Having had a remarkably hospital-free life I was not prepared for the intricate processes that hospitals can thrust one into. During my present predicament when the doctors suspected that I also had infection in the urinary tract I was sent off to the lab to get a test done. The lab attendant thrust a plastic container in my hand, propelled me towards the men’s room and asked me to fill it up with a ‘sample’. As I was about to go in he added the words that have since then always scared me whenever I have had to go in for a ‘sample’, “Mind you” he added in a stern voice, “it must be a mid-stream sample”.
Knowing that scientific procedures are all about precision and exactitude I wondered how I would determine that the mid-stream had actually arrived. Through the process I would agonize whether I was still too close to the head of the stream or had passed the point-of-no-return? I somehow felt that if I fudged the attempt I would be found out just as my chemistry teacher in the school lab always knew when I was fudging the results of a chemical test. I could visualize the experts hunched over their microscopes, peering at my ‘sample’ and saying to themselves, “Aha, another mid-stream violator !!!”
I thought the matter was serious enough to mention it to a junior doctor who had become quite friendly with me. “Why,” I asked him, “was it that science with all its advances hadn’t managed to device a pill to be taken fifteen minutes before collecting the sample that would give off some indicator, like a low whistle or alarm or something, as the mid-stream came near?” The doctor responded in a slow grave voice, like explaining something to a ten-year old, “Firstly,” he said, “you have too much faith in the science and medicine that has not been able to find a cure for the common cold or the incessant hiccups you are afflicted with after every chemotherapy. And secondly, can you imagine what a chaos such a procedure would cause in a men’s room, setting off a general scramble for their containers among the samplers, not knowing whose whistle had gone off?” I acknowledged the error of my ways and returned to my ruminations on the mid-stream problem.
I realized that this was not the first time I had had problems with issues concerning ‘streams’. Having been born and brought up as a (I hope) good Christian, I was always reminded that in order to be a good Indian as well I must become a part of the “main-stream”. Loving my country as I do, I embarked on the search for this ‘main-stream’ where, when found, I could immediately jump into, clothes, shoes and all, and emerge, re-baptized as it were, a true-blue Indian. Just like the “mid-stream” issue this problem too proved to be far more elusive than I had imagined. Try as I might, I just could not discover the geographical or even metaphorical co-ordinates of this main-stream. But, intrepid researcher that I am, I did not give up my search.
Then I decided to get married to a charming young lady from a Hindu family much to the chagrin of my clan persons who felt that this would not just be a case of taking a dip in the main stream but actually drowning in it! However I soon discovered that she was a much better Christian than I was. I would have been disappointed had I not felt so shamed. So I turned to my in-laws for a hint about the whereabouts of the main-stream. I found that they were so engaged in the rivulets, brooks, creeks, gullies, gorges that the so-called main-stream was enmeshed in that it was just too difficult to identify the mid-stream of the main-stream where one could indulge oneself.
However, all was not lost. Along came a vivacious, articulate and clued-up daughter-in-law, who to add, as they say in the vernacular, “sone pe suhaga” came from a Jain family. But to my particular quest for the main-stream this too was unyielding of results. The Jains I found were even in a deeper quandary. While I was repeatedly reminded that I needed to belong to the main-stream, no one bothered to say even this to the Jains. They did not know whether they were in or out. Even in our redoubtable courts of law the jury was still out whether the Jains are a ‘minority’ or not.
Hope was re-kindled when along came a son-in-law: a tall, handsome, turbaned Sikh. “I want to marry your daughter” he said to me. In a voice I reserved for the most errant of my students, I said “Meri do sharaten hain – I have two conditions”. I could feel the intrepid fighter-pilot quake in his shoes as he wondered whether my sharat would be for him to shear off his hair and get baptized. I savoured the moment and then said, “After the gurudwara ceremony is over and we go for the Church blessing I want you to be attired in your ceremonial Air-Force uniform, and secondly whenever you converse with me it will not be in English but always in Punjabi.”
This perhaps was my way of continuing my quest for the main-stream. But alas I was again to be disappointed. The Sikhs, I found, were in a more difficult position than the Jains. They had been co-opted without as much as ‘by your leave’ and they had to do all kinds of things – some not very pleasant – to try and maintain their distinct identity, notwithstanding the turban, the kesh et al!! We have no objection to merging, they appeared to say, but we do object to being submerged.
