புன்னகை அரசிக்கு பக்தனின் காணிக்கை.

முதல்முதல் உன் வேல் விழி பார்த்து என்னை மறந்தேன்
கருங்கூந்தல் அருவியில் என் மனதை இழந்தேன்!

கல்லுக்குள்ளும் ஈரம் உண்டு என்று என்னை உணர வைத்தாய்
மறந்து போன கவிதை ஊற்றை, கடல் போல் என்னுள் பெருக வைத்தாய்.

திருக்குறளையே திருத்தி எழுத முனைந்தேன்,
குழல் இனிது யாள் இனிது என்பதம் மக்கள் உன் சொல் கேளா தவர்

கைக்கெட்டா கானல்நீர் போல் கண்கள் காணும் கனவு நீ
பிரம்மன்னிற் சிறந்த சிற்ப்பியின் சித்தத்தில் செதுக்கப்பெற்ற பொற்சிலை நீ.

புன்னகைக்கு அரசியே!
மொத்த அழகிற்க்கும் அடைக்கலம் தந்த உன் மனதில் இடம் உண்டா எனக்கு?
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The story of the seed that never sprouted.

I dont really remember the beginning. It was all dark and gloomy. I existed as two parts that were whole, yet did not know themselves. They just did what nature and  a few millennia of evolution had taught them. Breed the next generation of trees. The first thing that I knew was darkness. I felt all the life beside me. All my brothers and sisters. Every single life force around me throbbed with energy. The energy of the largest tree. I was destined not to bear sweet fruits edible for the masses, nor beautiful flowers that got more beautiful as they adorned the black cascades of the maiden. No, I was above all such small destinies. Even then, when I was nothing more than a mixture of few atoms bound together, I knew I was meant for more. I knew I was special. I was meant to be great. Greater than my fellows. Greater than the greatest. I was little but my dreams were so large I was sure the reason the cosmos kept expanding was simply to keep up with me. These dreams and the destiny I dreamed of kept me strong and I awaited the day I would be freed from the fruit. The fruit that kept me and numerous others like me nourished. It offered safety and care. But it was too small for me. I cried with joy when the bird ate my guardian and nourisher, who even at the end of its life gave us a better chance to succeed. For we needed the birds to carry us far.  And in its final act of self sacrifice the fruit gave me a way to fulfill my destiny. The bird gave me hope and lift to leave my crib and journey far. I was yet to see light, but I knew I would soon have more than enough of the mighty Sun's nourishing rays. The banyan tree is different from your average Apple or orange in that we need the help of fellow banyans to thrive. A seed that hits the earth dies, more often than not. And the seed that falls on a fellow tree is nourished as a lovable parasite that grows along with its patron. As the bird soared so did my mind! Nature is a gentle mother. She tends to the greenery and colourful flowers and the sweet smelling fruits with Care and dedication. But she is also as cruel as the storm in uprooting unbowing trees and apparently letting seeds learn the truth the hard way. For as I felt my fellow seeds leaving the bird to settle on patron giants, so I felt myself hitting the solid earth. I felt myself slip through one of numerous cracks and lay deep in the cold hard earth. I was not to have the warmth and coddling of the great trees. Nature is terrible, but just. For it would not abandon me to misery if she thought I was incapable of greatness. For does not greatness come from facing defeat and not being defeated. I knew the path I had been shown was hard. But the earth is also a mother. She is God. And God gives all her children equally! She cares for me as much as for the orange seed nearby, though she gives him more water, probably as he needes more. God cares for me as she shows me defeat as I vie for the success for the defeat makes me more thirst, though the neem tree was gifted success for reasons well known to her. I see the Grass that steals my time to sprout just because he is is higher than me in the ground, and I watch him waste the generous rewards. All through these three years I vie and try to my hearts content for defeat surely exists only in my mind! I fail to grasp what nature and God are trying to teach me! I fight, for to give up would reflect badly upon the crop from where I have sprung! The progeny of great trees can't be denied for long. And to give up and shrivel like the tamarind seed burried above me is just not in my nature. Time is funny as it is independent of all and none are independent of it. Time waits for none and everyone falls prey to it. Time is so cruel that it corrodes the very earth and makes mountains and destroys them in its timeless whim. And time is my enemy. For my energy dwindles with every passing year. I see new seeds dropping close. More prepared than me to survive in this environment that becomes even more harsh.  And with every passing day I feel my deficiencies growing. It has now been long since I should have given up. Yes, I feel it now. I understand what God has been trying to teach me. It was that I did not possess the will to survive. I was not great. I was not unique. I was insignificant. I did not work hard enough as I did not know how. I was being taught the greatest lesson time teaches. The lesson of defeat. I had mistaken each full stop for a comma and proceeded as an unhinged mad fool. More often than not, a full stop is what it is. And to delude myself otherwise was my fatal mistake. Today as I finally give up and shrivel, I release into the world my pride. I abandon hope, the cruel mirage, the drug of the insanely young. I give up all my dreams and embrace defeat for it offers solace albiet with deadly finality. As I shrivel down and my determination seeps out as tears, I have but one disappointment. That of having never seen light. 

