needed someone to hold the limb up. So my expertise was requested for. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. So I scrubbed in. I had to hold the limb up for almost 45 min, while they painted it with iodine, and et al. Then they split the skin. It looks like the skin of potatoes. And they tried fitting it into the ulcer. Basically playing jigsaw with potato peels. That’s split skin grafting. That’s what they like to call it. Man, it took 2 hours. All this while I was still holding the hand up so they could jigsaw. And then they stitched the potato peels to the skins. So far, they have played the following roles- washerman, gym training, playing jigsaw, peeling potatoes, and a little bit of tailoring. Then it was time to pack. Rolls and rolls of gauze and cotton. I would love to see a surgeon’s suitcase packed. It must be brilliant. And then they plastered it. So a little bit of masonry as well. Its like watching a kamal Hassan movie. Dasavatharam. And so I stood there, holding up the arm, watching in pure awe, and amazement the multiple roles the surgeon had to keep switching between. Lol. And the best part is that they get ‘dressed’ up for it Oh well after I exercised my biceps and triceps, there was another procedure. Where I had to hold nothing. Surprise surprise. Role changed. I had to mop. That means clean the blood away from the field. Glorified maid work. Lol. Oh well, all in a day’s work. Or so I thought. Just as I was leaving the hospital, I got a call. Come to OR 10. Emergency. I ran. I thought there would be some exploratory laparatomy blah blah. Guess what. I was called to hold the toe. They were amputating it. Damn. And there ended of my beautiful and totally eventful day of holding arms, feet and toes. Oh I almost forgot. At the end of the day, you smell like dettol, spirit and glove powder. And the glove powder will refuse to go off your hands.
PS: I have nothing against surgeons. Just making a few funny observations. All in jest.
I am posted in surgery right now. And today was OT day. Well the day started as usual, with me ‘reporting’ for work at exactly 8 30 am. In the surgery wards. Where my post graduates were missing as usual. Rounds were a blitzkrieg. And then I decided to show my face in the OT. Its funny. You have to get dressed to operate. So the multi talents of the surgeon start right here. There’s a huge protocol for washing hands. Its called scrubbing in and that’s the best part.They wash hands for 10 minutes. Lol. Wiping every miniscule germ and virus and whatever it is they think is being wiped away. Its actually the best profession if you have the traits of obsession and compulsion. I agree, though, there is a sense of extreme elation and satisfaction that one gets seeing all the microscopic inhabitants of your hand being kicked out. Sigh. If I ever become a surgeon, you know why. Well anyway, they were doing a laparoscopic cholecystectomy. So I settled myself in the corner and finished off the previous blog. Then they realized they needed someone to hold the limb up. So my expertise was requested for. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. So I scrubbed in. I had to hold the limb up for almost 45 min, while they painted it with iodine, and et al. Then they split the skin. It looks like the skin of potatoes. And they tried fitting it into the ulcer. Basically playing jigsaw with potato peels. That’s split skin grafting. That’s what they like to call it. Man, it took 2 hours. All this while I was still holding the hand up so they could jigsaw. And then they stitched the potato peels to the skins. So far, they have played the following roles- washerman, gym training, playing jigsaw, peeling potatoes, and a little bit of tailoring. Then it was time to pack. Rolls and rolls of gauze and cotton. I would love to see a surgeon’s suitcase packed. It must be brilliant. And then they plastered it. So a little bit of masonry as well. Its like watching a kamal Hassan movie. Dasavatharam. And so I stood there, holding up the arm, watching in pure awe, and amazement the multiple roles the surgeon had to keep switching between. Lol. And the best part is that they get ‘dressed’ up for it Oh well after I exercised my biceps and triceps, there was another procedure. Where I had to hold nothing. Surprise surprise. Role changed. I had to mop. That means clean the blood away from the field. Glorified maid work. Lol. Oh well, all in a day’s work. Or so I thought. Just as I was leaving the hospital, I got a call. Come to OR 10. Emergency. I ran. I thought there would be some exploratory laparatomy blah blah. Guess what. I was called to hold the toe. They were amputating it. Damn. And there ended of my beautiful and totally eventful day of holding arms, feet and toes. Oh I almost forgot. At the end of the day, you smell like dettol, spirit and glove powder. And the glove powder will refuse to go off your hands.
PS: I have nothing against surgeons. Just making a few funny observations. All in jest.
Looking through the scope of horror
And there comes the day that every girl dreads. The horror of the horror-scopes. It is so commonplace and banal and absolutely unimaginative, that I feel like throwing up. Every guy wants the same thing. A fair bride. What does that mean? Think they watch too many advertisements. Either that or they are endorsing fair and lovely. Whatever. It’s a turn off. The next adjective that they use is ‘homely’. What in the freaking world does that mean? Should she look like a home? Or does it mean she should sit at home all day, so that there is no difference between her and the wall after a few years? Oh my. Imagine the life. And of course, she should respect elders. Whatever that means. How can anyone use such a language at this day and age? I mean even if they said she should know to cook well, that would make some sense. As one of my friends rightly pointed out, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But why respect elders for that? Or why be homely for that? I’m not saying no girl should respect elders. But the fact that they mention it, and emphasize so much on it is funny. Like hilarious. Actually I don’t think I quite get the idea of an arranged marriage. Well adjusted. Wtf? They should issue dictionaries and define all these words. For I don’t think I can ever understand the meaning of that. Maybe it’s a literal translation of some tamil or hindi word. Whatever. Well adjusted my ass. A fair, well adjusted, homely, respecting elders bride. And the worst part is, those guys aren’t fair or well adjusted, or homely for that matter. They would be fat, obese, balding, and dark. I have nothing against bald fat men. Its just to point out the stark reality. And the size of a man’s ego. Anyway, I seem to have forgotten another important point. Non alcoholic and non smoker. Oh come on! That guy would be sloshed every Saturday, he would be partying till freaking 5 am in the morning, smoking weed and all such shit. But he would still call himself a non alcoholic and non smoker. I know a guy like that. Oh man, what do they think? Girls aren’t that naïve these days, you know. In what world, I ask, in what world does he consider himself a non alcoholic? For some weird reason, the bride to be with all the above mentioned attributes is the stereotypical bride that everyone wants. And that again makes me want to puke. Its actually fun reading matrimonial ads. We used to read them out loud on Sundays and roll in laughter at the sheer audacity that goes into voicing out ‘their’ needs. Its purely cheese and corn. Smart and intelligent. Then what do all the un-fair and un homely girls do in life? Who, who I say will marry them? Lol. Anyway, like it is said, Draupadi wanted a guy who was honest, strong, skilled, wise, and handsome. And god said its not possible to have all that qualities in a single man. That’s why she had five husbands. If we go by the same logic, wouldn’t all the guys in the world be on cloud nine?
