Tuesday, 30 September 2008

Utter nonsense

Homo sapiens apparently supposed to be the ‘knowing man’ or ‘wise man’.
- Such utter nonsense.
I wonder if there is a species called Homo insapiens or something of the sort which would mean the ‘unknowing’ man or foolish man.
I think that would be more befitting.

Wise man – can you imagine the audacity of this species to actually name itself wise!
So according to what our species are called every human being is wise.
You are wise if you are born a human being.
So much for working towards wisdom!

Homo sapiens – the most pompous, foolish and egotistic species to ever walk this planet (and all those places NASA claims to have send humans)
I am not partial to this species because I belong to it – that would be very unenlightened of me.
I am pretty sure Douglas Adams knew something about what is actually going on when he wrote that wonderful masterpiece – if you do not know which book I am referring to or have not read the book I am referring to you should think twice before calling yourself a Homo sapien (wise man!)

Humans have apparently achieved a lot since the Stone Ages.
I do not believe that statement.
What is the big difference since then?

- Technology?
But all that has done is: make us grow lazier while killing the planet.
Science is amazing but we have not reached anywhere: we are still stuck somewhere in the beginning of insignificant somewhere a long way from significant somewhere.

- Clothes?
But semi nudity is becoming chic.
And I personally believe it was way better during the Stone Ages.

- Easy living?
Whose life is easy?
Is your life easy to live?
Mine definitely is not.
I would any day prefer going hunting, fishing and walking around naked in the forest swatting mosquitoes to trying to make sense out of and memorising words I can’t pronounce which apparently originate from a language no human understands in the present day.

- Civilized being?
Humans are not civilized.
They try to be.
Deep within every human is that wild animal waiting to unleash itself.
We kill each other for entertainment for God’s sake!
Don’t believe me?
Think along the lines of a maniac named Bush.

- Money?
No comments.

- Culture / Arts?
They created more than we ever will. They took the first steps to what formed beautiful dances, paintings and stone carvings.

Homo sapiens are not wise men.
They are foolish and are growing more foolish by the day.
You are living proof for this fact.
Development – utter nonsense.

Two things are infinite: the Universe and human stupidity; and I am not sure about the Universe – Albert Einstein

We are parasites.
We should call ourselves what we truly are.

That is the first step to ‘wisdom’.

Sunday, 28 September 2008


Smile – there are so many kinds of smiles in the world.
Pretty much like chocolates – but not exactly like chocolates.
Chocolates are not quiet like smiles because all kinds of chocolates are wonderful – black, white, crunchy, smooth, swiss, ones with rum inside… wonderful.
Smiles on the other hand, well they are not wonderful but they can be of different kinds too – Funny smiles, plastic smiles, crooked smiles, sensual smiles, wtf smiles…

There are very few things that can make me smile.
Nobody can smile when they want to smile.
I mean, of course people can smile whenever they want to – but, try and hold that fake smile and at the end of five minutes you will look exactly like a cow caught by surprise while chewing cud (that is, if you don’t already look like one before the fake smile procedure).
But there are times when you try so hard not to smile but end up smiling anyway.
And no, I am not referring to giggling (hate it!) or laughing.
I am referring to plain old smiling.

There are just about three things that can make me smile.
Well three other than me being in front of the camera and imagining what a dork I will look like if I don’t smile (which I end up looking like even if I do smile)
– But at least I tried not to look like a dork!
And trying does count – when you are the loser.

Sorry… deviating from the topic at hand – three things that make me smile.
These three things might seem very shallow for many of you.
But these three things are what life revolves around anyway.

1) Food
This little beast can get me smiling even if I happened to inject my face with enough botulinum to paralyze an African elephant.
Bring me good food and I will smile.
I think it is because my brain seems to be in my stomach or vice versa.
Whatever the case, good food equals big smile as far as I am concerned.
And more the quantity the bigger the smile is.

2) Money
This is a new found discovery.
I did not know money could make me smile until I got kicked out of my house and reached a god forsaken hostel in a god forsaken state of a god forsaken country.
But give me money and I shall smile.
Give me money and I give you my word – I will make it disappear.
It will disappear so fast that neither you nor I will remember where it was spend.
They say it is my hand – money seems to trickle through it as if it were water!
(And I thought I had podgy fingers!)
So, money can make me smile – one of the prime reasons being - money means good food and good food makes me smile.
And more the money the more the quantity of good food meaning the bigger the smile is.

3) Sleep
The mere thought of sleep can make me smile.
I dream of sleep – if that is possible.
Sleep is peace.
Sleep is Heaven on Earth (will post on this soon)
Sleep is sleep.
I can never every tire myself sleeping.
I really don’t understand how people can wake up feeling fresh and rejuvenated.
It never works that way for me.
The more the sleep the bigger the scowl is when you wake me up.

I really am pretty simple to figure out contrary to the beliefs of many.
I am very easy to please contrary to my own beliefs.

Be good.
Make others smile.

Make me smile.

Thought for food

Let me start off by apologizing to my blog and to my incompletely enlightened followers/students for the delay in posting.
I had some extra curricular activities to attend to – and I actually mean extra curricular activities.

I had a debate to participate in and it was not one within my head – fortunately.
It was good.
It has been a while since I went for my last debate – which was last year. I vaguely recall promising myself I shall never put myself through the same load of crap again (all the researching) and I made it a point not to break that one.

The topic for the prelims was ‘The common man has the right to protest in present India’ and I had to speak against it. Now, unfortunately for me, the Constitution of India clearly states every citizen enjoys the right to protest (Article 19).
So I had to cook up bullshit.
And well, I hate modesty so – I am good at cooking up bullshit.
So, after a lengthy conversation with a friend (this is you, mass debater!) and sleep I decide to make up this story about this illiterate, young girl named Radha, who gets raped by Mr X – a politician’s son and justice is not served in the end.
This was my speech.
Just this stupid story and how sometimes people just can’t protest because nobody is there for support, protesting alone being out of the question.
I tell you, watching hindi movies helped me with the prelims more than researching has ever helped me in any debate.

