Now how do I sum up my first year at college in half a thousand words? Is that humanly possible? Well…. A big NO…. and I am not going to venture to do anything like that!
“Brave are those who strive when victory is certain and the really brave are those who strive even when defeat is certain.” A quote that really ashamed me… Still I am fine with being just brave… There’s no way I can do it… no… No…NO…
Hey, I am not going to do it… don’t read any further… stop I say… Stop…STOP!
Okay, damn you people… still want to read?
Well then, your wish… I am going to attempt futilely to sum up my first year at college in half a thousand words! No… not 500 words from here onwards… this post has to be 500 words in toto! It’s an oath I have taken… don’t bother to ask me what, why, when, where, how!!!!! Am I irritating you? Well, you deserve it, don’t you? For venturing into the unknown! I told you I am not doing it… still you wanted to know just what I am going to do. Why I ask!
But first things first! Now it’s your duty and obligation (by ‘you’ I honour the brave who risked their safety, ventured into the unknown and decided to read on) to let those people who were timid enough not to read any further (after the 3 stops I intentionally put to filter out the cowardly) that I am not just brave but also really brave. Please let those good-for-nothings know this!
And one more thing guys! This is really an order. Don’t even dare to discuss what I write beyond this point with any living soul. No you won’t be doomed or cursed, but one never knows what may happen in the next second. So remain alert even if you are discussing about this post with inanimate objects! No, I don’t want to scare away the brave. Never! Just warning you!
Ha! Ha! Guys, take it light. I am just joking. You don’t even need copyrights to publish this thing! But I do hope you won’t take the liberty to do so without taking my permission. That’s not advisable or acceptable. (Did you just say “who wants to publish this damned thing!”? Well then, just get out of my blog space. You don’t have a right to be here. Understood?)
What should I write about? I don’t wish to write about the rather forgettable experiences with my roomie or to write about the unforgettable grub. I have no intention to write about the forgettable physics courses or to write about the unforgettable founder’s day programme. Forgive me but I am in no mood to write about my first ever single digit score or about the exhilarating Jaipur trip I went on. Not about the delight of joining the zealous department of art and decoration. Not about the college fests Oasis and Apogee. Not about the innumerable treats and farewells. And not even about my friends and foes!
You know what! I am going to be a senior very soon… Ah! Let my college reopen after these hols… And then I can rag those stupid loony narrow-minded juvenile brutes! The first thing I am gonna ask them to do… rather not to do… is…not to attempt to sum up their first year at college in half a thousand words! Because that’s not humanly possible… And they are not gods! Nor am I one… nor are you one!
Hey, but go ahead… check it out! This is a 500 word affair as promised!
What? Aha! So you did think I will keep my promise!
I did... but I fooled you… it’s a 500 from the word 'onwards'!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
A delicious surprise!
“Just sit!” my cousin blurted out. “We are getting late!”
I am not a girlie type girl but obviously I do take a little more time than my brother to get ready. But he won’t listen, never! Always blames me for all kinds of delay. This particular day, he was taking me somewhere on his bike- I say somewhere because I really had no idea where to, he was unwilling to disclose anything about our venture!
“It’s a surprise for you! Something to fill your stomach!” is all he committed to.
Well, for me, something to fill the stomach is a great incentive- you can lure me to hell with that! And travelling nearly 10 km on a bike at 4 on a hot summer afternoon is something that needs good incentives!
“Thank God! We reached in time!” My cousin looked relieved. I looked around. We hadn’t really reached anywhere- we were standing on the ring road and accompanying us were 4 cars, 8 bikes, 2 rickshaws and 5 bicycles. All the people were waiting- for what I had no idea. Some spectacle? I was getting anxious and fidgety. And my brother wasn’t helping matters! What were we doing here- sweating it out under the hot sun? I looked suspiciously at my brother. Had he lost his mind? Had all these people here lost their minds?
And then, two men arrived on a bike with big pots. All the people who had lost their minds, smiled. The older of the 2 men was very old- nearing 70 I should say; his face had been softened by age and sweat. The other man was middle-aged and stern. He laid out a cloth on the footpath and placed the pots on it. People madly crowded around them, pushing and pulling others.
“I am not going in there,” I told my brother.
“Don’t worry, I am!”
When he finally came out, dodging magnificently to avoid bruises and blows, he had 2 leaf-plates in his hands. And in those leaf-plates was my favourite Katki food.
“The old man, his name is Rabi, he is the one who started this business in this city! Some celebrity he is now…His son will soon take over from him.” my bro informed.
In 20 minutes, the place cleared. The 2 men were ready to leave- their business done for the day!
