In god we trust

People say that religion has little to do with spirituality. I disagree. I believe that the kind of environment you are exposed to determines your outlook towards life and thus even spirituality.

I am an Indian. Not saying that out of patriotism, rather there is no other way to define myself. I belong to a religious minority, that is to say that I am a Christian. Not a Roman-Catholic ( or any other catholic for that matter ), not a protestant either thank you very much. No .... I belong to a small subset of individuals who refer to themselves as the Malankara Orthodox Christians. There are a lot of things that I can say about my sect including that we are the oldest church in the world but I will leave it to the more interested and relatively jobless among you to find out for yourselves. But there is one thing that should probably be said about us. All of us are Malayalee.

My family for the most part are devout Christians. My mother and sister doubly so. My father seems cold and aloof leaving my religious instruction to the other two but can be very emphatic about it in a way that I find is unique to those of his generation. And all this makes me feel terrible and very much out of place in my lack of faith in an all seeing and benevolent god.

When I was younger things were much simpler, god exists because my mother said he did. I prayed everyday after I brushed my teeth, comforted by the knowledge that I was safe because my god would keep me safe. I don't know when did I started to question it. Doubtless the onset began in my more turbulent teenage years at the time of every normal teenager's development of self loathing.

If I had to put a specific day for it I guess it would be 26th Dec 2001. My family had decided to go on a pilgrimage to Velankani. It would be fun despite the long hours in the tempo and the naturally terrible food on the way. We were to travel with 2 other families, friends to my parents, not that I cared ... I loved to see new places, something that has not changed so far. My father couldn't make it due to some business at the 11th hour but we decided to go on without him.

We had reached the place on the morning of the 26th. Every lodge near the church of St Marys was filled. It was the day after Christmas after all. Eventually we found a place nearly 5 km away from the beach. The rooms had attached kitchens, the idea being that once we have paid our respects to The Virgin we can buy fresh seafood from the beach and bring it back here to prepare it as we like .... The practice is a lot more common than you would think.

So at first light we made our way towards the beach, stopping at a seedy joint to have breakfast. Terrible food. The youngsters were enthusiastic about going to the beach as quickly as possible, prayer can wait. Thankfully my mother insisted on going to the church first because she had heard the service being conducted in Malayalam. Suppressing my unhappiness we moved towards the white church. I was a 'big boy' at the time so I went and stood on the mens side of the church along with an uncle and his son. Not understanding a word of the service I observed the world around me. Everyone looking toward the altar, eyes closed and opened, hands raised in supplication, praying .... And then it happened.

Boom.

A bomb right? It had to be a bomb. People looked around confused distracted from their deity. Someone screamed in Tamil and people started running out. The uncle and the cousin ran out to the right hand courtyard and went to the wall to look out at the street. People were running away from the beach. A thin sheet of water, blackened and disgusting flowed over the stones. "Who would bomb a sewage main?" I asked receiving no answer. On the other side was a cemetery that I could see through a gate, A woman walking against the incline, reaching the gate. The water surged a bit and swept her away. Laughter died in my throat. I wasn't afraid, I was in shock. I was pulled away from the wall by the uncle. He ran with me and his son towards the wall separating the main courtyard from the side. We found his wife there, screaming and in tears. We climbed over the wall and ran toward the ramps where the rest of our group waited for us amidst a sea of hysterical people. The ramps led to a first floor hall of worship, for now it was our ark.

And so we climbed, pushed in all directions but mostly up. As we gained altitude I could see the destruction that had been wrought in a few minutes. Walls of water were crashing over buildings, some of which broke. The vehicles became debris which slammed into more vehicles. Oddly enough the number of people I could see in the waters was lesser than expected, perhaps they were swept away initially? Towards the entrance of the church, the gate facing east I saw a couple struggling against the swift current. The man managed to reached safety with the help of a few people still near the gate. Hugging the gate he held on to the woman. I wanted him to succeed, I willed her to make it. There was another surge, the water going over her head. Her hand slipped off and she was swept away leaving the man behind, screaming his arm stretched out plaintively while the men behind the gate pulled him away. That was when all this became real to me. I don't think I will or should ever forget that moment.

Everyone's attention was focused at the gate at this point. If things felt hopeless that lady being swept off solidified the atmosphere. All this time they were praying, begging for deliverance. And it came. Everyone in my family swears to it, even the members of the other two families that came with us. Anyone who came with us would agree that what happened next was in fact a miracle.

The water seemed to have a mind of its own as it swelled in front of the gate, like some manga character charging up before an attack. The water surged forward, an unstop able force of nature ready to invade the courtyard of the building we were in refuge of ... and it didn't.

 You have to understand, the gate was not a solid heavy shield like thing, it was an old rusted mass of a few strips of metal soldered together. In every logical scenario the water should have passed through. Before our eyes the water came at the gate and as if by some invisible force pushed back with the same force it had come. The water did not breach the courtyard. Cries of “Praise the lord !!” filled the air and everyone moved into the prayer hall to pray and to give thanks to the divine protector. Me? I was still in shock. We hung around for a few more minutes and waited until the waters had calmed themselves. 