Monday, August 10, 2009
Back to School- Down the memory lane- contd.
I was in the OT today. Didn’t have anything to do. Other than holding hands, I mean. So I realized that I had missed out a lot of things. So here we go with the continuation.
26. Apology letters. Was a funny concept. Don’t know what they were trying to get at. I think Subbi wrote an apology letter for not writing an apology letter!
27. Yeah as KV said, we had labs for everything. Math lab? English lab? We listened to someone talking in an American accent. Lol. Might have as well made us watch friends :P he he. Funny, but we didn’t have Sanskrit lab. It would have been hilarious.
28. Mohan sir ranting about Vedas, stopping for a few moments only to tell Dj and Subhashini to meet him after class. Lol.
29. Our English classes were absolute fun. Every year, we had a funny English teacher. 6th standard, it was ‘shree’ and then fill in the blanks Chitra Pandey. And Vikram Seth’s crocodile and the monkey poem. She read out one elephant poem with so much emo. Was hilarious. Then 7th std was Sybil. Can anyone forget her? She cut subbi’s hair in class one day. or was it vekram? Lol. She used to measure the hair length. She was always threatening us about internals. Like we care. But the funny thing is we did. We cared hard. And then it was 8th std with miss AVC and her lady bird. She spent a whole class defining the difference between a tragedy and a misfortune. And then there was Geeta Rajendran. Ogden Nash and the anorexic poem. Mazaaaaaaa was next. Lol… English classes were the best at PSBB. It wouldn’t be complete without mention Mrs Rani Chandran. Hats off to her. Shakespeare never sounded better. Merchant of Venice is still etched in my mind.
30. Another funny concept was volunteering. Much like what I am still doing, sadly. Running around for odds and ends. But it was fun then. Now it sucks. Maybe I’ve become old. Grey haired and toothless. Sigh.
31. Fancy dress competetions. I for one, wouldn’t mind doing that again. I remember A Rohit dressed up as the ariel patti. And I was some sort of a chef, I think, with a mousche and all, and an egg in my hand. Lol.
32. How could I have forgotten the TM classes? Lol! Lol! They told us the ‘mantra’ in secret . whispered it in our ears. And then we transcended. Up into heaven. Lol. They could have just distributed free weed if it was the detached loose feeling they wanted us to experience. Lol. Psbb would have been way more popular then :P
33. One of our hindi teachers was very unhappy with the way we used to rock the chairs. She said she would tie us up if we continued the habit. We were instructed to bring a rope and keep it in the class cupboard. Some freaking person actually got the freaking rope. I know. Because I was the one tied up the next day.
34. Salwars and canvas shoes. What a fashion statement. Correction- pink salwars and white canvas shoes. We were THE thing back then.
35. And then they decided to take the whole fashion thing to a new level. Changed it to the ones that resemble the onyx uniforms. Flouroscent and grey. Only they don’t glow. But thankfully I had moved on by then.
36. There was a time when we were referred to as ‘patani sundal bajji bonda suda suda sambhar’. Aka psbbsss.
37. And yes, like kv said, we always went to snake park. If not snake park, then the plan-ate-arium opposite it.
38. There was a weird rule that we couldn’t talk in tamil. Or rather I thought it was a rule. I and a few others followed it as if our lives depended on it. And the rest tried their level best to make us break it.
39. Our vice principal used to swallow the mike and spit it out everyday. I promise. Ask anyone. They will all concur.
40. Oh another one… if you knew a few bad words, you were ‘corrupted’. Lol.
41. We had to do a Radio show once. I remember meeting up in Vekram's place on a sunday and recording it. There was an interview with Dunston. I was the interviewer. And vekram was dunston. I had no idea what the script was. As I started asking questions, all Vekram said was Brr brr brrr. I laughed so hard for so long, that they had to threaten giving the part to someone else before I controlled myself. You can still hear the quiver in my voice though. That was mindblowing awesome. It came out so well.
42. There was this thing about writing the thought for the day on the board. And I was assigned the task of writing it. So each person in roll call order had to tell me each day what to write. I am short, and I cant reach the top of the board. When it was subbi's turn, he gave me the longest thought ever.On purpose. :(
43. Our school was all about flowers. Like some others are about rivers and world leaders. We were divided into red rose, bluebells, sunflower and lotus. Could have been a bit more innovative :P
44.And there was this other time when we used to go singing in the streets in december. Margazhi month.
45.Fights between boys and girls used to be hilarious. Freaking out of the world. Apart from just saying 'shut up ok' or jumpokotax or snubbed, the fighter and the fightee would have an extremely encouraging audience.
46. Although this has nothing to do with Psbb, would like to add this- After the tenth board exams, I went to school to meet all the teachers, and malathi sampathkumar maam looked at me, and asked - yenna ma un kannam ellam veengi poyiduthu? What the F****? Lol... :P
47. Computer science classes. Another huge big ass mess.They tried teaching us everything. All that I used to do was dab on paint brush :)
48. Post diwali used to be 'colour dress' day. Which basically meant we could come in our diwali clothes. That would be one sunny day :)
49. There were so many many sections in psbb. From A till M, and then they added N and another letter. But sadly there was no Q. I would have loved to be from Q.
50. In 2nd standard, I dont know how many will recall this. But we had seniors from 7th standard, coming and sit by us during the lunch break, to make sure we eat properly. They taught us how to use the napkin, the spoon, and how not to leave anything behind. I thought that was simply adorable.
Ah I miss psbb!! :( I want to go back to school!!!!!