Have you ever been to Cuttack? Well, for a casual tourist, Cuttack is definitely not a paradise- no great tourist spot it is. Flanked by the Mahanadi and Kathajodi rivers on two sides, Cuttack is a crowded city in Orissa. With no real scope for expansion and development (unlike Bhubaneshwar) owing to limited space, Cuttack is all set to get worse! More cramped, more gullies, more pollution! Stinking drains is probably what it’s known for amongst those who, well, those who don’t know what Cuttack actually is. For a pure-bred Katki, Katak/ Cuttack is heaven! And even though I haven’t been brought up in Cuttack in the real sense, it’s Cuttack where I have spent all my summer vacations and enjoyed every single moment there! I love everything about the place. As we enter Cuttack’s bounds, the bridge, the ‘sometimes’ clear waters of the two rivers, the fresh fish and prawns, the rather ramshackle toll booth (which has closed down recently), the humble park right beside the bridge which boasts of a great number of flowers in the winters- every thing’s unique. The magnificent ring road, the numerous temples (big and small), the Durga puja pandals, the beautiful idols and the ‘chandi (silver) meddhas’ and the procession before their immersion (Durga puja is really the time to be at Cuttack!), even the dilapidated roads in the main city which get flooded during rains and the stinking drains- every little thing has a place in the hearts of all Katkis! (I am not a Katki, but very near it.) Cuttack celebrates every day, there’s a different aura around the place. But the one thing (if we must isolate one) that Cuttack really boasts of is it’s “Dahi vada and aloo dum”!
And that’s what all those people who had lost their minds had come for: the tastiest “Dahi vada and aloo dum” in the city! The dahi vada melt in my mouth, the red (well, they do take the liberty to add colour) spicy aloo dum made my mouth and eyes equally watery. Those who think it’s too hot and spicy, well damn them- they don’t have a taste! Moreover, the vendor gives you more dahi if your tongue’s sizzling…
There must be some hundred such vendors in Cuttack, perhaps even more. Since we can’t go 10km every day to enjoy a treat at Rabi’s roadside ‘restaurant’, we settle for the vendors who offer home delivery! “Thak thak! Khat khat!” they bang on the pots with large spoons, moving around on their bicycles in the gullies. And just how much my ears love that sound, I can’t express. It’s like music to my ears. I run towards it, sometimes even barefoot! And several others do the same.
I don’t know what the Cuttack vendors put in it but the taste is different, unique! No matter how hard my mom tries, mind you she is an excellent cook, yet she fails to create the same magic. Of the few things that attract Katkis living outside to Cuttack, Dahi vada and aloo dum is one delicious reason! Every real Katki will agree with me, won't you?
I am not a girlie type girl but obviously I do take a little more time than my brother to get ready. But he won’t listen, never! Always blames me for all kinds of delay. This particular day, he was taking me somewhere on his bike- I say somewhere because I really had no idea where to, he was unwilling to disclose anything about our venture!
“It’s a surprise for you! Something to fill your stomach!” is all he committed to.
Well, for me, something to fill the stomach is a great incentive- you can lure me to hell with that! And travelling nearly 10 km on a bike at 4 on a hot summer afternoon is something that needs good incentives!
“Thank God! We reached in time!” My cousin looked relieved. I looked around. We hadn’t really reached anywhere- we were standing on the ring road and accompanying us were 4 cars, 8 bikes, 2 rickshaws and 5 bicycles. All the people were waiting- for what I had no idea. Some spectacle? I was getting anxious and fidgety. And my brother wasn’t helping matters! What were we doing here- sweating it out under the hot sun? I looked suspiciously at my brother. Had he lost his mind? Had all these people here lost their minds?
And then, two men arrived on a bike with big pots. All the people who had lost their minds, smiled. The older of the 2 men was very old- nearing 70 I should say; his face had been softened by age and sweat. The other man was middle-aged and stern. He laid out a cloth on the footpath and placed the pots on it. People madly crowded around them, pushing and pulling others.
“I am not going in there,” I told my brother.
“Don’t worry, I am!”
When he finally came out, dodging magnificently to avoid bruises and blows, he had 2 leaf-plates in his hands. And in those leaf-plates was my favourite Katki food.
“The old man, his name is Rabi, he is the one who started this business in this city! Some celebrity he is now…His son will soon take over from him.” my bro informed.
In 20 minutes, the place cleared. The 2 men were ready to leave- their business done for the day!
