Animal Rights

Peta (People for Ethical Treatment of Animals) recently raised its voice against the hugely followed practice of drinking cow/buffalo milk – perhaps the most widely consumed beverage across geographies, next only to Coffee and Tea. Most of us have grown up getting bombarded by the advantages of gulping down a glass full of milk in the morning – however detestable it may smell. Nevertheless Peta does not agree with mothers worldwide that milk is essential for healthy upbringing of any child. On the contrary, it is more concerned about the cruelty and atrocity the cows have to go through when they are milked. And this is just one of the issues Peta wants addressed out of a list of hundreds. Though Peta has managed to create quite a stir as far as animal rights are concerned, it still has miles to go before every person on earth turns an animal lover.

Try envisaging a world where Peta has succeeded in making ‘the wildest imaginable right you can give to animals’ an all-binding, obligatory and impeachable law. Canines, livestock, birds, aquatic creatures have been provided all the luxuries we enjoy today (well not all  … only those that make sense to the animals). A whole new industry has sprouted to help make life comfortable for animals. Do you think our less brainy counterparts will have a ball? … May be … the idea of this article is to take a comic look at such a situation (if it were to happen ever)

Life is a treat for the carnivores. The jungles are supplemented with hotels exclusively for the meat eaters serving steak, beef, pork and every other kind of meat that forms a part of their diet. There is cooked meat, raw meat and meat enriched with vitamins and proteins for sick animals. All they have to do is walk into these restaurants and roar, growl, hiss or howl for their daily treat. In addition, there are spas that tend to every cleaning need of the animals.

Herbivores and livestock have been equally taken care of. Grocery malls are located all over which have separate sections for each type of fodder, plants, fruits etc. For livestock who do not wish to chew their food, there is powdered, predigested plant food available (This has of course given birth to tons of tooth problems – but who cares… dental clinics for animals have come up in no time to tackle them). Anyone found riding a horse (or any other animal) is slammed a hefty fine and bullock-carts are not even allowed in museums as they are found to create a distressing image in the minds of on looking animals.

However, thanks to all the pampering, animals have to endure the maladies of a luxurious lifestyle. Foraging/hunting for food and cleaning themselves – the only activities which animals used to indulge in (except reproduction) so far are now served on a platter by Peta activists and animal enthusiasts. A visit to zoos and animal sanctuaries is no longer a treat as all you can see is animals stretched out lethargically in the open. Animals chatting (or roaring, barking …) till the wee hours of the morning is not an uncommon sight as there is nothing to do by rising up early in the morning. There are animal gymnasiums that have special obesity and weight management programs for each category of animals.

Though all of this is too much of an exaggeration, who knows what will happen if our attempt to have a healthy symbiosis with our fellow creatures turns ugly and leads to objecting our every single action. Caring for and fighting fiercely for species facing extinction is definitely a noble act (probably something that every one of us should be a part of) because it’s a clear signal by nature that something we are doing is not right; However questioning and criticizing every act that involves animals is probably stretching it a bit too much. It all comes down to the wise thought put forth by Mahatma Gandhi, “Earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s need, but not every man’s greed”. But then our earth does not have many Mahatmas’ ……. does it?

By Prescription

Therapy, treatment, medicine are words which ring a warning bell for most of us plebeians (that obviously does not include doctors and therapists. These words surely ring a bell for them, but I don’t think it’s of warning or apprehension – Probably a ‘hefty check is waiting around the corner’ bell). I use the word plebeians because ‘undergoing a therapy’, ‘visiting a doctor’ suddenly seems to be the in-vogue thing among the (materialistically) elite class of society. That’s however a different topic altogether so let’s leave it at that.

Unless you are suicidal, the idea of falling ill is not a pleasing one for most of us. We all dread being a patient, the apprehension that precedes the doctor’s visit and the blues that follow the realization that you are supposed to undergo treatment over the next week. With due respect to all the branches of medicine that exist today, the thing that I dread more than falling sick is-choosing the right therapy for treatment. What makes it even more difficult is the fact that the advocates of each branch of medicine seem to be pointing out the inadequacies (read hazards) of their counterparts. So you may never be able to reach a conclusion as to whether you will be going for some colored pills or powdered plant roots to cure your common cold.

The battle between the three conventional branches of medicine has probably been raging since these three were invented. Allopathy, also called as the ‘English medicine’ is one of the most practiced branch of medicine worldwide owing to the speed with which it cures disease. But at the same time it probably is the most criticized form of medicine, which continues to receive flak for the side-effects it has on the body. I remember having seen allopathic medicine bottles where the ‘warning-possible side effects’ column filled up more space then the ‘treatment for’ column. I would certainly not prefer a face full of rashes after popping in pills for my upset stomach.