26. Apology letters. Was a funny concept. Don’t know what they were trying to get at. I think Subbi wrote an apology letter for not writing an apology letter!
27. Yeah as KV said, we had labs for everything. Math lab? English lab? We listened to someone talking in an American accent. Lol. Might have as well made us watch friends :P he he. Funny, but we didn’t have Sanskrit lab. It would have been hilarious.
28. Mohan sir ranting about Vedas, stopping for a few moments only to tell Dj and Subhashini to meet him after class. Lol.
29. Our English classes were absolute fun. Every year, we had a funny English teacher. 6th standard, it was ‘shree’ and then fill in the blanks Chitra Pandey. And Vikram Seth’s crocodile and the monkey poem. She read out one elephant poem with so much emo. Was hilarious. Then 7th std was Sybil. Can anyone forget her? She cut subbi’s hair in class one day. or was it vekram? Lol. She used to measure the hair length. She was always threatening us about internals. Like we care. But the funny thing is we did. We cared hard. And then it was 8th std with miss AVC and her lady bird. She spent a whole class defining the difference between a tragedy and a misfortune. And then there was Geeta Rajendran. Ogden Nash and the anorexic poem. Mazaaaaaaa was next. Lol… English classes were the best at PSBB. It wouldn’t be complete without mention Mrs Rani Chandran. Hats off to her. Shakespeare never sounded better. Merchant of Venice is still etched in my mind.
30. Another funny concept was volunteering. Much like what I am still doing, sadly. Running around for odds and ends. But it was fun then. Now it sucks. Maybe I’ve become old. Grey haired and toothless. Sigh.
31. Fancy dress competetions. I for one, wouldn’t mind doing that again. I remember A Rohit dressed up as the ariel patti. And I was some sort of a chef, I think, with a mousche and all, and an egg in my hand. Lol.
32. How could I have forgotten the TM classes? Lol! Lol! They told us the ‘mantra’ in secret . whispered it in our ears. And then we transcended. Up into heaven. Lol. They could have just distributed free weed if it was the detached loose feeling they wanted us to experience. Lol. Psbb would have been way more popular then :P
33. One of our hindi teachers was very unhappy with the way we used to rock the chairs. She said she would tie us up if we continued the habit. We were instructed to bring a rope and keep it in the class cupboard. Some freaking person actually got the freaking rope. I know. Because I was the one tied up the next day.
34. Salwars and canvas shoes. What a fashion statement. Correction- pink salwars and white canvas shoes. We were THE thing back then.
35. And then they decided to take the whole fashion thing to a new level. Changed it to the ones that resemble the onyx uniforms. Flouroscent and grey. Only they don’t glow. But thankfully I had moved on by then.
36. There was a time when we were referred to as ‘patani sundal bajji bonda suda suda sambhar’. Aka psbbsss.
37. And yes, like kv said, we always went to snake park. If not snake park, then the plan-ate-arium opposite it.
38. There was a weird rule that we couldn’t talk in tamil. Or rather I thought it was a rule. I and a few others followed it as if our lives depended on it. And the rest tried their level best to make us break it.
39. Our vice principal used to swallow the mike and spit it out everyday. I promise. Ask anyone. They will all concur.
40. Oh another one… if you knew a few bad words, you were ‘corrupted’. Lol.
41. We had to do a Radio show once. I remember meeting up in Vekram's place on a sunday and recording it. There was an interview with Dunston. I was the interviewer. And vekram was dunston. I had no idea what the script was. As I started asking questions, all Vekram said was Brr brr brrr. I laughed so hard for so long, that they had to threaten giving the part to someone else before I controlled myself. You can still hear the quiver in my voice though. That was mindblowing awesome. It came out so well.
42. There was this thing about writing the thought for the day on the board. And I was assigned the task of writing it. So each person in roll call order had to tell me each day what to write. I am short, and I cant reach the top of the board. When it was subbi's turn, he gave me the longest thought ever.On purpose. :(
43. Our school was all about flowers. Like some others are about rivers and world leaders. We were divided into red rose, bluebells, sunflower and lotus. Could have been a bit more innovative :P
44.And there was this other time when we used to go singing in the streets in december. Margazhi month.
45.Fights between boys and girls used to be hilarious. Freaking out of the world. Apart from just saying 'shut up ok' or jumpokotax or snubbed, the fighter and the fightee would have an extremely encouraging audience.
46. Although this has nothing to do with Psbb, would like to add this- After the tenth board exams, I went to school to meet all the teachers, and malathi sampathkumar maam looked at me, and asked - yenna ma un kannam ellam veengi poyiduthu? What the F****? Lol... :P
47. Computer science classes. Another huge big ass mess.They tried teaching us everything. All that I used to do was dab on paint brush :)
48. Post diwali used to be 'colour dress' day. Which basically meant we could come in our diwali clothes. That would be one sunny day :)
49. There were so many many sections in psbb. From A till M, and then they added N and another letter. But sadly there was no Q. I would have loved to be from Q.
50. In 2nd standard, I dont know how many will recall this. But we had seniors from 7th standard, coming and sit by us during the lunch break, to make sure we eat properly. They taught us how to use the napkin, the spoon, and how not to leave anything behind. I thought that was simply adorable.
Ah I miss psbb!! :( I want to go back to school!!!!!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Down the memory lane- Back to school
The best days of my life were spent in the classrooms and grounds of PSBB, KK Nagar. I would give anything to go back to that simple, uncomplicated and heavenly life. Still, looking back, there were times when I wouldn’t want to go to school, for silly reasons. I was always in a hurry to grow up. Looking back on some of the funny things that made our lives more interesting, funny and memorable.
This post is dedicated to all of us who went to school, and in particular to all psbbians, for they can relate to my post better! Cheers !!
1. Having to walk around with the constant fear that someone might say ‘kaa’ to you for some weird f?!@!&*ng reason and then you’d have to sit quietly waiting for the person to say ‘pazham’ again. Am so glad adults don’t behave that way.
2. Get excited about having similar, wait almost the same swim suit as your buddy, and everyone asking if you were sisters.