Have you ever been to Cuttack? Well, for a casual tourist, Cuttack is definitely not a paradise- no great tourist spot it is. Flanked by the Mahanadi and Kathajodi rivers on two sides, Cuttack is a crowded city in Orissa. With no real scope for expansion and development (unlike Bhubaneshwar) owing to limited space, Cuttack is all set to get worse! More cramped, more gullies, more pollution! Stinking drains is probably what it’s known for amongst those who, well, those who don’t know what Cuttack actually is. For a pure-bred Katki, Katak/ Cuttack is heaven! And even though I haven’t been brought up in Cuttack in the real sense, it’s Cuttack where I have spent all my summer vacations and enjoyed every single moment there! I love everything about the place. As we enter Cuttack’s bounds, the bridge, the ‘sometimes’ clear waters of the two rivers, the fresh fish and prawns, the rather ramshackle toll booth (which has closed down recently), the humble park right beside the bridge which boasts of a great number of flowers in the winters- every thing’s unique. The magnificent ring road, the numerous temples (big and small), the Durga puja pandals, the beautiful idols and the ‘chandi (silver) meddhas’ and the procession before their immersion (Durga puja is really the time to be at Cuttack!), even the dilapidated roads in the main city which get flooded during rains and the stinking drains- every little thing has a place in the hearts of all Katkis! (I am not a Katki, but very near it.) Cuttack celebrates every day, there’s a different aura around the place. But the one thing (if we must isolate one) that Cuttack really boasts of is it’s “Dahi vada and aloo dum”!
And that’s what all those people who had lost their minds had come for: the tastiest “Dahi vada and aloo dum” in the city! The dahi vada melt in my mouth, the red (well, they do take the liberty to add colour) spicy aloo dum made my mouth and eyes equally watery. Those who think it’s too hot and spicy, well damn them- they don’t have a taste! Moreover, the vendor gives you more dahi if your tongue’s sizzling…
There must be some hundred such vendors in Cuttack, perhaps even more. Since we can’t go 10km every day to enjoy a treat at Rabi’s roadside ‘restaurant’, we settle for the vendors who offer home delivery! “Thak thak! Khat khat!” they bang on the pots with large spoons, moving around on their bicycles in the gullies. And just how much my ears love that sound, I can’t express. It’s like music to my ears. I run towards it, sometimes even barefoot! And several others do the same.
I don’t know what the Cuttack vendors put in it but the taste is different, unique! No matter how hard my mom tries, mind you she is an excellent cook, yet she fails to create the same magic. Of the few things that attract Katkis living outside to Cuttack, Dahi vada and aloo dum is one delicious reason! Every real Katki will agree with me, won't you?
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The article that was not to be
I woke up in the morning, quite excited, full of beans! I was, of course, thrilled about undertaking my first true assignment – I was to visit the dwelling of my mausi’s housemaid in Delhi and to write my first ever article on a ‘hard-hitting true story’. A perfect script! It’s not like I am some journo or a freelancer or anything of that sort nor am I studying in that direction- I wanted to do it to get a feel of these sorts of things you see. For self-satisfaction or some similar philosophical thing which I am at a loss of words to explain but you do understand, don’t you? I obviously knew I would find the plight of the slum dwellers’ shocking and sorrowful: you know what I mean- all masala type things for the perfect article, things which overwhelm you with emotions! And when I did end my venture: shocked I was, but sorrowful I was not.
Chandrika, my mausi’s housemaid arrived around 8.30 in the morning. I had been able to convince her to turn up in the morning and take me to her home even though it was her off-day! I very well remember the expression on her face when I had mentioned my desire to see her home. Her face had lit up and I could read her mind -she exclaimed, “What an honour for me!!!” You know how important one feels in such instances! But the next moment she asked “Koi kahaani likhni hai kya?” And something like a “Tchah!” left my mouth! Someone else had also been to her house for the same reason? Now that belittled my idea and concept! Nevertheless, I decided to go forward with my little idea. After all, it’s the way the web of words is spun that creates the magic…
Her house was right at the heart of a small village (actually in the slums), which is some 4 km away from my mausi’s residence. The walk to her house was quite tiring for me ( not a great walker I am!) and I had already started feeling the heat. When she informed me that we had entered the village, well, I thought she must be joking because the houses were actually not small- and were pucca buildings. Must be, I thought, those of the landlords (though I knew you won’t generally find the typical village landlord in cities) or probably belonged to some contractors and small business men. Fancied images of Chandrika’s hut were still floating through my mind when she finally stopped in front of a shabby looking house. Yes, it was shabby but it was a pucca house! Now, that did not suit my scheme – I was expecting a thatched roof and mud walls! I was a bit disappointed but I consoled myself. I was, of course, oblivious to the shock that awaited me inside the hut if I can dare to call it so. The hut was even larger than it looked from outside.
The hut actually had two rooms plus a small kitchen and a lavatory- definitely not a small place to live in. Though the things were placed quite haphazardly and no great decorations adorned the walls, but the list of items in the room is quite long- a 21 inch colour TV, a refrigerator and (you can well imagine the colour of my face fading when I saw the next thing) a washing machine!!! “Yeh sab toh aaj kal ki zarooratein hain! Kharidne pade…” Chandrika explained.
