The 5th Semester

Except for ‘no company’ for dinner, it was a fine evening. Finding no identifiable faces at the food court, I sat on a ‘just-till-now’ empty table. Soon, I had my senior citizens all around me. As I couldn’t jus’ stay silent till the last morsel and leave dumb, I asked the most ‘frequently asked question’ a junior asks a senior- “Sir, how is 5th semester??”
First; he giggled and stopped abruptly. Then; gave that let-the-cat-in the bag- out- look to all around. Finally, raised his eyebrows and spoke-
“Are you interested in the railways?”
That was strangest ‘reply in question form’ I ever heard.
“Well, I …yes, I guess.” I said hesitantly.
He bent forward and as if repeating a rhyme and rhymed-
“Mangala
Ernakulam-Nizamuddin- 10:30pm and 2:00am
Trivandrum- Kurla 1:25am and 5:10am. . . ”
and continuing the unfinished giggle continued “Oh! Don’t you worry kiddo, you’ll figure that out, very soon.”

Exams get us crazy, each one of us, at some point or the other. Well, I admit; they drive me crazy at more than jus’ some point; in fact many.
In the 3rd semester; a year ago, as it seems, I went out for a jog in the rain jus’ before the Pathology exam to let out some steam.
It was so cold that I had goose bumps, flattened by falling drops. Cold stares from fellow mates added to the cold. Undecipherable stares from strangers under the umbrella and the ones enjoying the hot tea with no Pathology exam the next day, added further.

In the 4th semester, I bicycled off a few miles in the lightened dark headed towards Parkala road; not able to withstand the joy of the downhill ride, after the pathology exam.
Each of the times, I jumped off my study chair and put on my sneakers with my innocent roomy watching with his eyes wide open, to pump blood to the already pounding grey-white matter. While my good meticulous mates persevered on understanding- how and why a guy’s life can get so fucked up when his 9 and 22 chromosomes throw their long arms around each other, I took off a few minutes to breathe heavily and bathe in sweat all over. Sometimes, to think of nothing, I just think of what I was doing.
I moved my body from one foot to another, transiently suspending myself into the dense air, feeling it momentarily, with ear phones plugged into my ears to distract me from my own thumping heart, synchronously beating with another in the head. My hands were swinging along but opposite. My cramping legs still moved for my naked head to feel the chill in the still air I was pushing through.


In the 5th semester, I stayed home and continued to read, unbothered of my growing lard.

They are over. Today, I traveled a 100km to reach one of the most hyped Sunset view points of the Western ghats at the 14th hair-pin bend Manipal-Agumbe terrain, in an another attempt to discover myself considering the PET [Post Exam Trauma].
I sat there enthralled, rejuvenating myself.
I could see the perfect ball, I bet, made with one single perfect stroke, on the most diversified shades.
Now I know the obvious reasons why Lord Hanuman mistook it for an Orange.




Photo & company courtesy- Tejaswi




Masel(piece of good luck in German) for the upcoming.
p.s. Rock, we will.
#There is a reciprocal translocation of the part of the long arms of chromosome 22 to the long arms of chromosome 9 in the Philadelphia chromosome. It is associated with chronic myelogenous leukemia (CML).

#I did figure it out. The rhyme was the Udupi Railway Schedule. The signor must have heard the same rumbling snore of the night trains, time and again, that, curiousness took him further to know their names which pass by. Good for him, he did really burn the midnight fluorescent bulb. Good for me, I always had my 6 hour slumber ;D

My Mental Journey [Day- 1]

A joke broke out into the thick humid air that was so heavily lightened that the fog in it was merely visible for the naked eye very close to it.


There was laughter. Then, there was more, all at once, with mouths wide open, each displaying the age-old primitive tools struck up their red bumpy fleshy fields.

The seemingly thinner taller man at the right corner of the Carom table slipped out his upper lateral incisor tinged with yellow like Gold. Next to him sat a plump seemingly shorter man who seemed curious about the carats but continued to laugh along to please the tall, visibly making efforts to pull down his lips to curtain his Tobacco- stained doorway.

Opposite to them sat their company who chuckled for what so reason unknown to them selves. The doctor stood by the doorway, silently watching them and from the angle of his mouth crawled out a smile that on trying to reenter through the cheeks produced a dimple.

They all looked to be enjoying their each own lil’ game.