3. Getting teased with EVERY guy in the class. Wait, I think it was EVERY guy.
4. ‘Minding’ the class, and writing down the names of those kids who talked. What crap. And having to report it to the teacher.
5. Mindless gossip, that for some freaking weird reason always got to the teachers, and then having to hear them advise us on it.
6. Silly, mindless, useless and absolutely worthless project work.
7. Anniversary- that heartless bitch that used to visit us every year. They used to make us join the ‘celebrations’ by force. Threatening that we wont get internals. They made me say ‘govinda govinda’ one year. I was a crocodile one year, and a deer the other. The horror. The absolute horror.
8. Post anniversary- writing a freaking test on it! Come on! How absolutely ridiculous was that!
9. When there were people around you who used o get 99% in every other subject in every other exam, and still complain about how they didn’t do well. :P
10. Cycle tests. I never understood why it was called so. It wasn’t like we were sitting on cycles and writing them. Nor was it cyclical. It was at regular intervals. It didn’t make a circle, did it?
11. Oh they used to give us circulars, and ask parents to sign it. Nothing great. Asking for 5 rs for some thing. So we had to get 5 rs and get the freakin paper signed. And the class leader would collect it.
12. Assemblies. I think the entire veda was recited. No kidding. Prayers went on for 1 hour.
13. Guys wouldn’t talk to us. Funny right. Standing in a line, its pretty obvious that some guy has to stand behind some girl or vice versa. The girl wouldn’t usually have a problem, but the guys would leave a metre gap before standing behind the girl, any girl.
14. They suddenly got an idea akin to cycle tests- was called slip tests. We wrote on slips of paper. That’s it. Very unimaginative, wouldn’t you say?
15. Raksha bandhan days. The horror. If you were teased with a guy, and you didn’t like him, you were expected to tie it. Sadly that concept continues. A girl and boy cannot be friends. They have to be girl friend boy friend or they have to be brother sister. Never got the logic.
16. There was a time when saying ‘ok snubbed’ was a rage. I didn’t have any other vocabulary then.
17. He he. There was even something called line leaders. Lol. They had leaders for everything.
18. Sanskrit classes- I am so glad I don’t have to wish Fridays don’t exist. We had to ‘converse’ in Sanskrit those days. Partha sir, mohan sir! Hats off! They always made our classes hilarious, for different reasons of course!
19. Waiting for the school bus at freaking 7 30 am in the morning. And carrying millions of bags. The book bag, the lunch bag, then some plastic cover for the exam pad, the swimming suit. Felt like some porter.
20. They made everyone dance. Even completely ungraceful and butter fingery clumsy people like me. That too, that dance with the pot on the head. Forget what its called. They made us bring pots with mud in it. And my parents used to think it was a big deal. There was this time I had left it at home on purpose, but my dad chased the school bus all the way down till duraisamy subway to give it to me. Never felt so embarrassed in my life. Ever.
21. They had competitions for everything. It doesn’t feel too great to go over some of the books that say- ‘awarded to Miss Indu R for being first in yoga’. Lol. No one would believe it now. And look at me now. No, don’t hope even for a second that I will use this as a platform to tell you how much I weigh. No way in freaking hell.
22. But the best part was the vetti days, 3 days for anniversary, 3 days for project, science day, sports day, this day, that day. lol everything was a big deal. That’s why as I have already mentioned earlier, we wrote post tests on everything. He he.
23. Western music classes were fun though, sitting under the trees in the field and singing ‘kookoburrah sits on a old gum tree’ :P Samuel sir, if I remember right. Lovely days.
24. Oh I almost forgot the best part. Sharing a bench with the ‘partner’. Inevitably it used to be a person of the opposite sex. And he would draw a line exactly at the centre and say this half is mine and the other half yours. So my pencil cannot touch that side. If it does, there would be a blown up argument, with whatever word was in fashion then.
25. Losing pens , pencils and erasers everyday. Getting the protractor scratched. it used to bother me to no end. My friends would be amused seeing me despair over a lost eraser.
This post is dedicated to all of us who went to school, and in particular to all psbbians, for they can relate to my post better! Cheers !!
1. Having to walk around with the constant fear that someone might say ‘kaa’ to you for some weird f?!@!&*ng reason and then you’d have to sit quietly waiting for the person to say ‘pazham’ again. Am so glad adults don’t behave that way.
2. Get excited about having similar, wait almost the same swim suit as your buddy, and everyone asking if you were sisters.
3. Getting teased with EVERY guy in the class. Wait, I think it was EVERY guy.
4. ‘Minding’ the class, and writing down the names of those kids who talked. What crap. And having to report it to the teacher.
5. Mindless gossip, that for some freaking weird reason always got to the teachers, and then having to hear them advise us on it.
6. Silly, mindless, useless and absolutely worthless project work.
7. Anniversary- that heartless bitch that used to visit us every year. They used to make us join the ‘celebrations’ by force. Threatening that we wont get internals. They made me say ‘govinda govinda’ one year. I was a crocodile one year, and a deer the other. The horror. The absolute horror.
8. Post anniversary- writing a freaking test on it! Come on! How absolutely ridiculous was that!
9. When there were people around you who used o get 99% in every other subject in every other exam, and still complain about how they didn’t do well. :P
10. Cycle tests. I never understood why it was called so. It wasn’t like we were sitting on cycles and writing them. Nor was it cyclical. It was at regular intervals. It didn’t make a circle, did it?
11. Oh they used to give us circulars, and ask parents to sign it. Nothing great. Asking for 5 rs for some thing. So we had to get 5 rs and get the freakin paper signed. And the class leader would collect it.
12. Assemblies. I think the entire veda was recited. No kidding. Prayers went on for 1 hour.
13. Guys wouldn’t talk to us. Funny right. Standing in a line, its pretty obvious that some guy has to stand behind some girl or vice versa. The girl wouldn’t usually have a problem, but the guys would leave a metre gap before standing behind the girl, any girl.
14. They suddenly got an idea akin to cycle tests- was called slip tests. We wrote on slips of paper. That’s it. Very unimaginative, wouldn’t you say?
