RP's useless blog

MMC Sports Complex

2020-03-31T14:58:00.000-04:00

MMC Sports Complex:

Dear MMC Alumni,
My only gripe about MMC is that she (MMC is feeding every meal I eat and so she is like my mom) did not help me find the girl of my dreams although I am certain Sudha married me for my degree than my looks. I am sure you all agree that I owe everything in my life to the college and the MBBS - which we all got for free. Well, but for the 1000 to the pathology examiner and 1500 to the Medicine examiner.
I am indebted to the college for everything I am and I have. My family, my home, the BMWs, my independence, liberty and the luxuries I am enjoying in the USA. As we all grew older, richer, successful and more sophisticated the college remains the same or worse. I am sure none of you would spend a day in the college or hostel as a student at this point in time. True. Circumstances change. We can not or need not feel guilty about our success while watching the college and its infrastructure dilapidate and decay over time.
Interestingly, the country and the society seem to have improved economically since we left college. Students today do not seem to look malnourished as we did in first year. They are wealthier and healthier, wear nicer clothes and ride motorbikes and cars. But, the facilities have not caught up with the prosperity of the nation. It is not our fault. But...
Living in America, I can see how universities and schools pester for money from their alumni and many Indian expats donate lavishly. One of the reasons I do not feel like giving (donation) to any American Institution is a deep sense of gratitude and guilt that I should care for my school and college in India than in America. But, the Americans have perfected the system of collecting from alumni - some universities even sell burial plots for the alumni. We do not have a good system for helping our college.
Every MMC alumni I talked to has expressed a deep desire to contribute to the wellbeing of our beloved MMC but the universal complaint I hear is that "to whom to send the money?" and "how it will be spent?".
Now comes the opportunity - opportunity of a lifetime. Dr. Maruthu Pandian and his team (Patti Murali, Vanasekar, Dhamodharan) are venturing into building a sports complex. The estimate is 3 crores. They have some seed funding and have not collected from individuals. I am proud to announce that I am offering 100,000 rupees as an individual donor. I am hoping that you will all join and let Maruthu meet his goals.
Remember, these guys spend a lot of time in doing this for no benefit. You should feel fortunate that you have a way of doing this நேர்த்திக்கடன்! Send the money and post here. Please.

The most memorable wedding anniversary!!

2016-12-05T19:49:00.002-05:00

This was late 90s. Adhi was a baby and Vidhya was not born. Since I moved to Michigan, I have been hearing about this particular Indian restaurant in Windsor, Canada. Windsor is across the river from Detroit, an hour drive from our home. Interestingly this part of Canada is south of Detroit because it loops in.

This Indian restaurant, started in the 60s, I heard, was the oldest in that region. I heard all kinds of stories about how difficult it was to get a table and how you need to book months in advance, wear a dinner jacket etc etc.

People also said so much about the chef. I was told that he came from a long lineage of cooks and apparently from a village where everyone by caste is a chef or a cook (Udupi?). He was a gold medal winning catering technology student from Bombay, he went to Switzerland to study culinary arts and he was a cook for Indira Gandhi herself! The stories were endless.

He was a chef in a celebrated Indian restaurant in London and had something to do with Cordon Blue in Paris. On and on. I even became nervous about the idea of going there to eat and wanted to it for a special occasion.

A celebrity chef who came to Canada to teach culinary arts!

My friends told me that it is the best thing I could do to my stressed out young wife with a two year old baby.

I called the restaurant and booked a table for January 25th; our wedding anniversary.

When I called, the chef's daughter picked up the phone. I explained everything to her; how I am going to bring my sweetheart for an anniversary blah blah blah. She sounded excited about the idea and told me to talk to her dad, the famous chef himself!

He came on the phone and wished us for the anniversary. He had a distinct north Indian accent and sounded old. He asked the most wonderful question a chef can ask a customer "What do you want me to cook for you?"

I was a bit excited, felt honored, but confused. I had no idea what to say. I knew he cooked North Indian food or something international. Apparently he came to Canada to teach culinary arts at the university or something. I gave a safe answer - 'you decide' for which he responded 'I will make something special' and mentioned a few things that I was not sure I followed. But, I was positive that this is going to be a singular, memorable experience for us. Which it was...

It was one of the coldest nights. I wore my only jacket I had and my missus decided that a Kanjeevaram would be the best choice for the occasion. We got in our tiny Acura coupe and left for Canada. With the Kanjeevaram, a bit of make up and a long overcoat, Sudha looked like a carefully packaged brass lamp (குத்து விளக்கு). The idea of going across to a different country for dinner itself was exciting. We crossed the border via the tunnel and I proudly declared to the immigration guy that I am taking my wife for a special anniversary dinner.

It was very dark early in the evening. The street signs were difficult to read and we somehow managed to reach Oulette avenue. We were told that the restaurant is right across the Windsor public library.

When we reached there, we did not see 'Himalaya' Indian restaurant. We expected the hustle and bustle of a restaurant but we saw a huge sign that said 'Oza chiropractic' on the side wall of the building where the restaurant should be. There were plenty of street parking spots in front. There was no one around. It was subzero temperature and you don't expect kids playing in the street but still the place looked desolate and ominous.

We got out of the car and immediately saw the sign for Himalaya: fine Indian cuisine. It was reassuring. It was the same building with the chiropractor sign. The restaurant was in a house. Interesting! I thought. We rang the bell and a young Indian woman with Canadian accent opened the door and let us in. She was a student and studying something while working at the restaurant. I figured she must be the daughter.

She seated us in a table in the 'what used to be the living room of the house, is now the big dining room of a restaurant'. We were the only ones. A quick thought of 'what if they poison us and steal our kidneys or something?' went through my mind.

She took orders for the drinks and we could hear some noise in the kitchen. There was the sound of something heating up, some water splashing etc. I knew there was one more person in the building besides the young woman and us.

She explained to us that her older sister was a chiropractor who practices in the same building - that is why the sign. She told us that she would bring her dad, the chef.

I honestly was a bit apprehensive with hairs in the back of my neck standing up to meet the famous chef. He cooked for Indira Gandhi for god's sake.

After she left, I studied the restaurant and the artifacts there. I knew it was an old restaurant but, it seemed like it was filled with furniture and props from the 40s. Every single thing in the place looked 100 year old. There were a lot of stuff from India including photographs of Indian actresses from the 50s and 60s.

There it was! a degree from Bombay, Maharashtra for catering technology in a old wooden frame. A certificate from a school in Switzerland.

There was a letter signed by Indira Gandhi. It said Mr. Oza (or something similar and unusual) was a cook at the Indian embassy in London and he cooked a meal for the prime minister of India Indira Gandhi. Just one meal, but he did cook for her!

The young lady brought the chef. She walked him by holding his hand. His other hand was floating in front of him as if trying to find obstacles on his way. It was obvious that he was blind.

He came and sat with us. He addressed Sudha 'Beti' and me 'doctor'. He said he used to cook for thousands of people in the same restaurant but now he can't do it anymore because he is blind and deaf. He is deaf too??? I pondered. He told us he was in his late 70s and the retinitis pigmentosa has given him a narrow tunnel vision like he is looking through a drinking straw.

I was slightly apprehensive about what he was going to cook. He explained us the menu. Suddenly it dawned on me why he asked us what to cook. We were going to be the only guests that evening!

He made us some Pakora, nan, chicken curry, peas masala and something else.

I sat there with a smile and was totally totally excited with the unique experience. Sudha was visibly skeptical. 'What in the world is he going to cook? Being blind and deaf and all???' I could see her asking without saying by looking at her face.

Sometime later, after we could smell ghee, saffron and Indian spices, the daughter brought the food to our table. Then she went back into the kitchen and fetched her dad, again by hand.

He came stood next to us and stared somewhere in between us, with a vacant gaze pointed somewhere away from the table, and explained what he cooked. He said the chicken masala was his favorite one from the village he grew up in Rajasthan. No Udipi ha?? It smelled ghee. For some reason, the food smelled and tasted like it was from the Indian independence era. In a strange way, the atmosphere and ambiance makes your mind think the food is also from the same time or place. I had a similar experience when Sindha took me to this Dosai place in Thiruchendoor where they had paraphernalia from the independence era.

I was very very happy that I had this unique experience and unique food from a unique 'deaf-blind chef'. He used to be famous and taught in the local community college but he was not exactly what we thought. He may not have been the extraordinary cook we were made to expect. But, we certainly had a very extraordinary experience. But, Sudha thought the food was ordinary and something - the chicken -was burnt. But, we can have chicken masala any day but how often a famous chef is going to cook just for you?

This was unique.

I knew I would remember for a long time...

Kabali

2016-07-28T12:49:00.001-04:00

As Kabali fever got everyone hooked, and as Sudha’s brother told her the movie was good she decided to go to the theater on an impulse. I just had lost a bet to her and so she insisted that I go with her as a payout. It has been 10 years or so since I saw a Tamil Movie (SATHI LEELAVATHY) in a theater.

We paid the ridiculous $20 a piece which I think should be considered a unique kind of robbery; paying to get punished. I braced myself to sit there and squirm through for 2 hours. My age is catching up to me even Finding Dory, and Martian were unbearable for me and the thought of subjecting myself to the torture of a Tamil Rajini movie was the epitome of my stupidity.

Anyway, since I had the ‘privilege’ of watching this I thought I should write this review.

I wouldn't say that I liked the movie but it is not as bad as I thought. As cheesy and stupid as it is, fitting the standard Tamil formula I thought there were some extraordinary efforts in the movie, seriously, although most of it were inspired or copied from Hollywood hits.

The cinematography stands out on occasions, especially when there is no pressure for the director or producer or (purportedly the Rajini fans) to do certain things; such as the need to place Rajini in a certain angle sitting with sunglasses and crossed legs filling a sofa. It is the same angle, same lighting etc from MGR days - again, fitting the formula. But scenes like the drive to his house in the evening, climax from a helicopter, some indoor fight scenes in a restaurant were all way above Indian standards. The digital camera of these days add depth, detail, contrast and brightness to the image. This was well exploited at times. Not always but in spurts.

The music was brilliant at times. There were drum beats straight from California with no accent. Again the depth, clarity and ingenuity of the background score was impressive although it was excessive at times. Even the DOING DOING NERUPPUDA was enjoyable in a convoluted comical manner.

The special effects and gunfights were excellent and I would give 9/10 for the whole thing although the climax fight was not a fitting finale for a movie that built on superb fight scenes. The Chinese restaurant fight and the Thai street fight were reverberating and very well dramatized.

Where the movie fails is where the movie felt compelled to create a caricature or image of Rajini. It almost feels like Rajini or rather his persona or image came in the middle to screw up the entire plot. It is like Scorecese making a gangster movie based in Miami with Rajini in his stupid 'கூல்டிரிங்க்' glasses. Rajini should have acted as Kabali instead of Rajini.

The plot and sequence of events were banal, brainless and outright stupid at times. He looks over the little girl buying drugs and does nothing. MGR would have Pinnu Pinnu Pinnified the bad guy. Of the many movies copied here they also copied NAYAGAN which was an intelligent and shameless copy of godfather. But, NAYAGAN had a clarity in the story line but KABALI does not even come close. The question of “Are you a good guy or bad guy?” is more apt in this movie.

Although the movie goes on without any lag (தொய்வு) the story line is insultingly stupid. There is no harm in making a movie where a thousand bullets fly by without harming the hero but some unexpected turns do not make sense like the wife sub plot. Also, Kabali starts as a revolutionary but functions as a gangster and I do not know why.

The flashback totally lacks romance and love which would exemplify the union - which is a golden friggin chance they missed - as opposed to a fantastic wife subplot in Nayagan.

All in all it seems like a sequence of excellent fight scenes with junky Rajini styles and a not well thought out script.

I am not critical of Rajini style which in itself is a wonderful comical entertainment. But it is the only thing he does here. He should have been given a chance to act like a real Dhadha with serious face all over with occasionally exhibiting the Rajini style. I am sure everyone would have liked it.

The Rajini movie makers try to give the same thing over and over thinking that is what the fans want and are hopelessly failing like a guy who tells all lies to the girl he tries to court thinking that is what she wants to hear. In the end he comes across as fake and loses the girl.

The movie reminds me of a dozen or so Hollywood movies and directors like Godfather, Scarface, Red Sun, Tarantino, Scorsese, Coppola and so on. But it is not a big deal. Art has been stolen and inspired from caveman days. But, I don’t know why they can’t do a better job.

Journey

2015-04-08T21:04:00.000-04:00

Hi friends:
When Nimmie asked me to do a brief write up about my life, I was totally stumped. I didn't know what to write. I was not sure I wanted to whine about not liking medical school, wanting to be a physicist, studied only because I was afraid of failing (in spite of my father's 'push'), wanted to do Biomedical engineering, but met Ori who inspired me to be a physician then got confused between medicine, surgery or orthopedics (which I liked because of mechanics and I thought I could be good at it as it seemed to come naturally to me but decided not to do it as it was too simple... ha? 'How arrogant?' - you think. Yes, I know!) then did psychiatry with a lofty fantasy of doing world class research in India etc etc. I also did not want to brag saying I have a passion for science and wanted to be a scientist blah blah blah and how I read about reverse genetic engineering and wanted to do genetics research in the USA and so on. I also did not want to mention how I squandered my opportunity to work in a genetics lab but switched to imaging, knowing it is not the perfect science that I wanted but it was easy. It is also shameful to say that I chose to become a resident and do clinical work over doing PhD because the money is better although I did not want to be a doctor. I know, I am confusing you and I hope you can understand why I could not write a thing...
I may sound ideological but I had always taken the easy path and painless options which I can not get away by saying I was pragmatic. Just lazy. That is it.
All boring stuff that I already gave a rambling speech about. While I am not sure I have anything to brag about I can say I have nothing to complain either.
Sure, I could have done better - had I been a bit careful in my choices and worked a bit harder or had been a bit more flexible (or less of a jerk, you say). I can't even say I did the best I could - with all the glaring limitations. I did what I could with the least pain. So, looking back and trying to assess, judge and summarize I can't either blame myself or pat on my back. So, I am confused again. At least I can tell that I will try my best for the rest of my life but knowing me, I can not guarantee that.
So...
The problem now is that I am in the greyest of the grey area of everything meaning not as good as I want to be and at the same time nothing bad happened. I am not where I want to be but I have come a long way. I have accomplished some but certainly not enough or not well enough.
Am I proud of myself? possibly.
Do I regret anything? probably not.
Will I do things differently if I can go back - Oh yes, but I should have the maturity and knowledge I have now.

So, with all the confusion, while I was sitting in my house in India pondering what to write this old lady offered to help. She used to help us with household work for some years and is considered a friend of the family but she charges us for everything.
She is old, frail thin but very sharp and witty. She is pretty bold, had spent a few days in the jail in relation to her husband's mysterious and untimely death. She would say that she works in our parents' house as a maid but I get the feeling that she manages a lot of people including her family and ours. When we visit India, we need her permission to use anything in our (parents') house. She is a tough negotiator especially when it involves money. She makes it look like we constantly owe her money for something or the other and I can assure that I gave her some money every single time I saw her.
She goes around to the funerals in the neighborhood and cries loudly wailing, beating her breasts and wiping her nose as if she had severe cold. It is rumored that she gets 50 bucks and a quarter of cheap liquor at those funerals.
Of course I had to shell out some funds for her advice and what for what she wrote.

Please do not blame me or her for the quality of the writing. I would say that this is an art form and also I would say that she took some 'poetic liberty'. It actually does not sound bad if you sing it loudly with some tears and விசும்பல்...

என்னத்தெ சொல்லுவேன் ஏம்மவராசா ஆ ஆஆ ஆ
கொற
ஒன்னத்தேன் சொல்ல ஏம்மனசு வல்லே ஏ ஏஏ ஏய்
ஓம் மண்டக்கி உள்ள
கூற வெக்க
மறந்தே போட்டானே அந்த மாடச்சாமீ ஈஈ ஈஈஈ ஈய்

பொய்த்தகம் படிக்கத்தேன் போனது காலேசு
பொய்த்தகத்த விட்டுப்போட்டு பொடவயத்தான் தொரத்திச்சீ ஈ ஈ ஈ
பாழாப்போன ஓம்மனசு ஊ ஊஊ உ
பாழாப்போன ஓம்மனசு ஊ உஊ உ
பொய்த்தகமும் புரியலயே பொடவயும் தேறலயே ஏ ஏஏ ஏ ஏ

என்னத்தெ சொல்லுவேன் ஏம்மவராசா ஆ ஆஆ ஆ
காசக்குடுத்து பாசப்பண்ணி காப்பியடிச்சி கறையேறி ஈ ஈ ஈ
மருத்துவமும் பிடிக்காம மனோ தத்துவமும் பிடிக்காம ஆ ஆ அ
விஞ்ஞானம் படிக்கப்போனயே...
சீமைக்கி
நீ விஞ்ஞானம் படிக்கப்போனயே ஏ ஏஏ ஏய்

சொட்டயுஞ் ஜிகரட்டுஞ் சொல்லாம பொய் சொல்லி
சிட்டாய் சிங்காரமாய் சின்னாளப்பட்டிய கட்டி வச்சா நீ
சீமைக்கி க்கூட்டிப்போயி சிந்த உட்டியே கண்ணீர...
நீ சிந்த உட்டியே கண்ணீர ஏ ஏஏ ஏய்
பகட்டா பட்டுடுத்தி பொட்டும் பூவும் வச்சி
பால்கனி சீட்டில காதலர் படம் பாத்து
பொட்டலமா அல்வா வாங்கி
அந்தப்
பொண்டாட்டியக்கொஞ்சக்கூடாமே ஏ ஏ ஏ ஏ
படுங்குளிரு தாங்காதே அந்தப் பனிக்காட்டுல கொண்டு போயி ஈ ஈஈஈ ஈ
பேண்ட்டும் குல்லாவும் போட்ட ஒரு கோமாளி ஆக்குனயே
அவள
கொடுமக்காரா ஆஆஆ
ஒரு கோமாளி ஆக்குனயே ஏ ஏ ஏய்

விஞ்ஞானம் பண்ணப்போன மெய்ஞானம் மறந்துப்புட்ட
விஞ்ஞானமுந்தேறல
மெய்ஞானமும்புரியல ஏ ஏஏ ஏய்
அம்பது மீட்டிங்கும் முப்பது பேப்பரும்
போட்டது பத்தல நீ படம் போட்டதும் பத்தல ஏ ஏஏ ஏ ஏ

என்னத்தெ சொல்லுவேன் ஏ ஏ ஏ ஏய்
ஆசப்பட்ட டெனூருங்கெடெக்கல ஆர்வர்டு வேலயுன் நெலக்கல
ஆர்வர்டு வேலயுன் நெலக்கல ஏ ஏ ஏஏ ஏய்

காசுந்தேறல, ஆடி காரும் வாங்கல...
மச்சு வீடுங்கட்டல, மாடி ப்ளாட்டும் வாங்கல ஏ ஏஏ ஏ ஏய்
மூணு ரூமும் போட்டு மூலயில ஆபீஸும் போட்டு நீ
சும்மா மூக்க நோண்டினா
எங்கடா உருப்படும் ஓம்மன்னாரங்கம்பனி?
எங்கடா உருப்படும் ஓம்மன்னாரங்கம்பனி? ஈ ஈஈ ஈய்

காசென்ன பணமென்ன புதுக்
காரென்ன கட்டித் தங்கமென்ன
காடென்ன ஒரு தென்னந் தோப்பென்ன
பகட்டென்ன படமென்ன பாரின் டூரென்ன,
மேலே பந்தா பண்றதென்ன, ஆ ஆ ஆ
அம்புட்டும் வேணுமின்னு ஆசப்பட்டதென்ன? அ அ ஆஆஅ

பளிங்கும் கருங்கல்லும் போட்ட மனையென்ன
நர்ஸிங் ஹோமென்ன சைடுல ஒரு நர்ஸென்ன
அம்புட்டும் வேணுமின்னு ஆசப்பட்டதென்ன? அ அ ஆஆஅ

மூளயப்படிக்க ஒரு மூள வேணுமின்னு ஒரு மூளக்காரஞ்ஜொன்னானே நீ கேட்டியா?
நீ ஈ ஈ கேட்டியா?
நோபல் பரிசென்ன ஒனக்கு
பாட்டிலா இல்ல பாக்கெட்டுசாராயமா ஆ ஆஆ ஆ?
கனவு கண்டாயே கல்லுளி மங்கா
அத கடயிலயா விக்கிரான் ஆ ஆ ஆங்
அந்த டாஸ்மாக்கு கடயிலயா விக்கிரான்?

என்னத்தெ சொல்லுவேன் ஏம்மவராசா ஆ ஆஆ ஆ
வாட்டர் பீட்டிங் என்ன வறுத்த கறியென்ன
வாட்ஸ்ஆப்பென்ன நீ வர்ர வரத்தென்ன?
உடம்பு நோகாம நீ உசரம் போகப்பாத்தியே,
உசரம் போக அ ஆ ஆஆ ஆ

சோம்பேறி நீ ஒரு சுகவாசி நீ ஈஈஈ ஈ
உடம்பு நோகாம நீ உசரம் போகப்பாத்தியே ஏ ஏஏஏ ஏ
உசரம் போக அ அஅ அ
உசரம்...

ஆச மிஞ்சுனாலும் வயசு அம்பத்தி சொச்சமே ஆனாலும் நீ ஈ ஈஈ ஈ
காலங்காத்தால, கலஞ்ச தூக்கத்துல
கண்ணாமணி கழுத்துல மூஞ்சத்தொடெக்க, சிரிக்க
அது சொப்பனமா இல்ல நிச்சயமானு தெரியாதே ஏ ஏ ஏ

அந்த டயத்த கொஞ்சம் நிறுத்தி அந்தச்சிரிப்பக்கொஞ்சம் புடிச்சி ஈ ஈ ஈய்
கஷ்டத்துலயும் நஷ்டத்துலயும் காதல நீ கண்டின்யு பண்றயே... ஏ ஏ ஏய்
காதல நீ கண்டின்யு பண்றயே... ஏ ஏஏ ஏய்

கண்டுங்காணாது போகுதுக
சொன்ன பேச்செதுவுங் கேக்காதுக
பொதுவுல ஒன்ன நக்கலா பேசுதாக ஆனா,
அந்த கண்மணி கொளந்தங்க ஒரு கவல வரும்போது ஒன்ன
கூப்பிட ஒரு கான்பிடன்ச கொடுத்தாயே ஏ ஏஏ ஏய்
ஒரு கான்பிடன்ச கொடுத்தாயே...

அலஞ்சாலும் அலுப்பு தெரிஞ்சாலும்
ஆசப்படுறயே அந்த சொந்தமும் பந்தமும் பாக்க
வந்த நட்பையும் அன்பையும் பாக்க
நீ பாசக்காரண்டா டேய்
நீ பாசக்காரண்டா ஆ ஆஆ

மண்டக்கி உள்ள கூற மறந்தே போட்டாலும் ஊம் ம் ம்
ஓன்
மனசுக்கு உள்ள அன்ப வச்சானே ஏ ஏ ஏ
ஒரு அன்பெ - ஏ ஏய்
வச்சானே அந்த மாடச்சாமீ ஈ ஈ ஈ ஈ

என்னத்தெ சொல்லுவேன் ஏம்மவராசா ஆ ஆஆ ஆ
கொற
ஒன்னத்தேன் சொல்ல ஏம்மனசு வல்லே ஏ ஏஏ ஏய்
ஓம் மண்டக்கி உள்ள
கூற
வெக்க மறந்துட்டானே அந்த மாடச்சாமீ ஈஈ ஈஈஈ ஈய்
மண்டக்கி உள்ள கூற மறந்தே போட்டாலும் ஓன்
மனசுக்கு உள்ள ஒரு அன்ப வச்சானே அந்த
மாடச்சாமீ ஈ ஈ ஈ ஈ

நீ பாசக்காரண்டா டேய்
நீ பாசக்காரண்டா ஆ ஆஆ ஆங்

ஊரு சனம்: புது பிளாகு - தமிழில்...

