Medicine Emergency…

26 05 2009

So I should’ve written this sooner… but what is life without the delayed epiphany or two?

Medicine Emergency. 12 hours non stop of people telling you about various forms of “ghabrahat” in otherwise whatever’s-the-opposite-of-disgruntled organs and appendages of their body.
Medicine Emergency. The place where life-long bonds are formed out of a mutual understanding of “NOTHING”.
Medicine Emergency. The place where boys become men; and girls… well… medical colleges don’t have many anyway.

Medicine Emergency. Where miracles are borne out of a lack of death; and reality exists in just such death.

Seems they finally managed to make me a doctor. It was a slow and painful process. I’m still feeling the aftershocks of the conversion from “My God! Blood!” to “My God! What veins!”. I’m also finally comfortable enough to make irrelevant inside jokes about the topic.
But I won’t… don’t want to… get used to death. Especially when it takes “life” away. No, that remark is not blondish. Life, it seems, has its degrees.

And now that I finally finally know what I’m doing…
Medicine Emergency. May hope prevail.





Dud on the dance floor…

30 03 2009

“We”, the educated lot of us, had to dance yesterday. And while this doesn’t usually pose to be a problem for anyone with sufficient education and/or adequate amounts of alcohol in their bloodstreams, me myself and I stand sufficiently excluded.

Depressing really.

I mean, how hard is it to shake the appropriate bodily appendage(s) in a manner that is intimidating and yet admirable? Yet, I find my choreography an embarrassing cross between 80 year old Hindi movie item songs and Paris Hilton “acting” in all her movies.

Still, I was profoundly affected by the symphony reflected in those deep eyes…
Rendered directionless at the mere thought of losing sight of them even momentarily…
Capable of spending each single imperfect eternity to follow wishing just to return their gaze…
And also, by then, utterly delusional by the lack of edible food at the gathering.

Dancing it was to be, then…

Ever heard of superheroes whose powers show in times of great need? Apparently I’m no exception. Only instead of super-strength, colourful-on-top-chaddis and cheesy inspirational lines, I’m more of the going to save the world using… er… the fearsome power of FREESTYLE BHANGRA! (Yes, this sounded a lot better in my head).

Now, for the uninitiated i.e. those who’ve forever lived underneath their nearest large rock and have never seen a Daler Mehendi video, freestyle bhangra is an ancient art which involves flapping vigorously around every joint and fold that God saw it fit to provide you with.
A simpler explanation is perhaps to imagine how you’d move if it itched like hell … with music playing in the background, of course.
No, seriously.

And so I danced. It wasn’t the prettiest thing ever. No. It was rather the kind of stuff I can write bestseller three-quarters-of-a-paragraph haiku poems making fun of. But I’m glad I did.
I know I wasn’t the worst dancer on the floor. I also know everyone else was too drunk to notice or remember. (Note to self: Must try alcohol before displaying super power in future.)

The things we are inspired to do, really…





Epiphany…

16 03 2009

That’s biblical for ‘revelation’.
Writing this, I’m sitting in the same place as yesterday and day before, and yet… my butt feels different.

The questions are essentially all the same… but writing this right now, I feel the answers have suddenly changed. Or maybe just the process of finding them has.

I’m going to hold on to this.
Thy kingdom come.





(K)Epoch no more…

8 12 2008

So they finally ended with “Kyunki…” the other day. I hear there was widespread panic and chaos on the streets. Bulletproof thickness saree and makeup vendors went on hunger strikes across the nation, genealogists the world over finally took an easier breath. Hell… even (k)Ekta probably didn’t have to go to bed wondering about who to impregnate next.

But it got me thinking… what now? I don’t think the single largest phenomenon in the Indian TV industry would go away simply like this. No… it would have to linger like any self respecting bad rash.
A new channel is just the beginning. I can see whole assembly lines jammed with products screaming “decadent society” with the “Baa” soundtrack playing full blast in the background (I obviously hate the fact that even my imagination is showing me triple takes of the aforementioned assembly lines)

What can we come to expect? Hell… only the uncertainty principle knows. But I thought of a few such knick knacks during my free time… Here goes….

The Mihir Kondom
Guaranteed to malfunction. Paternity and all its benefits are never that far with one use of our celebrated contraceptive device.
Expect one new off-spring showing up every 3 to 4 episodes… Err… days.

Baa anti-aging creams
Now that previously unassailable age of 210 is not that difficult to achieve. Or hide. Remain young forever. Torture even your great-great-great grandkids with stupid jokes and flower wilting background music.

Tulsi action figures
As good with a six shooter as they are with a soup ladle. This is just what you need for the persistently dissatisfied “confused about his sex” kid. Also come highly recommended for those who’d like to have the (by now) highly deserved pleasure of breaking off her arms and legs.