Homeopathy which injects the medicine by coating small sugar balls with diluted chemical compounds is an instant hit among children. It successfully squashes the image of medicine being something that makes you contort you face while consuming. You feel as if you are having a candy treat of sorts because except for the sweet taste of sugar, the medicine in itself is mostly tasteless and odorless. Though it has quite a bit of followers who claim it has achieved breakthrough cures, the accuracy of a homeopathic prescription relies on how well the doctor understands his patient’s body composition and psychology. Now understanding one’s own psychic is a byzantine task in itself (at least for me) leave alone understanding somebody else. That’s the reason why the fact that a homeopath prescribes a treatment to his patient in an hour long appointment fails to convince me.

Ayurveda, the oldest branch of medicine has probably existed since man first fell ill. It has been carried forward by the sages of ancient India and has so far managed to maintain a mystic aura around it. It is one of the most revered forms of medicine and I personally vouch for the fact that it treats diseases once and for all. It is believed to have no side effects – a claim that does not appeal to the reasoning lobe of my brain. If the medicine is targeting the chemical imbalance in your body to cure you, no matter how natural and organic the form of treatment is, it must have an associated side effect with it-though minor. Ayurveda is believed to cure any disease in the world (unless it’s a last stage cancer for example); however the effects are so slow that at times one may wonder whether the medicine cured him or time. It certainly demands patience as one of the virtues of the sufferer.

As if there was not enough of decision making required, today, there has been an influx of new therapies fondly labeled alternative medicine such as Acupuncture, Acupressure, Reiki, EFT (Emotional Freeing Technique), Sylva mind, Pranic healing, Aura cleansing, Magnet therapy to name a fraction. One interesting thing about most of the new therapies that have sprouted (relatively) recently is that they focus on the thought pattern and the attitude of the patient towards the disease. It’s comforting to see that finally, we are coming of age to accept the fact that most of the diseases are ramifications of mental stress and incorrect attitudes. It’s easier said but if we could control our thoughts more, maintain an optimistic attitude and keep the obvious vices (alcohol, fried food …) at bay we would be spared from a lot of pain and of course deciding which therapy to choose. A herculean task – at least for me but then it’s Just a thought …

Is what you are doing right ?? .. It maybe .. it can be wrong as well ..

Right vs. Wrong, Appropriate vs. Inappropriate, Good vs. bad, correct vs. incorrect, ethical vs. unethical … the list is endless. But who decides what the right thing to do is? Do we have a hundred percent objective judge? When all reasoning fails, some may resort to religion and say that ‘God will not approve of this’! Though it sounds extremely divine and neat, it’s a bit too fantastic for any thinking man to believe. Even if we assume it to be true, the argument is-who told you what god approves and what he does not? Some scriptures, dogmas, orthodox parents or brain-washed religion followers! Right?

Every day, we indulge in countless activities which are not so right from someone else’s point of view. Let’s start from the very first thing in the morning that most of us do (well I don’t because I think it’s not right … but unfortunately I am in minority so maybe I am wrong) – Having a cup of hot tea or freshly brewed coffee to kick start our bodies for the day ahead. Most dietitians and doctors will vouch to the fact that this is an unhealthy practice since after a night long relaxation the body is not ready for a sudden shot of caffeine; some medical reports go to the extent of labeling Tea as one of the carcinogenic substances. In spite of these facts, the number of people having these beverages effortlessly outnumbers their counterparts. So does it qualify to be the right thing to do?

Turning to the Venus vs. Mars behavior, picture strolling in the park with you girlfriend/wife. Is it right to glance at an attractive girl/woman (take your pick) even if she is with another man? Most boys will think this is absolutely right. After all it’s not like we are going to call off the current relationship and take off with her. This is coded in our DNA and is actually an indication that we are normal. Sounds perfectly right to me! The girlfriend/wife on the other hand will consider this extremely disgusting and lecherous, may be leaning towards infidelity.

There are innumerable such questions/behaviors that do not have a straight right or wrong answer. Consider eating everything on your plate even if you are full vs throwing it away even if half the population in your country does not get 2 square meals a day … Or … be it telling a lie if it does no harm (according to you) … Or … whether milk is vegetarian or not (unless you are lacto-vegetarian) … Or … staying with your parents and be mocked at as being dependant vs staying alone and being ridiculed for not giving your parents company in their old age. I can go on and on … but with no surety of what is right and what is wrong.

Among many other things in his career studded with discoveries and inventions, Mr. Einstein successfully christened this dilemma as ‘The theory of relativity’. Whatever seems perfectly right and justified for someone may be completely wrong to someone relative to his/her point of view. Everything is relative! Interesting observation, but unfortunately that means the words right and wrong should not find a place in the dictionary. And if I am wrong then regardless of Einstein’s theory, the question of ‘Right vs Wrong’ still remains. May be there is no right answer to this … or maybe I am wrong and there is …

Lights! Camera! ...