MBBS- A Doctor's limited perspective.

"I am a doctor."
Spoken with the sort of finality as would be expected of a marathon winner or the Tour le France cyclist. For if any could rival those peaks of endurance, an apt competitor would be the MBBS graduate.

My father is a doctor. Two of my aunts are doctors. An uncle and a cousin are as well. Not accounting the distant and not so distant, my extented family has seen its fair share. That my father was the first was not lost on me, rather IMPRESSED upon and none too subtly. Still I will credit my parents for never implying their discernable expectations. Long story short, I sweated it out and managed to get an MBBS seat. Short story elaborated on, two years of exile and nerve wracking prep later, I managed to be placed in the 4th ranked college by date of founding.

Everyone was proud. But me. Don't mistake me. I was proud too. But I felt relief outweigh pride and significantly so. Here was a chance to be among the CREAMY LAYER OF STUDENTS for once. Whirlwind of a five years later, I now am a doctor. But there is no finality.

About 40 thousand odd MBBS graduates accompanied me last year. And when I say the journey is but merely starting, 39999 would say AMEN.

What is it about MBBS that it is so highly regarded? And why do the graduates not realise that? Simple questions, requiring complex answers.

Our journey began in 2007. That we had to pass all subjects in the first year or have ourself make a seperate batch was not lost on us. And the staff made sure it wasnt either. Imagine our feeling when we learnt we had evaded a bullet only to be put in front of a firing squad again. The true horror of the situation dawned upon me when my adopted sister from our batch failed. She was a pretty strong willed person for breaking the news with little tremble in her voice. But I felt the helplessness and the finality of an unnecessary sentence dictating the course of life. Yet such is life. Hindsight.
All was not hardship. We had our moments of joy, fun and pranks. Dissection hall comedies, me "SINGING" in class! Forging New friends while struggling to maintain the old. We were naive.

The second and third year require enough mention for but the sake of completion. I barely remember one useful thing I did during those two and a half years. Dont blame me! I just about managed to escape the firing squad too rememeber!!! But I do remember this conversation I had with a lady at the rotary convention.

She- My son has finished his 5th sem!
Me- Great aunty! Were is he studying?
She- XYZ clg! Which year are you in?
Me- Second year.
She- Still in second year? Y? U failed sem exam?
Me- No aunty! Our secind year is 1.5 yrs.
She- So u studying 6 months extra? Is it for extra credit?
Me- No aunty our exams for second year s only after 1.5 years. Our total course s 5.5 years.
She- But y do u have to study extra 6 months?
Me- ( good question) cos tat is our course duration aunty!
She- Oh! So all have to study or only u?
At this point am not sure if she being blockheaded deliberately.
Me- Everyone aunty.
She- I have never heard this before!
Me- smiling! ( there are more things in mere earth than are dreamt of in ur puny brain aunty)

So when our engineering friends forged ahead to placements, we were still contemplating our second year exams! And when they did get placed, I was in third year. Our clinical year brings several memories. Trying to diagnose cases not knowing head from foot, bravely answering nonsense and getting laughed at by seniors.

I remember this case our chief asked to examine. There was a murmur in the wrist with a nearby scar. He asked us the diagnosis.
My friend- There is a pump implanted.
Me- There is some machine implanted.
My other friend- There is a vibrator there!
The only gal in our group- Dunno sir.

Now I'd compliment him for not losing his head then and there. But he never said a word to us after and never took a class for us ever. Tough when we had to face our exams.

And when I mention exams I must say, we ought to rename ourself the GUINEA PIG BATCH. Each year we would sit for a different pattern and the distressing thing is it has continued to plague us in pg. But am gettin ahead of myself.

So entering final year, having had my life turned upside down ( irrelevant story, but there is one), I once again faced the firing squad and now I was nonchalant. If not for my friends I'd have died there. But as it is, I slugged it out, racing from posting to posting, ward to class and of course some fun. Now point of notice! We never had any break between papers or subjects. So if we were unfortunate to have our exams start on a Monday we'd have 5 continuous days of exams. And what with the exam pattern changing every few days we only confirmed the pattern proposed on the day after seejng the question paper.

Let me describe the feel. You are on trial. You know not the seriousness of your crime. You know not the prosecutor. You know not the jury or the judge. You know not if you have exonerated yourself untill a few months. And you know not how much. Six months is not a mere time period, it is a mental blow. A sentence so barbaric, that it breaks not your body, but your soul.

And once again I felt the sorrow of losing one of my best friends, and frankly a guy who deserved more than me to have passed, not making it. 4 and a half years of a journey as varied as a anything in this world. And we were ready to go test our mettle on the good people.