We left as soon as we could wading through 3 feet of water to get back to our un-flooded lodge and tempo. As it turns out we left before the second wave struck, otherwise we would have been stuck there for a while. I don't really remember the way back very well, I only remember an impression that the roads were much wider. On the way there the sides were lined with stalls and push carts loaded with cheap religious merchandise run by people of all ages. They were no where to be seen now. I remember my mother telling me to look forward only, not the sides. Later I found out that I was spared seeing the bodies of the dead lining the path, floating in the water. My sister was not so lucky. When we finally reached our lodge we found our distraught  driver looking for us. He didn't just leave us and run away as  most would have. We packed quickly and left eager to put all of this behind us but not before we were forced to pick up a large group of people under threat of harm from a mob. Thankfully all they wanted was safe passage to the town nearby which we provided. The driver didn't stop his head long gallop back to Bangalore until late in the night when the fatigue nearly made his drive off the road. 

We stopped at a highway hotel for dinner and watched the news. The magnitude of what had happened finally hit us. And we survived that! The sell phones where finally working again and we could call up my father to let him know that we were OK. I cant imagine what he had been through, his entire family may have been wiped off the face of the earth, the relief that he must have experienced when he found out that we  were alive. I wonder what he bargained for with god for our safety, what he may have promised for us to come back home.

 For all of my family this experience solidified their belief in God. For me it did the opposite. Watching the blood red moon on our way back to Bangalore I couldn't help but wonder what made me  or any of us so special that we were saved? What have we done that makes us so beloved to god?

Trippy Trip Day 2

Morning came with a sense of disorientation. I was in a new place, a different one smelling of cigarettes and body odor. My vision started to clear up, as much as it can without the aid of glasses. The room was filled with a diffuse yellow glow which surprised me. I had seen windows here, just didn't expect the light to reach this region. I went back into hibernate, my gaze becoming glassy, my breathing settling down. Zen master. I went over the events of last night, as crazy as a night had ever got in my life. I wondered if I could ever top that.
Delayed onset claustrophobia set in. Even the Zen master cant stay in this box for long. I had to get out. I got out of bed keeping my movements slow and compact, trying not to wake D up. The door is opened and the light streams in. Squinting against it I step out. The scene from the balcony was chaotic. The road narrower than it has any right to be with traffic movement bidirectional, barely. No side walk of course. A stream of humanity moving on either side competing with the vehicles for space, as good a cross-section of society in this part of Bangalore as any. The door opened behind me again. D stood there rubbing the sleep from his eyes, not the type to just lie in bed as he wakes I guess.
 "Morning!" I said faking an enthusiasm that I didn't feel. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, "You are a cynical asshole." I stopped smiling like a mad man and shrugged. "Checkout is at 12 right? We will have to make a move soon." "And what then?""We get something to eat, kill some time and then go back. Sounds good?" He nodded his assent and went back in. In 30 min both of us were ready to leave and we checked out.
Budgetary constraints meant that we eat someplace cheap. Having time to kill meant that we could go a little far away. My lack of knowledge of Bangalore meant that we ended up going back to Brigade road. .....
Yeah ....

We ended up  going to Mc Ds, the afternoon sunshine making us sweat as we walked through the semi-familiar streets, so ridiculously different in daylight. We ordered our lunch and move to a floor above. Packed as it was we found two seats. We had to share the tables with two girls roughly the same age as us. Pretty. But very much on guard. They weren't looking for a conversation. They were simply waiting for someone else.
You know those scenes in movies which just happen and the awkward guy completely fumbles up the lines with the girl, any girl who he happens to be with? And you laugh knowing that if you were in that position you would be cool as fuck? Yeah well turns out those idiots were a lot more brave than you cause you have no freaking idea what to say to them. you just look at anything except them trying not to look at them.
Thats when D decides to message me.
D: talk to them.
HC: What?! No!
D: Talk to them. Talk about anything.
HC: Are you out off your mind! They are unapproachable!
D: Dude just do it.
This went on for a while until I decided to end it by going to the restroom. When I  came out  the twosome were gone. "Why would you do that?" I demanded."To make you get over your approach anxiety. It was the first step." "I don't want to be a PUA"

I should probably explain.
D was a legit Pick-up-artist; PUA for short. A pickup artist (commonly abbreviated PUA) is a person who practices finding, attracting, and seducing sexual partners. (Wikipedia, right?)
He was introduced to this world by an older friend. A mentor. A guy he respects quite a bit. I don't know if D was pathetic when he was younger or if he had a bad breakup with his first girlfriend, whatever the reason this Raaz Al Ghul took him under his wing and taught him the ways of football and women. This kid who had no real need for game with his looks now had a significant amount of it. And he was attempting to pass it on to me. I think he saw me as some kind of a social project. I was too curious to be insulted though.
Approach anxiety is what you feel when you have to approach and talk to a complete stranger. Everybody has it, except maybe kids. Somewhere along the way as we grow up, it stops being cute and becomes ...well.. creepy. How is it that you can barrel through the situation with no idea what the next words out of your mouth are going to be. 

"If you wanted to speak to them yourself you should have gone ahead and done so. I don't think they would talk to you either."

"No.. They would talk to me."

"How would you know?"

"They were interested in me." 

"Conceited much? Did you notice them looking at everything except you."