2015-02-02T09:41:00.002-05:00

ஊரு சனம்: புது பிளாகு - தமிழில்...
மனிதன் பொதுவாக இல்லாததுக்கும் முடியததுக்கும்தான் அதிகமாய் ஆசைப்படுவான். இசைக்கும் எனக்கும் ரொம்ப தூரம் (பார்க்க முந்தைய கட்டுரை my music lesson). என்னால் பாட முடியாட்டியும் இசை மேல் ஒரு இணையில்லா விருப்பம் உண்டு. இசை ஒரு அனுபவம். இசை பிடிக்காதோர் இல்லை என்று சொல்லலாம் ஆனால் இசையை எல்லோரும் ஒரேமாதிரி அனுபவிப்பார்களா என்பது தெரியவில்லை. சிலருக்கு இது பொழுது போக்கு, இருந்தால் கேட்பார் இல்லையென்றால் தேடமாட்டார்கள். சிலர் சங்கராபரணம் சங்கர சாஸ்திரி மாதிரி (அல்லது, கொஞ்ச நாள் என்றாலும், நம்ம ராமலிங்கம் மாதிரி) வாழ்க்கையையே அர்ப்பணிக்கலாம்; உஸ்தாத் விளாயத் கான் போல ஆறு வயதிலிருந்து தினமும் பதிமூணு மணி நேரம் பிராக்டீஸ் பண்ணலாம். இவர்களெல்லாம் கடவுள் நமக்கு கொடுத்த வரம், ஒரு கொடுப்பினை. ஆனால் இசையை அனுபவிப்பதற்கு எந்த கொடுப்பினையும் தேவையில்லை. ஒரு ஓப்பன் மைன்ட் இருந்தால் போதும். ஒரு ஆர்வம் இருந்தால் போதும். இசையை அனுபவிப்பது ஒரு தனி சுகம், ஒரு போதை போல.
கல்லூரியில் படிக்கும்போது நான் நாகேஷ் வீட்டிற்கு அடிக்கடி போவேன். நாகேஷ் குடும்பத்தினர் விளக்குத்தூண் அருகே, வாசலில் ஒரு பாலிடார் போர்டு போட்டு, ஒரு ரெகார்ட் கடை வைத்திருந்தனர். கேட்க ஒரு மாதிரி கஷ்டமாக இருந்தாலும், அங்கே லிஸனிங் ரூமில் ஏதாவது ஒரு சாக்கு சொல்லி அவ்வப்போது ஒரு ரெகார்டை போடச்சொல்லி கேட்பேன். பிடித்த பாட்டை சத்தமாகவும், துல்லியமாகவும் கேட்பதில் ஒரு சுகம். ஒரு நல்ல ஸ்டீரியோ வாங்க வேண்டும் என்பது என் வாழ்வின் லட்சியம். அருமை நண்பர் அருப்புக்கோட்டை சோமா வீட்டில் ஒரு ஃபிலிப்ஸ் ஸ்டீரியோ ஸிஸ்டம் வைத்திருந்தார்கள். அதில் பிங்க் ஃப்ளாயிடொட வால் பாட்டையும் ஸ்டீவீ வொன்டரோட மாஸ்டர் ப்ளாஸ்டர் பாட்டையும் சத்தமாக கேட்பதில் ஒரு அலாதி இன்பம் உண்டு. இன்றும், என் டீனேஜ் குழந்தைகளும் மனைவியும் விசனப்பட்டலும், அவ்வப்போது வீட்டிலும் காரிலும் சத்தமாக பாட்டு கேட்பேன் - சமீபத்தில் ப்ளர்டு லைன்ஸ் பாட்டை காது கிழிய பலமுறை கேட்டேன் (அவர்கள், என்னை கிருக்கனாகப்பார்ப்பதற்கும் நான் இன்னும் வளரவேண்டியது இருக்கிறது என்று நினைப்பதற்கும் இதுவும் ஒரு காரணம்).
மார்கழி மாதத்தில் திருட்டுத்தனமாக, டீ.வீ.எஸ் சுந்தரம் ஹாலில் டிக்கெட் விற்று முடிந்த பிறகு ரகசியமாக நுழைந்து ஓசியில் கர்நாடக இசை கேட்பது ஒரு அருமையான அனுபவம். அவ்வப்போது கண்களில் தென்படும் காஞ்சீபுரம் பட்டு இந்த அனுபவத்திற்கு இனிமை சேர்க்கும். ஒரு நாள் நானும் "பாட்" என்று அன்புடன் அழைக்கப்படும் சிரிலங்கத்து நண்பரும் யாரோ ஒரு பெண்ணின் பரதநாட்டிய அரங்கேற்றத்துக்கு அனுமதி இலவசம் என்பதால் டிவிஎஸ் ஹாலுக்கு சென்றோம். கூட்டமே இல்லை. மேடையில் இருபது வயதளவில் ஒரு பெண், பளிச்சென ஆரஞ்சு கலர் பட்டுடையில், கண்ணைக்கவரும் நகைகளுடன் சிங்காரமாய் இருந்தாள். இடது பக்கம் முழு இசைக்குழுவுடன் அப்பெண்ணின் குரு அமர்ந்து தாளம் தட்டி ஆர்வத்துடன் ஆடுபவளை ஊக்கப்படுத்திக்கொண்டிருந்தார். மிருதங்க இசை தணங் தணங் என்று அடிக்க, அந்த இளம் பெண்ணின் கால் சலங்கை அத்துடன் ஒருங்கிணைந்து கோஷமாக ஒலிக்க, அந்த சந்தத்திற்கு எதிரொலி போல அப்பெண்ணின் விரல் விரித்த கை முத்திரையும், மையிட்ட கண்ணும், கருவிழியும் ஒரே சமயத்தில் சின்க்ரோனைஸ்டாக சிலிர்த்து, கழுத்தை மேலே வெட்டி அவள் எங்களை பார்த்தபோது, எனக்கென்னவோ அப்பெண் பாவமும் ராகமும் தாளமும் சேர்ந்து புல்லரிக்க பகவானை வேண்டுவது பிரதானமாக தெரியாமல், அந்தக்கண்களால் எங்களை "யாருடா நீங்கள், காவாலிகளா? பரதநாட்டியம் பார்க்க வந்தீங்களா, இல்லே சைட் அடிக்க வந்தீங்களா?" என்று கேட்பது போலிருந்தது. இது போல கேரளாவில் நான் முதல் முறையாக ரிசெர்ச் பேப்பர் ப்ரெசென்ட் பண்ணி விருது வாங்கின சந்தோஷத்தில், இதேமாதிரி ஒரு இளம் பெண் ஆண்டாள் வேஷத்தில் பக்தி கலந்த காதலுடன், சிருங்கார ரசத்தில் கிருஷ்ணனை 'பெண்ணின் வருத்தம் தெரியாத பெருமானே... வண்ண ஆடை கொண்டு என் வாட்டம் தணிய வாராயோ...' என்று ஏக்கமாய் திருப்பாவை பாட்டுக்கு நாட்டியமாடியதையும் அந்தக்கண்களில் இருந்த பிரேமையையும் எளிதில் மறக்க முடியாது.
எனக்கென்னவோ, கலைகளிலே மற்றதை விட இசையில் மட்டுமே, படைப்பாளியின் முழுமையும், ரசிகனின் திருப்தியும் கச்சிதமாய் ஒன்று சேரும்போது வெற்றி பூரணமாய் பிரதிபலிக்கிறது என்று தோன்றுகிறது. இசை எல்லா விதமான மக்களையும் சென்றடைகிறது - குழந்தை முதல் கிழவர் வரை. கொஞ்சம் பொறுமை இருந்தால் எல்லோருக்கும் எல்லாவிதமான இசையும் பிடிக்கும் என்பது என்னுடைய அபிப்ராயம். எனக்கென்னவோ, இசையில் நல்லது கேட்டது இல்லை, பெரும்பான்மையோர் அனுபவிக்கும் எந்த பிரபலமான இசையும் (பாப் மியூசிக்) நன்றாகவே இருக்கும் என்று தோன்றுகிறது: உதாரணம் - சினிமா பாட்டு...
இசையும் நடனமும் கலந்து கேளிக்கையில் நம்மை உணர்ச்சிவசப்படவைக்கும் (எமோசனை எக்ச்ப்ளாயிட் பண்ணும்) நம் இந்தியக்கலாச்சாரம் இன்றும் சினிமாபாடல்களில் தொடர்கிறது. சினிமா பாடல்கள் ஒரு கீழான கேளிக்கை, பிரபல வியாபாரம் என்று நீங்கள் சுலபமாக மட்டம் தட்டலாம். ஆனால் நீங்கள் சம்மதிப்பீர்களோ இல்லையோ, ஆடலும் பாடலும் சேர்ந்த தமிழ் சினிமா பாட்டுக்களை அனுபவிப்பது ஒரு பாக்கியம் என்பேன் நான் - நல்ல பரதநாட்டியம் போல, இத்தாலியின் ஆப்பெரா போல. அதிசயப்படாதீர்கள். இதில் ஒரு பிரச்சினை இருக்கிறது.
பொறுமையாக அனுபவிக்க வேண்டியிருந்தாலும், புரிந்த பிறகு, பழகின பிறகு, பரதநாட்டியம் ஒருசீரான, குறையற்ற கேளிக்கையாகும்; காலம் காலமாய் அப்பியாசம் பண்ணியதால் இக்கலை ஒரு முழுமையடைந்து, ஒரு திருப்தியான, வெற்றிகரமான வடிவத்தில் ஒரு நிதர்சன கச்சேரியாய் இன்றும் நடத்தப்படுகிறது. ஆனால் சினிமாப்படங்களில் படத்தை எப்படியாவது வெற்றியடையச்செய்ய வேண்டும் என்கிற பிரஷர் இருப்பதாலும், ஒவ்வொரு பாட்டும் வித்தியாசமாக இருக்க வேண்டும் என்பதாலும், படமெடுப்போர் புது இசை, புது விதமான டான்ஸ் என்று அறிமுகப்படுத்தி கடும் முயற்சி பண்ணுகிறார்கள். அவர்களுக்கு ஒரே வாய்ப்புதான். சிலசமயம் இது நல்லபடி அமையகிறது ஆனால் பெரும்பாலும் நன்கு வருவதில்லை.
என்னைப்போருத்தவரையில் பாட்டில் இருக்கிற பக்குவம் படத்தில் இருப்பதில்லை என்பேன்.
அருப்புக்கோட்டையிலே வளரும் காலத்தில் ஊருக்கு பாட்டு முதல்லே வந்திரும் படம் லேட்டாதான் வரும். நான் பாட்டை மிகவும் விரும்பி கேட்டு அனுபவித்து, மனதில் கற்பனை செய்து வைத்திருப்பேன், அப்புறம் படத்தை பார்த்தால் அந்த சந்தோசம் கெட்டுப்போய் எரிச்சலாக வரும். பாட்டை படத்தில் சொதப்பி அதிலிருக்கிற பீலிங்கையும் சந்தோஷத்தையும் சுத்தமாக கெடுத்திருவாங்க. இதுனாலேயே நான் தமிழ் சினிமா பார்க்கிரத்தை நிப்பாட்டிவிட்டேன். அதிலும் ஒரு காலகட்டத்திலே இளையராஜா நல்ல பாட்டுக்கு மேல் நல்ல பட்டாய் கம்போஸ் பண்ணினார், ஆனால் அவருடைய அற்புதமான திறமையை கண்ணுக்கேத்தமாதிரி படம் எடுக்கிற சாமர்த்தியம் பெரும்பாலான டைரக்டருகளுக்கு இல்லை. ஒரு சில மனதைக்கிளரும் பாடல்கள் படத்தை பார்த்தல் மூடு அவுட் ஆயிரும். மோகன் முகரையை பார்த்தால் கிட்டத்தட்ட 100 பாட்டுக்கு மேலே வெறுப்பே வந்திடும்.
நம் துரதிர்ஷ்டம்; எண்பதுகளில் இளையராஜாவின் படைப்பு உச்சத்தில் இருந்தது. மோகனுக்கு வந்த வாழ்வு! இந்த காலகட்டத்தில் எனக்கு மிக மிக விருப்பமான பாட்டு 'ஊரு சனம் தூங்கிரிச்சி'. அப்போதைக்கு இதுதான் என்னுடைய நம்பர் ஒண்ணு பிரியப்பட்ட பாட்டுன்னு வச்சிக்கோங்களேன். எனக்கு மெலோடியஸா ஒரு பெண் ஏக்கத்திலே பாடினா ரொம்ப பிடிக்கும் (ஹும் - யாருக்குத்தான் பிடிக்காது?). ஒரு காலத்தில் இந்தப்பாட்டை நான் திரும்பத்திரும்ப -திரும்பத்திரும்ப பல முறை கேட்டிருக்கிறேன் (இதுமாதிரி எனக்கு பிடித்த பாட்டு லிஸ்ட் கீழே). படத்தில் பார்த்தால் மூடு கெட்டுப்போயிரும்னு இந்தப்பாடல் வரும் 'மெல்லத்திறந்தது கதவு' படத்தை நான் பார்க்காமல் தவிர்த்தேன். மாரிமுத்து எத்தனையோ தடவை சொல்லிப்பார்த்தான் "அமலா நல்லா இருப்பாடா, நான் கூட வர்றேன் (திரும்ப) போகலாம்" என்று... ம்ஹூம் - நான் கடைசி வரை பார்க்கவே இல்லை. இந்த இனிமையான பாட்டு என் மனதுக்கு கொடுத்த உற்சாகத்தை கெடுக்க எனக்கு துணிவு வரவில்லை. அதிலும் இந்த பாட்டு ஒரு ஸ்பெஷல் ஆன பாட்டு, எதுக்குன்னா இது விஸ்வநாதன் டியூன் போட்டு ராஜா இசை அமைத்தது. இந்த அனுபவத்த ஒரு பொக்கிஷமா பாதுகாத்து வந்தேன்.
என்னுடைய யோகம், சமீபத்தில் இந்த பாட்டிற்கு ஒரு மீனிங், அர்த்தம், விசுவல் வேல்யூ அல்லது அனுபவம் கிடைத்தது. அதுவும் மறக்க முடியாத மாதிரி...
சென்ற மாதம் கொடைக்கானலில் நண்பன் வனசேகர் தலைமயில் எங்கள் கிளாஸ்மேட் எல்லாம் மீட் பண்ணினோம். அங்கே தமிழ் இசை கச்சேரி நடந்தது.
எதிர்பாராமல் ஒரு நண்பனின் மனைவி ஊருசனம் பாட்டை பாடினார்.
♪...♫..♬ ஊரு சனம் தூங்கிரிச்சி, கூதக்காத்தும் அடிச்சிரிச்சி, பாவி மனம் தூங்கலியே அதுவும் ஏனோ புரியலேயே... ♪...♫...♬
கொடைக்கானல் இரவுக்குளிரில், தணதணவென எரியும் நெருப்பின் பக்கம் ஓய்வாக அமர்ந்து, வோட்காவின் தளர்ச்சியிலிருக்கையில், இந்த எதிர்பாராத சந்தோஷ அதிர்ச்சி மூளையை சட்டென தாக்கியது. பிசிரில்லா குரலும், அர்த்தமான வரிகளும் மனதை எங்கோ கொண்டு செல்ல, விட்டு விட்டு அடித்த தாளம் கவனத்தை ஒருங்கிணைத்து, விழித்தெழுந்த உணர்வுகளும், அனுபவமும் சந்தோஷத்தில் மூழ்கடித்த அதே நேரத்தில் திருமதியின் முகத்தில் கிளம்பிய குறும்புச்சிரிப்பு கூட்டமெங்கும் பரவியது. எல்லோரும் முகத்தில் ஒரு புன்னகையோடு திருமதியையும் திருவாளரையும் மாறி மாறி பார்க்க, ஓ என்றும் ஆ என்றும் ஆதரவுக்குரல் கொடுக்க, பாடல் தொடர்ந்தது...
♪...♫..♬ குயிலு கருங்குயிலு, மாமன் மனக்குயிலு - கோலம் போடும் பாட்டாலே...
மயிலு இளம் மயிலு, மாமன் கவிக்குயிலு ராகம் பாடும் கேட்டாலே - சேதி சொல்லும் பாட்டாலே
ஒன்னை எண்ணி நானே உள்ளம் வாடிப்போனேன்
கன்னிப்பொண்ணுதானே...
ஏன் மாமனே!
ஏன் மாமனே...!
இந்த இரண்டாவது ஏன் மாமனே எதிரொலித்தபோது திருவாளர் வெட்கம் தாங்காமல் கைகளை காலுக்கிடையில் வைத்து, நெளிந்து, சிவந்து ஒரு அசட்டுப்புன்னகையை வீசினார். அத்தனை எண்ணங்களும், அனுபவமும், உணர்வுகளும் ஒன்று சேர்ந்து, பார்த்துக்கொண்டிருந்த கூட்டத்திற்கு டென்ஷன் ஏறி இதயம் வெடித்தே விடும்போல தெரிந்தது. எல்லோருக்கும் அடக்கமுடியாத ஒரு புன்னகை மலர்ந்து சந்தோஷ அதிசயத்தில் வேடிக்கை பார்க்கையில் திருவாளரும் திருமதியும் கண்ணோடு கண்ணை கனக்க்ஷன் கொடுத்த அந்த மறக்க முடியாத தருணம் முடியுமா முடியாதா என்று நீண்டு ஒரு யுகமானது. கூட்டத்தினர் ஒருமனதாக அங்கீகாரத்தொடும், ஆதரவோடும் ஒப்புதல் சத்தத்தை எழுப்பி கரகோஷம் செய்து கொண்டாடினர்.
இதில் நாடகம் இல்லை, நடிப்பு இல்லை, நாட்டியம் இல்லை.
நண்பா எத்தனை பேருக்கு இப்படி ஒரு கொடுப்பினை அமையும் என்று எனக்குத்தெரியவில்லை ஆனால் உன் சந்தோசம் எங்கள் எல்லோருக்கும் சந்தோசம். இது மறக்க முடியுமா?
நண்பா நன்றி...
நண்பனின் திருமதியே நன்றி...
எனக்குப்பிடித்த பாட்டிற்கு ஒரு கண்கொள்ளா அலங்காரம் கொடுத்ததிற்கு...
இனிமேல் என் வாழ்வு முழுவதும் என்னால் இந்த அனுபவத்தை மறக்கமுடியாது.
இதுபோல் இன்னொன்று அமையுமா என்றும் தெரியாது.
இருக்கும் வரை இந்த ஞாபகத்தை கெட்டியாகப்பிடித்துக்கொள்வேன்.
நன்றி.
அன்புடன்
RP

ஒரு சில பிடித்த பாட்டுக்கள்
மாலை பொழுதின் மயக்கத்திலே கனவு கண்டேன் தோழி
ஒரு கணம் ஒரு யுகமாக
நீராடும் பொழுதெல்லாம் நீ மட்டும் பார்க்கலாம்
மார்கழிப்பூவே
மாலையில் யாரோ
நெஞ்சினிலே நெஞ்சினிலே

இதுக்கப்புறம் தைரியம் வந்து யு டியூப் ல அந்த பாட்டு பாத்தேன். கடவுளே, நல்ல காலம். கிராமத்து வேசத்துல ராதாவுக்கு புல் மேக் அப்பு, மோகன் கோண சிரிப்பு, மூன் பில்ட்டர்.

Self Audit (as recommended for RP by the 79 batch)

2015-01-18T12:10:00.002-05:00

Self Audit:

Taking the advice to listen to a friend and to improve my quality I decided to do an audit. I looked around for some friends to talk to, but everyone happened to be sleeping or pretended to be sleeping, thus totally avoiding me. And I also realized who better to audit me than myself? In fact I know myself so well because I have been with myself most of my life with an exception of the times while I was under the influence but that was also a good time when I was able to watch myself from a distance. Here goes the audit…

Me: Hi RP, I would like to audit your behavior on this TG forum and I should say I have a number of serious concerns.

Myself: OK. (thinking in my head, A--hole!)

Me: There are so many violations - I can’t go over all of them but I will try. Did you say Vanasekar should check his blood on each arm separately and legs too in three different labs before he gets treatment?

Myself: What? How did you know this? I did not say it - I just thought about saying.

Me: Remember, I am you and you chose yourself to audit. So, I know your thoughts too…

Myself: Dang - that is not fair. I don’t want you to audit my thoughts openly - I will be murdered by so many people so many times. I hate you. (thinking to myself A--hole again).

Me: You said, you only like yourself, trust yourself, know yourself etc. How arrogant? Even you said you are the person you love the most in your life and so you like to enjoy yourself and prefer ‘self pleasure’ because you get to enjoy it with the person you love the most - yourself!

Myself: Oh No… I did not post in the forum. I said it to Kannan and Ilango in Kodai. It is an old joke. I don’t mean it.

Me: Sick. You are the epitome of narcissism. I can’t imagine how you can live with yourself!

OK. Let’s move on…

Did you say that Thiruvalluvar statue in Kanyakumari looks small next to some of your beloved classmates?

Myself: No. I said…

Me: shut up. That was too much. Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? You have no right to mock others. Did you piss Arul again? Do you know that constitutes blasphemy?

Myself: Arul? Blasphemy? Why? I was just joking. It is freedom of expression. He supports it and supported Charlie Hebdo and said something like soos juice something Charlie. He is OK with these. He encourages me to have a honest exchange of ideas.

Me: Exchange of ideas mean mutual backscratching. Not Kumaiyal. But, It is OK as long as you make fun of everyone else. You can have TMS and Lechu anne - say what you want about them. But leave Arul. He will make you sit in the last seat in UK bus tour. He will put a picture of a clown instead of you in the magazine. Or worse, picture of your ugly face for people who do not pay 80,000. You should show some respect to the King!

Myself: Not funny. Now mumbling "You A--hole!"

Me: What did you say? Also why don’t you read some books to improve. I really don’t think it will have any effect in your alcohol soaked and Ganja damaged brain but you should try. Considering all these and as you don’t seem to be the type who can improve, -உன்னை திருத்த முடியாது - I will send you to the same TG forum like the GMC council for an enquiry. By the way you have not paid your dues of Rs. 80,000 to Kannan.

I was sent to the TG council headed by Lechu Anne:

Lechu: RP குசும்பு ஜாஸ்தி. Sai Saranam. Having a good thought is like full fiber diet. Easy come easy go.

KK sis: Bro. You are great! The stupidity is beyond limit.

Munni: Avane vedingappa. Avenae Immature nu Onekki theriyadaa…

Mohanraj: indhamadhiri,ppesalmunnuyaravadhu solli.kittu.irundha. not bad.notgreat Opine please.

Sunandh: ;-0

Boob: RP -- I used to be like that. Now I read these books I am like this. This is better than that. You start with that and become this. You have to read the book and books are meant to be read. When you read you become this from that and not from that to this. This is better than that! You won't understand...

Lechu: Why this argument RP - don’t boil over. Your boiler is broken.

Me (not myself): Anne RP is boiling and so the house is hot and it does not need a boiler. When the house is hot, Sudha is hot and RP is happy about that.

Lechu: OK. Leave it. We are all brothers and sisters. Call me அண்ணா. I work out 7 hours everyday. I post pictures with my underwear (on or off??)

Me (not myself): Anne. RP also lied about his exercise and tennis.

Kannan: He is trying to show off as if he is Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Boob: He is trying to impress the girls.

Myself (not me): By the way, no one clarified yet. Can you call postmenopausal women as girls?

Lechu: RP that is too much.

Kannan: He is trying to show off as genius but we all know he is actually very stupid. He is trying to show off as Jolly fellow but he cries at home.

Malligai: Stupid. Right. But not an imbecile. May be he should check with a few other places.

Sampath: I am on a rickshaw and a plane to give a lecture to scientists in Mars. When I come to Madurai, all children line up to thank me for making rare things common and common things rare. I think RP is fake - wants to look like Gandhi but he is all rotten. Waste!

Myself (not me): Gandhi asked young women to sleep with him naked. I just want to follow him.

Lechu: RP, ரொம்ப மோசம். You deserve punishment. We brothers and sisters will come up with a plan to discipline you.

TMS: Great Anne. He should never have any liquid or gas.

Kanchana: What is Mammoglobinopathy. Hi Anita.

Anita: Hi Kanch. Oh Dear! This thing is Cray Cray. Blokes gone bad. What evs?! God save the Queen.

Kannan: அண்ணே RP i poorikkattyala Sudha கிட்ட சொல்லி adikkanum.

Arul: Anne. I am keeping quiet - stille. À goupil endormi rien ne tombe en la gueule. But I think he should listen.

TMS: I think RP meets the criteria for inpatient treatment and may be shock therapy.

Arul: (in a private message to Lechu): Anne. I am just saying my opinion but it is up to you to decide. RP should be stoned to death or at least given 1000 lashes. I do not support violence. This is free speech and so I am telling you.

KK Sis: RP ய யாராவது அடிக்க முடியுமா?

Ramalingam: according the IMA, IMC, Leader Kollipurathil and president Vasapurathil Nayar - RP needs to be disciplined.
Mohanraj: adippadhu.kooduvadhu,violence ellame-sollasarithan but you cannot pannamudiyathunnu naanneniakiren.unparliamentary, seniors opine please.

Munni: Aavnae adi podanemnu gnanum lekshu kitte sollittae irikkin

Arul: I will be quiet. La parole est d'argent, mais le silence est d'or. RP - you are the greatest. I am with all others.

Arul (private message to Anne): I think canning or whipping is better. We should do it now. I think you should give him 80 lashes (non refundable) immediately. If anyone wants to do it, I am fine with it. I don’t have to do it. But, I can not satisfy everyone.

Arul: RP - we are just exchanging ideas here. I may not want to agree with you and I may not want to see you eye to eye ever. You bring the fun here in the group.

Arul (private message to Anne): I think we should do the 80 immediately.

Boob: I told you this causes that. He should read some books. Let us start a website, list all the events, form a committee and I will write a check.

Vanasekar: I am in Sivakasi. Senior Rengasamy’s neighbor’s nephew’s classmate’s sister’s, brother’s wife’s husband’s wedding rehearsal. Making sure there is food. RP is a good boy but I am not against whipping. I did not receive the black label.

Kanchana: Hi Nimmie. What is endocrinopathological immune response?

Lechu: What is the verdict? I think he needs to be punished. He should go to Thirunallaru. No water for him for 6 weeks.

Myself: Anne, 6 weeks? I will take whipping. Please.

Mohanraj: idhukkuththan I told ivanai eppidiyavathu,adichi.thookanumnunenaicha nallaaille. NDTV flash - another plane missing. RP thaan responsibullnu naan nenaikkiren.

Sunandh: Can you guys do something about Mohanji? He is driving me nuts.

Lechu: I think he should be lashed, whipped, canned and hung - run everyone - get him.

Sunandh: Yes. get Mohanji.

Munni: Yes. Get parts.

Mohideen: Get mohanraj. I have been irritated by him for a long time.

Malligai: Yes. I am annoyed too with his desecration of Tamil.

Arul: Anne, Anne, Anne, everybody calm down... You are missing the point. You are missing the real culprit here. Please everyone calm down. This is not about Mohanraj. He is a very good guy. He is a quiet guy. Please please please. We are missing the target. Please. Please. Oh No!!!!

Everyone: Get Mohanraj!!!

wealth is disgusting

2014-11-13T11:10:00.000-05:00

Did you see Google and Facebook asking you to donate $1 or $2 to cure Ebola? Does it even make sense for these behemoths ask you and I for money?
Google's market cap is $375.39 Billion i.e. value of Google inc., Baskar, in case if you are interested in buying it, you need to write a check for $375B, make sure you find a bank to hold that much money - you don't want to pay $20 extra for bouncing a check!
Google has a cash reserve of 58 Billion which is losing value by about 2% per year or 26% in 10 years cumulative due to inflation. By that rate Google would lose about a billion a year or so and lose about 14 billion in 10 years. Apple market cap is 663 B and they have a whopping cash reserve of $158 B. Facebook is worth $208 B and they would buy WhatsApp for 19 B just because they don't want anyone else to buy it, like the muscleman in the street buying houses in the area just because he wants no one else to be there.
One of the best ever 'feel good' campaigns was the ice bucket challenge which collected $88.5 Million. I don't think Ebola or any other campaign is going to hit the perfect marketing vibe that would put a perfect moral pressure on celebrities and tweens alike in the near future. Yet the 88.5 million is just 0.0002% of Google, 0.00038% of Facebook, and 0.0001% for apple. If they want to write a check for any of the causes in hand, it will be a rounding error or just a fraction of the interest they are losing on the cash reserve.
But they ask for $1 and $2 from you. It is just to make you feel good about donating for a good cause and playing your guilt and oh yes, a great marketing campaign. My friend TMS, a sage, once told 'they donate 400 for the road but spend 10,000 for the party and ceremony to donate the money'. Extreme wealth is as disgusting as extreme poverty...

