tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75803165554820317872024-03-18T20:20:50.524-07:00LifeThe Unpublished articles of the ED-Board. . .Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-26239656244574025572013-05-04T08:47:00.001-07:002013-05-04T08:47:20.028-07:00Movers 'n' Packers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This blog, here forth, has been officially shifted to- https://ravitejadiaries.wordpress.com/ <br />
<br />
Thank you for your patronage.<br />
<br />
God bless :) </div>
Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com324tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-45413815442041975752012-04-23T02:15:00.001-07:002012-04-23T02:15:17.800-07:00'Special' 'General' Pediatric Ward<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember pain and the unbiased crude uninterrupted company
it can keep with no sympathy or apathy. As a mature individual, I remember it
even better when exactly a year ago I was operated on my shoulder for tearing
my glenoid off my acetabulum by falling off a slippery staircase once and then
pushing too hard in more than one swimming meets. I remember that white ceiling
I had stared for hours before I was led into the OT. I remember having joked to
my friends that I would skip a few numbers in the count down, as the gaseous
anesthesia would be administered just to confuse my anesthetist and as if he
heard that, he knocked me off before I realized pushing that nitrous gas into
my lungs but saying that he was only administering oxygen. Very clever. I only
remember waking up to the white ceiling again after 6 long hours of
uninterrupted sleep gasping for breath and wheezing as I did. I knew it was an
experience to write about but the operated hand had to remain in sling day and
night for the next 6 weeks. Therefore, I didn’t find time or the energy to
write with the same hand and type it later again after having spent a neat 15
minutes just buttoning my shirt. It was the first time in college in 4 long
years that I began to miss home. Of course, friends were there to help but
there is an extent help can help you. You can’t blame anyone, everyone have
their own errands to run and own deadlines to meet while I took an hour and
half to get ready to class every morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s 3:00 am now and I’m not sleepy yet. I guess, my
sleep-wake cycles have changed significantly in the last few days. Work or no
work, to be on call makes you stay as close to the hospital as possible and the
duties and responsibilities take over your time. Apart from work, the past few
days have been exciting as well from going jogging, regularly eating good mess
food, new born resuscitations, awaiting TOEFL, BLS ACLS and the
not-to-be-forgotten upcoming IFMSA General Assembly- AM 2012 Mumbai, India that
lets me stay on conference call with 10 people at once spread across the
country for hours! Today was another such day as I was on my now routine late
night Skype group chats when I was called from the hospital and the
postgraduate insisted on me coming. It feels good to be asked for assistance by
your senior even though all you might get to do is to hold stuff for them- a
retractor to keep the wound open or hold the baby while they establish the
intravenous (i.v) line or write case sheets as they dictated in their
vernacular fashions but hungrily waiting for a chance to at least hold the
knife or knit the open wound with a thread that says ‘cat gut’ but is actually
made of sheep gut! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the last 3 hours my job was to just hold and keep the <s>baby
</s><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>17 day old infant in position
with the crude strength of my bare hands as the training postgraduate pierced
through her skin to get to those little hardly visible veins to get a sample of
blood to prove that she is suffering from Septicemia with meningitis which her
clinical signs clearly suggest. I, with my little knowledge wasn’t sure if it
was sepsis but now was sure that with the multiple punctures we were giving her
she sure was going to end up septic. But the protocol had to be followed and
the sample had to be taken, therefore I was their watching as they pierced her
failing to thrive body again and again to extract the little blood she had to
fill our adult sized lavender capped vacu-containers with adequate sample. She
clenched her fists throwing up bile stained vomit with occasional unrolling of
eyes and did all she could do and the only thing she could to resist- CRY. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt disgusted. I felt nauseous. The reasons were many.
For the first time since my completion of my final year MBBS I hated medicine
for once. What did this girl do in her 17 days of life to undergo this
suffering? Well, Karma isn’t an answer good enough. We in that room knew what
her life was going to be and how much of her significant lifetime could be
spent around hospitals. Her next few months definitely in the Neonatal
Intensive Care unit and the next few years with Pediatricians and their team
for the possible post meningitis sequel- global development delay and several
others and the later adolescent life with the Obstetricians considering the
Ovarian cysts she was gifted with birth if her operation at the age of 3
doesn’t go well. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After 3 long hours last night establishing i.v lines, giving
all the loading doses and boluses with syringes half her size, the medicine at
the secondary hospital didn’t work. So, I accompanied the PG in the ambulance
to shift them to a tertiary care center (who don’t trust even our microscopes)
to try the same medicines again under more efficient hands. The system
disappointed me and me being a part of this health care system was even more
disappointing. Sitting in the ambulance, I couldn’t help recollecting the early
morning today when the baby’s health was deteriorating and everybody in the
hospital ran around blaming each other. Nobody wanted the blood of an
18-day-old infant on their hands. Who would?!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The father blamed the false reassurance of the previously
treating doctor, the professor blamed the partially treated previous episode of
sepsis, the parents for having delayed the treatment and the post graduate for
not putting a tube (ryle’s) down the throat to the stomach and not replacing
the fluids lost as blood and vomit, the still training 1<sup>st</sup> year
postgraduate blamed the experienced nurse for not taking late night calls and
the consulting professor for having over trusting him with competence and the
nurse blamed the interns for not knowing where the switch board is and where
she keeps her scissors. I, as an intern though only knew an iota what these
people do took the opportunity to sound sophisticated and blamed the fire
fighter approach our system and the unpreparedness until the last calling
minute. Though the lab assistant was out of the scene in his lab cared to pass
by and blame a particular hospital in Honnavar whose every third delivery
inevitably ends in our NICU as he was sure that the samples from their water tanks
would grow Burkholderia cepacia! Crap! The mother didn’t blame any but wept
miserably all along. But lucky for us, we did have men on the scene that didn’t
blame anyone but took the responsibility and answered medicine with medicine-
explained the absent venous back flow due to shock, the bradycardia due to
phenobarbitone and the tachycardia due to hyperthermia or their heroic
injection of fluid boluses! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the monitor showed falling heart rate and dangerous
saturation levels in the ambulance on our way to Manipal, my heart almost
stopped for a minute or two. I thought I was strong for medicine but only
realized how weak a heart I have- so weak and fragile. I wasn’t sure of her
survival until we reached and looked at all those intense faces around but I
wasn’t going to carry a corpse to the hospital. I asked the mother to stop
crying and constantly stimulate the child. The snapped at the father for having
mistakenly sat on the infusion machine and I realized that I was behaving like
on of them- those many professors in college for their behavior, attitude and
incapable of being nice to us. I for once realized the agony all those doctors
carry day in and out including my parents and judged my interpretations. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m fascinated by the amount of ‘direct’ impact doctors have
on the lives of others. Being posted in pediatrics as an intern and considering
the fragile nature (so much so that even a bleb on their buttocks can bring
them to the hospital with failure to thrive!) of the newborn it even makes
better sense. We are the first hands that touch the baby welcoming it to the
world even before the mother. Their first crucial minutes of life, which
determine the rest of their lives, are by our decisions. The time we record
carelessly with a glance at those outdated watches will decide his/ her stars,
their astrology read and their marriages fixed. You could even use the excuse
of a very very busy labour day to mix up a few babies and let a fisherman’s son
grow in Ambani’s palaces and vice-versa. Just to sound dramatic, we would never
do that, right ;p</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The baby is stable now and crying again, this time for good
and the smile on my face missing since last night has returned again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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</div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-72489323675956407412012-04-16T12:08:00.000-07:002012-04-16T12:08:56.113-07:00The 'Labour' 'Theater'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Today is the last day of my posting in the Dept. of Obstetrics and Gynecology at the TMA Pai Hospital at Karkala 40km away from my home in Manipal. Today is therefore, also the last day I would get to spend in the best place in Karkala (the air conditioned theater, labor theater that is) considering the heat currents of the current year. I’m not sad. I’m just introspecting. A little pensive, perhaps. I haven’t got to sleep much in the last 3 days- ½ hour once, 25 minutes onetime, 2 hours another time and a lil’ longer last night. I can’t remember what day each of these naps belong to. You would be nodding your head with me, if you ever had a chance to skip sleep for a couple of consecutive nights. Like me, you would fail to differentiate those sleepy days with those sleep-deprived nights and slumber is essentially the one thing that differentiates one day from another. Well, it wasn’t always work that had the privilege of keeping me awake. One night, it was an idea of a crazy nighttime adventure. A few late night games of ‘Taboo’ and ‘Charades’ during the jobless night shift. And one night, I just didn’t feel like going to sleep and spent the night with the lame excuse that it has been months since I’ve watched a movie! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today is my last day and I’m ‘on call’ again for the 5<sup>th</sup> time in the last 10 days owing to the 5 day leave for my glamorous 2000$ winning Mumbai trip this month (yes, correct. You can learn a few tips about modesty from me) and all alone in the labor theatre (hereby, referred to as ‘LT’). Being on call essentially means what it stands for- people can call you anytime in those 12 hours and you better respond in the first 3 calls, from the LT phone ringing to fetching teas and files, being treated like shit and just playing ‘freeze’ as the sleep deprived frustrated post graduates relieve their stress on you as they play in their ‘pool of estrogen’. Remember that the interns are at the bottom of the ‘doctor food chain’. </div><div class="MsoNormal">My friends say that I exaggerate. I wouldn’t disagree but a wee bit of exaggeration in a narration adds spice and might occasionally make few events sound dramatic but gets everybody all ears and drives the message home. I may exaggerate a little but facts will remain facts no matter what I say or write.