15. Raksha bandhan days. The horror. If you were teased with a guy, and you didn’t like him, you were expected to tie it. Sadly that concept continues. A girl and boy cannot be friends. They have to be girl friend boy friend or they have to be brother sister. Never got the logic.
16. There was a time when saying ‘ok snubbed’ was a rage. I didn’t have any other vocabulary then.
17. He he. There was even something called line leaders. Lol. They had leaders for everything.
18. Sanskrit classes- I am so glad I don’t have to wish Fridays don’t exist. We had to ‘converse’ in Sanskrit those days. Partha sir, mohan sir! Hats off! They always made our classes hilarious, for different reasons of course!
19. Waiting for the school bus at freaking 7 30 am in the morning. And carrying millions of bags. The book bag, the lunch bag, then some plastic cover for the exam pad, the swimming suit. Felt like some porter.
20. They made everyone dance. Even completely ungraceful and butter fingery clumsy people like me. That too, that dance with the pot on the head. Forget what its called. They made us bring pots with mud in it. And my parents used to think it was a big deal. There was this time I had left it at home on purpose, but my dad chased the school bus all the way down till duraisamy subway to give it to me. Never felt so embarrassed in my life. Ever.
21. They had competitions for everything. It doesn’t feel too great to go over some of the books that say- ‘awarded to Miss Indu R for being first in yoga’. Lol. No one would believe it now. And look at me now. No, don’t hope even for a second that I will use this as a platform to tell you how much I weigh. No way in freaking hell.
22. But the best part was the vetti days, 3 days for anniversary, 3 days for project, science day, sports day, this day, that day. lol everything was a big deal. That’s why as I have already mentioned earlier, we wrote post tests on everything. He he.
23. Western music classes were fun though, sitting under the trees in the field and singing ‘kookoburrah sits on a old gum tree’ :P Samuel sir, if I remember right. Lovely days.
24. Oh I almost forgot the best part. Sharing a bench with the ‘partner’. Inevitably it used to be a person of the opposite sex. And he would draw a line exactly at the centre and say this half is mine and the other half yours. So my pencil cannot touch that side. If it does, there would be a blown up argument, with whatever word was in fashion then.
25. Losing pens , pencils and erasers everyday. Getting the protractor scratched. it used to bother me to no end. My friends would be amused seeing me despair over a lost eraser.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
An Entropic Rant
We, as ordinary people haven’t seen an atom decay. We may not have even seen a building collapse. You and I were born in the 1980’s.We haven’t seen much of anarchy as well. We might have been used to the topsy turvy mess of a place that most of us live in. the kind of place where we would look for the tooth brush under the bed, or a book under the pillow, or fresh clothes in the laundry basket. The death of a relationship. The pandemonium that follows when you wake up late for the exam. Curly unruly hair that has taken an oath to disobey you. When you suddenly realize you have started talking to yourself. Yes, I am going through that phase now. If you see me talking to myself, turn the other way and pretend I am on the invisible phone. When you know not, where you are supposed to be, and what you have to do. When everything is directionless, aimless, and with no goal in sight. That’s sadly how most of us live our days.
Chaos is the end result of many emotions. Sadness, the death of a relationship when every cell in your body feels the pain of separation. It could be ecstacy, the kind you see on the last day of an exam, when students usually burn history text books. Or the other ecstacy, the smoking weed kind. It could be because of confusion, searching for a tissue in the garbage can, because that’s where you think you stored his number. The guy from the previous night. Or not knowing how you landed up in someone else’s bed. Fear. Fear of unreal things, fear of chaos itself. Fear of feeling chaos. Fear of experiencing moments of decay, and disorder. Letting something else other than rules rule you. Hatred. when even the perfect bouquet of roses that he sent irritates you so much that you hate everything that has any form or order to it. Love. Love can be chaotic. Love is meaningless. But chaos has meaning. Chaos is the order of the universe. Everything decays, everything deteriorates. Everyone dies. Nothing lasts forever. People who say that are lying. Hope- the anti thesis of chaos. We hope for everything to make sense. To have a meaning. If I wanted, I could think of why I am writing this. But sometimes there is no meaning. Maybe what I’m writing has no content. Longing. Longing to see a dead loved one again. Can never happen, but still the feeling persists. Why? Why would you want to do something that you know is not possible? I’ve always wanted to go to the centre of the earth. Even the tiniest atom in me wont survive the journey to the centre of the earth. Its irrational, and obviously not the order of the universe, otherwise all of us would be making night trips there. Anger. Do any of us actually need a reason to be angry? I can be angry because the sun happens to set in the west everyday. I can be angry for letting darkness set in for half the day.
Each emotion usually leads to an action. Unless you are a sanyasi. In which case you wouldn’t be reading my blog. In which case you wouldn’t know me. Emotion and action. They don’t have to be related. An anger outburst could just be the opening of the lacrimal tap. Ecstacy could be a dance- a tribal type one, or a ballet. Who cares. No one does. Another rule of life. No one cares. Believe me. No one does. No one cares what dress you’re wearing.They just want to know if you are making them feel ill dressed or gorgeous. No one cares if you didn’t sleep last night or eat. No one cares if you’re not interested. Liars usually unknowingly sometimes tell the truth. I believe them more than truthers. People who die to know the truth, will accept any form of it. They don’t care. It should just be meaningful. And any sentence can be full of meaning. Just need a few prepositions, a noun and a verb. See I just wrote a whole blog. And if you are a soul searching fanatic like me this would make a lot of meaning.