Not having a third child (those were the days of “Hum do hamare do”) there is no chance of continuing my quest in that direction with the addition of a Muslim son/daughter to the family.
Last Christmas when we had our usual extended family Christmas-eve get-together, there were not just my Hindu saas, sasur and saalies, not just my Jain bahu and her charismatic sisters and parents, and the Sikh damad with his parents and younger brother in his bright patka, but along the line I had also acquired a petite sister-in-law who traced her ancestry to Gharwal, another no-nonsense but nevertheless a charmer from the impressive Himachali Sood biradari, a delightful conversationalist bong nephew-in-law with a sharp sense of humour, another with a boisterous laugh, a loving disposition and a trifle headstrong as people from the Hindi heartland are wont to be.
As they all crowded around the piano singing popular Christmas carols, I wondered if, without my knowing it, my quest was over. Am I now in the main-stream and perhaps right in the middle of it?
***************
Tuesday 14 April 2009
Monday 9 February 2009
To Chemo or Not to Chemo
To Chemo, or not to Chemo -- that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind and body to suffer
The pangs and tremors of the pest within --
Or by baring arms to the chemo needle
Invite the aches and after-shocks
That flesh becomes heir to:
'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be debated:
To chemo: and fight the monsters
in the unexplored mind and body --
And perchance find the ammo to do so
To chemo: sure killer of blood and bile --
but perchance may also douse the fire within --
That's the rub that gives us pause.
Or Not to chemo --
And cover up arms
for fear of unexplored country
from whose bourn not many travellers return:
Or Not to chemo -- and bear those pangs we have
Than fly to others that we know not of --
Puzzles the will and makes cowards of us
So softly now Fair Nurse:
gently prod the needle in
'cause the native hue of resolution
Must not be sicklied o'er by the pale cast of fear
And enterprise of great adventure
be not lost for want of resolute will.
(With apologies to Shakespeare for making him turn in his grave)
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind and body to suffer
The pangs and tremors of the pest within --
Or by baring arms to the chemo needle
Invite the aches and after-shocks
That flesh becomes heir to:
'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be debated:
To chemo: and fight the monsters
in the unexplored mind and body --
And perchance find the ammo to do so
To chemo: sure killer of blood and bile --
but perchance may also douse the fire within --
That's the rub that gives us pause.
Or Not to chemo --
And cover up arms
for fear of unexplored country
from whose bourn not many travellers return:
Or Not to chemo -- and bear those pangs we have
Than fly to others that we know not of --
Puzzles the will and makes cowards of us
So softly now Fair Nurse:
gently prod the needle in
'cause the native hue of resolution
Must not be sicklied o'er by the pale cast of fear
And enterprise of great adventure
be not lost for want of resolute will.
(With apologies to Shakespeare for making him turn in his grave)
Saturday 24 January 2009
When Amitabh Bachchan Made My Day
So Amitabh Bachchan is in the ‘hot seat’ these days for his comments on ‘Slumdog Millionaire’. Having read snippets of his views quoted in the media, and not having seen the movie, I do not think it would be fair to comment on them. I do wonder how many commentators have actually read his comments or seen the movie. In a television panel-discussion one of the panelists, after having fulminated at length on Bachchan’s views did confess (though after repeated prodding) that he had not actually read the comments -- but went on to justify his ire by saying that he had no reason to disbelieve the worthies who had quoted them.
The point is that we are ever ready to jump to conclusions on the flimsiest of grounds. This is what Bachchan laments in a later blog. However, unlike Bachchan who perhaps has been a victim of this tendency, I was once its beneficiary and this, incidentally, involved Amitabh Bachchan.
One morning while going to office in the Himachal University I found the road blocked by the police to allow a film-maker to complete a shot. As a young lad in Shimla I had often been fascinated by such shootings and had spent hours watching actors go endlessly through the same motions till the directors ‘Okayed’ the shot. Something of that fascination returned that morning and as my SPO proceeded to alight from the car to make way for us to proceed I told him, “Let them complete what they are doing and then we can go”. My driver and the SPO were more than happy to oblige because the tall figure of Amitabh Bachchan could be seen at some distance preparing to shoot.