Looking everywhere, I determinedly searched for the khatia with a sick mother lying on it, a very common scene in Hindi films that I was very confident of seeing with my own eyes! But alas, not even that! Chandrika’s mother was quite a healthy woman – what a sorrowful thing! She came out and greeted me with a hug. I was not able to reciprocate the warmth she showered on me because I had always wanted her to be a sick woman- really, circumstances can destroy even the most halcyon and philanthropic of souls, Samaritans like me! There was more to come. I have watched lots of Hindi movies that showcase village life and the plight of the villagers. If the mother wasn’t sick, the brother must be. Or somebody bed-ridden! And the family always needed money ‘unke ilaaj ke liye’ (for his/her treatment). Even on this point, Chandrika’s family disappointed me. Chandrika didn’t have a polio-ridden brother, not even a widowed sister-in-law. My hopes of writing a heart-touching article were vanishing into thin air. And when Chandrika declared that her husband worked as an auto-driver (and informed me on asking that he didn’t drink much and never beat her), my disappointment must have shown on my face. I hope you can understand my agony if I tell you that I almost felt like slapping Chandrika on her face but I actually felt worse. My head was reeling.
When Chandrika enthusiastically introduced me to the other members of her family- her 2 daughters (happily married and here with her for some puja), her son (studying in the 8th grade) and her sister-in-law(in a red saree and looking pretty and happy), I could take it no more. How much more can a nineteen-year-old take? They were all, I imagine, sardonically looking at me- mocking at me! I just rushed out of the house without waiting for the pleasantries to get over. My article on “the substandard conditions our housemaids live in” ended even before it had begun. A disappointing outing…
The next day Chandrika invited me to have dinner with them. I recoiled at the idea. I could well imagine what might happen if I did go. I would probably be served delicious Chole-bhature, which would turn into ashes in my mouth because that would be the last nail in the coffin of the perfect article, this could have been…
Chandrika, my mausi’s housemaid arrived around 8.30 in the morning. I had been able to convince her to turn up in the morning and take me to her home even though it was her off-day! I very well remember the expression on her face when I had mentioned my desire to see her home. Her face had lit up and I could read her mind -she exclaimed, “What an honour for me!!!” You know how important one feels in such instances! But the next moment she asked “Koi kahaani likhni hai kya?” And something like a “Tchah!” left my mouth! Someone else had also been to her house for the same reason? Now that belittled my idea and concept! Nevertheless, I decided to go forward with my little idea. After all, it’s the way the web of words is spun that creates the magic…
Her house was right at the heart of a small village (actually in the slums), which is some 4 km away from my mausi’s residence. The walk to her house was quite tiring for me ( not a great walker I am!) and I had already started feeling the heat. When she informed me that we had entered the village, well, I thought she must be joking because the houses were actually not small- and were pucca buildings. Must be, I thought, those of the landlords (though I knew you won’t generally find the typical village landlord in cities) or probably belonged to some contractors and small business men. Fancied images of Chandrika’s hut were still floating through my mind when she finally stopped in front of a shabby looking house. Yes, it was shabby but it was a pucca house! Now, that did not suit my scheme – I was expecting a thatched roof and mud walls! I was a bit disappointed but I consoled myself. I was, of course, oblivious to the shock that awaited me inside the hut if I can dare to call it so. The hut was even larger than it looked from outside.
The hut actually had two rooms plus a small kitchen and a lavatory- definitely not a small place to live in. Though the things were placed quite haphazardly and no great decorations adorned the walls, but the list of items in the room is quite long- a 21 inch colour TV, a refrigerator and (you can well imagine the colour of my face fading when I saw the next thing) a washing machine!!! “Yeh sab toh aaj kal ki zarooratein hain! Kharidne pade…” Chandrika explained.
Looking everywhere, I determinedly searched for the khatia with a sick mother lying on it, a very common scene in Hindi films that I was very confident of seeing with my own eyes! But alas, not even that! Chandrika’s mother was quite a healthy woman – what a sorrowful thing! She came out and greeted me with a hug. I was not able to reciprocate the warmth she showered on me because I had always wanted her to be a sick woman- really, circumstances can destroy even the most halcyon and philanthropic of souls, Samaritans like me! There was more to come. I have watched lots of Hindi movies that showcase village life and the plight of the villagers. If the mother wasn’t sick, the brother must be. Or somebody bed-ridden! And the family always needed money ‘unke ilaaj ke liye’ (for his/her treatment). Even on this point, Chandrika’s family disappointed me. Chandrika didn’t have a polio-ridden brother, not even a widowed sister-in-law. My hopes of writing a heart-touching article were vanishing into thin air. And when Chandrika declared that her husband worked as an auto-driver (and informed me on asking that he didn’t drink much and never beat her), my disappointment must have shown on my face. I hope you can understand my agony if I tell you that I almost felt like slapping Chandrika on her face but I actually felt worse. My head was reeling.
