aloque

It was a dark night. The gathering clouds had made sure of that.  It seemed that the earth, after a few million years of invariant attitude, decided it was time for a change and had suddenly veered off its axis.

 Unseasonal lightning lashed the night sky and left behind a purplish hue, contrasting sharply, beautifully, with the amber lighted domes of the hospital building, a sight that he'd have appreciated on another day. 

The parched earth rushed up into the midnight air to meet the falling raindrops, its sweet smell obliterating the familiar Musi stench. Thousands around him forgot the vagaries of everyday life as they took a deep breath that invigorated their beings.

The first few drops of rain had already rolled down his cheeks. "i cannot cry now. There is still hope", he admonished himself, as the rain gods burst asunder, angry at his ignorance and his senses flooded back painfully. He was making his back from the dining area to the wards. He only went so he could clear his head, to gather the perspective he was searching for. He'd found that the cold chapattis and lumpy dhal did not ease the guilt that made his stomach feel like a bottomless pit.

Her paralysed limbs and weakened heart still served a strong mind. And she was lucky. She had a son who loved her, in whose eyes her age and withered body only deserved more of his love. She complained incessantly, a sign of a strong will to live. He wanted her to complain again. "It wouldn't be irritating at all", he said to himself.

Just three hours ago, thirty six hours into his shift, he'd given her the wrong medication which rendered her unconscious. He knew he had recovered quickly, taken appropriate remedial measures, called the right people, taken responsibility. He'd taken her to the emergency wards himself, all in a rush of adrenalised automation, which had left him more drained than ever. He knew there would be consequences, but none worse than that of his own conscience.

As his senses rushed back, he found it, the perspective he had been looking for, as he knew that his own conscience would have to be held in abeyance and that she was more important than him. The obvious knowledge of what he needed to do calmed him. He took a deep breath and entered the building.

The night passed in an unreal daze, doctor and son tending her, hurting to be tended themselves, looking into each others eyes, mutely, only belief offering the solace that no words could. Their sleepy eyes searched for any sign of her recovery. His trained eyes saw the colour return to her finger tips, which he knew was a good sign, but his training also told him her weak heart could not stand this stress.

The night passed on, as all time must, ignoring all pleas and requests to hold still. And as morning dawned, almost as on cue, a small flicker went through her body, as if she was rousing from a fitful slumber. An hour later, she was hungry and complaining.

Her will to live had saved her. And him. He saw beyond his own texts into the beauty of the human mind, its strong will against all odds. He knew that there were some mistakes that can never be forgiven. He left to pack his belongings to go back home, sat down in the doctor's room and finally cried.

end

This happened a few months ago at Osmania. The doctor did mess up and the woman did live. I have interpreted those events through my own perspective.

its a trial by fire. and no one makes it out unscathed. if you make it out and can still recognise the burning remains of your backside, you'd have done extremely well.

that's exams in mbbs for you. 23 theory papers (when added up) with only sundays as breaks, 14 gruelling practicals within 17 days, ooohhh about 20,000 pages of revision, examiners intent on playing god for the day, and the inherent variability of every human on earth that no text can prepare you for. sounds bad? it's worse than it sounds.

but people during exam week are a far cry from themselves. inherent variability aside, people are transformed into.....

1) SCABs or sleep-deprived caffeine addicted bawlers who are characterised by frizzled hair, hugely swollen eyes, stuttering, incoherent speech and really abnormal bowel movements. if they are not balancing 3 kg text books on their knees while on the indian loo, they can be found in the local STD booth crying at the top of their lungs, yes, bawling to their moms to please let them come home.

2) Runaway Brains - these are the guys who get up in the middle of the night and up it to the railway station causing much grief and lost time to their unfortunate friends who ahve to then drag them back. we had to lock a couple of them inside their rooms just so we could sleep for a couple of hours.

3) The Mosquitos - the absolute pests of medical life. no amount of repellent can repel these guys who sleep all day so that they can study by night. only, when night comes, they are still sleepy, can't handle the tension and go flitting from room to room pleading people to save them. the only people who can save them are the Modis.

4) The modis are the guys who sit up all night just to get their micro xerox in order. these are the guys with small heads and suspiciously large paunches who always seem to have an extra set for a price.