Above them, overhanging the primeval wall, the once polished shiny chunk of wood now rendered a granular texture with fresh layers of dust stood as a blind witness unbiased and unread.

‘THE PSYCIATRIC WARD’, it read.

Casino Royale

Everybody wants miracles to happen. Everybody loses in a casino.
-Me, after losing.

The best prophylaxis to not lose is not to indulge in one just like Park suggests complete abstinence from sex. The beauty of this place is that everybody knows that there is one only lucky man among the bunch on the table and everybody think themselves as that lucky one. The rest lose as designed and make the casino richer. One lucky chance, one lucky opportunity and the very same unexplained luck that happens at birth, destiny and death. Here, it’s just with a few bucks.
It’s the miracles happening and the hope that keeps people going. It’s the one that doesn’t let your eyes close and races your heart even though you are half drunk and though you know its full of crap. It’s a casino. It’s luck. It’s high. It’s luck.
Even in those moments of extreme probability and insaneness, you still prefer to pick those lucky numbers yourselves and blame yourself for whatever is the result.



My failed numbers. . . 

The Pandemic Puke

"Hey, what's it all about with the Swine Flu?"

layman


"Don't you worry.
It's just flu with not-so-understandable virus. . ."

another not-so-layman





The diction ran to save the fainted fallen fat plump lady.
The six foot tall man entered and stood before them.
He said "Nobody is going to die today."
He lifted her small frail hand; judged her pulses and tried to know her unconscious intentions and declared it as an emergency!
"Geeez" She shouted. " Where the hell are you guys carrying me?" She asked
"The hospital needs you" They collectively answered. She yelled a " Noo!' which rather seemed long.
"But why?"
" Its better to pass out here than to die of that strange P.I.G flu in the hospital there. . ." and the rest was a feeble mumble.
The intelligent someone asked "Did you mean the swine flu?"
"Hell yeah; yuck!" she replied with folds of disgust- three and half on her forehead and two on either side of her tiny nose.
She, then stood, shook to gather herself and left the crowd; dumbfound.



p.s. Based on a real life incident.
Infront of the SBI Atm Manipal @7:46pm.
The brave tall man chose to keep his identity; hidden.

A shake up!

Somebody, somewhere, once said; "It is when you create something, you know more about you; a lil' more than anybody else in this world. . ."
Passions of a true kind always jog through innovations.


The smile shutter camera- the one which, in its automatic photographer mode clicks the face; smiling as if asking; "Do you have a digitally recognizable smile?"

An iphone literally saw my jaw falling to the ground. I can never believe myself that such a thing could exist. Frankly, I think it has just traveled accidentally through a time hole from the next century.

Voice command module in our mac through which you can operate by word of mouth.
Softwares with which, you can flip through songs just by a flap of your hand and a blink hard enough without even touching the machine. you got to 'Awe Some'!



Home-made stuff is always relished, so, here are some . . .


ROBKING ~

Lounging comfortably on a Manipal Study cane chair with an comprehensible para from Robbins and Cotran- The PAthologiCal BasIs Of DiseaSe could be fatal.

Cause of death is a potentially dynamic combination of traumatic asphyxia( an angle created by the wooden plank and the tremendously humongous ~ 1.78 kg Robbins on top of it with the frail chest) and mental trauma (of course!)

Concept adopted from 'BURKING' (Forensic Medicine)- a combination of smothering and traumatic asphyxiation named after Burke and Hare who used to kill their victims by this method for the purpose of selling them to anatomical schools.




Raviteja's Sign Of Pyrexia ~ A Confirmatory Test For Fever.

[Actually designed in class six, just couldn't find the right words till professional college ;)]

When you have fever (well, I said confirmatory, Dint I?!)
Sit straight. Shake your head, completely, sideways, and vigorously to be precise. when you feel the dull diffuse ache in the head. . . Voila! there you go, YOU HAVE FEVER!

Modified Raviteja's Sign Of Pyrexia For Older People (who involuntary shake their heads for various unknown neuronal reasons!) is still in the experimental stages.






THE HAVELI CONCEPT ~

Founded by- AT
Developed by- IRT &
Typed by- TT!



There are things that you fantasize.
Fantasizing them makes you happy.
They may not be visibly present anywhere and everywhere;
But we fantasize them anyway because they make us happy.









p.s. Our business is to create.