Now most people who have finished would shudder at the word am about to mention. "CRRI"

Nothing anyone said could have prepared me for that one year. 40 plus hours of continuous works. Having our respect stolen, trampled upon, spit upon, laughed upon and humiliated in severals ways all the while not having the chance to better our education, with praises so sparce we forget its meaning and being scolded for the mistakes of persons we did not even know existed does not sum up and neither does us justice. There is no job that is outside out job description. Merciless seniors, pathetic yet problematic patients, and the staff nurses who seem to thing they are above all. I pride at being compassionate. I hav cried when I lost a patient under my hands. Felt helpless watching babies die. Fought with and lost against God several times. And in some way there was a ray of sunshine. A few praises from a few patients made our day. Felt the rush of diagnosing in the rare occasion we were allowed to. It was a cacophony of emotions. Draining yet distictively fullfilling. And finally we graduated. Moving on to coaching centres and hospitals and married lives!

And now let me tell you of an amusing tale that happened recently!. The man was an acquaintance.
He- So what are you doing now? Still in clg? ( not even Dr.Sheldon Cooper would miss the sarcasm)
Me- No. I hav finished.
He- So u are a doctor? ( incredulous finality) Congrats!
Me- Thank you! ( hoping the conversation would end)
He- So where are you practicing now?
Me- I am preparing for my pg entrance exam in kerela!
He- oh! You are doing your Pg in kerela?
Me- ( if only) no no. Am in a coaching centre to prepare for the exams!
He- You are in a coaching centre to prepare for the exams?
Me- Exactly!
He- So how long will you study to study pg! Ha ha ha ha ha! ( obviously it was some big joke! )
Me- (Gritting my teeth) hopefully an year.
He- So you gonna specialise in Medicine or Surgery?
Me- Either would be good. Depends on my rank.
He- Try for radiology! Heard it is easy to get!
Me- WHAT?!?!?!
He- Yes. Radiology or Neurology is good!
Me-!  ( smiling) ofcourse uncle ll try
He- (smiling) dont worry, even Kidney study is good. Cos we have two kidneys la!  Ha ha ha ha ha ( no idea why he laughed then. Promise)

Now I'd thank my mom for rescuing me then. Am sure almost all have such an encounter. MBBS has lost its sheen. No longer is it enough to have four letters behind your name to call yourself a doctor. No longer does MBBS command as much respect as it once did.

Most of my friends who chose the engineering field have successfully completed two years of work. Some hav added more letters to their credit. And yes, they would have their own stories of offices, and job hunting. And I dont begrudge them that. But I just wish to say as movie stars would, the glam is just sham.

Now in Aug 2013, 6 years after I started college. I have earned perhaps a few thousand during my CRRI period but only with my parents supporting me as well.
Some of my friends hav started working and some did earlier as well. Not being exposed to such usefulness, I feel a hesitation in saying what I said at the begining.

Good happens to those who are patient, better for the tolerant, and the best for the persistent. So goes my philosophy. Am eager to make it big. But not impatient. My time to shine may be delayed but not denied. And I will struggle forward at my own pace.

Remembering I have but spoken my views and only but a fraction, bottomline - MBBS, is a lifelong commitment. Not a casual fling! The level of dedication it demands is supreme, for human life is sacred. It is not an easy ride for all.

New blog on way!

A preview at my next blog!

"And now let me tell you of an amusing tale. The man was an acquaintance.
He- So what are you doing now? Still in clg? ( not even Dr.Sheldon Cooper would miss the sarcasm)
Me- No. I hav finished.
He- So u are a doctor? ( incredulous finality) Congrats!
Me- Thank you! ( hoping the conversation would end)
He- So where are you practicing now?
Me- I am preparing for my pg entrance exam in kerela!
He- oh! You are doing your Pg in kerela?
Me- ( if only) no no. Am in a coaching centre to prepare for the exams!
He- You are in a coaching centre to prepare for the exams?"

Coming soon- MBBS- A Doctor's limited perspective.

வாழ்வேன் என்று நினைத்தாயோ!

உன்னை பார்காதிருக்க வேண்டும் என்றாய்,
உன் நினைவுகளில் வாழும் வரம் தருவாயோ?
உன்னோடு பேசாதிருக்க வேண்டும் என்றாய்,
உன் குரலேனும் கேட்கும் வரம் தருவாயோ?
உன் விரல் கோர்த்து வாழ முடியாவிடிலும்,
உன் மடி சாய்ந்து இறக்கும் வரம் தருவாயோ?

The Soul Tree

No tree stood like The Soul tree.
Not green not brown but white through.
The people revered it as it grew.
For the soul of a child was linked to the tree.

Miracle was sought when Sveta was born.
For no healer nor mage could cure her.
Her loving mother would not deter.
And in front of The Soul tree, her life was sworn.

"I leave my life at your roots! Oh great tree.
My child of but a day already the love of my life.
For if not you can resolve this strife,
take her unto you and me in too for free."

