As i lay in an MRI machine

'Wrap all your belongings, all of them, in a handkerchief, which you can surrender here at the desk. & you'll have to change your clothes'

Wallet from right back pocket, i-card from left back pocket, cellphone from left front, watch from left wrist, gold chain (the only piece of jewellery I've ever had) from neck (which i managed to break while untying) rolled into a handkerchief from right front pocket (i skipped mentioning 2 items here intentionally). I was composed, knotted the package carefully. Handed the prescription to the guy, & he pointed the way to the changing room, after handing over a set of blue clothes. A ward boy accompanied me to the room, & instructed me something. I told him i don't know Marathi & he smirked. In Hindi then, he asked me to undo all my clothes, even the chaddi, & change into the blue 'sick' color code. I preferred to keep my chaddi on & he didn't insist either. He assured me my clothes will be fine & showed me the drawer where i can find them later.

The baggy 'nada' trousers & typical hospital kurta with 2 buttons. The first thing i see stepping out of the changing room in the new attire was a beautiful girl & i could sense she pitied me for my 'supposed' miserable condition, & i pitied myself for the air around me. So i waited; & waited; & waited; until guided to the room where the thing had to be done.

Impression#1: Cold

Impression#2: Shit

Impression#3: I wish i had brought a friend along

Brief crisp instructions before i was let in

Instruction#1: There'd be noises when it starts. & just noises.

Instruction#2: I'll be given a small item which i can press if i have any trouble. I should lie down very still otherwise. DO NOT move.

Instruction#3: It will last 30 minutes.

I had questions, many of them, & i was having second thoughts about going in there. Also, the doc was a boring guy, a sweet/hot lady/girl would have eased things i guess. A sword-fight type helmet was fixed on my head & stuffings done around my neck so it doesn't move, & i was moved in. The total time elapsed between entering the room & entering the machine was around 2 minutes, & it was hard to digest the circumstances, specially when you have a feeling that you are about to be f*cked. A blood-pressure instrument pump was forced into my left palm, & i was really hoping it works if & when i need to get the bloody out of here.

Sounds, weird sounds, very weird sounds: quick beeps, buzzers, long screaming ones, varying frequencies & speeds, sudden silences, then sudden starts. & how i felt !

Feeling#1: Would the reading get disturbed (or the test get screwed) if i itch my left leg ? Let's resist. I can do it.

Feeling#2: Half an hour is so f*cking long man. Without coffee, or anything ! Lord.

Feeling#3: Should i try pressing this e-vac pump, to ensure it works ?

Feeling#4: What would these weird sounds track ? how is my brain responding to this sh*t ?

Feeling#5: While I'm thinking of all these things, would it not freak out this machine, which would it turn freak out my result ?

Feeling#6: I need to itch, or bloody ask someone to itch it for me. I can press that pump & ask them to itch me.

Feeling#7: Why is this bed shaking sometimes in coordination with the sound ? How would it help apart from terrifying the patient ?

Feeling#8: They should have atleast put a watch in front of the fixed face. Or a nice painting maybe, which a person can pass time with.

Feeling#9: Dude i think just 5 minutes passed by now, i can never make it to 30. I WILL have to use the e-vac pump.

Feeling#10: Itch on forehead.

Feeling#11: Let me try humming a song in mind (Didn't work). They say music is in the air, let me frame a song or some sensible music out of these crazy sounds (Didn't work either)

Feeling#12: 10 minutes, maybe ?

Feeling#13: How do kids bear this thing man ? They'd have to be drugged, but then, wouldn't the brain's responsiveness to these sounds be effected ?

Feeling#14: If i fell asleep accidentally, would the tests get effected ? I should have asked the doc.

Feeling#15: I'm in a f*cking limbo. I think I've made 12 minutes.

Feeling#16: I'm enjoying my life actually. These crazy sounds would end sometime & I'd be back at work. I hope Naresh (my colleague) isn't in too much trouble owing to my absence.

Feeling#17: As soon as i bloody get out of here, I'm going to *****.

