Another Harry's Bar....and the tale it tells.

Wet wind on the sidewalk….I’m staring in the rain,
Walking up the streets…and walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb,
See that broken neon sign say…. “Hey, In you come.”
Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head.
Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead.
A book of matches and a full ashtray.
Cigarette left smoking its life away.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
Harry's long gone now....and the customers as well.

Somehow the first thoughts are always of bleary Pune December mornings , exhausted to the last mitochondrion of the body - with chronic sleep deprivation and substance abuse , you are dragged off to usual business. The morning fingers nearly breaking into a rigor , at the first strike of the heavy E-string. However, as the first chords lend way to the bridge , Miruvor has coursed through the body.

“ The mist had fled and the sun rose red
Upon the church spire tall,
An old man clad in a cloak and hat
Sat stoned on a battered wall.”

The mornings have always been the most dimly lit…..an uncomfortable jamboree of uneasy slumbers in incomprehensible lectures ; amidst bursting cacophonic hospital OPD’s and sardonically satisfying pools of blood in the OT ; amidst endless cups of pepper n ginger tea in the brilliant mornings of the decadent valley nothingness.
This hasn’t been the best of years , even by the exalted standards of your generally wasted existence. You’ve lost count of the number of ‘ oh, nearly so’s’.....ever witnessing the finishing line , yet forever shy of it ( damn you …hellish hope) ; from the vividly dark nights in the U-block to the anguish ridden centre court of Wimbledon. Yet maybe such disappointments were imperative to attain such hypoxic heights of nihilism , that you boast of in any case.
True nihilism they say arises from a perfect harmony of intellectual and philosophical realization ….. yet you cannot help but feel the ever worsening decline of the intellect amidst the mundane tribulations of routine existence. Not without an end, these tribulations, perhaps….but at what cost….and will it all be too late.

Last of all , Frodo hugged Sam…. “ Maybe you too shall follow someday , for you too were a ring bearer , though for only a short while.”
….and Sam , I think , made no answer….He was never very good with words anyway.

The fell voices of Caradhras fill the air , and the company awaits …death or worse….in the shelter of the naked cliff. “ If this is shelter , then one wall and no roof make a house”, said Boromir…..and Frodo dreams
“ Snowfall on December the 12th ? There was no need to come back to report that.”
“ But I was tired Bilbo.”

Sitting cramped amidst a blinding snowstorm and not being able to stretch or move , is possibly the most physically uncomfortable situation ( in my experience at least). Every moment is a dread weight….an eternity of wait. Fire , in either form , is elusive. You almost wish there was some…..in one way or the other.
Were it not for the generous swigs of rum , it might indeed have been the death of the Halflings ( or one of them at least)….Ferpectly True ( Hic!).

It’s the Olympic year…..we’ve already had a horrible Euro and a rather forgettable Tour. Blood was spilt on the red dirt of Paris and the stake firmly driven into the heart across the channel in London. Tiger winced and grimaced and hobbled , moved practically on one leg yet somehow managed to win the US Open….but the price was paid , and he’s out for the rest of the year . Kobe was MVP and the west was won yet the Celtics thrashed the Lakers in a lop-sided Finals.
I have a bad feeling about Beijing…..amidst murky drugs taints , there is an overwhelming lack of champions….notwithstanding that Phelps might yet win 7 golds ( I don’t believe he will).

“ The King under the mountains is dead….Girion lord of Dale is dead , and I have devoured his people like a wolf among sheep”

Indeed…. the all too brief era of light seems to have passed us by…..and the grim age of poisoned reality and heartache seems to have returned. And I have not the heart to write further. Now I see the 2 Sams had quite a few things in common , not least poetry. I wonder if pipe weed had more colourful connotations…. especially given Gandalf’s ability to blow those wonderous smoke rings….and of course…
“The finest rockets ever seen.
They burst in showers of blue and green.”

The cross atop St Patrick’s never stops glowing. You fall in, fallout , curse , berate and continue ….. to exist. As an old and dear ( now lost) friend so succinctly described it once - strumming furiously….sometimes you get the elusive chord, and sometimes you don’t….even as in some corner of Harry’s Rank old mess you can hear the unmistakable strain of Gilmour trailing….
“ for killing the past…and coming back to life.”

For all your efforts , you resemble the smaller Sam , as far as expression goes , at least.

Maybe there is some truth in doomsday predictors and thinkers of the likes of Diamond…. What wouldn’t I give to see that day of shattered notions. For the moment then….sit there …. Wait…strum…roll….stroll….maybe a ship does sail…..or Tol Sirion is overrun.
And the foresight dawns upon you….nothing in your realm shall endure……

In the meantime , of course....

"Harry's still here...."

Queue to a Kill

Another gemstone from Puneet....messaged across from Jhansi railway station.....

I just witnessed the great 'Indian Railway Queue Rage'.....clenched fists , racing pulses , abuses on tongue tips....and eyes on the lookout for someone who is breaching the 'discipline' and usurping their rightful place in the queue. ....but not thinking twice , if they can do the same themselves.
Shouting , spitting , swearing...while the sluggish queue crawls...blaming the man behind the counter for all that is wrong with the world.
Too bad , a license is required to posess weapons , else India's population problems could've been sorted out at these queues.

....attaboy Sax.....just keep em' coming.

Viva la Tour....Memories of Lance

So, it begins again…the most grueling physical endeavour known to man. The 21 day sensational journey through the idyllic plains and the breathtaking yet unforgiving mountains of Europe.
The Tour de France is one of the pinnacles of human endeavour. The race where the sinews are fed by the will , blood is replaced in the veins by sweat…..the race where heroes are destroyed , lesser mortals engulfed by the treacherous slopes of the Alps and Pyrenees….the race where legends are born whose names endure when the memory of aught else has faded irrevocable even from the memory of the oldest greybeards.

For all the recent taint of drugs and cheats and fallen stars , the aura of the Tour does not diminish. It stands , tall and proud , with its head far above the murk of petty human frailties. Over the past 6-7 years that I have been enamoured of the event , innumerable instances spring to mind about its enduring charm. However , a couple of these stand out as memories of the undeniable nostalgia , the almost fantastical romance and of a champion for the ages….the legendary lance Armstrong.

We are fortunate people to have lived and witnessed the age of mighty sporting heroes….the age of Tiger , Schumacher , Jordan , Federer …and not the least , the age and the legend of Armstrong.
So much has been written about Lance…the miraculous recovery from metastatic testicular cancer to go on to a record 7 tour victories…on the trot , if you please. Perhaps he will never be completely free of the accusations of his detractors branding him the biggest cheat to have used drugs and yet gotten away with it. However we live in a scientific era , and till evidence is brought before us , let us shun these accusations and rejoice in some of Lance’s most memorable moments on the Tour.



2001 : The Alpe D’Huez – The Look
The ascent up the Alpe D’Huez is the most feared stage of the Tour de France….draining every ounce of energy…demanding every sinew to be stretched to the utmost. It is the stage that separates the men from the boys…the champions from the also rans. Who better to demonstrate the same than Armstrong in a single moment of unsurpassed brilliance that has gone down as probably the single greatest moment in the history of the Tour.
It was the day when Lance was to be attacked and defeated. All the big guns led by Jan Ulrich , Lance’s perennial rival were determined to use the Alpe D’huez to decimate the champion. They hit the lower slopes of the mountains with a ferocious intensity , Ulrich’s strong team doing all the pace making …..one by one, Lance’s team mates dropped off the pace….the champion itself seemed to be struggling…the rivals for once seemed to have him just where they wanted and were perhaps ready to finish him off.
Then came the legendary moment as they began the climb up the steepest slopes. Lance , at the head of the pack , looked behind and seemingly stared Ulrich right in the eyes ……it was a fleeting moment but seemed like an eternity…almost as if to say , “ I am going ….. are you coming with me?” ...
…and then he just got up from the saddle and broke away form the field in an unprecedented display of guts and stamina…and the rest of the pack…..Ulrich , Iban Mayo , Joseba Beloki simply could not follow. In that one moment , the Tour of 2001 was won and Lance cemented his name as one of the legends of the sport.