Now with prelims out of the way, we entered finals.
I do not know shit about the Indian law or politics.
I know it is not great to boast about your ignorance, so I’m not boasting.
The finals topic, well I did not understand it.
For a minute I thought I heard Greek and Latin rather than English.
'Strict laws like POTA and TADA are necessary to curb terrorism.'
I got the topic at 6:30 p.m.
At 9:30 p.m. I tried to find POTA and TADA in Wikipedia (I love it!)
At 9:35 p.m. I slept.
I woke up at 7:30 a.m. because my debate partner called to check how my preparation was coming along.
Well, I didn’t have much to say except that I hadn’t started.
I thought she could handle it herself, considering the competition being not that great.
But turns out she was not prepared as well.
8:00 a.m. I read the page I had opened in some god forsaken site wiki lead me to.
Then I got dressed and left.
Screw the researching.
We were in for a surprise – we were going to have a proper parliamentary session.
I didn’t know what a parliamentary session is like.
I kept shut (big mistake!)
I asked my partner after a while what a parliamentary session is like – turns out she didn’t know either.

It started.
I did not keep shut for more than 15 seconds.
It was a very confusing session.
Weird, confusing and after a while I couldn’t actually figure out what side my opponents were speaking on – I just continued speaking against whatever they spoke.
We kept switching sides.
Somewhere along the session I actually felt my blood pressure rise – rarely happens.
It felt good.
I learnt what a parliamentary session is while I was in one – beat that!

We did well – basically because bullshit always works wonders... unlike researching.

We won.

Wednesday, 24 September 2008


It is funny how perspectives change according to the situation.
A lot of perspectives change when you are a medical student.
I have learnt that – the hard way.

Being in medical college is pretty much the same as being in any other college.
At least it is for me.
You don’t really learn much.
Well, maybe you do – but at the end of the 4 and half years you seem to forget more than you remember resulting in a minimal increase in knowledge, if any.

I do not study in my state of origin.
I study in a state where people speak four different languages, out which i know one fluently.
And this has led to lots of trouble for me.
Most of the time, I end up using both my hands, legs and inexplicable facial expressions to communicate with the patients.
It is difficult when you know what you want to ask but don’t know how to ask it.
It makes you feel like a baby (if you remember being one) and it is not a nice sight to see a 20 year old woman make noises like goo goo and ga ga.
I hate babies, anyway.

I once wanted to ask a patient how long he was unconscious for during a faint attack.
It resulted in every patient in the ward pointing at me and laughing their hearts out.
I like to think I’m like Patch Adams at such times – it is easier on the little bit of self respect you have left.

This was before I started learning the language.
Now I know bits and pieces.
I can communicate.
The only problem is that I should make sure what I ask is what I actually mean to ask.
The last thing you want is to get slapped – and that is not too easy to avoid.

Well, this post is not about my linguistic woes.
It is about this incident which occurred in my 2nd year of medical school.

Surgery postings – I love everything about surgery.
I loved it even more after the extremely handsome Post Graduate let me (an absolute nobody in the hierarchy of medical school) assist him in a procedure.
Even though all I did was ‘mop’ the blood off (which I apparently didn’t do well) and even though the procedure was a mere ‘debridement of an ulcer’
- I felt like somebody!
That was when I decided I wanted to become a surgeon.

But this decision was put to doubt in a week.
It was O.P (out patient) day
– which meant two things to medical students:
1) If you are interested, be ready to jump at every opportunity (patient) that arrives. Stay as close to the patient as possible, at any cost – push, kick, chop, trample, bite – do whatever it takes.
2) If you are not interested stand in a corner. Do not ever, even by mistake risk your life by trying to get near a patient – let alone talk to one. If you do, the next thing you will remember is a horde of ‘extremely interested’ students plus doctors plus nosy patients trampling over what was once your body.

I was one among the first category, since my decision to become a surgeon.
The same extremely handsome Post Graduate came along and asked if anybody knew my mother tongue. They were jus two of us Keralites present that day.
He chose the guy over me.
I tagged along, anyway.
After taking his history with my fellow Keralite’s help the Post Graduate decided since Mr Kerala had helped he would let Mr Kerala do a PR.
The senior students audibly gasped.
And then the murmuring began.
It was as if Mr Kerala was not allowed this privilege.
They kept telling it was unfair.
And then I realised what a PR is (I’m pretty slow) – per rectal examination.
In other words, sticking your finger into the patient’s ass hole and checking if there is anything out of the ordinary in there.
That was the privilege bestowed upon Mr Kerala.

In went his gloved finger.
After a lot of probing, he told he felt something.
Obviously he would feel something – it is the guy’s shit hole for god’s sake!!
Out came his gloved finger.
Not the same colour as it went in.
You can’t mistake that shade of yellowish brown for anything else.

I wondered if the glove had a small tear somewhere.
I wondered how he could actually put his finger in somebody’s shit.
I wondered whether Mr Kerala felt like cutting off his finger.
I wondered what if I had helped the Post Graduate with the language problem.

This was the ‘privilege’ bestowed upon him.

Almost two years have passed since that day.
I have put my gloved finger into a couple of shit holes since then…
and lots of other orifices too.
And sometimes I have pushed and kicked my way into it.

Medical college is the same as any other college – almost.
But a lot of perspectives change here.
Sticking your finger into a persons shit hole is a privilege.

Tuesday, 23 September 2008

Don't bother

I am not satisfied.
I am usually a very satisfied person.
The last post has made me dissatisfied.

Have you ever felt like you were awake while you were actually sleeping?
This usually happens when you are just about to wake up.
You do everything you have to do after waking up while sleeping, and then you wake up to realise you were actually sleeping and did not do any of those things you had to do.
A very discouraging false notion as far as waking up is concerned.
This happens to me quite often.
It occurs every time I wake up.
Which means it occurs every time I sleep.
But now, for quite a bit this has not occurred to me.

Rather, I am suffering from the exact opposite of such a situation right now
– If such an opposite did exist, that is.

I am suffering from the feeling that I am sleeping even when I am awake.
I am so sure that I am sleeping that I don’t do anything.
I end up doing nothing.
But that is not a big deal – I do nothing most of the time, anyway.