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Like I always love to say; ‘anything that happens in your life can be either enjoyed or at least will remain as a good experience’. This episode as I would call it is another experience because I can’t remember that I’ve learnt in the last 2 weeks. Zilch. But for one face I would never ever forget in my life and the tangible agony it carried. I was the same face that kept me distracted that day, even in the operation theater (another theater wherein man makes holes this time to pull out babies after losing his patience) wherein I was called to be the 2<sup>nd</sup> assistant (the guy who gets to hold the retractor till his hand goes numb) and I was just lost in the blood till the crying baby just brought me back from that labyrinthine abyss! Most of my ‘on call’ days were very busy days. This, one day, like any other day, I was moving from one bed to another among the 4 beds, monitoring contractions and taking blood pressures allotting a generous 15 minutes for each ‘gonna-be- mother’ woman, as they moaned and groaned in pain with each contraction. My job was to carefully keep a record of these episodes of intense ‘grade- 10‘ pain and document them as ‘howmany’ for ‘howlong’ in ‘howmuch’ time until I get a satisfactory 3-4/ 35-45’’/10’ to write; ‘the patient progressed well into the second stage of labor with good uterine contractions’. You have to be professional to do that, meaning to turn into an emotion-less stone and a few jokes behind the scene even when people are dying does help. If you want the logistics of how it works, here it is. There are 4 beds in the LT here. The monitoring of BP and contractions should happen once every half hour for each patient and you give about 15 minutes to do all that stuff. Now, if you have added 2+2 along with me, you would have realized that by the time I finish with the last patient on bed 4, I’m already lagging by half hour in writing progress for the first patient! It only gets worse when suddenly one of the 4 women decide to deliver and you need to scrub in to be an assistant even for the simple SVD with RMLE (Spontaneous Vaginal Delivery with Right Medio-lateral Episiotomy) after which you realize that you’ve fallen behind in writing progress for the last 2 hours. Not only laborious but also exhaustive. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Among all this screaming, the bloodshed, the perpetual procreation of mankind, affectionate scenes of handholding and tears of joy, this particular woman entered the scene and handed over her file to me, which said ‘missed abortion’. There is a dead baby in her womb and she didn’t know it, until now. She will be induced for labor and will have to undergo the labor like any other expectant mother though she now knows that the end result of all of this is a dead piece of her flesh, blood and soul that shall enter the world with ‘no life’ but ironically with a face so calm and at peace that every being on this planet starting with the first moments of crying would strive for all his/her life. She had to stay in the LT even after expelling the dead fetus to be under observation and to her misfortune, the busier the day was getting they were just more and more deliveries happening the whole day. She was there on her bed watching all those crying babies, new mothers and so much life all around. To everybody’s surprise, she neither cried nor wept. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We, as doctors, knew that it was another misfortunate incident in the imperfect field of medical science. Some of us even went to examine the corpse out of curiosity to answer our questions and measured the infant like we measure any other with normal vitals. When we mention that a disease has just 1% mortality, do we realize that for that one person affected out of the 100, it is 100% mortality?! I requested the seniors to shift her to another room but they showed no concern. They said it happens and she’ll have to accept the fact one day, anyway. I don’t have anything against them; I have no sides to take for sides are only taken when you see the insufficient halves of the story but isn’t that so easy for us to say. I went up to her at the end of the long day and said to her not to over think about it and it’ll all be okay. She blankly looked at me and said ‘nothing’. I remember that face from before. It was the same look when my roommate who unfortunately failed in his final year MBBS university exams for no apparent reason known. For me, knowing the genius and the hard worker he is was worse news than hearing the news of my own passing. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It was the same look that said, Why me? They haunt me- questions with no answers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment--> </div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-39704414251741280552012-01-24T02:12:00.001-08:002012-01-24T02:12:32.850-08:00Reason<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>535</o:Words> <o:Characters>3052</o:Characters> <o:Company>KMC, MANIPAL</o:Company> <o:Lines>25</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>6</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>3748</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">As I walked down the endpoint hill drenched in sweat, I see a sparrow bringing down a wriggling worm to its death in fury putting to torture as a part of the prey predator completing the cycle of hunger. The worm gave away in no time and left it’s flesh and blood for the sparrow to feed upon. The sparrow now flies away as it notices me nearer abandoning its hard earned food for it’s own life and spirit. I looked at the civilization from the hill. As these mere living forms fed, mated and struggled to survive; man made bows and arrows to tame the world, made BMWs and Benzs from class C to E and made the world the world a very big place to live in and then made telecommunications to make it smaller again. Cut trees and started the Global Warming campaign to save earth for its children tomorrow. Every bad act results in an inconspicuous vicious cycle that inevitably results in something bad unless intervened upon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I frequently lose my thoughts to understand the meaning and purpose of things imagining a beautiful destination, a beautiful answer but mindlessly wandering through the streets without knowing directions. The time spent on such an adventure in all our lives have innumerate examples each of us constantly ending up somewhere that we want to believe is our destiny or reach there and then accept it as our destiny or nowhere NOWhere questioning destiny and still wandering hoping to find light at the end of the tunnel.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Through all of mankind’s survival, the thought to reason I feel has been the most significant change that altered the very essence of survival and progress we made across our existence. There is something in the evolution of the human brain that we have developed to understand, logically reason and prioritize a particular fact or statement. Tagging a reason to any interpretation of the many from the most complicated human brain validates it over its counterparts. Eason is all we look out for. Why? Reason again!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We find those reasons in different things, every one of us in different objects, persons in love and other abstract emotions and in passion. Irrespective of a possibility that this all could be a meaningless existence we constantly endure pain, suffering and seek the ‘Pavlonian’ pleasure consciously or subconsciously in search of the purpose in our lives for reasons many. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How does it happen that all life you believe in something or someone and suddenly it all crashes into abyss like an ambitious wave shattered as it dives into its own waters only to be embraced gently as it returns again. Is it that a person acts superior to make up for his inferiority complex or is it just that he is superior. Does somebody say something to mean it or acts like to mean it or because it sounds best in a given situation or may be for no reason at all only to be interpreted, analyzed and talked about by people who are themselves so lost and confused.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To me, we are desperate to find patterns cramming up our Anatomy, Physiology and Medicine ultimately trading it in an attempt to fulfill another man’s need in an existence wanting to mean something to somebody in life or after death perhaps only to return again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On a very broad perspective we see that life isn’t in its whole in our hands despite our best efforts and most serious thoughts from, to whom we were born to whom we meet and to where and when we meet our awaiting death. The best I understand we can do is to accept things as they are and to make the best out of life in being a good friend to a friend, a good son to a father and a father to your son, a husband to a wife and a master of yourself all as an ‘expression of HappYness’ to make tomorrow, a ‘better’ tomorrow.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment--></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-50289604777072800052012-01-24T01:38:00.000-08:002012-01-24T01:44:05.330-08:00Autonomic dysfunction!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">14/01/2012, Manipal.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Yesterday’s night was one of the most dreadful nightmares of my life. 3 weeks ago when the grand finale was finally about to commence I wished for just a few things. One, I should not fall sick or meet with accidents, both in and out of hell. Two; Nobody I know (or don’t know too, if possible) should fall sick (and need me). Three; Let me be a machine and just pass this phase.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">2 days ago as I was walking up and down the corridor trying to master the science of Carpentry in the given day, I suddenly felt a strong surge from the inside. This surge was no enthusiasm or the spirits or the usual episodes of exacerbated palpitations that have been in last 3 months and in not less than 2 minutes, I was staring into the washbasin, vomiting out everything I ate since morning. I never vomited even the times I got drunk and wondered if it was food poisoning or the force-fed excessive knowledge to the brain in the last few months.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I continued to roam around the house to keep myself just enough distracted with a book in my hand but ran to the basin every 20 minutes. I ate nothing so I guess I had to vomit ‘just water’. The nightmare of unknown origin [MUO] healed magically by that mid-night. Love from the housemate and the neighbors fastened the cure. The next day, after a satisfying theory exam I came home and convinced myself to take a short nap to freshen up and start preparation for the 5 specialty Surgery paper-2 subjects for the next day morning. The aim of revision was to basically turn the pages without reading much but the latest I got a look at those pages was 2 weeks before, since I began with Surgery paper 1 and Medicine followed since. As great God would have it, my landlord aunty happened to take her first dose of Tramadol for her usual backache and suddenly felt dizzy and I had to respond. They were very sorry for the disturbance but I wouldn’t pass it either, at least not after they fed me with easy digestible Idlis before I left for exam today as I was on an empty stomach since yesterday morning. It was not only a social responsibility but also the word that 2 to-be-docs live upstairs and none of them around when the need arose; at the least to call it an emergency and to respond to the moment. I thought of it more of a moral responsibility that presents itself with greater complications than answering on the blank papers and scoring marks. That night, running through the incessant names of surgeons and their surgeries and distances from the anal verge, I found myself at the verge. I was lost and then like always began to worry about nothing. I finished, closed and then the next day filled the 16page booklet served to me. The paper was easy, so simple that our immediate seniors who had to face the brunt of the previous year paper and sat to write the exam again with us were seen literally jumping with joy and hitting their chests and fists against each other as the bell rang and I only thought to myself that I survived this- a nightmare.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have always believed that the body finds wonderful means to cope up with anything presented to it. During our classes and clinics, I was amazed to see how an infant adopts a squat to tolerate a cyanotic spell, how a man with a varicocele walked into the OPD wearing 2 undergarments to alleviate the dragging pain (though the increased temperature due to the double wear might exacerbate a lil’ bit). Stress too precipitates something of a similar response making our body go nuts and finding ways to ‘let go’, both through voluntary (movies and addictions) means and involuntary (autonomic dysfunction) means.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A friend of mine said over stress manifests in him as allergy/ hypersensitivity reaction. Another friend said he and his roommate had to be on Proton pump inhibitors for their gastritis. Mine usually being insomnia and a lil’ worry, this time was accompanied by a few episodes of nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, not to forget palpitations, pale stools (steatorrhoea) and high colored urine that resolved spontaneously with the last exam giving me no chance to see which one of my differentials were correct! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">WHAT’S YOURS?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-78651066840237223572012-01-24T01:37:00.001-08:002012-01-24T01:37:15.185-08:00Night mares and hares<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>292</o:Words> <o:Characters>1665</o:Characters> <o:Company>KMC, MANIPAL</o:Company> <o:Lines>13</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>3</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>2044</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Owing to my yet to heal broken shoulder and the recent radiculopathy, I sat at home and just like any other exam season I began to question everything in life. Where was I headed and what I was doing.