2003 : The Col de Tourmalay – The Shortcut
The other great Armstrong moment that springs to mind comes from the 2003 tour on the precipitous descent down the famous slopes of the Col de Tourmalay. The 2003 race was proving Lance’s hardest yet as he chased a record breaking 6th consecutive yellow jersey. His old rivals , especially Jan Ulrich , were out with a vengeance during the mountain stages , attacking Lance at every possible opportunity. Thus far the champion had stood up to the challenge but the first time in his incredible reign , he was starting to show frailties and vulnerability. The particular stage on the Col de Tourmalay in the Pyrenees was no different with Ulrich , Joseba Beloki , and Iban Mayo attacking him ceaselessly…..then came the moment of brilliance. The pack were haring down the downslope of the mountain at breakneck speed…..Beloki leading the way , Armstrong bang on his shoulder. All of a sudden Beloki locked his back wheel , skid and hit the ground hard. Lance , tearing down in excess of 70-80 kms per hour and barely a meter behind Beloki seemed doomed to crash into the Spaniard and end his tour. However the genius that is Armstrong veered his bike out of the road and in an incredulous display continued riding along the mountain slope with impeccable control till he met the road at a lower part…..whereupon he dismounted from the bike and rejoined the race at the same time the others of the pack reached the spot…even as he nonchalantly hit his pedal……his old teammate Tyler Hamilton gave him an enquiring and reassuring pat on the elbows.
Stuff of dreams…of legends…..of the stuff champions are made off.

Even as the 2008 tour kicks off under a cloud of the discomfiting events of last year……it is too much to hope that another Lance will appear anytime soon…or ever again….but come what may….in the enticing slopes of the Alpe D’Huez , the Hautacamb , the Col de Tourmalay…..and finally down to the breakneck sprint on the Champs Elysees….the legend of the Tour will continue.
Viva la Tour!!!

Crazy little thing called ...Hope!

The most terrible thing to come out of Pandora's wretched box was Hope....far worse than all other maladies to ail the human race......brings you up with a soothing falsehood....and then drops you down into the depths of the nether world in such a manner that you are never able to rise from it again...or even desirous of trying to rise.....much better to live out our days in dark pessimism....

Would hell have any meaning if those that dwelt here dreamt not of heaven...I think not....and it is miserable hope that flings these rotten dreams to the inhabitants of hell.

What better than the black hands of Maglor to remind one of the promise and the unfulfilled hope of the light....Go forth then...sing in pain and wander the hither shores.

The Hidden Face of Humanity

Scene I : Marine Drive , Mumbai at midnight.

A teenage boy steps out of a plush residential complex overlooking the breathtaking Queen Necklace , walking a perfectly groomed Spitz on a leash. After barely going a few steps , he notices the imminent intention of the canine to relieve itself ; and places a piece of newspaper immaculately beneath the posteriors of his pet. Subsequently after the routine is complete , the boy neatly folds the paper around the malodorous contents and drops the same in the nearest bin. Thereafter meeting my look of incredulous admiration with a quick smile , he is quickly lost amidst the midnight Saturday crowd.



Scene II : Mumbai Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus - 1500 hrs.

Amidst a torrential downpour and surrounded by masses of Indian humanity in their unfettered rage and angst , I wait with fast ebbing patience to board the train and be rid of the claustrophobic crowd. With almost sadistic amusement I look down at the empty tracks and stare wondrously at the wide and varied filth lying there. From biscuit packets and chocolate wrappers to empty whiskey bottles and even a dead rat , the tracks , seem to mirror the warty underbelly of all that signifies India.

Even as I watch....SPLAT....goes an improvised newspaper plate , dispersing the remnants of a frugal midday meal into the ever forgiving drain ; followed by 2-3 generous contributions of betel stained, and in all possibility, AFB positive expectoration. Standing next to me is an old 'baba' , looking distantly like a severely malnourished Luciano Pavarotti , rescued after years of struggle in the trenches of France in WWI , might have done - complete with tattered rags , grimy hands and hollow sunken eyes , signifying if anything , the utter lack of any real purpose in his existence. Before I could open my mouth to remark , the inimitable Puneet next to me saves me the requirement

...."Baba has just got rid of all the troubles that were plaguing his life....the plate and the sputum....he is now cleansed of all his sins...and at complete inner peace with himself."
....and then as if to reaffirm the aforesaid, the old man dipped and rinsed his hands in a pool of holy water ( read.... a muddy rain puddle on the dirty platform) , wiped his mouth in the same purgatory , and lay himself down and slept like a baby amidst all the cacophony of the surrounding humanity.

Oscar Wilde wrote - "Romance is a privilege of the rich". I am tempted to add ..... so is etiquette , civic sense , conscience , morality and ethics ......in other words , all the supposed behavioral patterns that separate humans from their so called lesser evolved brethren. As survival pressures enmesh their web tighter, the weak societal memes are shed unabashedly in exchange for those, evidently more suited for immediate survival. What cares our old man about global warming, melting glaciers, booming oil prices and vanishing food stocks?
For all our loud boasts of conquest over nature and its laws , we are unfortunately fettered as tight as the cavemen ages ago….. simply that we choose to ignore it or bury our heads like the ostrich in ill conceived notions of superiority.
We aren’t better than other organisms really….just dressed comically for a pantomime of sorts…..indeed …. “All the world’s a zoo, and all the men and women merely caged animals” ….. the cages which are only torn down when faced by the bare realities of life and the struggle for survival.

“But where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding? Man knoweth not the price thereof ; neither is it found in the land of the living….for the price of wisdom is above rubies.”

Tagged again!!!

To do:1. Pick up the nearest book.

2. Open to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the next three sentences.

5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

...................

1. Pediatric Neuroimaging ...by James Barkovich....which i was using to make my upcoming presentation on neurometabolic disorders.

2. Page 123.....random shit on...."toxic and metabolic disorders"......coincidental wouldnt you say.

3. Line 5 : Positron emission tomography and SPECT may be useful in establishing the diagnosis of Neuronal Ceroid Lipofushinosis.

4. Next 3 lines........

Severe reduction in metabolism in all the cortical and sub-cortical structures have been shown in 18F-fluorodeoxyglucose PET studies. Regional analysis shows marked bilateral hypometabolism , particularly in the calcarine , lateral occipital , temporal cortices and in the thalami. In infantile NCL , SPECT using 99 Tc-hexamethypropyleneamineoxime showed bilateral anterior frontal, posterior temporoparietal and occipital hypoperfusion.