The problem is the way people seem to notice the state I am in.
They seem to think I am thinking.
And all of a sudden people seem to be bothered what I am thinking about
- Maybe this is because I never think (or appear to be thinking) and thought of me thinking has people thinking what I might be thinking about which is more often than always worth thinking about.

So the point is I appear to be thinking all the time.
- Even though I am actually under the notion that I am asleep and am doing nothing.
This would be alright if I just let it be.

But I am not letting it be.
I am actually pretending to be thinking to please those who think I am thinking.

So here I am under the notion that I am asleep pretending to be thinking.
And when you are under such a trying situation you tend to post stupid, irrelevant and totally dissatisfying posts like the previous one.

So, don’t bother.
I’m not thinking.
I’m asleep.
Rather, I am under the false notion that I am asleep.
Let it be.


Everybody has felt hunger in their lives.
Well, I’d like to think everybody has.
Because if there is a creature on Earth which has not experienced hunger I wouldn’t know what I would actually feel for it:
- I would feel extremely jealous at the amount the creature must be eating to not have ever felt hungry.
- I would feel sorry because the creature does not know the mix of blissful emotion that well up in the mind, body and soul when food enters an empty stomach.

Hungry – it is a normal word.
Hungry – does not remind me of anything in particular.
I am always either hungry or sleepy or not keeping well – Always.
Life is simple that way.

Now I am going to try and describe hunger as I feel it for:
- All those who have forgotten the feeling (you are growing old!)
- All those who feel it with me (let us celebrate this feeling)
- All those who have never felt it (get a life!!)
Feel what I feel. This is something nobody should miss out on – Ever.

Hunger can be of two types:

1) The ‘real’ hunger:

Those who have felt this will never ever forget it.
It starts with a feeling of a tiny bubble bursting inside your stomach – plop!
You ignore it.
It goes on to a super car – vroom vroom!
You try and ignore it.
It becomes an ache and every part of your body craves for food.
You cannot ignore it.
Your stomach starts screaming and all you can hear are blood curdling screams.
You start thinking with your stomach.
You try to put your despair at bay by
- Sleeping, but all you can dream about is food.
- Reading, but every word you read looks the same – FOOD FOOD FOOD.
- Watching television, every channel seems to have something about food in it – cooking food, looking at food, showing off food, eating food etc.

2) The ‘imaginary’ hunger:

This affects mainly people like me – the foodies (I prefer this word to glutton)
This starts with a stimulus.
The stimulus usually leads to salivation. The salivation can be due to
- a picture which makes food look so delicious
- or it can be a particular memory of a particular taste
- or it can be the heavenly sound of something frying
- or it can be the smell of something that is cooking in the neighbour’s kitchen
- or sometimes it can simply be excessive saliva with no reasonable reason.
Well, whatever the reason, you feel hungry.
You feel hungry even though you are not hungry.
You feel hungry even when your stomach is not so empty.
You feel so hungry you reach a point of craving when you will do anything, absolutely anything to get that piece of memory back alive and chewing.

The two types of hunger, however, are very similar in their result.

You eat.
The first morsel that is chewed – is chewed slowly – savouring every sensation of taste known and then swallowed.
You reach Heaven.
Food melting in your mouth, feeling it all the way down to your stomach
– Heaven.
You don’t realize when, where, how or why.
You just keep savouring and swallowing and the smile on your face keeps growing (along with your belly) until you are done.
And then it becomes a memory.
It becomes a memory of food that is a potential hunger inducer.

That is the beauty of hunger.
That is the beauty of food.
Are you hungry?
I am starving!

Saturday, 20 September 2008

Envisage this

The word ‘visage’ somehow never really meant what it actually meant, to me.
I like the way it is pronounced though – reminds me of massage.

Around ten minutes ago I was looking at myself in the mirror.
I do that once in a while.
Some of the few things I do to remind myself I am a female.

I saw a pimple.
I do not usually get pimples – and this upcoming doom troubled me.
Why did it trouble me?

And then I started thinking weird – again.

Everything we see is how our brain makes us perceive it.
And I think everybody’s brain is very different.
But if everybody’s brain was so very different wouldn’t the same image be perceived differently by everybody?

Please note: I am using the word ‘perceived’ and ‘seen’ differently.
The same sight seen can give rise to different perceptions in different people and the same perception perceived in different people can be as a result of different sights.

Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.
That is utter nonsense.
Beauty lies in what the beholder’s brain makes the beholder see as beautiful.
Ok, stop! I think I’m complicating things
- Again.

What I might perceive as a pointed nose might not seem so pointed to you
(My nose is not pointed)

What I might perceive as red might be actually green to you
(Imagine green roses!)

What I might perceive as short might be quite large for you
(This is a very general statement I am not referring to anything in particular.)

You might look beautiful to your brain and look ugly to billions of others
(My case - most of the time)
Or you might actually look beautiful to billions of others but look ugly to your brain!
(My case - never)

In the end it is all about how we perceive things.
How our brain makes us perceive it.

It is that stupid mass of pinkish-greyish-white goo in that hard skull that makes you look into the mirror and try to look presentable innumerable number of times a day.
What is the point?

Your pinkish-greyish-white goo is different from my pinkish-greyish-white goo.
And my pinkish-greyish-white goo might think you look ugly, no matter what!!!

What if there was no pinkish greyish white goo?
Then would we all perceive alike?
Imagine – men and women thinking alike!!!
That would be hilarious.

My thoughts came to an end.

I decided my upcoming pimple looks bad only to my brain.
It might not look bad to the billions of others out there.
Some might even think it is beautiful.

So enjoy the pimple while you have it!

Tuesday, 16 September 2008

My Cellular story


My story begins in a little shop in the streets of Dubai.
I am not the best looking nor am I the most expensive of many of my kind in the shop.
But I am cute. And I am sort of expensive.
Maybe that was why the Brat chose me to be hers.
Apparently she had just lost her last one in a rickshaw without even realising she had left the poor thing there.
All I could think of was whether I was doomed to have a similar fate awaiting me… ending up in a rickshaw, uncared for.
The Brat begged and pleaded for me.
I thought maybe this was it - I would finally get all the attention I deserved…
I became hers.