"Looking at everything I looked at."

"Come again?"

"They were looking at everything I looked at. I looked at the TV for a while and then they followed my line of sight. Same thing when I looked in a completely random direction. They were very aware of me. Pretty simple method of gauging their reaction to you."

I just sat there, stunned and then jealous. He looked around for a bit and said, "Why don't you go ahead and wait for me outside? I'll come out in a bit." I left without another word. At the entrance of Mc D I stood looking at people moving in and out feeling out of place even here. Confidence is key. Just move in and let the Dice fall as they may. Once you are used to this go ahead and take control of situations little by little. That's how he learnt I bet.

I was lost in my own thoughts when I was snapped back to the present. D was coming out and following his lead where 2 girls. That sonafabitch!

The women in question were your average Bangalore girls. Casual clothing, somewhat minimal makeup, 20yr old. We were introduced to each other. Their names.... Well I don't remember them now so lets call them X and Y. X and Y were doing their MBA in Bangalore. Both were from Jamshedpur and had studied one year apart. The only thing I knew about Jamshedpur was that there was a Tata Steel plant there thanks to which infrastructure was pretty good. Apparently water can be drunk straight from the tap.

I verified this immediately. Yeah.. Real smooth talker I am. Anyway they were about to go shopping after their lunch when they were approached by a young man. D later told me that his approach was a simple one, he saw two young women relaxed probably easy to talk to if maybe a bit older than he was. Apparently they laughed when he first talked to them but it was more out of flattery than anything else. He pushed a bit more and they agreed. 

The 4 of us decided to go to Garuda Mall. On the way there X and D were having a good time. I was left trying to strike a conversation with Y. Of the 2 Y was the less attractive one, not that they were supremely attractive to begin with. She was a bit plain, not fat not thin. Not very easy to talk to either. In any case I was in no condition to talk. Shit like this never happens in real life, much less mine. D was showing me how things that I believed were impossible were actually commonplace. After a while I realised that I was neglecting my role as host and became more active in the conversation.

On the way to Garuda Mall, X asked me something I have never been asked before." What's your caste?" For a while I just looked at her, not sure if I had heard her correctly. "What?" "What is your caste?" "Um.... I'm Christian." "Oh." "Is that a problem? I have never been asked anything like that in the 18 yrs I have lived in Bangalore." She didn't give me a satisfactory answer as to why she wanted to know. It coloured my perception of her for the remainder of time we spent together. 

We were soon in Garuda Mall, the women asking us questions about the various aspects of med school while we asked about their course. D kept the conversation playful and light. At Garuda Mall we wandered a bit and checking out the arcades. There was a product launch, Panasonic makeup and accessories. They had organized a kind of Fashion show for that where you can get a makeover done for free. X and Y were pretty excited about it discussing whether or not X should take part. They decided against it in the end and that was that. 

We left the place soon after as it was time for our train back.They accompanied us on the bus and we parted ways. We got to the station to find the train leaving. Neither of us was willing to run after it and it was already a ways off. Not a problem. There was another one about 2 hrs later. The wonders of a General Ticket.

D received a call at that point. It was X asking us whether we caught the train or not. (Yes, D gave her his number.) The next bit I could hear even though I was a couple of feet away from him. 

"YOU MISSED YOUR TRAIN! ARE YOU KIDDING ME! ARE YOU A CHILD? HOW CAN YOU BE SO IRRESPONSIBLE! WHERE ARE YOU GUYS NOW? COME OUTSIDE, WE ARE COMING THERE!"

The call was cut. D looked at me while I struggled to hide my laughter. Voice shaking, I said, "I think we should go outs-". " Yeah I know "

And so we stood outside the station. They found us in about 15 min. It was all very surreal. We barely knew these people. We had just met today. So why do they care so much? Was she interested in D? I had no illusions as far as I was concerned so I knew that I barely registered in her radar. But still this can't be considered normal behavior right? 

The next few minutes saw D calming X down telling her about the next train. "Even we are not worried about this at all so why are you so strung up over this?", I added. She pretended that she did not hear me.Yup definitely don't register on her radar.

For the rest of the conversation X was strangely silent and just looks around. Y takes a much bigger role now needling D with Questions. D later told me that it was actually Xs words. What was happening was that X was interested in D and had hence conscripted Y to ask him things, like his relationship status. I don't know whether he knows what he is saying or he is just making it upon the fly. I tried to engage X in conversation but got only monosyllabic responses for my trouble. I wondered is she thought she was being mysterious. 

Soon it was time for them to leave so we said our goodbyes with the mood of a possible future meeting. It didn't happen, we never saw them again.

D and I waved them off and just stood there watching them blend into the crowd. It was time for our train. Neither of us said a word as we went back to the station, not when we got on the train. The two of us sat down an the floor of the train, at the door, legs hanging of the edge. We just sat there looking at the poles flash by, watching the setting sun turn the sky golden red. A day had passed. I had lived more in that day than in a year. And the bastard sitting next to me was responsible. "Thanks man", I said, gratitude feeling wrong in my mouth. " Hmmm?", he said obviously not listening. That was completely fine by me. "Noth-FUCK!" 