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s about 2 into the dark. I ran out into the balcony hearing a ‘scream of death’. It was the second of the 3 kittens that Tony, the landlord’s dog downstairs has killed in the past few days. I stood there in strange agony wondering if it died the same way as it’s sibling; the same foul play along the narrow edges of the roof?! The last one among Kitty kitty’s (the name of the cat that adopted us) litter tremblingly leaned over the edge and looked as the dog bit the body of it’s dead brother again and again. Do they ever learn from their mistakes like we do, I thought in curiosity.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe, the key to our evolution is that we learn from the mistakes of our ancestors not only through history but also very quickly than other genes and species that need greater Pavlovian conditioning.</div><div class="MsoNormal">As Kitty kitty jumped on the roof to return home with a fresh dead rat, I wondered if she realized that all of her litter is reduced to one. Not surprisingly she did more than I thought she would, she purred in agony all night long searching for the missing kitten, the same purr that the black cat owing to its unlucky color gives away in the neighborhood. Only now did I know what the sound meant. A dose of Alprazolam or Diazepam in the night’s milk could be of some help to her, I thought. The last kitten with blue eyes was fear struck with the death of it’s 2 brothers and didn’t let her mother leave to go hunting for food and played with it’s tail all day. The next day everything seemed fine again and Kitty kitty got herself pregnant again! The black cat helped. 9 weeks later, not in my house Kitty!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">p.s 9 weeks is the gestational period for cats.</div><div class="MsoNormal">p.s.s Cats eat rats and eat them with delight but why do dogs have to bite cats when they don’t eat them?! </div><div class="MsoNormal">p.s.s. Do they experience love as the same way as we do?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment--></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-10819797147562703832012-01-24T01:36:00.000-08:002012-01-24T08:00:00.675-08:00Insomnia- I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">After sitting hours straight and have accumulated enough toxic gases, my head erupted in a yawn and I was glad that sleep was coming because if the human brain truly had any limit or capacity, I think mine just exceeded the limits. When the altered consciousness says that it can’t take it anymore, sleep is a wonderful thing. It makes everything go away and gifts you a new silent start tomorrow.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I turned the lights off and holding my 14week potbelly like a pregnant women with lardosis and wondering what I would be dreaming today, I reached my bed 4.5 feet away with great difficulty. May be one of those Richie Rich dreams where I get to be the king and have to play a 3D virtual ‘Game of scratch’ to save my queen and the kingdom or oh ooh, one of those where the world is about to an end only to survive at the climax of the dream where the whole of mankind spent all of it’s money, resources or finished off with it’s ‘bucket list’ that many of us had nothing to live for after the unexpected survival! Death as a whole, when it comes it all, at once, doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all now. In one of those dreams which I still vividly remember, I was at Marine drive when the skies began to crack open and spill down avalanches and I ran to save myself all across the globe, from the Pyramids to the Red sea and the Alps of Europe all at once. Ooh! I think I even spotted a few dinosaurs! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But it’s been a while I dreamt in sleep. Actually, I have to admit that I began to have trouble sleeping. It’s not the barking of the dogs or the cats that find way inside the house that disturb me anymore but my own pounding heart. It beat so hard and gave me a constant company like pain during my post-operation that I worried if I would have to lay in bed all night awake until the first rays of the morning would forcibly make me throw the blanket off. I doubted even if any sleeping pill would be an antagonist to this disease. A few years ago, I enjoyed a 7-hour sleep even before my 1<sup>st</sup> year university exams and there was never a problem before either. Oh good great sweet killer education, I ask thou, what have you done to me?</div></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-52140497168336802612011-08-27T03:38:00.000-07:002011-08-27T03:41:43.524-07:00Health Care Of Rural India- An essay<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">It makes me wonder how eligible I am with the mere knowledge for a 10 mark question from the chapters of Community Medicine, having visited an ENT surgeon for a small furuncle and the Dermatologist for acne under insurance coverage this morning to speak of the poverty my country is struck with, complex issues which affects the lives of millions, whom I might never encounter in my whole life and yet have an impact on mine.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">While adopting the Constitution on January 26, 1950, we, the people of India, dedicated ourselves to the creation of a new social order based on equality, freedom, justice and the dignity of the individual and, to the end, decided to eliminate poverty, ignorance and ill-health. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">They say India has a national health policy but doesn’t have a national health service. The first part of the statement, I understand through a look at my 800 odd paged Park’s textbook of Preventive and Social medicine. The latter part, anybody would agree when they take a stroll down Dharvi, one of the worst hit slums of the alpha world city- Mumbai or a far flung off village in Bihar where people still die off Diarrhea.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">As may be easily anticipated, the overall picture of the current health care is a mixture of light and shade, of some outstanding achievements whose effect is unfortunately more than offset by grave failures.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">India stands at 134th position in the UN Human Development Index. <i>When it comes to healthcare or for that matter anything, there are two Indias</i>: One India that provides high-quality medical care to middle-class Indians and medical tourists, and the other in which the majority of the population lives—a country whose residents have limited or no access to quality care. Nearly 74% of the rural population doesn’t enjoy all the benefits of modern curative and preventive health services. Also, 73.6% of the doctors are concentrated in the urban areas and a mere 26.4% in the rural areas where a near 75% of the population lives. Not only does the wide variation exist between the rural and the urban but also the geographical distribution of hospitals vary according to local socioeconomic conditions all across the country with a wide gap between Uttar Pradesh and Kerala. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Health by the people, placing people’s health in people’s hands.’</span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Primary Health care is considered one of the greatest milestones in the history of health care in India, the very basic roots of survival for millions. The building of PHCs- the 1<sup>st</sup> level of contact, constitute the fundamental requirement of a sound referral system and the realization of ‘Health For All’. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">One driver of growth in the healthcare sector is India’s booming population, currently 1.1 billion and increasing at a 2% annual rate. India will surpass China by 2030 and by 2050, the population is projected to reach 1.6 billion.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Figures from Rural Health Statistics reveal some startling trends. Sub-Centers, Primary Health Centers and Community Health Centers — the bedrock of rural health delivery — have grown in absolute numbers since Independence: From 725 in 1951 to 57,353 in 1981 to 1,71,687 as of March 2007. They remain the backbone of rural health-care in the absence of private sector presence. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Rural health care in India faces a crisis unmatched by any other sector of the economy’. </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">- Arvind Panagariya, The Economic Times.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Besides tremendous progress, not all Health statistics are healthy for rural India. Considering the limited facilities available in a sub-centre, 50% of the sanctioned posts of Specialists at CHCs remaining <i>vacant</i>, <i>run-down infrastructure</i>, <i>poor supply of drugs and equipment</i>, <i>illegal selling of the public welfare supplies</i> and <i>soaring rates of chronic employee absenteeism</i>, commission practices that exist between the rural unqualified doctors and the doctors from the health institutions in the nearest cities or the district heads; quality health-care remains a mirage for much of rural India. There is no healthy Comparison of this with the hospital (public and private) beds available in the urban areas, which are greatly uneven. While the rural poor are underserved, at least they can access the limited number of government-support medical facilities that are available to them. The urban poor fare even worse in terms of primary health care and they cannot afford to visit the private facilities that thrive in India’s cities. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The launch of National Rural Health Mission [<b>NRHM]</b> 2005-2012 is a giant in the creation of a national service whose need was conceived almost 30 years before; aims to provide effective healthcare to India’s rural population, with a focus on 18 states that have low public health indicators and inadequate infrastructure. Through the mission, the government is working to increase the capabilities of primary medical facilities in rural areas through Accredited Social Health Activists (ASHA) and Link Workers and ease the burden on tertiary care centers in the cities, by providing equipment and training. It integrates multiple vertical programmes and also embraces the Indian system of medicine [AYUSH].</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The new course (<b>Bachelors of rural health care</b>) for 3 year and six months that demands for a five-year service in a rural area is a potential solution as primary health care is the need of the hour but are we compromising rural health care just in the desperate attempt in making more doctors to bridge the gap is an intriguing question. The extension of regular MBBS study period for rural service raised a huge out cry from the students. Though it was a shrewd idea of the politicians to fill their vote banks by promising the rural population, doctors at their doorsteps; the consequences of such a bill would have changed the entire face of rural health. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Solutions including the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (NREGA), Janani Suraksha Yojana(JSY), fundamental reform of the long established Public Distribution System (PDS), a new Food Security bill under consideration by parliament which proposes to issue coupons direct to BPL families, Vandemataram Scheme, RCH programme and programs to encourage sustainable farming practices are being implemented for the overall development.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Indian health services have carved out meaningful programmes of health services, research and demonstration. Mobile based primary health care systems, Automated Medical records, and development of innovative roles for allied health professionals, Telecommunications and Telemedicine—the remote diagnosis, monitoring and treatment of patients via videoconferencing or the Internet. It’s only through solutions such as these that a rural population approaching 700 million can be benefitted with proper healthcare facilities. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The misdistribution of biomedical services and the lack of penetration of public health services create a dilemma for Indian patients. They encounter a bewildering array of medical services, ranging from qualified traditional medical practitioners to untrained, self-taught purveyors of medicines and cures. This frequently accounts for this type of patient use, which may be described as “<b>forced pluralism</b>,” and for provider practice that is “unethical and dangerous”. This by-now entrenched pattern of inappropriate medical practice and patient abuse, calls for a review of policy, a plan for regulation, and action against the unqualified. The Government is undertaking strategies in order to harness the available local resources by incorporating the existing self -made rural health professionals to the mainstream of health care.