The first few months were wonderful.
The Brat used me well.
She was almost always using me.
She saved all sorts of stuff in me.
Good messages, bad messages, good memories, bad memories, beautiful photos, ugly photos (of the Brat), good songs, bad songs (sung by the Brat) – she put all of it in me.

Time flew by and one day she tried to make me fly.
The Brat flung me across God alone knows what.
It hurt.
It hurt so bad I couldn’t display what I felt for a week.
The Brat got me fixed paying quite a bit – serves her right.

But soon this kept repeating itself. I had to keep getting myself repaired. Each time the Brat paid for me I felt good about it. She actually cared about me.
But I hated the way the guys who repaired me kept looking through my insides.
It felt like they were invading my privacy.

The Brat stopped using me the way she used to after a while.
My battery had a slight problem.
I kept going off whenever I felt like.
The Brat didn’t bother repairing me this time.
She had gotten herself a much uglier and cheaper one to replace me. She used me only to use all the stuff she saved in me or to play the games she always beat me at.
I felt betrayed.
I was supposed to be the only one.

The Brat’s birthday was approaching and I wanted to do something special for her so that she would realise how important I was to her.
I made a plan.
She was on her way to a party with her friend when I crept out of her hand bag under the car seat.
It stank and it was dirty.
But I had to surprise her for her birthday.
After the party she realised I was not with her anymore.
You should have seen her face! It was so hilarious!
Poor Brat! She went all over the city looking for me.
She even went to the venue of the party thrice!!!
It was fun watching her care for me so much, even though I didn’t quite like my place of hiding.
She even got her idiotic friend to search the car.
But I hid myself well.

One month of hiding in that god forsaken place.
She hurt everyday.
I know she missed me.

Finally I made sure the car servicing guys found me – on her birthday.
The Brat’s friend returned me to her the day after her birthday.
And what I saw on her face was worth every moment of hiding myself under that dirty car seat.
I think it is the best birthday gift she has gotten this year.
And I, her mobile, gave it to her.
Beat that!

Monday, 15 September 2008

Fist for fun

Riots – I like the word. It sounds good.
Riots – I honestly don’t give a damn… usually.
Riots – I don’t like them.

I wanted to go to the beach yesterday afternoon.

Riots spoiled my plan.
Riots got me confined to my boring hostel.
Riots made me a prisoner in my hostel.

I was locked in!
And I hate being locked in – I feel claustrophobic – only when I’m locked in without my permission though, I generally don’t mind locking myself in.

This is the second time since I have come to this city that riots have caused a curfew.
My college doesn’t give a damn about curfews.
It is a stupid college, in my opinion.
Not only is my college derecognised according to the Medical Council of India (temporarily, I hope) but it also doesn’t give a rat’s ass if it is a national holiday, curfew or even a student’s death – no holiday whatsoever.

The only holidays we get are Sundays.
Maybe that is the reason doctors in my college become so boring, frustrated and bitter about everything sweet in life (example: sleep).
Maybe that is why people in this city are so frustrated.
The doctors are so frustrated by the lack of holidays (thanks to my college) that they take it out on their patients. And these patients form the public.
And what do the public do?
They wait for an opportunity to vent their frustration.
And what better way to vent your frustration than to destroy a place of religious worship!
It will, for sure, lead to the public getting more frustrated.
People who haven’t gone to a temple or church or mosque all their lives become religious all of a sudden.
They start fighting for justice. (wtf?!)
They start destroying more places of worship until the police start getting frustrated.
Then the police vent their frustration by beating the crap out of everyone.
Section 144 comes into being. (wtf?!)
Curfew is declared in the whole city.
My college still doesn’t declare holidays.
We, doctors, still go to college/hospital.
We get frustrated.
And it is a vicious circle.

Frustrated people are all over this city.
And they vote for more frustrated people to rule over them.
I hate politics.
I hate politics because I don’t know shit about it.
All I know is the ones who are in power don’t seem to know the solution to the problem. They are rather adding fuel to the fire.
The ruling party always seems to be involved in the riots.
The solution; my dear ignorant, frustrated ones; is simple.
Make my college give more holidays.
This will put a rest to the most contagious disease of all – frustration.
And nobody will have to make a fist for fun.

Please declare holidays for doctors!

Sunday, 14 September 2008

Day after 21

The day after 21 was yesterday.
I became 21 years old day before yesterday.
This post is going to be about my state of mind during the process of turning 21.

11th of September

11:00: I really don’t want it turn 12:00 midnight.
15:00: I wonder if anyone will come to wish me.
16:00: I hope people will forget.
16:30: I think I should figure out something nice to wear.
18:00: I’m growing old!!!
19:30: I am not so old yet, but I am looking older already!
23:00: Time, please stop!
23:30: Wow! They seemed to have remembered. I have been kicked out of my room. This is wonderful.
23:59: All right, let’s just get the damn day over with.

12th of September

00:03: Answering calls is stupid when you still have not been allowed inside your room.
00:10: Finally!! WOW! This is beautiful…
00:12: Is that my cake? Why does it have ‘sexy’ written on it? Nice joke!
00:13: Eww!!! I hate it when people sing this… my name just doesn’t fit in!
00:20: Tasty cake though.
00:40: Make use of the day. Get friends to sing and dance for me!
00:45: Bad idea!
1:00: Get kicked in the ass.
1:30: I hate birthdays.
1:40: Damn! I have to wake up early tomorrow.
2:00: “Hi Mom, yes it is my birthday. Thank you. I’ll be a good girl. Bye.”
Copy and paste the same for dad, two elder sisters, brother in law, friends, ex boy friends, strangers and idiots.
3:30: I think I should jus stay up the whole night… Zzzzz… snore.
6:30: WTF!!! ‘Why you waking me up at this hour, bitch?! ... Oh… ok, thanks… bye.’
7:30: Why god, why…
8:00: ‘oh is it your birthday today? – Yes – happy birthday – thanks…!’
Copy and paste the same till 16:00 along with thoughts of getting swallowed into the depths of Marianna trench (if you have seen Ally Mcbeal you would understand what exactly I mean)16:15: have to go for movie at 19:00. Do something till then… Zzzzz… snore.
19:15: Nice - Movie down the drain.
19:30: Friends all busy. One friend is jobless. Go for a drive.
21:00: I’m hungry. Can a drive become dinner?
21:05: I will not make it back before hostel curfew at 21:30. Screw it.
21:40: Happy… very happy.
21:55: Still in senses.
22:20: ‘I’m sorry I’m late Ma’am’
‘Oh it’s ok, dear’
Wtf! She is supposed to get angry at me! I broke a rule! Well, nevermind…
23:00: Almost over. One more hour and I am freaking running on 22…
23:45: ‘yea dad… I know I was born at 23:45… thank you… I’m going to sleep… love you, goodnight.’
23:50: My family is amazing.