A station where we did not have a stop had just passed by. And my foot cliped the platform as we passed it jerking my knee in a direction it couldn't go. Thankfully nothing happened. After few minutes D said, "I didn't say it then cause I know you would have been pissed but are my shoes OK." I glared at D and he seemed to deflate a bit. 

We got to our station and managed to get to our room. The shoes were fine except for a skid mark on the sole. In the room D starred receiving texts from X, he replied for a day or two but after that he  completely cold shouldered her. He talked about going into the city again and I agreed to go with him. That didn't happen of course. In a month or so he got admission at another med school closer to his home. He left quickly in less than two days leaving the rest of us with funny stories about a very funny guy. 

My experience of living with that asshole changed me, woke me up to the fact that the contentment I thought I had felt was in fact resignation. He made me want more from life and at the same time make me aware that that may not be possible. I don't expect to have good luck with women, that is one area I have completely given up on. But I want to live life on my terms, on the edge and feeling alive. I am thankful to him and I hate him for it. 

Trippy Trip

The sunlight streamed into our room as it always did in the evening. It was Saturday and most of my friends had chosen to go home. I chose to stay. Had to grow up at some point right? I spend that afternoon like I had spent most, lying on my bed staring at the ceiling thinking of nothing important.I was the Zen master, the most depressed Zen master ever. 

A noise from the other side of the room broke my trance. I tried not pay attention to it. I already knew what it was. My room-mate was turning around in his bed. He must have done so a few times already because he broke the not-too-awkward silence in the room. "Lets go to the city."

I continued to stare at the ceiling. With my room-mate you kinda let things flow. He doesn't normally mean what he says and even when he does its so ridiculous that you try imagine that he didn't. Don't get me wrong the guy is smart. One of the smartest people I know. But he is also as obnoxious as any of my earlier friends. He was after all the quintessential joker/jock. I remember his disappointment when he saw our female batch mates for the first."Where the fuck have I come to man! Don't they care about how they look at all! Why don't they wax and shit?! Ill pay for them!" What can you say to that? I just patted him on the back while struggled to keep a straight face. I guess he was used to better looking women where he was from.

"Lets go to the city!", He repeated. Making a face I replied, "Why?" "'cause life is short and we are stuck here doing nothing." I looked over at him half amused half annoyed, "You could have said this a little earlier you know. Even if we leave now it will be late when we get there." "Are you coming or not?" "Why, man? Its pointless to go home at this point." "I am not talking about going to your home. I want to see the nightlife at this city. Lets go!". I laughed aloud, "You are asking the wrong guy! I don't even know where to go." " Yeah yeah I know you have never been allowed. But isn't that good reason to go now?!" 

I pondered this. Yes I felt that my life was controlled to the max and I was the sad SAP who was OK with it all this time. My big awakening occurred shortly after PUC. At that point I didn't want to carry on in my sheltered existence. So during CET I took a gamble and chose a college where I would need to stay in a hostel. I had chosen to break free. Wasn't that the whole point.

Finally settled on the point I noded and looked at him. "Fine. But I don't know what to do what to wear, and the cash.." " Don't worry about the money. Take what you have, I will spot you the rest. As for the clothes...show me what you got. I have seen you dress man, that is your bigger problem." "fuck off." "Haha! The truth will set you free my friend."

In a few minutes we were ready to go. I was wearing a white shirt and blue jeans ( "it will do" he said passing a critical eye over my attire). He was wearing a black slack with a t-shirts and a zipper jacket. Party wear. D(my roommate) was on the prowl. He loaned me a pair of shoes from Zara declaring my own Big Bazaar ones thoroughly inadequate. I liked those shoes. Party shoes. Made me feel spiffy.

And so D and I got on the 6:30 to the city. We got there by about 10:30 the entire way me being a petulant jackass reminding him time and again that this was a waste of time. He was very patient with me and after a while I kinda want along with it. The city center is a bustling maze made in the shape of a circle. We didn't behave like tourists gawking at everything. This was a part of a the city that I was familiar with after all. And both of us had one objective in mind. Shelter. We had no intention of letting my parents know that we were here and money was definitely a constraint so our options were limited. We looked around nearby and we were not disappointed... Relatively. An entire street lined with establishments that catered to our exacting demands while violating multiple building codes.

We chose a motel with a highly forgettable name. The manager, a creepy looking old man smiled at us and listed out the rooms available. At this point I drifted letting D handle the particulars. In the end we booked a double bed for 250. During the finalization of our transaction I experienced a minor panic attack when signing in my Name, address etc. I was actually going through with this!

Our rooms were small. 7.5 feet width and 9 feet long. No windows, no bathroom. Two narrow cots jammed in with a TV on a stool at the end. An ash tray was on the floor, cigarette buds littered around it. Casa de la super economy. 

It would have to do. 

We dumped our bags on the beds, freshened up a bit and headed out into town. ( Not before receiving a not so subtle wink from the manager.)

By now the time was 11. Pretty late in the city. Definitely way past the time I am allowed to stay out at night. We boarded a bus to the one place I knew we would find pubs, Brigade road. On the bus I tried to prove that I was no slouch when it came to socialization. I struck up an uneasy conversation with a random person inquiring about the nightlife in the area. In the beginning I am sure that he considered me clinically insane. Towards the end though we reach a mutually accepted rhythm - aka awkward silence. Getting off at our stop I remarked " See? I can talk to strangers." "Yeah sure man. I saw how uncomfortable both of you were. Maybe you were better at it before but now... No worries! I will hook you up!"