So sayin on the wintery night,
her mother left her to the tree's ward.
The flesh went leaving the soul in shards.
Little Sveta unable to even cry of her blight.

Morning arose as is in inevitable delay.
Her mother faster than the wind, apprehension on her face.
Lo! Behold a miracle to her gaze!
No longer blighted and pure as snow her baby lay.

White locks and eyes and a pure white smile.
Like angels that did nor thought any bad.
A charm, the innocence wrought love as none had,
the people all besotted and, took no while.

The tree had made her life beautiful.
But mages warned of the holy connection.
As long as one lived the other prospered with affection.
And if either fall so shall the other as was fateful.

But Fate was kind to let them live.
Svelta now grown gorgeous.
The tree as young as her and righteous.
And happiness had no opposite to give.

The white locks now flowed like a water fall,
The blemishless face wrought by God's hand.
Her crystal eyes weaved magic like a wand.
Made her the dream of all young men, hearts toll.

On her slender neck the diamnod bequethed falls.
Her only inheritance the jewel it sat.
Crowned by her and made self more sought.
With the slow rise and fall of her chest did it fall.

Many a Hercules sought her in wedlock.
But one loved her like one had nor will.
Alas he was poor and ugly and lived up a hill.
Rejection he swallowed and for her would have the hemlock.

Then came the destined day.
Rode into town the rouge of the hovel.
Handsome as Apollo, sly as the Devil.
Many a lady his charm had slay.

Fate t'was Svelta fell for his grace.
Honey was no sweeter than his words.
Nor feather softer than his caresses.
Slowly he fed love into the poor girl's ways.

Many a town folk warned their child.
"Vile and evil is he,
Svelta, falleth not thee."
But love is foolish and blind and deaf and wild.

The rougue she chose over the bumbling fool.
The dashing handsome sport was dear.
True love is never worth, always mere
dust or less, before the eyes, the tool.

The true love hurt lik only true love can.
Like a million barbs of poison sting.
Tearing at the flesh no way to cringe.
Never forgotten and shall never wan.

The union of the thorn with the rose.
A miraculous mistake He made.
He, at the altar swore, as not to be swayed.
The rose no longer for all, but just prose.

The lovely night was spent in his arms.
But it was not without cost.
For greed he married and to greed he lost.
Turning the night bloody with her blood in swarms.

He was chased in vengence for the lost love.
The tree now browned and dyin with hurt
The scoundrel, alas too evil to twart.
Smote the only love and blood spilled how!

The tree so white so pure and oh so free.
Bears tresties to all that transpired.
So red as blood of the love in tragedy mired.
No tree stood like the soul tree.

நூலகத்தில் அவள் - முன்பனி!

கனவே நீ ஏன் கண் முன் வந்தாய்?
கைக்கெட்டும் தூரத்தில் ஆசைகள் பல தந்தாய்.
கவி பாடும் என் உதடுகளின் ஓசையை நீ வென்றாய்.
அழகான பாடல்களுக்கு அர்த்தங்கள் பல தந்தாய்.
கொடி இடை கொண்டு அன்ன நடை பயின்றாய்.
அழகுக்கே இலக்கணமாய் அழகே உருவாகி நின்றாய்.
உன் அழகை பாட வார்த்தைகள் இன்றி தவிக்கின்றேன்.
உன் கருவிழிகளில் நான் கரைந்து போகின்றேன்.

நூலகத்தில் அவள் - கார்!

நிலவின் ஓளியில் ஒரு சித்திரம்.
நிலவே நிலவை மறைக்கும் விசித்திரம்.
வெளுத்தது வானம்.
எங்கே...? எங்கே...?
நட்சத்திரம்...?
கண்டதில்லை இப்படி ஒரு பேரழகை சரித்திரம்.
உலகே! உன் இருதயத்தை பார்த்துக்கொள்! பத்திரம்!
அவளை காணாமல் கண் தேடுதே.
இன்று என்னவள் இன்றி பொளர்னமியும் அமாவாசை ஆனதே!

நூலகத்தில் அவள் - இளவேனில்!

அவள் கொலுசின் ஓசை சாரல் மழை போல் ஜில் என்று வீச,
அவள் புன்முறுவல் வாடை காற்றாக பேச,
அவள் கருங்கூந்தல் அருவியாக பாய,
அவள் விழிகளில் நான் கட்டுண்டு போய்,
அவள் உதடுகள் முனங்கும் செவி அறியா பாடலில் என்னை மறக்கின்றேன்.

My very own answer to- "Why do we fall Master Bruce?"

Few people would forget these immortal lines from Batman. Alfred says this when he feels Bruce is down on confidence. Of course through the first  person to have used them was his father.
Now what does it really mean? Is it really cos "so that we can learn to pick ourselves up again"?