5. Whom to tag...ok ....Rupeet ,Shyam , Ms Solo , Bhishmadev and Ms Phoebe....and I was tagged by Ankita.

The Sound of Her Wings

Life, at times shocks you into stunned silence….for all your misplaced claims of “been there…seen that”…..and unemotive cold-heartedness…..there are times in the practice of this wretched profession, where you are reduced to a helpless pathetic bystander…..left shaking your head at the enormity of all that we yet do not comprehend….and have no answers for.
The other day I saw an 18 year old boy stricken with Ewing’s sarcoma….a particularly aggressive malignancy of the bone, and pretty much incurable at that. Wherefore the youngster….who should have had the whole world before his feet….in an instant finds himself staring at a tumultous 6-8 months, maybe less , of life. Already stricken with the debilitating course of the disease, as the days progress, the cancer will slowly eat away into his bones, causing sustained pain of a nature that cannot be explained to one who has not felt it....and through the course of it all , he will be given chemotherapy that will drive away the appetite , cause intense nausea and wretching along with complete hair loss and a mileu of other problems.
Then there was the newborn infant, born prematurely at 30 weeks of gestation, who came through a torrid spell of nearly fatal birth asphyxia followed by sepsis, kept only by some extraordinarily heroic neonatal care – yet to what purpose??? The child is likely to have suffered irreversible hypoxic brain damage during his cataclysmic perinatal course….which in all probability shall culminate in one or all of the following: severe mental retardation, partial to complete hearing loss , severe lag in motor development ( i.e. inability to sit up , walk , grasp objects and so on)….to make matters worse , he is likely to survive to well into his 2nd decade if not further….pretty much as a human vegetable….you cant help ask yourself….is life the only thing that is sacrosanct , and does the quality of the same have no bearing whatsoever !
For a moment then, leave aside all the possible nefarious possibilities and unethical practices, but purely from the so-called humanitarian view (let aside even science) , I think there should be a provision to allow one to pull the plug…on his own , or a dear one’s inevitably wasted and traumatized existence. I can scarce fathom the inexplicable desire to clutch vainly at the flimsiest of straws.

If this is sanctity….grant me damnation!

“Death is before me today,
Like the recovery of a sick man.
Like going forth into a garden after sickness.
Death is before me today,
Like the odor of myrrh,
Like sitting under a sail in a good wind.
Death is before me today,
Like the course of a stream
Like the return of a man
From the war galley to his house.”

Walk with her , humanity….hear the gentle beating of the mighty wings.

On Family....

" The bonds of family bind both ways. they bind us up, support us, help us , and they also are a bond from which it is difficult , perhaps impossible to extricate oneself"

I wonder how many people really find solace in their family....and how many just go along with the whole 'family' -thing because its the socially acceptable thing to do.........and for the previleged few , of course , the family is like a gilded insurance policy - a veritable stariway to heaven.
Well hypocrisy is the human way after all.....thoughts and convictions are scarcely meant to be practised in the eternal struggle for social acceptance and recognition.

The Crime of being 'Single'

It is a veritable crime to be single in today’s world. A status of single entails that you have nothing to do , no passions , obviously no commitments and therefore are the natural choice to do all the undesirable , time consuming , and ‘after work hours’ jobs that the more privileged ( read married…committed…betrothed and so on) lot cannot take on.

I have lost count of the number of times people have ‘requested’ me to do a bum job assigned to them…..

…. “ I have to go shopping for jewellery with my wife”

….. “Its festival day tomorrow ,and the gods will be displeased if I don’t celebrate it with my family. You of course are an atheist , without any family and a culture-phobe at that ; so of course , it doesn’t matter to you, does it ?”….well , thank you for kindly forgetting that my free time and solitude matters to me…..and whether I use it to declare my infallible servitude to god or use it just to lie supine on my bed and stare at the ceiling is none of your bloody business!!!

….. “ Distant cousins of the third degree are visiting and hence….”

….. “my child’s birthday party”…well excuse me for not feeling thrilled and wishing your child the best of health!!!!
….. the most exasperating one …. “its Feb 14th tomorrow”….as if the tyrant sitting up above has promised special sustained orgasms for those who join in the mass stupidity of other humans in the nauseating celebration of ‘luurrvvee’ with their partners.

…As if these ridiculous explanations were not enough, so-called single individuals are treated with an extraordinary racist outlook…almost as if to say…. “you wanted to be in our position , you’re dying to be in our position….and since you obviously are unlucky or incapable , you deserve to pay for your utter worthlessness in society by serving more worthy citizens like us.”
The venerable organization where I serve takes this sentiment to further extremes..... married people are entitled houses , more luggage allowance during moves , extra allowances in general….and the crowning glory….given more leeway in leave.
Poor guys like us are left to face downright insulting remarks … “Why on earth do you want leave , you’re not even married. Look at him, he has a wife and a small child.”


Well, I have a dream…and not much unlike that of Martin Luther King Jr. That some day I and others like me shall be granted equal status in society , and this without having to remove the ‘single’ tag from my bio-data. That one day our abuse in society will be viewed on an equal platform as that of homosexuals , the non-whites and the socially backward.
To the so-called privileged classes I can only point my extended middle digit and the words of John Lennon…
“You may say I’m a dreamer…but I’m not the only one!”

Tagged....

This is in response to a tag game that apparently does the rounds on the blog site...so I go along.....
1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER:

Juno….from a purely human relationships point of view…yeah , decent watch…but if the film’s supposed to have some kind of social message, then I either missed it….or the makers got it horribly wrong.

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?

Diagnostic Ultrasound by Carol Rumac….but I guess it doesn’t count….among non-technical stuff , I’ve been revising Jared Diamond’s “Why is Sex Fun”….splendid read that explores the evolutionary aspects of human sexuality.

3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?

Chess , of course…bridge better than that (but it aint a board game)….also Cluedo , Scotland Yard , Monopoly and Ludo.

4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE?

Sportstar…the only magazine I have read for any length of time and have the patience to complete…in general not a magazine kinda person.

5. FAVORITE SMELLS?

The inside of my 15 year old much battered , moth eaten copy of Lord of the Rings…transports me instantaneously to Middle Earth. That apart….mary jane , old monk , El Paso by Lomani , and the smell of pretty much anything clean and far from the maddening crowd.

6. FAVORITE SOUND?
Of Silence….
…..also bluesy guitaring , baritone crooning and Jack Nicholson speaking .

7. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD?

….god and religion and social customs replacing scientific and logical thought.
….indoctrination of impressionable young children.
....hollow patriotism bieng bandied in your face by people who couldnt care less.
....having to communitcate with people you couldnt care less about in the general course of everyday life.

8. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE?

…..fuck….goddamit.

9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?

…Not given to fast food in any kind or form….much rather prefer a lazy drink and steak.

10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME?

My favourite question….hee haw
Lets see…
Eblis o’ Shaugnessey
Turin Turambar dagnir glauranga
Rand al’Thor
Heathcliff
Sherlock Holmes
…that’s the guys…for a girl…
Death

11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT. "IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY I'D...?

Lets see…firstly give up Medicine…
Then….open a rock n roll themed café….name it “Stairway to Heaven” or “Wonderful Tonight”….get my own ensemble band…and play the blues and rock n roll on weekends.
Or possibly…..
Buy the Arsenal football club !!!!

12. DO YOU DRIVE FAST?
….when I’m stoned.

13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?

…of course….I also wear…pink polka dotted underpants….watch all the saas-bahu serials (even the reruns)…bunk work to watch Sharukh Khan-Yash Chopra films (or for that matter most bollywood films)……pray to GOD 60 times a day....dance nude in a tub full of ox-blood every full moon night so that HE / SHE / IT does not send me to hell….ANYTHING ELSE????

14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY?

hmm…inconvenient…mostly.

15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?

…if the childhood dinky cars are discounted ( I had at least 15 of those)…then none yet…fingers crossed…hopefully within the next 2 months.