Feeling#18: (I Slept)

Feeling#19: (I'm taken out of the machine. I ask, 'Did i really spend 30 minutes in there ?' & the smile answered in a nod) Nice ! Should i press the e-vac pump now to make sure it would have worked ? (I didn't)

Feeling#20: I hope none of the people i love have to face this pathetic traumatic machine ever

When i stepped out, changed to my actual clothing, the beautiful girl, sadly, was gone. So i had nothing left to do but the payment, place back all my collectibles in their right places & flee to a normal routine.

PS: Results were normal.

Hw 2 b KeWl @t ur eNgL!$h

This is a competitive world. When the folks say you have to fight it out right from when you are off the womb, they aren't wrong. Charles Darwin explained it in his theory of evolution, Shakespeare exercised it his writing flamboyance. Now, if you are an nonathletic fluffy kinda person, you are likely to take refuge in internet. Orkut/Facebook/Twitter weren't there since Leaning tower of Pisa started leaning, they weren't even there when i (or we, in general sense) were exposed to internet. There was Google for searching, & there was yahoo for chatting.

So, me, a nonathletic fluffy kid, entered cyber cafes in late 2003 (yeah, you might claim it was too late & lame, but please let's not ponder over it). Soon followed Yahoo Chat Rooms ! The first time i was inquired my ASL, i was gaping air. I tried to wave it off, but when the question became a regularity, i checked with one of my more-savvy friends for the answer. Moving on, you had to be cool. Cool isn't enough, you had to be Kewl. The school-taught-English just doesn't get your aspirations. You need to get into that chat lingo, which i did to some extent. By the end of this time, I've learnt enough to permanently replace "The" with "D", "your" with "ur", "you" with "u", "that" with "dat" in my mental dictionary. I was learning to be cool.

Later, Most of my cool writing skills came from Anurag Lal Sinha, who taught us how cool it sounds to omit maximum possible vowels from your words. We were sure this is what needs to be done to be kewl. When i look at my initial blog posts, i see it in vast extent way back in 2007, here for instance.

I was enlightened one day that this $h!t needs to be shed. & it was done by & large.

Now, i find kids (yes, I'd prefer to call them kids) doing the inevitable. Quoting some instances

• Status Msg: Belief iN DoinG D Thing$ WHaT BoDY Refu$e$ To Do ..But It$ aCtuAlly D mIND Who RefU$e$ To Do ...$o pLay With Yr MiND With D heLP oF YR HEArt & BoDy.....
• Album Name: OnCe Up()N A tImE iN g()AAAA
• Comment: somthing z overshadowed by daylight murder of 20 year old student n dat too in national capital, so m not in fancy... rather i blv in ground reality.

 

Ofcourse the Text Messaging mannerism has contributed. & it's not just about saving typing space & efforts. I don't find this atrocious, but definitely adolescent. Like Raghu keeps repeating in Roadies' auditions - Wannabes, at-least at the inception of this behavior. Also, i observe here that it's an addiction, as people into it are not likely to return back to normalcy easily. I haven't found any application that specifically dudi-fies a simple sentence into a handy array of small & capital letters, but i assume there should be some, like this. In my research work prior to this post, i also could not manage to find any connotation of diseases associated with this behavior (so i assume the onus is on us). Regardless of everything said & done, I personally find replacement of a/o/s/i with @/()/$/! very very innovative.

It's apt to associate Hip-Hop/Rap genre of music with this wannabe attitude. As an evidence, please allow me to quote this excerpt from How to Be Cool at Hip Hop page

Forget the basics of the english language: As with rapping, try to retrain your tongue to move left to right rather than the more natural feeling (and sounding) up and down as you form words. If you only use one side of your mouth for talking it will create the impression that you have been capped in the face, and street violence is the coolest aspect of hip hop. Also, occasionally omitting vowels from words and forgetting to include words like "and" and "the" will make you look less like you grew up in well-to-do areas, and make strangers assume you were raised by wild dogs in the backyard of your Russian parent's slum house. Hopefully some day you will learn to speak your native tongue again and be able to forgive your family for the years of rehabilitation and psychotherapy that are sure to be required for assisting your return to human society.

It's just a phase in most likelihood, that would (and should) pass over. But it's remarkable how modifiable we are. The power of peer pressure at it's driving best. I thank, abstractly, that Hindi has been spared. At the same time, i do appreciate the truth how boring life would be if people just walked in straight lines.