Mythology always says that good loses only to rise back like the phoenix to strike back. The Mahabharata, Ramayana, and even the tales or moral we have learnt tell how good initially falls, but is back on its foot like our Rocky to knockout evil. Is that really so?

Why is it that in all these tales of myth there is always a comeback?
Why can't good just win from the beginning?
I don't suppose I have ever come across any story where good, truth, God, if u want to call it that, wins from the very start.

Why is that so?
The answer is quite simple. We love melancholy. We adore heroes. But what we like more is watching our heroes being stripped of their greatness and brought to our level and trampled.
Nothing appeals to human nature more than suffering. Am not saying that man is vile. But our weakness creates a taste for sorrow.

Take for example Joan of Arc. She was the hero of the French until she was incarcerated. One account tells of how more people  attended her burning than her victory and the subsequent coronation of the king.
Che Guevara was in less memories when alive compared the number of t-shirts one can see him on now.
So is it this sense that strove our storyteller to create such stories?

Perhaps God never loses. Perhaps Good always wins right from the start steamrolling the opposition akin to what England or Australia are dishing out. But that sorry tale is for another blog.

So what makes us believe that losing is the stepping stone to success? Why don't our tales say we must win from the beginning?
Can we? Well can here is less ability and more will.

Man can't win always. And he certainly should not give up. So if nothing these tales sow self belief. They say, 'even the great__________ fell. But he/she got up. He/she got up and became greater'.
So I say, tell stories of victory. Not defeat. But let us not forget that there is indeed more than just defeat.
I read somewhere discussing  our cricket team's dismal performance, that we have lost the fighting spirit. The author went on to say as one of my friend says, that we always lose our opening matches, but claw back. Admirable indeed. But should we not admire the relentless Aussies or the clinical English? No question we must remember the phoenix act. For being a born loser I know of its importance. But that is exactly why I feel man should win, and win only. The word defeat must soon be defeated. Where better to start than with our moral tales?
So my very own answer to Alfred's statement- "So that we can teach others and ourselves that there is no down. There is only an up."

My search for the perfect coffee.

So like about 4 years ago, I was still your average coffee guzzler. Well it was one of those bad habits not too bad to warrant immediate termination but nevertheless in the bucket list. So I was pretty comfortable with drinking about a coffee a day. That was the extent of my addiction prior to college.

Perhaps it stated at home for all i know, not that i fault my mom's tea ( I still wonder how i turned out to be the only person with a need for coffee among a family of tea afficados). No. My mom's tea is by far the best I’ve had, though it doesn't count to much, but still that can't be the reason. So perhaps this is one of those things that just happen. Like falling in love. So i had this habit of preferring coffee over a cup of tea right from my childhood right!

And those were the days when my grandma was still sturdy and going around trying to get us well fed ( which seemed like her only mission, love you loads grans). And so a cup of coffee was never hard to get even if mom was not in the mood to fall in with my request. And perhaps the only thing gran hated was the fact that i liked it steaming hot and strong as a horse tranquilliser ( would that be an oxymoron?). But coffee i had. One every day. Perfect in all sense. And i found it pretty invigorating as i ought to be. Besides it gave me a vitality, for being a depressed personality, perhaps coffee was what kept me level. I wasn't the brightest, but i was awake throughout the day. A bit hyperactive at times- Guilty as charged. I like food spicy as well. So keeping with our unwritten South Indian tradition of having a coffee after the Tiffin ( I’m reminded of how my grandpa used to ask "Coffee aacha?" which was how he enquires after Tiffin) , i was awarded one and that washing down the end of a meal could and should only be compared to bliss.

Then came the fateful day i had to leave home. And that wasn't one i would return from soon. SRV was a revelation. And perhaps one thing i revelled in was the thick and tasty milk provided. Also the coffee. But now, my favourite was limited only to the morning (tricky fellows, who knew coffee keeps us awake at night when not needed to be awake). Well, Something is always better than nothing. And of course i found ways to cheat them at their own game and took some coffee from the mess ( Ha ha ha ha ! who's the smartest? :P). Still there was something so vitally missing. The two years of SRV passed with my face buried in books with a cup of coffee in my hand ( or milk if left with no choice, I still steered clear of tea). So i'd say that one thing that made my life bearable in there was the coffee!

And finally, the wait of the two years was over. Coffee at home! But God had different ideas.

I started to Thanjavur with my mom and sister. To take the medical examination. Upon competition of the gruelling nothingness, we were invited to visit the hostel. We also had a look at the mess, and people am not exaggerating when i say the fist thing i checked out was if the coffee was good. Well it was not the best, but after SRV, i'd developed the habit of consuming anything that comes with the tag "EDIBLE". And then i came out of the hostel to become a day scholar.