5) then there is dr.r, my senior who lost some time and had to give his exams with me. altogether separate category. the only time he'd study was when he was riding his bike. huh? yeah...unfortunate me had to ride pillion on the way to the exam center explaining the nuances of microbiology.

dr.d has to get a special mention for his fabulous tea which he made at all times of the night for the scabs and runaways but never for the modis or mosquitos. he was the only truly happy soul when exams came around coz he really loved to chat over a cup of tea.

i am glad that its over and done and i got out with only monor burns but i am going back during next exam week just to be part of the madness again!

btw, i was a scab during my first year ! waaaaaaahhaha mom, i am going to fail. let me come home and marry a rich girl. the STD booth guy got real scared!! 

someone told me that marilyn manson had his lower ribs removed so that he could blow himself!! i thought well, whatever and forgot about it.

somebody else told me that the fastest way to get hits on a blog site is to hit it yourself a couple of hundered times.

then it came back in a hurry. i can see how two totally unrelated incidents are in fact, the same.

so guys who are doing this....good news!! the only thing standing between you and true happiness are 2 measly ribs. hell, if you find a guy who needs a bone transplant you will even get paid for it.

and gals who are doing the same, bad luck! janet jackson had her lower ribs removed but that only gave her an amazingly flat, (maybe even concave),  tummy.

i guess you'll just have to continue (c)licking your own sites then.

my apologies to agony's requiem. i can see yer point now.

did you ever have one of those conversations with a parent when you know you've crossed a line you've been striving to build and maintain all your life? not one of those angry conversations where you say things you don't mean but one of those when you are cool and collected, and say something close and personal to you, that you know has to be said at some point in life.

and it changes his (father in my case)  perception of you for ever. you can almost see the light of understanding that there is something that he hadn't calculated in the scheme he had proposed for my life. and the uncomfortable silence (don't you just love them) that followed, both of us knowing that there were no apologies for not meeting each others expectations, both of us realising that being in a family does not imply automatic understanding of each others decisions but trusting nonetheless that we'll come around to accepting each other.

 i'll still go up to his room in the morning and read the newspaper while he's busy on the telephone. the silence between us at those times is always comfortable and also comforting. just a 'good morning ' might pass between us but it does make the morning better. 

my father is a difficult man at times, and maybe as a difficult son i deserve a difficult father.

to think i was annoyed with him when i started this blog. kya se kya ho gaya. thanks guys ( i know you didn't do anything but then i'd have to thank a computer. you understand, then?)

good night hyderabad

happy blogging

to the people who've been reading me over the last couple of days, i know we've kinda established a 'I write, you laugh' routine, or so i'd like to think!

life isn't all fun and games. so gather some courage, your thinking caps and get ready to kiss your homes goodbye. coz, dorothy, we are going to storm some serious issues here.

crucify me at the end of this if you feel like it but just be truthful to your self.

ok...first and foremost let me say keep the comments coming, guys...it's a high to know i am liked.... that there is someone else in this world that laughs at the same things i find funny.

also that this blog wouldn't make much sense if you didn't read the last one. so maybe you should.

i wanted to say something about my first girl friend then. no. no. not the girl i first kissed. that was an entirely different girl. so, there were 2 girls. one i went out with first and then the first kiss. wouldn't blame you for a little irritation at this point.

so i was 15, i think and i thought she'd be my wife and she thought, "when's this dude going to kiss me?"(explaining my excessive enthusiasm on the actual first kiss) and so it happened that she found a guy wit considerably higher testosterone levels than me two months later and i buried my first wife with much grief and bitterness.

thing is i have forgotten, almost even forgiven her. but have you ever been dumped for a guy who is half as smart as you, not even as average looking, and with the brain to body proportion of a stegosaur? then you'll know how i feel, today, 9 years later.

i still have fond memories of how he'd have to shave every single day (saw him at school,yechhhh) and his cheeks would look green....no kidding guys Gaa reee nnnnn. so my endearment for him was fungus face. heard his parents just called him fungu darling. hey, different strokes for different folks?

i know, fungi are living things and might one day be proven to have feelings. so i want to stay on the right side of the fungal political fence and hereby apologise for any ill feelings that might arise from exalting this dude's' face.

bitter bitter bitter....loving every minute.

saw him just recently, just as green and i am just as happy.

i have feelings too. in retrospect, i shouldn't have gone to his birthday party uninvited just to give him fungicide.

to say i am new to blogging would be an understatement. but i am hooked.... the first time is the most exciting time for me, in everything. well maybe not everything, i mean, i would be overly excited to find a bald spot or something, but most things are amazing when they are new.

yes? fullhyd editor

done to death?

things are great when they are new?

point taken?

ok ok no need to get abusive...(another thing that might not be too exciting)

so, anyway... i know why i am blogging, man... i want people out there to read me, to hear what i've got to say and roll their eyeballs, comment, make me think , the whole 31 (flavours at baskin robbins). a few hits wouldn't be too bad either.