16. FAVORITE DRINK?

Water….with Old Monk / Bacardi / Smirnoff….soda with single malt scotch….chilled white wine….bloody mary….heady beer on summer afternoons......strong coffee…black tea.


17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD

.....….learn reading music….master the bass and classical and blues guitaring…..work on my ‘nipped in the bud’ drumming skills.....also….perhaps….write a book !!!!

18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI?

….I only eat meat.

19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE?

…pretty irrelevant question…considering I’ve nearly lost all of it.

20. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN.

Jamshedpur…Kolkata….Delhi….Pune….Jalandhar…Lucknow…and…some god-forsaken wilderness in the Kashmir Valley.
( lived in..I’ve equated to…spent more than 30 days in one go)….
…also spent considerable amounts of time in…Ranchi…Bombay…Srinagar.

21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

Football….Tennis…F1…Golf….Basketball….Rugby….MotoGP….and cricket when Australia’s playing…..can pretty much watch each and very sport.

22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU

.….that she’s from Kolkata….likes rock n roll….and doesn’t believe in god (or at least looks like it).

23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?

….I’m scared to look….mostly books…books…..and more books....lying there coz there isnt room in room to display them.

24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN?

….I’d much rather be spared the inconvenience of being born at all….to quote…I forgot who….Bertrand Russell..or Douglas Adams…perhaps…. “…considering that I’d been dead for millions of years before I’d been born and had suffered not the slightest bit of inceonvenience from it”.

25. MORNING PERSON, OR NIGHT OWL?

night owl…and also very early morning…it’s the sun high up on the sky that I dislike.

26. OVER EASY, OR SUNNY SIDE UP?

…neither….dark side of the moon…or better…dark side of the LOON!!!

27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX?

……any place…away from the mad rush if humanity.

28. FAVORITE PIE?

Sheperd’s….

29. FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?

…..all said and done…good ol’ vanilla…better….if its spiked with a dash of rum or khalua.

30. OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST?

...My blog’s pretty much a dead end…I don’t expect anyone to respond.

Dictionary of a Cynic

I was tagged on to this by an unknown lady's blog....and the idea was exceedingly fascinating...hence here goes...an A-Z of all that matters...causes sentiments...passions...smiles and hurts.


A …..is for AFMC….the ol’ girl resplendent after nigh on 60 years….who says the flame has died…so what if there are no bikes for the cadets….so what if they actually attend classes and clinics …so what if they study any other time beyond 30 days preceding a university exam….there’s something imperishable about the air….the walls….the gardens……aahh…..quite simply…the show will go on.

B….is for Baggins…..quite simply the best surname in the real and fictitional world combined. I’m sorry Bilbo , ol’ chap….there was nothing Tookish that made you probe William’s pocket , riddle Gollum in the dark , ‘Attercop’ and ‘Tomnoddy’ the nasty spiders of Mirkwood , and not to mention engage Smaug in banter only hobbits can…it was all Baggins….we loves it…we loves it…we loves it forever!!!!


C…..is for Coffee….of which, I get through 8-10 cups in a day…..of any sort and kind…filter , black or machine brewed.

D…..is for Darwin , Dawkins , Dennett , Diamond…..the scholars who gave , structured and simplified the theory of life for us ….. Evolution....the simplest , most beautiful though abominable yet inescapable truth about everything that exists ..and the way it exists.
Also…for Death…the eternal love of my life…oh to look into those eyes…to hear the sound of her wings
Also…for DNA…..the magic molecule of life.
Also…for Dylan ( Bob)…the greatest poet of the 20th century ( Nobel prize or no)
…wow …in other words….D was simply the most DIFFICULT.

E….is for Einstein…the man who changed the way the world looks….the way it functions…and pretty much brought to a naught all that existed the way it did before his time…….all things are relative…but in human society …he seems destined to remain the only constant.

F….is for Football…the most beautiful game on the planet. A toast (and looking forward to many more) to the lip smacking Premiership / La Liga / Serie A weekends , late Tuesday and Wednesday night UCL fixtures….not to mention the summer Euros and WC’s.
For a long suffering fan like me…here’s hoping…
…Arsenal win a champions league title
…Holland finally win a World Cup
…Christiano Ronaldo and Didier Drogba get banned for life for diving and cheating.
And…
…Sir Alex finally hangs up his boots at Old Trafford.

G…is for god…..to sum it simply in the words of Richard Dawkins….
“……. arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction : jealous and proud of it; a petty unjust unforgiving control freak; a vindictive bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynist, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniac, sado-masochistic, capriciously malevolent bully. Those of us schooled from infancy in his ways become insensitive to his horror.”

H…..is for humans…an absurd species that has lived for barely 50,000 years in the 5 billion year history of life on a tiny planet in the solar system of an insignificant sun, located on the fringes of a rather average sized galaxy amidst infinitesimally larger galaxies , stars , and black holes of the known universe…..yet a species which believes that the entire universe and everything within it along with the laws of physics that govern it , are made solely for the purpose that it could exist.
….to quote from Gaiman… “Ah , humanity ! You never cease to amaze me.”

I…..is for Intelligence…or the utter lack of it….which characterizes….the ‘H’ mentioned above….which is inspite of the best evolutionary efforts of massive calvarial and cerebral development. Yet humans remain , mired in petty hegemonies , entrenched in atavistic unscientific societal norms , and utterly resistant to intellectual and philosophical progress of any kind.

J…is for Jimmy ( Page ) , Jimi ( Hendrix) , John ( Lennon , Bonham , Paul Jones , Fogarty etc etc) , (Mick) Jagger , Janis Joplin ( the only double J) , Joan (Baez) , Jim ( Morrison) , James ( Hetfield)….the eternal imperishable spirits of rock n roll….who enable me to clamber out of bed every bleary morning…sustain me through my most trying and testing moment each noisome day…and soothe and lull me into the arms of Murphy at the end of it.

K….is for Kilroy…the ubiquitous , all-pervading , all knowing , rum guzzling , chain smoking , guitar toting ,Floyd quoting, rascally imp….who incidentally also manages to save human lives by practicing medicine.

L….is for Loyola….13 of the very best years…in the very best school….

“Those were the days my friend,
We thought they’d never end;
We’d sing and dance forever and a day.
We’d live the life we choose,
We’d fight and never loose,
For we were young and sure to have out way.”

M….is for Morpheus….the Sandman…the eponymous hero of Gaiman’s cult work….to his endless bretheren…the Corinthian , the immortal Hob Gadling …and all the rest….
Indeed… what power would even hell have if those that dwelt there dreamt not of heaven.

N…..is for Night……time for rest…for musings…time for the blues….to walk under the enchanted stars….and marvel at the lights of ages gone by.....to sleep…in peace for some…in angst for others…awaiting the arrival of the tyrannical sun.

O…is for Old Monk…the elixir of life….and my steadfast companion…whether it be through the travails of an uncertain final year at MBBS , bone chilling winters of Kashmir , or at the fag end of a weary day’s toil in residency.

P…is for Poetry…..anything…from the nonsensical ‘Man in the Moon’….to the immortal verses of Shelley, Keats and Coleridge.

Q…is for quantum mechanics….and the scarce understood, crazy world of strings, quarks and uncertainty, which blasphemous as it sounds , sets the ball rolling for everything that occurs within the universe…..I’m sorry Mr. Einstein , but if such an entity does exist.…it would appear that god DOES play dice with the universe.