"We are here." I had seen this road a few times on my way back home from Mandya. I have only been here maybe thrice in my lifetime and never at night. Brigade Road. You want to be a part of Bangalore's nightlife Brigade road sure as shit had it. It looked kinda deserted with medium traffic flowing through the one-way. I had no idea where to go so we began to wander aimlessly for a while. It was weird how uncongested the roads were. Along the way D picked up a small bottle of vodka about a 100 ml I guess. He took swigs without any indication of discomfort. He offered me a little but I declined, keeping an eye on him wondering how different he would be when he is drunk.

We kept up our pace walking through the streets looking for a place to hang. While walking past our third crossing D stoped and cocked his head. "Do you feel that?" His hand was raised index finger extended moving in time to a beat I could not perceive. He turned and walked down that road, his steps matching the beat he felt. This guy love to dance. Shuffle. That's the word he used. And i could see it.
We reached a 4 story building where people were exiting in groups. D dove into the crowd pushing his way ahead until he reached the lift. I followed him of course but i was completely out of it, being unable to figure out our destination. We where finally ejected onto what i think was the 3rd floor judging from what I could see out of the window. We moved down a hallway towards a set of heavy padded doors. Every time it opened  the sounds of drunken laughter and trans music intensified and a group of giggling or drunk people came out reeking of cigarette smoke. The bouncer a 7 foot hulk of a man leered at us while letting us through. The scene that greeted us was .... no other word for it ....  unnerving. My hormone charged mind gave me a buzz as I tried to process it. 

There was smoke.. a lot of it. It had become something like stage smoke. The lights which were already dim had a tough job of making if through that. The music was beating a forceful tattoo against my skull. My pulse seemed to sync with the throb that I felt reverberating through the ground traveling up my legs, originating from the sound system. And the women .... Oh my god. Each one of them dancing and gyrating to the music. Long hair, ponytail, bobs all moving in unison forming a kaleidoscope that I felt blessed to see, future risk of lung cancer notwithstanding. There were guys obviously peppered in the crowd each one dancing his ass of looking like peacocks strutting about with their moves. I even saw something that I had only heard of .... A couple were dancing next to me, the girl as close to him as possible with her hips touching his. She was grinding on him! Completely distracted by this it took me sometime to tear my gaze away and look at D. He had been taping my arm for a while now. He pointed to a couple of empty seat. Noding my understanding I moved towards the seats. 

I sat down, grateful for the respite from our trek, taking in the sight around me.
This was another world. As distinct from mine as the wild was to a city. The people here were the inhabitants who lived in a kind of willful and beautiful decadence. D was from here and I was ... just a visitor. He stood up, his intentions clear. He looked at me askance and I shrugged a smile playing at my lips, "Go on ahead, I'm sitting this one out. "He shrugged and moved ahead his feet already picking up a rhythm. And suddenly it all stopped. The music had reached its end and the Lights came on. The DJ came on the mike, " you guys have been an amazing crowd but that's all we got for tonight. We have reached curfew and we have to stop." The air was filled with moans. Please DJ! Come on DJ! One more song! D turned around in confusions to see me laughing my ass off.

At that moment a bouncer grabbed onto D. He started screaming in Kannada barely audible over the noise the rest of the crowd was making. I was scared. People screaming at me or my friends have a way of doing that to me. D however just looked at me looking for an explanation. Not being able to find one he just shrugged. The man then grabbed D's hand and pulled it up. Clutched in it was the 100ml vodka bottle. 

" I don't think we are supposed to -" " Got it."
The giant hauled D toward the bar where a a man was leaning against a table looking over the crowd as if he was in-charge of it all, he probably was. Reaching him the bouncer pulled the bottle from Ds grasp and gave it to this guy. Closer up he looked like an average guy, taller than me but then nearly every one is. Buff too.

The details get a bit fuzzy here because it all happened so long ago. He spoke in hindi of course, the defacto language one uses when one approaches a fair Indian. The gist of it was - you have broken the rules of my pub. No drinks are allowed from the outside. I am not gonna make this a police matter but you guys have to leave now.
I nodded my understanding eager to get away from these men dragging D along in my haste to get out. Once we where out D started cussing about leaving the vodka behind. A pity. I could have used a little just then. The time was only 12am. Yup that's Bangalore curfew time. No clubs are allow to operate beyond that time.

I later learned that it had some thing to do with trying to  control anti-social elements in the city. Not that I care. D on the other hand inconsolable.

So here we are, cold, hungry and thoroughly dissatisfied. Thankfully Empire was still open. Eateries are allowed to operate for a further 30min to 1hr. both of us ran to the "to go" counter and ordered rolls. Eating that spicy goodness like starving men we felt the warmth spread through our bodies. Our mood improved and we began to smile again. We must be thankful for the small things in life. Done with our small dinner we started to move towards our motel. Which was far away now. So damn far away. We would have taken the bus but after 12... so we walked for a long time. The streets were empty save for a random vehicle that passed us. We were one of the lucky few who got to enjoy that stillness.