talking about first times, still remember the first time i rode my bicycle...was precocious at 4 years old, went off to narayanaguda from domalguda (the names were already given by the time i got there). never got tired of driving since. mom, i think, aged a couple of years that day.

what about my first kiss, poor girl must have thought i was trying to taste her stomach or something and i was grinning like an idiot thinking "tongue action, tonnnngggg akkkkshunnnn, tungakshun un un". think i might have even said it aloud.

i remember her first kiss even better....well apparently she didn't think the first one qualified (whatever, woman! tungakshun tungakshun) she sat me down, said don't move and kissed me, slowly, without touching me at all, not lettiung me touch her, one lip then the other..most sensuous experience of my life. YET.

whoa full hyd editor?

again?

keep off the m&b stuff

aye aye sir

tungakshun tungakshun

what about the first time i  broke up then...when the bitch reached into my ....hey wait a minute ..this is the one about the good first times rite?

f*ing editor threw me off my game.

i want to ask the poeple of hyderabad...have you ever considered the words road and safety next to each other or maybe in the same sentence?

i won't discuss helmets or seat belts which would be reserved for true afficionados of life and limb but lets just refrain from leaving our brains behind when we leave the house... not that things aren' t hard enough already...... auto drivers who think the rest of the population exists to pay their 1 and a half fares, bus drivers who don't realise the difference between crushing an ant and a child....these are serious social issues that we won't linger upon...

things peculiar to hyderabad roads are the newly rich in their spanking purple/orange/yellow eyesores, gold jewellery, gold rimmed ray-ban aviators which fortunately cover their ugly mugs, and ....get this.... 1 and a half lakh rupee music systems and portable DVD players to enjoy their favourite home movies ... all while driving with a cell phone jammed up one ear and playing with themselves watching madhuri dixit's heaving bosom on their 14" screens.

scene at masab tank.....hot shot paan chewing jewellery shop owner in his brabus engineered merc c class with DVD system smashes into the backside of another vehicle.  his eyes pop out of their sockets....he is sure the other guy was in reverse gear on the wrong side of the street.

hyderabad thumb rule for all drivers.... when in an accident, rules, norms, right and wrong take the back seat. PUBLIC SYMPATHY is everything! no. no sob stories. whoever mouths the first MAAkeLOUdayYYY wins the public over....unless the other guy throws his fists in with a BHENkiCHoot for good measure.

by now the guy gets out of his car, completes all necessary formalities regarding all female living\dead relatives of the backended victim, pays off the cop who comes in to see who disturbed his afternoon siesta, jumps back into the car....after all chholi ke peeche was just getting exciting....puts his car in reverse in the wrong lane and promptly runs over the cop who's by now counting his money.

AYYYYYY Maakeloudayyyy.

without fail, every SINGLE time, five minutes into browsing titles at a bookstore, against my every hope, there it is, an agonisingly uncontrollable urge to pee.... having agonised and attempted to control it, i KNOW.

bookstore owners haven't yet bought into the concept of having a bathroom in there store. and dare i suggest it i am met with goggling eyes as if to say " i have one at home, why do i need one here??"

my bladder is telling me to get the hell out of there but then the brain kicks in with some perverse egomania telling me " cmon you sissy...just number 1....you can hold it in. buy the book you came for ." so, faced with the prospect of finding a random loo (you wouldn't believe how hard that is... think you should take my word for it)or staying there, i stay.

here i am in the aisle crossing my legs more times than a millipede with a bad itch, squatting and pretending to get a look at the books on the low shelf, doing my best to make my frantic changes of position somehow look normal.

the voice kicks in again " cmon buddy we can do this...just a couple more minutes. easy as 123. 1 take a book, 2 walk over to the counter and pay and 3 home free... just don't think about it.....DON'T THINK ABOUT IT. "

ok i compose myself best as i can.

deep breath

deep breath

don't think about it

DAMN IT! thought about it

cross   cross    squat    stand     tiny little pirouette

grab the first book i can lay my hands on

in english. BIG BONUS

obviously the guy who leaves his bowels at home doesn't have the appropriate change and offers me a toffee.

so i take the goddamn toffee and walk out  and sure as you know .... 2 steps out of the bookstore, cannot remember why i was in such a hurry to buy a book i already had.

and i haven't even read my first copy of interpretation of dreams.

tell me i am not the only one who suffers form this terrible affliction. and all you bookstore owners send documented evidence of the existence of your bladders!!