PS: I ain't taking pot-shots at anyone. Please accept my apologies for any blood shed.

Nuptial knots

Pre-birth

I asked, being a kid, the obvious, whenever we saw our parent's Video cassette on the then VCPs, "where was i when you people were getting married ?" I was graciously told i was sleeping. & i thought 'awhh sheeit, how could i do that!'. Cassettes now turned to CDs, VCPs replaced by CD Players, & we, Indian middle class families, still sometimes enjoy the video portrayal of the auspicious ceremonies.

Then

• The marriage i profoundly remember over the years was my paternal uncle's. Probably 1995/96. I bought glamorous shoes, heavier than myself then, with tiny plastic pistols attached to each of the pair (which reminds me of Rajnikant somehow). Pistols however were obviously detached & lost by the end of the celebration (& yes i mourned over them).
• At another family marriage, i decided, can't remember under who's influence, to wear a cap throughout the night (Mind you, there were no Reshammiya's then). My mom trying to convince me what a joker I'd look wearing a cap at night & me sticking to my newly discovered fashion statement.
• It was my cousin's marriage, & that girl flashed past me, & i was lost, miserable lost. 'Manvi', as she was called, probably 10 years elder to my eighteen-some soul. There was this song by Kamaal Khan 'Kya yahi pyaar hai' out fresh then. All i remember was that i woke up next morning, teary eyed, that song playing over & over in my head, & a distant unknown face flashed unabated between my eyelids & iris. Never intended to pursue whatever i thought i had for her. Can't remember anything about her at all now, except the name & the song :)

Now

In quick succession over the past months, 3 close friends got paired up with their beloveds. Above all, long-awaited get togethers in lives torn credited to democratic drudgery of a 9x5 typecast servicemen.

Antecedent Excitement

Unheeded. Glittering. Joyous. Groves. Horsey. Friends. Alcohol. I-just-can't-wait-for-it kinda sickness all in that head.

Dress code
First Marriage: A friend ditched on call to stay with a blazer, so i ditched both of them - the blazer & the suit, as i had none handy. Held to the old most-fashionable jacket i possessed. It was nauseating still to see most men in shining suits, but company of few self-claimed-non-suit-ed-dudes gave some hope.

Second Marriage: No bourgeois company. A glamorous affair. All in suit, expect my high-headed soul. & how miserable i felt ! & My mom bitched me for this one beyond what i can admit in public. To un-curtain a glimpse: "Tere saare friends ne ye waali jacket dekhi hogi pehle. Photo bhi hogi sabke paas. Saare friend ne suit pehna hoga na ? Kya karta hai tu paise kamake jab ek suit bhi nahin kharid sakta ! Kahan paise udata hai ?"

Interlude: So pissed i was, i gifted myself a suit. Entered Van Heusen, & paid 7.5K for what hit me as befitting as my first suit, ever.

Third Marriage: Oh yeah baby, I'm SUIT-ed !!

Somewhere in the middle

Everything so normal that it ain't expected of a marriage, or was not expected by me. How is everything so, so, even ??

Ensuant Silence

Waiting for the boarding announcement, sulking over KFC's popcorn chicken, wondering, what has changed. Chicken in the mouth answered - "Nothing". The one still between my index finder & the thumb, sort of crumbling, said "Make sure you fucking find an occasion to wear that suit again mate". Once i gulped them both, i decided, "it was fun - yeah, that's what it was", & left the same lonely feeling that smelt when i left a group of friends to head towards home, or room, or another city, or another chance.

Back to non-ceremonious chore

Firstly, the marriage pics by all the camera-holders on Picasa/Facebook, ensued by plethora of comments/likes. Shortly follows the honeymoon pics by either of the pair. likes likes comments comments. display pic change. marital status change (not always applicable). Period.

Afterthought

I remember my dad's married friends visiting us sometimes. Gents-gents in one room. Ladies-ladies in another (mostly). Kids-kids, if applicable, either silently playing a game on host's call, or silently watching television, or silently watching another's silence (applicable to me). I don't know, & can't construct, how different it was from what existed before between friends. But i hope everything stays normal with us. Never learnt how to behave with a 'bhabhi', but i assume I'll gather it from someone else (like the suit). I hope the bhabhis are friendly enough to entertain sick-humored, high-voiced, expletives-friendly, chaddi-drink-smoke-buddies. I just would have to learn how to start !

