But if anything, I am very glad Wimbledon has a “no tie breaker in the 5th set” rule. In fact, this match shows why no Grand Slam tennis tournament should ever have a 5th set tie-break. It would have been very unfair if Roger had won the 5th set also on a tie-break, without breaking Andy’s serve even once.

First, there were those votes for the lizard people.

Pic courtesy NPR

Then there were those who wanted to make it clear they were holding their nose and voting for Franken.

Courtesy NPR

Then there were those who preferred Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck to anyone else.

Courtesy NPR

And finally, the ones who couldn’t make up their mind even on election day.

Courtesy NPR

The recount, and the legal challenges dragged on for more than seven months. All of which brings me to my question – do you think something like this can happen in India?

Do people in India ever vote purposely for fictional candidates and invalidate their vote? I know even the poor in India know the value of their vote – they are more likely to barter their vote for a color TV or a sari, but throw it away? The only argument that one can make for throwing your vote is – if you fear rigging and worry that someone else may cast your vote if you don’t. That was not even the issue here.

And then how does one vote for one candidate and then change their mind immediately? You’d think someone who makes the effort to come to the polling booth and stand in line would have decided whom to vote for.

It is funny how literacy has no correlation to voting – even the most illiterate people in India have decided opinions on whom to vote for, and know the value of their vote. While on the other hand, educated, middle-class people have low voting turnouts in the cities.

I also cannot imagine a recount process lasting seven months. That alone seems so wasteful and inefficient. Has such a long drawn out recount (or similar electoral challenge) happened in India, does anyone know?

A few hours later, I looked out again, feeling very self-congratulatory and expecting to see a lush green lawn again.  This time I got a nasty shock.  There were some twenty yellow flowers in the front lawn.  I rushed to look into the backyard.  Yes, there were another twenty odd flowers in the backyard too!  (There were more in the sides of the house too, I ended up weeding around fifty of them).

No, these didn’t grow magically in a few hours (although I shall not rush to discount that possibility, these are wicked sorcerers).  The plants had just been hiding under the blades of the grass.

Later, when I went to weed them, I realized that some of them had lurked just inches away from where I rested the previous day, declaring victory on the War on Weeds.  No doubt they had pointed their leaves at me and laughed. Or perhaps they sneered.

The birds in my garden love the dandelions.  I love the birds in my garden.  But I fail to see how you can then turn around and say, logically then, I should love the dandelions.  That’s not logic at all.

The other issue with the War on Weeds is that I have to fight it on two fronts.  There are the Dandelions, and then there are the Canada Thistles.  The thistles have pretty flowers too, pink ones that all you dandelion-lovers would no doubt love.  I dread the thistles much more than the dandelions.  The thistles not only have tap roots like the dandelions, they also have prickly leaves, and they can grow more than six feet tall.  And they simply invade my lawn near the rushes.

The thistles are now threatening to take over my precious perennial bed, and  I can see I have to devote all my resources to fighting them first.  The perennial bed will be the easier battle.  Getting them to realize that I don’t need them as a border to my lawn is going to be much harder.  I can see them now, marching in lines at the end of my lawn.  Soon there will be bright pink flowers and puffball seeds that waft slowly in the wind, and after that, I might as well brig out the white flag.

Dandelions still grow in my yard.  Like that army in Macbeth that lay concealed in Birnam Wood, my dandelions are hiding in the grass.  They will come forward soon, and start an attack all over again.  Meanwhile, I am keeping a look out every day for the next yellow flower.  And the first pink one.

Sometimes I wonder at my weeding out a pretty yellow flower to make way for a lawn that doesn’t have any decent flowers, that drinks up fertilizer and weedicide and hundreds of gallons of water. But I look out at the green lawns beside mine, and the moment passes.  All I can say is, at least I have that moment.

So perhaps it’s not that much of a surprise that my own yard is overrun with the yellow weeds.  But then, you see, it doesn’t matter if the rest of the city is dandelioned, all that matters is my neighbors’ yards, and remarkably, you cannot see a single dandelion in their manicured lushness.

At least the Chinese neighbor’s yard has the occasional dandelion, though these are swiftly pulled up by the neighbor’s old father (whom I shall henceforth refer to as Grandpa).  But I have never seen a single dandelion grow in the yards of my American neighbors.  Nor have I ever seen them weeding in the yard.  I wonder what the secret is – how does their garden grow with no dandelions and no crab-grass (even if there aren’t pretty maids all in a row)?