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Private sector spending dwarfs the total healthcare being financed by the public sector. In 2003, fee-charging private companies accounted for 82% of India’s $30.5 billion expenditure on healthcare. Most of the population is forced to seek health care from the private sector and pay out of pocket at the time of illness. Eighty percent of our healthy care is met through individual household expenditure, one of the highest internationally. Studies show that an average of 24 percent of Indians are impoverished because of medical expenses.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">In such circumstances there are <i>two alternatives</i>, either that government increases it’s spending on healthcare and to improve the quality of care in its institutions and thereby protects the poor from catastrophic health expenditure, or the poor resort to some mechanism that protects them when they fall sick. While the former option seems to be materializing in various forms in our country the only solution to provide health care facilities to the poorer sections of the society could be the community health insurance through which the basic health care needs can be taken care of.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Only 11% of the population has any form of health insurance coverage. The Employees State Insurance Act (1948), Janarogya Yojana (1996-97), Yashaswini Insurance scheme (2002)- a micro insurance initiative, in the state of Karnataka by a public–private partnership for the farmers who previously had no access to insurance. Recently launched government-sponsored health insurance schemes, such as Arogya Sree scheme (Andhra Pradesh) and Rashtriya Swasthya Bima Yojana (RSBY), target poor Indians, offering cashless cover while allowing beneficiaries to choose among empanelled public and private providers. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">More state governments should pursue such initiatives so that most or all of the population can afford to purchase at least a minimum level of coverage. Also the problems such as reimbursement, a process that can take up to six months,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> should be efficiently tackled . The widespread availability of health insurance would help to drive demand for services and provide additional revenue to improve the quality of care.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘There is a great difference between medical facilities available in Western countries and that in India. But there is a common thread — Indian medical professionals.’</span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The usual cycle of migration of health care professionals from villages to cities, cities to metropolitan and from the metropolises to the US and abroad where they believe are better amenities, better job satisfaction, better professional brethren, better adaptability, better experience and most importantly ‘Better Quality of Life”. Reports are that close to 38 per cent of practicing doctors and dentists in the US are of Indian origin. Ironically the migrating doctors do not hesitate to work in the rural areas of the developed nations, as the pay for doctors who prefer to work in their rural areas is more while it is just the opposite in India.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The term ‘health’ is not found in the US constitution</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> but yet they have always taken extreme measures to provide their citizens with the 3 sentinel services- Defense, Education and Health care. In 2008, U.S. health care spending was about $7,681 per resident and accounted for 16.2% of the nation’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP); this is among the highest of all industrialized countries. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The National Health Account shows that India’s total expenditure on health amounts to 5.10% of the gross domestic product (GDP), while its per capita total expenditure on health is $80 compared to an average of over $220 spent by many other developing countries. Consider the contrast with the Bhore Committee recommendation of 15% committed to health from the revenue expenditure budget, against the WHO, which recommended 5% of GDP for health. In this very year India spent <img alt="ndian rupee" height="12" src="file:///Users/Raviteja/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_image002.png" width="9" />300 bn to hold the most expensive Common Wealth Games ever.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Does the elixir of dynamic economic growth distract us from acknowledging that the superpower status will be denied to us until our country can bestow social justice to its own citizens?</span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Taking real time data and immediately feeding it back into the product, tapping local entrepreneurial talent, doing incredible marketing and education based on aspirations and not avoidance will make health care as ubiquitous as Coca- cola",</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> said Melinda Gates in her TED talk. Only through real education can the masses be made to realize the ‘felt needs’ and they shall be more receptive to hear when their stomachs are full enough. It is through research into cheaper modalities of health care delivery like ORS, a revolution can happen.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I look forward for that day, when we can pride ourselves on our determination, enough wealth, organizational skills, intellectual and technological capacities to develop an ideal health care model such as the NHS and provide health care to every citizen in need. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Change appears to be the hallmark of this generation. This is fortunate, for change is the hope of the future. But let’s remember, <i>true prosperity starts in the</i> <i>countryside</i>.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">P.s. This essay on the 'Health Care Of Rural India' has been a product of a hot furnace in my head for a </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">National essay writing competition- </span>DR. VISHWAS PATIL MEMORIAL ESSAY COMPETITION<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> supposedly conducted by APCM, Dhule during my preparation time for the third year university examinations which included Community Medicine.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Like, all things are not appreciated in life, I never got a reply despite calls to Dr.Singh or my mails to their society. Well, let there be a reader for this hard-made piece at the least!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> -Raviteja Innamuri</span></span></div></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-45082584922247237272011-07-06T09:42:00.000-07:002011-07-06T09:57:59.268-07:00My love!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I remember the first time I saw her. The evening was hot and the inners <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wet</i>. The Sun poured down sweat that precipitated on the cooler mortals. She stood in the corner of the dark room along with her other friends. She was different. She smelled different. I couldn’t help noticing her. At first from the corner of my eyes and then, inevitably staring at her. The mirror glare from the rider passing by disturbed her grace. She <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">noticed</i> me and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">broke</i> my stare, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">threw</i> my head down and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">filled </i>me with guilt to the brim. I had no reason, why? I stared at the Taj Mahal much longer and nobody said a thing!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was at the same place the next day. Maybe, it was just coincidence. She was there too. None of us said a thing. I was there the next evening and perhaps the next one too until all it took was a simple <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">handle</i>- shake.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t really remember much after that. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ride </i>was always pretty smooth with her. I could never get bored. The feeling was always like the wind sweeping through my hair making curls and sweet subtle music as it sensitively touched my eardrum as it left softly brushing my pinna. She took me to new places, introduced me to new fellas. There was always something <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to do</i>, something new. She rarely complained and though there were a few misunderstandings; the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mechanic</i> was not far away. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always </i>farted silently. She was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i> very polite and waited patiently for me. She <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i> took hours long to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">clean up</i> but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always </i>looked prettier than the last time I saw her. She intimidated the other girls. Oh boy! You could tell! She could never bear <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thirst</i>. You had to get her the drinks else she wouldn’t budge. </div><div class="MsoNormal">She needs to be treated more delicate than a flower. I feared every second if I would bruise her if I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hit</i>, any harder. But she could endure any pain, race any distance and a great opportunist. She <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never backed down</i>. For her, <u>stamina is nothing more than one extra foot when your heart is ‘one hundred percent exhausted’ and your mind says ‘no more’.</u> Man! She is a winner. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">In the many years I have known her I could never tell how special she is to me, until now. You are a miracle. Happy anniversary <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Laura</i>! You are the most wonderful thing anybody could ever own!</div><div class="MsoNormal">p.s. Laura is a bike.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-41754332907120450582011-07-06T09:33:00.000-07:002011-07-06T09:33:41.953-07:00What make great quotations GREAT!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have always wondered what made good quotations great. Is it really who said them or are they great because the ones who heard them have interpreted them greatly. Many times in life, we hear people say profound things just in the passing; things that are capable of igniting minds and changing lives.<br />
<br />
As a tribute to my wonderful friends, here are some of my best catch!<br />
<br />
"Cases are not stupid; only case sheets are."<br />
- Priyanka Shuklae. 13/05/2011.<br />
<br />
"We all just pretend."<br />
-Krithika Singh on her latest night out.<br />
<br />
"You are distracting yourself."<br />
- Roopa Patel on things distracting me.<br />
<br />
"The vaguest of symptoms precipitate the sophisticated of investigations."<br />
- Me; on the patient's investigation report for 'giddiness'.<br />
<br />
"Teach me something."<br />
-Miss Ann in her intermittent awakening phases of her sleep- wake cycles at clinical postings.<br />
<br />
"There is an old dictum of mine. If you know, write. If you don't; write more."<br />
-Anonymous; who had taken 8 additional s for the OBG exam.<br />
<br />
"Off the eyes is off the mind."<br />
- Re-quoted by Mr. Roy.</div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-86636527921119932162011-07-06T09:32:00.001-07:002011-07-06T09:32:02.481-07:005 ways to know if an Indian women is anaemic. . .<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The content below is extremely offensive unde<strong>r United States Code, Title 18, Section 2257-</strong><br />
<br />
1. <em>All</em> <strong>FAIR</strong> Indian women are anemic unless proved otherwise.<br />
<br />
2.They have always wanted to donate blood but never did.<br />
<br />
3. They speak of bearing <em>'red plump'</em> children, all the time.<br />
<br />
4. They eat chicken though never touch real <em>foood</em>. [Controversial]<br />
<br />
5.They pay close attention to the indicator as they pass through the walk through metal detector.<br />
<br />
Find more and get a personalized signed copy of Nikil Nandineni sleeping in LR's class.<br />
<br />