When Chandrika enthusiastically introduced me to the other members of her family- her 2 daughters (happily married and here with her for some puja), her son (studying in the 8th grade) and her sister-in-law(in a red saree and looking pretty and happy), I could take it no more. How much more can a nineteen-year-old take? They were all, I imagine, sardonically looking at me- mocking at me! I just rushed out of the house without waiting for the pleasantries to get over. My article on “the substandard conditions our housemaids live in” ended even before it had begun. A disappointing outing…
The next day Chandrika invited me to have dinner with them. I recoiled at the idea. I could well imagine what might happen if I did go. I would probably be served delicious Chole-bhature, which would turn into ashes in my mouth because that would be the last nail in the coffin of the perfect article, this could have been…
An ordeal...
(I wrote this thing 2 years back when I had just recovered from chicken pox... but I wasn't a blogger at that time... So now it comes...with some BITSian modifications)
Just out of the grasps of this terrible viral disease, I wonder what or who gave chicken pox its name! Was the chicken its first victim or did our scientists first find it in a chicken? Does eating chicken give you the chicken pox? Or is the name just a weird gift of our weird nomenclature department? I really don’t know and care just a trifle. However, it’s the disease itself, its symptoms and effects and the inefficiency of the medicines that actually worry me. What else can you expect from one who has recently suffered from a severe bout of the disease?
Chicken pox is a disease caused by the varicelli virus, belonging to the family of the herpes virus. Do check out what it looks like on wikipedia. Quite awful it is! (In today’s world you need to know what actually is affecting you; days of the principle of abstraction are again fading away… Along with C++, Java, and Oracle you also need to know the assembly language and how LC-3 actually works!)
I was laughing and chatting with friends (lacha in BITSian lingo) when one of my friends noticed a large blister like thing on my neck. Well she didn’t want to but blurted out that it could be a symptom of chicken pox. I looked at her, totally shocked. I had thought it was a mere sign of my irregularity in bathing! But…
I remembered quite well that I had taken a vaccine against Chicken Pox and it wasn’t the CP season. Moreover, I hadn’t come across any of its victims for nearly a decade now. How could the virus have infected me? Anxiety forced me (despite the financial crisis I was going through) to call up one of my friends who had had chicken pox.
Did I have slight fever? Did I feel like itching those watery blisters? Was my body aching? My mind raced through my problems for the last few days and their close resemblance to the symptoms my friend was mentioning.
The next day I obviously went to the clinic and my qualms were confirmed. “Quite a number of cases are coming in,” the doc informed. Chicken pox is an air-borne disease and the virus was in the air. The vaccine was unfortunately a failure.
My blisters started growing in size and number. In 24 hours, they had multiplied fifty times and had taken control of my body; the legs and the right hand being the only unaffected areas. The doc had prescribed 3 medicines but none seemed to actually soothe those irritating blisters. The medical world has not yet produced anything, which can help you control your fingers from wandering towards the blisters and scratching them. But YOU CAN’T SCRATCH. “Keep your hands away!” maa said. So, what does one do? Play mind games?
There’s the calamine lotion that claims to have a soothing effect but actually has very little effect: abysmal real life performance!
The anti-viral checks further spread of the virus’ army but it’s only after four days that the army stops travelling through the blood vessels happily rowing in the plasma into and out of the capillaries; injuring and shooting all cells that come in their way! Till then it’s the mind’s game.
The painkiller, true to its name, kills pain but only after an hour. Till then it’s the mind’s game.
The multi vitamin is an investment; it ensures that you don’t become easy prey to attacks by other pathogens in the near future. A kind of insurance policy! (Yeah, even in this case, there are quite a number of terms and conditions. Please read the offer document carefully before investing!)
But what about controlling itching?
There are some household remedies, I flinch at the mention of which! Neem seems to be the answer to this hideous varicelli virus.
Apply a paste of neem and homemade cream on the blisters.
Keep neem leaves around you to scratch.
Boil neem leaves in water and bathe in that water. (Disgusting?)
Apply coconut water along with karpoor (camphor) on affected areas.
The list is unending but let me terminate it here lest you stop reading. I am a firm believer in allopathic medicines but it seems doctors have no solution to some things.
Chicken pox is really awful, even more than malaria and measles. You can’t meet your friends. You can’t jump and dance. You can’t have a nice bath. You can’t scratch your body. You can’t venture out of your room……
And you can’t eat chicken. Well, I don’t really mind the last obligation; some of our purebred non-veggies do!
But there’s a kind of compensation as well. You get to forget about tuts and tests and everything and head homewards… Even the strictest of ICs following the strictest make-up policy can’t deny make-up to a CP victim; it’s after all a genuine case of sickness leading to hospitalization. (And you can easily get supporting documents as well without using unfair means!)
Without hesitating you can just leave the deserts of Pilani to go home and relax. And enjoy the sweetest of all joys…To have maa on your side…
So, you happily forgive God for all the misery He is putting you to.