My own lawn has shrugged off the pre-emergent fertilizer we applied assiduously.  It was supposed to prevent crabgrass and dandelions, but the weeds never got the memo.  The weeds also treat all the weed-killer sprays I applied like so much air freshener.   Some dandelions had the grace to wilt for a day, but others just looked a little annoyed, and they all burst into flower again.

Obviously, they have declared war.  So the other day I bought a new weapon, the dandelion remover.  This removes the dandelion by the roots.  Well, in theory.  When I saw this in the garden store, I had visions of pulling up dandelions with intact long tap roots that branched off into numerous fibrous roots, somewhat reminiscent of the pictures I remembered from long ago high school botany.

It turned out, though, that pulling up dandelions is a Skill.  There are many variables like Angle of weeder, Distance of weeder from dandelion, Moisture content of soil, Type of soil and of course, Size of dandelion.  One could almost do a PhD thesis on this.

I take that back.  Why almost? One can definitely do a long-term research on this – if one can do a 3 year, £300,000 study to prove, pretty much,  that ducks like water.

But back to my dandelions.  I am still nowhere close to pulling dandelions by the roots, though I have grown from pulling off the shoots to actually removing an inch or so of  root.  A few times I even improbably pulled up a whole plant, and waved it around like a trophy.  Unfortunately, no one was watching.

In a couple of hours, I had cleared the front and the back yard of dandelions, at least the ones in flower.  I had won the War On Weeds!

I sat in the shade, congratulating myself and taking pictures of the last dandelion.  Grandpa kept me company, pulling up more dandelions and planting something.   As I watch him pull yet another yellow flower out, a part of my mind wondered about the fact that Grandpa had been pulling up dandelions for days or even weeks now.  Shouldn’t his yard be weed-free already?  Did that mean the dandelions would come back in my lawn too then?

But I told myself that I was being silly.  Surely Grandpa was doing it all wrong and not removing the roots.  That foot-operated thingy he had must not be the right tool.  He was making it look so easy too, and here I was in imminent danger of dislocating my shoulder.  No, he had only himself to blame.  My dandelions wouldn’t come back.

Those are some of the questions I have been pondering over for the last few days.

Consider the case of Daniel Hauser – a thirteen year old boy who is suffering from Hodgkin’s lymphoma.  Apparently, with chemotherapy and radiation, Hodgkin’s lymphoma is curable more than 80% of the time.  But chemotherapy can be really painful, and I am not surprised that a 13 year old boy rebels at undergoing it.  What’s more surprising is that his parents should agree with him.  After one round of chemo, Danny’s parents decided to stop treatment and are now pursuing alternative treatment consisting of some American Indian tradition called Nemenhah, which supposedly has cures for AIDS and cancer.

The doctor who was treating Danny alerted the authorities, and soon a judge ruled that Daniel Hauser must get medical treatment – i.e. chemotherapy.  Authorities are now searching for Daniel and Colleen Hauser, his mother, both of whom have fled their home.

Over at Science Blogs, Respectful Insolence seems to think that the issue is not even religion but irrational beliefs of the parent(s) who use religion as a crutch.

I completely agree that Colleen Hauser is very unwise to seek alternative medical treatment for Hodgkins lymphoma, given that chemotherapy has a high probability of curing this cancer.

Having said that, this story raises a lot of questions in my mind about the precedents it sets.

1.  What if the disease had not been Hodgkins lymphoma but some other form of cancer like, say, pancreatic cancer?  About 80% of people diagnosed with pancreatic cancer die within a year despite treatment.  In such a case, isn’t it understandable if such patients forego any treatment, or forego chemotherapy for other alternatives?  So then, is there one law for one form of cancer and another for a less curable one?

2.  Can doctors break the patient-doctor confidentiality and alert authorities if patients stop treatment at their hospital? How did this doctor know for certain they hadn’t gone to another hospital anyway?  Did he do a nationwide/worldwide search of hospitals?

3.  What forms of medicine are considered  “treatment”?  Is allopathy the only form that is acceptable?  If this had been a disease where allopathy didn’t have a high success rate, would it be wrong to try homeopathy or ayurveda?  Continuing with my pancreatic cancer example, if allopathy offers a 5% chance of surviving for 5 years, and another alternative treatment offers the same chance, is one inferior to the other?  Especially if say, treatment with allopathy is very painful and homeopathy is not ?

4.   Is considering alternative medical treatment against the law? How can a court rule that one has to take a certain form of medical treatment?

So, dear readers, what do you think of all this?

Do you think something like this can happen in India ? I believe that there is more tolerance for alternative medical treatments in India, am I right?