p.s.A walk through metal detector detects the metal on your body. Here, we speak of the Iron in Haemoglobin ;p ;)</div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-43331599119428774782011-07-05T09:45:00.000-07:002011-07-07T08:11:32.776-07:00One step further. . .<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It was a cold winter morning. As the breeze was busy cracking the tender dry skin, we were preparing for the cross-country race for the early Sunday morning. The bells rang with no indifference like any other weekday as everybody left their laziness in their previous day night clothing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The first boy and the first girl who make it across the entire village, the valley down the bridge and into the forest and back will be declared champions for the week’s cross country race will proudly hoist the national flag upon the school’s administrative office and will have their names in red bold letters on the main notice board for an entire week until somebody else will run his ass off!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As we assembled in those lines according to heights and spacing each other with our hands as rulers, I realized that I was standing next to the all time cross country champion! Who wouldn’t dream of being a person like that of him?! I had to satiate my share of curiosity and so asked him the question that had been so tirelessly running round & round in my head,</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Do you ever get tired?”</div><div class="MsoNormal">He turned towards me and gave me a weird look. I know it was a stupid question but I had a reason- I was just too young!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Then, more questions hit my head.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Aren’t you scared of entering the forest alone before the entire group makes it?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What do you do when you feel really thirsty and when your legs ache very badly?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you take breaks?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How do you build your stamina?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I didn’t know what to ask. He waited as I simply stared at him. I finally asked-</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What do you do when you when you feel like stopping?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in 0in;">“Take a step further”; he simply answered.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The whistles blew and we ran in colorful shorts to entertain the drowsy on looking villagers. As I took the first breaths of the unused air scented with Eucalyptus, all I could think of is what he said.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Alas! It is not who that is stronger or who with the greatest potential that matters. The question that matters is, “ who endures it the hardest and the farthest of all?” When every cell in your very existence is devoid of energy; when the very breath is about to run out; when every iota of energy is spent- Can you dare to take one step further?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Stamina is no virtue or skill, my friend. It is just the will to take one another steps further!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">p.s. Dedicated to Madhusudhan Reddy and to the conversation at the Amphi theatre hill on the Sunday morning.</div></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-85189337656658586632011-03-31T11:32:00.001-07:002011-03-31T11:32:23.209-07:00Aamchi Mumbai!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix"><div>My life in Manipal begins at the Syndicate circle and ends at Tiger Circle or might go as far as Kamath Circle if my delicate time permits me to travel to the campus buzzed MIT for some sumptuous dinner at the new food court.<br />
<br />
I began scribbling this piece as I told my Dad I would, sitting in a Mumbai local train from Borveli to Andheri, which is now far different from what I experienced this morning. The cabin presently is accommodating an accurate 21 that in the morning carried a near 250, with each person’s face shoved into someone else’s armpit, literally! What you really need to be worrying about is the odor produced by the mixture of sweats as a collective collaboration rather than the individual contribution. Everybody talks to the other as if nobody else is listening. They sing songs in choir as if nobody else exists. That’s what seeing <em>soo</em> many people everyday does to you, I guess. Some old man talked of his retirement and his son leaving to the U.S for a high pay job. A woman complained about her husband. Young men discussing about their jobs, making more money and new weekend plans. Some girl just wanted some Vodka! Well, I was listening. Nobody cared if you; the stranger is eavesdropping not.<br />
<br />
<em>Bombay is prosperous</em>. All they repeated was- ‘Bombay, the city of dreams, where everything is possible. A city that never sleeps.’ The locals run beyond 1:30am into the night!<br />
<br />
<em>Bombay is cheap. </em>Anybody can survive in Mumbai. A vadapav for Rs. 6, Nimbu pani Rs.4 and there is food everywhere. There are these, amazing stuff just made out of bread and hand-made like the mini pizza and sandwitches that are a big hit with the <em>aam aadmi</em>.<br />
<br />
<em>Bombay is luxurious. </em>There are cafes at bay and alongside popular streets like the European style (the way, I like to call them) flooded with the fair skinned foreigners. They are a true bliss. The buildings grow notoriously longitudinally, <em>oh, what do you think</em>, we have no other choice, the only direction left, they will say! The night before on my way to Mumbai, the co-passenger suggested me to sit by the Marine drive where romance is high even under the hot commercial Sun and stare at the cars that pass by. He said, at first you’ll say this to yourself and then out loud; “fuck, when has India got so rich man?!”<br />
<br />
I randomly remarked in my RABITS that I can’t eat too much cheese and a maximum of 5 spoons of pasta that I can relish in one sitting. I hate beer too; too much of a time and calorie consumption to get to a 50ml high spirits. But the combination of these at the Leopold’s was something I never tried before and I must admit, it was amazing. It’s that weird feeling of your stomach burning with hunger and the temperature rising with the beer and you satiating it with the cheese paparika sprinkled cream Chicken pasta alongside!<br />
<br />
Life in Manipal may begin from TC and ends in KC but life in Bombay is beyond Borevili to Churchgate. . .</div></div></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-28621294086894314872011-03-01T11:19:00.000-08:002011-03-01T11:19:17.773-08:00Back to square one!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">My dad is a simple man. He has been a practicing general surgeon for decades now. He enjoys his government job like any other chronic government official.<span> </span>He sleeps late, almost everyday and wakes up a bit late for his office. With a towel round his belly, and an old song on his lips, he goes directly to the pooja room after bath and lights an <i>agarbathi</i> that’s fills the house with its fragrance.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">He is that kinda person who socializes extremely well and cracks good jokes for everyone to laugh. People love to have him around. I learnt the socializing part well but when it comes to my poor jokes, I end up laughing at most of them, inevitably alone. He is always, well, most of the times in a constant thought loop, unable to hear you talking to him even though you are standing right beside him. <i>Hell</i>, once, he even asked me, who I was and what did I want as I stood at his cabin door waiting for him to finish talking to the other white coat bearers. That’s a different story all together!</div><div class="MsoNormal">He never did really beat me when I was a kid like my mother used to (to teach me the hard lessons) but the few times he got angry, I used to feel real bad. He used to let me enter the OT in those long scrubs while he was operating and let me stare at the blood soaked meat and the puddles of pus. He got me an ice cream each time I fainted off the stool and whenever I visited the dentist. I always preferred him for injections. He knows the ‘pain free’ way, <i>believe me</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He made crazy bets with me for all sorts of change and got me speaking on topics to earn my prize money that went in my Santa bank.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He is a workaholic.<span> </span>He loves the share market. He is also very generous to his poor patients. He spent years away from home, my mom and me for studies and clinical experience. He is always there to join me into an institution and re-visits the place to take me home only after the course is over, years later. He was there for my medical college counseling but he hasn’t visited Manipal, since then. I go home for vacations, of course! Yesterday, in one of his enlightening <i>hour-long</i>/<i>once-in-a-week </i>conversations he shared with me something that goes like this-</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Do leave your comments; I’m sure he would love to hear from you)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Into a mysterious world I entered naïve and innocent with perhaps a vacant head. All these years I continued to live in the same mystery and yet again I feel the same, fearing atrophy and turning vacant, as I can’t recollect names and dates which once I did so well. I wouldn’t compare to say that an unripe and a rotting ripe fruit are the same but I’m back to square one, I would say.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I fought with my father to get what I wanted and the world thereafter. In little arguments I spent so much of my life and all I learnt was to learn to compromise in the end.<span> </span>I flew away from my native town in search of life and now, I fear my children will fly away from me. Back to square one.</div><div class="MsoNormal">They failed me in my final MBBS for not delivering the answer for a <i>single </i>question. I wondered why? Maybe, all the others did well and they needed someone to flunk and they found me and I convinced myself to reading the same for another six months. Back to square one. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I struggled in my government job for many years as a doctor and saved enough to invest in the share market to make some good money. I created many occasions and shared enough drinks to impress those expert brokers and businessmen and spoilt my health alongside. I made a lot of money but now; I invest it all to enjoy good health. Back to square one.</div><div class="MsoNormal">When our lifetime is almost spent and all the time is gone. What is that we see when we look back to? Life teaches us both good and bad. It leaves us experience to teach but aren’t we back to square one?</div></div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-64197135779312539852010-12-10T10:22:00.003-08:002010-12-10T10:38:06.963-08:00The Mental Journey 3The way the history and the patient are looked upon can change the entire course of therapy and the thereby, the life of the patient. <br />
<br />
History = Clinical diagnosis<br />
<br />
In some instances I did feel that that there were heavy lapses in the research areas and a great lot is yet to be unveiled. What I despised the most while attending the Psychiatry clinics was that, most of the final diagnoses were based on the history and the doctor’s interpretation as specific clinical investigations do not yet, exist; making it biased. <br />
For once, give it a thought. If you happen to impress a Psychiatrist well enough, whatever you see could be termed as visual hallucinations and whatever you hear are auditory hallucinations! Even a child not wanting to go to school and play is pre-morbidity! Gross and eventful!<br />
But there are doctors efficient enough to see those thin lines and brainy enough to analyze the understanding of those firing neurons. Still, I await that day when I shall be relieved of the slightest doubt that a person can never be wrongly placed in a mental asylum. After all, everything is a mind’s perspective. Even happiness fits perfectly to be called a mental ailment!Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-57780964864843832832010-12-10T10:22:00.001-08:002010-12-10T10:22:08.403-08:00BRACED-UP!She sat a step diagonally higher to me munching away the 20mg Diclofenac tablet, occasionally tossing it between her teeth, probably convincing those agelessly old archeological tools that the pain will soon be gone. Now, she held that half dispersed pill between her teeth and broke it into a perfect two. I couldn’t help noticing it. I am guessing that the taste would be something like the color of the tablet itself.<br />
I still remember that day when I had the ceremony to undertake the vow to sparkle each time I smile, sporting those stainless steel hangings in the oral cavity to manipulate stuff- yet another molded medical invention!<br />
Staring at the giant picture overhanging the wall in front of me, I sat in the hyper- specialized chair, which is everything for the dental clinic and the dentist himself, whatever it is, just say it- out patient Rx, operation theatre, anything and everything. <br />
The picture was of a beautiful village woman carrying a pot of water, teeth, milk (jus’ guessed it) carved out of a really big tooth. ‘Soo huge!’ that it must be a property of a really big carnivorous non-human, I thought.<br />