And yes, one more thing… you do get a life-long guarantee that you wouldn’t have to suffer because of this strain of virus again. Mind you I wrote ‘this’ strain… Obviously you can’t help evolutionary changes (mutation, adaptation, natural selection etc)… And the act of God!!!
Just out of the grasps of this terrible viral disease, I wonder what or who gave chicken pox its name! Was the chicken its first victim or did our scientists first find it in a chicken? Does eating chicken give you the chicken pox? Or is the name just a weird gift of our weird nomenclature department? I really don’t know and care just a trifle. However, it’s the disease itself, its symptoms and effects and the inefficiency of the medicines that actually worry me. What else can you expect from one who has recently suffered from a severe bout of the disease?
Chicken pox is a disease caused by the varicelli virus, belonging to the family of the herpes virus. Do check out what it looks like on wikipedia. Quite awful it is! (In today’s world you need to know what actually is affecting you; days of the principle of abstraction are again fading away… Along with C++, Java, and Oracle you also need to know the assembly language and how LC-3 actually works!)
I was laughing and chatting with friends (lacha in BITSian lingo) when one of my friends noticed a large blister like thing on my neck. Well she didn’t want to but blurted out that it could be a symptom of chicken pox. I looked at her, totally shocked. I had thought it was a mere sign of my irregularity in bathing! But…
I remembered quite well that I had taken a vaccine against Chicken Pox and it wasn’t the CP season. Moreover, I hadn’t come across any of its victims for nearly a decade now. How could the virus have infected me? Anxiety forced me (despite the financial crisis I was going through) to call up one of my friends who had had chicken pox.
Did I have slight fever? Did I feel like itching those watery blisters? Was my body aching? My mind raced through my problems for the last few days and their close resemblance to the symptoms my friend was mentioning.
The next day I obviously went to the clinic and my qualms were confirmed. “Quite a number of cases are coming in,” the doc informed. Chicken pox is an air-borne disease and the virus was in the air. The vaccine was unfortunately a failure.
My blisters started growing in size and number. In 24 hours, they had multiplied fifty times and had taken control of my body; the legs and the right hand being the only unaffected areas. The doc had prescribed 3 medicines but none seemed to actually soothe those irritating blisters. The medical world has not yet produced anything, which can help you control your fingers from wandering towards the blisters and scratching them. But YOU CAN’T SCRATCH. “Keep your hands away!” maa said. So, what does one do? Play mind games?
There’s the calamine lotion that claims to have a soothing effect but actually has very little effect: abysmal real life performance!
The anti-viral checks further spread of the virus’ army but it’s only after four days that the army stops travelling through the blood vessels happily rowing in the plasma into and out of the capillaries; injuring and shooting all cells that come in their way! Till then it’s the mind’s game.
The painkiller, true to its name, kills pain but only after an hour. Till then it’s the mind’s game.
The multi vitamin is an investment; it ensures that you don’t become easy prey to attacks by other pathogens in the near future. A kind of insurance policy! (Yeah, even in this case, there are quite a number of terms and conditions. Please read the offer document carefully before investing!)
But what about controlling itching?
There are some household remedies, I flinch at the mention of which! Neem seems to be the answer to this hideous varicelli virus.
Apply a paste of neem and homemade cream on the blisters.
Keep neem leaves around you to scratch.
Boil neem leaves in water and bathe in that water. (Disgusting?)
Apply coconut water along with karpoor (camphor) on affected areas.
The list is unending but let me terminate it here lest you stop reading. I am a firm believer in allopathic medicines but it seems doctors have no solution to some things.
Chicken pox is really awful, even more than malaria and measles. You can’t meet your friends. You can’t jump and dance. You can’t have a nice bath. You can’t scratch your body. You can’t venture out of your room……
And you can’t eat chicken. Well, I don’t really mind the last obligation; some of our purebred non-veggies do!
But there’s a kind of compensation as well. You get to forget about tuts and tests and everything and head homewards… Even the strictest of ICs following the strictest make-up policy can’t deny make-up to a CP victim; it’s after all a genuine case of sickness leading to hospitalization. (And you can easily get supporting documents as well without using unfair means!)
Without hesitating you can just leave the deserts of Pilani to go home and relax. And enjoy the sweetest of all joys…To have maa on your side…
So, you happily forgive God for all the misery He is putting you to.
And yes, one more thing… you do get a life-long guarantee that you wouldn’t have to suffer because of this strain of virus again. Mind you I wrote ‘this’ strain… Obviously you can’t help evolutionary changes (mutation, adaptation, natural selection etc)… And the act of God!!!
