Pieces of the Puzzle

Call the Doctor Just Now

What is with doctors that makes us all feel vulnerable and exasperated at the same time?

'We are doing every test possible. We can cure him once we know what this fever is.' says my dad's pulmonary specialist almost chocking me to tears. When someone close to you is grappling with an illness no one can figure out, you wish you were a freaking doctor than someone who designs roads. ‘Yes papa, I can tell you the super-elevation required for safe operations of the highway you might never travel on .. but I cannot tell you which medicine you need to take so that you can breathe better.’

I do not have faith in the best of best specialists working on my dad’s case, but I will trust my puny doctor consultant whom I turn to in such situations. She rattled out the remedies for vague diseases I had never heard of. She gave me suggestions on what could be the possible diagnosis, prognosis. She explained what I needed to know in the best layman possible way. I nodded bravely when she said that metabolic fevers cannot be cured with mere crocin , blood test results with Gram negative bacteria could be dangerous, COPD exacerbation…. Like a dumb hopeful sucker, I held on to every word and took down notes in a frenzy while bombarding her with more questions. She answered all my queries patiently and directed me to her hospital website, giving me exclusive rights to access the information which doctors use as reference. ‘I’m sure you will leave no stone unturned. I’ll talk to some experts in this field and call you back.’ she said practically without the usual ‘Don’t worry, I know he will be fine’.

I am so grateful to her, more than she might ever know. She may not have solved any problems, but taking my frantic calls at odd times was more than anything I could ask for. I am in awe of what she does for a living and for the living. I can't believe this is the same girl who cried & complained to Rajan Sir when I ran away with her 101 Science Experiment book in 6^th Grade. Nerdy Neelu was there to yell at the boy who pulled my ribbons and she is still there for me.

PS- I will be gone for a while. Now its my turn to be the parent to the people whom I have troubled so far. I hope I do a half decent job. You all take care, Ok!

Dream on

Don’t ask me what or why, I have been recording my dreams for the past one week. I keep a small book near the bed with a pen handy. I 'm woken in the most crude manner known to me- the alarm clock. I recollect whatever I was thinking of and drift back to sleep. Then the alarm yells again after 9 minutes (whoever came up with that bizarre 9-minute-gap between 2 snoozes, how much of my tax money goes into this dumb research?). Coming back to my research, I then try and pay attention to the unusual thoughts that occur to me. I never remember any of my dreams, but this exercise is wonderful. I wake up everyday and I recollect everything (in my hpynagogic state)- the smell, the sounds, the taste and of course the action in my thriller dreams. I quickly jot down the points (the toughest part when you are dying to be back in bed for those 30 seconds) and lo! I have my dreams reconstructed every single day with clarity.

But the results (dreams) have been quite disturbing-

I have to insist that is English- very sleepy English , if you will. Let me decrypt it for you anyway. I haven’t even tried interpreting this.. its just too weird. I'll leave that to Sigmund Freud.

1. I’m in Germany (here I have no money to even go on a trip to see my brother in Florida) in Parmanu’s house. They have twins, which was the big surprise. Congrats guys! The girl resembles Parmanu and the boy looks like his wife (pretty boy). The girl twin (who is 6 months old) is smarter, can walk talk and apparently was washing dishes (prodigy sorts) while I was there (what child-abusers). Whereas the boy was just staring at the teddy-bear, gurgling and peeing (which reinforces my point that a boy child is treated better than a girl-child in Indian households). I later realize that they are not twins and the parents are hiding something (a Robin Cook thriller in the making).

2. I am at Gaythri chiti’s wedding (she has been married for 20 years now). There is a lot of confusion and I am the main cause of it. I jump out of closets on unsuspecting guests (not too far away from reality). My next door neighbors being there was quite surprising to me in my conscious mind; but in my dream, I didn’t seem to mind their presence. I wish I had written more about this because as soon as I brushed my teeth, I forgot everything.

3. This one is just heart rending. I am on a cruise (hopefully in the Caribbean and not some stupid cruise in Lake Michigan) and my dog (I never had a dog in my life) gets kidnapped (by pirates?). I am supposed to have realized how petty I had been all my life due to this kidnapping act. It would have been interesting to know why and how. But sadly, I couldn’t comprehend the significance of it all.

Believe me!