Coming to America 7

2014-10-18T22:20:00.000-04:00

Soon, I discovered how bad my life was in America. I desperately wanted to go back. I was homesick, missed my Yamaha and the independence it gave in moving around. I missed my friends and the winter weather forced me to settle in the apartment room with cheap whisky. I hated living on a budget and I could not tolerate the thought of spending with out making any money. I barely ate and was losing weight. I looked for jobs that I could do illegally. The only thing that I could possibly get was something manual - like washing dishes in restaurants. It was not easy to make up my mind to resort to doing these things at that time. Strangely, I wouldn't mind doing it now or I would have been fine earlier. But that particular time was tricky.
It was upsetting me to start all over and I was cursing my misfortune of the timing. Just before leaving for USA, I had almost given up going to USA, doing research etc and I was ready to marry and settle down in Chennai. Now, in the drab midwestern winter I needed to start my life all over.
I consoled myself to accept the circumstances and started looking for anything to do. They paid about $4 per hour for these under the table jobs. I was told I could babysit but I was not sure anyone would hire a 28 year old Indian guy to take care of their children. I called a classified ad for a job to help a quadriplegic man but he never called back. I agreed to be a mover but did not find anyone to hire me.
Fortunately for me, my boss started paying me within a couple of months of my arrival. I guess she liked my face or thought that I was worth something or felt pity that this kid from a poor country is here slogging with out pay. It was such a relief and any amount was good as long as it was income. I was paid $500 a month (she asked me what is the bare minimum I needed and I said at least 500 - everyone told me I was an idiot and should have asked for $2000 a month). I am sure she liked me and at some point she had a lot of respect for me. I still think that she made the biggest impact in my life but I am not sure she thought I was worth anything initially.
I was very happy when she told me she would pay and celebrated that day with a $3 canadian Malt liquor. That shitty drink felt so good as it went down my throat cold. I still distinctly remember the day I had the buzz from the fat bottle. My first earning in USA. I made it! Almost.
But, I wish I had gone to England. At that time in my life and for at least for a year or two. At that time, I had a job - 'registrarship' lined up in London under TJ Crow. I liked him very much.
Looking back, I wish I went to London. It would have been a great experience. I would have been paid 1800 pounds as opposed to $500 in the USA. I still regret that I did not spend some time in UK - that too in London and in one of the leading labs on schizophrenia research.
Things changed a bit after this. I met more and more students and even some girls. One of them was such a pretty girl from Bangalore or something and I asked around about her from the guys. They all unanimously said, she is out of reach but I thought she could one of the potential 'girl of my dreams'. She was pretty, and had a poise about her. She seemed to ignore the Indian students at the university and I imagined that she is looking for a man like me. A doctor! I was telling myself to make sure I create some situation to meet her.
But, my balloon was deflated when I saw her in a nice Mysore silk saree looking like a doll but with a bald white guy on tow in our Diwali function. Everyone rumored that she was going out with that guy. Heartbroken, I moved on. One day saw this other girl - while shopping in Econofoods, I immediately knew she was the one. It felt like God just read my mind and magically sent her. She was thin, shapely wearing a tight jeans and a T-shirt. She had a scarf in her neck fashionably rolled around covering her small, shapely upturned breasts. As she approached me or my location with a can in her hand, my heard came up and choked my throat. My hands shivered and as I prepared my dry mouth to say a causal hi to her - hey desi to desi in public - just say hi - OK?? As I pretended to not notice her and acted as if I was trying to decide on a couple of cans of potato or something, a fit as a fiddle, stunningly handsome black guy with large sideburns came and grabbed her from behind. Oh No! Don't turn around and kiss him missy. I sank. Sekar came around and told me 'RP, she is Rajeswari, from T Nagar' 'She is all set with that Kallu guy". I just learnt that kallu was a rather derogatory term in Hindhi for black people. I was totally jealous of that Kallu guy for the way he looked, the way he carried himself and his apparent girlfriend around. Shit, Kallu or not, he looked so upper class to me than anyone I had ever seen.
My hope for meeting a girl did not seem to materialize. Iowa was full of white girls and if you take the bus, it was full of chinese girls, it seemed like you were in China. I was so un-attracted to any of the especially white women. We very rarely saw dark skinned women there. I also did not like the fact that most of the women did not wear any jewelry. I guess most of the Indians felt that way. On occasions, we get a glimpse of someone with at least dark hair if not dark skin wearing a long ear ring, and the heart would jump. South American and Middle Eastern women were popular among our guys. As the spring came about things got a bit better. I was happy to have an income and had some plans to stick around and try my luck on USMLE - the American Exam to become a doctor.
I became friends with a Malayalee student. I met her in the bus one day - an unusual day, I was late and we were the only Indian students in the bus. We chatted about this and that and she invited me for tea. I was a bit confused but eager. I went to her apartment. She was alone and made a nice tea. She was talking about Kerala where she was from and how much she misses home and how she wants to finish her studies ASAP and go back to India. I am sure she is somewhere in the west coast now raising a couple of children and worrying about SAT and colleges. As we were talking I was trying to get a hold of what was going on. I was happy that I came this far, being alone with her in the apartment. I was a bit excited about the possibilities that could come next. She was tall, thin, pretty with big round eyes but I was not that attracted to her. I could never see myself falling in love with her, but again, I was lonely and we both were young. What was stopping me? She mentioned that she was engaged to her cousin or uncle or somebody and he is waiting in Kerala blah blah blah. Same story as the girl in the plane and so many more I have met before in India. There is a thing about Indian single women who say that they are engaged to someone but would happily sit in the back seat of your bike and go around the city late evenings putting themselves in vulnerable situations. Interesting.
So, I was happy to hear that. I knew this was a lie and all she was telling me was, don't fucking fall in love with me and stalk me for life. I am not willing or ready to marry you (but...). I got that part but I needed to make sure the second part of the message was clear. Is she telling me that she was engaged and so don't expect any hanky panky from her? To keep your distance and keep your zip closed or else... Or is she saying 'look I am not ready to fall in love with you and complicate my life as well as yours but I am ready for some excitement and fun if you are. Don' fuck this up.'
I stayed in the apartment for a few hours talking to her about all kinds of crap constantly thinking about how I can make the next move. At about the time she was expecting her roommates to come home, she wanted me to leave. I also understood that she wanted to keep this meeting a secret. Fine. I was happy with the implications of the secret. Can I manage another encounter and could I advance a bit more? May be...
But that day, I left empty handed. For the rest of my stay at the Seville Apartments she would occasionally say hi to me, especially if no one was looking. I left the apartment to live in the dorm (Hostel) and I heard later that she transferred out to a different university at the end of the semester. I imagined that she might have wanted to have a short affair with me and felt bad for missing the opportunity.
Life in the Dorm was a different story...
(to continue...)

Losing an ugly match...

2014-05-22T00:16:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I lost an ugly match. Ugly not because I lost it but because I seemed to want to win it. Of course we play to win and we try hard to win. We give everything we have to play well and win. The issue here is to 'play well' and win implying if you play well and lose it is alright. The emphasis is to play well because we are all going to lose at some point and we all can win at some point but it is important to play well and have fun.
Yesterday, I ended up having a heated argument with my opponent and fun was the last thing I had in the match. It appeared that my opponent had some problem keeping score. Or, was it me? But it happened when he was serving. Repeatedly. That too it was the same problem over and over. It was about the deuce and ad scoring in his serve. For those of you who don't immediately recall the scoring system in Tennis: when a game is tied at 40-40 it is called deuce. You have to score two consecutive points to win the game. If the server wins the deuce point he will serve ad-in and if he wins that point he wins the game and if he loses it goes back to deuce. Similarly if the receiver wins the deuce point it is ad out and so on.
First time, he was serving ad-in when it must have been deuce and I corrected him, actually after he faulted his first serve from the ad side. He realized his mistake, readily apologized and went to the deuce side to serve. Something similar happened again and he complied but when this happened for the third time it got really crazy.
He served ad out - meaning my advantage. He faulted his first serve and the second serve hit the net, dropped close to the net and rolled over to the side. I did not loudly call a let as I thought it was obvious. Assuming it was a double fault he walked towards the side conceding the game. I told him that the second serve was a let and asked him to serve again. He came back served and I lost the point. Now he said it was his game said he actually served ad in and I argued that it should be deuce because he served ad out. He got very upset and said in a somewhat in broken english "should I should sign this match and leave" shaking his hand like he would sign a resignation letter. I tried to explain but he got irate and said "Is this the way you raise your children? is this the way you play and cheat?"
This is was not nice. It got personal. At this point, I stopped playing and called my captain to complain that this kind of personal attack is not permissible and it does not matter who is right or wrong. My opponent apologized for the personal attack but argued about the score. My captain said the rule is that the server calls the score and the receiver confirms it by repeating it before the serve. We agreed and went back to play. But when I asked for assurance that he should not say anything personal, he quickly retorted that he never said anything personal. What??? I shook my head and did not want to go on. At that point, I told myself this is not worth arguing, fighting or anything - not even playing.
We started playing. I remained confident as I was leading 4-2. But, I felt like a piece of shit. I debated in my head about what I did. I was fine with stopping the play and calling my captain. No matter what, my opponent had no business getting personal. It was after all a game which we play for fun and the score keeping is to make it more interesting. There is no reason to get emotional or serious about the game. Right?
I was not angry or upset but I did argue. But he got upset, understandably. After all I accused him of calling wrong score three times. It is natural to become defensive and angry.
What should I have done? After all I don't think he was trying to cheat, I did not even have the slightest suspicion. It was just that he was a bit confused and every time he won a point in the deuce and ad situation he seemed to think a bit ahead. I can understand the confusion. Had I just moved on with a smile and a mild protest, he would have been more careful for the rest of the match himself. Now the situation has gotten worse and contentious. We both had heightened suspicion on each other.
For me, from that moment on, I hated every minute of it. I hated myself standing there. I hated the fact that I had to play and I had to play to win, work hard to win. The implication at that moment, of the argument and the purpose of us - me and my opponent being there was to win, not to play well or to have fun. I felt miserable to play further. I could not just think myself to want to win. I constantly fought that thought and I can tell you that after all that I actually did not want to win.
Of course I could not lose, at any cost at that point to that opponent. A loss would be a blow to my ego. But the thought of winning, while reassuring to my ego was uncomfortable at a different level. I never cared about the score and typically lost (or won) games with ease - or at least that is what I believed. However, I appeared to have crossed that line at that point. Now I was all about winning - at least that was what was written in the air in that particular match. I desperately wanted to walk out which could make me look immature, emotional and worse an angry bastard and a sore loser. I could have walked saying that it was not fun anymore - which was the truth.
He was a good player. He was wristy and played tennis more or less like squash with a lot of under spin and slice. My serve is very strong but he casually neutralized my pace and spin. He was very athletic, ran around the court with ease and he was able to hit extreme angles with a flick of his wrist. He won so many points with his precision and under spin drop shots. I had to work hard and make the many adjustments. I made a lot of unforced errors and missed so many game and break points. But, it does not matter. It was a fair win for him and a clear loss for me. I did not give away the match and I played hard till the end. He deserved to win as he was also disrupted (and provoked).
But I hated it. I hated every moment of it. I hated the idea that I had to play and play to win. I hated the idea that my opponent thought that I was desperate to win and so resorted to cheating - presumably. I lost focus. Right after we came back from the argument he called my shot out which I thought was clearly in and it was my game point. Was he mad at me and got even or was I suspicious? But, this screwed up my game altogether. I was worried about every shot and had to be extra careful not to hit the lines. I constantly thought about how I can make this less of an issue. I complemented his winners even if they are mishits. I worried what if I meet him in a grocery store, what if I play against him again. Our team will play against his soon. I was embarrassed thoroughly for arguing.
Under normal circumstances, I feel bad when I win - makes me think I was unpolite to my opponent. I feel bad when my opponent wins with a lot of cheap shots as I judge them as being cheap and mean. I know this is my problem but this kind of conflict does not happen every time. A lot of people are gracious- even after they lose. It is a lot of fun when two well meaning friendly strangers play, play hard irrespective of who wins.
I can not blame my opponent. I contributed to the conflict. I meant to assert myself with those scores towards my presumptuous advantage - fair or not. I hated it. If it was for fun, I would just say whatever and continue on which I assure I will do next time. I will just give the point and move on. Funny, the same thing happened again in his ad serve and although I brought it up, I let go quickly and gave him the point. Quite often this gesture makes the other person come forward with an apology and change of heart. But, I am sure it will make me feel better and help me focus on the game in hand.
After all I was confident that I could beat him. I still am. But that thought itself is wrong, I know. Just that thought of winning or losing brings the ego and so the conflict.
I really wanted to bring the game to a close score and lose and so did I. I lost 4-6, 5-7 after interrupting the game at 4-2. He was happy and celebrated his victory. I just hated myself for being there. I lost all the joy of playing tennis. Competition sucks. I hated myself for going through the emotional and intellectual conflict while standing there playing the ball. I don't know whether I could have won with out the interruption but I thought I could have - but, but, but - it does not matter. Nothing really matters here. It is simple and stupid.
I kind of caught myself wanting to win, like you catch yourself staring at a teen's chest...
I truly need to play to have fun and not need to worry about winning or losing - under any circumstance. After all this is what we tell our kids. We better do what we say. Desire is the root of all evil...

With apologies to my(philistine)self, - RP

How can you be happy?

2014-04-23T12:31:00.000-04:00

I recently gave a talk on the topic happiness. The focus of the talk was on neuroscience and psychology of happiness but not on 'how to make one happy or happier'. But the idea of 'we can do something to make ourselves happier than we are gets a lot more attention. While I am not sure I or anyone can make you happy or happier, the title "How can you be happy" is purely a marketing gimmick aimed at making this blog popular.
It is all bait and switch. Keep reading at your own risk. This is not self help. I cringe on self help.
Self help is a huge industry which IMHO essentially pries on our insecurity.
I sincerely think most of what we are is biological. Our attitudes, beliefs, likes and dislikes, temperament and capacity to love, enjoy music, enjoy food and sex and to be happy - all of them are mostly as genetic as your skin color, hair color or intelligence.
Sorry.
But they are 'mostly' not entirely genetic which leaves a window open for improvement. Experience and environment does shape us and influence us. For example, religious belief and taste in food seem to be mostly environmental. Let us say, if two ethnically similar babies from two different religions are switched at birth they would grow up following the religion of the adoptive families and believe in that god with out question. However, their degree or intensity of belief may be inherited. For example if one kid is born to highly skeptical parents and the other for devout parents, the kids' level of skepticism may follow the inheritance but not the choice of the religion. So, some things can be changed even if you are born with bad Karma.
So, let us start with some hope. After all, without hope we all will be very unhappy. So, let us hope that at the end of this blog we learn a few things that would unequivocally make us happy or happier.
Say, for instance, research shows that if we can all be a bit more honest than we are now we will be happier than we are. This is something we can do. Right now. (I always wondered how happy those sales people are!).
Let us start with understanding what is happiness...
The best explanation I came across was by some one named Kringleback out of Oxford. He describes three aspects of happy life:
>Hedonia which he describes as the trait quality or temperament of an individual (or capacity to be happy) which can be biological and genetic.
>Eudaimania which he says is a life well lived or a fulfilling life. This could be the environment or events that happen in our lives such as education, marriage, job, wealth etc. Obviously, people in rich democratic countries where everyone has the opportunity to live a fuller life can be expected to be happier than poor people in poor countries.
> Engagement: The third aspect of happiness he describes is engagement, meaning spending your life doing something. This could be anything including working or playing (may also include doing nothing if that is what you want to do - say as a saint). The basic idea is being engaged and doing what you want to do. For example, someone in prison who can not do what he wants to do would be very unhappy.
So, when the WHO surveyed happiness in 2012 it basically reflected the above. They found that happy people tend to live in richer and more open countries such as Western Europe and as the people become more wealthy they seemed to get happier (like in India and China) but wealth only goes so far. Once the basic necessities such as a job, house, family and expense money are met the happiness plateaus in relation to wealth and more money does not bring more happiness. In other words, one can say that money may not bring happiness but lack of it brings a lot of misery.
So, in the survey, unemployment was found to be a major source of unhappiness. No country or society survived long with high joblessness rates. Along with jobs, personal freedom, transparency and lack of corruption seem to influence how happy people are in a given society. In addition, a good marriage, intact family, a lot of social support and friends seem to bring happiness. Even at work, people tend to be happy if they perceive their colleagues as friends (or if they end up working with friends). This theme of having friends and social network come up repeatedly as a source of happiness, especially if you ask old people. So, build a network of friends if you want to be happy. Friends from young age are more reliable, more forgiving and trustworthy. Find them.
It is also important that mental illnesses such as depression should be treated adequately and stress, loss and grief handled appropriately.
Why do we even have happiness? Meaning why can't our brains just be and not feel happy or sad or even if it feels these emotions why go to extremes - from a point of ecstasy to a point of despair? Why did we evolve into being this way?
Any life form exists for two reasons: to survive and to propagate their species. Those animals or species that ate well and had a lot of sex survived and thrived. Organisms (and us humans) do not always think through and plan to eat and have sex for survival or propagation. Thinking all the way back in evolution, you can understand that whatever organism 'found' pleasure in eating or sex survived and so the food and sex became pleasurable. In other words, the living things that practiced or liked eating and making love not only survived over the millennia their offspring - us - became obsessed with food and sex. If you think hard you can understand that because of eating and propagation organisms or life formed from stardust although it took a bit of time for the stardust to figure things out about selling things using sex.
In a simple reinforcing feedback mechanism, pleasure to eat and mate became more and more enhanced (along with comfort, safety and lack of pain) and opposite of it - lack of food or lack of love became painful and incompatible with life. I am sure you can imagine how this thing got out of control that we want to eat pizza and steak all the time and want the luxury SUV with a long legged blonde in the passenger seat.
But, interestingly, man developed a far enhanced capacity of communication (i.e.) the language and somewhat related qualities of consciousness and self awareness. This so called improvement has made us manipulate our environment to increase, not just optimize happiness. We brewed beer, became drug addicts and watch porn online. The awareness of the life being finite and awareness of death as the inevitable end made us seek for excessive pleasure even when it hurts others sometimes.
This self awareness of life and death made intellectuals in every civilization think about happiness or Nirvana. Without the understanding of the evolution until the arrival of Darwin, they came up with a range ideas to help us live a better life with less pain. The philosophies of eastern religions as well as Greco-Roman and Judaio-Christian thinking focus on reducing pain and suffering by reducing guilt and greed (same principle of honesty as mentioned above). They also instilled hope with a promise of after life; The Heaven that is all pleasure and no pain and the ideal God. Religion, philosophy and spirituality all seem to target a pure utopian pleasure or a happy state of mind without any pain or major after effects like guilt or hang over.
But, are all these aspects of pleasure and happiness different? Can they be the same or different aspects of the same thing?
Surprisingly, more and more neuroscience research seem to indicate that all 'good' things or happy things share the same brain network. Things that give pleasure such as food, sex, drugs seem to be related to the higher order pleasurable things like achievement, love, and even altruism. Is it possible that we enjoy drunkenness, playing with the baby, first kiss or first paycheck in the same areas of the brain? Is it possible that a sexual orgasm, eating a steak or winning a Nobel prize tickle the same areas of the brain? Well, at least it happens in the same brain; like the same voice and the same language can produce love talk, curse words, lullaby and prayer, is it possible that the same brain region light up in all aspects of pleasure. At least there seems to be a common pathway, a vehicle like the voice (or the language area of the brain) that changes with the context.
There is clear evidence that deep brain structures such as Nucleus Acumbens and ventral Pallidum and cortical areas or brain surface areas above the eyeballs such as Orbitofrontal, cingulte, medial prefrontal and Insula to be involved in any pleasurable activity ranging from eating to orgasm. But the brain is a highly interconnected organ, it is impossible to manipulate one small part without influencing other areas. Even the rest of the body such as heart rate and bladder control are connected to the brain and to emotions.
Brain scans show the brain light up in the same areas for sex, drugs, food, chocolate and even music. I am sure you guys get the idea that a dinner date, in a fancy restaurant, starting with a glass of wine and ending with a chocolate pudding with a nice music in the background, or preferably going for a chick flick with a lot of music (or even better, a romantic Bollywood movie!) will lead you to - you know what I am talking about :-). I am talking neuroscience here!
Although all of these activities light up the same area of the brain, it is unclear whether these brain areas cause or code the event. Similarly, it is also believed that the sense of pleasure may be deep in the brain along with the breathing and hunger centers but the discrimination of what you like (red or white wine - blonde or brunette) may lie in the cortex.
As you can imagine, all these things happen in the brain through neurochemicals and there seems to be a few of these that are directly related to a variety of aspects of happiness or pleasure. Endocannabinoids: the receptor where cannabis (or the stuff the brain makes on its own known as endocannabinoids) acts is called Anandamide (based on the Sanskrit word for happiness 'Anandam') and it is believed that the edocannabinoid system is behind the happiness and euphoria including runner's high. Dopamine is a neurochemical well known for its relationship with Parkinson's disease (a lack of it causes Parkinson's) seems to be involved in reward mechanism, meaning whenever you win on something this chemical secretes in the brain. For example, there are studies showing an surge of dopamine even when you win in a video game. Certainly, Roger Federer would be a very happy man but remember he probably lost more tournaments (not matches) than he won. Endorphins are the internal hormones that work like morphine to alleviate pain (or make us not care for pain). Oxytocin is a molecule that has become more popular these days and is tagged as the 'trust molecule'. Oxytocin seems to be the one secreting when we feel love and seems to secure the bond between the infant and the mother (so is the father). Serotonin, a molecule strongly associated with depression (a lack of it seems to cause depression and an increase relieves depression) seems to be involved in self confidence and self appreciation. Suicide victims lack serotonin in their brain. We all know that adrenaline causes a surge of energy which is more primordial than the rest. GABA receptors seem to be involved in reduction of fear and anxiety. We do have come a long way from stardust and amoeba.
But, as mentioned above, the brain is such an interconnected area, altering one system always impacts other areas. The drugs of abuse manipulate and modify these systems to give us pleasure: alcohol and valium on GABA, Morphine and narcotics through the endorphin system and of course you can tell what anandamide does. Cocaine and stimulants primarily affect the dopamine system and the hallucinogens like LSD and mushrooms affect the serotonin system. Psylocybin or magic mushrooms are believed to activate the spiritual center and make some feel or see God.
So, what can we do to be happy? Of course, I can get myself a continuous infusion of some psychedelic and be happy and lock myself with a few dozen vixens like Sha Je Han did. I guess there are people who do that, the kings, dictators and the filthy rich - especially the sudden rich. But this becomes a problem after a point even if they are not addicted to these drugs. There seems to be a difference in wanting something compared to liking something. Job security is something you might like as opposed to buying a Ferrari (on a loan) which is something you want. So is a glass of wine on a Friday night might be something you like but getting drunk and partying with a dozen women every day is something you might want but may not bring happiness. What you want may not make you happy but what you like will. (read more on the website below about this). This area and distinction seem to be a bit unclear - at least to me. Ken Barridge argues that dopamine is responsible for something called 'incentive salience' or tagging importance to a reward which may or may not be liked.
What can we do to make ourselves more happy or less miserable?
Of course if we have a mental illness like depression or anxiety we need to treat it. Similarly stress, laziness and lack of interest need to be addressed to enhance happiness and reduce suffering. The benefits of happy life or even a happy day or a happy moment are enormous. Happy people live longer and obviously happier! They are more productive more friendly and social with a larger network of family and friends. They have better physical and mental health, have stronger and more loving marriages, and intact, caring families.
But, when it comes to who is happy or happier, it seems that we mostly inherit the happiness.
Yes, if you are unhappy blame it on your parents. The capacity to be happy or the attitude of happiness seems to be genetic. It is estimated that 48% of your happiness is inherited. If you are genetically inclined to be unhappy, you will complain even if you are born with a silver spoon (why can't it be gold?). It seems about 40% of happiness is related to life situation such as wealth, job, love, food and a place to live. The rest about 12% seems to be in your hands.
Ha - that is depressing. It seems that there is very little we can do. But an optimist (or a happy person) would see the same 12% as a great opportunity. Besides, when you understand what makes you happy or sad, that knowledge or awareness helps a lot to handle the situation in a much more productive manner. For example, if you understand that by nature you get sad or nervous for everything - even simple things like traffic jam, you can talk yourself into becoming less frustrated.
There are several simple things one can do on a regular basis to make our lives less miserable and more enjoyable - in addition to understanding your genetics, taking prozac if you are depressed and getting a job if you are unemployed .
You can 'practice happiness' as recommended by Professor Sonja Lyubomirsky of University of California Riverside (her website is http://sonjalyubomirsky.com)

You can set aside time to recall moments of gratitude- count your blessings or list the things that you have in life that you are fortunate to have. The very fact that you are reading this (access to the computer I mean, but not reading this blog which I am sure will bring pain or boredom).
Engage in self regulating and positive thinking - reflect, write or talk about happiest moments in life or discuss about positive life goals (marriage or a baby).
Practice altruism and kindness - Do something good for someone all the time. Help others or at least complement them or thank them. Even if you exaggerate it is OK but try to be genuine.
Pursue intrinsic and significant life goals - you can make a list of things you want to accomplish and make baby steps towards the goals (bucket list).
Affirm one' most important values in life and
Enjoying every moment of it - say, living your life like there is no tomorrow. Enjoy every piece of food you eat, every kiss, hug and smile or even a complement. Just enjoy the life as it is. Now.

Some of the things like honesty, humility, generosity, forgiveness are things that our elders and culture repeatedly emphasize for a good life but we do not follow as well as we should be, keep coming again and again in happiness related research. While these sound simple and obvious, it is rather difficult to follow these things in our day to day life and moment by moment.

Some other notable and famous ideas you can find around the web and in scientific circles, which I call pop-psychology are also rather obvious and simple ideas. Dan Gilbert, a Harvard professor says we synthesize happiness meaning adversity like becoming paraplegic or good fortune like winning the lottery changes the way we feel for only a short period of time. We revert back from disappointment of losing legs to what we can do without them (please check out Alex Xanardi and he is amazing. He loses his legs in race car accident, takes wheelchair racing and wins medals) and even when we have all the money we need, we look for things that we otherwise want. Basically this idea rather reflects eastern philosophy of looking inward for happiness. I have some issue with this because this is not a case controlled study. Of course Alex Xanardi reverted back but we can not say that he is happier. I am sure Al Gore is happy as he made millions in Google and Apple after losing the election in 2000 but would he be happier or more satisfied had he been the president?
Matt Killingsworth of Stanford talks about focus or mind wandering. He says, when we are focused on the task in hand without distraction, we are happy. In the age of whole world on your screen, it is easy to get distracted which he says makes you miserable at the end of the day. Imagine the times you did something but were actually thinking about something else, for fun or work, I am sure it was not a pleasant time. But, there is evidence that our brains evolved for a shorter attention spans than longer ones.
There are also people who advocate slowing down or taking it easy (Carl Honore), having less stuff as possession (Graham Hill and John Lennon) and being grateful to everyone (David Steidnl) makes you happy.

A number of things I will list here that you all know will bring happiness even if you lose stuff - meaning peace of mind even when you experience a loss. They are honesty, humility, contentment, being a good human (well intentioned in what you do, trusting and forgiving even when you are betrayed), accepting failure and shortcomings - you can choose to enjoy what you have (cheap beer and basic food) or complain about what you do not have, for which there is no end. Acceptance of failure and death with grace. I quote the movie 'Wonderful Life' a lot in this which was personally inspiring to me but there are critiques who say that he is a loser who lived a miserable life - by not doing what he dreamed of.

In another area that brings happiness or misery is interpersonal interaction. After all, we humans are social animals and most of what happens to our mood in a daily basis is related to someone else that we interact with. Of course this is an obvious idea and we all prefer to spend time with friends we like and family we trust. But the trust, love and social and interpersonal competitiveness and reward (of showing yourself as a better person than the other) influence our behavior that frequently cause a lot of stress. For example, one may try to make himself look better by belittling other's achievement which would eventually make both unhappy.
Personalities and personality disorders lead to a lot of discomfort that result from a lack of trust and honesty, suspicions and assumptions, and reaction instead of living the moment and being easy going. People who let go and take it easy usually have more friends - both good ones and bad ones who take advantage of them and even in that context, people who forgive and let go (let it be) are happier than the ones that get their end by being manipulative. Personality and interpersonal interaction is a huge area that needs better understanding. My guess is that in 100 years we will be in a much better position to understand the science of lack of trust and honesty.