20 minutes into our walk we saw an auto with the driver and a passenger parked near the sidewalk. We approached them and asked for a ride."200." He said with a smile. D was fimiliar with the distance now so he took over the haggling. In hindi of course. "It cant be that much! Come on! you already have a passenger!" The youth in the back spoke up, "Actually I am the owner." Eventually we agreed at 120 and got in. We learn that the young man (lets call him Deevesh) was a Fashion Designer. D was doing all the talking. A natural. He asked him about the auto, his job. Any events that are coming up and the possibility of passes to said event. Deevesh was of course happy to talk. He told us that he was from Meerut, how he had come here a few years back, his girlfriend who was a model. I was getting a glimpse at a skill that I suspected D already had. he had the ability to make you feel important and you want him to continue feeling that so you talk more than you should about things you shouldn't. The entire time I just looked outside shaking my head. By the end of our trip Deevesh was offering D a little bit of modeling work. We thanked them for bringing us to our destination amidst protests that we could crash at his place if we wanted.
We walked the rest of the way towards the highly forgettable motel only to find the gate locked. Thankfully the manager was asleep nearby and woke up quuickly to the sounds of the gates being shaken. He opened it with his trademark smile as if to ask, "Did you find what you where looking for?"
We climbed the stairs tired from the long night and got into the room. We didn't bother changing or anything, we just fell on the beds. I stayed up a bit longer to watch TV ( we paid for it may as-well use it right?) Californication . A show that D swears by because of the ridiculous amount of game the main character has.

I fell asleep within the hour before wondering whether I had done anything wrong. I had never slept better.

My roommate

What an asshole!
That is the phrase that comes to mind when I think of my first roommate. It's not like I hate him or any thing. I just resent him. That Bastard striped me of my mask and made me see my self and the world in a new light. And since that day I have not felt content.

I met him for the first time when we had come to the hostel to enroll ourselves. Both Father and son were inspecting the room when I showed up with my parents. They exchanged pleasantries and I noticed that his father was an extrovert, he had a kind of forced friendliness with nothing behind the eyes. I guess it helps him while he runs his practice (ophthalmologist). There were not locals like us. They lived at the opposite end of the country but it didn't seem to matter to them, it looked like they had done this before.

By the time I moved in he had made himself at home. Already he was on speaking terms with everyone on our floor. I was at the time in my introverted state and wanted as little to do with others as possible. But this guy started staging me around introducing me to everyone else saying " have you met Happycynic?" Or "this is my roommate Happycynic." I was at once embarrassed and on gaurd. I observed his face and saw the artifice, the controlled smile and raised eyebrows, the overly jovial behaviour all a mask to put everyone at ease. To manufacture an image for himself. I should know. I had done it frequently. Nothing wrong with trying to fit in after all. But I guess in the end we ended up having fun.

Looking back at myself I can safely say that I was undergoing some major mental stress. I was neurotic, my behavior characterised by sudden jerks and bursts of activity, an ever present and not the good kind of excitement and down right fanatical when it came to my code and cleanliness. A shrink might say that I was trying to regain control in my life by imposing it on myself and my surroundings. To such a person staying with a person like D ( " have you met D? He is my roommate" ) could and would be traumatic. The man was a slob. His idea of cleaning involved two sweeps of the room with the broom 1 cm in the air. His bed and table was always covered with a jumble of books while mine was in a neat stack. It drove me crazy. Two of my prime directives where in direct opposition.
D1 : a clean environment is essential.
D2 : live and let live.

He was tall, fair and handsome, easily one of the most noticeable guys in my batch. He talked easily to anyone. He excelled at making great first impressions on teachers. His first act when entering our first class in anatomy was to prostate himself before the HOD and touch his feet. The old man leered at us while blessing this asshole, his eyes assaulting us as if we were disrespectful. And to top it of he was a sportsman, a football player, so good that he was scouted for the university team.

He got along with everyone in spite of language issue and everybody liked him. As far as guys are concerned the man was the voice of every hormone charged boy in the hostel. When we were all together he was crass and incredibly funny. All of us were high on being young and he was something like our mascot.

He did have some traits that pointed at dysfunction though. He didn't seem to have any roots, no connections to his past. He never answered his phone even if his friends from Delhi called. The guy was ice. When I asked him about it he said, " There is no point and I was not very close to them either. "
We were roommates so of course we found out things about each other. We used to talk for a while about all kinds of abstract topics and about our pasts. He talked about his first girlfriend and what it was like, about the high he feels when he walks onto the ground and listens to the crowd cheering his name, an older friend a senior who took him under his wing and trained him in football among other things. I told him about my childhood, my feelings towards my father, my fear towards women kind in general, my first episode of social approach anxiety and how that changed me. He was the first person to know about my 'predisposition'. He kinda figured it out. He even came up with a theory for it. Said that it had something to do with my instinct to please others. I hotly refuted him at the time but.....

Anyway as far as memories go one does stand out....

The First Year

I have many fond memories of my first year in college. Not the least of which was because of the things that I had to learn. Back then I was a fledgeling, the world was new and fresh and every new day was an opportunity to learn something new. 