13th of September

00:10: Talk bullshit with a friend… what bullshit I have no idea.
2:00: Should I post anything? Zzzzz… snore.
8:45: Head hurts – Shit! Clinical posting – Head hurts more.
9:00 to 16:00: the usual.
16:05: Friend: ‘Hey I found the phone you lost one month back in my car!’
Me: ‘OMG!! Are you kidding?’
Friend: ‘No really. The servicing guys got it. By the way, Happy belated birthday!’ Hmmm being 21 is not so bad.
16:30: I should go for that movie.
22:00: Nice movie. Not bad. Missed dinner – depressed.
23:00: Should I post today? … Zzzzz… snore.

14th of September

11:00: Shit! Why did she not wake me up for posting!!!
Oh… it is Sunday.
14:00: I want to go to the beach. Get dressed quickly.
14:15: Me: Hey you want to go to the beach, I’m dressed. We can leave right away.
Friend: Riots in Mangalore, idiot!! Did you not hear the announcement at 8:00? We are confined to hostel.
Me: 8:00? Who wakes up at 8:00? Nice.
15:00: Should I post today? Ok, I think I should.

Being 21 is not so bad.
The day after 21 is pretty much the same as the day before 21.

Wednesday, 10 September 2008


Today is the 10th of September.
I just realised that.
I also realised from the dates shown in my blog that I started blogging on 10th of August.
I then realised that this is my 30th post.
After all these realisations I am in awe that I have been (taking an average) posting everyday!
And I thought I wouldn’t have anything to blog about! Ha! - Misconception.

But this post is not about how wonderful a blogger I am – it is about how I almost always manage to get myself lost.

My sense of direction… well, I don’t have much of a sense of direction.
Tell me about a place I have been to and my imagination starts working:
- I can tell you how the place looks
- I can tell you how the place smells
- I can tell you how the place feels
- I can tell you how the place sounds
- I can tell you how the place tastes (wtf?!)
- But I can never, never-ever, never-ever-ever tell you how to get there unless it is within my line of sight (and I am short sighted!)

I have gotten lost more than a million times – and that is not an exaggerated statement. Some of my visits to the ‘lost land’ have been more memorable than others.

Two years ago:
It was my second day of clinical posting in the District Government Hospital. On my first day I had been asked to leave since I got late. The reason for being late was surprisingly not because I had overslept. It was because the goddamn hospital was a maze!!! I had spent half an hour trying to find the ward I was posted in. This was why I was late; this was why I had gotten ‘kicked out’ of class. But on the second day I was determined to get it right. I knew where I had to go. I knew everything about the ward, except how to get there. I started off on my ‘amazing race’ one hour in advance. I asked for help from every second person I saw – which resulted in me changing my direction after every second step I took. After half an hour (not exaggerated) I realised two things:
1) I was going in circles because I passed the same stupid board in some godforsaken language at least ten times!
2) I looked like I just got off a three hour tiring workout.
I sat. I sat for 15 minutes hoping the ward would jus appear in front of me. I sat hoping I could just tell something funny and be transported to where I was supposed to be.
And then it happened.
I saw a friend!
She took me by hand and dropped me off at my posting – my guardian angel!
She did that for all 45 days of my posting in that ward.
And believe me I still do not know how to get there!

One year ago:
We were at an inter college competition in CMC, Vellore.
We included eight guys from my college and me.
I overslept on the second day. I had to get to a competition I was supposed to participate in at 9:30 am. It was 8:30 am when I woke up. I got out of my temporary abode before 9:00, now I had to find where the auditorium was.
I walked and walked and walked.
I searched and searched and searched.
Finally I got to the canteen – time for breakfast!
I had breakfast and bumped into a fellow college mate. If there is one person on Earth who has a worse sense of direction than me – it’s him.
It was 9:30 am already, but since all the events always began late, we had time.
We started walking in circles and we knew we were walking in circles, but we didn’t have a choice. We even considered getting a spool of thread to mark where we are going, but then since we were going in circles we decided it wouldn’t really help.
Finally we asked a volunteer (they were a scarce race!) where the auditorium was. Turned out to be the big building we were walking around for the past half an hour.
We never talked about this incident much after that.

My friends have all gone home – thanks to the festival called Onam. I had to get work done. I had to get some cloth and then go to the tailor. I knew exactly where to I had to go. I started walking at 4:30 pm.
I walked to the cloth store – that is when it all started going wrong.
They did not have what I wanted. They always do – but today, when I am walking alone, they don’t!
I ask them where I can get what I need and walk on. Fifteen minutes at a brisk pace and I am not entirely sure where I am. Then all hell broke loose.
It started raining.
It started raining cats and dogs. I walked almost completely drenching myself before I found shelter. And all I could think all along was about the three colourful, beautiful umbrellas in my room – bought one every year in Mangalore, used none till date.
Once the rain stopped I noticed I was in a cloth shop – yes, it took me that long to realise it. I asked them what I wanted and they had it. I bought it.
And surprise!! Two of my college mates come along. I talk to them for ten minutes (at least five minutes person) and I walk on. It took me another five minutes to remember I was lost and by then it was too late – I couldn’t find the cloth shop or my college mates anywhere. I cursed myself for not asking them, when I could, where in the world I was!!! I remember taking a lot of turns and finally I just stopped trying.
I decided I had reached ‘lost land’, again.
I walked to an auto rickshaw told where I wanted to go. Barely a minute in the rickshaw and I reach. 13 bloody rupees (minimum charge in Mangalore) down the drain thanks to my sense of direction. I went to the tailor and walked back.
I didn’t lose my way.