Before you laugh off at my goof-up; let me assure you that I have my understanding of the movie-jargon well in place.  But after having ‘almost’ escaped being branded as one among the new category of addicts – the movie addicts (movie buff is just a fancy name probably coined by the film industry to make addiction sound like an in-thing), I feel that Inaction is what looms whenever a film director screams ‘Lights’ and ‘Camera’!

The very same words which are an indication for the actors to spring into action, translate into the complete opposite for us-the viewers. How many times have you been in a situation when you sat glued to your television set for hours at a stretch only to feel that you could have instead played a sport or gone out somewhere? If you are a child of the late 20^th century, the answer must be somewhere around ‘Ummm … I think I have lost count’.  Personally, I have wasted many weekends when I could have went out hiking or for a nice tiring game of badminton; but I chose inaction as my favorite movie rolled on.

Visual media is one of the most rapidly swelling industries in terms of the revenue involved. Every movie that is shot takes the bank account of the actors’ involved a (big) notch up. Ever wondered why? That’s because we as viewers are willing to shell out for inaction – be it a movie, television series, a documentary or even an ad-film. Not sure where I am going? Well my point is – it’s good to watch your favorite actor’s movie or your favorite team’s game once in a while; but it shouldn’t become a habit. One may argue that the entertainment you derive from a good show is worth every penny. However the fact that it has assumed an importance of being the ‘only’ source of entertainment (and the only source of most of the physical ailments) is not justified. It has become the numero-uno cause of inaction where most of us do not miss a second deciding between a blockbuster movie of your favorite actor and a good, exhausting game of your favorite sport. Like an unknown author on the internet perceives – “Television has changed a child from an irresistible force to an immovable object.” … has it?

I will be simply re-iterating what many health enthusiasts have already put forth in their stand against the idiot box (or screen) when I ask how do you think life went along before the visual media came into picture? People were never short of means of entertainment, they never got ‘BORED’ … so why do we? I am all for the fact that the visual media can be an enriching experience in terms of entertainment, news, facts and knowledge but let’s try and prevent it from transforming into the most formidable adversary of healthy living and activity. Like most other preaching’s, it is much easier said than, but I sincerely hope that we all who pride our youth so much are strong enough to cry ‘Action’ the next time someone says Lights! Camera! annddd ..

Try searching Google for the ‘hazards of too much television’ and you can watch thousands of videos to help you drive the point home. You still didn’t get it right? shut down your computer … go hit the gym instead ….

Everyone except 'Distant' relatives Pleaseeee

Although we are social beings, we live in pretty closed groups (Though, calling man a social Animal may be more apt, I have still not gotten over my prejudice about our species being a cut above Animals). We may network with thousands of people over our lifetime, but a relationship is what we share with only a fraction of those. Out of these, there are relationships which we form, develop and nurture over a period of time with completely unknown people (having similar wavelengths – whatever that means). Then there are those relationships we get stuck with by birth.

In India, families are fairly extended with relatives in the form of uncles, aunts, cousin brothers and sisters, nephews, grandparents, great grandparents from both the maternal and paternal side. Here, it’s not too unusual to overhear someone introduce someone as, “This is my mother’s-brother’s-younger daughter’s-husband’s-sister’s-father’s-mother”. You get the idea! Such relatives are pigeonholed as ‘Distant relatives’. Except for the fact that they are somewhere in the family chain, you hardly share a relationship with them.

It’s always an occasion to let your hair down when relatives visit you, however with ‘distant’ relatives it’s a different drama altogether – especially when there is nothing that both the parties can relate to. Recently, some such ‘very distant’ relatives decided to pay us a visit. They were going to be in our town for the weekend and probably a sudden surge to revive far flung relationships had gotten over them. Completely abusing the deeply revered Indian idea of being late, they arrived at our home before time. They were three of them; a middle aged woman, a burly gentleman and their teenage son – who apparently was my ‘distant’ brother.

I and my parents exchanged the obligatory pleasantries with our guests to start the conversation off. We spoke about how exactly we were related and how pitiable it was that we had not met even once in the last two decades.  As our discussion topics started to wane, we gradually shifted to fail-safe topics like weather, traffic, cost of living, water/electricity/house maid problems and pollution in our respective towns. But even these topics didn’t last too long. My dad inquired what my distant brother is doing in his life right now.  A typical teenager, he blurted out ‘engineering’ and resumed fiddling with his cell phone leaving the room silent and without anything to discuss. However, burly uncle was smart enough to take the lead and asked me what I was doing for a living. I told him more than he had asked and gave him the opportunity to ask a few more questions. However within 5 minutes we were back to square one with a silent room full of people with nothing to chat about.

After a couple of minutes, which seemed like eternity, uncle seemed to remember someone related to both of us and asked if we knew what they were up to now-a-days. However, unfortunately we had no clue about whom he was talking, so there was nothing further to discuss. The eerie silence continued. My mom offered to fix up some snacks for them and left for the kitchen. On the pretest of helping my mother, I escaped too. We returned with snacks for everyone and resumed hunting for discussion topics. I think nobody uttered another word for the next 10 minutes or so.