However, this was not to be. A policeman on duty espied the standard official issue of white ambassador replete with red batti, flag, et al and stopped the shooting while frantically motioning to us to pass through. As we drove through the cordon Amtibah Bachchan, I suppose with some irritation, stopped whatever he was doing to watch this bossy official, with his ridiculous officious paraphernalia, jump the queue and drive away. Filled with embarrassment at this intrusion, and in a gesture of contrition, I waved out to Amitabh Bachchan. Surprisingly he responding with a half mock salute. My driver and SPO were thrilled. “Aare Sahib aap inko bhi jante hain?” I responded with a non-committal laugh !!
As luck would have it there was a traffic jam further down the road and I was late in reaching office. Consequently my first appointment got delayed. For one who made it a point to meet visitors at the exact time of their appointment, this was a matter of concern for my staff. However they decided to redeem ‘sahib’s izzat’ in their own resourceful way. I discovered this when the first delegation came in. As I apologized for keeping them waiting they said, “Auspicious day Sir – your morning meeting with Amitabh Bachchan.” This was the refrain throughout the day. I realized that my staff was telling every visitor or colleague that Sahib’s schedule was uncharacteristically running late due to a chance encounter with Amitabh Bachchan who insisted on engaging Sahib in a tête-à-tête. Later in the evening when the Deans came in for the customary briefing session the conversation began with: “Heard you are in a great mood today Sir due to your meeting with Amitabh Bachchan in the morning” By now I had become quite adept at the non-committal laugh.
The next morning as I drove into the University the number of students who waved to me was far in excess to the usual lot. I knew that at least for the time being my stock-in-trade had gone up -- thanks to Amitabh Bachchan.
The point is that we are ever ready to jump to conclusions on the flimsiest of grounds. This is what Bachchan laments in a later blog. However, unlike Bachchan who perhaps has been a victim of this tendency, I was once its beneficiary and this, incidentally, involved Amitabh Bachchan.
One morning while going to office in the Himachal University I found the road blocked by the police to allow a film-maker to complete a shot. As a young lad in Shimla I had often been fascinated by such shootings and had spent hours watching actors go endlessly through the same motions till the directors ‘Okayed’ the shot. Something of that fascination returned that morning and as my SPO proceeded to alight from the car to make way for us to proceed I told him, “Let them complete what they are doing and then we can go”. My driver and the SPO were more than happy to oblige because the tall figure of Amitabh Bachchan could be seen at some distance preparing to shoot.
However, this was not to be. A policeman on duty espied the standard official issue of white ambassador replete with red batti, flag, et al and stopped the shooting while frantically motioning to us to pass through. As we drove through the cordon Amtibah Bachchan, I suppose with some irritation, stopped whatever he was doing to watch this bossy official, with his ridiculous officious paraphernalia, jump the queue and drive away. Filled with embarrassment at this intrusion, and in a gesture of contrition, I waved out to Amitabh Bachchan. Surprisingly he responding with a half mock salute. My driver and SPO were thrilled. “Aare Sahib aap inko bhi jante hain?” I responded with a non-committal laugh !!
As luck would have it there was a traffic jam further down the road and I was late in reaching office. Consequently my first appointment got delayed. For one who made it a point to meet visitors at the exact time of their appointment, this was a matter of concern for my staff. However they decided to redeem ‘sahib’s izzat’ in their own resourceful way. I discovered this when the first delegation came in. As I apologized for keeping them waiting they said, “Auspicious day Sir – your morning meeting with Amitabh Bachchan.” This was the refrain throughout the day. I realized that my staff was telling every visitor or colleague that Sahib’s schedule was uncharacteristically running late due to a chance encounter with Amitabh Bachchan who insisted on engaging Sahib in a tête-à-tête. Later in the evening when the Deans came in for the customary briefing session the conversation began with: “Heard you are in a great mood today Sir due to your meeting with Amitabh Bachchan in the morning” By now I had become quite adept at the non-committal laugh.
The next morning as I drove into the University the number of students who waved to me was far in excess to the usual lot. I knew that at least for the time being my stock-in-trade had gone up -- thanks to Amitabh Bachchan.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)