We had 3 subjects in 1st year. Anatomy, Physiology and Biochemistry each one was fascinating in its own right. 

Academically it is also the most exhausting year in MBBS not counting final year even though it is possibly the least demanding of them all. 

First of all,  we were disoriented for a while, unable to understand or make sense of the tests. What do they expect from us? How should the answer be written? What part of the syllabus should we study especially since everything seems so damn important? Secondly the pressure. We have just entered a course that we have to do well in, not only that if we are to fail in the first year we are held back for 6 months separate from the rest of the batch. For the rest of our MBBS life we will lag behind the regular batch and forever be branded by the oh so imaginative term, ' repeater batch. ' 

I remember how close to a regular school it was. Theory clases practicals and 2 hrs of dissection every day. 

The teachers had come up with a very effective strategy to help us get over our inate fear of dead bodies. The disection hall was a large room with 5 tables surrounded by a cluster of stools. On these tables layed 1 corpse preserved with formalin and and kept in refrigeration until it was time for it to be cut. 

20 of us to one were assigned to 1 body. And we had to just sit there looking at if. The first day everyone was apprehensive and scared as if it was going to come alive any second in a fucked up rendition of a zombie apocalypse. The second day our fear was waning but we just sat there somberly remembering as that book says, " all men must die. " By the 4th the disection hall was a picnic spot for us with a highly disagreeable smell, we were bored out of our minds and spent our time talking to each other. 

By the next Monday any respect we had for the dead had disappeared and we were itching to pick up that scalpel and cut through the skin. 

And so we did, each one of us taking our turn with the body. I named him Bob in my head. Over the next 8 -10 months Boby had his arms cut open to the bone, shoulders dislocated and cut away. The same procedure repeated for his legs.  His chest was cut open at which point we cracked open the rib cage like a shell only to remove the heart and the lungs leaving behind an empty cavity with clotted blood at the corners. Next was the abdomen where we had a look at his inards before we disemboweled him. I had the dubious honour for hosing out his intestines. I still remember holding that greasy tube one end to a open tap letting the water flow through the length of it clearing it of formalin preserved fecal matter. We then promptly cut it open and  observes the mucosa. And of course the head..

We spent at least 3 months on that extremely complex area trying to memorize the nerves blood vessels and the bony passages they ran through. The skull was unceremoniously cracked open in due time and the brain removed. The eyeball broken open from within the skull to remove his eyes and to observe the muscles and the nerves there. 

Did we feel guilty for what we were doing? Hell no. Even then we were learning a skill that a few of us would need to hold onto for life. We were dehumanizing Bob. He was a subjet, an object of intrest, a means to an end. 

I guess the only time we felt any kind of sympathy for Bob was during the disection of his nads. I felt rather than saw everyone of the boys at my table stiffen as the female professor brought the scalpel next to his scrotum. A collective shudder ran through us as the scalpel pierced the skin. She brought out the oval mass and we flinched when she cut it in half with what we agreed was unnecessary brutality. The other one was disected on by a batchmate who to my misogynistic eyes seemed to be having fun. 

I know, I know. It all sounds rather callous and most of you guys are horrified by what we do. For us it was our everyday life and as improbable as it seems we all made some good memories there. 

The one thing we never really got used to was the smell. Formalin is a semi volatile liquid with an all pervasive odour. And every day we were forced to root through a body drenced with the stuff. Our professors in their infinite wisdom baned us from wearing gloves. And right after the Disection class was lunch break and let me tell you nothing kills the appetite faster than hands smelling like corpses.During the entire course of 1st year all of us were obsessive  about the state of our nails trying to ensure that we didn't consume bits of dead guys accidentally.

First year was about so much more than that. It was a time when we all got along with each other. It was were we made friends and I made a huge number of shitty decisions and deal with all the shit life threw at us. And I don't regret a single day.

Bambi

Bambi is the name of a Walt Disney character, a fawn to be specific. In recent times it has acquired a number of  different meanings one of which is similar to the phrase, "deer in headlights." That was me. I was Bambi.

Joining any professional course is an adjustment, there is the obvious change in the subject matter, location, people and even the student teacher dynamics. Gone are the days where the teachers patiently sat by you to ensure no child is left behind. The start of a professional course brings with it a news flash. "You are no longer children, its every man for himself now".

I was lucky in that regard because the college that I had chosen made small  little changes to ensure that we wouldn't feel that way. There was the school like enforcement of dress code, complete with a call to your parents for any violation, the constant nagging and incessant demands of respect from our teachers. Pointed reminders that without respecting our elders we would get no where in life. Blanket ban on use of any form of technology. I remember my phone being seized when I used it to take a picture of our time table. Professional course my ass.