An Impediment to the Pet bonding

Bhauuuu ! Aweee i liked the fluffy girl that went past a few minutes back. She was a blond, with a brown collar. Good she wasn't wearing a green nail-polish like her master. These guys do crazy things with themselves, spare the dogs. Anyways, I was just watching 'Bruce Almighty' yet again, & that polka-dotted brother he had made me giggle with that pee off the toilet seat, flush & all. Best was the newspaper-reading-shit in style, & the awe-struck woman at that sight. I just rolled my tongue over my face, twice, imagining myself doing that.

Speaking of masters, I'd like to have one some day. I know a handsome bloke, who had wished to befriend one of my breed since his young age. The Alsatian kind. I dream fetching him newspapers & him walking me pissing over those tree trunks with a haunch raised. But these humans you know, they can't breathe easy, ever. That guy had her mother convinced over me, well, almost, but the elder in their gene don't give up easily, & are unabashed at any argumentation. So he grieved. & so did i, brooding over breadcrumbs people threw. Then that boy got hold of a girlfriend out of nowhere. & just when i thought he'd be young enough to pursue his desires, he got laid over the girl-power. Obviously when asked to choose over a shitty dog, & a shitty girlfriend, he went for the girl thing.

I don't blame him though. I mean, look at them. They are slaves. They have their fathers, their mother, brothers, sisters, their girlfriends, their boyfriends, husbands, wives, in-laws, ex-s & what the shit not. We are much better placed as pets. Oh, i pity him. I'll gift him a teddy puppy some day when i get earning.

There's one state of arts though that we canines hold prowess over, as compared to the supposed self-acclaimed creators of super-computers. It's Girls ! you know how it goes. Free lunches. Just don't ask how good a time I've had at this front. The famous pleasure-style is named after us, in case you are still sissy. I'd been trying to practice the art of kissing though lately. It's tough with a beaked mouth, you can imagine. I've watched the acclaimed best-kiss in a recent bollywood flick - some band-baja something it was named (my uncle, named Dogspeare, said once, "bhau bhau, bhau bhau bhau" - which transcripts to "what's in the name"). Now don't frown at me with those hollow eyes as to how could i manage a blog in English, my native language being doggish (I obviously used Google translator man ! c'mon scum !)

I'll cut it short here. Gotta see somebody ! Keep sulkin' at your miserable lives mate !

F*ck Vuvuzela

Ok. We're already 11 days into FIFA WC 2010. & the pain, let me tell you, has been unbearable from the 1st day. I was stuck in office when SA commenced with the first match, watching it online. I was pissed by the noise channel brought alongwith the commentary, or so i thought. Changed to 2nd channel, then to third - all the same. Television back home - same. Couple of days later, it was all over net & news.

Some adjectives bestowed, courtesy of the BBC: It is like "a herd of stampeding elephants", "the drone of a thousand bees, or the sound of a goat being dragged to slaughter". Or "like a cow being given a surprise enema" as the TimesColonist puts it.

To me: it's just an unbearable pain in the ars !!

They can produce a record level of noise, 130 dB. FYI - 120 dB is considered threshold of pain. British BBC, ESPN & several broadcasters world over received several complaints from viewers. FIFA thought, only for a moment, to ban it. Online Ban petitions & all that usual crap.

In Cape Town, stores sell special earplugs called Vuvu-Stop, to mitigate the noise level of 31 dB. Each package is accompanied by the inscription on the reverse side: "The highly effective tool for noise reduction. Used on football and rugby or fencing with the sound of your wife." [Source]

As noted by Wikipedia, the ear shattering device, In the wake of the 2010 World Cup, has been banned from a number of stadiums and events, including tennis matches at Wimbledon, the Melbourne Cricket Ground, and baseball games at Yankee Stadium.

Other Vuvu reads
Vuvuzela: Love it or ban it
How to Silence Vuvuzela Horns in World Cup Broadcasts

& I couldn't agree more with the pic below.