I’m tired now.
I am tired after walking the distance of almost the whole of Karnataka in a 10 metre radius.
I am tired of me being lost almost every time I try not to be.
I am tired of my lamentable sense of direction which always seems to take me in circles.

I have now decided to always take the path which I think wrong, maybe then I’ll reach somewhere!

The pig sty

I am not obsessed with cleanliness.
I do not clean my room every second of every minute of every day.
My clothes are always scattered all over the room.
But I could never survive for a second, let alone live in a pig sty.
This post is about how weird my thoughts about cleanliness can get.
Brace yourselves.

My hallucinations about multi coloured micro organisms began long ago.
I think cartoon network should take the blame for this.

1) My palms and feet sweat – been like that ever since I came to know where my palms and feet are. The slightest bit of dirt on my feet brings on the hallucinations - Purple plus orange coloured microbes with spades and shovels versus red plus green coloured microbes with swords and shields on my feet – WAR!!
Ever since the hallucinations began I hate walking on sand. I don’t really mind the monsoon though – it’s wet, the microbes drown.

2) I hate people who sit on my pillow or put their foot on my bed. Brown plus green microbes and pink coloured worm like stuff from their asses on to my pillow – the pillow on which my face rests when I go to sleep – eww!!! And as far as the feet are concerned I have already mentioned the microbes involved.

3) Earrings – I avoid them when possible. I imagine the microbes (silvery white this time) crawling through the earrings into my ear, especially if they are not my earrings. What is even weirder is that I do not have the same problem with my nose piercing – it is like my nose has a defence system against the silvery white bloody crawlers but my poor ears do not.

4) Transparent microbes on bar soaps – started after a single thought: the same bar of soap cleans every part of the human body, every part. Ever since then it has been shower gel for me.

Well I always thought my hallucinations were pretty normal until I discussed the hygiene aspect of the process of micturition (peeing) with a friend. The discussion ended with me deciding I would wash my bladder whenever possible (if I could). This seemed slightly beyond the range of normality – then.

I still think my obsession is normal – it is just that you do not think about my thoughts, I do.
As for living in a pig sty – I don’t want to start imagining the multi coloured microbes.

My haven is always a mess, the difference being it is a clean mess.
Does that make sense?

Tuesday, 9 September 2008

Dos and Don'ts

Every relationship comes to an end.
Some end faster than others.
Some end more bitter than others.
Some, well, they just end.

I decided to post on the dos and don’ts of any relationship (wtf?!), which at least one among the partners, unmistakably, preaches – making life more difficult than difficult for everyone, especially the other partner.

Males are different from females – more different than you can imagine but at the same time more similar than what would be considered healthy.
Unfortunately for me, I have some sort of power (which I’m not too proud of) to think both ways (which always ends up in me not thinking at all).
I shall be mentioning the preaching of the two sexes separately.

FEMALES - (Ladies first – wtf?!)

1) Think about me every second of your life – easy for the jobless to say.
2) Send me flowers everyday – why don’t you start gardening?
3) Look into my eyes and tell me I’m the most beautiful lady on earth every day – this one is really tough, takes practice!
4) Be extremely hygienic – I agree with this one (shall explain in the next post).
5) I shall be your first, second, third… hundredth… millionth and only priority in life – get a life, lady!!!

1) Do not smoke unless I’m a smoker – it is apparently bad for health only if the lady doesn’t smoke.
2) Do not drink too much which later on proceeds to do not drink – apparently you talk gibberish once you are drunk (note: the gibberish was called cute once upon a time)
3) Do not listen to any other female – especially your mother! No comments.
4) Do not take any decision in your life without discussing with me and doing exactly what I think is right for you – this leads to no decision being taken, most of the time.
5) Do not have too many friends – do not have a life, in short.

– (I’m so enjoying this!)

1) Clean my mess – which is equivalent to cleaning a pig sty.
2) Treat me like king – delusion of grandeur, every man suffers from it!
3) Cook for me, good food 24*7 – get a chef for a wife!
4) Laugh at my stupid jokes – this gets so boring after a while.
5) Remain perfect bodied even if my six pack becomes ten flab – WTF?!

1) Never remind me of any date that may be special – I, unfortunately, completely agree with this.
2) Do not discuss tomorrow. Live today – this is when tomorrow becomes a question.
3) Do not tell me what to do. I am rarely wrong. I know what is to be done – delusion of grandeur again.
4) Do not question my dealings with other women, but you shall not talk ‘too much’ to any other man – how much is too much?!!
5) Do not take me shopping. Ill bicker and rant like a two year old – even if it is for him!!

Well the list is never ending – in both the cases, and may be subject to a little rearrangement in the case of 'the confused'.
I am not adding more to the list than what I have mentioned – not because I can’t – but because this double sex role play is giving me a head ache.

Stop preaching, you are not enlightened enough for doing so!

Monday, 8 September 2008

Beyond reason

Somebody once told me the difference between want and need. I do not completely agree with what the person told but it did make me think.
It made me think.

When you know the reason why, it is a want and when you can not understand why, no matter how hard you try, it is a need.

Beyond reason – that is need.

I need food – not to keep me alive.
If it were to keep me alive it would be a want.
I need food because I need it.

I need to be loved – not because I love the feeling.
If it were because I love the feeling it would be a want.
I need to be loved because I need it.

I need to type out this post – not because I have something substantial to enlighten you with.
If it were so it would be a want.
I need to type out this post because I need it.

I need sleep – not because it makes me feel well rested (it never does).
I need sleep because I need it.

A need is always something that cannot be satisfied.
I can never be satisfied with food – I know that!
I can never be satisfied being loved – nobody can.
I can never be satisfied typing out this post – no comments.
I can never be satisfied no matter how much I sleep – I just wake up sleepier.
A need can make you happy, but never satisfied.
(Read my first post)

Then why do we need?
A need is what we need to stay alive.
Everything in life cannot be explained.
If it could be then there wouldn’t be stupid, unanswered questions like ‘why did the chicken cross the road’ and ‘which came first - the chicken or the egg’.