Judging by the various projectiles you are hurling at me, I realize it may not be such a good idea to mention temperatures.

So let’s talk flowers.   The crocus bulbs I planted 2 years ago (and gave up on last year) finally decided to show up.  This was completely unexpected, as not a single one of them had even put out shoots last year.  No doubt they had a midwinter meeting under the mulch where they all decided to grow this year.  The flowers seem to last only a few days, though, so I missed most of them.  Here is one I did catch in full bloom:

The crocuses were an unexpected bonus, but there were more surprises.  Do you remember last year’s tulips? I had not expected them to come up again this year, but they seem to have other ideas.   They have all come out in full force, and have even started blooming.  Other flowers too, you’ll notice, are blooming in my lawn – dandelions.  I need to bring out the weed killer spray.

The tulips and crocuses are lovely surprises, but what about the daffodils I planted last year? I worried all through winter that my resident voles would have the bulbs for winter dinners.  I was sure I’d see mini campfires at night and voles singing voleheartedly while they feasted.

But the voles have disappeared.  No lawn circles this year, and no bulb feasts either, as far as I can see.   Still, the daffodils are taking their time.  It’s amazing how fast some of them have grown, while there are others which are just piercing the mulch.

Here’s one of the early blooms.  As you can see from a look at the lower petal of this flower, the insects, at least are already in force.

So that’s the latest news from the Garden Update Dept.  I will post more pictures of the backyard perennial bed later.  And then there is the tomato forest that is overtaking the basement.  I am sure I can soon start shooting documentaries for National Geographic and Discovery in my basement.  Doubtless there are all kinds of animals hiding in that tomato forest.

“I am worried about this swine flu that’s going around,” I told him.

The doctor backed away and hurriedly put on a face mask.

“Have you been to Mexico recently ?”, he asked me, speaking through his mask. “Have you come in contact with any infected person?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that”,  I assured him.  “But everyone’s talking about it, and every time I read the alarmist newspaper headlines I panic.  Or at least I can see they want me to panic, even when they are asking me not to.”

“Oh, is that all?”, he said, removing his mask. “Yes, of course you should not panic..”

“And I sneezed three times yesterday,” I continued.  “I thought it was pollen, but..”

“You should buy a mask”, he said urgently.  “We sell them at the pharmacy for $25 each.”

I hesitated.  “But will a mask really protect me from the virus?  Aren’t viruses microscopic particles? Can’t they easily pass through the mask?”

“Well, for $25 you can’t get virus protection,” he sneered. “All you’ll get is the feeling that you are protected”.

I wanted to tell him that even my laptop was luckier, it could get virus protection for free.

“If you want reasonable protection”,  he continued, “you should buy our $150  mask, the N-95 respirator.  That will offer better protection.”

I did not know I had walked into a mask showroom.

“How much better protection?” I asked sceptically.

“Well, it will stop the swine virus 50% to 90% of the time.  Or maybe a little less than that, since those respirators were used for SARS, and this virus seems to even smaller than the SARS virus, but you know, it should certainly work 50% of the time.”

“But doctor, that’s a 50% chance I can get infected even with a mask! All I need is one virus to get infected !”

He looked at me for a moment as if sizing me up.  “If you want real protection, then you must buy our $500 HEPA filter mask”, he said.  “Like one of these,” he said, showing his own mask.  “They are the best.”

The mask covered nearly his whole face and made him look like he was about to go snorkeling any moment.

“Are they good?”, I asked, relieved. “I will wear them all day then.”

“Umm, that’s not possible,” he said, looking a little uncomfortable. “You can’t wear them more than fifteen minutes at a time.  After that, they cause extreme discomfort to the respiratory function.”

“You mean I will stop breathing?” I asked.

By now he was eyeing me in dislike. “No, unfortunately they can’t do that to you,” he said. “All they can try is make it inconvenient for you to breathe.  See, the mask’s job is try to prevent viruses from entering.  Breathing, or not, is your choice.    Tell me, which drug carries no side effects?”

I wondered if I was being too finicky in worrying about the side effects.

“Why don’t they just put these masks on the pigs ?”, I asked. “Then none of us will need to wear any masks.”

“Ah, but pigs don’t get swine flu,” the doctor said. “Only humans do.”

The clerk at the pharmacy smiled at me brightly as I came out of the doctor’s office.  “Have you decided which mask to buy?” she asked.

“No, I think I will not buy any mask for now, thanks,” I said, as I tried to back away towards the exit.