Suddenly I remembered that we had not yet discussed ‘Movies’-the favorite pass time in India, second only to the game of cricket. With a teenage boy in the room I was hopeful of having a good conversation. However, I brought up the discussion of the most recent movie I had watched, which was not apt for the situation; or maybe it was too apt. I had watched this comedy movie by the name ‘Athiti Kab Jaooge ?’ meaning Oh dear guest, when will you leave? The movie was a light comedy where a distant uncle visits his nephew and stays for what seems like eternity; and how the nephew and his family try everything under the sun to get rid of their distant relative.

To make things worse (or better) uncle turned out to be a movie enthusiast and had watched the movie as well. He remarked that it was an interesting one and it is nice to see young directors exploring fresh topics rather than run of the mill. Just when, I began dreading that our distant relatives did not get a cue from my choice of the movie to discuss, uncle got up from his chair and announced it was a pleasure visiting us and they should get going now. I seriously doubted the pleasure part but I was too excited about the words ‘we should get going’ to worry about that. We bid them a ‘we should meet more often’ good bye and finally returned to our normal lives.

If you have ever been a part of such a ‘distant’ relatives-get-together then you must have witnessed how quickly topics for discussion run out and what follows is a long uneasy silence which you can neither escape nor endure. The next time though, just bring up the topic of your favorite movie when your patience burns out – I don’t think I need to mention the name (well I guess I have already done that). And if that doesn’t work, please let me know what will …

This article stems from a typical – girl vs. boy conversation with one of my office friends that went haywire and resulted in a debate about who suffers the most when a woman is pregnant – The wife or husband (Marriage is not a pre-requisite for pregnancy – but thankfully for her (because I am shameless) we didn’t discuss that). I am an unmarried boy in mid 20’s with absolutely no experience about the topic of this article. However based on the few instances where I have been a third party observer coupled with my imagination-I attempt to put forward a point of view that may make me the focal point of every pregnant woman’s scorn.

If a world-wide poll for ‘the most visualized fantasy of every woman is conducted – I think “Fantasizing a baby of her own” will easily win hands down. Then why is it that when she does get pregnant, everyone sympathizes with her for being the most courageous person on this earth and braving pain no one can imagine. Isn’t it what she wanted?

Everyone knows that craving for exotic tastes and smells is something that is considered extremely normal and expected for a pregnant woman. But nobody thinks about what the husband goes through to satisfy these cravings. And I suppose, there is an unwritten rule that these cravings always have to be at inappropriate times, which makes satisfying them an even more herculean task. Cravings for chocolate ice-cream at midnight may sound human, but what if a lady wakes you up at an unearthly hour and begs for the smell of bleach or kerosene? Of course you have to oblige or else follows the over-used but still effective emotional drama of “You don’t love me as you did before I got pregnant”. So while the woman gets a dual satisfaction-of her craving and of having an obedient husband, the husband silently suffers – with a smile.

Women are naturally blessed with an ability to render men speechless in an argument. Whatever slight argument a husband puts forward, stops during those nine months owing to an emotional blackmail on the lines of “I am sorry, my mood change is not in my hands”. The only woman in a man’s life who supports his every word – his mother, also switches sides during this period. These are the only 9 months when the woman-mother-in-law relation is at its rosy best.

The initial months are always great for the expecting couple. Every moment is a celebration in anticipation of the new family member. The to-be mom is on the top of the world. She is reveling in her new found respect, love and care and at the same time she is thrilled at the idea of giving birth to a life. Unless the baby is extremely precocious, he is pretty content and comfortable in his mother’s womb for the initial 4-5 months. It’s when he starts pushing, pulling and kicking around that the mother realizes what she is in for. I can understand it must be irritating and painful when the child kicks around every waking moment; but guess who has to bear the brunt along with the mother? Correct … Mr. Hubby. All we can do is lend a shoulder to the husband especially when the lady vents out her frustration with sentences such as, “See what all I have to go through because of what you did to me” – Like it was a rape.

To wind it up, I am mature enough to understand that a woman must have to go through a lot pain and discomfort emotionally and physically. What I disapprove of is the fact that when the man puts his heart out to make the woman comfortable-it’s labeled his duty; however if the lady suffers the slightest of pregnancy problems, he is the first one to be blamed for his ignorance and lack of responsibility … Unfair right ? Probably not! … after all, it’s Just a thought

‘Who do you want to be when you grow up?’ Put this question to a child and you may get back anything from the conventional, highly treaded options such as a doctor, engineer and pilot to the queerer but more in-vogue ones like a fashion designer, Disc-jockey, tattoo artist and so on. How many times do you hear a child say, ‘I want to be a traffic police’? And even if he does say it, I am sure you would contort your face such that he will rethink his decision right then and there.