Script toilet paper
Tired of your toilet paper roll running out just when you need it the most? Fear no more. These new toilet paper rolls can be extended indefinitely, just like the script of our favourite-favourite show. And the extension is no longer limited even by context, relevance and common sense.

Not to be confused with toilet paper script or script in the toilet.

I’d come up with more… only I’m afraid of the marketing blitz I’d end up unleashing upon the unsuspecting public. And God knows what they’ve had unleashed upon themselves already.





Youth for… Equality?

4 06 2008

This is a great nation. I’ve believed in this each single day growing up. But today, as I look upon the students who sit on the grounds of the Maulana Azad Medical College, I find my beliefs shaken.

I’m forced to think about what we’ve made of ourselves. About what we’ve come to accept as an inseparable part of our lives. About how we look upon political scheming with the same indifference as we’d look upon a porthole on the roads.

I talk today about what is currently a small movement. Small perhaps, in quantity, but not in spirit. I talk to you about a movement that intends to change the course of history.

Two years ago, we fought long and hard. We knew we were right. We knew that the course taken by a select few would jeopardize many millions in the few years to come and weaken the country in so many more ways in the long run.

It was understood then, as it is understood now, that caste was a fundamentally wrong thing. A disease, which as long as it wasn’t cured, would continue its course into apathy and anarchy.
We did what we could and the government did what it had to.

And when it was all said and done, we vested our faith in the judiciary. Our faith was vindicated.

Two years later, we’re back where we started.
For those who joined in late, the Supreme Court, while allowing 27% quota for the OBCs of the country, was also of the opinion that the creamy layer (inclusive of educational forwards – graduates) be left out.

We accepted this judgment as a step in the right direction. Mr. Arjun Singh, wannabe monarch, however, citing the UPA “allies”, felt that such authority over his personal whims and fancies was unacceptable.
The court order was therefore, quietly interpreted differently.

The 2.5 Lakh Rupees limit to define the creamy layer was the first thing considered expendable.
Why? Maybe Mr. Singh’s statement to the Press Trust of India detailing his immense understanding of political gain should be some answer.

Post graduate reservations were the next thing to go.
Of course, one wishes to consider that an OBC graduate has gone to the same institution, has read the same books and has been taught by the same people; and should, therefore no longer be “backward”. But not Mr. Singh. Not the UPA allies.

And that’s where we stand, pending further intervention by Supreme Court.

We rejoice in calling ourselves the largest democracy in the world. A nation that cherishes every ideal having to do with being equal, being united and being in control of its own destiny.

Of course, we willfully ignore the fact that our system of Government is corrupt at nearly every level; that your surname makes you Prime Minister; that social justice today is no different than minority appeasement; and that in spite of what happens, we’re just too “pure” to be bothered by it.

This must change.

After 60 years of independence, India once again stands at a crucial juncture. Only this time the people who would divide us for selfish gain are our very own. In every other respect, the fight now is as the fight was then.

Failure then would’ve meant remaining a mere colony. Failure now means taking away the promise of a future from a country poised to influence the world.

The questions then, are simply this…

WHY aren’t we willing to understand that the system is for us, and not the other way round? WHY have we reduced ourselves to letting this nation crumble because we might have to go out of our way? And most importantly, WHY are we willing to accept this failure?

You’re right you know, you don’t have an answer.

But we’d like to think we do. Our country sacrificed a lot into making us what we are today. We are indebted.
And a debt such as this isn’t repaid with silence.

We, a very small group of people who know what is wrong, now fight for a billion who might not know until it’s too late. Our fight is not with a caste or a community. It is towards removing the fact that there ARE castes and communities.
We fight now, because we believe that something is truly wrong with letting someone get away with putting his own self before the country.

Because we fear that through our silence, mediocrity will take over excellence forever.
Because we believe that if God made us alike, a politician has no business telling us we’re different.

Some tell us that our fight is for naught. That people who’re actually in a position to decide, have decided. And whatever we do now will only affect us adversely. I can only point out to them how similar that sounds to what every Indian would’ve heard in the years from 1857 to 1947.

Note: This post is a requiem of sorts. The movement was called off last Saturday due to lack of support. But you know… we tried. Did you?





Shakespeare, it ain’t….

17 05 2008

I wrote a poem. It’s amazing what people will do when they’re emotionally deprived and have spare time to prove it.
I called that poem “Soul food”. It’s amazing what you can do with such a topic. Only my poem didn’t come out sounding anything like the topic.
Therefore, I renamed it. And so, here’s the amazing…

BATMAN AND ROBIN
(Don’t ask. It was 3 in the night and I was emotionally deprived (d-uh)).

To the woman I love;
to the way she is.
To each receding moment;
and each conceded kiss.

Through stupid poetry and words made to rhyme;
I tell you now of this.
How one may live through another;
and each conceded kiss.

For each eternity apart;
just how much I miss.
You touch, your being, your mind, your soul;
and each conceded kiss.