I suppose its my duty to shed some light upon the world of MBBS for the future hopeful doctors who are reading this.
1 . the course lasts 5.5years. One year for the first year, one and a half for second year, and one year for 3rd year 4th year and internship each. That means that by the time you earn your graduate degree your friend would have received theirs and have settled into their jobs or else will be working on their masters. Looking at it in terms of time saved it would be better to join AFMC which offers a dual degree of MBBS and military administration (hearsay please verify before you do something rash)
2. look into the college before you join. For the most part private colleges see very little patient flow, meaning you have fewer opportunities to learn clinically. Fee structure often differ between colleges and hostels also must be looked into before joining any institution.
3. Most of you guys are bright kids and are used to scoring 90+ marks every where. Sorry but your grade are gonna fall. get used to struggling with a workload 2-3 times bigger than your PUC syllabus and getting high 60s and low 70s for your hard work.
4. That being said its pretty difficult to fail MBBS because the minimum cut off for passing is 50% separately in internals and finals. I know plenty of people who are content to put in enough effort to scrape just that.
5. Bond. the regulations keep changing year to year. In my case it seems that I will have to take up rural service. Something I don't have a problem with really but its something to take into account for your PG aspirations.
6. An MBBS degree alone can ensure a livelihood for most doctors. Trouble is most of us want the life that the high fliers have and for that you have to plan your future. Post graduation, higher studies, it dosen't matter as long as it adds letters in front of your name.


This is probably the most pragmatic version of what you guys have to know.

Sure I could say that it is your responsibility to make sure you do not harm the patient and that you must serve the community, but I am not naive enough to think that the bulk of you are joining the course out of the goodness of your heart. The course will teach you what you are supposed to know. Skill comes with experience and relies on your natural ability a fair bit. Whether or not you will become an instrument of goodness in this world however is entirely up-to you

Once upon a time

I have always been fond of stories. I like how they get me out of where I am, my imagination free to construct a different world, one where I am the protagonist, the usurper or simply an observer.

I used to think that I would end up writing a book and would spend hours together thinking of a decent plot.

Both of these traits had the effect that I was never really a part of my world. I lived within this world like someone taken hostage with no interest even disdain for we're my life was taking me. But that has to change. I have to face my life with honesty. So I have decided to tell you my story. Only I am not entirely sure where to begin.....

Let us begin from the point in time when my life began its path down a somewhat concrete future. The brief interlude between courses where the black dots you inked into circles decide your future occupation. Anyone from Bangalore will know about this quite well. To anyone outside India I guess I can only compare it to the SATs in America. There is no specific exam to write and so students are obliged to prepare for the ones they sit, each unique in their level of difficulty and the rules they followed.

During my sisters time she had applied for multiple exams in 3 different states and in the end she counted only on 3.
Somehow unconsciously knowing that my chances were slim in any of them I  chose to attend only 3. Of the three my chances were the best only for 1. CET. The others were disasters waiting to happen.

I remember going to the first one, staring at the empty sheet and looking around at the room.
I had only registered for the exam so that I would receive a wake-up call to get me studying for CET. I never really expected to get through it but it was still unnerving to see all those people marking away the answers. I remember seeing this extremely pretty girl sitting a few feet diagonal to me. Pink top, black jeans and ballet flats. She was wearing a her hair in a pony tail to keep it out of her face. Calming myself I spent the rest of the hour staring at a bespectacled beauty next to me, while she furiously inked her answers in.

So I hit the books as hard as I could, which is code for not very. I mean I looked at the tuition material given to me. (That was the only action they had seen all year. Till the day they were handed over they retained their 'new book' smell.) I focused upon Chemistry and Biology. I always did love Biology, something that I can ascribe it to my crush on my highschool teacher and my very amazing teachers at PUC.
Physics excites me as well, in a philosophical way. Somehow all those theories make me see life in a totally different way.  As a subject that I needed to study however it ranked at the same level as Maths. I guess in the end it came down to my nature. I was pretty lazy. Still am. So I never bothered to sit and work out problems and sums. Therefore my aversion to subjects which have them persists to this day.

And so, ill prepared as I was I attended CET. The fact that I found a relatively easy examination difficult was not lost on me. Resigning myself to not a very respectable result I went back home.

The last exam was a bit of a joke really. AIEEE. I have no idea why I chose that one. I even got a rank. 48 thousand in state. 2.3 lakh in the country. Lol. If any of you remember that was the year that there was a minor mishap. Something to do with opening the answer booklet before the exam time. The exam was delayed by 2-4 hrs. I remember wanting to ditch the exam and going home to eat freshly made byriani. My father however convinced me to stay and write the paper.

Post exams I knew that I was in trouble. I spent the break at my native dreading the results. Each day the gnawing at the pit of my stomach in creased. I even began to pray that they wouldn't come.

And like all bad things the results came out anyway. My engineering rank was a 4 digit one. According to my parents not a good one. Apparently if i had gotten higher i would have been able to get into a good college in a course of my choice. It all seemed quite abstract to me I had nothing to compare that information with so the rank held no real meaning for me.
And then my sister says that I got a 3 digit one in Medicine. I just nod and wonder what to say to my parents. And then she screams out my rank in disbelief. Apparently it was good, really good. An assured seat. Surprised? Yeah you and me both.

What was even more surprising was the ludicrous disparity in the ranks, considering that 2 of the subject they use to assign the ranks were the same.  I don't think my family expected anything quite like that and I don't blame them. I never really gave them a reason to.

Then of course there were family meetings. Gatherings where my sister voiced her surprise and my parents showed their price. They were happy for me and so was I. I could choose of course, whether I wanted to be an engineer  or a doctor. In the end the answer seemed obvious.

The happycynic chose to be a doctor.