Recently, in mental health and psychotherapy, mindfulness and mentalizing techniques are becoming popular modes of treatment for anxiety, depression and personality issues. Basically, mentalizing means watching what you think or thinking about your thinking, trying to understand why you feel in such a way in that particular moment. For example, next time when you get really angry, stop and ask why you need to get this angry and immediately you will realize that you are losing control and you do not particularly like what you are feeling or going through. Mentalizing in happy times will actually make you happier with out losing judgement. Ever heard, don't say anything in anger and don't promise anything when you are happy? Watching what you think will help you control this.

But, finally, let us all have some perspective. The world is billion years old. Humans existed only for the past 10 million years (humans did not exist with dinosaurs). The world keeps changing and will change into something we will not recognize. We don't know how long this universe is going to exist but we are all going to die with in a short period of time and at this rate, it looks like we will burn the planet out of existence in a few short years.
It looks like we as a species may not survive for long.

So, why bother?

Just keep smiling and be happy.

References:

The functional neuroanatomy of pleasure and happiness. Kringelbach ML, Berridge KC. Discov Med. 2010 Jun;9(49):579-87.
The Neuroscience of Happiness and Pleasure. Kringelbach ML, Berridge KC. Soc Res (New York). 2010 Summer;77(2):659-678. No abstract available.
http://www.lsa.umich.edu/psych/research&labs/berridge/research/affectiveneuroscience.html
http://sonjalyubomirsky.com)
http://www.npr.org/programs/ted-radio-hour/267185371/simply-happy

MMC meet

2014-04-23T10:18:00.002-04:00

அன்பார்ந்த மதுரை மெடிக்கல் மாணவர்களே:

ப்ரியமுடன் ஆர்ப்பி.
சென்ற வருடம், ஒரு குருட்டு நம்பிக்கையுடனும், முட்டாள் தைர்யத்துடனும் நான் இந்த கெட்-டுகதரை நடத்தலாம் என்று கிளம்பினேன்.
இன்றும் என்னை பைத்தியக்காரனாக பார்க்கிறார்கள் சிலர்.
ஆனால், நண்பர்கள் தோளோடு தோள் நின்று இதை வெற்றிகரமாக நடத்தி காட்டினர்.
இந்த மீட்டிங் முடிந்தது.
பின்னோக்கி பார்த்து அதையும் இதையும் இப்படியும் அப்படியும் நடத்தியிருக்கலாம் என்று நினைக்கலாம், சொல்லலாம் கேள்விப்படலாம். வெற்றியா தோல்வியா என்று நான் மார் தட்டுவதை விடஉங்கள் கணிப்பே முக்கியம்.
நானும் வந்திருக்க வேண்டும் என்று உங்களில் ஓரிருவர் சொல்வதே வெற்றியின் அடையாளம்.
வெற்றியோ தோல்வியோ நடந்தது முடிந்தது.
ஆனால், நீங்கள்ஒவ்வொருவரும் வந்திருக்கலாமே என்கிற எண்ணம் தவிர்க்க முடியாது.
வந்திருந்தால் ஒவ்வொரு தலைக்கும் மகிழ்ச்சி பல மடங்கு கூடும் என்பதும் மறுக்க முடியாது.
வந்தவர்களில் யாருக்கும் பெரிதாக லாபம் இல்லை.
யாரும் சம்பாரிக்கவில்லை, மருந்து கம்பனி பணம் வாங்க வில்லை, இலவச சாப்பாடு உண்ண வில்லை, பதவியில் முன்னேற்றமோ, தொழிலில் விருத்தியோ அடையவில்லை.
அதே சிக்கனையும் பிரியாணியையும் பத்து மடங்கு விலை கொடுத்து உண்டனர்.
தொடர் கல்வி சொற்பொழிவு கொடுத்து விட்டு பேசினோர் கூலி வாங்க வில்லை, விருது வாங்க வில்லை - அவர்களும் எல்லோரும் போல் அதிக விலை கொடுத்து பிரியாணி உண்டனர்...
தோழர்கள் வசந்தியும் செல்வராசும் தொண்டர்கள் போல கண் தூங்காமல் பசி நோக்காமல் கருமமே கண்ணாய் உயிர் கொடுத்து வேலை பார்த்தனர்...
எதற்காக?
நட்பிற்காக...
பத்மநாபன் சொன்னது போல - எனக்கு உங்க கூட உக்காந்து ஒரு ட்ரின்க் அடிக்கணும் அவ்வளவுதான்.
எல்லாம் ஒரு சகோதரத்துவத்துக்காக
நட்பு என்பது அன்பு, சந்தோசம் - ஒரு விலை போட முடியாது
மதனிடம் கேளுங்கள் எவ்வளவு தூரம் உங்களை மிஸ் செய்கிறார் என்று.
நம்பி பணமனுப்பி வந்திருந்த யாரும் பெரிதாக ஏமாற வில்லை என்பது என் கணிப்பு, எல்லோருக்கும் சந்தோசம் என்பது என் கேள்வி.
வொண்டெர்புல் லைப் படத்தில் சொல்வது போல "நண்பர் உள்ளவன் என்றும் ஏழை ஆவதில்லை"
என் உற்சாகம் எண்ணிலடங்காது - நடனம் என்ற பேரில் நான் ப்ரிஷ்டம்ஆட்டுவதை நீங்கள் கண்டிருக்கலாம்.
நட்பு சந்தோசம் - எல்லோருக்கும்.
இந்த சந்தோசம் தொடர வேண்டும்.
இது முதல் அடி.
நட்புக்காக நாம் எடுக்கும் முதல் அடி.
ஓரடி எடுத்து வைப்பது நடை அல்ல.
இது நடக்க வேண்டும்...
மீண்டும் மீண்டும்
ஒரு சிறப்புடன் தொடர வேண்டும்.
அதன் பின்பு நாம் வெற்றி என்று முழக்கமிடலாம், மார் தட்டலாம் தோள் தட்டலாம். சந்தோசப்படலாம்.
நண்பர்கள் அருட்செல்வம் மற்றும் சத்யராஜ் அடுத்த எட்டு எடுத்திருக்கிறார்கள். வாழ்த்துக்கள்.
தற்போதைக்கு விடை பெறுகிறேன்...

நட்புக்காக,

ஆர்ப்பி

சர்வே லிங்க்
குரூப் போட்டோ லிங்க்
100 போட்டோ லிங்க்
தொடர் கல்வி லிங்க்
வீடியோ லிங்க்

Sorry Rafa:

2014-03-06T15:02:00.002-05:00

First off, I want to say that this is just an opinion (coming out of the other end, if I may add) or just a fantasy. Even if I try to claim this as an observation, it is stretching too far. I am a psychiatrist and sometimes (my friends think all the time) I think crooked, but as some one who plays tennis, albeit at a shamefully low level and as an ardent observer of this glorious sport, I can't help but think like this...

It was the best match of 2013. The whole world fell in love with Wawrinka when he lost to Djokovic in 5 sets. I am sure this was a great moment for him and possibly a turning point. And, he knew he came out a winner - personally and rather psychologically speaking. I can imagine that Wawrinka, at that point sincerely believed that he could beat anyone on a given day and even hold a grand slam cup if the stars align right. I am sure rest of the world (I mean the top 200 in the ATP at least) also believed the same that day. But, we see this sparkle of brilliance all the time and shrug our shoulders thinking 'Yeah Yeah, let us see when it happens'.
Nadal played awesome in the 2014 Aussie open. Awesome, but not extraordinary, and he did not appear to be in command against Nishikori or Dimitrov. Lack of dominance or brilliance is not a sin and not everyone is Serena (even she looks suspect now and then). Andy Murray does not seem to - may be because of his self loathing expression - dominate a match or cherish the destruction of the opponents. Although at an extreme level, some might argue that Nadal is a counter puncher (by Golly, don't say pusher) or at least someone whose defense is better that the offense which is a lot better than almost anyone. Nishikori seemed - albeit ever so slightly - to push Nadal around a bit. It is true that it is only a matter of time before another teen would dethrone Nadal or Federer. But, did Nishikori have a chance that day? May be, may be not. Nadal seemed to win just because he is Nadal but, is it possible that seeds of doubt were sown on Nadal's mind by Nishikori?
The revenge match could not have been scripted better for Wawrinka. He beat Djokovic despite having won fewer points (Simpson's paradox) meaning he did not choke on crucial points and he did not seem to fear at all anyways. The revenge was sweet and adequate and after beating Djokovic he did not need to do anything anymore. Stan the man became the man. Playing Berdych in the semi was formidable, physically and psychologically but he had nothing to lose, nothing to fear after beating Djokovic. Having no fear relaxes your hitting hand, breakpoints and set points do not intimidate. Stan looked like a straight arrow, an arrow to the cup. The toughest match for him, in my opinion, was the semi and when he beat Berdych, I thought he could relax for eternity. He gets to play in the final. Awesome! His Crown Jewel, the finalist for the first time. He would lose to Nadal - as the whole world predicts and expects. So be it. What he has done is good and good enough.

But, deep inside, he knew he had a chance. He could beat Nadal and he knew it is possible although not probable.
So did Nadal.
But no one believed Wawrinka could beat Nadal. Wawrinka did not believe it and Nadal did not believe it - both just had the thought as a possibility. The possibility that will grow in to a confidence and a belief for Wawrinka and a demon and doubt for Nadal as the 9th game rolled in the first set.

Wawrinka walks in on the fateful day thinking "There is NOTHING TO LOSE". "I have made it. Good enough. After it is over, after I lose, I will still be smiling and my heart will be filled with joy. Joy of my first Major final. All I need to do is go down fighting. But I will fight. I will whip the backhand down the line for a winner. I will hit my forehand cross court at 100 MPH. It doesn't matter if no one believes I could win."
Nadal walks into the court with the whole world including himself and the confident Wawrinka across the net believing Nadal would kiss the cup in a few hours.
They both are nervous - nervous about winning and nervous about losing; only with a different flavor of this mixed, jumbled up high octane barrage of thought, excitement and anxiety.
But, Nadal also clearly read what was going on Wawrinka's mind and felt a bit uncomfortable with what he saw. The seeds of doubt kept coming to the surface and will mushroom into a fear of failure.
Nadal could not take the thought from his mind: "Wawrinka is going to shoot from the hip and at least on occasions, he is going to make me look bad". The nagging doubt from Nishikori lingers around. "I am sure Nishikori dares to think that he could have gotten a set out of me. May be he is thinking now that he COULD beat me at some point". "What if this guy dares to think that he is going to beat me? or get his first ever set against me? Is he going to find out that I am having second thoughts? Can I play my style and beat him?" What if he takes a set - for the first time? What if? What if???

Wawrinka rolls through like a bulldozer. Not only he got his first ever set against Nadal, he is brilliant, fearless and is making apparent what is impossible is possible. Watch the 8th, 9th, 10th games. Wawrinka dominated and hit the shit out of the ball to get the set at the 9th game (to get his first ever set against Nadal at 6-3) and broke Nadal to take an early lead at 1-0 and later 2-0 in the second set. around the turn of the first set, Wawrinka was firing winners (about 11 of them) left, right and center. Nadal looks across the net, a guy, who belonged to the lower class until yesterday is not only looking to beat him and claim the top status he seemed to step on his throat and squish him like a bug.
Now, my back hurts, the blister in the palm is burning. Yes the blister in my head is is becoming larger and larger (courtesy - Open by Agassi). I need to pee. I feel dizzy. I hold my back. I can not forfeit - I know I am not hurting that bad. I am also a man. Well, I will try.
He is telling himself, it is all because of the back. I can't fight - my back hurts. Do people know what I am thinking? No. It really hurts. I am not faking! I am not exaggerating. Do they know I am exaggerating. What if I get the physio in public and everyone sees that I am not hurting that bad. May be I should walk in shirtless. Why do they boo now? I need to show the pain- look I am hurting for real. I am a fighter and/but I am also just a human like you.
I am thinking. I should not. Stop thinking. I can't. I am nervous. I got to stop being nervous. This is new to me. Did this guy find out what I have been hiding. Is he the Soderling? Is he the Rosol? I can't take the thought out of my head. In game four of the second set, I try this lame drop shot- shit - he crushed it. A double fault, a weak drop volley and all tentative strokes. I am nervous and tight. No. I got to take the thought of loss out of my mind.
OK. I will give up. I will show the world that I am trying very very hard to stay on the game before I give up. I could quit may be I should - right now- I should shake Stan's hand and leave. But that is a bummer. I am not hurting that bad. I am not hurting. I know. But, I want to make sure that people don't see that I am not hurting. I also want them to know that I can't even stand but I am trying to give a fight. Look I am trying to play on. Don't think I am not trying - please think that I am hurting and I CAN NOT play. I am not faking.
See, I will try to toss the ball and swing. I will do double faults at half my usual pace. I want everyone to see that I am hurting. I know I am trying to show that I am trying hard with out actually trying hard. Do people see through this trickery? Does Wawrinka see that. I bet he knows that I am not going to fight and lose to him. Is he upset that I am taking the fucking joy out of the fight? Does he think that I am trying to make it look like I gave the match away to him rather then him winning? Do people see this drama? I want to get out of this as soon as possible. I wanna go home.
As the set rolled, in game 5, Wawrinka gained confidence and composure to fire two aces (until then his first serve was 20%) then finished the game with elegant serve and volley but Rafa seemed edgy, afraid and uncomfortable.
The third set is an enigma. Did Wawrinka choke as he saw the finish line? Or, did Nadal, for a change started believing in himself? Did Nadal, at that point 'dare' to think that he can beat Wawrinka? Suddenly Nadal started playing his 'normal' game. Did he come out of the shell of fear? His mannerisms were back. He started walking around the lines, pulled his underwear and tucked his hair. His serve speed recovered - magically. He was not 'acting' as if he was playing - he was playing. The world was watching in awe. What the fuck is going on? It seemed everyone was confused along with Wawrinka. Did Nadal see it and took advantage of it?
This is crazy. Both players are wondering what was going on.
But, Nadal has already decided that Stan was on it and let things roll in the fourth set. Is someone going to come in the future and tell us all that the whole thing was staged? Is there something going on only a few people know? Am I missing something?
Is this all Nadal's drama or is everyone part of this? Did Nadal take away the joy of winning from Wawrinka because he knew he was going to lose and make it look like it was all because of his back? Nobody wants to lose but did Nadal want to make sure he did not lose to Stan in particular? Did he have a personal grudge?
Am I imagining things?

But, I am sure the crowd saw something to boo - of all the people - Nadal. Although I agree with them, after all Nadal is just another human and he was in pain - I am sure it was a bit more than just the physical pain.
It is OK to choke and lose but it is nice to let the winner have his day and enjoy it in full. Nadal owes an apology to Stan for not letting him enjoy the party in full.
Or, May be I am the crazy one.
I still love you Nadal.

The entertainer II

2013-08-26T09:37:00.002-04:00

It was not until late in college that I had an opportunity to be involved in stage plays and comedy skits. The first one was in the Rotaract club meeting in Agri college which we attended with a singular hope of picking up a girlfriend. On a whim, we prepared a skit in a day as I had the luxury of some of the most brilliant, witty, funny and creative guys including, Mohideen Ahmed, Ilango, Arutchelvan and Rajeswaran from the junior batch. We hatched a plan and shamelessly reproduced Ram and Haroon's (a few years senior to us) famous skit of this 'famous' doctor - Dr. Tamilvanan who transplants a dog's brain to a man, who gets up from the operating table and pees like a dog. Funny. Ha?
Along with a few silly jokes, we brought in some skulls and femurs that added an exotic eeriness that made us stand apart from other 'arts college types'. I had this huge sickle, an impressive two to three feet of gleaming chrome which my father 'confiscated' from a drunken thug and casually brought it home as a souvenir. As an operating knife, it made an impressive show and was plain stupid.
The skit was a huge hit. There was this bunch of girls from SRC college who seemed impressed somehow ended up with Byravan, who engaged them well and was 'frying peanuts' in full swing. Some of the girls, wearing pants and speaking in tongue-tip-English asked for the rest of us! We were celebrity! and girls want to talk to me! This was uncharted territory. I get to talk to girls who seemed to want to talk to me?! I am only used to the total indifference from medical school girls who pass by you as if you are one of the stones in the college building. These girls were flirting with me! I had no training or experience in 'peanut frying' and I was not suave and smooth like Byravan or Mohideen but managed to linger around. Soon, it became obvious that one of the girls from the SRC group had a liking for me. She was unusually thin and was wearing jeans, which was out of the world for those days. Somehow, she was extraordinary and the fact that she was not trying to hide her liking towards me, made it even more extraordinary for me personally. At one point, she was holding my dirty brown bag with a real human skull and bones, and as she realized that they were real bones, she let out a scream and tried to pass the bag towards me. I, as an immature teen, not knowing what to do in that situation, laughed like an idiot and dodged her. I should have grabbed the bag, grabbed her hand and put my hands around her shoulder to console her - thus sealing the deal of mutual affection. Idiot.
Few minutes and moments passed by and every time we said goodbye, the girls seemed to find a way to come back to us and we also did our part by not disappearing or leaving. After all, we decided to hang out and took the bus to Madurai together. I could see all the American college students burning holes on us with envy; "These medical college guys have a knack for rounding up girls yar". In the bus, I did not have the courage to sit with them but sat in the seat in front and at one point the girl in jeans touched my head which gave a heart attack to Rajeswaran. We reached Madurai, and the girls were supposed to take a bus to Trichy. The thin girl in jeans and her friend suggested that we spend some more time together, like going to a restaurant or a movie. This gave me a lot of anxiety, eagerness and excitement. But we did not have enough money or courage. I am not sure who the brave soul in our group was, he tried to come up with a plan and tried to pool the money (must be Mohideen - he keeps a cool head in the presence of girls). As the time went by, it was clear that this was not going anywhere. I really don't know what they wanted. Fall in love? spend a memorable day or night? I had no courage even to think in those lines and was constantly worried about someone seeing me with a bunch of fancy girls and telling my father. After a few minutes of deliberation, standing in the middle of the road in Collector's office bus stop, enduring burning stares, we bid adieu to the girls as they boarded the bus to Trichy.
I imagined a lot of different scenarios and spent a lot of time fantasizing what if situations, long after this happened. Totally useless...
Gathering confidence by this, the same group of us decided to go for cultural competition in Lady Doak College (LDC). Now, we were ready for the invasion. We were ready to conquer hoards of beautiful vixens from around town.
It was called Fantasia and we enrolled in a couple of limited events with a focus on the skit which was actually the main event. They announced that the skit would be in Tamil which was a great relief and gave a title "குழப்பம்". We decided that Ilango would do the speaking for all of us, and the rest of us would do the acting. As tiny as he is, Ilango has the huge, commanding voice of a war hero and delivers sentences as well as Sivaji Ganesan. I had not known a better orator in Tamil than him. I played the lead with Mohideen as the patient and Rajeswaran as an assistant doctor. The same long sickle and the bones made a grand impression. We were all dressed impeccably and behaved like true gentlemen. Everyone contributed to the jokes. Believe it or not, Rajeswaran added this joke on the fly as we are walking on to the stage; at one point, the doctor - me- would refer a huge book (of course Gray's anatomy) to figure out where the brain was in Mohideens body (of course we never found one) with all the assistants pointing to different parts of the hapless patient. This is where, Ilango delivered the winning blow, he emphasized "குழப்பம்" or confusion, the title given to us for the skit, several times in a decrescendo. I think he single-handedly won us the first prize. Rajeswaran suggested that I read the book for some time and then he would point out to me that I was reading it upside down - the other actors and Ilango did not know, but Ilango managed it beautifully. Clowns we were, we brought the auditorium down with laughter. Even the judges couldn't hold. We won the first prize and the hearts of several young stunners, so we thought.
I was like a kid in a candy store, I guess we all were. There was this skinny, tall, dark skinned girl with an impeccable smile, a couple of rotund twins who seemed to have been made of vanilla ice cream, along with many many more varieties of colorful ice creams with smiling faces. We strategically sat behind a group of colorful bunch (like the guy in Krishna sweets) that seemed to be deserving a lot of superlatives. The difficulty was picking a favorite one. We were cracking and wisecracking jokes that seemed to amuse the girls which in turn encouraged our stupidity. They did not seem to mind the attention either. One of them had a striking short hair and was wearing a T-shirt with a plunging neckline that seemed to show a bit of untanned skin which made us skip a few heartbeats every time we passed by. She ineffectively pretended to ignore us.
As it turned out, the short haired one, came to medical college sometime after this, looking for me with a pretension of conducting some kind of social research. This lead to some of the oddest events and encounters in my life.
There were three girls, besides the short haired one, there was a stunner who seemed to have everything made to order and looked like a modern day Menaka who could disturb any modern or ancient Vishwamitra. She also behaved and moved around in a peculiar fashion as if she was a massive cake teasing a man on hunger strike. There was a third wheel who seemed to manage the other two but seemed less interested in us. They would come after 3 PM and hang out in Medical college campus of Gandhi museum campus - just like that. Like the bee after honey, we would float around them (we, here are Kannan and me). One day, I gathered courage and went up to them to talk. The short haired girl asked me to help her to conduct a pen and paper survey of 'difficulties of upper caste students in getting admission to medical school'. They all thought that I was Brahmin as I was clean shaven and I also implicitly encouraged this as I had a thing for Carnatic music and those who sang it.
Anyways, I played along. I grabbed the questionnaires, came back to the library, filled it with garbage and gave it back to her the next day. This went on for a few days and most of the time, I would be sitting or standing with the three of them talking some nonsense. The girls were teasing me, connecting me and the Menaka figure but I was clear that my interests lay on the short haired figure but I was also goofy. Gosh: I can never be serious to save my life. We met almost daily but nothing happened - not even the sociological research. Interestingly, my reputation among my peers in medical college shot up. Respect everywhere! Even the stoic Sivakumar Sir was in praise of me for rounding up such a rare specimen. But I was going nowhere with the specimen. Nothing seem to blossom between us. My encounters became more and more contentious and at one point, they even came up to my house and pleaded to my father. My father, interestingly, seemed to have (also) been clean bowled for the short haired one and even said something encouraging! Soma, my dearest friend who had a sister in LDC who typically visited their hostel on Saturday afternoons and stopped by our house. He thought that she looked like me and informed that the entire hostel was abuzz with the talk of RP. My sister, who went to LDC seemed to be totally upset and disgusted with the fact that her brother was associated with some girls that were not up to her standards.
But, at this point, I was a bit confused. I was sure that the research was a facade and the Menaka teasing was also fake. So, where are we heading? I was still goofy and not serious but as there were more meaningless and obviously unproductive encounters and as more and more face to face and eye to eye meetings happened, I could feel an implicit connection build on. There was this moment: I was sitting or standing next to my Raleigh bike, in the evening sun wearing my white jibba; talking to her, still shooting hot air and being stupid but at one point, I totally lost my train of thought and everything came to a standstill as I was locked in with her eyes. I knew, she knew what Valluvar Knew. It was like getting lost in a twirling vortex through her eye - a la cheap Tamil movies. Kannan: is this what you meant falling in love?
Now, I was a bit confused - a clear sign of this not being a joke anymore. But on the surface, the same pattern of teasing and bullshitting went on. They also did the same thing to Kannan and I even thought that the Menaka person liked him. Kannan ended up drinking a lot of கரும்புச்சாறு - sugar cane juice sold in front of Gandhi Museum to a point, the guy bought a Seiko watch.
As I realized that the whole thing could be an elaborate plot to check me out and test me out, or just a daring teen age prank. Had they been serious, I think as they discovered that I was a good for nothing joker they bailed out. But the 'relationship' or whatever it was ended abruptly when the girls left college after graduation. I wondered whether I would have fell for her had this gone on for some more time. Who knows? I did not have time to find out and I also was sure that I was not the kind who could 'fall in love'. A lot of barking but no bite... I think falling in love in those circumstances of arranged marriage takes a dumb courage, a combination of stupidity and a lack of fear. When I am stupid, which is most if not all the time, I am shaking inside in the presence of opposite sex, but when I gather some courage, I start having second thoughts. So, it never worked.
Yet, that summer, felt very harsh. As stupid and meaningless my meetings were, and as not serious as I was, I felt an incredible feeling of loss and it took some time to recover (next season may be!).
Next year, we wanted to go to this Fantasia in full force. We went there officially - I asked one of my friends to go with me (I think Mohideen) who happily obliged. We parked our bikes (of course my beloved Raleigh), and reported to the mean looking watchman. Our hearts were pounding as we faced the glances of some of the finest specimens of opposite sex milling around the LDC campus. See, you need to understand that there is a huge difference to see them in their enclave, like watching wildlife in nature. They do not have inhibitions which they typically have in public places and seem a bit carefree. This is their hood (பேட்டை) and they seemed to have a bit more courage to take a longer look at us or check us out as if the wildlife, rather the prey for the wildlife coming into their cage. Oh Boy, aren't we the most willing prey ready to be devoured?
But, none of this prepared for the shock of our lifetime that happened next. We went to the office and told them that we were there for Fantasia and momentarily a couple of girls appeared in front of us. One of them was wearing a maroon Pant with flowers hemmed at the edges of her pocket. She had a striking nose and as we were talking a few others joined. As they stood in front of us with a big, broad smile, the shock of our lifetime was that they behaved as if meeting us was the best thing that happened to them! As Mohideen and I walked out, we felt like were stuck by lightning and totally lost our minds. For the first time, we felt respected and valued as young men. I was ready to pull my sword and take over the world.
We participated in full swing. I included Benoy, Thirumalai, Sowmya and a hoard of others for this. Benoy formed a western orchestra and sang Beatles. Soumya and I did Dumb-Charades with Benoy, who was spectacular in acting out Hollywood titles and we killed it (remember eye of the needle?). Thirumalai did Break Dancing and we pretended not to know him. We commanded so much respect and at one point Thirumalai was caught smoking but the LDC girls smiled and said it was OK.
As the competition went on, something strange happened. We collected a lot of points and we were in the lead for the overall championship. I was preoccupied with something else and did not realize it. The students from American College behaved like total assholes and one of them came to the stage, received the certificate and tore it off. The lead organizer was almost in tears. My friends later told me that, had I or someone given a signal or shown a lead, they would have beat him up there. In the confusion, they announced us as the winners which I did not hear well or comprehend well. At this point, the organizer looked at me with some kind of anguish - as if 'why am I doing the same protest like the American College people?'. My buddies Elango and Byravan shouted "we won the thing" "போடா, போய் கப்பை ரிசீவ் பண்ணு". I realized what was going on at that moment and jumped up, went to the stage and as I received the cup, I waved at all my buddies to come to the stage and they joined me in a big and loud celebration. I hope the girls were happy. I know someone took pictures. If any of you have that please send me. We took the cup and walked in a procession up to our house.
I wanted to explain and apologize to the organizer or the president that I was (Medical college was) not protesting and wanted to tell them that we stood by them. I never talked to them or anyone else. If it was a movie, there would have been a fight and I would have walked off with the girl to a song scene.
Oh well, it did not happen but I am sure they were happy that we took the cup. And so we were...