 And my hunt for the perfect coffee began in earnest again. Now i knew that Thanjavur prided itself for the Chetinad style of cooking ( evident by the presence of a hotel every 10 foot steps, very teeny, weeny, tiny foot steps). So i was confident of discovering at least one place that would offer me coffee as i liked it. Now there are about 10 tea stall near where i live. And every single one repelled me. Not only in terms of hygiene but also in the quality of coffee. Not that i'm blaming them. But there was something missing in them. Something that made them incomplete. So i went further along the quest and searched as far as a 10 km
radius ( I know, i know, it isn’t much). And perhaps the only place where i felt it was bearable was the farthest from my haunt for i had to cross several bad roads, a few tricky turns, a place frequented by cows who are under the delusion that the road in for gazing ( i'm not against gRazing fellows but for heavens sake MOOv  :D) and the our fellow, mindless, humans. Still on the rare occasion i brave the obstacles ( across 7 hills and 7 oceans ?!??!? ) the hot steaming cup of coffee and its aroma was rewarding. And here is where i once again felt that a vitality was still eluding it (and i don't mean sugar).

So i took the drastic decision of making ne myself. Things moved fast when i broke the news to mom, though she was less thrilled by the reason (coffee) than by the prospect that i might have some food regularly, and she bought me an induction stove. I was acquainted enough with the physics behind it but the practical stuff required expert guidance. So i turned reluctantly to the manual (i hate referring to it even when i had to assemble my desktop). At last after few trials (mistrials would and should be the appropriate terminology), I got a hang of the stuff. Not exactly rocket science, but then a good coffee was much tougher. I browsed for some strong stuff and decided on Nescafe's classic.

The day finally dawned when i proudly snipped f the half litre packet of milk. The induction stove on the ready with the newly polished vessel waiting to be baptised with electricity and give me my coffee. The sight of milk boiling is so fascinating that i often do a Matrix-Neo-Stunt to prevent it from spilling. Now i knew I wanted a strong coffee, and so i heaped into the cup generous amounts of coffee, for i truly believed that more the amount translated into more strength (should not have forgotten the Weber-Fechner principle!!!!!!).

The stirring of the coffee is both an art and a test of patience. Not only because it might spill, but also because of the unbearable pull, it exerted over me. I had to keep myself from devouring it first and then mixing it in my stomach. End of the experiment.

Observation- The smell seems good enough. The colour is terrorising enough. And the taste...............
Result- Experiment failed due to unknown parameter.

Well, crestfallen is one word too inadequate to describe my emotion. For good coffee was no only a gustatory quest for me, but also considered it a symbol of perfection. Not that it deterred me from drinking coffee or trying again. I have now finished quarter of a kilo in less than a week. To say am a pathological coffee drinker would not be an exaggeration, as i have 3 coffees now every day (and i flirt with the risk of developing ulcers, what fun!!!!!). But am not happy.

The coffees i drink give me the caffeine boost. A sort of life force that drives me these days, though my friend (one guy only) has noticed that i'm despondent these days. Even now, i'm driven by a caffeine boost which i had around 11'o clock. I'm not sleepy, but am neither awake. Am typing a series of words that give meaning because of the practice ingrained ( thank you Muthulakshmi Madam, Balu Sir).

Coffee for me, more than a supply of caffeine, is a placebo. A sign that says "All Iz Well"! And i sorely miss it. My days have become a misty, fast and blurred image. The lack of good coffee to an extent that addiction seems less intense. Would it mean that i have become addicted to coffee? Addicted enough to be awake this ghostly hour and blabber about it? But then there is a story of how i abstained from my beloved coffee for an entire year!

I'm a lonely creature. Or, i was a lonely creature. Like any such wretches, i fell for care. So when the person asked me to stop consuming coffee, i did for her. Well it certainly wasn't easy seeing how its only when i abstain do every one around me drink coffee or wherever i go i am offered one. And it would be no self praise when i say i successfully kept away from coffee for an entire year. Milk then became my staple drink. Believe me fellows when i say it wasn't that tough (herein i contradict myself) for i had a reason, an inspiration, an expectation to live up to. So abstain i did. For 1 long year. 365 days. And one fine day it had to end.

I found that i wasn't compatible nor capable of sustaining a relation for more than a year. So with the departure of the person, i once again fell into the habit of slowly poisoning myself with coffee. It started of harmlessly enough. And now here i am with a full blown out condition. Am a self proclaimed coffee addict.

Back to my quest for the gustatory delight, I was stumped. For i pride myself for having an analytical mind, adept at problem solving (apart for mathematical! LOL :D). Sorrow was too evident on my face, that i decided to go home for this weekend.

Upon reaching home, mom seeing my sorrow state offered me coffee. I said yes and went in for a bath. Even the refreshingly cool water could not rid me of my unsolved problem. I grabbed the day's paper and sat down with my mind teaming with questions. How to make a perfect coffee? What is the mistake i am committing? What have i forgotten? Have i been doing something wrong? Will i every taste a perfect coffee again?

"Here is your coffee" - Mom.
Absent minded, i took a sip of the coffee turning the pages of the paper aimlessly when i realised.
I had in my hand a perfect coffee.