R….is for Rock n Roll….the greatest discovery ( or invention if you like) in the history of human civilization…..the language of rebellion….of angst…..of sarcasm…of passion….of romance !!!!

S…is for Schumacher.... In memory of those glorious sunday evenings where the master would make a mockery of the rest of the field. 2 years on ,the sport is not the same…will never be again. A lifetime of my earnings to see one final ‘Schumi-Leap’ atop the victory podium.

T…is for Tolkien…for giving me Middle-Earth…my home away from home for the best part of the past 15 years….for giving me Felagund and Frodo….Aragorn and Aldarion…...Luthien and Arwen…Gondolin and Gondor….for making me weep , rejoice , bleed , feast , sing and philosophise over the countless revisions of the tales from the 3 ages. “Let us at last praise the colonizers of dreams.”

U…is for Us….us..us....and them...them...them
......and after all , we're only ordinary men!!!

V…is for Valhalla…and the childhood tales…..of feasting gods , bloodstained battles , rainbow bridges….the Thunderer , the All-Father and the glorious legions in their train.

W…is for Warne. ...For every bamboozling leg break , googly , flipper, zooter and have what you may that made him the best ever to ply the glorious art of spin. Just sit back and cast your mind back to the moments of magic….Mike Gatting, Basit Ali , Daryl Cullinan, Andrew Strauss…thanks for the memories, Shane!


X…is for X-rays…the mysterious discovery of Wilhelm Roentgen…that revolutionized medical science ….in whose company I am destined to spend the rest of my attenuated life.

Y…..is for Yesterday…in the fond memories of which, we while away our precious todays.

Z…is for Zeppelin.... In the world of rock n roll…first there is Led Zep…..then there’s daylight……..for the most haunting compositions , the most monstrous guitar riffs , the most outrageously orgasmic crooning , and sheer death defying , hell raising, earth shaking drumming……unquestionably the gilded stairway to rock n roll heaven.

'Spit' - Fire

An sms from Puneet at his ‘phlegmatic’ best . I just had to put it down.

Had we Indians discovered some economically productive use for human saliva , we would have been the richest country in the world. I am at the railway station and amusing myself with the amazing potential Indians have to ‘spit’ - all colours and amazing maneuvers. Unfortunately, the only thing most can produce in sputum is AFB

AFB – acid fast bacillus….syn – Mycobacterium tuberculosis (the tubercle bacillus).

INSOMNIA

Tossing and turning, and
rendering drenching wet,
The pillows and sheets with midnight sweat.
Though waking terrors
Plague the mind,
Easier to bear, and far
Less fearful, you find;
Than ghoulish figures that in your dreams are met.

The unsleeping pupil, dark and glazed, as if belladonna stained;
The restless heart, galloping, like some jungle beast untamed.
The mouth bathed and soured
By the ever rising, burning bile,
While the mind walks , ceaseless
Amidst some distant defile.
In such catatonia, you pray in fervour, for the night to wane.

Some moonstruck lover, bemoaning in sighs, his mistress cold,
Or cancerous crone, in writhing pain, yet vainly clutching the mortal fold.
The fallen lord, who lately
Hope in the bottle hath sought.
Or the uneasy, uncertain crown,
In the throes of unwilling battle, caught.
All lie in angst, and in the gloom, their uneasy sorrows mould.

The frenzied brain , glowing bright, in unimaginable hues,
Like artist in desperation, seeking his long forgotten muse.
Gates are opened ,
And instantaneously shut;
While teeming multitudes,
In senseless hunt
Ungirt the mind, and ‘mong the nightly demons, set it loose.

The body is drugged, the senses numbed, yet sleep remains,
As distant, as bright sunlight , from stygian plains.
Then the first gleam
Of a hopeless dawn,
Plunges deeper, the
Unrelenting , insomniac thorn;
From the limb and soul, all semblance, of life blood drains.

Have you ever seen the rain

“I am a brain , Watson. Everything else about me is vestigial and serves only to feed my brain.” – the incomparable Sherlock Holmes

Oh to be Holmes : to dwell in the uninhibited ecstasy of the glorious intellect , to be rid forever of that mansbane passion called emotion, to bind the truant heart in bonds of cold hard, logic and unemotive , calculated reason.
On a time , not so long ago , you deemed humans of all manner miserable : intellectually retarded and emotionally wretched. Yet , you could never stave the ‘human’ yoke off yourself. For all your chest thumping claims of misanthropy , your roots remained firmly entrenched within the same emotions you so loathed. Into every hurdle life had perchance strewn across your path , you stumbled haplessly ; and emerged irrevocably scarred yet none the wiser. Thereupon , true to your kind, you took to chiding life , the people and all else around you that the warped mind could conceptualise.

Yesterday, and days before, The sun is cold and rain is hard,I know; been that way for all my time.Till forever, on it goes,
Through the circle, fast and slow,I know; it cant stop, I wonder

Yet it never occurred to you that mayhap there was nothing wrong with the paths that you trod , or those that strode alongside you. Perhaps those paths were never meant for you. Since the time you held converse with your own reason , the one thing that struck you was how your paths always seemed sundered from those around you. Be it the family, friends or the ‘so called gods’ , your lot has always been aboard the ‘lonesome train’.
It is something you were always at peace with , indeed something you were proud off.
Ever the calvin-child , enconsed comfortably in the flights of your limitless fantasy.
Why then should you seek for the fruits that await the end of the journey more often undertaken , when you have it not within you to bear the toil or the briars on the road. When the landscape seems irksome to you , why do you expect a restful bed at the eve.
Matters of the primitive limbic centres were never meant for you. Your cortex has served you well till now, and will be with you when aught else has deserted and fled. Holmes is more fitting to your kind , not even the hewer of the caves and certainly not the one-handed vagabond.
So , my boy…keep your reason to yourself , let the mind do the thinking . The other organ was never the strongest part of you in any case , horribly fickle and disastrously treacherous. Bind it hard and true and heed not its poisoned whispers and you shall do well.

The Gentlemen of the Game

So , you have it all over again. The loudmouths crying out loud, whatever happened to the gentleman’s game. Racism and sledging, gamesmanship and poor spirit – Sydney provided us with dollops of one of the more unsavoury moments of the glorious history of the sport. The mind immediately casts back to none other than the Battle of Adelaide , 1932, the third test of the infamous bodyline series , more appropriately nicknamed ‘The Ugliest Test’. The tales which came out from there have endured into cricketing folklore…notably Jardine’s “Well bowled , Harold” after Larwood struck his opposite captain Bill Woodfull over the heart….and not to forget Woodfull’s retort to the English Manager , Sir Pelham Warner , “There are 2 teams out there on the field , one is playing cricket and the other isn’t”.
Many other instances come to the mind , where ugliness overtook spirit and victory was deemed as important than honour itself. However I prefer to think of the glorious instances ( by far the more superior in terms of sheer numbers) where cricket appropriately earned itself the sobriquet of being a gentleman’s game.
What better way to start than from the bodyline series itself. For all of the animosity Jardine’s troops faced, 2 englishmen stood out for their steadfastness and commitment to the honour of the sport. Iftikar Ali Khan Pataudi , who after scoring a century in the first test, took ship back home midway through the series, so disappointed was he in his captain’s battle plan; and Gubby Allen, the English fast bowler who refused to bowl bodyline throughout the series and such was the force of his character that even the indomitable Jardine could not drop him to a drinks man.
How about Gary Sobers winning the toss against Ajit Wadekar, and conceding the same to the latter who claimed to have won it himself , without even hinting at a re-toss…that too one-nil down in the series , if you please. Gundappa Vishwanath’s recalling of a dismissed Bob Taylor at the jubilee test in Bombay is part of folklore, as is Courtney Walsh’s refusing to run out Salim Jaffer in the last over of the world cup match in 1986…..which resulted in a loss for the Windies and their being bundled out of the tournament.