My life before marriage was so exciting. I used to be a chronic ~~liar~~ exaggerator with a flair for ~~lying~~ exaggerating in the least deserving situations. Each day was a challenge to outwit the world. Each moment was filled with apprehensive heart-beats. I was caught a million times with my tongue stuck to a trap. I didn’t think of it as a problem till I met Pi. Pi is so truthful that it hurts. So I stopped lying considerably just to save my face than for conscience reasons.

Conversation at a party-

'I wanted to come for your baby's birthday party, but somehow I got stuck volunteering for the old age home.' I manage to atriculately save the situation and wink at Pi.

Pi can't take the blatant hint,' What old age home? And why are you winking and stamping my leg?'

‘Sorry we are late. A Stealth Bomber exploded in front of our car.’ I gush trying to wriggle out of the quick-sand.

‘What bullshit! That’s not true, Alpha took long to get ready.’ Says Pi and spoils all my chances of getting away with another mind boggling story. Such a party-pooper! We become the boring couple yet again. So I stick to mundane topics, ‘I had an accident the other day and my passenger side totally caved in.’

‘Not entirely’, he butts in, adjusting his glasses in the most professor-like way ‘Only 4/5^th of the passenger side was affected. I wouldn’t call that caving in. And nothing happened to the interior.’

Now all of a sudden, my accident achievement seems like a piece of cake that happens to everyone. The people who just dropped their jaws are in the process of collecting it from the floor giving me sneers. I have become a non-entity with a boring life! But it feels good as I am under no pressure to be creative (I hope the sarcasm was caught).

Recycling and me

I am very conscious of recycling- awareness and action being two different entities. I admire people who have 5 different blue trash cans in their homes and sort out the newspaper and glossy paper as different recyclable paper. People who save up Housie- Housie tickets from their game. Noble are those who carry steel plates to a company picnic. I am inclined to reach their lofty standards and help make this world a better place for my great-grandchildren’s grandchildren. Now how does this work? How will I know that I will be thanked after 4 centuries when they still have trees that I saved by purchasing a recycled Archies card?

I agree recycling is very essential in this chaotic age of disposable diapers and that all of us must make concious efforts to make it a part of our lives. Somehow my childhood memories of mom’s recycling ideas had not been very easy on me; they had been particularly traumatic. The times when she packed curd rice in Aawin milk packets (paal covers) for the train journey would have been erased from my memory if the stench of milk and sour curd-rice hadn’t made my co-passengers run to the bath-room for fresh air. Also how can I forget the time when I placed my cool-Swatch-watch-that-uncle-bought-from-Dubai in an unsuspecting green basket, which was duly sent to the raddhi wala. Raddhi wala claimed innocence the next day. I could see the guilt in his smile just like the way I could see the workings of my Swatch through its transparent dial.

Coming back to recycling in the present days.. I have vowed to take necessary steps to help out in my own little way as long I don’t have to spend money on buying a can-crushing factory or using newspapers as toilet paper.

So I bought a mug. No no, not the ass-washing types (hmmm.. there's another earth-friendly idea). A coffee mug to have my tea. I had been using disposable cups all along in office (sorry, trees). This new one is a handcrafted ceramic glazed, light-blue on the inside, dark blue with ridges on the outside and is shapeless all over. Its just a cool mug to be seen with. I happily used it for a day with immense pride. Next morning, overheard in the break-room- "Some idiot has left a disgusting looking mug with tea remnants in the kitchen sink for someone else to wash! How gross is that? Ewww…" As you might have figured, that was the last time I claimed ownership to that mug or helped saving disposable cups.

Next project I undertook was to recycle my magazines. Since we didn’t have a recycling program in our apartment building, I volunteered (not that there was a choice, Pi is not an environmentalist like me) to take them to my office where I know they recycle. Next thing I know, I see the same magazines (with my address) in my colleagues bathroom (yuck). When I asked him about it, he admitted taking them from office to read and then dump it in his garbage with egg shells (after its bathroom habitat, I wouldn't think the recycling people would want it either). So that means my magazines will never be your kid's party hats again. By having him read them, it could be counted as recycling and moreover I was exonerated.