Pardonnez-moi végétarien

2013-07-17T13:30:00.001-04:00

Pardon me Vegetarians:
Some time ago I thought that I should cut down meat consumption after I talked to some one in Harvard who had shown that eating red meat makes the 'colonic bacterial flora' somewhat abnormal and a high fiber vegetarian diet fixes it. The nature of this flora seems to have implications in a lot of our health risks including heart attacks and cancers besides of course constipation and related depression. Hold on, don't become a vegan, yet. I did not consider becoming a vegan or giving up meat. I know better. I just wanted to cut down meat. I do like vegetables and would love to eat them every day or even most of my meals. But the point of this blog is not about what is good for you. What is good for you seems a bit too obvious, it is our control or lack of control on what is 'good' for us that leads us into trouble. But this is about the taste of the food or entertaining taste as a fine sense and exploiting it for our pleasure; inspired by our recent trip to Provence and French Riviera, where I could see myself living just for the food...
Recently, a friend of mine proclaimed in public that he had the best meal ever. He is a South Indian vegetarian and all his life, he generally ate Idli, Dosa, sambar, and thayir sadam (yogurt rice). For variety he would have had Vathakulambu and Morekulambu. The meal he had that day, had the standard sambar (curried vegetable stew), rice, and a couple of vegetables along with 'more vathal' (chilies marinated in yogurt, sun dried and fried in oil). I am sure the meal was heavenly and I would love to have joined him. The prominent smell of asafoetida in the sambar makes me drool right now. But, if I ask him to eat what I ate in France, he will puke or have a heart attack.
How, can I ever let him see what I see and enjoy what I enjoyed? He does not know what he misses and I am sure he does not care - which is OK. But YOLO (You only live once)...

The dish in question is Escargot; snail cooked in its shell with butter and shallots (small onions) served straight from the oven. You hold the hot shell with the tong, stick the small fork inside and scoop out the poor thing straight to your mouth. There was an old man, looked like a local laborer or retiree, sitting next to me (they keep the tables so close and strangers sit shoulder to shoulder) who spoke not a word of English saw us, the 'Exotique Anglais Indien Américaine' struggling with strange foods and started explaining them in detail, all in French and with a heavy dose of sign and body language. He instructed me how to eat the fish soup: spread the ruille (a mustard like paste) on the croutons and sprinkle the cheese on top, sail it then submerge it in the soup then swallow. Of course with a sip of Vin Rouge De Provence. As he explained this, he put his hand in front of his face, raised it above his head with a gentle twirl of his fingers and a slurping sound emulating an unequivocal journey to heaven. He offered his deep fried smelt for taste and mocked me about ordering a large bowl of local favorite: Fisherman's stew in Bouillabaisse sauce. He did not need to tell us to take a piece of the French Bread Baguette and soak it in the butter and shallot pieces from the Escargot. Adhi was already on it.
OK. I will stop bragging here and in fact, I try very hard to not sound like bragging. Strange, as disgusting as it appears to some of you, I feel like I am bragging. Go figure!
The point is that these are tastes that I never could have imagined or understood if some one explained. There are no words for this. Even when you make an attempt with reference points (To Sambar?) it is still relative and impossible. And it varies like sambar in different places; the same fish soup, in Racine in London (a few doors down Harrods in Knight's Bridge) it had a subtle difference to it - especially the Ruille. I won't even try to explain the lamb tripe and feet cooked in white wine or the beef stew Vidhya ordered in La Fourchette, Avignon. The main reason I ordered the tripe (lamb stomach) was that it was the strangest thing in the menu, but it was heavenly - a culinary combination of soup, hot butter, Sake, and ice cream in some exotic spices. How can you design a taste like that? How can vegetarians dream something like that.
Leave the French and their cuisine (which made it to the UNESCO's world heritage list along with Taj Mahal, Kajuraho and Tanjore temple), how can I describe the attukkal (Goat leg) soup sold in the streets of Aruppukkottai? How in the world I can match the taste of Burotta soaked in Salna that was fed to me in half sleep late at night when I was a kid? How, can we measure the happiness of hitting a street side restaurant (Vanasekar - remember it?) long before it gets busy to try the watery curry with burotta? Or the Konar Kadai Goat Brain fry, Shammi kabab from Kareem's hotel in Delhi? (chateaubriand in Nice, Kerala Sardines fried in coconut oil, Steak in the backyard grill and so on...)
I once told an Indian doctor in US that Beef tastes better than goat and she cringed and looked at me like I committed an eternal sin. I did not argue as it is a simple issue of ignorance and it is OK to be ignorant. What you do not know does not bother you, but it is so much fun to have an open mind and try something new. Who knows, you may discover yourself...
I can not wait to go back to France and try the things that I missed. Now I knwo what I missed and there are so many restaurnats that I can not hit in my life time...
YOLO

The Nicotine Junkie

2013-06-08T17:47:00.002-04:00

I smoked my first cigarette circa 1982 in a coffee estate in Pachaloor hills. I bummed it from Selvaraj or Soma and as I knew a bit about respiratory physiology, I smoked it with clinical precision to suck every bit of nicotine out of it. All I felt was an unpleasant dizziness and a bad nausea. Afraid of getting up and vomiting, I laid flat on a bench outside the cottage until it became unbearably cold in the evening mountain chill. I did not like the buzz at all. I did not quite understand why anyone smoked.
All my friends smoked but I hated it. I hated the smell of cigarettes, smell of the smokers, the smell from my father, the smell of smoke in closed spaces like movie theater toilets. Now, that I did not like the buzz, I did not have any reason to be tempted. Though it was cool to smoke those days, a lot of us thought it was cooler not to smoke.
But things changed a bit a few years later in the Trivandrum trip during the final year OBGyn rotation. To my surprise, I became a decent student in OB; attended everyday and did fairly well. I don't know, something about women seem to motivate me. Even in my USMLE, my scores in OBGyn were much better (97th percentile) than psychiatry and this was after my DPM! Once, I did a self test on OB/Gyn and scored a paltry 65 percent, only to discover later that it was a test for American OB boards! See, not hard work, just work and just showing up at classes, go a long way. This was the time, they asked for two volunteers to present a seminar. Feeling confident enough, I raised my hand immediately. I looked to my left and asked Benoy to join but he said 'No no. - I won't. That is too much work' and I turned to my right, Angeline (name?) was there. She also shook her head with an affirmative no. I withdrew my name with a lot of disappointment. A month later both Benoy and Angeline presented spectacularly in the hospital auditorium. I remain pissed about myself.
Dr. Logambal was the chaperon and I had a good connection with her. During this trip she played queen of Sheeba in the Kovalam parking lot. In the game, she asked for a 'Blue Jeans'. I was the only one wearing blue jeans. I went in front of her and 'gave' myself. No. She wanted the jeans, not me. ha ha! I would have happily stripped my jeans, on any day in front of any one as long as I wore something inside. That fateful day, and at that fateful moment, I had to go commando as the seawater and beach sand got into my underwear. She insisted and people swarmed on me. I said I will take it off, please someone give me a towel. They lifted me up in the air and stripped me. While on top of the pile of bodies, as my pants were being pulled, I made eye contact with some of my favorite women in the crowd. Shit. Is that all Dr. Logambal wanted out of me? I want to go back in time and do this over and take my pants off in a cool and calm manner. hmmmmm....
As I was feeling confident, I dared for some mischief and I was hoping to smuggle a bottle for the trip. I was not able to recruit any co conspirators and the usual suspects backed out, I guess, they wanted to behave like gentlemen as we were expecting a sizable female population. I actually figured later that some of them were a lot more seasoned and clever than me. They did bring in a bottle or two but they were careful not to include big mouthed idiots like me and kept the whole thing under wraps. Unaware of this, I managed to buy a quarter and gulp it in a hurry with another gullible friend, Laxmanan.
I brought my stereo and Dhamodaran and I rented a car battery to play it during the trip. To my surprise, the alcohol showed its effect soon after I got in the bus. As I had to get up and get the stereo connected, midst a lot of people in the fully loaded bus, they quickly figured out that I was also fully loaded and was operating under the influence! What started as a hush hush comment by some people (arppeee, mmmmhuummm) was exaggerated by the loud mouthed guys who wanted to assert themselves as the puritans in the presence of teachers and female company (ஆர்ப்பீ, ஊத்திட்டியா? ஆர்ப்பீ, என்ன புல்லா?). I was scared that I would be kicked out of the bus. To the dismay of the cat callers and tattle tellers, the situation became somewhat goofy and even Logambal joined in the mockery of our uncouth enubriation. Interestingly, the attention turned out to be pleasant and Laxmanan and I bonded as partners in crime.
Laxmanan smoked 'Charms' and I decided smoke a cigarette - essentially to be cool in the crowd. I noticed that the buzz from alcohol got exaggerated as I lit a cigarette and took a deep pull. Now, I found a use for nicotine. I kind of fancied that I could keep the alcohol effect going on for a long time if I kept smoking. So, I continued to smoke one after another. Soon, it became cool to smoke and to smoke on a continuous basis. So I suddenly and instantly took a role of this exotic, chain smoker, wearing jeans and smoking Charms which comes in a Denim pack. It was all a fucking show off....

I played the chain smoker role for that trip with a plan to stop completely when we got back, which I actually did. Cool. Right? However, when I drank again, I smoked to 'enhance the experience of alcohol' but this was rare (at least those days). As the time went by, and when the final exams came around, I found myself smoking occasionally to help me concentrate in my studies, but soon it became a regular affair. I also found more and more situations where the cigarette could 'enhance' the experience. A solid meal on Sundays with chicken and fried rice was a good excuse. Being on-call at night was another excuse. By the time I started enjoying the ritual of coffee with a cigarette, I was thoroughly hooked. Cigarettes were available in plenty and it seemed that there were so many people one can borrow from. I discovered the wonderful community, camaraderie, (see blog: Siva Sir) and brotherhood among the smokers old and young, friend and foe. Sharing cigarettes became a joy and I had the luxury of borrowing from most of my classmates, seniors, teachers (Siva Sir, SR) and from my cousin Dr. Janardhanan.
I did not smoke at home. I would wait until I got out of the house - whatever time that was - to light up my first cigarette of the day. They say that most severely addicted people have to have a cigarette first thing in the morning. I did not need the morning cigarette, not even in the toilet, by habit, not because I was any less addicted. I was severely addicted alright. I actually enjoyed delaying my first puff to enjoy the full high after briefly suffering through the craving. Out of home, on my way to hospital I would take a twisted route which I knew none of my family will take, and stop at a street shop (பொட்டிக்கடெ), buy a wills filter (Filter and tobacco made for each other. TM), and light it with the fire at the end of the rope. You need to be careful not to pull the smoke from the rope, just puff gently to catch the fire at the tip of the cigarette, light it and once you are clear of the rope, take a full toke of the pure Wills roasted tobacco (with a bit of paper I guess) through the match made in heaven filter. I would feel the nicotine hit my brain, and reach a full thorough buzz as I got on my ride, the scooter (The 3428), or my beloved Raleigh bike or later the Yamaha. The buzz, the ride, the sun on my back - beats John Travolta's convertible ride in the streets of LA after a shot of heroin.

I knew I was doomed. Although I never smoked at home, I somehow managed to smoke every single day. I did not smoke much even when I lived on my own - usually 5 or 6 a day and at the max 10, but I sucked every cigarette dry of nicotine. I put all the effort into getting a full buzz every single time I smoked. I would fill my lungs and hold the smoke as if I was filled with pride. I planned and tried to get the same morning buzz every time I smoked. Soon, smoking became one of the joyful and regular things in my life. Some of the best times I had in IMH Chennai was to sit on the verandah with a book, coffee and cigarette. Reading became a joy. I also had a lady friend who introduced me to some serious literature such as Albert Camus, Sartre and Dostoevsky. I guess I needed the stimulant to read those.
The same friend became a close friend and suggested that I quit smoking. So, for the first time since I became regular, I decided to stop and managed not to smoke for about two weeks. Those 14 days were some of the most intense days of my life. No, I did not get any closer to the friend. I was completely, intensely, and seriously, immersed and consumed by the cigarette and the thought of cigarettes. I realized that I was totally enslaved by the nicotine and in fact I felt more addicted during those days I did not smoke. I was constantly thinking and preoccupied about the cigarettes. I was not able to forget it even for a single minute. I was hopeless. I got back to smoking. Even the friend was sympathetic and resorted to rationing cigarettes.
I never thought of quitting again. I knew I was doomed for life. I openly admitted that I was hopelessly addicted to it and told friends that I could not ever quit even if I wanted to. I also was open that I really liked the cigarettes and enjoyed everything about it but for the smell of the burnt ends. Interestingly, the smell of burning tobacco was in fact very pleasant and inviting, like women's body odor. It is kind of strange. Even after years, I still like the smell of burning tobacco, but the charred remains bother me.
I continued to smoke with joy when I was in Chennai and after I came to the US. While in Iowa, cigarettes were one of my major expenses ($80 for groceries, $80 for cigarettes, $80 for rent and $80 for the phone). I only seriously tried and attempted to quit after I got married.
I constantly tried to quit; I don't know how many times but I tried again and again. I won't tell anyone that I was trying to quit as I was worried about the embarrassment of losing the battle which I did again and again. Quite often, I would tell myself I won't smoke the next day and somehow pass the night with my wife's support; would go to work, constantly thinking about the cigarette and struggling not to give in. But, as the day went by, I would end up borrowing from one of my friends in the lab (Gary, Steve or Gene). I would change people to make sure that they did not pick up the pattern. They all knew, I am sure. I even bummed from Dixie who smoked menthol (yuck).
It was a struggle. When we rented a new apartment, one of the factors I considered was to live close to a 24 hour gas station where I could buy cigarettes. Just in case - you know. As much as I failed, I kept trying. It was a constant battle. This went on for a few years and when we moved to Michigan, for some reason my quitting became les intense or I gave up. In '95, Adhitya was born and there was a resurgence in the pressure (internal) for me to quit. My wife quickly gave up on me as I became irritable every time I tried to quit. As a baby Adhi would put his soft pillow like palm smack on my face and push me away if he smelled cigarettes. Through out the residency I secretly or openly continued to smoke. Secrecy is a way to reduce the number of cigarettes and the embarrassment. The embarrassment is more of an internal one of failure, failure to quit and a lack of control. I felt like a junkie, a loser and an addict. Shame on me.
I employed so many tricks to quit. I switched to pipe, and it stunk like shit. Took bupropion which helped and I did not smoke as long as I was on it. Tried the nicotine inhaler and gum on and off with out much success. I spent miserable days and nights whenever I did not smoke. I had dug for cigarette butts from ashtrays in the car and garbage. I promised myself that I will not pick up cigarette butts from others and smoke it. I kept the promise mostly. In the apartment, there was a neighbor who was brain damaged from a head injury and I used to bum cigarettes from him to a point he got so annoyed, he started employing 'intelligent' methods to avoid me. See, I made him smart. The struggle to quit went on. I tried not to smoke at home and at work and for some time, I smoked only in the car. But, I would invent reasons to get to the car. When I worked in Detroit, the long commute gave plenty of time to smoke. I started the same routine of waiting until late in the morning for my first smoke and take the drive with the buzz. This time, it was a car and American highways.
In 2000 when Vidhya was born, the resolve got stronger. OK, I did introduce harsh chemicals and second hand smoke to my wife, and then to my son but my daughter? No way. I can not do it anymore. I came up with a plan. I went on bupropion and started using nicotine gum. I decided not to light up - no matter what. A day, week and a month. I successfully quit. I went off the bupropion. I was fine. I was fine on the nicotine gum. I did not contemplate quitting the gum. Not yet. I was glad that I was not smoking and also glad that I was enjoying nicotine with out any stigma of cigarettes. After about seven years, success.
After a year or so, I became worried about being hooked to the gum which I knew I was already hooked. But it was fine for me and my doctor also said it was OK as long as I did not smoke. Sometime later, I discovered the nicotine lozenge. The nicotine lozenge was a thing of beauty. It looks more or less like an antacid tablet (Gelusil or Tums) and it was very discreet. As opposed to chewing a gum or sucking out of the inhaler (I used to take the capsule that comes inside the inhaler and suck on it discreetly held between my teeth), nobody woud notice the lozenge under my tongue. It was utter bliss in secrecy. I liked the unflavored variety with a pure tobacco taste. I would hold it under the tongue, bath it with spit to dissolve a layer and run the juice to the back of my mouth. It gets best absorbed near my left lower molar underneath the tongue. You actually can suck it in to the blood supply with out swallowing it and it goes straight to the head. The high (போதை - I think Indians invented the concept of 'high' - there seems to be no equivalent word in English) was much better than a cigarette. At some point I tried to challenge myself with a cigarette to see how it was. The lozenge was much better than the cigarettes.
I got hooked to the lozenge. As my kids grew, they became well aware that daddy took some medicine so that he does not smoke but he had to take the medicine all the time. Both my lovely kids tried to make me quit the lozenge which we called MANDHA (மந்தா). Adhi would say, 'dad, hold on, the craving will go away'. Vidhya would hide it behind her back and stay guard to the drug preventing me reaching for it. If they see that I was getting a bit irate they would let me have one. I had a strip of the lozenge saved everywhere, every car, every room in the house, every bag just in case if I travel and ran out. When I went to India, I packed several boxes to make sure. It was so much fun having a drink in the plane and put a lozenge under the tongue. The same old 'augmentation strategy' worked well. I was able to use and maintain the habit no matter where I went. It was not a problem to go to a friend's or relative's place for dinner and sneak out a pill instead of a cigarette. It was not a problem to go to a cocktail party at work or in a conference or do the rounds with residents and students. I had the buzz and the bliss everywhere and every occasion.
Everyone knew I quit cigarettes but they did not know I was more addicted to the lozenge than the cigarettes. I was using a lot more lozenges than cigarettes and I actually was spending more money on the lozenge than cigarettes. I did not wait for a later time in the morning. I just waited for the morning coffee which I had within five minutes of waking up. I had one in the shower, when I drove, and even when I ate. I sometimes slept with one in my mouth and it caused really vivid and somewhat scary dreams. I never had nightmares (I wake up with anxiety and fear when I am stressed) and I always had very pleasant dreams but with nicotine, they were vivid and morbid. I was using about 10 or more a day with each one consisting 4 mg of nicotine. An Average cigarette yields about one mg!
I was doing something like two packs or 40 cigarettes a day. I was happy and floating all the time. Actually, my problem at this point was that I did not have enough occasions in the day where I could have the blissful first cigarette buzz. I tried not to take it frequently, so that I could feel a bit of withdrawal and when I hit I got a good buzz. I had to plan and time my hits all day. I also needed more and more for the same buzz. This means, I had to suck it hard and get it done as quick as possible so that I can manage long enough gaps to get a good buzz every time.
The morning dose will be done by the time I am out of the shower. I would wait until I got in the car to get the next one and sometimes I will finish it before I reached my office and take one before I stepped out of the car. I will try not to take it for an hour or so before I leave work, so that I can enjoy the buzz on my way back. I was hiding this from everyone. My family was aware of it but did not confront me most of the times. The elephant in the living room. But I tried to make it less obvious. I was secretive and avoided taking it in front of them. I would hide it in the bathroom and car and take it when nobody was around. I also made sure I had on in my mouth before I entered home in the evening so that my wife or kids would not confront me. This means I delayed taking one in the afternoon to get a good buzz in the commute, finish it during the commute, leave some gap, so that I could still go through a bit of withdrawal and take one more a few minutes before I reach home; all in this 45 minute to one hour commute. See, how twisted I was.
March 2007, I was driving home, finished my first lozenge of the commute, took the exit and made the acute right turn on Ford road and realized that I just had about 5 minutes or so to take my next one before I walked in home but realized that I still had the residue in my mouth. I had taken one after another at times, like chain smoking but at this point, I panicked a bit. I felt bad that I was not able to orchestrate my buzz sessions.
Suddenly I realized what a junkie I was. I had hit the rock bottom. I was hopeless. I was incorrigible. I was the shameful addict sitting in the gutter looking up avoiding to face the world. I was disgusted with myself. I wanted to run away from me. I felt dirty. I needed salvation. I made up my mind. I decided to quit. This time, I wanted to quit no matter what. Quit or bust. Quit or die. I followed what we advise to patients.
I set up a date. April first. I am going to wake up and not do nicotine of any kind that day. I planned to go on the patch this time. I had tried it before, it gives a bad skin reaction and itch. I will go through it. Fine. I bought a box of 21mg patches. I planed to use 21 for a week, 14 for a week, 7 for a week then stop. April first came, I woke up, put on a patch and went to work. Some thing unusual happened that day. One of the research assistants kind of double crossed me. When she talked to me, she said she was worried about her job as our boss was leaving. I said, yeah, I can understand, you are the key person and if you are looking for a job, I don't blame you. Or something like that. She went to the boss and promptly told him that RP is asking her to look for a job. The boss, who was going to leave fully only after a year later got upset, called me and yelled at me. Fueled by the withdrawal, I went and yelled at her pretty bad. Although I do not feel bad to be upset with the dishonesty, I know I would not have behaved the same way but for the nicotine withdrawal.
I went on with the patch. I resisted the urge to use a lozenge. In three days or so I felt better with less craving. I cut down to 14 mg sooner than a week and was on one fourth of the 21 mg patch within two weeks. I managed it. I cut the patch in pieces and used smaller and smaller piece and towards the end of April, I was off of it. Completely. It was painful but I did it. For a couple of months, I was irritable, restless and hungry. I snacked like shit. I constantly ate something and gained about 10 pounds. Fine, that is for some other time. For the next six months, I remembered the buzz and craved for it whenever I drank, ate a big meal or drank a good cup of coffee or just sat and thought. I had quit after about 5 years of lozenge addiction.
But, slowly, I forgot it. Yes, I did forget the nicotine and after a year or so, I barely remembered or craved. I would miss it - more so the lozenge than the cigarette here and there. I am disgusted with the cigarettes as before but still I love the smell of burning tobacco. But I have no temptation, no desire and no intentions. I do think I have unshackled myself completely from the clutches of nicotine because I still have the fear that I might slip if I tried again, and of course the need for me to write this confessional reminds me about the addiction.
Although, I enjoyed it, it is the shittiest thing I ever did in my life. I still feel bad that I was an addict nevertheless I quit.
Kids: You guys are stupid to try that smokeless cigarette.

Can Somebody Check My Head?

2013-06-06T10:12:00.001-04:00

I am pretty sure this is full of hot air. I mean my head or whatever is inside of it. This memory or seemingly realistic substrate of a memory; this thing that has been sitting there for so long. For so long, that I had gone through so many iterations of conviction ranging from a total unconditional belief with a visual imagery of every second to a complete disbelief in embarrassment and self mockery that this could not, in any way, have happened. Now, especially after so many years, I am positive this is just a joke. Or is it?
OK - let me tell you. I remember meeting Velupillai Prabhakaran - the leader of LTTE in person!
See - I told you. This preposterous and meaningless thing is full of hot air. Now, I am irritated that I told you and I don't like the way you are looking at me. Nope. Also, please don't laugh. No, I am not dreaming. No. I am not delirious. No. I am not held somewhere in captivity or in any kind of duress. I am safe. And, I am sane - well at least that is what I think of myself most of the days. I hope you are not thinking I need to take medications. I haven't lost it. Yet.
This happened for real. Well, how can I say it happened? and how can I say it is real? I think it happened or I imagine it happened or I am delusional that it happened or it happened. Whatever! I remember it happening. OK?
It was 1979 or 1980, the year we joined medical school. This was long before the Tamil Ealam movement heated up and long before the 1983 riots when we all went around the town collected money for the cause etc. You remember that day? We spent all day without foo, collected money from shop to shop and gave it to these seniors who did not appear to be hungry and said something justifying the use of general funds for alleviating hunger of volunteers with Biriyani. Anyway, this was long before all this happened.
You may or may not know, there was some interest in Eelam politics in Madurai Medical college long before this. There always were a few Lankan students. You could always come across Sri Lankan Tamil propaganda depicting gross things about the plight of Tamil people in Srilanka. As a day scholar and a transplant I did not have steady friends initially and hung out in the hostel with a lot of seniors. One of them was a friend of a friend from Srilanka who was well connected.
This was around 7 PM and it had just rained that day. My feet and sandals (chappals) were rather wet and the whole place was a bit chilly. I might have gone there looking for someone else and decided to stop by this room or something. When I peeked and stepped in to his unwelcoming clean room, there was this man, in his late twenties or early thirties, sitting on the bed wearing a white Baniyan (called wife beater in the USA) and lungi. He was rather short, stocky with bulky shoulders and arms and had a caterpillar mustache. He looked up at me with his shining black eyes with a friendly smile. I knew he was a guest and did not go to school at our college.
The Srilankan friend looked at me and remarked 'What is the problem with you? and Why are you bothering me?' in a friendly mocking manner. I smiled wryly. He continued 'Prabhakarans are a pain in the butt. Look at both of you, both are Prabhakarans and both are driving me nuts'. He continued with his friendly sarcasm. I did not stay too long.
I went home and did not think too much about it. Later on, when I heard about Pirabhakaran and when I saw the pictures of him, it struck me that it was the same person I met years before. He was still not very famous. As the time went by, I slowly grew convinced that it was the same guy. It was not unusual to see Sri Lankan activists in the Thamukkam area fundraising. I have been told that some famous names hung out there before they became famous or notorious. There were so many people standing in Town Hall road or American college building distributing pamphlets. Tamil fighters and politicians came to Madurai often. They received treatment in our hospital. I had even changed dressing for one or two of these fighters. There was always someone from our college who seemed to be a bit involved in the movement or sympathetic towards it. You could have seen young Sri Lankan men riding in the back seat of motorbikes or standing and smoking in the coffee shops. Oh, well... it is possible. Is it likely?
I have told this story multiple times over the years, every time either becoming more convinced or slowly losing faith. Well. Does my imagination have any validity to it? Can I even fathom this as a one-in-a-million possibility. Could it be VP, before he became famous?
Now that I wrote this, I feel certifiably stupid - for imagining such a preposterous idea. I am truly embarrassed.
Can someone set things straight? Can someone put this thing to rest?
Can someone fix my head?
Please?
Peace.

The 3428

2013-06-05T12:16:00.002-04:00

Of course this is not mine.