The ever-ready modern day doomsday predictors just need reminding themselves of one of the most poignant scenes in recent cricketing history. Andrew Flintoff dismissing Micheal Kasprowicz to win the 2nd ashes test of the 2005 series and helping England draw level at the expense of Brett Lee’s heroic rearguard resistance. While the rest of the poms were going cock a hoop on the field , Freddie’s first reaction was to turn and put his arm around a disconsolate Lee down on his haunches. Such are the sights that still make the eyes brim over on a sports field.

Innumerable other instances come to mind of the true gentlemen of the game…Victor Trumper scoring a double century with a bat offered to him by an expectant young fan (just for the record, the shoulder of the bat broke when he was on 90 , but Victor refused a replacement).
However the story that is closest to my heart is one from the legendary English batsman Jack Hobbs. Having been clearly bowled but ruled not out as the umpire was unsighted and unsure whether the ball had rebounded of the keeper’s gloves , the dismay of the fielding team was palpable (who can blame them , when Hobbs was batting). A completely mystified Hobbs (such was his concentration that he was totally ignorant of the events around him) turned around and enquired politely of the keeper , “Pray , what’s the fuss all about?”. The keeper in all his modesty replied to the great man, “You’ve just been bowled sir, but the umpire hasn’t given you out.”
“In that case,” replied Hobbs , in a typically unplussed manner , “I guess I had better be going” and casually as ever, walked back to the pavilion.
….ah, we survived Bodyline ….Sydney is a mere blimp on the surface…but the game belongs to the Trumpers and the Hobbs’ and the Vishwanaths. Just for the record, the gentlemen never ever vacated the building.

Mandatory Rural Service - a Conundrum

A lot of furore has been created over the health ministry’s proposal to make a year’s rural service mandatory , post internship for the award of the MBBS degree. Understandably so , many might say – yet in spite of much introspection and soul searching , I have personally not been able to decide which way to put my weight . Claims on both sides have some iron clad points in favour of them. The solutions are not that simple , as the roots go deeper than most people realize , or if they do realize , then do not like to get their hands messy probing into such depth.
As a young medico , who has witnessed the struggles of the system , I still get more than the odd pang of guilt at the overwhelming shambles in which the health care setup of the country lies (yeah ! yeah ! Call me humbug !) . Lets examine in detail both sides of the coin and then attempt to offer possible solutions.

THE HEALTH SETUP & MAGNITUDE OF THE PROBLEM

At the outset let us examine the care setup in the country – to state that it is pitiful would an understatement. Why this should be so in spite of 60 years of democracy and , as we would be led to believe , a booming economy , is beyond the scope of this discussion. Dedicated volumes could be written on the same. Let it suffice for the moment that the population is bursting at the seams , basic sanitation is conspicuous by its absence , and the captains of the men of death – the likes of Messers Tuberculosis and Malaria are remarshalling their forces with hitherto unseen hostility. Add to it India’s overwhelming participation in the propagation of global pandemics like HIV and infectious hepatitis. There is a shocking absence of basic obstetric care with unacceptable rates of maternal and infant mortality even in the urban centers. The brunt of this is borne in the rural areas, from where, a sizeable number of figures do not even reach the health statistician’s desk.
The infrastructure in the primary health setup is grossly inadequate with the staff lacking proper training and experience. Feeding off this lack in trained health care personnel and the prevalent socio-cultural superstitions and taboos , quacks abound in multitudes and indulge in downright barbaric criminal practices. Back in undergraduate days , our professors would come up with tales witnessed by them in the rural setup such as administration of intravenous milk , use of sharpened metallic objects as abortifacients and so on. Is there anything to suggest that such practices are still not prevalent in today’s day and age.
It goes without saying that the 2 prime requirements of the rural health setup are trained personnel and optimal infrastructure. A trained medical officer is the natural leader of such a system. Presently the number of doctors in the primary health system are markedly deficient and hence the attempted move to make rural service compulsory for all doctors. It is logical that the fresh crop of doctors should be the ones to attempt to bridge the gulf between the rural and urban health setup. Ideally they would be the ones to initiate some kind of scientific and ethical protocol to combat the terrifying practices that are prevalent. At the very least , sanitary conduct of labour , recognition and management of major emergencies, basic environmental hygiene , family planning , reproductive and child health should form part of the charter of responsibilities of the medical officer.

So as myopic as ever , we pass the legislation to make a year’s rural service mandatory and then sit back and give ourselves a congratulatory pat. Before even starting with the case of the doctors , the move will not achieve anything significant simply because of the sheer lack of infrastructure. Our rural centres lack basic amenities such as oxygen cylinders, emergency drugs like adrenaline and atropine , iv fluids and ambulance facilities for urgent referral to higher centres….the list is simply endless. You put 5 doctors per PHC and they will not be able to make any difference with the existing infrastructure.


DOCTORS – FORCED HUMANITARIANS ?

Let us now consider the case of the students and the young doctors. The problem is quite simple here – as the present scenario stands , the best a medico can do post schooling is 5 ½ yrs for MBBS plus 3 yrs of PG , equaling a minimum of 9 years till the completion of post graduation, which in today’s setup is absolutely imperative for any decent employment with some sort of permanence. However , even this arithmetic is for the select few , what with many colleges and universities still exceeding the basic 5 ½ year stipulated period for the completion of the MBBS curriculum. As for PG, it is either the exceptionally brilliant ,or the monetarily privileged who are able to secure a seat in the first attempt , with most students requiring at least 2 attempts and many going on to 3 or more.
So you have a young doctor , typically from a middle class Indian family , nearly 30 till he/she is sufficiently able to sustain himself independently. Just imagine – nigh on 10 to 12 years of dependence on the family post schooling. Most of us would cringe at the thought of the same , especially with the booming corporate and IT sectors which provide lucrative incomes at much younger ages. For all that has been written about the BPO industry, the fact remains that it offers quick money, easily the biggest drawing card for the modern youth. Already school going children are shying away from pursuing medicine as a career. The reasons for the same are the ones I have just named – too long a time to get settled coupled with inadequate financial remuneration. If such a thing did exist upon a time , the so called nobility of the profession and work for a ‘social cause’ is perhaps the last thing the macroscopic majority of students look for in a prospective career. I am not trying to be judgmental here as everyone is completely free to choose a career as per their priorities in life. However the fact remains that there is a steady decline in the quality of the students entering medicine , ironically the one branch where basic intelligence and quality should not be compromised.
In the midst of all this , the mandatory clause for rural service has implications deeper than simply 365 days of physical service. The frenetic pace at which medical science moves has given a new dimension to the age old method of studying . The internet now forms an integral part of the same along with the revered monstrous textbooks. With the ever increasing trend of postgraduate medical exams being centered around molecular biology , genetics and receptor mechanisms coupled with numerous online coaching services and preparatory exams – the one year hiatus would just widen the gulf in front of the student to secure that elusive PG seat. In addition it would spell the virtual death knell for the sizeable amount that have their eyes fixed on foreign universities for their post graduation. Sitting in a primary health care centre in some far flung corner of the country is hardly the ideal way to prepare for USMLE.

SOLUTIONS ???