Dina's grandpa
The room looked as lifeless as a hostel room always does. There was no private touch to the dull walls that bore a sorrowful look with the turquoise paint almost coming off at some parts. The bed, the writing table, the chair, the book stand, the cupboard-they did not in any way portray Dina’s desires or her outlook…. Though Dina was a teenager with strong ambitions and opinions, she was not allowed to show them in the hostel “cabin”. No decorations and no ornamental possessions in the room. That was the clear rule for all the students staying in the old yellow building down the Tirupati lane. The building, which stood a bit isolated beside the Kanchan forests, had a board hanging in front that read
INDIRA GANDHI GIRLS HOSTEL
“The concepts of Physics” lay opened at the page 57 on the table. The chair had been pulled aside. The occupant of the room was sitting on the bed engaged in convulsive sobs. Then suddenly, she rose, still in a daze, and pushed the chair back in its place. She took off her specs and kept them on the table. She closed the book. Time to retire for the night, she thought. But just then someone knocked at the door. It was Dina’s friend Tintisha. Dina and Tintisha had been great chums ever since they had met each other in the shabby-looking dining hall on their first day in the hostel. They had the same subjects in college and occupied 2 adjacent rooms on the second floor of the hostel.
Tintisha asked, “What’s up? Have you been crying?”
Dina didn’t reply. Instead she rose and went to the writing table. She drew out a small photo-album from one of the drawers. “This is my grandpa,” she said, pointing at a well-built man in his 60s frowning in the photo. With a strange tone, Dina declared “my mother’s father!” She took a deep breath as if preparing herself for the greatest of challenges. When she finally spoke, there was something peculiar about her demeanour. Her voice was soft and pensive, so uncharacteristic of Dina
“My grandpa lives in Pondicherry. We were never the greatest pals- him and I. Never!”The last word came out with a tint of bitterness.
Tintisha waited. Dina didn’t want to hurry things up, she couldn’t.
“I have never spoken about him to you. I never felt the need to. For me, he had always been just an unavoidable part of life. I did my best to keep him out of my life. But as I just said, he was unavoidable. Every summer I went to him with maa. And had a hell of a time. I responded to his indifference with rudeness.” Her hatred for her grandpa was prominent in her eyes.
Dina had always hated him; she still did. Or did she? Tintisha’s eyes were fixed on Dina. Dina sauntered towards the window. Looking out at the dark wintry sky, she spoke again.
“But this last summer, things were pretty different. The haughty temper had left my grandpa. There was something very kind about him. His eyes looked gentle, his moustache friendly, and his smile generous. This…this really startled me for I had never met this different grandpa!”
Dina recollected, still gazing at the sky.
“I have my own room in grandpa’s house. It’s a beautiful house dating back to 1960 and has a large garden that keeps grandpa engaged all day. He’s really got green fingers. Oh! The roses, the carnations!” A smile flickered on her face.
“The garden’s clearly visible from my room.” Tintisha was busy conjuring the image in her mind when Dina slowly retraced her steps to the bed.
“It was 10th June,” Dina continued. “Eight in the morning. As usual, my grandpa was there in the garden sprinkling water on his dear roses. And suddenly he was groaning in pain.”
“I rushed to the garden with maa and we took him to the clinic.
It was the second heart attack and a serious one.
The doctor consoled maa. But made it clear that grandpa had little time left.” Dina sighed.
The huge bell at the town hall rang eleven times. “Lights off!” the warden declared.
“Next morning I woke up early and found myself squandering towards grandpa’s room. But I dared not enter his room.
And then I heard the sweetest of words about me that had even been mouthed by grandpa. ‘Could you please call my chubby little Dina, Meera?’ grandpa was requesting maa. I flung the door open. And how touched I was! On every wall hung my photographs- big and small, old and new. Unbelievable!
‘There are things that both of you need to sort out. I better leave you alone.’ Maa left the room.
Grandpa seemed weak and pale. He looked at me and asked softly, ‘You hate me, don’t you?’ I looked at him earnestly without responding. ‘I know. Twenty five years in the army sucks out simple joys out of you. You seek discipline everywhere. And it’s unbearable when your only granddaughter tries breaking all rules.
Your mother was shy; you are a chatterbox. I wanted you to join the army school and I remember asking Meera to compel you to do so but she was adamant. First time in her life! And I was annoyed.’
‘But maa did the right thing!’
‘I understand now. Yesterday, I really prayed to God to give me at least one more day- so I can say sorry to my little princess. And He did.
Sorry for having ruined your summer vacation every year, Dina! Sorry for not being like everybody else’s grandpa. SORRY!’ he broke down.
“But I really love you dear, just bad at showing my love.
Open up the closet- it’s yours now.’
The closet was full of books and chocolates. ‘Your college starts day after tomorrow. Wish I could spend more time with you. Probably this old bloke will never see you again. Serves him right!’ and he turned away signalling me to leave.”
“He loved me Tintisha. He did!
I had to come back here. Why! I want to be with him.
Maa had just called. He’s fighting death.” Dina started weeping bitterly.
“I couldn’t even tell him how much I loved him!”
Tintisha consoled her. Dina stopped crying. Her face was shining in the moonlight pouring through the window.