Not past, not future;
Not a single moment of bliss.
I live for you, for the present;
and each conceded kiss.

Footnotes:
a) I was thinking about taking it to 5 paragraphs. But I was only left with “piss”. Pun unintended.
b) The Batman and Robin is not a reference to any form of emotional deprivation. It just sounds cool.
c) Yes, I was thinking about “Each conceded kiss” too. Too predictable though.
d) My English teacher would kill me if she saw the double parenthesis.
e) If you like this poem. You’re just my kind of woman. But you already know that.





The noose…

10 02 2008

Alright, I admit. I dozed off at the keyboard. I also woke up to more gibberish than Pavarotti would find in a Spice girls concert. But since all good turns usually deserve another, I guess waking up can only mean the reincarnation of my (not just yet) award winning clunky (and more notably chunky) writing style.

Now where was I? Ah yes… So much has happened….

My bro got married. That is to say someone finally came along who could ignore the bad and well… ignore it some more. I got to wear formal clothing and get compliments from women I’d rather not repeat here (yes… family blog – so sue me). On the flip side, we’ve forever lost him to the demons of no-video-games-because-you’re-just-not-suited-anymore. Sigh. Another good man bites the dust. Nevertheless, I guess now we wait for the next gen. Pun unintended.

(Update: It has come to my esteemed attention that he spends most of the entire day on his PS2. All hail the lost cause! Dear brother, I’m sorry to have ever doubted you)

My computer finally decided to blow. Quite literally. Apparently brown smoke coming out of a CPU is a bad sign (what will they come up with next?). But rest assured… I now have a shiny new PC to perpetuate the same unmentionable stuff with. All hail! I also hope this explains my relative passivity to my dedicated readers. All one of them.

Tata launched the Nano. It’s small, cheap and has the capacity to swarm empty space. Suffice to say, we don’t quite see the irony in calling it the “Car of India”.

Sarkozy is marrying (or has married) Bruni. Quite frankly, “Pitega saala”. Having said that, my imagination fails me when I try and compare our beloved Prez to him (and her). It not only just fails me, it brings to mind a tender reminiscence of the time when I had way too many Chola Bhaturas and had to run for cover. Intriguing.

And oh yes, final (some say terminal) year started. I’m coming to understand the perspective of the latter school of thought. I’m also oh so happy to report that I’m falling in love with aloo ka parathas all over again. That explain the title for you?

I’ll continue this when I have the inclination. Until then it’s back to the unmentionable stuff.

The wonders of technology…. sigh..





In understanding…

1 12 2007

To know me is to love me… Ever heard that one?
I have. I’ve believed in it. I’ve held it close to my heart. And I’ve used it as an explanation for every disappointment I’ve ever had. That and the fact that people are idiots.

And as much as I still agree with the latter, I’m afraid the time has come to reconsider the former. If you know me, you’ll know I’m not that big on the reconsidering. I don’t exactly have have rethink Saturdays and reestablish Sundays.
But still, I wish to ask…
What if we knew others to love them? Or better yet, didn’t care beyond a point?
Would we be somehow happier? More fulfilled?

I wish I knew.
And if you know me, you’ll know that’s rather a problem.

P.s. People are huge idiots. And you can quote me.





More exams…

26 11 2007

I write about exams a lot. So sue me. I HAVE exams a lot.

Nevertheless, today was last-theory-exam-for-quite-sometime day. The kind of day that reaffirms your faith in God. The kind that poets usually write about (No, not the suicidal poets – they stick with mid exam days). The kind of day that is just perfect; possibly because we don’t know any better.

But since irony is a dish best served as dessert (yes, I made that one up. Do not go through your phraseology books. You’ll be sorry you’re geeky enough to even buy a phraseology book.) :
We had an earthquake at 4 in the morning. Shaky start.
The question paper was set by a death eater. Wobbly middle.
I’ve just woken up hence. Balancing act.

I’m sure there was a point to this when I started it. But it probably wasn’t a very good one.
Now where’s that only-practicals-for-sometime datesheet?





Say cheese…

16 11 2007

I’m happy today. I don’t have a reason for being happy. There’s no tangible cause. No memory to hold on to. Nothing even I choose to have inspire me.
I’m just… happy.
Ironically enough, it feels happier now than it ever has. The present seems without question, without condition and without fear of ending. It seems without the confinement of reason and the lifespan of contentment. It feels just the way it should feel. Like the present. The one I always promised myself I’d have when I had all of the above.

It could simply be just the denial of them exams coming. That has been known to happen. Maybe it’s the anti-depressants the maid put in the food in trying to poison me. I never trusted her. Hell, maybe it’s just someone somewhere remembering me fondly. I possibly paid them back the money they owed me.

But maybe… just maybe… it’s something else.
Remind me to put the introspection on hold in the near future. Seems worth it.