Chaos is the end result of many emotions. Sadness, the death of a relationship when every cell in your body feels the pain of separation. It could be ecstacy, the kind you see on the last day of an exam, when students usually burn history text books. Or the other ecstacy, the smoking weed kind. It could be because of confusion, searching for a tissue in the garbage can, because that’s where you think you stored his number. The guy from the previous night. Or not knowing how you landed up in someone else’s bed. Fear. Fear of unreal things, fear of chaos itself. Fear of feeling chaos. Fear of experiencing moments of decay, and disorder. Letting something else other than rules rule you. Hatred. when even the perfect bouquet of roses that he sent irritates you so much that you hate everything that has any form or order to it. Love. Love can be chaotic. Love is meaningless. But chaos has meaning. Chaos is the order of the universe. Everything decays, everything deteriorates. Everyone dies. Nothing lasts forever. People who say that are lying. Hope- the anti thesis of chaos. We hope for everything to make sense. To have a meaning. If I wanted, I could think of why I am writing this. But sometimes there is no meaning. Maybe what I’m writing has no content. Longing. Longing to see a dead loved one again. Can never happen, but still the feeling persists. Why? Why would you want to do something that you know is not possible? I’ve always wanted to go to the centre of the earth. Even the tiniest atom in me wont survive the journey to the centre of the earth. Its irrational, and obviously not the order of the universe, otherwise all of us would be making night trips there. Anger. Do any of us actually need a reason to be angry? I can be angry because the sun happens to set in the west everyday. I can be angry for letting darkness set in for half the day.
Each emotion usually leads to an action. Unless you are a sanyasi. In which case you wouldn’t be reading my blog. In which case you wouldn’t know me. Emotion and action. They don’t have to be related. An anger outburst could just be the opening of the lacrimal tap. Ecstacy could be a dance- a tribal type one, or a ballet. Who cares. No one does. Another rule of life. No one cares. Believe me. No one does. No one cares what dress you’re wearing.They just want to know if you are making them feel ill dressed or gorgeous. No one cares if you didn’t sleep last night or eat. No one cares if you’re not interested. Liars usually unknowingly sometimes tell the truth. I believe them more than truthers. People who die to know the truth, will accept any form of it. They don’t care. It should just be meaningful. And any sentence can be full of meaning. Just need a few prepositions, a noun and a verb. See I just wrote a whole blog. And if you are a soul searching fanatic like me this would make a lot of meaning.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
ATMs,pins and me
Oh man after that perfectly cheesy poem I think I should lighten the mood, and my head. What was I thinking?
There is no algorithm for life, is there? You plan one, and another happens. Those who believe in god would say- man proposes and god disposes. Its chaos and entropy all over. The domino effect- everything falls when one does. Life is anarchy. Life is chaos. Chaos is life. Chaos as the order of the universe.
Yes, I am slightly absent minded. Scatter brained, and a bit of miss butter fingers as well. Makes for a lot of entertainment, I suppose. But everyone has their flaws, don’t they? And in this universe of entropy, a single atom such as me adding more chaos wont make too much of a difference to the laws of energy, I hope. Of course, most of it is circumstantial, or so I would like to believe. It always happens to me. There was this time, when I forgot my atm password. Not my fault, really. To my defence, 9th semester sessionals were on, and I had also sprained my talo fibulars. Loser ligaments. They always tear. Never trust them. Don’t make any plans with them. Hopeless weak ligaments. Anyway, someone else had used my pin, so I had to change it, or so I was told. So I did. Again bad idea. Never disrespect your own mind. And I do remember withdrawing money after that once. Then a flood of exams drowned me, so it was almost a week after that I had the need and desire to spend some money. And so there I went, confidently to the atm. And guess what? Incorrect password. Now I remember it had 4 digits that were placed together on the board. And so I tried all possible combinations. But I got locked out. Damn. So I scratched my head, and came up with the same password I had typed in the first time. Obviously it had no effect. Then I decided to go to the bank. Told the guy there. He said sorry maam you will have to remember it. Dude. I just said I forgot. No maam he said, you will have to remember. Somehow. Sorry. What the #$$%? Where in the world is this guy from? I was so amused with his logic, I forgot to be angry. I laughed and walked away. Anyway when I went back after a week, after trying to remember the stupid pin, despite medicine surgery and obg, and of course orthopaedics, they said it would take a month for them to issue a new one. Okay! He could have saved me a week! Anyway, I thought in the meantime I’d use my other account. So I strode in to the ICICI atm, but I had no hopes. I knew I wouldn’t have it. Hoped against hope. No way I’d remember. But I tried. I promise. But I guess you know what the verdict was. Incorrect pin. Damn. That was quick. Two pin mishaps in less than two weeks. I must be a pro. I am. I know. Anyway, that reminds me, has anyone ever felt that even though the sbi atms have a touch screen, you have to literally bang the screen ? they should rename it. Bang screen. The latest bang technology. Awesome. And there ended my adventure. Now my mother knows my pin. To be on the safer side. And no one need to look in my phone. Am not that moronic to save it in there. Although I said that, we know I am perfectly capable of an absurd act such as that. Its my topsy turvy world. Mind, I mean. And no, you’re not going to be my pin’s keeper. Lol.
There is no algorithm for life, is there? You plan one, and another happens. Those who believe in god would say- man proposes and god disposes. Its chaos and entropy all over. The domino effect- everything falls when one does. Life is anarchy. Life is chaos. Chaos is life. Chaos as the order of the universe.