The 3428...
When I talked to Thirumalai recently he remembered my red Yamaha RX 100 but not my beloved Lamby; The 3428. I hope Vanasekar, Dhamodharan and a few others who used and abused my lovely 3428 at various times remember it. Here, you have to say the 3428 in Tamil like முப்பத்திநாலு இருபத்தி எட்டு or better, quickly like முப்தினால் இர்வத்ட். The story of முப்தினால் இர்வத்ட் goes like this...
At various times in his career, my father took some jobs that nobody wanted because it had no 'income' or "வருமானம்". He wanted to stay put in Madurai, while we were in college. I also came across a number of police officers and constables who chose these less desirable jobs for family reasons (or they took care of farming on the side etc) or just they wanted to keep things simple. While I was in first year MBBS, he had some kind of an investigative job. Well, don't imagine James Bond with a tuxedo and a couple of buxom girls, but this was an easy and lazy job which he worked from home, wore no uniform and seemed to go nowhere or do anything substantial. He did not have a Jeep or a stealth convertible with fancy gadgets to investigate high rolling criminals but this job had an interesting perk; a huge 'petrol allowance' if he had a vehicle. So, he decided to get a vehicle.
I think the allowance which would substantially boost his salary was about 500 a month for a two wheeler and 750 for a car or something like that. While it made sense to buy a car it was not affordable. Owning a car in 1979/80 was a humongous deal. Only doctors had cars. What would people say? DEE-YES-PEE is making lots and lots of money! But, the major issue for my father, I think was that he was just uncomfortable leaping so far up in the socioeconomic status from a Hercules bicycle to a car. While it made a smart financial decision, the notoriety owning a car seemed to be a bigger price to pay.
Yet, we shopped for a car. We went and saw a Standard, Harold MK III with an affordable asking price of about 10,000 rupees. That is just a bit more than a new Lamby scooter that went for around 7000 at that time. The owner was a lawyer in this 'agraharam' near Simmakkal where I had never been. It was all exciting to land in an unexplored 'hood' in Madurai to look at a car that could potentially end up as ours. I was also hoping to come across some good looking girls in this unfamiliar area of Madurai who could potentially end up as... Oh well...

We were expecting a beat up jalopy but the car was handsome with a stunning fire engine red exterior and a beige interior. It was amusingly short at below my chest level. The inside was clean and had a decent smell to it. It had nothing fancy in it; no seat cover other than the original plastic seat with a hem, no radio, no AC - of course, but everything worked. A clean white linen seat cover would make it look like a TVS executive's car. It was just gorgeous. It needed no repair but for an oil leak or something that is 'standard' in all these cars. We took it for a spin. As the mechanic drove and I sat in the back, my father was snooping in to the glove box. It was a dream ride. We came back and sat down in the lawyer's office for negotiation. The lawyer was intelligent, honest and straightforward; an impressive, straight talking gentleman. He gave us a rundown on the car's history and immediately reduced the price to something like 9000 or so and quickly, came down to our target price, to something like 7500 or 7750. I was thinking, "yes, let's go for it". I could also see that my father was getting ready to make the deal. He had 1000 rupees in his pocket to give as advance. The mechanic, for some reason held us and we walked out with out a clear understanding. The deal never happened.

A year or two later, when CPM gave me a ride in his Standard car, I felt very bad that we did not buy a car.
We considered a new scooter and the Lamby (based on Lambretta of Italy, but poorly built somewhere in Andhra) would have taken about 6 months for delivery. The fancy Bajaj - the fake Indian Vespa, but reasonably well built near Bombay would take only 6 years after the full price is paid in advance; that too in US dollars. My father was losing money everyday he did not have a vehicle. When we looked at the 3428, the first impression was plain disgust. It was just butt ugly in dark blue and the number 3428 added up to a derivative 8 - the most unlucky of all (3+4+2+8=17 and 1 plus 7 equals 8). I hoped not to buy it. We finished the deal for 4000 and brought home the black smoke belching baby with a large chrome luggage carrier that seemed to be capable of moving a small house.
I was all excited that we had a scooter, albeit ugly, noisy and heavy. I desperately wanted to learn to ride, but my father, for some reason did not seem to have time to teach me in spite of his not so busy schedule. But I spent all the time on the scooter and learned everything about it; I mean every dang thing inside out. I spent hours looking at it, touching, feeling and pressing things. Some days, as a first thing in the morning I would have my coffee sitting in the front seat of the parked scooter. I still remember how the circular ridges of the horn button felt on my thumb. I would feel the clutch, brake and the steering or the handle bar. I would change the gear, use the brake and go through the motions pretending to ride with out starting the engine but with a vrrom vroom sound in my head that changed tone depending upon the gear. After some time, as I gathered some courage, I would take it out of the stand and sit with two legs apart, feeling the weight of the scooter in my legs and thighs. It was a big deal to balance the weight in your legs and it is the coolest thing to lean your elbow on the handlebar/headlight. Man, what a style it was!
My heart stopped when I started the engine and gave gas "drrooom, drrooom" for the first time. I checked out the bottom of the scooter and studied how the clutch cables traversed through and how the brake lever functioned midst hardened mud. I would open the side door and stare at the engine trying to understand. I even used to put a chair next to it and sit and study for a long time. While my father did not a fuss about this odd behavior, and as I ventured into more and more detailed examination and experimentation of the poor scooter, he still did not acknowledge my enthusiasm and still did not resort to teaching me. He did not sit in the back seat and ride with me. He never did. Years later, when I met Jeyabharath's 12 year old nephew in Chennai, who could not take his eyes off my red Yamaha, I took him in the bike and let him control it. I am sure he remembered it for a long time.
As I became more and more confident and knowledgeable about the scooter, I also became very impatient to learn to ride. I knew every inch of it by now and I knew how it ran and how to operate etc, in theory but I needed practice. It was like sex those days - a lot of theory and no practice. The scooter was usually parked in the front yard of our enormous police quarters compound in Madurai which had large areas of concrete floor in the front and back, although the house itself was small. It was a one bedroom bungalow, I am sure built by the British, for some officer with so much open space right in the middle of the city. One day, I took the scooter to the backyard, started it, sat on it as if I was going to ride it. I put it on the first gear holding the clutch extra tight and slowly, ever so slowly, let go. I learnt to move the scooter a bit and control it for short distances. I soon learnt to do circles with just first gear rather comfortably. I would call my sister and mother to witness my accomplishment. They were unimpressed and compared me to the monkey in the circus that did circles on a bike.
Now, I had to move on to second gear and then to third and fourth (I think it had a fourth gear). I needed more space than the back yard but I knew I could never manage to get this going in the streets of Madurai with out some practice. About this time, our classmate Alagappan had a nice Vijay scooter. One evening after class, I casually asked him whether I could ride hios scooter showing a fake confidence. I did not tell him that I could not go beyond the first gear. I hoped that he will say no but at the same time, I thought I could show off doing a circle or something on the first gear and give it back as if I had a change of mind with out ever showing that I did not how to operate the scooter. He graciously gave it to me, but the stupid scooter was a lot smoother than out beat up Lamby and the moment I let go the clutch, it shot into the sky. Not having enough time to take my foot off from the ground to the brake, I squeezed the clutch and the front brake. The scooter lost the momentum, hopped and fell in about 5 or 10 feet as the engine whirred in high RPM making the entire city turn their heads towards me. A total disaster and a thorough embarrassment. Did I see some girls from our class just walk by? GOD!
I had to learn to ride it and somehow figure out a way to go past the first gear. I came up with a brilliant idea; I woke up in the middle of the night - around 12 or 1 AM, pushed the scooter all the way to the main road, started it and put it on first gear. The roads were empty and I could go straight as an arrow, No more circles. After I gained momentum, I confidently and cleanly changed the gear to second, with the textbook precision of reducing the RPM, holding the clutch to change the gear and release the clutch while giving gas simultaneously. I went to third and the speed scared me a bit now but I singularly enjoyed the cool midnight breeze hit my face as I squinted in the speed. I did not go to fourth and I realized that I have gone a bit far; a fairly dangerous and challenging distance, especially if I had to push the scooter back home. Now, I needed to make a turn and turn around. I did not have enough skill to come to a lower gear, lean one foot on the ground and make a U turn. I was not going to venture it at that point. I stopped, turned off the engine, hand pushed the scooter to make a 180 degree turn, started again and came back home. When I got home, I had to turn the engine off at the street corner and push it home.
The next few days, I did this until I was confident enough to go to the fourth gear and go a mile or two. One day, I discovered a coffee shop open in Nelpettai area. This could be a good 4 miles. The next day and after, I brought some money. I would confidently go to the shop, park the scooter and order a glass of milk. But when I am done, I would still hand push the scooter to make a U turn. I did this in a cool manner pretending to do this on purpose fearing that the guys in the shop might discover that I did not know how to turn around.
One day, my father woke up and found that the scooter was missing. He immediately alerted the city police - the control room where all the 'dial 100' emergency calls would come was in the same compound as our house. There where cops stationed 24 hours a day who had to wake up from their slumber and start searching for the scooter frantically. After a few minutes, my father found out that I was also missing. He turned the porch light on and sat in the rattan chair waiting for me. He did not yell at me as I quietly pushed the scooter in. He seemed amused.
At this time, I had my lovely green Raleigh bike and rarely or almost never took the scooter to college but when we were in fourth and final year, I got to use the scooter quite often. My father changed jobs several times, again and again taking one of those unwanted jobs to stay in Madurai.

To be continued...

We are all going to die!

2013-05-12T14:39:00.002-04:00

The CO2 level reached 400 PPM. This is a level the world had not seen in 300 million years. That was long before the evolution of man.
OK, it is hard to imagine the world with out humans - or a world roamed by future humans in the form of monkeys. Can you imagine for a minute that this entire earth was devoid of human beings, devoid of language, communication, unlimited internet porn, late night idly in Madurai, 200 types of bread in the pretentious whole foods? There was no world with aeroplanes that can take a barefooted village guy from India to a posh lounge of Ritz Carlton in Palm Beach, where yet another Indian guy in Bahama shirt serves margaritas. A world, where men and women bend over backwards (or forwards) for a piece of paper (cotton rather) with a face of the guy who called Native Americans less than humans printed in green?
Are we going to go back 300 million years? Well, it looks like we are.
It is going to happen. the world is going to end. The global warming is going out of control.
As I say this, I sound like a deluded imbecile. But, there is so much truth to it (not to the deluded imbecile part - you moron). Like we can not see the world without delicious processed food that can be heated in a microwave oven for a minute. Imagine telling this to a king in India or China 800 years ago! They would have thought of that guy as a deluded imbecile. I am not comparing Copernicus or Galileo who discovered the truth that could not be understood by others to the climate scientists. The ending of the world because of our relentless burning of fossil fuel is a possibility; although theoretical it is a real possibility. We are going to end up like the people of Easter Island who ate the island to their demise.
It is also possible that somehow the end could be averted or the destruction can be reversed. Let's say that the people of the world change their mind and do not follow the champion garbage producers of the USA and the west and stop emitting carbon, can we fix the world? Even if we stopped (using all petrochemicals) now, how could we reverse the damage that has already been done? The preceding sentence, as I wrote sounds even more stupid than the claim that the world is going to end. OK, we are not going to stop barbecuing the planet. Let's say, the planet has some way of healing itself - too much carbon leading to better growth of trees and plants and somehow the world fixing itself - na... that also sounds equally stupid.
It looks like the idea that some of our grand kids or at least their grand kids will see the apocalypse and the end of the world seems real.
Hey, I am not going to be alive at that point. Let me get to my BMW!

Early days

2013-04-01T12:25:00.000-04:00

We lived in Kanyakumari when I was 4-5. I went to a school on the beach within walking distance from our home. Our home was a police quarters right behind the police station. The police station faces east overlooking the temple and the house faces south. Technically, this house is the southern most tip of the Indian peninsula. I went to see the place three years ago and contrary to my memory of this huge structure with massive steps where I would sit and finish home work while drinking a cup of hot milk in the evenings after school, it looked like a matchbox. The house is tiny and almost buried into invisibility with the hustle and bustle of the tourists.

I remember being happy to go to school. Once we had this picnic planned and all the kids were in anticipation of this particular Friday. We were all expecting to go to some exotic place and eat some exotic snacks and play some exotic games before going home. The day came and we all lined up for the picnic. All we had to do was walk through the backdoor of the school to go to the beach. We had our picnic by sitting in a row on the beach eating sundal (chickpea) with so much beach sand blown into it by the wind under a blazing sun. It was miserable yet fun.

Every morning, one of the kids would read a prayer in the assembly. Everyone has to do it once during the school year. When my turn came, my teacher gave the verse written in a piece of paper a month in advance. I took this responsibility very seriously and practiced it over and over. I read it so many times, that paper became soft with the edges and folds torn and the ruled paper with blue lines with the pretty and feminine writing of the teacher in blue ink faded away. I kept that thing in my pocket all the time and read it about a hundred times a day. With out trying, I memorized the poem completely. I remembered each word, each letter and even the bend and curve of those letters vividly. On the day of the prayer, I discovered to my dismay that my mom washed the shorts with the paper still inside the pocket. I cried profusely and out of control like my entire life was over. My mom tried to tell me that that the paper was not relevant as I remembered everything. But I was not satisfied. I could not take it that I lost the most important thing in my life. I kept crying. She wrote a new one with me reciting the poem in between my out of control soft cry. She also sort of memorized it because I read that thing so many times to her. I was still not satisfied with the new paper with her handwriting which looked less official than the one the teacher gave me. I went to school with a feeling that I was carrying some kind of contraband and apologized to the teacher for bringing a fake. I recited the poem on the solid stainless steel microphone that produced this scary loud sound while staring at the paper in hand without reading the words in it. The paper was shaking and wet with my sweaty and shaking palm as I looked over these thousand heads of children.

We used to go to the beach almost every day. I would finish homework and play in the beach at sunset and come home when it was dark. We used to build 'bridges' on the sand by burying our legs in the sand and pulling it carefully. I also remember that one day there was a 'bullock cart' 'parked' in front of our house. There were a couple of scary looking men with chiseled, shapely muscles, bare bodied unloading some stuff out of it with the cows happily sitting and chewing something as the cart lay down in an angle with the front on the floor instead of being on top of the cows' shoulders. Later on, after I left Kanyakumari and came to Aruppukkottai to live with my grand parents, I used to get repeated dreams of me somehow disappearing away from my mother's hip or grip ending up somewhere near that cart. I would be holding my mom's hand and get lost only to end up near the cart feeling scared and lost.
Our neighbor was the engineer who built the Vivekanandar Memorial Mandapam on the rock (not the statue). They planted palm trees in their yard which was fascinating to watch grow tall and impressive leaves out of the innocuous looking palm fruit. The Engineer's mom liked me very much and decided to take me to the mandapam building site one day. I wore my best cloths and sandals and got on this boat, which was a long, narrow wooden catamaran in which I was told to sit on a bench. I was holding the bench on the sides of my thighs so hard, my hands became red. It was the scariest thing I ever did, sitting there in the swaying boat with the angry waves splashing salty water on the sides as the strong, dark men pushed the boat into the sea. It was one heck of a ride to go to the rock. I also was proud to go there as public were not allowed while the construction was going on. Gosh! it was 1967...

The happy childhood ended abruptly when they brought me to Aruppukkottai and left me there to complete my first grade. I barely remember anything from the rest of the year and the second grade. The year and a half was a blur for me with a feeling of enduring sadness, despair, dejection and uncontrollable pain. I was living with my grand parents away from my parents and sisters. Every single day, on the way to school, I would cry. I would cry incessantly and continuously. I remember my aunt asking me what I wanted, I would not answer. I would not refuse to go to school, not demand anything, not create a scene but cry. Cry non stop and cry softly in pain. I would leave the house and go to this lane between two houses and stand there next to a red clay dirt wall and cry, sometimes picking on the wall. I will try not to make a sound and so get any attention. If anyone showed up in the lane, I would stop crying and leave the spot. My aunt would be frustrated that I would not tell them why I cried. They all knew, I assume but I won't tell. I wouldn't tell that I missed my mother, father and sisters. I wouldn't tell them that I did not like the school, that I did not like the school as it smelled bad, and smelled of dirt and dirty kids, that I did not like to sit in a class room which was just a bare floor with no furniture, that some kids did not have shirts and most of them had some illness or something all the time.
I was not threatened, I was not beaten, although occasionally Bose would threaten to beat me or tell on me if I do not stop crying or refuse to go to school. Did they understand the pain? Could they have done anything different. I am sure they felt bad for me and I remember my aunt Rajeswari trying her best to keep me sane. I do not know what I would have done with out her. Yet, she could not replace my mother. Contrary to your thinking, it is not the love or lack of it that made me feel less close to my aunts than my mother. It is the liberty for them to be tough on me and punish me or be assertive with me that made me feel the difference, that they are not as close or as entitled as my parents. Of the three aunts that lived with me, I was close to Rajathai, actually because of the reason that she would call it wrong when I was wrong. She won't take nonsense from me. She would demand me to sit and study, do my home work and be on top of things. She would spend a lot of time with me in the morning trying to console me or try to bribe me by one thing after another to make me happy. I just called and talked to her today. She said tears would be rolling on my cheeks with me trying to control the crying and trying not to say anything. She says she knew (understood) my pain at that point that helped her to understand children better. She became a beloved teacher and mother. I love her dearly. I was devastated when she got married and left our house.
At this moment, writing this made me cry. I am not sure how I can convey my feelings of helplessness, desperation, pain, sadness, frustration and the anger with out a target. The feeling of wanting something desperately knowing I am not going to get it, is deeply ingrained in me. It taught me not to give up, not because I am tough but because I am vulnerable. I was afraid of giving up. Giving up in this context means losing hope rather than effort. Strangely, it also taught me to let go of things easily. I can anticipate and know what it is to not have something. Later on, I would at times say nothing is too big. in a strange way, I think this made me vulnerable yet confident, needy yet independent and insecure yet unafraid.
The cliched thing that you hear 'it is not winning or losing but it is trying your best' does mean real. Life as a failure is more unpleasant with out hope and when you do not try. Failure becomes a lot more acceptable when you tried your best.
I don't think I understood any of this at that point, but I very well know that the chance to play and the opportunity to live IS the fun, not winning or losing.
The whole thing from years ago affected me in my decision to leave Boston. It impacts me even today in my day to day life and decision making.
(to continue)

My First Business Venture

2013-03-29T14:37:00.004-04:00

I was in sixth grade and this happened days after our summer vacation. We- my sisters and I, lived with grand parents in Aruppukkottai while my parents lived elsewhere, where my father had his job. He was transferred from town to town for political reasons and we lived ('stayed' is a better word?) with grand parents for stable schooling. This had a lot to do with the way we grew up which I wrote elsewhere.
During vacations after quarterly, half and annual exams, we typically take the evening bus on the day of the last exam to go to our parents house (it also feels weird to say parents 'house' - I am not sure which one was our 'home'. I still think the Aruppukkottai house was home as we owned it, myself and my father were born in it and we both grew up init. We get very excited to leave and always pack ahead of time. During the summer of my 6th grade, for some reason, we stayed back for a few days before we left. I think it was because my aunt, also the teacher for the sixth grade got married. I had a few days to kill and I started a business.
Those days, everybody sold peanut candy (கடலை மிட்டாய் ). It comes in a block, packaged in polythene paper. The block had three layers, each could be broken into four pieces each (or is it two layers of 6?) giving 12 pieces total. I paid 35 cents (Paisa) for the twelve and after I sold it, I had 60 cents. My best friend of that time Siva, was a classmate who lived a couple of streets away (Streets? Lanes sound better - cars can not go through these narrow streets). I used to hang out with him ALL the time. Right after I woke up I would go to his house or he would come to our place. We go together to school everyday. We were in the same class. We spent all day Sundays together. So, naturally, he became an equal partner in the business.
The 35 cents was mine. I had the luxury of asking my father to invest. As I did not live with him, we were not used to me asking and him giving money for any reason. Because this was infrequent, he was usually generous whenever I asked. On a rare occasion when he stayed with us, I exploited his generosity and accomplished a few things. This was one of those occasions. I went and asked for the money and he gave me with out hesitation. After making the initial investment, he also helped with the business by purchasing some of the candy at retail price from us (and gave to me for consumption). My sisters and aunts thought that was abysmal nepotism in my business. Haven't they seen how governments work?
The first box was sold briskly. Siva, my friend and partner had a khaki bag in which we held the money and inventory. We went back to the store in 'Big Bazaar'. It was an adventure to go to Big Bazaar. This was in the Nadar section of the town and was generally more wealthy and intimidating. We, Chettiar kids imagined that they were teasing us or not friendly to us. But, they had the best candies and gave the best prices. Over time, we developed friendship and they sold us extra things like 'lucky price', a gambling game more or less like scratching lottery tickets.
The lucky price is interesting. This is a sheet of paper with about 100 stamp like pouches stuck in the bottom half. The upper half had the list of prizes. You pay 5 cents or less for a chance to pick a stamp and the stamp has the information of the prize. Most of them are losers or duds which we called 'blankies'. You make a lot more money doing this with a bigger ROI, but this always leaves you with a bad feeling because of the gambling. The sale is unpredictable and everything is left to chance. I remember, to my surprise, some kids are so keen on playing this. I hated to play but sold it a few times. Kids generally want to play a new board because of more chances of a prize but there are more chances for blankies too. They ask you whether the big prize (usually the biggest cash prize which typically is 100 times the price to play - 5 rupees to 5 cents) has been won and we invariably say no. We always lie about it until we can get away with it. Usually the word goes around about some boards' big prize having been won. It is hard to sell the lottery after the big prize was won. After this, we usually pick on grown ups and aunts and convince them to buy the last remaining ones. They do not get the word from the street that quick and spend their money on this. It was all a scam.
Kids who sell this 'lucky prize' or lottery frequently figure out the risk and income clearly and once they made some their money, they sometimes put this thing on sale (five for the price of one). Sometimes they sell off the remaining board with a few stamps still stuck in it , which people buy just for the fun of picking the stamps. There are a few common schemes that go with this. The sellers quite often take the sold blankies and stick it back on the board (with a pice of cooked rice or spit) to resell. Because of this people destroy the stamp things after they buy it. But if the seller himself (it is always boys) plays it, he will invariably stick the blankies back and try to remember it.
There was this particular guy, we called him boss in our street who was a bit more of a con-man than the rest of us and was notorious for this. Once, he bought a board, carefully peeled off all the stamps and took away the winning ones and stuck back just blankies. The whole board was blankies from which he sold some to unsuspecting kids, but the suspicion ran high in the street. Some kids demanded an investigation and tried to examine the board. Even I looked at it with some trepidation. It looked like he messed with it as the feeling of the glue was different. Someone even challenged to buy the whole board for the buying price to prove his point that it is all blankies. Boss did not agree. We all knew he it was a scam and I am sure Boss lost his money on this.
Some of us figured out a different method to scam people. We would lift up the board against the sun and scan looking for the winning numbers. The blankies usually had had a picture of a clown (I wonder how they come up with these things) and the winners had numbers. We sometimes lucked out and could see the numbers and peel them off. Our goal was to peel off all the prize winning stamps but we never accomplished it, but now and then we got 'lucky'.
In the next few days the business picked up. Siva and I were doing very well. The 35 cent investment grew to a few rupees. We were able to buy a variety of things, different candies and lucky prizes and run it like a store. By this time, Siva's Khaki bag was full of candies and coins. In our street corner, there was a stone rice grinder carved on a 3 feet by 3 granite boulder with a smooth central cavity for the pestle. I went and bought cement for a few cents, mixed with the street dirt and rocks and filled the cavity. I even put a layer of smooth cement mixture (சிமிண்டுப்பால்) to make a smooth stage. Yes, the stage was set for our 'store'. We were going to sit on the rock and sell stuff. We also figured a way to have a tent made of some Jute bags to cover ourselves from the cruel and unrelenting summer sun of south India.
I finished my handiwork and went home. When we came in the morning, all of my concrete was gone. It completely vanished and there was not even a sign of disturbance. No remnants left around. Nothing. I had no reason to believe that any of the adults did it because this mortar and pestle was never used. Would it be some jealous kid? Could it be Boss? Could it even be Siva? Could it be someone from my home - to save me from trouble? No idea. This was a mystery - especially because it was so clean. Whoever destroyed it also cleaned it up so well as there was no evidence of sabotage. They should also have taken the cement mixture home. I felt angry, scared and strangely guilty. I also wondered whether it was easy or hard to dig up the 'concrete' and what kind of a tool the perpetrator used.
Siva and I were disappointed but we did not worry too much as the rock was not practical anyways (the sun would heat it up so much, if we sit on it, you can feel your butt and scrotum heating up to a point of barbecue). The business went on and after a few days, I left for Srivilliputhur, I think, where my parents lived at that time.
I come back after two months. The return trips are horrible. We, those days, my sister Rajeevy and I would board a bus around 4 PM or so, with a long, long face, do not say anything and sit in the edge of the seat and cry looking away on the bus. These trips used to be the most traumatic one for us. It still affects me and is the reason, I left my job at Harvard and came back to Michigan. We reach home around 7 PM or so and go to bed. I would try very hard not to cry in front of anyone and save all my tears for bed time. It would be the most depressing night and the next day when we go to school, all kids would be talking about the summer, what they did etc. It would be the same friends from school doing different stuff which I missed. It was strange not to be part of it. But, I would have some exotic stories to tell them which they had no idea; like the century old Pennington library near the temple in Srivilliputhur. They said my summers were more exciting. I thought that running to the farmhouses and playing in the water pump was more fun.
This time, coming back had an extra incentive. I wanted to meet Siva and ask him about the business. I was already told that the business went very well and Siva made a lot of money. Some said he made 30 rupees and others said it must have been more than 200 rupees. I was all excited about the success. I ran to his house. I was anticipating him to sit with me for hours and tell me all about the business; who came what did he sell, who was strange, what was crazy about it etc. This was one summer activity that I should have stayed back and enjoyed. I knew I missed all the excitement and experience. I couldn't wait to see my beloved friend.
I did not see him in the school the next day. He did not come. I knew that he was week and small and frequently fell ill. I went to his home right after school. He was not there. I went again, several times that evening, he was not there. At one point, I thought I saw him from a distance but when I went closer he was not there. Soon, it was clear that he was avoiding me. Although it took some time for me to figure it out, I understood that he did not want to part the money. Some told me that he was not going to give me all the money as if I was asking for all of it. I felt particularly hurt that there was an implication that I came looking for him so many times because of the money.
I am kind of vague at this but his mom or uncle or someone came to our house for some sort of arbitration or dispute resolution. Bose, the guy who lived and worked in our house, who is not a family member but was almost like a family member engaged in the negotiations along with my grand parents. They said they will not give all the money as Siva worked hard entire summer. Bose argued that he should give at least half of it as it was my investment and I even gave him all of the initial profits. They offered the original investment of 35 cents. Everyone thought that it was insulting. After all, he was holding the cash and we can not go to police or sue in court. The arguments went on, and I was watching quietly. Siva was also there quiet, refusing to make eye contact with me. I eventually said, I did not want any of the money but asked why Siva was avoiding me. I asked for us to be back as friends. Everybody walked out with out a resolution but as I did not demand or ask for any money there was no point in further arbitration. All grown ups were a bit surprised that I did not want the money and asked me several times. I told them specifically not to give me any money because I felt insulted that Siva, my closest friend in the world would just sign me off with money. I felt betrayed, hurt and insulted. I really really wanted my friend back. I thought the whole thing was a big mistake. The excitement and success turned into grief.
Siva never made eye contact with me. He totally avoided playing with me and stayed in his street. He never talked to me in school after this. I totally lost a close friend, forever...