One day my boss excitedly thanked me for volunteering to help carrying empty soda cans to a far-away recycling facility. ‘Oh yaaa.. suuuuure!’ I said cursing the person who tried to frame me in this most deplorable fashion. But good-will prevailed and I saw this as a sign from Mother Earth Goddess Lady to calm my Recycling demons. I had been given yet another chance. So trudging along a huge garbage bag of cans, I tried squeezing them all into my car trunk. They wouldn’t fit; so I had to throw half of them in my passenger seat. Some left-over Coke trickled out and stained my car seat. Grrrr! Yaaaaaa!!! Someone please run me over with my own car!!! Calming my self, I somehow reached the damn facility which was closed. I roamed around for two days with my car clinkity-clanging with Coke cans, when I concluded that the facility was abandoned. I chucked them all in the nearest garbage I could find. So much for volunteering. Recycling is for the elite and sofisticated- luckily God made many.

Woah!!! Wait a min..I found one. *thank you, Ye stars and ancestors, for I can be recycled in peace (my hope is they reuse my brains after I die)*

I blog. I save paper.

Unexpected Twist

For starters, I'm damn confused. You will know why. Permission was granted to share this email with you all. In Jivha's very own words regarding the cartoon I made of him yesterday (for people who didn't get the context) and in reply to a mail-

Alphaaaa!!!

Aw cmon...did you really think that a person who criticizes others so much would have such thin skin that he couldn't take some ribbing himself? Gimme a little more credit than that.

No I do not look like that.

i. My hair isn't in the Sai-baba style as your depicted. Its much shorter, what most people would term "normal".
ii. I don't wear a crown or a sash while posting. Probably because I don't have either?
iii. I use my laptop for posting, not a desktop
iv. I use the trackpoint for moving that cursor around and not a mouse
v. I don't have a blogging trophy. Atleast not yet.
vi. I don't have a regular telephone line at home. Just a mobile and a DSLline.
vii. Unfortunately(for the woman in the second frame), my tongue isn't 1/10th as long as you've depicted.
viii. A natural corollary of the last point is my inability to type with my tongue.
ix. Like most humans, I cannot use my tongue for other purposes while talking. So that reinforces the last point again.
x. Can't think of a tenth reason ;-)

I must say the cartoon is pretty good for an amateur(really). In fact I'm lanning to make it the main image(instead of the present one from Getty mages) on my redesigned home page(of course with credits and a link). I hope you're okay with that?

Finally, my face in the first frame looks like that baboon character from the Cartoon Network show "I am Weasel". Was that intentional?

And isn't co-option the greatest trick that India has used to assimilate and digest external influences/attackers? Is it surprising then that I'm congratulating you on a job well done ;-)

Jivha.

Phew, at least I got the nose right. Now I dont know if I should be relieved that he was such a good sport or disheartened that I lost the best victim.

Toon Time

A silly attempt at cartoons and another attempt at digging my grave deeper.

Things are looking up

They called me abnormal. They called me adopted. They placed me in the end of the class-line with the boys. I could never sit in the front row without burying my head between my legs. I was always spotted trying to escape classes from under the teacher’s nose. I hunched to be accepted.

As much as you think its enviable to be tall, its a tough life for a tall girl in Indian society.

‘Which college do you go to?’ I would get that once in a while when I was in my 7^th grade.

‘Yes, I remember you,’ said my PT sir when I visited school after 5 years of graduating, ‘You used to be a basketball player.’ Never mind the fact that I can’t tell the difference between a shuttle cock and a basketball. The only useful thing I did with my height was bring down pickle containers from the top shelf and place it back.

‘Sorry madam, we don’t make jeans your size. You sure can get something from the men’s rack. Actually jeans above the knees are trendy these days.’ Offers a helpful salesman. I stuck to tailored pajamas.

My parents were horrified when I didn’t stop growing after 5’7". They panicked, wondering how would I ever get married. "Aiyoo, we are doomed. Someone start hitting her head with a hammer to retard growth." My mom cried, throwing away shoes that had even a centimeter heel.

"Err.. Alpha ke pitaji, The groom is fair, well bred, convent educated and cooks like Sanjeev Kapoor.. and he is 5’6", very tall for some girls. I am so sorry." Sympathized uncles-turned-marriage-brokers.

That’s when I took it upon myself to find Mr. Height. To be in the medium height category, the guy must be at least 5’9", which is just as tall as me. Anyone shorter is too short. Anyone above 6 feet is acceptable.