Her face became stern. “You have to wear some mask.  Any protection is better than no protection,” she said.  “Look at those young men,” she said, pointing to two men in ski masks who had just entered, and were walking towards her. “They are being wise.   If you don’t have a mask on, that is very risky.  You should be very afraid.”

I apologized again for taking grave risks, and turned to leave.  As I was leaving, I noticed that the men in ski masks were waving some object in the air.  I thought I heard the sales clerk scream.

But she had so many masks with her, she surely couldn’t be afraid.  She was probably screaming in joy.  Those wise masked men were probably offering to sell her their gun.  But I couldn’t wait to see how it all ended, I left.

P.S.  Read this Slate article on masks.

When I set off on vacation, my mind was still on the house, at least until I reached the airport. I didn’t worry about whether I had locked the front door, or whether I had switched off the gas. I worried about more improbable events, like whether a sudden severe thunderstorm would flood my basement, or whether I was wise to leave my dishwasher running – what if it suddenly decided to malfunction and flood my kitchen?

Flooding, as you can see, figured strongly in my worries. Lack of water did not.  So I certainly didn’t worry about my plants. I was leaving my plants for more than a week without water. Most of those plants were tender seedlings, and yet I did not worry.

In fact, in my mind, I had it all planned out. I didn’t have high hopes that my seedlings would survive anyway.

When I first announced to my friend A that I had bought 2 packs of tomato seeds, she was shocked.

“How many seeds did you buy?” she asked.

“Oh, one has 20 seeds of hybrid tomatoes, and the other has probably a hundred seeds of cherry tomatoes”, I said airily.

“Oh my god, don’t plant all of them!” she implored urgently. “Every single one of them will grow!”

This looked like a very good scenario, but I was less hopeful.  “No, not with my skills and my luck” ,  I assured her.  “I am sure half the seeds will never germinate, and then most of the seedlings will die mysteriously, and then there is always the good chance that I will forget to water them for a few days.  Given all this, I am assuming probably 2% of the seeds will survive.”

It was in this spirit that I set off for vacation.

I had planted the twenty hybrid seeds in individual seed containers.  The packet had promised twenty seeds, but I found there were actually twenty two seeds.  And the hundred or so cherry tomato seeds I just strew in a tray.  All these sat in my basement, near the large glass doors that brought in plenty of sunlight.

The seedlings came up  a few days before I left.  I watered whenever I remembered, and then, of course, they were on their own.

So when I came back, I had a good idea what to expect.  There would be a famine in my basement, I knew, and I would see some malnourished plants, and some unfortunate deaths.

But what do I find instead?  Rows and rows of healthy seedlings which seemed to have not missed me at all.  Beside them, the hibiscus shrub had even put out flowers!  You could see that not only was there no famine, the plants were probably partying in my absence.

This was very upsetting.  Now, I can understand if those tomato seedlings didn’t want to die, even though that upsets all my percentage probability plans.  I can even go so far as to forgive them for it.  But  couldn’t they have had the good grace to droop, or wilt, or look just a little uncomfortable?

Do they have to look fresh and cheerful, and put out multiple leaves?  Do they all have to germinate?

At a glance, I could see that twenty one of the twenty two hybrid tomatoes had come up.  This was awful.  But I also found myself wondering what had happened to the twenty second seed.   I was vaguely disappointed it hadn’t come up as well, but on the whole I was inclined to like it for staying away.

A few days later, when I started replanted the seedlings in larger pots, I found the twenty second one too – there were two seedlings in one container.  (Can you spot the container with 2 seedlings in the picture? Tell me which one it is. )

Then there are the hundred cherry tomato seedlings.  Yes, all those seeds have germinated too, or at least that’s what it looks like – I have certainly not tried counting them.  My basement now resembles a miniature tomato forest.

But I am fortunate for now – they are still seedlings.  I wonder how I am going to be able to manage them when they grow older.  Will I need a hundred and twenty two pots for the tomatoes?  How long before they outgrow the pots?  I am having anxiety attacks already.

There’s nothing else to be done, I will need to dig a vegetable patch for them in the backyard.

Folks, it looks like Twisted Ankle and Busted Back will be back in action this summer.

Instead, I was mystified to find that I didn’t understand large swathes of the movie. The story seemed to start somewhere in the middle, and new characters popped up all over the place with no explanation. While I had no idea how these people were and how they were all related, everyone else in the movie seemed to welcome them like long-lost friends.

The only other time this sort of thing happens is if the movie is an adaptation of a book. Usually, in such cases, I would have read the book, and would be loudly protesting that key scenes have been removed. The LOTR DVD set has been lying around for years now, and the only time I watched Part 1, I was indignant at all the scenes that were never shot.