Life is full of needs, needs are what keeps us alive.
Something to live for, something to need, beyond reason – that is what makes us wake up every morning.
It is the need to need that makes every morning worth waking up for – not love, not food, not this stupid post, not sleep.

I need to find out how to stop needing.
Once you stop needing, you stop living.

Think about what you need.

I need to find nowhere.
(Read my post ‘Going nowhere’)

Sunday, 7 September 2008


This is a controversial post.
Please note - what I type out here are my thoughts on the topic.
If you have any thoughts on the same, write it on your own blog.
If you disagree with me on any fact to be mentioned below – comment.
I shall entertain the idea of entertaining your disagreement.

I am not too fond of babies.

Every single time I have stated the above, I have had to deal with the following:
1) A long, boring monologue on why babies are a symbol of innocence, purity and everything good that exists or is believed to exist on Earth.
2) A cold, reprimanding look which tries to force the words ‘oh! I am wrong’ out of my sealed mouth.
3) ‘Are you crazy?’ – I’m not entirely sure how to respond to this question.
4) ‘How can you say such a horrendous, inhuman thing?’ – Well, I just did! Maybe you should try next! It is pretty simple to say if you know a funny language called English.
5) ‘You just think it is cool to say so.’ – is it cool? I had no idea!!!
6) And the worst of all - ‘You will grow out of it eventually.’ I hope not.

Almost every person I have come across thinks babies are lovely.
Every female I know wants to become a baby producing machine some day.
In this post I’m going to prove and rest my case on why I am not too fond of babies.

Making them is a Herculean task.

- It is either when you least want it or after nights of toiling hard (forgive the pun) that you finally get it right/wrong.
- 280 days of misery follows during which these ‘babies’ survive as parasites. In addition, you have to deal with a big belly which restricts every possible normal human activity: standing, sleeping, eating, peeing, sitting, shitting – everything.
- 12 hours of pain struggling to get the damn thing out of you. This pain (from what I have seen) is beyond my limited vocabulary, but bears a close resemblance to the torture in Nazi concentration camps.
- Baby comes into being. Slimy, dirty, monkey-faced baby comes into being.

Amusing them is, again, pure torture.

- They cry all the time.
- They either cry or sleep or are hungry.
- They cry for everything, you don’t realize what they want.
- They are stupid.
- All they care about is their wants. Others’ schedules take a backseat.
- They are selfish.
- They are not as innocent as they seem: they know what they essentially need to survive and go to great lengths to get whatever it is that they want, at any cost.
- They have no manners.
- They expect us to clean their mess.
- They just make stupid noises and think they can have their way.
- They love the attention!

And they are supposed to be cute.
Read my post again, with an adult human taking the place of the baby.
Does the human being cute justify these atrocities?
It doesn’t as far as I am concerned.

I am not too fond of babies.

Friday, 5 September 2008

What a day!

This day is not today.
It was a few days back.
For several moments during the course of the day I was under the misconception that this was the worst day of my life, but it kept getting worse.
I am absolutely in no doubt that worse days are to come, sooner rather than later.
Here goes:

For the past few days I am fasting. This is as a part of my annual cleansing therapy – mental and physical. This fast requires me to wake up before sunrise to eat after which I eat/drink only after sunset.
Temptations taunt most when you are most likely to be tempted.

- The day before had ended late. Thanks to my internet connection not working I was on my phone for three hours continuously and slept peacefully ignorant of what awaits me.

- I woke up at 8:40 am to realise two disturbing facts:
1) I had missed my daily uptake of nutrition before sunrise.
2) I had exactly 30 minutes to get my ass down at clinical posting failing which I would end up adding 6 more months of unbearable torture to my academic life – thanks to my commendable status of attendance.

- My toothpaste had gotten over. A little bit of blue goo was all I asked for, just so that I wouldn’t have to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the day. Three heroes came to the rescue of the damsel in distress:
1) Hero number one: My teeth. The hero struggled against the unyielding plastic tube. The hero failed miserably and managed to present me with a head splitting toothache.
2) Hero number two: My ass. I sat on the damn thing hoping to get some blue goo out of the damn tube. Hero number two failed miserably after several attempts.
3) Hero number three: Pair of scissors. I cut the tube open and in the process cut a bit of my finger too. Hero number three succeeded taking a bit of my finger as reward.
I brushed with a mixture of blue goo toothpaste and blood.
It was disgusting.

- I reached for clinical posting on time – wow! Class went on forever. My stomach started growling ferociously and I started hallucinating about food – visual, auditory, tactile and gustatory hallucinations. I sat down unable to bear the burden of my hallucinations. I forced myself not to fall prey to temptation. I am not supposed to feel hungry nor am I to voice my woe. Class ended without me realising what it was about – attendance was given to all - I walked back to hostel wondering why this never happened when I am absent.

- I felt like blogging. My bloody internet connection was still in a state of defiance.
I slept – frustrated because I wanted to blog.
I started this blog so that I could vent my frustrations and here it was leading me into frustration.
My frustrated life!

- I went for class half awake. Almost fell into a ditch on the way, thanks to the innumerable number of times they renovate roads in Mangalore – reached, still half awake and unhurt.
The class was boring – as usual.

- I decided to get my net working again. I decided to walk 2 kms to my service provider.
I walked, walked and walked.
The customer service counter was empty.
The sales counter had a female with an artificial smile behind it.
The payment counter had a female with an ‘I don’t know how I got here’ expression behind it.
I went to the sales counter and tried explaining my problem.
She told me to go to the payment counter.
I went to the payment counter and tried explaining my problem.
She told me to go to the customer care counter.
I went to the customer care counter and waited.
I waited.
Finally, a lady with an ‘I hate you for disturbing me’ expression asks me what my complaint is.
I explain.
She starts telling me about all the new offers available.
After a minute of hearing what she had to say, I got the feeling she would not stop. I interrupted her monologue to explain my problem again. She told me to wait for ‘Madam’.
So I waited.
After half an hour of waiting the monologue lady takes me to an ‘I think I am a stud’.
I wonder if he is ‘Madam’ and why he is called ‘Madam’.
Anyway I explain my problem to him.
He tells me he needs to have a look at my modem.
I tell him I have a wireless connection.
He starts explaining why he can’t do anything without having a look at my modem.
I tell him I have a wireless connection.
He tells me he can help only if I bring my modem.
I tell him I have a wireless connection.
Finally I get the message across and he tells me they do not deal with wireless connections there and that I should contact my college computer authority. And then he asks my name. I entertained two thoughts:
1) to walk away
2) to tell him to get a life and walk away
I walked away.
I was too tired already.
I walked, walked and walked.
I reached college and enquired about the connection problem at the computer department. I got a phone number in return. The phone number was to help me in case I had any trouble.