I was watching ‘the worst jobs’ program on Discovery the other weekend and could not help but categorize the job profile of a traffic cop as one of the worst. I hope I am not being an extremist in my opinion but considering you are (or have lived) in any metro in India, it’s hard not to see sense in my statement. I have stayed in Pune all my life and I really admire the tenacity with which every traffic policeman sticks to his job, considering all that he has to face. When I write this article I am looking at the grass from the other side but one thing I know for sure – The grass certainly does not look greener!

Anything goes wrong in the city, and the traffic policemen (thankfully not the entire fraternity but just those present near the crime scene) are one among the two entities that have to bear the brunt. The other one being the fateful public transport bus – which gets stoned or burnt or at times shoved down a bridge in the aftermath that follows in the form of riots and protests – a favorite pastime for citizens in metros (a whole new topic so let’s not get into that). In the investigation that follows any crime, the first one to be questioned is the traffic policeman on duty at the time of the event. And God help him if he says, “I don’t know, I was busy controlling the traffic (which by the way is his duty)”. If the crime police fail to solve the crime, the traffic policemen are conveniently blamed for being un-attentive and irresponsible. Most of the times its a lose-lose situation for them; if they try to maintain order, they get thrashed and bad-mouthed by the public while if they try to let things be and not interfere much if anything goes wrong on the road, they are under the government axe.

Every city in a developing country has its share of power-cuts. But the one person who dreads them the most is the traffic policeman. In Pune, traffic is hard to control even when the traffic lights are working all right; so try visualizing the madness when the power goes off and the job of controlling the traffic falls solely on the traffic policemen. Even Murphy’s Law gazes angrily at the policemen – everyone thinks that traffic on the other road of the intersection is been given more time to pass and treats the policemen with blaring horns and a slew of cuss words. And if the policemen return the favor – the same people are quick to brand them as character less rogues.

India has a tropical climate, with the sun making its presence felt for 4 months of the year, heavy rains for 4 months and chilly winters (in some parts) filling in the remaining 4. Anyone who has experienced India’s climate and its populated and polluted roads can vouch by the fact that it is anything but a pleasurable experience driving for over an hour on the road. However the one person who braves it all is the traffic policeman. Irrespective of whether it is 50 degrees Celsius or it’s raining cats and dogs, the traffic police has to report on duty. To add to that, my city recently catapulted itself to fame as being one of the most polluted cities in the Asian sub-continent – adding to the health related woes of our protagonist.

I consent to the fact that 95 percent of the employed population is not too excited about getting up every morning and bracing his duty as a gift from God, but like some random quote (pardon my memory for the lack of specifics) implies – “When life’s problems seem overwhelming, look around and see what other people are coping with. You may consider yourself fortunate”. So the next time you feel your job is garbage, think all that a traffic policeman has to stomach and you may feel less lousy. And yes! While the idea is not to shed your social and moral inhibitions and give a ‘jadu ki jhappi’ to the traffic police – la ‘Munnabhai MBBS’ style, we can surely think twice before we indulge in slander the next time. Just a thought …

Pleaseee Maa ... Can I stay Here?

He had no idea where he came from, how he got here and where was he supposed to go from here, but ever since he could re-collect he was snugly curled up in a warm, cozy room big enough to fit him. He always thought of the room to be magical because the more he grew in size, the room seemed to stretch with him. The room was murky and the walls were painted in red. It was the most well equipped room that had all he needed to thrive with content. Apart from a zillion red tubes that ran along the walls of the room, it had a smart tube that originated from the ceiling and went inside his stomach. The tube actually figured out when he was hungry and how much – and fed the exact amount of food to him. The room had no windows but the walls appeared to be thin enough to help him hear voices on the outside. One feminine voice always seemed to accompany him all the time.  Of all the voices he kept hearing, only the feminine voice seemed to talk to him and strangely he longed to hear this voice, he felt a sense of security when he heard this voice. He had given a name to this voice – ‘Maa’.

In his first month in the room, he did not comprehend whatever fell on his ears. All he did was doze off and eat from the magic tube. Every once in a while, he got a feeling that ‘Maa’ spoke something to him and stroked the outside of his room’s wall but he was not sure what she said. As he grew older and bigger he grew more curious of the world that appeared to envelop his room. He struggled in vain to come out of the room by punching and kicking its walls with his tiny hands and feeble feet. Every time he kicked, he sensed a lot of activity, a lot of giggling and many voices around his room. It appeared as if there were beings similar to him on the outside who wanted him to come out … But how? Why?