But back to Pirates. The story seemed to move ahead in Brownian motion, and soon we found ourselves combating randomness with randomness. We started watching it in fast forward-pause-watch-fast forward mode. This seemed to work very well.

Until they introduced a guy with kohl rimmed eyes and dreadlocks who seemed to be talking to twenty versions of himself.

“This is Capt. Jack Sparrow”, I said confidently, with the air of an expert. I had, you see, read the back of the DVD cover.

Capt. Jack Sparrow is a fascinating character, as you’ll agree (since I’m sure you’ve all watched Pirates long ago). I could see that he had a lot of time at sea to do his eye make-up. He also had a lot of time to launder his shirts, which is how his shirts were such a pristine white. Unfortunately, his razors, if he owned any, must have all rusted at sea, which is why he had that unkempt goatee.

The movie did have a very nice ending which would have made any Bollywood movie proud. Sunsets were involved, and so were reunions with family, there were magical special effects and even sepia tones. The kind of perfect ending that would be a sequel writer’s nightmare.

But the rest of the movie seemed like a whodunit where you try to figure out where the story is buried.

I was very puzzled that this movie became such a hit. Why did it run for so long? What was I missing?

So I went off to read the New York Times review of the movie, and the reader reviews.

It was then that I had the Big Revelation. I realized that there was more than one “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie. There had, in fact, been three of them. Two had released in consecutive years.

Okay, you can all stop laughing now. How was I to know?

So I went back to take a really close look at the DVD cover. Sure enough, there it was, again in very small letters. “At World’s End”.

I hadn’t seen those letters before, a fact that will not surprise you anymore. But even if I had, I doubt it would have meant anything to me at that time.

But now I knew. Not only were there three Pirates movies, but I had somehow managed to borrow the last one. Not only was this the last, but according to reviews, easily the worst.

Anyway, now I know the story ends. Sometime in the future, when I go to the library, I hope to find out how it all began.

But from now onwards, I know that a library card alone is not enough to borrow DVDs. I need to arm myself with a magnifying lens.

If you are thinking that lightning struck, or the DVD player crashed and burned, or that it simply failed to work – having atrophied from disuse,  well, all these look likely scenarios, and could have happened to anyone.  Nothing of that sort happened though, but they could well have, in an alternate universe, or even if I was having a bad day.

But the DVD player worked smoothly, as if it had been doing this sort of thing every day.  And yet I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong.

I knew that Robin Hood was an old movie, dating back to sometime in the early nineties. Two decades old, and probably some of the readers of this blog had not even started school back then.   But surely, even back in those old days, movies were made in color?   Why did this look like a remastered B&W movie?  And wasn’t Kevin Costner supposed to be Robin Hood?  Who was this guy with the curly, blond hair and bright green frock-coats?  Someone in the remastering section obviously liked color. Not content with bright green frock-coats, he had settled on an even brighter red cloak.   With that color combination, and given that he seemed to be forever perched on a tree in the Sherwood Forest, he looked like a very handsome parrot, although I prefer my parrots to be smaller sized.

Gradwolf and Kalafudra came close, though even they were decades away.  I was not watching “Robin Hood: Men in Tights“, circa 1993.  But they were right, I was certainly not watching the DVD of  Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves (circa 1991) that I had thought I had borrowed.

I  was actually watching “The Adventures of Robin Hood” circa 1938, starring Errol Flynn and Olivia de  Havilland.   (The same one that Shambu remembers).  These, apparently are not even the only Robin Hood movies produced, as IMDB will tell you. Obviously, they have been producing one Robin Hood movie a day with the express purpose of confusing me.

I took a closer look at the DVD cover and realized that it did say “The Adventures of”  but in font size 3.  Still, you’d say, how could you not see that guy on the cover did not look anything like Kevin Costner?   That’s true, I realize now, he doesn’t, but you tend not to be particular about how Kevin Costner looks like when you are juggling an armful of books.  If he wanted to wear bright green caps with feathers that looked like cat’s tails and dye his hair in two colors, who was I to object?

The movie, at any rate, was hilarious.  Of course, the green frock-coat (or frock? or skirt?) would have been quite adequate to provide the hilarity, but as it turns out, there was much more.  I ended up congratulating myself on a good find.  Sadly, this might mean that no lessons on reading small fonts have been learnt.

Then, a few weeks later, after multiple online renewals, I finally got around to watching the other DVD I had borrowed – the “Pirates of the Caribbean” one.  I was pretty sure I was going to love this one..

But did I?  What do you think happened this time?

(To be continued)