Like an ant sting, the sharp needle with a sharper hole pierced through my hard red jelly and blew out my cheeks like I was with my mouth-FULL. Then, to my surprise, he struck tongs into my mouth and with all his visible strength pulled out a huge milky bar out which looked very similar to the one in the picture. It’s like the iceberg concept thing, I wondered, with the entire blood brimming.<br />
He pulled out the 4 pre-molars to finally defy the very nature’s human dental principles.<br />
A lotta things in life change after this. You get a new brush with a mid-partitioned bristle-less wave, a new tooth paste with a worse color (placebo effect, maybe) but you teeth still stink, anyway, so I suggest you better mix both the pastes. It takes much longer to brush and makes one more efficient to piss off other neighboring brushers and the ones waiting in line for the washbasin. <br />
Then what? Years pass in waiting, you grow half in size outta starvation and after check up after check up, you are promoted to a temporary wire brace which now makes it harder to even talk and then you lose it all one day only to worry about getting it all back again, very possible with the shorter Australian wire technique and a lil’ more safer with the longer American technique!<br />
<br />
p.s. One hell of an experience!Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-88396600621302700692010-11-10T10:48:00.000-08:002010-12-10T10:57:39.825-08:00HappYness<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Happiness is jus’ a relative understandin’ of the lil’ things in our lives.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s a perspective. Sometimes, overrated and sometimes underrated. Remember, what we said in the beginning- ‘RELATIVE’.</div><div class="MsoNormal">However a situation may seem to be and however bad it may look in a particular circumstance, at that very moment somethin’ may happen or appear to happen and the way you look at it can change so drastically enough that the smile reappears on those sensitive lips and a whistle takes over those musings. I’m sure it happened to all of us one time or the other, only if we had given a chance for it to happen.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I always tried to understand the most common of things by relating them to the most common of things to suit their nature- the BASIC.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Often, friends complain to each other about the other possibly good friend who remembers them only in times of need. Okay, let’s talk about that for a while. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Do you think of the bathroom, all day? I sound really funny. Don’t I? I know. It’s obvious too that we think of it only when we need to take a piss. But what if the bathroom feels about you the way you thought of your other friend. It may sound indifferent, but it’s not. Jus’ try to reason it with me. You remember it when you need it and go for it. The only reason I see the bathroom to feel disappointed is when you go to your neighbor’s bathroom for the piss. I hope you are getting the drift.</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is this awesome example I came across in a TED talk on a context of choice and happiness. There are many circumstances when we feel something does really make us happy but in fact, it does not. Here’s one such situation.</div><div class="MsoNormal">A group of 40 Harvard students were sent around to click pictures of their campus, these were to be the ones they can hold close to the heart years later to relish college memories. Two pictures were to be selected from each of these individual collections. Now, the group was divided in to two. The first group was asked to choose the best picture of the two and asked to go home with it with no choice. However, the second group got 1 picture alone though they could come back 3 days from that day and switch it with the other if they feel they are not satisfied with the one they had.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Guess, what happened! More than half of group 2 exchanged their pictures on the 3<sup>rd</sup> day as expected. When stats were taken a few months from then to see how many were happy with the decision made; surprisingly, the most of the members of group 1 said- ‘ well, this is the one’ while most of the group 2 said-‘hmmm. . .I ‘m not really sure you know, I still love the other picture more.’</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t know to call it compromise or whatever but it does seem that takin’ away decision did make them happy, at least here!</div><div class="MsoNormal">As days pass by and time flies; each day when you lay in bed at the end of the day, though these seem so obvious, and you don’t have anyone to talk to about these and so does many of those times, you feel, like me, wondering, what is the missin’ link!?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-80970419281416311772010-09-03T12:08:00.003-07:002010-09-03T20:57:34.096-07:00Illuminati '10<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/Raviteja/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">4:45 pm, 29th August, AFMC, Pune: <br />
<br />
It was a cloudy day. As I entered the stage of the 1500 capacity Dhanvantari auditorium at AFMC, Pune, the water began to hit from all the sides. The silence was broken.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The podium almost hid me leaving my eyes and forehead, making me aware of my height. I began to speak. Not before I even completed my first sentence, I paused. I went blank. At each passing second, my heart pumped harder and my head pulsated along, making me feel so heavy that I almost sank to the ground.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The crowd, now, began to whisper and I looked around. My teammates, anxious and shocked waited patiently behind the curtains for an answer. I just wanted to run behind to them and cry but that would not have made any point. All those sleep deprived nights, a thousand kilometer travel for a day, all that effort and thinking would at once scoop to just a ‘nothing’.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I looked into the center of the auditorium and made a brief laugh staring into its blankness and went on to do what was undone and ran back as soon as my part was done. I was sure of being referred to as ‘that crazy short guy’.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was ‘red hot’. My mind was bombarded by a million thoughts, all interrogatives. My team asked me to stay cool and get ready for my final part of the symposium. I tried to breathe, slowly but consciously. I went out of the auditorium through the back door. It was pouring now. I noticed that my lost umbrella was ‘getting wet’ lying in the veranda, which I must have forgotten during lunch, and wondered if I should walk till there and get it back. I started to walk, before I made the decision and decided to bring it, anyway. It didn’t matter anymore, for that matter, nothing mattered, anymore. ‘Hasn’t all that could be screwed up has already been done?’ I asked myself. I paced up and down. I was called once again. This time, I knew I had no choice but to live every word that I would utter and stand for what I had come to stand for.</div><div class="MsoNormal">After the speech, there was a brief pause, the same heavy silence, which had passed when I paused just a few moments ago, but this time, the crowd burst into applause.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wondered if I could catch any glimpse of ‘weeping microbiologists’, if any, in some corner of the hall, to talk about it after I come back home. I gave up and left the podium, a little happy but still disappointed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">p.s. I should speak more often.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-78172754873156216962010-08-14T00:41:00.000-07:002010-08-14T10:01:29.341-07:00Medical mumble jumble. . .<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">The Endocrinology class went 'blank'.<br />
<br />
"That's why I always said, we shouldn't be having Stethoscope as our symbol; rather a Ryle's tube would suit better."<br />
<br />
The class still; blank.</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="text_exposed_hide"></span><span class="text_exposed_show">- Dr. Murlidhar Verma; on spoon feeding college education.</span></span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: x-small;">p.s. Ryle's tube (rylz) n. a thin flexible tube of rubber or plastic, which is inserted into the stomach through the mouth or nose of a patient and is used for withdrawing fluid from the stomach or for giving a test meal. [ J. A. Ryle (1889–1950), British physician]</span><br />
</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><span style="font-size: small;">Door creaks to open into the dark room.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Dr. Krishna Rao: Soo, why are you late by 22 minutes. What's your excuse? <br />
No response.<br />
Dr. KR: At least tell me the last night's foot ball match's score!<br />
<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><span class="text_exposed_show">[No response. Out of coverage area.]<br />
P S: Chile!<br />
KR: Chh. . .i. . .leee??<br />
R T: No, BraziL!<br />
K R: Br. . a. . .zilll??? Why are you even here!</span></span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message">Okay, I repeat. What's your take on the 'paper thin' walls in the Ophthalmology dept.? ;p</span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">Never did the World 'blur' more than it did today.<br />
<br />
All courtesy to the Tropicamide at the Ophthal OPD which got my eyes wiiide open. . .!</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></span></h3><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"><i>An 'Ayoo' in the Ophthal Septic OT. . .</i></h2><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">We enter into the 'SEPTIC' Theatre terribly awaiting renovation, obviously! It looks like a kitchen filled Operation theatre stuff; damn it!<br />
<br />
<br />
Patient undergoing {multiple Chalazion incision and curettage}; moaning, groaning, with clenched fists!<br />
<br />
Dr. Lavanya Rao: You have to wait. If you don't cooperate, I can't finish and you'll have to come again and again.<br />
<br />
Patient: (Howls and kicks in the air) Ha ha ha! That's true but (shouts in pain again) shhh. . . .ah ahhh, it's terrible madam, unbearable! Ayooo! Why don't you give an injection or something[ raising his hand to his eye and gesturing a poke in poke out.]<br />
<br />
Dr. L R: I already gave two.<br />
<br />
Patient: [Again, in his normal tone] Ooh! You already removed the big one!<br />
<br />
Technician[ to students]- It's over. Change your scrubs. You can't go back to the OT directly from the Septic theater.<br />
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">p.s.-"Septic" OT; so much for the name!</span><br />
<br />
</h2><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"> </h2><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">". . . . . .is the percentage. It is not my figure. It is Davidson's. . . . . . .is the approximate number. It is not my figure. It is Davidson's." ...</span></h2><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">-An extract from today's Medicine class on Headache!</span></h2><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"></h2><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"></h2><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
"The most important thing about Skin is that it is very important."<br />
-The introductory class on Skin appendages.</span><br />
</h2><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">"God, somehow, is an arranged person. . . ."<br />
<br />
"DON'T bundle anybody up, IMMOBILIZE!"<br />
<br />
- Dr. Arjun Chacko @ the Saturday Neuro- Surgery Class!</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">p.s </span><a class="actorName" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=1451511443" href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1451511443">Sagnik Surya</a> said; one of the best neuro-surgery classes eva ....." durin bath ...the last amt of water in a bucket which ppl cant leave behind..." haha..damn...<span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></span></h3><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"> </h2><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">"Statistics are like Bikinis; they never reveal the most important things!"</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><br />
-Dr. Varma on the deceivable nature of neutrophil to lymphocyte ratio. . .<br />
<br />
p.s. On public demand! Well, you were expecting it, weren't you! ;)</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></span></h3><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>A minute of Dr. K P Sir's ENT class!</i></span></h2><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Note:<br />
'[x]'- indicate the gaps and pure spaces between spoken words.<br />
<br />