He was now a couple of months old and though he still did not understand much of what he heard, his yearning to slip out of the room grew more intense by the moment. By now he had started to recognize another distinct voice than that of ‘Maa’. The voice sounded coarse and heavy and he christened that voice – ‘Paa’. At times, though rare ‘Paa’ made an effort to come close to his room and speak something to him. Most of what ‘Paa’ spoke, he found gibberish, but somehow he got a feeling of oneness on hearing his voice, a feeling he had reserved only for ‘Maa’ so far. Gradually he started to cognize the meanings of the words he heard – well most of them. One day as he was about to doze off after being fed by the magic tube he overhead ‘Maa’ and ‘Paa’ conversing.

“Paa: We are going to have the prettiest girl in the whole world”

“Maa: No I want a boy who will grow up to become the most handsome person just like his Paa; he will be the most confident, intelligent and bright student and will make us proud as he grows up”

“Paa: I will love a boy as well but I hope he gets your nose and eyes. We will teach him of strength and persistence. We will mould him to be a great person, a great son”

So finally he had an identity to himself. He was going to be a boy (whatever that meant) and he was going to make someone proud (he had no idea how). He felt a surge of energy and kicked the room strong enough to make it move… and as always ‘Maa’ touched his room from outside. He wanted to get out right then and there and prove to whoever was there on the outside that he was confident, intelligent and bright. He felt he had strength and persistence to become a great son and a great person. He did not quite understand what all that meant but he felt good whenever he heard these words.

He was now about 8 months old and felt stronger than ever. He had started kicking so hard that whenever he kicked, ‘Maa’ let out a groan and ‘Paa’ bombarded her with a stream of anxious questions, “Shall I call the hospital?, Do you think it’s about time? How bad is the pain? Shall I bring you water?” By now he had developed a fully fledged vocabulary. Though he was not able to enunciate, he was able to understand almost everything. He somehow understood that both of them were expecting him out of his room soon.

However, lately he had started to get all these feelings he didn’t quite identify with.. Often while have a discussion about him ‘Maa’ and ’Paa’ used to utter words that made him restless and twitchy. Just the other day, ‘Maa’ started a conversation –

Maa: What do we name our baby boy (he wondered how they knew he was a boy … but he didn’t bother)

Paa: It does not matter as long as he is the best engineer in our family!

Maa: NO! There are enough engineers in our family and I have seen them struggle for a well paying career. All they do is work hard like donkeys and earn peanuts. I want him to become an MBA

Paa: That is so not true. Being an engineer has its own respect in the society. My opinion is that an MBA has no solid knowledge of anything under the sun… all he knows is to talk and exploit anyone who comes in contact with him. I detest the money that comes from manipulating people. So he must become an engineer; at least he will create something new.

Maa: Damn it! You cannot decide our son’s future… and to hell with your engineering crap. As it is going by the family history of engineer’s, I think he will turn out to be a pathetic engineer. He won’t have the perseverance to slog till he creates something f***** new.

The more they spoke, the more terrified he got. He suddenly felt a huge burden of expectations on his tiny shoulders. Every passing moment, every passing conversation made him more apprehensive, more perplexed about his job outside of his room. He wanted to scream and tell ‘Maa’ and ‘Paa’ to stop confusing him. But the conversations continued …

Maa: Promise we will not punish him or hit him or talk down to him if he does anything wrong – the book said it kills the child’s confidence (FINALLY someone’s making sense, he muttered)

Paa: That is true, but you know that I cannot tolerate disobedience!  … What if he does not study? What if he does not score a good grade in school? What if he turns out to be a mediocre guy? I do not want him to stay middle class like his parents!

He suddenly started feeling incompetent of doing anything ‘Maa’ and ’Paa’ wanted him to do. He already started feeling guilty of not being up-to-the-mark and not being able enough to fulfil their expectations. His urge to slip out and face the world started to dwindle and he felt as if someone had started nibbling at his confidence … who was that? He had not even seen anyone … but he had heard and he had felt and he had absorbed emotions. All he wanted was an assurance that everything will be great and he has the power to scale heights never reached by anyone before. But it didn’t come …

The scary conversations continued and with every passing day he hoped he would grow inside the magic room with the magic tube and not care about proving himself in the big bad world outside. He stomped his feet hard in resentment. But this time he did not feel ‘Maa’s’ hand patting the outside of his room as if  saying, “everything is fine” this time he heard ‘Maa’ scream, the ceiling of his room seemed to open up and he felt as if he was getting sucked out of it. He realized, he was being pulled out of his room, out into the world he had started to fear. As he came out, he shut his eyes tightly, shivered at the thought of all he was about to face and let out a cry …. While everyone around him smiled!

Next please

Waiting for your turn at a doctor’s clinic is probably an equally unpleasant ordeal, if not more, than actually facing the doctor. And unlike any other queue, what makes the waiting more wearisome is the fact that there is no ice cream, popcorn, movie tickets or free gifts for you in the end; all you have got is someone who can dig into your wallet as much as he wants in return of something that may or may not cure you.