- I reached hostel, almost falling into a ditch again.
I switch on my computer.
My net is working.
Two hours of patience flushed down a dirty toilet!

- I start blogging. I forget about time.
I start chatting. I forget about time.
At 9:00 pm I realise I haven’t eaten anything. And I’m supposed to be a glutton – almost.
I eat, eat and eat.
I fall asleep on my laptop to wake up at 8:30 am to realise three very disturbing facts:
1) I slept with my lenses on and now they’re stuck to my eyes.
2) I missed my daily uptake of nutrition before sunrise – again.
3) I have exactly 40 minutes to get to clinical posting.

Life – no comments.

Thursday, 4 September 2008

Social norms

Social norms: normal according to the society - that is what I infer the meaning to be.

The question is who decides what is normal?
Is it the society which decides normality?
Is the society normal to decide normality?
Isn’t an abnormal person a part of the society too?
Does an abnormal person in a society decide what is normal?
Won’t an abnormal person deduce his actions to be normal?

Conclusion being:
The society which includes many abnormal people decide what is normal according to them and term it as social norms, resulting in social norms being not so normal after all.

Not too long ago, at a party where everybody was having fun, somebody seemed very perturbed. Myself being a very concerned and sympathetic (in short, nosy) soul decided to get to the bottom of whatever it was that was bothering somebody.
I followed somebody’s line of sight and, behold, there lay the cause of somebody’s aloofness – a mass of two bodies, one distinctly female and the other male, the proximity… umm… let’s just say one couldn’t make out where the female ended or where the male began, they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying each other’s closer than close proximity.
I asked somebody what was it about the mass of two bodies that was truly bothering him. He replies, it is not within the social norms to act so. I ask would it be within the social norms if you were the male body in the mass of two bodies. He replies with a rather surprising question – ‘who would the female be?’
Social norms – it is just sour grapes, almost always.

Long ago, at another party (parties are very enlightening) my aunt told me good girls never drink too much. I ask her why. She replies, it is not within the social norms to do so. I wonder for a long time and ask - how much is too much. She tells me to go play with the other kids as is suitable for my age and stop disturbing her with unnecessary, childish questions - basically, she told me to fuck off. I know for sure my question was not childish because I am 21 years old now, not a child anymore and I still don’t know how much is too much - according to social norms.
Social norms – it is fictional, almost always.

So, next time anybody tells you to act like an adult would within social norms, tell them to fuck off – because basically they are delusional, frustrated idiots.

Monday, 1 September 2008

Four words

I hate the word procrastination.
- I procrastinate when I’m in doubt – which forces me to think. I hate thinking and hence I hate procrastinating.
- The word as such is a bit difficult for me. PROCRASTINATE – I always have a problem with the second ‘R’ and the ‘N’.
- For reasons beyond perception, the word reminds me of castration – which is not very nice. Procrastinate… procastrate… (?)
As I mentioned – reasons beyond my perception.

I have been procrastinating.
The procrastination was not due to the topic at hand.
The procrastination was because I was unsure whether I know.

I was unsure whether I am proficient enough to write this post.
Only one who is able enough to fathom the reason can afford reasoning.
I was unsure of my ability to comprehend the reason.

There are only four things that humans crave for.
There are only four, very similar nouns that humans live for.
Four nouns which when expressed with a couple of adjectives makes a person’s day.
These four nouns are terrible words according to me, not one is beautiful.
They all sound superficial.


Every task when undertaken is with only these four aims in mind.
Mr. Uterus started conceiving (blogging) today.
He sheds blood, sweat and tears trying to make his offspring (blog) look appropriate.
He revises a million times before delivering (posting) his baby (post).
He thinks it is the most beautiful piece of work ever created.
But does that matter much to Mr. Uterus?

He wants to see whether his friends approve of his offspring (blog).
He wants to know if his offspring is worthy of approval.
He gets it.
The offspring (blog) is Approved to be called an offspring (blog).
But does that matter much to Mr. Uterus?

Mr Uterus starts conceiving (blogging) more because he likes the idea of his offspring (blog) being approved.
He wants to be accepted by everyone as a true Uterus! (blogger) - One who is worthy of being Accepted for who he is and not just another ordinary person.
He gets it.
The offspring (blog) is accepted into the brethren of millions of offsprings (blogs) all over the world and acquires its share of loyal friends (visitors).
But does that matter much to Mr. Uterus?

After being accepted he wants the loyal friends (visitors) to pour out their hormones (comments) so that his offspring and indirectly he can swell in the appreciation.
So, the loyal friends (visitors) pour out their hormones (comments) to make Mr. Uterus feel Appreciated.
But does that matter much to Mr. Uterus?

He wants others to want to be like him. He wants others to wish they could deliver (post) offsprings (blogs) like his.
The pompous ass, Mr. Uterus, wants to be Admired.
And finally, he gets that too.
But does that matter much to Mr. Uterus?
Does it?

Every man whether crawling, walking or barely standing strives for these four things.

I am not different.
I realised this when one of my loyal friends (visitors) called my offspring (blog) a bulletin board.
– It always shows things that either people already know about or don’t care about.

This thought lead to the procrastination.
My offspring (blog) being called a bulletin board was not Approval, nor was it Acceptance; it was not Appreciation and most definitely not Admiration.
So, Mr. Uterus' blood, sweat and tears seem to go down the drain.
But then I broke free and realised true purpose - beyond those four words.
Now it is over – the procrastination.

My offspring (blog) maybe a bulletin board
- But remember, a bulletin board can always say ‘I told you so’.
And I conceive (blog) only for that.
- So that when you fall flat on your face, I can laugh at you and say
‘I told you so!’
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