Adhi could have been a chess champion

2013-03-12T13:05:00.002-04:00

Even if it was for just one time and just by accident, he could have been. He could have been 'the state champion'. But he did not. He was fortunate to participate in this chess championship and that too be a team member with Atulya Shetty a National Master now. While this was his only competition, it had so much drama in addition to be part of the team with Atulya who will one day be a grand master, that I decided to write about.
Adhi was in first grade. Chess was a big deal in his school partly because of Atulya who won about one trophy a week on average for him and his school. Adhi was not a bad player for his age and in those days, he would easily beat me - which amounts to nothing, but still. He was also attending the chess classes and practice sessions with other kids in his school. I was happy to see him play and be part of his school team which was exceptional.
They announced about the state championship for elementary school students (K-3 State tournament). I emailed the school coach Ray Garrison that Adhi might be interested in going if there was a spot. The coach was such a nice guy, he told me that he will put Adhi in the substitute list and if a spot opens he would let him play. There were two teams of four players each and Adhi was 10th or 11th to start with but moved to 9th spot within a few days to the tournament as some kids cancelled. Lucky, he was, one of the kids cancelled in the last minute and so he got the 8th spot.
The tournament was in Spring Lake Michigan near Grand Rapids, about two hours away on February 1st, Saturday 2003. We were packing and as we were about to leave on the Friday evening, we got a phone call. One of his classmates died of some strange lung infection. This was a little girl he barely knew but was in his class. One of the parents who called was somewhat weird about this. She 'strongly recommended' us not to tell him about the death. She was also somewhat critical of people who cried or felt emotional about it. It was odd. But, she might have felt unattached to someone whom she did not know and had no emotional connection to, but I was not sure why she would tell us not to tell our son or why she would be thoughtless and ungracious about a death, that too of a little girl.
Adhi found it hard to take the news and cried his heart out. Even we felt like crying. He could not understand why a young and healthy kid had to die. We felt uncomfortable to ignore this death and go on the trip. I also did not have the courage to take him on my own and almost cancelled the trip. I called and told the coach. They were all in mourning about the death and told us to show up if we can. We decided to stay home and leave early in the morning if Adhi felt OK.
We left around 5.30 AM and took this nice long road trip - father and son - which I enjoyed very much. It is still fun to take a long road trip with him. He can engage in excellent conversations and show an intellect and perspective that repeatedly surprises you (if only he can put that in his grades!? or if they did college admissions after a long road trip!). We were talking about all kinds of stuff - I wish I could have saved those two hours somewhere and relive it whenever I felt like. Adhi and I became closer after Vidhya was born in 2000. He was magnanimous in letting his sister get all the attention and always behaved older than his age. We stopped in Burger King on the way and had a solid sausage and egg croissant sandwich and hash browns which I commented to him that it might put him to sleep during the chess tournament. We reached on time and the state championship was held in a large school auditorium.
This was one heck of an experience for me. There were hundreds of kids in the hall, all sitting across each other in folding chairs with the chess board spread in front of them. They all needed to have this regulation chess board, which is a vinyl sheet that came with a bit larger than usual plastic pieces. The parents and coaches can not say anything and an absolute silence was maintained. You can hear the kids move the pieces and hit the clock in a beautiful cacophony. I neither had a clue on what was going on in any of the boards or how the tournament was conducted. I knew when a kid offers his or her hand with a big smile on his/her face he won and the other kid who is still staring on the board is lost.
Atulya was a star even then and of course he was the numero uno. The top team was ranked and seeded to win the tournament. Atulya and his team did not disappoint anyone except the opponents. They won the championship and gold medal. The way the tournament works is like this - called a Swiss system. The winner gets one point and the loser gets 0. If it is a tie, it is 0.5-0.5. The winning team is paired with another winning team and the losing team is paired to another losing team. So, after several rounds (five in this case), if you keep winning you will be the best of all and if you keep losing, you will end up at last. The team has to win and if two teams are tied, individual wins count for the medal. They gave Gold, Silver and Bronze medals. These guys are super smart and they do have an elegant system of matching players and running the tournament. There is a complex algorithm if you are interested. I played with a couple of kids (for their practice). It took an average of 45 seconds for them to beat. Well, I helped with their confidence...
Adhi's team won in the first round but lost in the second. He scored a draw, then a loss followed by two wins and a loss in the fifth round. I do not remember the whole score, partly because the system was not clear to me. I believe the team won the first round, met a tougher team in the second and lost. But won the third and fourth round easily. Everybody was telling that the King school B team was very good and good enough to win the 'states' but the pairing and the luck of the draw was unfair. They were all telling us how this player would have won that player and so on and on. I guess we could have had easier opponents and so could have had more points but we still had a chance if we could win the fifth and final round.
The fifth round was interesting. I think player #1 easily won and Adhi quickly lost. I also think that the player #2 lost. The player # 3 was battling it out. See, this is rather brutal; two 6 or 7 year old kids fighting it out while all of us were watching. It is heartbreaking to watch these events - especially in individual sports like tennis. It is a lot easier watching them play team sports like soccer (Atulya and Adhi played in the same team sometimes).
By this time, I also got the hang of it because Atulya's father Sharat was teaching me to how to watch and appreciate the game. He also explained to me (or tried to make me understand) the scoring system - which I did not fully comprehend. But the situation was this: if the player #3 won outright, we got the gold medal and state champion for the lower tier also. Atulya and his team already won the gold. If the player #3 lost, we did not get anything. There were only 5 or 6 schools and they were all stacked close to each other in wins vs. losses and the individual scores. I believe that it is the same win or lose situation for the other team which I believe was one point ahead - meaning if they tied the third player game, they get to be the champions but if they lost they also get nothing. Everything was dependent on that one game and we were between gold medal champions and nothing. As the other games concluded, this was the last one and everybody was gathered around. The kids did not know the scoring and were not aware of the situation. But I can tell that most of the parents had their hearts in their mouths. I was nervous.
The opponent to our player #3 raised his hand and offered a tie. The poor kid from our team, for a moment hesitated and took the offer by shaking the other kid's hand. The opponent was apparently losing and was about to lose. Even I was able to see that the kid was a move away from checkmate (with help from Sharat). The pressure was too much and too many people were breathing down the kids' necks. There was a collective sigh from our parents and strangers who realized the situation. The opponent team screamed in celebration.
So, as it happened, the thrilling match was not the decider for first and second place but decided the gold medalist with the loser ending up with nothing. Adhi did not want to believe. He seemed to calculate and recalculate in his head about the possibilities of them getting something. I was told by other parents that we will not have anything - no consolation or anything although we came so close. I wanted to leave at once. After all we had a long drive. Adhi wanted to stay back for the prize ceremony. He seemed to be not sure about the loss. No one talked about it as they did not want to make the kid who took the tie feel bad. I tried to tell Adhi and make him understand but sat through the ceremony. Obviously he was disappointed. Did he kind of 'bargain' in his head that he might somehow get a medal? Or am I applying too much of my psych stuff on him?
I was deeply sad and worried how much this could have traumatized him. I felt really bad that we even went to the tournament. Too much pressure and too much stress. Suddenly, the thought of the dead girl overwhelmed me. I had mixed feelings. I felt that Adhi getting in the team itself was a thing of luck and we should be satisfied with it and felt guilty to desire the state championship. This would have been the coolest thing to brag about to your uncles and cousins. Who would know the background or the difference? He did well with 2 wins and a draw for himself (see here), but I am still not sure how he took it. I am not sure how, if at all this impacted, affected or changed his life. He was too young to go through this. My first ever 'match' of any kind was a couple of years ago and I was shitting bricks. In some ways, I am glad he went through these things at this age.
That afternoon, while we were focusing on the tournament and games, the space shuttle Columbia crashed killing Kalpana Chawla. The mood was gloomy and the return trip was miserable. Adhi was tired and fell asleep. I drove the two hours in silence in the deep, dark and cold winter.
I don't know about him, but I was deeply traumatized...

Proudest moment of my life!

2013-03-02T11:49:00.002-05:00

I was a fourth year resident in the VA consult service. I had a couple of medical students under me along with an intern. My attending was a wonderful, pleasant and friendly woman who took the senior resident very seriously. This was early Monday morning and my intern had the day off. As I was talking to the medical students about interview technique etc, we got a call to see this patient. The case was for competency evaluation which is usually straightforward and does not involve complex work up.
I told one of the medical students 'You are it man' 'I graduate you to be a psychiatrist today and you are going to do everything about this patient from interview to write up and presentation to the attending'.
The patient was a 57 year old Vietnam veteran, a chain smoker who came to the hospital at 4 PM the day before which was a Sunday. He comes to the ER and tells them that he needed a CAT scan to check his head out. He complained of getting anxiety attacks. As he was coughing and looked thin and emaciated, the docs at the ER took a chest Xray along with some blood work. His Xray showed a bunch of holes in the lung or something. They suspected tuberculosis and put him in a secluded negative suction room.
Of course he wanted to leave. He jumped up and down and they had to call the police to show force that calmed him down. He was not allowed to go to the smoking booth to smoke with others. He was very upset and wanted to leave. They called the on call psych resident who came and advised some sedation. The psych intern was not sure about his diagnosis but thought he may have anxiety and an unknown personality disorder (translated as 'difficult patient'). The patient was calling everyone to complain and demanded meetings with the chief of staff, the lawyer, the judge, the police and the president immediately. He wanted to leave and he wanted to smoke.
While we were researching and discussing about the patient, we got another call to come and see the patient immediately. He was threatening to leave. We went to the fifth floor. We had to wear a specific industrial strength face mask, gloves and disposable gown to walk in. I felt like I was part of the last scene in ET. We walked in and my beloved student with his glasses sat across the patient nervously as I stood behind him. He started the interview and asked questions with the typical medical student tone in the presence of seniors, extra polite, slow, nervous with a croaking voice that was deliberate, methodical, detailed and formal.
The patient was a very thin man with poor hygiene, unkempt hair, missing teeth, and a distinct cigarette odor with an attitude. He looked like one of those fringe characters from Texas in Coen Brothers' movies. He was not at all friendly but calmed down. He was 'damn mad' to know that he was seen by shrinks. He was also mad that this was for an evaluation of his 'competency'. I assured him that he was competent to leave but I needed to find out why he is here before I am OK to let him go. The student went on interviewing him. The patient told him that he went to the Jacksonville VA hospital in Florida with complaints of feeling nervous. They diagnosed him with anxiety disorder and gave him prozac and clonazepam. He said the clonazepam helped him but the anxiety continued. At one point the patient said that he gets these attacks everyday and also said that he gets them 'like clockwork'. Something about this statement bothered me. I thought that there was something strange.
Also at some point the patient took us into some unfamiliar territory and the student was struggling with the line of questions that became rather out of focus and I needed to jump in. In addition, something about his statement on the question of 'do you see anything unusual' struck me as odd. His answer was "I always wanted to know why this one legged guy comes and sits there when I have these attacks" pointing to his left. The tone of the patient's description caught my attention similar to the anosognosia patient I wrote earlier. Years before this, while in Chennai, I saw a patient with a known case of temporal lobe epilepsy who described me his vision of an 'elaborate black chariot, with several black horses, parked in a dark shadowless meadow in a moonless dark night, breathing! - meaning the whole chariot breathing in unison to his own breathing. Neither did he feel amused or scared by it nor he believed it. He knew it was not part of him but he could not take the experience away.
This made the spark go on in my temporal lobe or something and I took over the interview contrary to my promise to the student and obtained more history. The patient did confirm that his anxiety comes pretty much at the same time, lasts about 20 minutes or so and stops all of a sudden. He feels nervous with a feelings of butterflies in his stomach and an occasional nausea or headache. He feels exhausted after the attack and at times falls asleep. When I asked about olfactory hallucinations, he said "dang you ask me that, I always wanted to ask one of my buddies to sit next to me and tell me what that dang smell was..."
Remember he came asking for CAT scan? I told him that I agreed with him about the CAT scan and reassured him that I would talk to his doctors about it. I asked him, until then, not to cause any more problems by pulling the alarm or threatening to leave. He agreed.
I called the medical resident and told him that this patient seems to have temporal lobe epilepsy and he needs a neuro consult, EEG and may be an MRI. The medicine resident was very unhappy with my suggestions and asked me about the competency. I told him that he is competent to leave if he wants to but reassured him that the patient agreed to stay and asked him to page me if the patient caused any more problems. He said they simply could not let him walk with tuberculosis. I said, 'I don't know, is it possible that he has lung cancer and secondaries in the brain?' At this point, I could feel the discomfort in him and imagined that he was rolling his eyes on the other end of the phone. How come a psych resident come and tell them to get an MRI? and dignose a lung cancer?
Within a few minutes, I got a call from their senior resident. He was more direct. He was irritated and just plain told me that I can not just order an MRI. Now, I became a bit nervous. I was rather defensive and said something lame and timid 'It is up to you guys'. "I did not order an MRI. It is our (used a defensive our as opposed to my) recommendation and it is up to you to decide. Some time later, the chief resident paged me to his office and this time, he was not at all nice. He said something like whether it was under my prerogative to recommend an MRI and why I would even suggest that etc. He was essentially questioning my qualifications, competency and sanity. He was so condescending to a point I felt like leaving that place right there. He also told me 'Do you know what it takes to get an MRI? We need to get the chief's approval and he had to get it signed by the chief of staff, we need to get an ambulance and get the patient across to the U.' 'It is a lot of money and a lot of paperwork.' He was pissed. I was broken.
I talked to my attending who was pretty simple and clear. She did not try to show how tuff she was or wanting to go on a fight or anythign. She just said 'I think it is a good idea to get it checked out'. The medicine team had no choice but to go ahead and follow the recommendation of the brainless quack of a fourth year psych resident who came from a country where they did medical school in correspondence or something. We ended up walking back and forth to the fifth floor. When I walked by with my attending, the whole team burnt holes all over me with their laser like vision. One of the residents in the team, an Indian guy, was particularly angry at me. It was like looking at your own brother making a big mistake by making a fool of himself and embarrassing the whole family. He talked to me as if I trashed the family party the night before in a drunken rage.
Right after the attending rounds, I had to stay back to write the notes or something. I was standing next to the team and they once again, berated me for giving opinion that they did not ask for. They also were mad that I said the patient was competent, contrary to their expectations but also told them not to send him home (in spite of him being competent to leave) for reasons other than what they wanted (TB). I wrote the notes with out looking up, hearing them talk and feeling their stare. They said they asked the neurology to come and see, sounding with a hope that the real brain doctors are going to come and say the right thing. The neuro team came and looked at the patient and recommended the same thing. But they also told to the pleasure of the medicine team, that they didn't think there was going to be anything but it was not a bad idea to 'check it out'. Especially after this much contention. Now the whole thing got to a point from bad to worse. They all 'know' that there was nothing wrong with this patient but they had to get an MRI because this idiot recommended. The patient is threatening to sue the shit out of the hospital if he was not scanned. They all felt forced by this nonsense. The lack of choice and freedom frustrates everyone. Especially Americans.
At some point the attending from the medicine team came looking for me to talk. This time he was not mean or condescending, but he was clearly unhappy with what I had to say and although he seemed to listen to me patiently and appeared to 'learn' from my point of view. He nodded and turned away with dissatisfaction. It was clear they did not have a lot of respect for me or psych. I was not surprised or hurt. To peak it all, the secretary to the chief of medicine paged me and told me that the chief of medicine himself wanted to have a word with me. At this point, I wanted to cry. I thought of bailing out and running away. I, at this point seriously and sincerely doubted and questioned my qualifications, competency and sanity myself. If you think that I was like that TV doctor coming and telling everyone with a strong and assertive voice, 'open him up' 'there is an alien inside in his tummy' -NO- I was shaking in my pants. I was so scared I did not even want to think about this case. I was totally willing to take my recommendation back and change my opinion. I was willing to surrender. But I did not have that opportunity. It was too late. This has blown way out of proportion. I told the chief with the same timid, unsure, and lame voice 'I don't know sir...' I dragged. I don't know where that 'Sir' came from, we never use it in the USA. The stress of the situation and the anticipation of a slaughter or death by hanging brought back my slave upbringing in India and rekindled the primal instinct to be defensive, to duck and cower; defend and beg for mercy, cry if you can and plead for your life. (I ain't Saddam Hussein) I went on in a timid voice 'I don't know sir, I think his symptoms look like temporal lobe epilepsy. It may not be true; there is every chance that his brain might be OK but it is not a bad idea to check it.'
They managed to get an MRI that night. I walked in the next morning and the students welcomed me with a big broad smile. They looked at my face and said "RP - you didn't know right?" Before I asked, they said the patient has multiple tumors. I asked left temporal lobe? they said, yes there is one too but he has a lot of goonies in his head. You should see the MRI; they declared. 'They already got the neurosurgeons to come and see the patient.' I asked them, what about the lung? is there a lung cancer? I was excited and wished that there was just one walnut size tumor sitting smack in the left temporal lobe proving my theory. The thought of multiple tumors was a bit disappointing. Now, I wanted to feel like the TV doctor. I felt bad that I cowered in front of the medicine team earlier. I wished I behaved like a dick, like a cowboy. But, now I need to be sure and try to behave right. They did not have info on the lungs.
I told myself I can not do 'I told you so'. I did not want to make the medicine team feel bad but more than that I was afraid, embarrassed and just plain shy to face them. I did not have the courage to go to the fifth floor and look at the MRI. A few minutes later, I gathered my students, a mini entourage, and went there. As I got off the elevator, made a left turn and a right turn, I saw the whole medicine team standing in the hallway like they always do in the mornings, like the other day when they burnt me with the stare in unison. The chief resident who was talking to the group stopped as he saw me. The whole team turned and looked at me. I don't remember what I did or how my face looked. I told myself I should not walk like Sivaji Ganesan in Vasantha Maligai (or Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry with a magnum) but I was a bit unsteady on my feet and I might have missed a step or so. I might have smiled broadly with a total embarrassment. No - not pride. The team in unison did the Wayne's world we are not worthy salute led by the same Indian guy who at this point looked at me like "big brother proved Desis are worth it". I was thoroughly embarrassed but sure was brimming with pride.
I asked to see the MRI and they said the neurosurgeons had the films. We went and saw the patient. He, surprisingly, was relieved. He did the 'I told you so'... 'Doc, I have been worried about this for almost a year. It makes sense. I have been telling them to scan my head.' He was right and I agreed with him. Some woman who was his family was there. They did not know much about the drama behind the MRI and they did not need to. They kind of knew I was behind it and thanked me. I suddenly felt sorry for the patient and felt guilty to score something at his expense. I tried very hard to suppress the happiness of the correct diagnosis and showed my sympathy. I told them I will talk to the neurosurgeons.
I went to the neuro surgery department. They were not there all the time, they just came for an hour or two from the university hospital. They said they did not have the films but scheduled him for surgery the next day. Without apology, they took over the patient. I wanted to know whether it was a secondary from the lung but they said it was GBM (Glioblastoma Multiforme - a bad ass brain tumor). I was still not convinced. I was wondering whether this could be lung secondary from the brain tumor. I wanted to wait for the biopsy.
The patient was operated the next day. We went and saw him, he looked completely different and even I felt awkward to see him as he was not my patient anymore. He smiled under the opium drowsiness. We wished him luck.
In the following days we got busy with our work. I tried to find the scans and look at them but for some reason or other it was not available. I tried not to make it look like I made a big fuss about it; trying to not look obsessed or cocky with my 'stardom' and so, suppressed my desire to chase the MRI. The rotation was over and I never got to see the MRI. I did not know what happened to his lungs. I was told that they started him on chemotherapy. So it was GBM? I wondered.
I felt good in multiple fronts. The VA medicine department four years earlier almost got me fired - but it was not their fault and they were not malicious or anything. It was all a complete misunderstanding. I also hoped someone from my department would say something nice to me. The medicine chief resident told me 'good call dude'. My attending was happy and appreciative and she was also proud that the psych department scored on medicine. My chief who got a call from the medicine chief did not say anything except in the Friday meeting when they happened to discuss the case for some unrelated reason, he said 'That is the patient RP saw and...' looked at me and nodded his head in acknowledgement. That was good enough...
Well, I am going on and on. It is hard to stop when you are tooting your own horn. Well, I am coming to the point, this is NOT the proudest moment in my life. No, I am still on topic. I am still talking about the proudest moment as a doctor. That moment came from my friend in Chennai -Vijay.
What happened at the VA could be incidental. I was at the right place at the right time. This would have been a routine thing if the medicine team did not dramatize. I would have remembered as an unusual case. I may not have remembered all these details but for the emotional roller coaster I went through. There may not be anything special but I may have written this thing to make me look good. Anyways....
When I was in Chennai, I used to hang out with Vijay in his home in Adyar. I met his mother and brothers there. His mother liked me very much. It always helps to be a doctor, that too a young one. I thought she was particularly happy to see a doctor hanging out with her son as opposed to others (sorry Vijay). We all chain smoked in his study and talked about a lot of stuff. Vijay is one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. He can talk about Ayn Rand to molecular genetics with authority. I don't think he has a college degree. Do you Vijay? He read a lot and spoke in perfect English. He starts a business every six months or so and those days, he bought one of the first laser printers in Chennai and wanted to do some thing called Desk Top Publishing when nobody knew what it was.
After I left Chennai, I lost contact with Vijay and talked to him once in a while. Years later when I talked to him he told me that his mother suffered from some chronic illness and died. He told me that his mother, around the time she died, asked about me. He repeated her words "Where is this doctor Prabhakar guy? I wish he was here and I wish he could do something" She trusted me that much as a doctor?
That was the proudest moment in my life...