Of late, I was at my local physician’s clinic for a general health check-up. Since I was not visiting in response to any particular ailment, I had a relaxed countenance – a rare thing at a doctor’s clinic. Though I had scheduled my appointment well in advance and arrived on time, I was awarded a waiting time of ‘approximately’ (a very dangerous word) 30 minutes by the receptionist. Having faced with a similar situation several times in the past I had anticipated this and come prepared with newspapers and magazines to kill time. I started scanning the packed waiting room hoping to find a place to squeeze in. I spotted one but rejected it immediately owing to an extremely untidy looking not-so-gentle man sitting on the adjoining chair. He looked as if would successfully pass on a dozen contagious diseases to the most healthy person on earth. 3 chairs next to him was a young lady and a little boy seated on two separate chairs. Sensing my plight, the lady spoke loud enough for me to hear – ‘bala, majhya mandivar baas, kakanna basu de (baby, please sit on my lap so that uncle can take you chair)’. Slightly offended on being branded an ‘uncle’ in public, I nevertheless took the seat.

The waiting room was a tidy little room with a single window which opened to a full grown tree allowing very little light and fresh air. It was not too well lit – probably to help patients relate a general dullness in the environment to their sickness. There were chairs placed all around the three walls of the room. Right in front of the entrance, the fourth wall had a door that opened into the physician’s room. Beside the door was the receptionist, a pretty young girl in her early twenty’s – probably the doctor’s idea to make the patient’s waiting time less uninteresting. The girl seemed busy, either entering data into the system or chatting online. Once every 5 or 10 minutes, the phone on her desk beeped and she shouted ‘Next Please’ in a voice shrill enough to make everyone pay attention. Each of the four walls had framed pictures of a cheerful baby, flowers, puppies and an abstract art by some unknown artist. There was a clock on the wall behind the receptionist showing incorrect time and hence defeating its very purpose of existence.

I pulled out a magazine from my bag and was about to flip the pages when the little boy next to me sneezed so hard for his size that everyone in the room looked up startled. My concern apart from his loud sneeze was the uncalled-for wet spray my arm was suddenly sanctified with. What a gross start to my test of patience in the waiting room! Sitting next to the shabby man would not have been that bad an idea after all, I wondered in retrospect. The lad’s mother sensed the look of disgust on my face and apologized. She advised her kid (who was smiling by the way, conveniently oblivious of the inconvenience he had caused) saying ‘tondavar nehmi haat thevava shinktana’ (you should always cover your mouth when you sneeze). I wished she’d use some different method like a tight slap on his cheek to drive the point home – but unfortunately she was his mother and not father. Nevertheless, acknowledging her apology, I wiped my arm dry. ‘Next please’ screamed the receptionist and an elderly man got up from his chair and walked precariously towards the door. Twice on his way to the door he stopped and I wondered if it was to catch breath or going by the lost look on his face – to recollect who the hell he was and what the hell he was doing here. The ill-behaved sneezing prodigy next to me let out a stream of questions for his mom, ‘why is uncle walking so slowly? Is he going to fall? Can I have a stick to walk like his? Shall I race him to the door?’ His mom totally neglected him and quite childishly I felt good about it. After about one complete minute the old man covered the distance of 5 feet or so and reached the door. Again he stopped for a few moments, probably to recollect his thoughts and vanished behind the door.

As I was about to peek into my magazine, I overheard a middle aged couple sitting by the adjoining wall. The lady was slightly – OK! Let’s cut the euphemism – very overweight and had occupied one and a half chair while her scrawny husband had adjusted on the remaining half chair. The couple who was murmuring initially was fast gathering audience by now. The lady was gesturing her hands animatedly as she yelled at her husband, ‘How many times do we have to come to the doctor for your fit attacks? Why don’t you eat properly and exercise regularly? Or do you simply like to take medicines instead?’ The husband looked as if he would burst out in tears like a 3 year old. However, he remained silent. I thought of pointing out to the lady that may be, just in case, ‘she does not spare anything in the kitchen for him to eat’. She continued to curse him for his irregular eating habits and the more she cursed him, the more I pitied him for having to put up with such a life partner. After hearing his wife screech for about 10 minutes, he quietly stood up, asked the receptionist how much waiting time remained and stepped out of the room. I admired his method of handling such a situation. The lady turned to her other side and started talking to a almost dead-from-disease lady next to her, ‘he nehmi asach kartat, mazha kahi aikat nahit,kahi lakshach nasta tyancha … blah blah blah’ (he always behaves like this, never listens to me, doesn’t pay any attention … ).