The guys I date had to be tall. Do not confuse necessity with vanity. I like to stand on my toes to kiss my man. No dumb ideas please. I will not carry a step-ladder for the guy everywhere we go. So that eliminated every Desi guy I knew and could hold conversations with. Moreover, when guys are intimidated by my height, they refuse to stand within a 6 feet radius. My next idea was to buy one of those wheel chairs and move around, never getting up.

Pi is 6’1". Just made the cut. I cut a lot of slack for him in other avenues. If height was the only factor why I got married to him, that would be extremely shallow. He is good at giving gifts too.

According to Patrix, I got my job because of my height. Wow.. all this while I was thinking it was becoz of that Equal Opportunity thing.

Another Birthday

Its Smiley's Birthday today. For people who don't know him, he is a weird, silly and obnoxious blogger.

For people who are asking if I am using adjectives from my resume, you might be just about right. He is one of the few bloggers I have met in person and I have only good things to say about him (yeah, hangovers leave a negative effect on me). But since it’s his birthday, I shall skip that formality.

Iam writing this for many reasons-

Becoz he wrote a post on my birthday *darn*. It is only fair to reciprocate as I have been brought up with high values. *sigh* Do I have to be this good always?

Secondly, you can check out all the good things he wrote for my birthday and go.. hmmm.. alpha is really over hyped and is turning 30 (which is not true).

Then you can feel sorry for me for meeting crazy people.

Finally you could wish him. You don’t really have to type it in his comment box, just say ‘Happy Birthday Smiley’ aloud. That's cool.

Happy BIG THREE O, my friend!!!! May you get divorced to Rani Mukherjee (That way, you at least get married to her in my slightly realistic wish). Hey, did I say you are way too cool? *hic*

Its that time of the year again.

My birthday is tomorrow and I’m turning 18. Though I am kinda sad that my teens are getting over, I’m glad I can finally vote!! Yippeeyoo!

I was trying to recollect all my past birthdays. Yes, I am going to put you through some real torture. But breathe easy, I don’t remember much. Don’t you hate it when your folks don’t take any pictures of your birthdays. Now how is one supposed to remember? At least I am better off than my granny who doesn’t even know how old she is. Hmm.. that’s a nice tactic Grandma! I can’t escape- my parents made the damn birth certificate.

Birthdays I do remember-

1^st year- They don’t let me forget it. I was taken to the hospital because I spilt scalding hot tea on my stomach while the guests waited bated breath for my safe return. How does a one year old get hold of tea.. hot, that too? Now that’s a classic case of irresponsible murderous parents.. not my fault.

7^th year- All I remember is getting real shitty presents. Cloth bits of various colors and sizes. Why would anyone in their right mind gift cloth pieces to an impressionable kid? That’s worse than getting steel tumblers. At least you can throw steel tumblers, create noise and show displeasure. I lived among real horrid people, I must admit. Well, my mom stitched stuff for me to wear with those bits of fabric and I HAD to wear them. There went my hope of getting a love letter.

16^th birthday- I was studying in a school where rich spoilt kids threw Birthday bashes and distributed Nestle Crunch to all and sundry (watchman, ayahs included). When you throw birthday parties that strangers gate-crash into, then you know you are among the influential class. I shamelessly attended all these parties without realizing that my birthday would come soon. It came and I casually asked daddykins for some money to treat a few of my wealthy, super-rich friends (those who called me to their parties) in Bombay Halwa House, maybe. A late night party at Chola Shereton was out of the question; I was aware of my standing in the food chain.

"Ok fine!" said Dad, ‘Ask amma to give you 30 ruppees.’

’30 ruppees??!! You kidding me? I won’t even be able to buy them balli-mittai. I might as well not even mention its my birthday to anyone.’

That was what happened. I grew an year older mysteriously one day.

21^st Birthday- I remember getting a card from my dad saying, "You’re 21! Now that legalizes you to do anything you want."

Yeah right! ..was my take on that.

Oh wait, I was supposed to be turning 18 tomorrow!! Oh darn.. Now you know. Continuing on my birthday saga…

Was in college. My room-mates were awfully sweet that year. They forgot to wish me and when I got back later that evening and decided to remind them, they screamed "Happy Birthday!" and proved to me that they hadn’t forgotten and were just acting the whole day. They told me to enter the room which was shut for some reason. Choking with emotion, I almost choked to death when I entered the room.. There was a cake, there were candles and then there was flame.. a really huge flame. A candle tipped on the table cloth.