The aroma enticing. The flavour was perfect. Neither too strong to burn my tongue nor too weak to fail to give me the caffeine. This in my hand was the perfect coffee.

And then it dawned on me. The missing ingredient in my coffee, and the reason i was not and will perhaps never be able to make a perfect coffee, is love.

Shopping!

Having a room to myself i was as flippant, if not more and as careless as i ever was. Only a phenomenon could get me to change the sorry state my room was in. And then, mom and aunt visited.
Needless to say i was rendered speechless (fact is they never let me open my mouth. Thank God she's not an external) all the while chiding about the deplorable condition of my room! To cut that long story short, they ended up making my room living worthy for those other than me as well with the parting order to maintain it as such.

Taking it to my heart i decided to shop for stuff that i had so far labelled as frivolous. And therein lies my mistake.
"I believed i could shop."

Now before i relegade you with my shopping experience, let me tell you about my previous shopping experience. 'Zero'. The max i have shopped is for a razor. I'm a guy who buys a blue shirt every time just cos i get confounded by the variety(I've nearly 6 formal shirts and all blue). So all i perfectly know about shopping is how it spells.

As any good(rofl) medico, i made a list of items to be bought. Starting from Nescafe, the list included pril, harpic, a boom, a dishwasher brush, a brush for toilet cleanin, couple of door mats, all out, a dettol soap for washing Hands, a soap tray and a ceramic cup. How hard is it gonna be to buy these 11 items?!?!?!?

Obviously tougher than i had bargained for. So i chose a big and grand departmental store(does this count as my 2nd mistake???) and went riding happily on my bike.

Facing me were half a dozen rows each as long as a tyranosaurus, from the apex of its head to the tip of its tail, and i was already lost! Seeing my distress a (pretty;)) sales girl offered help. The first thing i had to do was get a stroley. Pushing it around(feeling like a new dad:D) i started my conquest with nescafe.

The shelves offered nescafes of all possible flavour and bottle size(there is an option of favours in nescafe? Its just nescafe coffee right?:(). After 10 minutes of indecision, i settled on the classic(sounds good. But the Taste?:() chosen by inky pinky ponkey(:D). And then i had to walk nearly half a mile(guilty as charged of exaggeration:p). To reach pril. And once again i faced the dilemma of choice. This time however i decided faster(thanks to my friend who pesters me to wash his dishes with his pril).
Dettol was tougher. Why would i want an antiseptic soap to be cool as ice or smell of jasmine? Now its at the dishwash brush that i learnt that the (pretty:D) sales girl had other plans. Don't get me wrong. She was out to make a profit for the store. And why not? Its her job. But i was wakeful enough (lol) to reject a suggestion of a brush that costs 150 rs instead of a 20rs one. So i broke up with her and proceeded to complete my list. The broom was over soon as there was only one option. The allout offered a dial to adjust the outflow for an added 30 rs (bunch of pirates!). The coffee cup was tricky. The store offered only a glass cup for 50rs and with my track record for handling(or aptly said, mishandling;() i was wary of incurring my mom's wrath again.

Atlast i was done and feeling like Alexander would have felt at the bank of Ganges (that I'd come a long way, but all for nothing). While waiting to have my bill totalled my eyes caught a bottle of squash(:p). Only the price tag stung(i shall endorse fresh fruits herein). So i consoled myself wit a couple of packets of Maggie chicken noodles(yes yes yes yes yes :D) and proceeded to check out.
Now i knew this stuff gonna cost. But i never dreamt it would burn my pocket through and through. At 466 it wasn't exactly cheap (i suffered a minor heart attack). Obviously the inflation is yet to pass in this store. Thankfully i had taken the last 500 i had. And it was finished.

Moral of the story, for myself and first time shoppers. No Overconfidence. Never trust the help. Don't be overwhelmed by the choice (this is where i realised, freedom of choice is not always to be appreciated). Be ready with your dad's credit card(love you dad:D.) And only recommended for the strong of heart or women (;))!

Our group photo session!

Not having a photogenic face, i have a natural aversion to being captured on film. Plus add to it the visceral hatred (is this comin too strong too soon?) for few of my batchmates i was not too intent on capturing to preserve this period of my life i am intent on forgetting.

But pleading, advice, coercion, and friends prevailed. So it was decided to report there in the hostel gallery(another place i detest more than anything, do not ask why) at 3 noon.

We Indians have this unique code of punctuality that defies any possible explanation of punctuality. While i was counting on that, my innocent friends believed that the photo shot would have got over. And the time was yet to be 3. Seeing my reluctance to move, they short of dragging me out, did everything possible and succeed in gettin me ready(for those of you who know me would marvel at this).

How could there be a photo session without a debate on dress. That has thankfully never been a problem for me seeing how i once wore a pink shirt and a green pant. To see guys squabble over a shirt is new to me. Atlast we were ready, after another idea of applying perfume(perfume? For a photo?).