Meanwhile the receptionist had had the opportunity to say ‘Next please’ a couple of times. The little boy next to me had sneezed half a dozen times till now, but thankfully he had behaved and covered his mouth every time. Seeing the boy sneeze so many times, a not-so-elderly lady next to the kid’s mom, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of community service started questioning the young mother. There were some relevant questions like, ‘what did beta eat recently?‘ ‘Has he been wandering around too much in sunlight?’ ‘Is he eating too much of ice-cream?’ And then there were some irrelevant questions such as ‘where do you stay?’ ‘What does the boy’s father do for a living?’ ‘Is the boy on drugs?‘ (For God’s sake, the boy looked not a minute older than 5 years – I thought of telling the lady) The young lady did well in her surprise quiz but it was not enough. Till now the questioning lady had diagnosed the kid’s sneezing as a cure-at-home aliment and something not deserving enough to be discussed with a doctor. She started rattling her own list of homemade remedies for sneezing. ‘Give beta half a teaspoon of ginger juice with half a teaspoon of honey, three times a day (morning, noon and night)’ or ‘peel a small piece of fresh ginger. Sprinkle some salt on it and ask beta to chew’. The lady sounded so ‘doctor-ish‘ that for a moment I thought of asking her if she does general health check-ups as well. Time had slipped so fast that I did not realize it was almost 45 minutes I had been waiting.

As I was about to enquire, how much more time was left for my appointment, the receptionist looked at me, smiled and said … you are next, please ! As I slid back into my chair for the last few minutes, I realized the wait had not been as lackluster as I had anticipated. Going by the clichéd adage – ‘There are two sides to every coin’, you can actually enjoy your stay in a doctor’s waiting room (or for that matter, any queue) if you choose to, and if you are blessed with the company of interesting people as I was. There is enough live entertainment around you to keep you amused for as much time as you wish, you need to develop an eye for it … Just a thought …

Who are You?

Most of us get to drive a vehicle (by choice or by compulsion) at some point in our life.  It won’t be a far cry if I say that everyone is a unique driver – one of his kinds; quite logical considering that no two people are the same in all perceivable aspects. Looking someone drive, you can actually figure out the nature of that person to a fair amount of accuracy. The way someone drives may flicker a bit depending on his mood, time commitments, pillion riders, weather etc. but on average my opinion is that everyone is born with a driving style that is tied to his nature.

A day or two on the road and you will be treated to umpteen styles of driving. Most of the people drive ‘safe’ but like every other word used in isolation, ‘safe’ is relative. Someone’s idea of ‘safe driving’ may be someone else’s idea of ‘suicidal driving’. However at any point of time, there is always this category of drivers on the road who can be undoubtedly considered ‘safe’ even by the standards of a 100-year-old. I like to call them ‘crawlers’. For people in this category, the vehicle they are driving – be it a cycle, a motorbike, or a 5000 cc sports car is immaterial because most of the time their speed is comparable to someone strolling in a park. It’s hard to tell if they are scared to death or relaxed. And if you happen to be a teenager, you certainly do not want to ride pillion with these people – because at some point of time you may actually feel that time has stopped for you. But such people are the most harmless people on the road because at their speed, the sloe thing that gets killed is time.

The other most common category of drivers is what I call ‘speeders’. Most of the college going crowd (usually the boys) fall in this category.  These are the drivers with captions such as ‘Follow me if you can’, ‘Born to Kill’, ‘Death Race’ proudly painted either on their vehicles or clothes. With the sudden exposure to so much of testosterone and very few outlets to it (at least in the orthodox Indian culture which still most of us thankfully respect) … driving fast is the most easily accessible outlet. Everyone seems to be in a race to record the fastest speed on his vehicle and God forbid if a girl is riding pillion then it’s wise for you to move out of their way. This category of drivers seem to have a special affection for things such as talking on their cell phones, talking to fellow drivers etc while driving at inhuman speeds.

There is one sparsely populated category of drivers which has people from all age groups. They are calm, composed and drive safe most of the time. However try to overtake these people and suddenly they transform into the testosterone high category. If you overtake these people they will react as if you have kicked them in the shin. Suddenly driving is no longer a means of commute for them – it’s an Olympic contest. They do everything within their limits to get ahead of you and seal their lead with a condescending smile as if they have just beaten Michael Schumacher to the podium.

With all due respect to women, there has to be a separate category for women drivers – and it’s certainly not a very illustrious one. I feel that one of the most dangerous people in this world are the ones who are very unskilled in what they do but are exceptionally confident; majority of the women drivers fall in this category. Looking out for speed breakers and pits on the road is a taboo, slowing down speed when the traffic signal turns yellow is forbidden and showing an indication while turning is a strict no-no for drivers from this category. Nobody in this category of drivers seems to know where they want to go exactly … because most of the time you see them searching for street names, buildings, familiar structures … needless to say – while driving! It is a common practice for them to crash into someone, something or even all alone at times. And no matter whose mistake it is never argue with them if you have an accident, because I bet you are going to be proved at fault, ultimately.

No matter what category you fall into, I feel that we all should make driving a pleasurable experience for ourselves and for our fellow drivers because there is more to life than going from point A to point B. Just a thought …