22^nd Birthday- My roomates/hostelites were not as kind this year. They called me to the hostel courtyard, gave me birthday-bums (I limped for days), poured a concoction on my head, ran to their rooms and locked themselves inside. That smell was so awful that I was holding my nose and begging them to let me in (cursing them under my breath and vowing to take revenge very soon, maybe in the next 5 minutes.. if only they opened the door). Two stray dogs gave me company for a while trying to lick some of the goo that dripped off of my face. They tasted that, gagged and ran for their dear lives. Gawd! I was to later find the ingredients of this super stinky birthday potion- 5 days old daal (that too mess daal), toothpaste, ketchup, eggs, Fevicol, cough syrup (that smell never went from my hair) and ofcourse piss, they added. I hope the dogs are OK.

25^th Birthday- I have always stated my dislike for calculated surprise parties or huge parties of any kind. I just despise it… don’t ask why. Pi decided to surprise me with a birthday party at his friend’s house. Makes me wonder how I got married to him. So I am whisked to Jason’s place for his house warming party on the 24^th of June. Now you would think- It was not Jason’s party and that there would be people hiding behind doors and as I enter they would pounce on me saying- Surprise!!- right?

Very wrong, you predictables!

Jason, whom I didn’t know very well to start with, had invited 20 people whom I dint know at all. So when I enter, there are people sprawled all over happily doing their own thing. I smile and say, ‘Happy House warming, Jason’. And he says, ‘Thank you and Happy Birthday’.

‘Oh gee.. Thanks.. That’s nice of you to remember’.

Jason goes on, ‘Don’t mention it, this was also a surprise party for you. Pi contributed too. We decided to combine the two parties.’

At this point, two strange people, while taking a helping of chips, look at me and go, ’Oh so its you. Happy Birthday!’ They proceed to watch TV.

All I can hope for this time is no cloth bits, no barbecued cakes, no hair conditioners and God forbid…no Surprise Party!! *clink*

Ruffled Feathers

My sorrows are nothing compared to a wriggling earthworm in a puddle of rainwater. Nothing compared to that of the wailing girl in Petsmart. I was shopping for birdseed in Petsmart (Pet’s mart) for my pet Archaeopteryx when I noticed a little girl of seven crying her lungs out. Intrigued as usual and dying to find out if I could be a hero of some sort, I offered to listen to her woe. Her mother told me that someone else had bought the parrot, which her daughter had set her heart on. The girl bawled louder in affirmation. I smiled sympathetically and volunteered suggestions, ‘Take Poly here. She looks cute.’ I looked at Poly. Green, red and yellow- she sat smug on her little perch, uninterested in this little drama that was taking place. ‘Waaak screech’.

‘No way! That one can’t even talk like my parrot’ she sobbed. ‘ I wanted only that one. I even had a name for him, Nemo. I hate that person who bought him.’

Wasn't Nemo a fish? Whatever... I could only imagine the poor girl’s plight. I tried to recollect an incident from my childhood when such a heinous crime had taken place…when I had been deprived of something I valued so much. Yikes! I didn’t have to rewind my memory that much. Just last week, I had run back to the store where I’d seen that exquisite pink beaded necklace. It was gone! I had been devastated.

With this sudden insight, I approached the girl again and recalled the incident. 'It happens to everybody’, I offered at the end of my tragic story. ‘See Sweetie, I got over that necklace so quickly. I bought myself three dresses instead and I was happy once again.’

She seemed shocked at first that I could even compare her dear Nemo to a measly non-living, non-talking necklace. She was also appalled at my indifference towards her grief and rebuked me to even think that she would ever be happy again.

Phew! Very intense discourse this turned out to be. Kids are definitely not for me! Let me just look around for that necklace. Maybe Nemo's new owner took away my necklace too. I hate him.

Anyway, the little one did teach me a lesson. ‘There is no comparing your problems to mine. Mine are always bigger and worse.’

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Pieces of the Puzzle

Call the Doctor Just Now

Dream on

Believe me!

Recycling and me

Unexpected Twist

Toon Time

Things are looking up

Another Birthday

Its that time of the year again.

Ruffled Feathers

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