Di-ar-rhea

It was one of those evenings, you know something is wrong and you just do not know, what it is. Just to convince yourself that everything is as fine as ever, you go out to dinner with friends; talk about life and all its goodness, return to your room, turn to your final call to know that the worst thing turned up- diarrhea!

Exams change lives(not as much as loose stools do) but diarrhea during exams; a ‘big’ yes. The change is crazy. Some people look into the metaphysical translucence and what responsibilities offer them. Social workers set out to advice their juniors What-Not-To-Do-In-The-Next semester. While ‘Men of the past’ recount their green ‘not chosen’ career, ‘Men of the future’ make the time table for the semester of tomorrow. Lovers of art love, sing, write and b.l.o.g.

You begin to wonder why every author turns emotional when it comes to writing- “ The Pharmacologial Basis Of Alcohols” and why, why in this whole damn world, Park in his “Preventive And Social Medicine” takes to understand the ‘feelings of the flea’ in starvation and its frantic efforts with its proventriculus blocked; in the spread of Plague, while Robbins and Cotran in their “Pathological Basis Of Disease” chose a full stop to it a paragraph ‘ago’.

You use the breaks between reading the biographies of incessant GODS [somebody said “ If all that is invisible is God, Bacteria suit as well”] to say a hello to your commode rather than playing a game of Nokia 1650 Cricket or checking out how your friend is coping with the mental torture.

You worry about people visiting to sympathize and take away your precious preparation time and worry if they do not visit coz’ you want to be cared. You hear the names of a large number of total alien twisted distorted drugs and appreciate the giant progress humanity has made.

You eat ‘nothing’. Either because each time you see the glory of food, you hear a voice from behind calling it a not-to-be-eaten-in-diarrhea or you wouldn’t want to walk out in the middle of a viva session asking permission to use the toilet as an ‘emergency’.

You feel the subtle differences in the pitch, quality and loudness of each voice answering to the attendance call in the exam hall.

You do not fart, as there is no guarantee that it is a fart. You discover yourself.

You learn to enjoy jokes better; such as,

wassup?

di--ar--rhea. . .

Dude, its DOWN. What is UP?!

The alarm innocently blew off along with the seemingly all others in the hostel at once, unattended; I stopped it at the first ring as I watched the starless night take up the lighter shades of prismatic blue and realized that I haven’t slept all night and yet my eyes were not tired enough. I, then, succumbed to all those receptor agonists and antagonists; slept.

Perhaps sleeping is the element that takes man through the stages of evolution and probably the greatest contribution from ‘a’ man to the mankind till he figures out what Diarrhea 'actually' is and how on Earth can people die of it.

p.s. I got two days off for my Forensic Medicine and needed something to celebrate for “You-Know-Who” has finally gone away.

I have always been fascinated by the skies and the vastness beyond; therefore you find me gazing at it in all my blogs. . . :)

Post Script

It isn’t as easy as it appears, to add an extra topping to an already ‘a’ masterpiece. If Tejaswi isn’t continuing to read; no doubt, he’s on his way to bash me up for adulteration!

Many times; I did request people to allow me one chance to be a ‘hero’; oh well, I used to ask them to drown, or if they can; atleast pretend to. Everybody would laugh over and I would join them. It never happened.
Besides the beauty of Jog; subtle water slipping down gigantic rocks; like amorphous snow dispersing into the thick air; carrying along the lustrous colors of the rainbow, more magnificent than the finest sparkle of laser created on the screens of water at the Songs Of Sea, Santosa Islands, Singapore and the 15083 steps we took on the back trek minus 198, if shortcuts taken [I remember; believe it or not, because the return seemed more tiring]; I felt something which not in a million years I can forget. I wondered, why, even though I never repeated my stale joke during our long journey, he was ‘inhaling water’!
Its hard to picture; anyone; in fish; sprouting from nowhere; yell help and gulp help. I couldn’t think of anything; doubtless there wasn’t anything to think. I jumped. I almost reached than I realized I was drowning too. I must admit; he was quite heavy for me and the water was ultra cold, just shy of freezing. I wanted to call for help; but thought it would seem ridiculous . . .
Moments later; as I was sitting beside him staring into his tired eyes through my tired ones. I saw things were different; things inexpressible, best told as a strange experience. It didn’t seem heroic to me. I will never want it to happen again.
Besides watching the cunning water at the origin seemingly so calm about its existence; like a lion for its prey; fiercely stabbing the air and carving rocks as it roars through the heights; and having my soma under it; I had something more to take home.