Yes, I am slightly absent minded. Scatter brained, and a bit of miss butter fingers as well. Makes for a lot of entertainment, I suppose. But everyone has their flaws, don’t they? And in this universe of entropy, a single atom such as me adding more chaos wont make too much of a difference to the laws of energy, I hope. Of course, most of it is circumstantial, or so I would like to believe. It always happens to me. There was this time, when I forgot my atm password. Not my fault, really. To my defence, 9th semester sessionals were on, and I had also sprained my talo fibulars. Loser ligaments. They always tear. Never trust them. Don’t make any plans with them. Hopeless weak ligaments. Anyway, someone else had used my pin, so I had to change it, or so I was told. So I did. Again bad idea. Never disrespect your own mind. And I do remember withdrawing money after that once. Then a flood of exams drowned me, so it was almost a week after that I had the need and desire to spend some money. And so there I went, confidently to the atm. And guess what? Incorrect password. Now I remember it had 4 digits that were placed together on the board. And so I tried all possible combinations. But I got locked out. Damn. So I scratched my head, and came up with the same password I had typed in the first time. Obviously it had no effect. Then I decided to go to the bank. Told the guy there. He said sorry maam you will have to remember it. Dude. I just said I forgot. No maam he said, you will have to remember. Somehow. Sorry. What the #$$%? Where in the world is this guy from? I was so amused with his logic, I forgot to be angry. I laughed and walked away. Anyway when I went back after a week, after trying to remember the stupid pin, despite medicine surgery and obg, and of course orthopaedics, they said it would take a month for them to issue a new one. Okay! He could have saved me a week! Anyway, I thought in the meantime I’d use my other account. So I strode in to the ICICI atm, but I had no hopes. I knew I wouldn’t have it. Hoped against hope. No way I’d remember. But I tried. I promise. But I guess you know what the verdict was. Incorrect pin. Damn. That was quick. Two pin mishaps in less than two weeks. I must be a pro. I am. I know. Anyway, that reminds me, has anyone ever felt that even though the sbi atms have a touch screen, you have to literally bang the screen ? they should rename it. Bang screen. The latest bang technology. Awesome. And there ended my adventure. Now my mother knows my pin. To be on the safer side. And no one need to look in my phone. Am not that moronic to save it in there. Although I said that, we know I am perfectly capable of an absurd act such as that. Its my topsy turvy world. Mind, I mean. And no, you’re not going to be my pin’s keeper. Lol.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
A letter to Happiness
Its you, its you I dream of all day
For it has been too long, too long
Since you blessed me with your presence
My memories of you are receeding
Like the faint shadow of the sun
Tarrying its descent into the sea
Or the lingering smell of the scorched earth
That has been kissed by the virgin monsoon
I bask in the glory of that which was
That which should’nt have been
That which swept me off my feet
And carried me far far away
Where I knew nothing but you
Take me again, take me back there
For its you, and only you
Who knows the way back to Elysium
The way back to our moment
The way back to my past and future
The way back to the same place
That I long to revisit
Where there is a rainbow in the sky
Where the birds are forever singing
Where the sun will never go down
Where we will never lose each other
Where the only tears we would see
Are the drops of dew glistening
In the first rays of the morning sun
Or the river weeping quietly as she
Leaves her home to join the sea
Where the lions know not ferocity
Where the peacocks know not pride
Where I know nothing but you
Where you are my only truth
Where its just you and me
For now and for ever
Come. Come, take me away
To that distant place
Where no one else can find us
Ah, to be lost in your caress forever
Make my dream come true.
For it has been too long, too long
Since you blessed me with your presence
My memories of you are receeding
Like the faint shadow of the sun
Tarrying its descent into the sea
Or the lingering smell of the scorched earth
That has been kissed by the virgin monsoon
I bask in the glory of that which was
That which should’nt have been
That which swept me off my feet
And carried me far far away
Where I knew nothing but you
Take me again, take me back there
For its you, and only you
Who knows the way back to Elysium
The way back to our moment
The way back to my past and future
The way back to the same place
That I long to revisit
Where there is a rainbow in the sky
Where the birds are forever singing
Where the sun will never go down
Where we will never lose each other
Where the only tears we would see
Are the drops of dew glistening
In the first rays of the morning sun
Or the river weeping quietly as she
Leaves her home to join the sea
Where the lions know not ferocity
Where the peacocks know not pride
Where I know nothing but you
Where you are my only truth
Where its just you and me
For now and for ever
Come. Come, take me away
To that distant place
Where no one else can find us
Ah, to be lost in your caress forever
Make my dream come true.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
A day as a Medicine Intern
A day typically begins by rushing to the hospital sans breakfast, sans tea/coffee, ie on an empty stomach. There usually is no time for ‘getting ready’. One just grabs the steth, the knee hammer, the inch tape, and the file. The file to be noted here, is the most important part of an intern’s life. There maybe some modifications to the file. Some people prefer a book that serves the same purpose. But really it doesn’t matter. For it is the contents of the file or any modified version of the same that is the most important. It should ideally contain no less than 30 biochemistry requisition forms, 30 hematology forms. That is the basic necessity. The other contents depend on the type of intern that you are. If you are the enthusiastic, hard working breed, then you would burden yourself with 30 of all forms, of all possible colours available, and be ready to jump when your professor asks for the same. Now, there is another variety, the I’m least bothered kind. They usually walk in cooly and calmly and fetch the forms whenever they have been asked from the sister’s station. Both fulfill their duties, but for some reason, the perky ones who carry everything are generally preferred by the post graduates. Anyway, carrying a knee hammer and inch tape is also optional, usually no one cares. But sometimes it makes me feel like I have an alternative vocation, so I generally carry them. You know, can always become a tailor or a carpenter, I guess. And so, well prepared or not, one reaches the hospital. On the way, one would usually receive calls from the post graduates asking where in the world you are. And then further instructions would ensue, usually to record the blood pressure of one patient on the 3rd floor, and another on the ground floor of another block. And so you go to begin the day. In the meantime, there is another job to be done. Collecting reports. Half the time the server would be down. The other half, the computer will be occupied by another fellow species. With a lot of dark looks, and angry stares, you finally manage to get rid of the other intern so you can do your work. And the long tedious process of collecting reports start. You think you’ve got them all, but you will be disappointed later. And then the rounds start. That is usually the time you find out that your co-intern has not showed up for work that day. And that is how you go back to collecting reports again. Its basically akin to a dog. Throw something, and say fetch, the dog will fetch. It’s the fetch game. Anyway back to rounds, its really something. You have to be in it to believe it. The casualty usually resembles a railway station or a fish market, if you may in the morning. It’s the starting point for all units and hence its pure, unadulterated chaos. And after that is basically running around in the unit train, stopping where it stops, and playing fetch with the occupants. Of course, you will have to remember, you also have to double in the role of a typist as and when required. Its non optional. By this time however, your stomach is rolling and growling in pure agony, your legs ache, there is complete mind body disassociation. And yet you lug along, wondering why you even took up medicine. You feel like you are swimming in a sea of urea, creatinine and haemoglobin. Yuck. Anyway, depending on a multitude of variables, you do get to go for lunch. The funny thing is on most days, by the time morning rounds are over, its time for evening rounds. And then its handwriting practice time! Go around the entire hospital one more time to write orders! Combines physical exercise as well. C’s usually resemble e’s and t’s resemble I’s, and even though you know for sure, you’re writing exactly the opposite, you still go on writing. And just when you think you are done for the day, contemplating some alcohol to steady the nerves, you get another call. You are required to accompany a patient to the CT/MRI room. If you are wondering what exactly your role there is, my advise is not to get too excited, because all you will be asked to do probably is make the patient drink 3 l of water. I swear this happened once. Another painful and highly exasperating task is taking the sick patient to the dialysis room. You can be called at any time of the day. And again the funny thing is you have acquired no skills to manage the patient if anything happens. And you keep praying for the next 3 hours-‘please don’t die, please don’t die’. And that is how you manage to get the patient out alive. And you’re self.