. . .[2sec] Cystic fibrosis. [8sec later]. .can be allergy also.[10sec]. .some of them can be Auto-immune conditions.[8sec]. .can be associated with other syndromes. . .blah. . .blah[]. . .blah. [ 13 sec later]. . .I aleady mentioned about Cystic Fibrosis! [10 sec]. . . . . . .<br />
<br />
p.s. Well, you can see the stats yourself ;p </span> <br />
</h2><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">"Sure. This is the last slide.<br />
I'm jus' going in the reverse order."<br />
<br />
- Dr. Sudhir Nayak@ Fungal infections class.</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" data-ft="{"type":"name"}"> </span><span class="UIStory_Message"><span style="font-size: small;">"I want to 'hear' him 'think'."<br />
<br />
-Dr. Suresh Pillai; as Varun Gynaeshwar was shakin' to make them. . . ;p</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">"It's got Menthol. It goes to places you have never known to exist. It doesn't open up your nose. You just feel it does."<br />
<br />
-Dr. Suresh Pillai on Vicks inhaler.</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">'When you are deprived of your normal supply of microbes, the immune systems get a poor education.'</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> "There are 3 kinds of lies-</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">Lies,</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> Damned lies and </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">Statistics </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">-Dr. Asha Kamath @ intro Bio Statistics class</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">p.s- from the back benches; " Head lice, body lice. . ."</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><br />
</span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">"Doctors, learn to err on the safer side. Anything you do not know, blame it on the genes."</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">-<i>Akaash vaani</i>; the voice from the skies ;p</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">The reality of life-</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">"Diseases do not read text books. Only we do." </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">"Thumba heat aagida body alli"; the patient will say. The side effect of drug combination.</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">-Dr. Mularidhar Verma</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> <br />
<span style="font-size: small;">"What makes me more wise than that guy begging on the street? Is it me knowing, that an Amoeba exists!!</span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">-Raviteja. :) </span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><br />
</span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></h3><h2 class="uiHeaderTitle" style="font-weight: normal;"> </h2><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}"><span class="UIStory_Message"> </span></h3>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-59995861861014103322010-07-26T23:28:00.001-07:002010-07-26T23:28:26.793-07:00The 'mental' journey [contd.] <meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/Raviteja/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>648</o:Words> <o:Characters>3697</o:Characters> <o:Company>Manipal</o:Company> <o:Lines>30</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>7</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>4540</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Q. Define Bizarre.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ans. I see a man standing on the moon and peeing on the Earth. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I looked around. Faces struck in windows, mouths wide open and eager hands stretched out, with periodic pronation and supination waiting to grab you in the very first catch. This was the impression the Bolly/ Tolly- woods and friends who already happened to visit the Psychiatric wards (especially the ones who got slapped while taking a patient’s history) left on me. I didn’t find any of them though it was easier to recognize the wards, as it was the only one with the entrance closed and a guard attending it, at all times.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I ran across the hall with ‘symmetrically’ parallel beds occupied by ‘unsymmetrical’ minds as they moved their eyeballs from one corner to the other, from where laughter arose, which seemed more intelligent and sane over the others that filled the hall, which is perhaps, the venue for my class. I was alone, but not scared. <span> </span>I opened the door slowly, just to make enough space for one single eye of a suspicious peeping Tom. The room was fully packed and not surprisingly, everybody was already examining this innocent eye through the narrow hole. Now, knowing that I am late, scared, I said nothing. The bespectacled, rough bearded man, the only one not in an apron other than the patient, who seemed to be the oldest and the wisest of all brought his double chin to his chest at once and again. The classic non-verbal! As I entered, he looked towards a serious young doctor who continued . . . </div><div class="MsoNormal">“ Mr. Balasubramaniam, aged 32 years, who hails from the Shimoga district of Karnataka presents to Kasturba Hospital on 16/07/09 with the chief complaints of . . .[which generally is the starting point of unbelievable non-existent, non- English, this time struck me like a thunderbolt!]</div><div class="MsoNormal">I see God (full stop) My heart (hyphen) his gateway.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">My jaw fell to the ground. He continued-</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ History of presenting illness-</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I feel all energetic and believe in the capability of achieving anything I want . . . </div><div class="MsoNormal">The people of this country need a great leader and I am ready to give it to them . . </div><div class="MsoNormal">After my BSc Chemistry, I felt closer to him [G O D] . . .”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Past history-</div><div class="MsoNormal">h/o thorn prick. Didn’t feel like going to school.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was tempted enough to grab a copy of the patient’s history. The duration of the conversation with the patient was recorded as an unbelievable whole 2 and half hours!<span> </span>Further, in the report-</div><div class="MsoNormal">Content: {All the dominant preoccupations of the subject including ideas of reference, persecution, grandeur, worthlessness, hopelessness, guilt, sin, nihilism, negation, love, control, infidelity, etcetera}</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ I feel the power of ten [10] people within me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Insight: {Awareness, attribution and acceptance of intervention}</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ I have no problem. Ask God, if you want.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I flipped through the pages, a lot of thoughts were randomly being fired in my mind. For once, I, funnily, thought-</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, here is an ideal Indian and where should he be?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Y-e-a-h! The Psychiatry ward.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Professor closed his eyes half way through the presentation, life less till the moment, suddenly erupted from his old wooden chair and exploded.</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ You! The young man in the blue, yes, blue checks”, he said. “ Is Malaria curable?”</div><div class="MsoNormal">My class mate took the chance and ran down the entire list,” Chloroquine, Quinine, <span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Atovaquone, Proguanil</span> . . .”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ Oh? That’s impressive. So what are these drugs for? Against whom are your murderous intentions?”</div><div class="MsoNormal">The room giggled in union.</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I mean the cause of your Malaria, young man. The cause!”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“The protozoan parasite. The species of Plasmodium. “</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Exactly.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Let me ask you one more question, give me a cure for a mental disorder. Okay. I’ll be lenient this time. Any mental disorder. Any!</div><div class="MsoNormal">Silence.</div><div class="MsoNormal">“ What happened?” He laughed violently. “I wont blame you. Humans haven’t found the antidote for emotion yet. Emotions have no reason.</div><div class="MsoNormal">To find a cure, you need the cause. When your target is lame, bizarre, retrospective, where is the word ‘cure’. There is no mental illness with a cure”, he declared. “ So is Hypertension, Diabetes mellitus, other chronic diseases, and psychiatric disorders, controllable, BUT are not curable.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">Suddenly, the nurse in the milk white uniform entered and spoke in a hurry. </div><div class="MsoNormal">“Doctor, doctor! The patient in bed no.32 is trying to kill herself again!”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Aah! That old woman! Not again!” he said, flung the door wide-open and stormed out. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment--> Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-29929521065975390462010-06-14T10:24:00.000-07:002011-03-08T05:45:19.734-08:00Roma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">You've Never Lived Until You've Loved in Rome!<br />
<br />
Three coins in the fountain,<br />
Through the ripples how they shine,<br />
Just one wish will be granted,<br />
One heart will wear a valentine.<br />
<br />
Which one will the fountain bless?<br />
Which one will the fountain bless?<br />
- From the movie “Three Coins In The Fountain” [1954]<br />
<br />
<br />
In Rome, the past is the key to the present and the present to the past. Each stone has a history of ages and like all the historical monuments all over the world from the Ajanta & Ellora, The Pyramids of Egypt to the ruins of Rome, it’s always the story behind it. It’s always the story behind everything that’s more impressive than the deceptive appearances.<br />
The Vatican was, of course, the holiest place in the trip. They got everything there, from ceilings painted by Michelangelo, extreme social respect, political power, influence of the Church, that richness and the Swiss security. What else needs to complete the list?!<br />
To get to Pisa and Florence, we just had to travel too much to arrive at one foci of architectural beauty! Wonderful!</div>Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-10315121968772088112010-06-13T02:45:00.000-07:002010-06-13T02:45:37.195-07:00The miscounted days plus 1 <meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/Raviteja/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>168</o:Words> <o:Characters>963</o:Characters> <o:Company>Manipal</o:Company> <o:Lines>8</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>1182</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Then, we drove to Swarovski, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wattens"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Wattens</span></a>, Austria where the wonder- making Daniel Swarovski’s patented electric cutting machine had begun to change the beauty of crystal glass, itself! First, Chambers of wonder display followed by emptying of the dazzled disoriented visitors like all the other European industries.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0wFTW0HueD4FHCzla-QLOxyQbH1S9rtNCLioiqLByVd2XfHwcKXTM_H6YIoq8DUgb1Qas3BPcFAOPO6izspFsJNz8brkAXZoAWWVr53cnYuar4AaxFFKAdIpE7WmABDbh0-K0l9IrNtc/s1600/IMG_0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0wFTW0HueD4FHCzla-QLOxyQbH1S9rtNCLioiqLByVd2XfHwcKXTM_H6YIoq8DUgb1Qas3BPcFAOPO6izspFsJNz8brkAXZoAWWVr53cnYuar4AaxFFKAdIpE7WmABDbh0-K0l9IrNtc/s1600/IMG_0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0wFTW0HueD4FHCzla-QLOxyQbH1S9rtNCLioiqLByVd2XfHwcKXTM_H6YIoq8DUgb1Qas3BPcFAOPO6izspFsJNz8brkAXZoAWWVr53cnYuar4AaxFFKAdIpE7WmABDbh0-K0l9IrNtc/s320/IMG_0139.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif85eimMNvkhXkZQDQZBUoQhEw6yaEH_OSQfnc7rewDhFmxXaYJ5dTgxLCUTpC4mhug18oMoDegn1t7G4kYrO22UOkBUiNsIiBHsN9gQ9fxjUxY00BBrkZZ_nspF4wtT3NUunpK00_ieY8/s1600/IMG_0151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif85eimMNvkhXkZQDQZBUoQhEw6yaEH_OSQfnc7rewDhFmxXaYJ5dTgxLCUTpC4mhug18oMoDegn1t7G4kYrO22UOkBUiNsIiBHsN9gQ9fxjUxY00BBrkZZ_nspF4wtT3NUunpK00_ieY8/s320/IMG_0151.JPG" /></a> </div><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;">That night at Innsbruck, no song was unsung and no wine left untasted.</span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNc8fpwWTqE9sMk8aUtBz8Qkk3BYEZeTt2giafx69AJKTWcMREXfKOLZ4gAUMcowueMi8a-NtV9GEjAtnn5D_43k0kdE-LzJMQTAZfv2wRFVBHkE7pH_zauUNniHw3MgCljMFhKvR9BaP/s1600/IMG_0083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNc8fpwWTqE9sMk8aUtBz8Qkk3BYEZeTt2giafx69AJKTWcMREXfKOLZ4gAUMcowueMi8a-NtV9GEjAtnn5D_43k0kdE-LzJMQTAZfv2wRFVBHkE7pH_zauUNniHw3MgCljMFhKvR9BaP/s320/IMG_0083.JPG" /></a></div><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;">Entry into the land of Italy didn’t mesmerize me as I expected. Maybe, the last days or the much more fashionable display in the movies, I didn’t know. I jus’ missed something.</span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRgF9aFPzUTgSEVgus8poel7wgSaKxJG7_bAbQiwFmweFI-Fratd2knp_LZb5VQ9e9b2KfG8Ii90mBZC5lvLw_IvqUBQzsIMiIscZ6T03Y29EVRMHvE-qY4405V_WSq2bp1Vcf4DWs45Ke/s1600/DSC02608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRgF9aFPzUTgSEVgus8poel7wgSaKxJG7_bAbQiwFmweFI-Fratd2knp_LZb5VQ9e9b2KfG8Ii90mBZC5lvLw_IvqUBQzsIMiIscZ6T03Y29EVRMHvE-qY4405V_WSq2bp1Vcf4DWs45Ke/s320/DSC02608.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FT0vL9sWLQsAJtC1QGxxDJhpLlVaW92py3yKFaMqbuYWAY5jvGf6_Jfeoa8KtKxKBONDgXf2ep1-LMd3u7D_MQfJP5ekxeV7lbOXCTYbEOtJXI9I3FpWiJRsXENyiNlCG6LwYxo7fU6c/s1600/IMG_0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FT0vL9sWLQsAJtC1QGxxDJhpLlVaW92py3yKFaMqbuYWAY5jvGf6_Jfeoa8KtKxKBONDgXf2ep1-LMd3u7D_MQfJP5ekxeV7lbOXCTYbEOtJXI9I3FpWiJRsXENyiNlCG6LwYxo7fU6c/s320/IMG_0303.JPG" /></a></div><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8afIn9EXA_2WrBQrYzoorPfa8uHEWXZwobinmuHYOY8uvT1tdTseb2SH1pMoJZDvxhI96V99nw3a8R-ywS2yoMLcUfWH7v2mW9wTjuz3KT_ISimpXf53AlSgtLtGqvXBLHZWJficdXDv6/s1600/IMG_0298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8afIn9EXA_2WrBQrYzoorPfa8uHEWXZwobinmuHYOY8uvT1tdTseb2SH1pMoJZDvxhI96V99nw3a8R-ywS2yoMLcUfWH7v2mW9wTjuz3KT_ISimpXf53AlSgtLtGqvXBLHZWJficdXDv6/s200/IMG_0298.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9JCcXypZZvCXKW_YgoacUUe06aUsci2OWJ7SluOmulCFVFPAWh_XQyUle7QmKqDFbM2lXnAROad0i9ItnAwRpnYlKlqA04AixQErmv_5e26DXhTr60l3D3_1kv3FgQCCwgh-zJFqr4FF/s1600/IMG_0316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9JCcXypZZvCXKW_YgoacUUe06aUsci2OWJ7SluOmulCFVFPAWh_XQyUle7QmKqDFbM2lXnAROad0i9ItnAwRpnYlKlqA04AixQErmv_5e26DXhTr60l3D3_1kv3FgQCCwgh-zJFqr4FF/s320/IMG_0316.JPG" /></a><br />