Well , I have no idea whatsoever else perhaps I would never be asking so many questions. As I have mentioned earlier , the roots are much deeper than we care to admit , and embedded firmly in the age old socio-cultural norms that shall forever prove the nemesis of the country. Merely posting a large number of doctors to rural centres is hardly the answer to cope with the health care problem of a country with a sixth of the world’s total population , and yet spending less than 3% of its GDP on health services. It is only an ad hoc measure akin to reservations for the backward classes. The basic issues of education of the masses , population control , environmental sanitation are the ones to be tackled , and unfortunately the government happily chooses to play the ostrich when confronted by these issues , by burying its head in the ground.
On a different level, perhaps we might look to revamp the entire system of medical education in India , amalgamating post graduate and undergraduate training, similar to the system followed in the US.
It is tempting to say that doctors should be paid better for their government services but as ever this idea is laughable. The salaries proffered by the government health services are a poor joke when compared to the dividends reaped in the private sector.
Can we perhaps privatize the health sector in some manner , if not anything else , at least operationally while the policy making can still be done at the government level. There would be many hindrances here which I’m not aware of and will require the likes of my economist friend Shyam to enlighten us. The one thing I am sure of is that though the cost it will incur would not be acceptable to the powers that be, it will at the very least ensure better cost-effectiveness and cost benefit.

For the moment I end here . Further ideas might be forthcoming on hearing views to the questions I have put forth.

England , blessed England !!!

In fond memory of English Football, which died , on this, the 21st day of November, 2007. Deeply mourned by a large circle of faithful friends and followers. The body will be cremated and the ashes taken to….???? Zagreb?

Well, surely even Fred ‘The Demon’ Spofforths’ bowling out of England for 70 odd at the Oval, 1882 , to secure the first ever test win for Australia on English soil could not have been more dramatic for the purist and the neutral observer , or more heartbreaking for the endlessly ceaselessly suffering English sports fan.
Just when you thought, post world cup , that English Football , with all the alleged talent, and undoubted wealth at their disposal couldn’t stoop lower , Steve McLaren and his motley crew came up with the most unbelievable, comical and downright ridiculous qualifying campaign culminating in the bewilderingly disastrous final match in a soaked drenched Wembley.
Wherefore did all the gladiators of the so called ‘best football league in the world’ vanish….your Lampards, Gerrards, ….and …who else ????
With Owen , Rooney , and Terry out injured and Rio Ferdinand out suspended…all of a sudden the real star names in the English starting lineup had dwindled to a mere 2 individuals, and that too, ones who had repeatedly been found wanting on the international stage in a real pot-boiler crunch scenario. Add to that the venerable McLaren’s repeated refusal to start with David Beckham…..
…agreed, the man can’t run fast…can’t kick with his left foot , can’t dribble , can’t head, can’t defend, has a tendency to get sent off….but he still is a better player than the likes of the Shaun Wright Philipses, Gareth Barrys , and Michael Carricks of this world.
One just has to consider statistics and look into history to consider Beckham’s importance to the national squad , in which over the past 10 yrs only the redoubtable and all too sadly, forever injured , Michael Owen merits a name ahead of him in the teams more memorable moments…be it the legendary 5-1 victory at Munich , the 1-0 over Argentina in the 02’ WC, or the 90th minute free kick against Greece at Old Trafford.
With Crouch as your lead striker, surely it made sense to have your best crosser of the ball on the field for the full 90 minutes….just ask Rudd van Nistelrooy , the number of goals he was handed on a platter by Beckham’s deliveries in Man U and Real Madrid colours.
The defense without Terry and Ferdinand was a shamble. I might have expected England to lose but concede 3 goals at Wembley -- utter blasphemy. As for the goalkeepers throughout the campaign – the only thing I need say is Scot Carson kept up the glorious tradition of English goalkeepers of the best part of the past 20 yrs in producing howlers in a really tight place….just think back to David Seaman watching a Ronaldinho floater sail over his head…or ‘Calamity’ James caught wrong footed on Zidane’s free kick….or Robinson kicking out at thin air in the qualifying encounter in Croatia. It is astonishing to think that in all these years since Peter Shilton, England haven’t been able to produce a single decent and reliable goalkeeper…..how often would you see the like of Buffon, Casillas or Van der Sar produce howlers like these?
So where does English football go from here…..upwards is the only way…cause this really is rock bottom, having failed to qualify from one of the easier groups. One just hopes that the talismanic Owen retains and maintains fitness at least for 2 -3 seasons at a stretch , for his influence on the team is beyond compare. Rooney , thus far hasn’t produced the best in the 3 Lions shirt , but he is , on form and talent , by far the best striker in all the country….
…and the million dollar question after McLaren who’ll sip out of the poisoned chalice….for all of the Jose chants, I scarce think Mr Mourinho will go for it. At the moment Fabio Capello seems the best bet , and it might not be a bad idea. The Italian work ethos might just be what’s needed to knock sense into the underachieving so-called English superstars.
…and for the English sports fans….at least Johnny Wilkinson gave you something to smile at over the summer….now sit back and wait till Ricky Ponting’s men tour next.

....to the blessed perpetrators of pyromania

Its that festival time…..the time of the year people get orgasms at willie-nilly little nothings…total strangers who otherwise would never glance at you, come around wishing you ‘happy diwali’….making you guffaw in the inside on such iron clad memes rampant in the society. The pyromaniacs of society test out their vestibulo-cochlear reserve to the maximum, leaving in their wake a haze of murky smoke and choked lungs ….
….but you do not mind, after all, you get the whole day off , to do exactly as you please….its one of the few times when people don’t bother you on a holiday…amazingly, for the first time, in quite a while you are actually cheerful ..…what could be better, Friday holiday…Saturday half day…Sunday holiday….even more astonishingly , people seem to stop falling sick on these festivals as well, or perhaps their ‘gods’ postpone it till after the festivities are over…the next week’s gonna be chaotic in the hospital….but who looks that far in advance….maybe, just maybe….you mightn’t even survive to see the next week (now, now there…I know it’s the season of optimism….but lets not get carried away, shall we!).
Way to go….. deluded humanity….may you be blessed with more gods…one for each day of the year, if I have my way.…and may your gods continue forever to bless heretics like me , at your dear expense.

People are crazy and the times are strange,
I'm locked in tight,
I'm out of range,
I used to care, but....
Things have changed !!!

to Purpose....or the lack of it !

48 hrs , tossing and turning amidst unquiet dreams and visions . The mind drugged by anti-histaminics and codeine based cough elixirs ; dulled yet receptive….searingly and painfully so, to a plethora of stimuli , of ever changing hues and shades that in an instant blind the eye . For the umpteenth time, in 48 hrs you resolve to read , you open your Sutton…before you comprehend, you find an hour, maybe more (in your state, time holds no meaning) has elapsed. Aghast you stare into the beleaguered text to find pencil streaks covering nigh 10 pages….yet you struggle to recollect a word that was written…and hence , for the umpteenth time , in the same 48 hrs , the book slams shut and you take to your bed.
You stare at the ceiling…..stare at the arachnid weave her traps , unmindful of all else save her next prey , her next mate….and her next offspring. What cares she of aught that goes on in the world . Is she really that different from you and bedraggled mass of delusional species that you call humans. Lying beside you, the 3 most unlikely bedfellows at the first glance…
…..3 volumes of Sandman - Heavens ! they should have banned these long ago , just like they should have done away with cannabis , acid, coke.
….Tolkien , of course. Can you imagine lying 48 hrs in bed and not reading a word of the maestro.
…and finally, and probably unusually, Dawkins’ ‘Selfish Gene’ (we shall see why, though)
….and flipping occasionally through these, you begin to think…..