Medical uncertainty

2013-02-28T15:00:00.001-05:00

Well, Madan made me write this...
I thought I should share this story in relation to the doctor debate. This deals with the decision making of the doctor and the patient.
It took some time after we decided to have a baby to have a baby. There was nothing wrong but my wife seemed a bit anxious that things are not happening as planned. I did my best - to help her anxiety, I mean. We consulted a family friend and Madurai Medico first batch Dr. Rajeevy Pandian who practiced in Flint MI at that time. We also had the gold card of insurance which allowed us to go anywhere and get any treatment. She reassured us and told us to keep working. I was glad and after some time and effort, things worked out naturally.
When she became pregnant, they wanted to an ultrasound to 'confirm' pregnancy. We did this in six or eight weeks. Once confirmed, I wanted to make sure everything right. Someone told me that the expecting parents need to attend some classes to plan and prepare for the delivery. So, I found this place, and took my young and innocent wife who still had hair up to her knee and crooked teeth to this place called 'planned parenthood'. This was in an unusual corner of the town, in a small nondescript building. We went there and there was a young woman in scrubs came and interviewed us. I enthusiastically explained to her how excited we were about the new baby we were going to have and wanted to make sure that we do everything right to keep the baby healthy and prepare for the delivery. Her face turned into some thing strange with an unexplainable emotion and a discomfort. She said politely this is not the place for it and we should consult our gynecologist. It kind of dawned on me what the plan in planned parenthood meant. I walked out with embarrassment. My wife was very mad at me and it rekindled her doubts about my sanity and (lack of ) intelligence. There is a story about this - for later.
They also recommended to get another scan to make sure everything was fine. Hey, the insurance pays for it! Adhi got serial videos of his in-utero development (would have been a you tube sensation now). Hope you didn't hear the 'ultra sound' Adhi! At one point, they said that his renal calyces (the bag next to the kidney that collects the urine before it goes to the bladder) were a bit bigger than usual. They said it was 7 mm and 8 mm. They were all worried immediately that there may be a problem with the flow of urine; urine is not supposed to flow back after it reaches the bladder. There are some babies born with this defect when they pee, some of the urine flows backwards towards the kidneys called reflux. The urine in the kidneys are sterile but the urine in the bladder may have bacteria and if it flows back, it invariably causes infection in the kidneys (pyelonephriitis) and one could lose the kidneys from it.
So, they said we needed to follow up with a scan every month to make sure that the calyces do not expand and if they did, he may need surgery immediately after birth. Of course this gave us a lot of agony, concern and stress. I hit the library and read all about it. I consulted a lot of doctors including a couple of trusted family friends (Thirupathi uncle in Canton and Mohan uncle in Troy), who were experienced pediatricians. They told us not to worry and this 'finding' is becoming common as they use the ultrasound more and more. They said that this is a benign thing that does not in any way harm the baby and so not to worry about it. They, however warned that if the baby develops high fever in the first 12 weeks or so, they need to be 'checked out' for reflux of urine and pyelonephristis.
I read all about the measurement and the 7 and 8 mm thing. Conventionally people thought that a normal width of calyx is about 3 or 4 mm and some people said that anything above 5 mm is not normal. Some in the pediatric urology community argued that this is something so new and so they should consider up to 10 mm as normal. Also, interestingly, there were a lot of dispute and discussion about the validity and reliability of the ultrasound method (including ultrasound of the heart) and specifically ultrasound of the fetuses. Validity is a measure of an instrument assessing what it is supposed to assess and reliability is a measure of the instrument's capacity to assess the same thing accurately over and over. Some doctors and technicians who did the scan proved that the angle and the way one uses the probe could change the finding and diagnosis. It is scary that some technicians can make a normal heart look like any of several abnormalities with the way they obtain the scans. There was even a study that showed that some of the psycho-social pencil and paper surveys had better reliability and and validity than ultrasound! Dang - that is ridiculous. Although I was very worried and nervous about the baby, I became more and more skeptical and confused about the finding.
So the next time we went to the scan I was well prepared. There was a nice and pleasant lady who took the scan. We did not talk much initially. She showed us the standard stuff, 'look, the eyes', 'the mouth, hands' and so on. With big eyes an small head he reminded me of a cute monkey (don't tell his mom please). She goes, look it is a boy! I thought boy is that a third leg? or is it normal? Was it the cord? She then came to the renal calyx. She measured it a few times. It was 3 mm and 4 mm or something. She was surprised and seemed not satisfied. She tried several more times, pressing Sudha's tummy hard and bending and tilting the probe until she went Bingo! It was (eventually) 7 mm and 8 mm. I was very happy and relieved that it was not expanding. I discussed with her about the finding. She bailed out saying I needed to talk to the radiologist.
I went and talked to the radiologist. It helps to be a doctor in the hospital, you get the back room access. The radiologist looked exactly like the most of the doctors you would see in any big hospital in the USA. No. Not an Indian dude this time. He was a short white guy with a dark curly hair. He looked intelligent and impatient like the thousand others you would come across. He was wearing blue, striped, cotton, button down shirt with out a tie and dockers khakis, like the thousand others you would see in an academic hospital. He told me that he was aware of this case and told me that he was concerned. I told him (politely) that I read about this and some say that the normal should be up to 10 mm and quoted the paper. He seemed a bit surprised and annoyed that I quoted the literature. Hey, I do not expect him to know about every paper on every condition. But this is the deal at U of M; the resident or student will usually dig out these papers and discuss with the attendings all the time. Almost always the attendings are magnanimous if they were not aware of the paper and are eager to learn, which makes the entire academic environment enjoyable. They comment on this issue from their experience. This guy said, 'there are other reports from conferences...' but did not give me any specifics. I was a bit disappointed that he didn't like my approach and was just talking hot air. I had checked all recent conference abstracts on this topic and had read everything that I could get. he and I have the same access to stuff.
I walked out continuing to be concerned and confused. I was not sure whose advice to follow. They continued to do a scan every month. Adhi seemed to grow bigger in a healthy pace. We could see that his eyes were also big. As the days went by he looked less like a monkey and more like a human. The evolution is true. Adhi's calyces did not expand and he seemed to pee well (and drank that thing too). Once we saw him sucking his thumb blissfully.
December 20th 1995, my wife woke me up saying she had pains. I got up and as I was about to get ready, she said this must be false pain and told me to go back to sleep. I slept the rest of the night while she suffered through the pain. I got up at the usual time and got ready to go to work. She said she continued to have the pains but thought that this could still be false pain. Also, she had a routine check up scheduled for 8 AM that day and so she was fine to wait until 8 to see the doctor. I left with her in our beat up Chrysler. Those days, when people asked me what I drove, I used to say that it is a PEEYOJAY or POJ which sounds like Peugeot and people would become impressed and say 'Wow Peugeot, the French car!?' I would reply, No. it is a Chrysler I meant P.O.J - Piece Of Junk. When I bought a new shoe, I claimed that I upgraded, as my mode of transport had become more expensive.
She was sitting in the passenger seat and did not look very good. She used to have the car and drive those days. We also decided to drop VHS tapes (remember?) at Blockbuster on the way! I dropped the tapes and came back to the car. As I saw her face when I got in the car I became a bit more concerned. She didn't look OK. We went to the clinic straight. I got her a wheel chair. While at the clinic, the nurse also felt that something was not right and called the doctor immediately. The doctor came, examined her and announced that 'call the labor and delivery and get a stretcher' 'We don't deliver babies in our clinic!' Now my wife was really embarrassed and I felt terrible. While they prepared her for delivery, someone from radiology showed up and told us that they needed to do an ultrasound. We just got one the previous week. Anyways, they did a scan as she was having the pain and contractions. That afternoon, at 1.11 Adhitya Rajaprabhakaran, as the first ABCD of our family was born.
As the head was showing up, the doctors called me - 'see the head is almost here.' 'He's got a lot of hair!' I was reluctant to get around. I had stopped playing doctor for a long time. My wife was a bit loopy with whatever they gave her and said "Why don't you ask him to give some hair to his dad?" The whole crew laughed. I never thought she was this funny, I made a mental note to ask the doctor the name of the substance they were giving her in the drip.
Right after they pulled him out, they placed him in a small tray and wheeled him down for an ultrasound. YET ANOTHER ONE! I was like, come on guys... They confirmed that he had the same size calyx - not expanding, not shrinking. We came back to the room and I ate the hospital meal. It was fantastic. We both had a few servings of jello and ice cream. Although it was the same hospital, I called in and did not go for my rounds. I had a few discharges and I was dictating discharge summaries while my wife and son were napping.
A young doctor came in. I remember her last name to be Brown. She was a rosy cheeked, very pleasant and friendly lady with baby fat in those cheeks and glowing black eyes. She came in, politely introduced herself, apologized for the intrusion and examined the baby. She was patient and meticulous, checked every joint and its range of movement and so on with out waking up the baby or the mother. She did the wet diaper test with her fingers - washed her hands before and after the test. My wife woke up. She explained to both of us that she was a pediatrics intern, read all about the baby's kidney issue and the scans. She told us that that there is nothing to worry and she did not think that there was any problem with the baby's kidneys or urine reflux. She said, if the baby had a reflux, he would certainly get a pyelonephritis within the first three months and the best option is to wait and see. She warned us that if the baby developed fever for any reason, we should bring the baby to the emergency room, insist on seeing the pediatrician on call and tell whoever that the baby had some issue about the kidneys. She also said that her attending is the final word and we needed wait for the attending rounds before we were clear.
In the mean time, we had found a pediatrician for the baby and discussed about the issue. This doctor was indecisive and wanted to consult a pediatric urologist and recommended one. I went to the pediatric urologist's office. Again, I was glad to have the back room access. This was one of the most impressive doctors I had ever met. He oozed intelligence and wisdom and seemed to have a halo around his head with angels flying around. I still imagine hearing divine music when I think about him. He sat down and patiently explained to me what this is all about. He was one of the natural artists that can do the kidney bean shape beautifully. After a long explanation, he told me to get another ultrasound and schedule him for a procedure called retrourethral cystogram. What? I was a bit confused. He had two ultrasounds in the day before and one last week, why does he want to do one more? If he wants to see something, why does he want to schedule the cystogram also. Why both? Cystogram involves injecting a dye using a metal tube inserted in to Adhi's third leg (which seemed to have shrunken quite a bit since the scan and no one seemed to bother about it) and take a series of X rays to see whether the dye passes up to his calyx and kidneys. I remembered being told that Dr. Rathna Kumar, our beloved surgery attending died from this procedure.
I asked him whether he wants to decide after he looked at the third ultrasound, he said, 'No. Go ahead and schedule for both.' I was confused. I asked the new pediatrician and she said 'If they want to do it, you should do it.' I felt stuck. The next day or later that day, Dr. Brown, the rosy cheeked intern came with the full entourage including her attending, a middle aged, chubby, black woman with a very reassuring smile and a maternal attitude. She immediately put us at ease and told us not to do the cystoscopy unless we wanted to but reiterated what the intern told us earlier to watch for fever and bring him to the emergency if he had any fever in the first three months. She in fact let the younger doctors talk and nodded her head (I think I need to learn to be assertive and caring at the same time letting the juniors take charge like her). Dr. Thirupathi (uncle) and Dr. Mohan (uncle) both agreed with this plan. We bought some fancy thermometers and my wife checked his temperature two or three times a day as a routine.
We decided not to do the cystoscopy. I was a bit confused and nervous. I kind of saw the point of view of everyone. I was not mad at anyone. I thought I (and a few others) believed that a conservative approach, in this case was the best one to take.
Adhi did not have a fever until after his first birth day. He is still OK.

Patienting series: Pain and Suffering caused by a doctor...

2013-02-15T13:06:00.003-05:00

Some time in 1987, one morning my mom complained of chest pain. It appeared to be a gastric pain – the ubiquitous ‘peptic ulcer’. I told her to take some antacid and take it easy. I had just completed the internship, not working but was preparing for the entrance exams (வெட்டி) and did not have a lot of confidence. I also was aware of the fact that my parents generally prefer to listen to someone else other than me. So, I told them to consult Dr. Rangarajan, the internist whom my father knew personally. I also liked him very much in spite of the lorry driver mustache.

So, around 10 AM or so, they go to the govt. hospital to see him. My father with his usual polyester gray pant and white shirt gets passed by as a doctor easily. They park the scooter in front of the psychiatry department and walk in to ward 100 to see Dr. Rangarajan in JKBC unit. As they walk by our lovely all in all Alagirisamy Mr. Sebastian from the physiology walks by. He happened to know every important parent of every student and so he knew my father. He asks him 'what is going on saar?', my father tells him about the chest pain of madam (MAYDUM) and he goes “Rangarajan saar is a good doctor but madam needs to see a heart doctor” and takes him to see this heart doctor.

My father was happy and proud to have his madam checked out by a specialist for free. It helps to have connections and influence – you know. The heart doctor pretty much says the same thing as I said and reassured them. But he also adds, ‘well, just in case to be sure, come to my clinic around 3 PM I will get an ECG – just to make sure.' When I went home for lunch, my father told me about this. He sounded like he one upped me and found a specialist who is willing to even get an ECG. He told me that this esteemed heart doctor knew about me. He implied that this specialist did not seem to care too much about me but had high regards to my sister Rajeevy. Well isn’t the entire medical college like that?

I was rather annoyed; I thought that this guy was exaggerating to impress my father or something. I was not sure why she needed an ECG. Was I also afraid of finding something major? I just had a bad feeling. I was also irritated that I would miss my post lunch cigarette. Around 3 PM or so in the hot afternoon, I took my mom to this dingy clinic, a single family house converted to see patients behind Hotel Rajeswari. The specialist did not care much about me, ordered his assistants to get an ECG. He came out with the long strip and told me “Well, doctor this is serious.” “She needs to be hospitalized immediately.” “Take her from here to the hospital and tell them I sent her. I will give instructions over the phone.” I asked reluctantly ‘Can we go home get things and come back?’ He said – no it is too dangerous, you have to go now. He also told me to get a taxi and not take her in my scooter. Where would I find a taxi near Rajeswari at 3 in the afternoon? I got her on a rickshaw and followed in my scooter. Right there, I knew at least some of what he said was not true - the taxi. I was also pissed off that he let her go home earlier and asked her to come back to his clinic. Why did he not get an ECG and admit her in the hospital itself? Something did not add up.

I had mixed emotions. I was deeply sad and grief-stricken. I was angry and annoyed. I did not want to believe that she had a heart attack; at least not at that moment and no that day. But, who am I to challenge him? What if I am wrong and what if I miss? I did not see anything unusual in the ECG. But, what do I know about ECG and what do I know about heart? How could I override him and convince my parents? I also felt like I should jump in and somehow save my mom-no matter what.

I admitted her and rode the scooter back home. I had tears in my eyes flowing backwards in the wind while riding the scooter but by the time I reached home, I gathered a lot of courage and was ready to take charge. I made up multiple plans of action. I was going to check and double check about the ECG, which I had in my pocket. BTW, right after she was admitted they did another ECG, which even surprised my mom. "They just did it right?" I went home and told my dad and sisters. My dad scared the shit out of us by screaming and crying loud. Gosh, Now I got to take charge of both my parents?

I asked him to go to the hospital and told him that I was going to go and check with my friends about the nature of the ECG. I took my favorite Raleigh bike and went to the hospital. I desperately needed to calm down. I smoked a couple of cigarettes and went to consult Selva (Selvaraj the cricket player who opens for MMC staff team now). He was my trusted source of information among the people I knew. He did not see anything abnormal. He suggested a few names. Dr. Zaman – yes he had a reputation for reading ECGs. Dr. Thyagarajan, my beloved attending in CP unit who spat when he spoke. Someone also suggested a doc who was actually working in the forensic department.

Our heart doctor came for rounds later that evening and reassured every one saying she is OK now but he couldn’t tell anything until 48 hours pass by. Everyone had a long graveyard face and tried not to cry in front of mom. Phone calls went to everyone. My cousin Dr. Janarthanan was doing cardiology in Chennai at that time and even my uncle a surgeon in Coimbatore rushed in. The second day, I checked the ECG with every one in the list. Nobody saw anything unusual. At this point, I was bent on proving that my mom had no MI (heart attack). I might have been still in denial but was gaining confidence as I read about the ECG as much as I can.

My cousin arrived the next morning, looked at the ECG and was not able to find anything wrong. But, no one confronted the specialist. After all he was a senior and had a few frigging degrees. When they met him face to face, they did not even raise any doubt or asked any question. The certain doctor would say things non-stop, not pausing and not letting you interrupt or challenge him. Every one would go ‘OK Sir’ ‘OK sir’ and nod their head back and forth. I had no confidence to challenge him but I asked him some questions with the immunity of a family member. I had not worked under him and so I did not need to pretend to have the extra respect. Only my uncle from Coimbatore was assertive and told everyone that this guy was scaring us for money.

Three days went by and in rounds the certain doctor mentioned that he was relieved as the 48 hours passed by but just to be sure he told us that she should stay until Sunday and by Saturday evening if her ECG did not change he would consider giving streptokinase. He is getting a batch ordered for Saturday.

WHAT THE FUCK? I thought. I was furious. OK. I failed in Medicine and I was not the smartest bulb in the medical school, but even I knew that streptokinase should be given within hours after the heart attack. They would fail me again if I did not know that. But the thing that pissed me off was that he had the fucking audacity to tell us, a family with a bunch of doctors and a police officer. We unanimously decided to get her out of there and my father paid the fees grudgingly.

Interestingly, no one, including my father was mad at him. If I were him I would have punched him in his face or at least refused to pay. What was this doctor going to do? My father was a DSP after all. He could have had him arrested by ‘mistake’ and beat up or get some rickshaw drivers to get his ass whooped. But, every one was relieved that my mom was OK. We, average humans are all used to con men and quite often relief from suffering feels to be a bigger reward than anything else.

But I wanted revenge and did the only thing I could do. I told every one about this scam. As I am writing this, I am still fuming. I decided not to even think about him or come across him. But, fate would have it in a way that I had to deal with him and this time in a real life or death situation.

In October of 1996 my father had a heart attack. A real bad one. Both my parents immediately knew it was a heart attack. They did the smart thing and called Dr. Thangaraj (CT), Madan’s dad. Dr. Thangaraj is one of the most assertive surgeons I had ever seen at work. I was a third year student and Nagesh dragged me to go to the theater to watch some surgeries. Dr. CT was new to the hospital and I knew that he was a Devanga (fondly, Jenda). He was yanking out this poor patient’s massive ding-dong. The patient had a small cauliflower like thing in the tip of his manhood. There was blood all over. Dr. CT had a strategically placed bucket that collected blood and pieces of the thing as he operated sitting on a stool facing the crotch of this poor patient. We heard a thud and I turned around to see a green saree flat on her back with the white coat spread out. She was calmly breathing through the dirty white cotton mask, sweating profusely. The nurse smiled and came to her rescue but Dr. Thangaraj did not even flinch or look back. My friends were amazed with his calm demeanor (did he really operate on the Shah of Iran?). He told us that the patient can reach orgasm without the banana part. I thought how?

My father told me that Dr. Thangaraj came within ten minutes and came with a syringe loaded with morphine. My parents did not call my cousin, a practicing cardiologist for whom my father was a father figure because they were feuding. Dad had a knack for picking up fights even with people who loved him dearly for whom he had gone out of the way to help. Dr. CT admitted him under his care and gave streptokinase before even calling the cardiologist. My father survived and recovered or reversed more than 90% of the damage he sustained (the real doctors can explain this). The cardiologist who came to that particular hospital happened to be the same guy as above. I called my cousin from US and apologized for my parents behavior and asked him take care of my father. He was upset and cried. I asked my cousin to not let the certain doctor make any decisions and I rushed from US.

I went to the hospital straight from the airport. Dad had recovered and was fine. I met the certain doctor the next day. He stated the obvious as if he invented it. He was using the same scare tactics. ‘it was close’ ‘he came in the nick of time’ ‘a few hours would have been different’. He did not even mention Dr. Thangaraj with out whom he would not be doing rounds on my father. He said my father needs to not move out of his house for three months. No stress, complete rest. My cousin Janardhanan politely asked him ‘What do you think about Cath sir? He pronounces it Kathe. The certain doctor said, 'No, not now.' 'It is too early to do cath.' He needs rest for three or four months and then he can do cath. As I hear this, I was furious. I did not make eye contact and obviously showed my disdain by turning away with a smirk. I didn’t care to ask him. I did not care to talk to him. I felt like I knew more cardiology after spending a year of internship in US. I just plain affirmatively told him that we are going the next day, partly with the intention of insulting him by ignoring his suggestion. They can all think that I am cocky because I am from the US. Fine. This was the day before Diwali. He again spoke like a dick and told us all about Apollo hospital, where to go who to see and what to do; again, in the negative tone. “Don’t go to this guy, don’t go this day”. He also told us not to go on NEPC but go on the Indian Airlines plane. The A-hole wants to let us know that he knew planes too. He said the propeller plane operated by NEPC was not good for the heart!

Unlike last time, I knew cardiology a lot more this time. I did one month cardiology consult under Dr. Rubenfire at the University of Michigan. This was probably the best month of learning for me in my entire medical career (at least one of the best months). I worked under some of the smartest residents and fellows. As the cardiology consulting team, we were supposed to read and sign off ALL ECGs in the entire hospital. So they printed every ECG in our little cubicle. We the residents and interns read them, first thing in the morning before Dr. Rubenfire came and discussed interesting ones. He was known to be the ECG guru in the hospital taught regular 'ECG reading classes' at 7 AM. Because of the embarrassment I endured during my mother’s ‘heart attack’ I really wanted to learn as much as I could about ECG. At the end of the month I was able to read any kind of ECG with any kind of weird problem or a combination of problems. I was rocking. Education in US is fantastic. There is no 'sir' nothing. My students call me RP. Dr. Rubenfire once told the cardiology fellow to consult me – the lowly psych intern about a particular ECG. He might have been swiping at Mark who never showed up for the 7 AM classes where I was a regular. I knew that they would do cath any time of the day and operate on patient on an emergency basis. We never advised anyone to rest 3 months for a cath.

I booked the next flight to Madras in spite of Diwali. My father had 7 blocks with more than 90% occlusion in five of them. They put him in ICU - so that he won't watch the cricket match. They wanted to operate on him right away and told us that they might take him to the theater anytime if needed, but waited until the next day, only because it was Diwali.

Years later I was walking by some place in Rajaji Hospital and happened to see Buvanesh Babu, wearing white and white standing piously waiting for some one. He saw me and flashed the same smile under his thick glasses that he had done for decades. Buvanesh had done cardiology by that time. He said, I am waiting for ‘Sir’. He wouldn't even say the name. I told him, come on Buvanesh he is a quack and not worthy of your respect. This is what I hate about India and its hierarchy. Buvanesh is probably the nicest and the smartest human being I had ever come across and he had to stand and wait for a scum like this guy with reverence and respect. It is sad…

Doctoring 7 - Jailbird

2013-02-14T15:40:00.002-05:00

Of all the things I have done, my moonlighting job in the jail was the most interesting and exciting. I do have opportunity to work in the jail now but I am hesitating to commit to it. They restrict cell phones inside and it is hard to live with out cell phones. Those days I was on call which is a lot easier than to taking care of the patients full time. I might still do it just for kicks.
This was 1997 and I was a third year resident. We were all desperately looking for moonlighting gigs and did whatever we could. The community mental health was the most popular option (see the article on the old lady). My friend Christopher Staeheli told me about this jail job and he was hush hush about it. He introduced me to the people at the jail and enrolled me. This was an incredible deal. They paid $56 an hour in house and $18 per hour to be on call from home. This was a big deal and I needed the money. I had maxed out my credit card paying Apollo hospital for my father's bye pass surgery. It was one swipe for 150,000 rupees, the single biggest thing I ever bought using my credit card. Also, my wife had just enrolled in college and had a lot of expenses related to it. I was hoping to pay it all, and go on a cruise towards the end of that winter.
The work was minimal. You need to round on patients who were on restraints and write a note every 8 hours. In between, you can sleep. In the doctor's room there was a TV with basic cable. We did not have cable at home. A night call from 5 PM to 8 AM will bring in an easy $840. Imagine if you covered from Friday evening to Monday morning ($3528!). I was getting just about that much as my monthly salary. There were three of us and we fought for nights and weekends. We did all we could and worked at least once in three days but did not complain. We also made sure they did not hire anyone else. BTW, you should know that they were charging the government $80 per hour and the middleman took the difference of $24! It helps to have connections.
I generally go around 5, do the rounds for an hour or two, watch TV a bit and come home for dinner around 8 PM. I would eat and go back around 9, watch a movie or something before I sleep. They would wake me up around 4 or 5 AM to go for rounds or whenever there was a need. The doctor's room was inside the prison. This was actually a prison for mentally ill; meaning when a male prisoner became mentally ill in the entire state prison system, they sent him over to this place. Most of the patients were genuinely ill but there were a lot of people who were manipulators and cutters whom we call patients with personality disorders.
While in India, I was skeptical about the personality disorder diagnosis such as borderline personality disorder. These are the people who threaten to kill themselves if you ignore them and they constantly elicit strong feelings from you - both positive and negative. They can be dramatic, manipulative and attention seeking. You see a lot of them in the mental health system in the USA. In India, I believe they are 'treated' differently because of the cultural differences and so show up in the clinic less often. However, recently when I was talking to a police officer in India about this he causally remarked that this (cutting the wrist) is common among the 'accused' (prison population). A cousin of mine (UT, the playboy!) also told me that he had seen people who cut their wrist for love failure in his college. I never hear of cutters in college. Those guys drank and we joined them happily in sympathy.
Anyways, in the jail, the doctor would stay in his quarters and if and when he is needed, a guard will call on the phone and tell you that he or an occasional she, is coming, come to the door, open it from the outside and escort you to the patients' cells. He would also bring you back, open your room and let you in before locking it from outside. Stop. Don't imagine a cell with iron bars, a folding bed with a small stainless steel toilet. No. This is a small bungalow with a bed room and a comfortable toilet. There was not a single night I stayed up all night and worked. I spent a lot of time researching to buy a computer for my wife and watched a lot of TV. My friend Bob Kaiser commented that we were getting paid to pick our noses.
I became friends with some of the guards. There was a young black man, very fit and stunningly handsome. He was such a sweetheart and was very friendly. He and I talked about cars all the time. I learned a lot from him about suspension, steering etc. He was a runner and ate healthy (The only brother I knew who ate sprouted moong dal). He would gently tease me for smoking. There was another guard I was friends with. This was a white man in his fifties or may be sixty named John something, worked in the system for a long time. He liked me very much and we used to take smoke breaks together. He was always curious about me, my family and India. He would ask about 3 year old Adhi every time he sees me. If he was on duty, he was the default guard for me. I very much enjoyed the friendship, conversations and the respect. They were very nice to me, shared their sodas and advised me on this or that and told me stories from the jail.
I got used to the routine quickly. It was easy and actually too easy. There was very little thinking and only rarely, I felt bad to wake up early morning and go around the campus in cold weather. Most of the patients posed no problems and there was no threat from them. Once, a patient looked at me across the iron bars and told me in a dramatic manner, almost like a lawyer on a TV show "doctor, you give me some injection, some thing happens to me and if I die, it is OK. But, what if I do not die and end up with a severe paralysis?" "I will sue you, you will lose your license, job, house and end up homeless. Is that OK?" Although I was a bit annoyed and irritated and even scared a bit, I don't know why I just looked at him and told him "The state of Michigan authorizes me to give you an injection if I need to." I hoped that he did not notice my voice croaking and hoped he did not escalate. He just shut up and took the pill.
One day around 11 PM or so, I was called to address a situation. There was a new patient, transferred from a prison several hours away that day. They have a system about taking new patients. When they accept a new patient, they make sure the patient arrives late afternoon. The evening doctor needs to see the patient and accept the admission. This is also a way to make sure the patient is OK. This new patient locked himself inside his cell and barricaded with sheets. He somehow managed to jam the lock from inside with pieces of a broken pen. He covered the security window on the steel door with pieces of bed sheet and threatened to kill himself.
As I arrived, people moved away from the door as if I was going to open the door Moses parting the Red Sea. I had no choice but engage the patient. As I started talking to him, the situation slowly turned to be my problem as if I was the leader from FBI who took charge of the situation. OK, I am the doctor and he is the patient but what we have is not exactly a medical situation but a security situation. I kept talking to the patient in a lame voice as I tried to suppress my insecurity and tried to present myself as if I had things under control. He did not give a damn. I tried the standard negotiation technique of diverting him and bargaining with him on a smaller unrelated stuff. "Let us talk about it" "I can help you" and so on. He was a bit more respectful to me and did not call me an asshole or tell me to fuck off like he did to the guards. Being a doctor has some perks I guess.
This was going on for more than an hour. The patient had a torn sheet hung from the door going around his neck and he was trying to tighten the noose by walking in circles and turning around himself (we could peak through a gap in the window and the sheet). There were 10 or 12 guards, all speaking on the wireless holding their right hand on the belt. The did not have guns inside but it is a habit I guess. As it was escalating, suddenly the door opened, all the guards swarmed in pushed the patient on the floor, restrained him and I happily gave an order for haloperidol and ativan. A nurse followed up with the shot right away. I still don't know how this guard managed to open the door. I even asked him to explain but I did not get it. He told me that he took a long stick and put it through the window from the outside and did something to un-jam the door. Whatever!
The patient was fine and slowly dozed off from the sedation. We sent him in an ambulance to a nearby emergency room to get checked out for physical damages from the hanging attempt. Protocol!
Couple of interesting things here. There was a tall, slim, young female nurse, with a hourglass figure and a flat stomach. She always wore tight fitting clothes announcing, enhancing and pronouncing her cleavage and other curve-ages all the time, especially when she bent over to give injections. While you can not blame God for blessing her with full size, upturned breasts, one wonders about the choice of cloths in the setting.
The guards told me all kinds of stories. There was a lawsuit by an inmate for psychological damages sustained from a nurse (not our fine lady above) who aborted his baby and there was a different nurse somewhere north of here who took helicopter lessons and crash landed in the yard of a prison trying to rescue her lover she met in the prison. Love is stupid too. Happy valentine's day!
As we were celebrating our success of subduing this patient and congratulating ourselves for saving his life, John screamed 'emergency' from the east wing. The prison was built like an upside down T with the nurse's station in the middle. We all ran to the room where he was. He was hugging and holding a guy who was hanging from the top edge of the door with a sheet. He was very young, 19 year old, pale short, thin feminine who was known to be the famous 'cutter'. He had a severe personality disorder and had tried to kill himself more than 100 times. He always cried and complained for attention and behaved like a teenage girl in love. But this seemed to be a serious hanging attempt. He was breathing and conscious but had turned blue a bit and had a deep bruise in his neck that looked strikingly purple on his pale skin.
We gave him oxygen, called an ambulance. Everybody was appreciative of John's presence of mind. He was the most experienced guard in the group. He said, whenever there is a commotion, you look for a fight to breakout or something else to happen. You always need to do a roll call. Even if we all understood it and were aware of it, John had the presence of mind to go around checking while we were still gloating the first patient with proud smile on our faces. The second patient would have died, had John not look for him or had he gone five minutes later.
So, again we called an ambulance and packed this guy to the ER. Again, there was a lock in, roll call and the guards checked all the cells meticulously to avoid another one. Now as we were recapping or re-gloating and congratulating John for his presence of mind and for the fact that he saved a life, a nurse (not the curvaceous one) came to me and said she was not feeling OK. She said, all these commotion stressed her out and her diabetes was 'acting up'. She seemed to be drowsy and unsteady. Another nurse helped her sit in a chair, checked her vitals and blood sugar. It was normal but as this was going on right in front of all of us, she 'collapsed' and slid down on the floor. She fell with a thud and appeared to become unconscious or semiconscious. For some reason, it looked like she was a bit careful not to injure herself while falling unconscious. May be I was imagining.
We called an ambulance and sent her to the same emergency room. The difference was, we made sure her insurance would pay for it. She confirmed that this particular ER was OK.
Everybody needs some attention once in a while.
The worst thing about the job was that someone in the government realized that they are spending too much money, reneged the contract (from the middleman who made $24 every hour on us) and they decided that the day docs would do the night call among themselves. While the gig lasted only 6 weeks or so, I made about $1800, paid of the credit card, paid for my wife's college. We did not go for the cruise.