<h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></h2><h2 style="margin: 0.1pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;">All in all, as you stand at the </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;">Piazza San Marco aka </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;">Saint Mark's Square licking your Italian Gelato letting the salty breeze of the Adriatic Sea add flavor to those cold lips and still let you wondering about this floating city with its canals and bridges, those rotting colorful bricks, the richness and history, the Murano glass, the brides and the bells, the famous lover Casanova, the masks, the billion ‘Euro’ project to save this sinking islands and those Gondolas; you are standing on the most romantic place on this planet. That, you’ll know.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></h2><!--EndFragment--> Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-79710029512984238472010-06-10T10:12:00.000-07:002010-06-10T10:12:06.917-07:00Day 10- Liechtenstein <meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/Raviteja/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>215</o:Words> <o:Characters>1226</o:Characters> <o:Company>Manipal</o:Company> <o:Lines>10</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>2</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>1505</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Liechtenstein, with it’s capital Vaduz, the only alpine country to lie entirely within the <span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Alps</span> inhabited by approximately 35,000 freaking rich German speaking people. It’s <span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">one of few countries in the world</span> that maintains no military and with more registered companies than citizens!</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not very surprisingly, they almost had the whole area shut down for a marathon where (many sobbing, all cute) children ran through the streets with their anxious mums running behind them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8AKW0_BvTM4bYSCL2QjSrFzbk5oP-C4TG1IIxCUDyhoaHAIY7A_B3HNOfo0198UGgKt18P2PClPOOgHYHqPX23Vo5rGPRUzEvxDtg8R615QtlMl6JUEj0I9PcqdzAvH99Pt9KjnfBtHU/s1600/IMG_0118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8AKW0_BvTM4bYSCL2QjSrFzbk5oP-C4TG1IIxCUDyhoaHAIY7A_B3HNOfo0198UGgKt18P2PClPOOgHYHqPX23Vo5rGPRUzEvxDtg8R615QtlMl6JUEj0I9PcqdzAvH99Pt9KjnfBtHU/s320/IMG_0118.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkZcl_4TThEwBzo7TyNGOtO5W4l8FbZh8uTOpteDhKvE_O2HkODpo2gfodexNk4_x9OiMkCRnKji1i7flRjaFK-dx-Xtxxgqmi-psh3X6JpZImPAB2hta8rJGv5xOcjj7Tw3j8WBuTALM/s1600/IMG_0120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkZcl_4TThEwBzo7TyNGOtO5W4l8FbZh8uTOpteDhKvE_O2HkODpo2gfodexNk4_x9OiMkCRnKji1i7flRjaFK-dx-Xtxxgqmi-psh3X6JpZImPAB2hta8rJGv5xOcjj7Tw3j8WBuTALM/s320/IMG_0120.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Though it was mentioned in the itinerary, I couldn’t imagine we were just stopping for lunch, getting our passports stamped [optional for a few Euros], using the free toilets (a rare thing to cherish in Europe; generally a visit can cost you around 0.3-1.3 Euros equivalent to 20- 80 INR!) and continuing with our journey. Later, we were explained that there wasn’t much to see either. Very clever!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaduz_Castle"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Vaduz Castle</span></a>, home to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans-Adam_II,_Prince_of_Liechtenstein"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Prince of Liechtenstein</span></a> stands majestic on the hill just above the stop, right below which was the museum. The prince woke up each morning, brushed his teeth and discarded the toothbrush, which flies right out of the window landing in the Royal gallery of the museum. <span> </span>Take it easy. I just made that up!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment--> Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-51359275656342946492010-06-10T07:14:00.000-07:002010-06-10T09:35:33.405-07:00Somewhere in the middle of EuropeNo sooner the trip began, I lost the count of the days and nights. Then, one fine day after crossing five countries border to border, I pull out my hand from the warm pocket to count my fingers as I heard my neighbors on the bus discussing plans of return. I only thing that reminded me of the passing time was my faithful growing beard.<br />
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Each passing day got me more tired. Tired of giant price tags. Tired of meticulous marvels, surprises and cheap bargains with the blacks. Tired of low battery indicator beeping at the end of each tiring day and me running to fetch a travel adaptor only to lose more of the little permitted sleep. I blinked less too, I suppose, maybe I subconsciously couldn’t afford to miss any passing beauties. I never understood the reason we get tired after traveling for long hours though we do nothing. I wrote less and instead made many new friends.<br />
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So, at this saturation point, when the memory was low and surprises were not surprises anymore and your head is bursting with information like at the end of a 3-hour straight study session, I scribbled-<br />
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With so lil’ time in each place, you wish you didn’t know they existed rather than now knowing that you traveled a 5 thousand miles to miss something at some place you’ve been and probably will never be again!Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580316555482031787.post-62727570572013258622010-05-22T17:26:00.000-07:002010-06-11T07:04:59.828-07:00Day 6- Chamonix, France & Switzerland"Bon Voyage!"<br />
- The Swiss officer at the border without checking our passports! ;)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtkkYTrHvu7Ck2aT9NSale1-CsgUpHhtx7z66vuYl_c5TYI5tYFF3YIPC7A8PadjeVeQNSsfKxNaK19JGw7E3F2FTnqOFHcek8Vg2z0p_1Pb1qQriWQ754sQ9vAh5Yn-Aw334aAm5jyob/s1600/DSC01840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtkkYTrHvu7Ck2aT9NSale1-CsgUpHhtx7z66vuYl_c5TYI5tYFF3YIPC7A8PadjeVeQNSsfKxNaK19JGw7E3F2FTnqOFHcek8Vg2z0p_1Pb1qQriWQ754sQ9vAh5Yn-Aw334aAm5jyob/s1600/DSC01840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtkkYTrHvu7Ck2aT9NSale1-CsgUpHhtx7z66vuYl_c5TYI5tYFF3YIPC7A8PadjeVeQNSsfKxNaK19JGw7E3F2FTnqOFHcek8Vg2z0p_1Pb1qQriWQ754sQ9vAh5Yn-Aw334aAm5jyob/s1600/DSC01840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtkkYTrHvu7Ck2aT9NSale1-CsgUpHhtx7z66vuYl_c5TYI5tYFF3YIPC7A8PadjeVeQNSsfKxNaK19JGw7E3F2FTnqOFHcek8Vg2z0p_1Pb1qQriWQ754sQ9vAh5Yn-Aw334aAm5jyob/s1600/DSC01840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtkkYTrHvu7Ck2aT9NSale1-CsgUpHhtx7z66vuYl_c5TYI5tYFF3YIPC7A8PadjeVeQNSsfKxNaK19JGw7E3F2FTnqOFHcek8Vg2z0p_1Pb1qQriWQ754sQ9vAh5Yn-Aw334aAm5jyob/s320/DSC01840.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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Chamonix, France is perhaps going to stay as my favorite place. A lovely place, hidden deep in a valley surrounded by the French Alps, secluded from the rest of the bustling world with its river L'Arve running in rivulets calmly, can steal any given heart. For the very first time I had a longing to return to a place so much, no sooner than we left. Love at first sight, indeed.<br />
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What a view! What a sight! Into the oblivion till the horizons meet! 'Mountain clad' snow, melting white stuff creating falling waters and those infinite shades of green. I could starve to stare at it forever & ever, all my life. The two way cog wheel train ride with a single intersection point can equally mesmerize, as we watch those stretches of steep mountain land change from green to tall dark green to barren brown to thick milky white. Heaven! Even the cable car ride is available, if you wish, all the way to Italy! <br />
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Just yesterday, we rolled our heads high at the foothills to trace the bright bulb glowing on the peak and wondered how anybody could get there. Today, under the good God's warm Sun, we stood and stared from a 4,810 m high. All these interventions and pioneering began in these strange small lands in the beginning of the 20th century itself and by the way, who own the planet's highest peaks?! Oh boy! I ain't saying anything. I just feel so poor and backward.<br />
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In all those seemingly ending but 'still- an- hour to reach' bus rides, which the Cox & Kings called leisure drives, there was always, Michelle, our tour operator to comfort everybody, saying, <br />
"Like in life, rather than the destination; it's the journey we undertake that makes the difference" to which we couldn't help but agree except for the ripened arse. Also, the wonderful vent for expression- 'Ooh là là' was something everybody took to and chanted day in and out, helplessly. <br />
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Switzerland is one supremely talked about place for its Alps, film shooting, honeymoons, neutrality, richness, quality of life and everything. Sparing the sarcasm in those dialogues of Ranbir Kapoor in the movie 'Bachna Ae Haseeno', yes! There were the grass and the cows, let's add dark chocolate to the list and let's complete the statement with the word 'imported'! <br />
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"It's what you have seen on the post cards and wall posters or perhaps may have dreamed of, in the wildest of dreams. It's picture perfect." <br />
- Michelle, as we touched the Swiss border on the 'false perfect' count of 10. <br />
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After the visit to the Mount Blanc, we didn't dare to miss out any optional tours. Next, Jungfraubahnen! To Jungfraujoch, Top of Europe, a UNESCO world heritage of the Swiss Alps via Lauterbrunnen and Kleine Scheidegg stations by the Cogwheel train again, was another such visit. Quoting, 'The high Alpine tour, a simple stroll, skiing in eternal snow, the breath taking views of France, Germany and Italy from the Sphinx' and including half naked men Sun bathing in freezing temperatures, sculptures in the Ice Palace, 'moving frozen' glaciers and the hot Indian lunch. <br />
Art flourished, may be because their tummies were already well fed to think about 'after food' unlike in the developing world. Signboards flourished, with the names of UNO, ECE, ICC, ILO, ITC, UNHCHR, WHO, WMO, UNESCO et cetera et cetera.<br />
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At Trümmelbach Falls, more than the sight of the series of glacier- water falls; what's remarkable to understand and notice is that these tons of water penetrated through the mountain forming crevices and how man decided to dissect open this huge chunk of rock and made it accessible. A marvel created when nature's best gifts are coupled with man's best efforts. <br />
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P.s Mahatma Gandhi lives in many gardens all around the globe.<br />
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All in all, from the fantastic view from the hotel window to the night walk with Dr. Adilakshmi and Dr. Ramanuja, it was an amazing stay.Ravitejahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381560872039335705noreply@blogger.com0