PS: any relation to any person living or dead is purely intentional. But it has all been mentioned in jest, so no hard feelings anyone!
PS: any relation to any person living or dead is purely intentional. But it has all been mentioned in jest, so no hard feelings anyone!
Friday, July 31, 2009
The Language of the Ocean
THE LANGUAGE OF THE OCEAN
The wind lashed across my face, pulling my hair in different directions. As I tried my best to stop my tresses from going beserk, salty greasy water sprayed over my face, and I made an effort not to be disgusted at the taste it had to offer. I watched the waves tide. It had been quite sometime and I had gotten used to the incessant splashing noise. In fact I was quite oblivious to it. It seemed like everything was quiet. Silence. A different kind. Not the kind of a pregnant silence that would make you restless, or an oppressive suffocating one. This was silence in the true sense. Maybe that is the language of the ocean.
I could’nt help but wonder at the monotony that the ocean has to offer, but surprisingly it doesn’t seem to lessen my interest. The vast expanse of almost nothing seemed to envelope in a friendly hug. As if the entire universe wanted to embrace me. I felt at peace, and drowned myself in the caress of the ocean.
I lifted my eyes grudgingly away from the splendour of the waters, that twinkled like the ocean was laughing at my innocent and admiring eyes, I couldn’t help but look at the horizon. The variegated horizon, the thin line between the sky and the sea. It seemed to exert a stormy influence on the otherwise calm ocean. The sun peeped out, shyly, appearing as if it were to melt into the darkness.
The waves hit the rocks with a splash. It reminded me of a bubble that slowly forms, caustiously, judging its imminent fate, and then all of a sudden, it bursts, before I could take in its beauty. Aren’t most of our dreams like that? And it is the sound of the bubbling bursting or the tide collapsing and hitting the rocks that hurts the most. The poor bubble, little did it know that it was formed only to be burst. But still the ocean perseveres. It sends out more and more waves. Each one approaches the shore with a certain expectant silence and then suddenly whacks the rocks. Then the sea tries to recede, like it was hurt from the shock, trying to withdraw into its own shell, but nonetheless there is always another wave. The sea seems hesitant to let go and tries its level best to stick to the shore, but finally gives up and gracefully recedes. There is something so beautiful in the way it recedes, its like a diamond on failure's forehead. The numerous fine crystals of sand twinkle in frothy mirth, laughing at the futile attempts that the ocean makes to come in union with the shore.
Waves form in succession, break in succession. This happens everyday. The horizon never manages to dip into the ocean and the waters never reach the shore.
Knowing that you're almost there, just another step, but never reaching there. Because with consummation comes satisfaction, and it is satisfaction indeed that is the mother of all dissatisfaction. Keats once said in his poem, only those who have experienced sadness will know what happiness is. To extrapolate that, I guess only those who have failed and have experienced discontent can define success and satisfaction. The sight of the resplendent sun gracefully being engulfed by the calm and serene blue ocean surpasses any other in space and time. It’s a spectacle that will always leave me speechless.
The wind lashed across my face, pulling my hair in different directions. As I tried my best to stop my tresses from going beserk, salty greasy water sprayed over my face, and I made an effort not to be disgusted at the taste it had to offer. I watched the waves tide. It had been quite sometime and I had gotten used to the incessant splashing noise. In fact I was quite oblivious to it. It seemed like everything was quiet. Silence. A different kind. Not the kind of a pregnant silence that would make you restless, or an oppressive suffocating one. This was silence in the true sense. Maybe that is the language of the ocean.
I could’nt help but wonder at the monotony that the ocean has to offer, but surprisingly it doesn’t seem to lessen my interest. The vast expanse of almost nothing seemed to envelope in a friendly hug. As if the entire universe wanted to embrace me. I felt at peace, and drowned myself in the caress of the ocean.
I lifted my eyes grudgingly away from the splendour of the waters, that twinkled like the ocean was laughing at my innocent and admiring eyes, I couldn’t help but look at the horizon. The variegated horizon, the thin line between the sky and the sea. It seemed to exert a stormy influence on the otherwise calm ocean. The sun peeped out, shyly, appearing as if it were to melt into the darkness.
The waves hit the rocks with a splash. It reminded me of a bubble that slowly forms, caustiously, judging its imminent fate, and then all of a sudden, it bursts, before I could take in its beauty. Aren’t most of our dreams like that? And it is the sound of the bubbling bursting or the tide collapsing and hitting the rocks that hurts the most. The poor bubble, little did it know that it was formed only to be burst. But still the ocean perseveres. It sends out more and more waves. Each one approaches the shore with a certain expectant silence and then suddenly whacks the rocks. Then the sea tries to recede, like it was hurt from the shock, trying to withdraw into its own shell, but nonetheless there is always another wave. The sea seems hesitant to let go and tries its level best to stick to the shore, but finally gives up and gracefully recedes. There is something so beautiful in the way it recedes, its like a diamond on failure's forehead. The numerous fine crystals of sand twinkle in frothy mirth, laughing at the futile attempts that the ocean makes to come in union with the shore.
Waves form in succession, break in succession. This happens everyday. The horizon never manages to dip into the ocean and the waters never reach the shore.
Knowing that you're almost there, just another step, but never reaching there. Because with consummation comes satisfaction, and it is satisfaction indeed that is the mother of all dissatisfaction. Keats once said in his poem, only those who have experienced sadness will know what happiness is. To extrapolate that, I guess only those who have failed and have experienced discontent can define success and satisfaction. The sight of the resplendent sun gracefully being engulfed by the calm and serene blue ocean surpasses any other in space and time. It’s a spectacle that will always leave me speechless.
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