Atlast we started. And in the way we met 2 guys who were just tired to walk the distance (can not blame them seeing how the sun has decided to torment us earlier and more this year). So we reached the destined spot and lo! Behold a phenomenon!
The girls had assembled! Flashback over a year when we had to wait for half an hour for the girls. I will confess, i felt bad for underestimating the girls. Then myself and my friend went back to fetch the 2 guys. Cos though i might not be too interested, i certainly did not want them to miss out on this occasion.

Fast forwarding the wait for a couple of people who have made tardiness their middle name, we reached the moment. I managed to half hide myself behind a pillar, well away from the duo i love and hate.

So how long would a photo take? Turns out the photographers (who certainly did not inspire any confidence in me) had something a bit more prolonged in mind. What with an obnoxious group cracking irritating jokes(please spare me God, which was greatly enjoy by the girls and drew heavy laughter)and having to sit on broken pieces of brandy bottles(someone had been celebrating in style it would seem) i was more than ready to bolt.

After innumerable encores, we were finally done.


And today we get the sample result. Thank God my face is as blurred in the photo as it is in some peoples mind.

The moth teaches me a lesson.

Today i saw a moth, trapped by a glass panelled window. Beyond which was a flower. The most beautiful I'd ever seen. Beautiful and alluring. The moth went at it with vigor. Again and again. Dashing against the unseen yet solid difference. Thwarted but never giving up, for the heart is consumed by love. Love for a flower so precious that the rest of the meaningful faded into nothing. So powerful a feeling that the repeated defeats dented not its soul. Even as the day grows shorter, and i wondered for the reason to spend such a short life on this seemingly Fruitless exercise. Unmindful of its self and the ones deserving its love left forlorn. The moth kept on, indifferent to pain, hunger, suffering or humiliation. Twack, twack, twack, and again. The flower unsurprisingly didn't flutter even a petal. For if not such a powerful emotion would penetrate your heart, i wonder what could. And the moth dropped for last time.


March 8.

Dream

I'm not the usual active dreamer, what with being an insomniac, dreams often are short and vivid, rarely remembered, thankfully.

But occasionally i get that vivid and elaborately structured dream that is just too difficult to forget. So what is a dream?

Dream might have its etymology from the Proto- German word "DRAUMAZ" possibly meaning "DECEPTION".

My favourite book, Guyton's book of Physiology, says that dreaming is an active process. Strange, seeing how we always thought sleep was a passive state.

Sleep s REM (rapid eye movement) and NREM (non rem). Dreaming is a process (lets just say process for now) that occurs during the REM phase. Now a few characters of rem sleep are, 1. There s active movements of the eyeball while the muscle tone and movements are suppressed. 2. The brain activity s erratic. 3. The breathing and heart rates are erratic. So does this signify rem sleep and by implication dream, is an active process?
Nathaniel Kleitman and Eugene Aserinsky say that rem sleep has 2 parts. 1. Tonic 2. Phasic.

In my dream, i was scuba diving, in the depths where light is unwelcome. With me, i have a torch. Suddenly the torch goes out and i am left in pitch black. No idea which way is up which is down. I keep swimming and swimming. Until my oxygen runs out. Then i suffer a slow, agonizing, drawnout, painful death by suffocation. This is where i jolt to wakefulness sweating, with the blanket twisted around me and the bed in disarray.

Rem phase lasts around 90 to 120 mins every night. There are about 5 to 6 rounds. So the average would be 18 to 20 mins per cycle. Then why, correct me if i am wrong, do we feel that dreams last longer?
A simple physics shall answer that. Thank you Einstein. Theory of relativity. Also the brain activity is so fast that hours in a dream state last but few seconds in reality (i did not steal this concept from Inception folks).
Sanskrit scriptures describe 4 states of consciousness.
1. Jagrat- wakeful state.
2. Svapna- dream state.
3. Sushupti- dreamless higher state.
4. Turiya- spiritual consciousness.
Now if the sauna state s compared to rem and sushupti to nrem, voila, we have a conformance.

Sankaracharya says, 'Experience of deep sleep is a glimpse of self's real nature where there exists no "I" .'
Then there is the theory, forgot by whom, which correlates long term memory with active dreaming. Several neurotransmitters being implicated.

So, what is dream? It certainly is no passive meaningless process. From the way i interpret my dream, I'd say, it is like a colescing of all.
Having recently experienced a traumatic separation, perhaps, my dream draws inspiration from that. The torch being the person i lost and the subsequent loss and my depression. The emotional trauma has manifested as a dream. I fervently hope i am not seeing the future. So having said this i have substantiated the scientific explanation of long term memory and the spiritual explanation of self realisation.

Ok... So this is my first blog, blogging or watever t s cald. Havin seen so many f my friends go on bout blogging, naturally curiosity got the better of me.

So here i am, blogging.