…………it is all about the Purpose…purpose drives all to each and every end…without purpose, life as we know and define, it would cease to exist. However , you find in the whole thing a ridiculous oxymoron. If Darwin, Dawkins, Dennet and the likes are correct, as you do not doubt they are, then the whole gamut of evolution is purposeless. Things are what they are , simply cause that’s how the prevailing selection pressures over billions of years, moulded them. You , have no more purpose , than the stupid virus which infects you at the present moment, clogging your sinuses and nose.

The city folk had killed the cats and dogs because they might have helped spread the disease. Lacking the power , they imprisoned each other in their houses on the first suspicion of the disease. A rough red cross was painted upon the door, written on a paper the words – LORD HAVE MERCY UPON US.
The door was then sealed and a watchman placed outside , until all in there had been untouched by the disease for 40 days, or were dead.
She heard screams of 2 children high in an attic room, their parents long dead. A newborn baby suckled the milk, and the plague, from a cold breast....on the empty street , a corpse lay , waiting for the cart to take it to the plague pit.
……Despair walked the streets of London in 1665, the Plague year and she still stalks you. Her eyes look at you behind every mirror and sooner or later her hook will find your heart.

….you jump centuries , to a more familiar landscape…..


Plush offices and lounges , exquisite carpentry, tapestries of the finest (not to mention expensive) sort, spas, masseurs, billiards and bridge, golf and croquet. Ladies in their Sunday best sitting by the pool, the shimmering of the water in the glorious afternoon matched only by the dazzling jewels adorning the wonderful women, sipping tea and nibbling dainties .....outside, barely a stone’s throw away from this haven of luxury, in the streets a grubby little child carries a mangled, flea bitten monkey. Her mightily misplaced efforts at some kind of animal acrobatics at the traffic signal do not go wholly in vain. A few sympathetic coins are flung her way. He woos her with passion, fervour and relentless persuasion but he cannot understand her denial. She loves him, he can tell all too well…yet she keeps him at arms length. Not one furtive touch , not a single forbidden kiss, she waits….for the desire to channel to something more sublime….and then they make love, like flames…opening blending , burning…they make love like animals, like gods…………..

…and midst these scenes , walks a man….or one such being. There is something dainty in the fingers, but it is the eyes that enamour you, for they are golden like a cat’s. You are all marked as mine , he says, veritable honey on the forked tongue. You would fain ask , “ what dost thou desire?”.
“Everything, what else is there to desire. After all , being happy, and getting what you want are 2 quite different things. If you have nothing left to want, then you just wait until there’s nothing left to wait for.”
…the eyes glow ever brighter, like a forest fire.

…and so are all are lives wrought. Born into the rabble of desire and despair, dreaming often, delighting less often…and finally at death , being put out of our miserable existence. Some die at birth , some at 10, some at 100…..but each one has lived the same
, each of us have the same amount of time handed to us ….a lifetime…nothing less , nothing more….and in this lifetime, we forever struggle for our purpose , to justify our existence…and like as not, carry the questions securely into our graves.

All the talk of changing the world , healing its woes, making it a better place to live in , seem quite hollow to you…..even were it well meant, which in most cases it is not. But even if it were all well meant , and all perfectly executed…and sickness and famine were banished from human realms , no greed , no hunger, no wars, no genocides…..would that change anything. Would our desires be achieved, would we be free from want, would we forever escape the hook of despair….ha!

Suffer on , Humanity…. Be thou comforted in thy delusions of grandeur. For my part , I shall await, patiently, to look into her eyes, one final time.

Cupid Rejected

One of my old works....alomost 6 yrs to the date.

O, poet divine, thou bard of the albatross,
Who long days at the whiles of ope’ hath spent.
Think thou thy misery hath gall’d thee more ,
Than that which fortune to me hath lent.
Thou spoke of pain
And fiendish sights,
And viper thoughts
On moonlit nights.
Of rot of mind,
Decay of will;
But hear me out,
Thou hadst with thee,
A love of life
Loth to depart,
Plighted troth
To thy soul and heart.
Though never met,
Ever with thee,
Like oil on waters
Of a troubled sea.

When barb’d with gold, the white feathered dart,
Sped from the bow of yon rascal, blind boy
Of Venus, pierced more than this unfortunate heart,
It bled the soul , eclipsed all its joy.
Thou maiden fair, chaste as Luna’s silver rain,
Thy lips as honeydew on coral spill’d;
Those dark cascades tumbling in their perfumed train,
Madam, do not now disown, whom thine eyes have killed.
Would that we could depart together, depart far from civility,
To the rustic hills, the lazy brooks, the ripening heather,
To the bliss of noontide, the verdant greenery,
In some forsaken nook, dream in peace, in our arms together.
Hand in hand, arm in arm, we’d walk in the unnamed woods,
There under canopied shade , I’d nestle ‘mongst thy tresses,
Astride mirth itself, we’d mock Apollo, “Mar us if you could”,
Myself as Orion, would then woo thee, my virgin huntress.

Wherefore I lie now, on accursed Hela’s shores,
Darkness cloaks me, shrieks out in voices fell.
Stricken by grief and torment beyond portend,
O, that I never heard of thee to name or thy deeds to tell.
The thunderer
Mighty Mjoll has hurled,
The mountains tremble
And the stranger world,
Shrinks to a formless
Shapeless grey,
And evil shapes
On the mind now prey.
No human touch
Or piteous eye,
No light or hope
Do I descry;
The eagle descends
Now every eve,
Promethean pain
Is my lot to grieve.
Evenstar of my heart, now cleave to me,
Shut thine eyes an instant, wipe away the mirage.
Love greater than man’s wont , shall I bestow on thee,
Hence, beneath yon silver girt maiden, tonight, let our souls merge.
I stand now, knocking on heaven’s door,
Below, hell fires are lit, the legions of Satan await;
Stretch out thy hand, pull me onto the everlasting shore,
Else everlasting darkness shall be my fate.


In such hour of doom, do the heavens part,
Purple plumed and mantle of silver white;
A rider fair of form doth now appear,
With helm of gold and eyes Valinorean light.
“Come my liege
Shake of thy shroud.”
The blessed one
To me cried loud;
“What lacks thee ever
In wit or grace,
That should become
Such an ashen face.
Fie on thee,
If now thou will
For darkling tresses
Mighty oceans spill.
Hearken ever,
To thy mind not heart
And find thy brooding
Gloom depart.”


He spoke to me, words fair of form
Of wisdom ,enchantment, wizardry.
“Be warned, the greatest, of Man’s banes
Shall ever be a lover’s treachery.
Turn now hence
To the amorous realms
Of fleeting winds,
And leaping streams.
The burden’d boughs
And cooling mists
Shall serve thee better
Than thy aimless tryst.
Look on the glory
Of fair Ithil
From the living rock
Of Zirak -Zigil.
Seek for learning
Or bliss in art,
A mighty sword,
An enduring heart.”


The night is old, my messiah gone,
Like to the west wind, keen of breath;
He scattered the clouds, memory remains,
Of the disfigured dreams like an impotent wraith.
Hear me now
All ye men of worth,
Who in like pursuits
Have lost wit and mirth.
Lie fettered not
In unseen bonds,
But cast a glance
To the world beyond.
Earn wisdom, fame
And great renown,
Not despair under
The bejeweled crown.
Hearken to Athena
And Apollo now,
Dismiss Cupid
And his treacherous bow.