As I laid down on my bed; watching the voluptuous full moon suspended in the dark; my roomie asked “Hey, how was your trip?”. Then, I guess, the remnant energy wasn’t perhaps sufficient to make the word incredible sound ‘Incredible’, but I had a great time. Obviously because it is the best time to visit Jog or probably its this wonderful group who took me along or may be I just want to think it is.

END POINT

dedicated to the beautiful sun of the East

[ACT 1]


Falling from the greatest heights, under the spell of the divine nature, ‘it’ hit the ground, shredding itself for unknown glory. ‘It’ unveils the fragrance of ecstasy hidden beneath. It inspires life. The rumbling of a distant thunder shook off the lethargy I wore. It was a weekend. The drizzle prompted fun.

A jog to the End point, come back drenched, bathe, and then a hot cup of coffee would make the perfect evening. Fastening shoelaces with one hand, I call for company ...."I know it would be fun, but.....hmm...the road's bad..." ; "Hey sorry, I got to attend a party"; "leave this shit man! why not join us in a computer game...." chuck ! beep..beep...
The lazy bones creaked as I stretched myself. I gazed at the sky, ready to tumble. Unexpectedly, the murky skies turned bright. A catastrophe!
A mystical cerebration swarm into me. The sweet 'salad days' took over my existence. I simply lived in them. They are beyond narration. Of the millions, one surfaces calling for attention.


[ACT 2](scene 1) NOSTALGIA


I was 8, then. I was breathing the air of 'Bheemili'; a heavenly abode. I visit here once in every year but then it was my second cousin's marriage. We were getting into the little mischief we could with our ball. I was all into it. We needed a six to win, I focussed. It came straight into my face. I gave it all; the bat into air, and it struck the bride's head. Everything stood still. All hypnotized, stared. My eyes flooded. I began to explain but it wasn't me they were staring at ! Two shadows sprouted behind me, a thick and a thin; the labyrinthine world of opposites!

[ACT 2] (Scene 2)

I was knocked to the ground by a middle aged, dark, fat lady who entered the hall. Before I could even realize what happened, high pitched cries swept the scene. Fear gripped me and I ran into my mom's arms. Carrying loads of attention, the lady continued to speak. I questioned ; "Who is she? What's going on?" The answer seemed weird; "She is a far relative, they believe that she is possessed by her 'late' parents..." I jumped down and wanted to be a hero. "This is a drama" I shouted. "Nobody is interested to hear us, just enjoy the show.." mamma whispered and winked. I stood and listened to a bed time story.
The lady (credited to be 'possessed') spoke of everything that occurred in the parents absence and unbelievably predicted the future. It ranged from the matters of conceptions , marriages to business matters & all one can find on an astrologer's incessant list. It was occasionally intervened by moans and hugs. Each seemed to exhibit the working of a magnificent 'limbic system' but no signs of 'neocortex'. At first, the so called mother spoke and then surprisingly, unannounced as if switching over a telephone, the father began. I remained there, flabbergasted, jaw-dropped with a half eaten laddu ; I was deprived of, since morning. The portly lady was the star of the day. After the 'spirits' left, she was still in a delirium, while the superstitious crowd comforted, massaged and worshipped. I still stared....


[ACT 3] RETURN


The sky camouflaged. The pitch blackness interrupted by twinkling stars trying desperately to convey something from the cosmos; the incessant questions unanswered. A distant laughter slowly fading away in the subtle air brought me back. It's almost 10 years, since then. Anybody would be astonished to hear, this possession happens every year, since then, no more as an accident but a celebration awaited.
Those memories we cherish 'now'; what's 'now' is laters'. I did not go to end point. I skipped dinner. Another regular weekend at Manipal.' Point ends'.



From the writer's desk;

* Based on a true life incident
* 'It' in the 1st paragraph of Act 1 refers to a 'rain drop'.
* Irony - A point has no beginning ; therefore no end. (Oh! Of course, you haven't mistaken the title. It's our end point)
* End Point in Manipal is famous for its panoramic views and wonderful lush green landscape overlooking Swarna river. It is one of those quite, scenic places where time comes to a stand-still.



From my 5th intercostal space, 1.25 cm medial to the left mid-clavicular line (the apex/bottom of the heart). . .