There was deathly silence before a knock at the door broke it.
It was the warden.
“Your mother’s on the phone. It’s urgent!”
INDIRA GANDHI GIRLS HOSTEL
“The concepts of Physics” lay opened at the page 57 on the table. The chair had been pulled aside. The occupant of the room was sitting on the bed engaged in convulsive sobs. Then suddenly, she rose, still in a daze, and pushed the chair back in its place. She took off her specs and kept them on the table. She closed the book. Time to retire for the night, she thought. But just then someone knocked at the door. It was Dina’s friend Tintisha. Dina and Tintisha had been great chums ever since they had met each other in the shabby-looking dining hall on their first day in the hostel. They had the same subjects in college and occupied 2 adjacent rooms on the second floor of the hostel.
Tintisha asked, “What’s up? Have you been crying?”
Dina didn’t reply. Instead she rose and went to the writing table. She drew out a small photo-album from one of the drawers. “This is my grandpa,” she said, pointing at a well-built man in his 60s frowning in the photo. With a strange tone, Dina declared “my mother’s father!” She took a deep breath as if preparing herself for the greatest of challenges. When she finally spoke, there was something peculiar about her demeanour. Her voice was soft and pensive, so uncharacteristic of Dina
“My grandpa lives in Pondicherry. We were never the greatest pals- him and I. Never!”The last word came out with a tint of bitterness.
Tintisha waited. Dina didn’t want to hurry things up, she couldn’t.
“I have never spoken about him to you. I never felt the need to. For me, he had always been just an unavoidable part of life. I did my best to keep him out of my life. But as I just said, he was unavoidable. Every summer I went to him with maa. And had a hell of a time. I responded to his indifference with rudeness.” Her hatred for her grandpa was prominent in her eyes.
Dina had always hated him; she still did. Or did she? Tintisha’s eyes were fixed on Dina. Dina sauntered towards the window. Looking out at the dark wintry sky, she spoke again.
“But this last summer, things were pretty different. The haughty temper had left my grandpa. There was something very kind about him. His eyes looked gentle, his moustache friendly, and his smile generous. This…this really startled me for I had never met this different grandpa!”
Dina recollected, still gazing at the sky.
“I have my own room in grandpa’s house. It’s a beautiful house dating back to 1960 and has a large garden that keeps grandpa engaged all day. He’s really got green fingers. Oh! The roses, the carnations!” A smile flickered on her face.
“The garden’s clearly visible from my room.” Tintisha was busy conjuring the image in her mind when Dina slowly retraced her steps to the bed.
“It was 10th June,” Dina continued. “Eight in the morning. As usual, my grandpa was there in the garden sprinkling water on his dear roses. And suddenly he was groaning in pain.”
“I rushed to the garden with maa and we took him to the clinic.
It was the second heart attack and a serious one.
The doctor consoled maa. But made it clear that grandpa had little time left.” Dina sighed.
The huge bell at the town hall rang eleven times. “Lights off!” the warden declared.
“Next morning I woke up early and found myself squandering towards grandpa’s room. But I dared not enter his room.
And then I heard the sweetest of words about me that had even been mouthed by grandpa. ‘Could you please call my chubby little Dina, Meera?’ grandpa was requesting maa. I flung the door open. And how touched I was! On every wall hung my photographs- big and small, old and new. Unbelievable!
‘There are things that both of you need to sort out. I better leave you alone.’ Maa left the room.
Grandpa seemed weak and pale. He looked at me and asked softly, ‘You hate me, don’t you?’ I looked at him earnestly without responding. ‘I know. Twenty five years in the army sucks out simple joys out of you. You seek discipline everywhere. And it’s unbearable when your only granddaughter tries breaking all rules.
Your mother was shy; you are a chatterbox. I wanted you to join the army school and I remember asking Meera to compel you to do so but she was adamant. First time in her life! And I was annoyed.’
‘But maa did the right thing!’
‘I understand now. Yesterday, I really prayed to God to give me at least one more day- so I can say sorry to my little princess. And He did.
Sorry for having ruined your summer vacation every year, Dina! Sorry for not being like everybody else’s grandpa. SORRY!’ he broke down.
“But I really love you dear, just bad at showing my love.
Open up the closet- it’s yours now.’
The closet was full of books and chocolates. ‘Your college starts day after tomorrow. Wish I could spend more time with you. Probably this old bloke will never see you again. Serves him right!’ and he turned away signalling me to leave.”
“He loved me Tintisha. He did!
I had to come back here. Why! I want to be with him.
Maa had just called. He’s fighting death.” Dina started weeping bitterly.
“I couldn’t even tell him how much I loved him!”
Tintisha consoled her. Dina stopped crying. Her face was shining in the moonlight pouring through the window.
There was deathly silence before a knock at the door broke it.
It was the warden.
“Your mother’s on the phone. It’s urgent!”
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