reej’s blog

Two and a half months later ..i open this blog space….. back on the exercising regime. Did twenty minutes on treadmill at  6 to 7 kms per hours. Walked another ten minutes at work. Got Friends for lunch tom and i guess i will end up eating more calories. Trying to cook most of the stuff in Canola oil and in Olive oil. I think, i will bring some diabetic friendly cakes and icecreams to treat myself alone. Love to have friends at home for lunches and dinner but hate the time and effort it takes to cook food and clean the mess before and after.

In these months i had dropped to the weight of 90.6 kgs which i gained back as my kids exams crept in and later it was vacation eating….. could not resist the cheese cakes from holiday inn and pizzas from pizza hut. Gained again ..my weight… and as i look at my previous post i am back to where i was in Jan…… Okay, let me see if i can loose five kilos in next two months….. and i say ..Yes i can do it……
wish me Happy exercising…..

 weight today 92.6 kg
lowest weight .90.6 as on first March
starting weight  104.2 kgs
target weight 64kgs
Bye bye rediff….. gonna surprise you with more of weight loss..soon pretty soon
 

Here i am blogging to keep track of my health. Need inspiration and motivation. Still not 40 and i am diabetic. Two months of anti diabetics seems to have lessened my symptoms and signs but it is also distracting me from following the healthy lifestyle i had planned to follow. The intial shock is over and now i am busy biengeing on cakes and dahi  vada. Two fifty grams of cake …a perfect poison for any diabetic and seven pieces of dahi vada in one go….. i am out of my mind. Need to wake up before it is too late oh it is already too late….no cures now…. just need to control my weight and sugar level. Got small kids who would want to have their mother with intact limbs and other organs even after fifteen years. So this a new method i am trying to motivate myself into better choices in life……Mrs. Rai.

weight 92.4kgs
starting weight 104. 3kgs
target weight 64kgs
date of starting deiting 1 nov 2011
not lost weight since 17th jan2012
total weight lost so far since nov2011……. 12kgs
didnt exercise since one month
eating sweets and fried things since two weeks.


worst thing done today…two fifty grams of cake, a huge cup of coffee with sugar and milk, seven pieces of dahi vada, no exercise, more than six hours on net.

come on….. i can do it..get control in life…… eat to live and not live to cook and eat all by myself…..

My Asexual T-shirt

I unlocked the door of my home and pushed it open. I fanned my arms and closed my eyes and waited for my kids to leap into my arms. It was a routine my kids never missed. And it was a routine I always looked forward for.

Suddenly a tornado struck me. Stuck between my arms were not my bacche but my almost a ton tanna ton biwi. I pushed her aside and tried to control my struck by thunder kinda emotions. But my brain and my heart had already communicated my feelings to my lips which refused to remain pursed and bas woh bol padde,

” Itna chipak kyo raahe hai? Dooor hoo.”

She can switch from romantic to maniac in a second,

” Kyo, tumhe itching hone lagee kya?”

I needed time to change my emotional status to display wide range of human emotions, a man is obliged to exhibit in the front of his family. Sedhi baat can cause injury. But my wife could change the gears of emotions at a much faster pace.

” Nahi….. Where are the kids?” All I wished for was a cup of hot tea.

“Am I your PA?” She had a thermostat problem and went from shimmering hot to boiling hot coz of just one sentence of mine.

As it was no use asking a fuming wife anything more, I decided to squeeze my way past her. My eyes glimpsed something familiar and I stopped in my tracks. Imagine a narrow corridor, a ton tanna ton biwi and ek taraf deewar and ek taraaf WOH…. beech me mai.

” Why are you wearing my T shirt?” My irritation had gathered momentum. I wanted to grind my teeth but I just managed to wispher. SAANS nahi le ja rahee thee. It was the first time I realized that to scream, we must be able to take that GAHAREE saans. And you can’t take gaharee saans in SUCH a corridor.

” Kyo…. What is the problem if I wear it? ”

” I dont want to start an argument but I told you a hundred times before that don’t wear my T shirt!!!!”

” Now that makes it 101.” She scowled back at me.

” What 101?” I didnt quite understand what she meant.

” Even if you ask me doo sau ekyaavan bar….still i wear will wear what i want and when i want and where i want. THAT MEANS I WILL WEAR YOUR T shirts!”

I decided to give her a good fight and finish it off once and for all.

” Suno Mattey ….it is unfair THAT you keep wearing my T shirts….. they are for me only …Better understand this. They are my Tshirts not KISSI DEVI KA BHOOG!”

Rule no 1….. if you want something done… be diplomatic….I tried to experiment with it.

” Why?? “

” Coz they are for me …… made for MAN!! Do I ever wear yours??”

” Accha MAHAPURUSHji… That is why Ramu Kaka can wear it…soo?? Wear mines if you wish too. I will not object.”

Now Ramu Kaka COMES TO CLEAN OUR HOME AND GETS TO WEAR MY OLD clothes.

” Can’t you understand…It’s my T-shirt. Once you wear, it is no longer a T- shirt, It becomes a Three Shirt..”

” Nahi…….This T-shirt says..ONE SIZE FITS ALL”

” Yes, one size fits all Males, not females….. Deekho mateehy , mere kapde maat pahana kar.”

” I will wear your TOUCH ME NOT Tshirts. Stop me if you can.” She was adamant.

I was getting restless so I decided to tell the real reason. Diplomacy GAYYEE BHAAD ME!

” See ..I didn’t want to tell you this but since you refuse to understand..”

I was praying already. I crossed my fingers, took a defiant posture and looked straight into her eyes and said,

” They get stretched after your wear them!”

” So what is the problem….. loose is better! Comfortable…”

” Deviji…….LOG BAAG pucchne lagee hai …. How did you developed SUCH A muscular chest??? Samjha kar…. WOH parashan karte hai!!! THE T- SHIRT GETS STRETCHED AT WRONG PLACES!”

She looked at me with hatred in her eyes….

” HA…. and my friends ask me when did you get PREGNANT…..eight months hai kya??…..That is when i wear yours!” She walked away imitating a pregnant ME…

Few minutes later she emerged …. HUGELY PREGNANT…..with 22 kilo SON of mine, clinging to her abdomen covered by layers of membranes made from my favorite shirt. I realised at that moment that my son is no longer that 2.2 kilo small premature baby delivered as an emmergency C-section. I COULD HEAR HIM SCREAMING FROM MY WIFE’S PREGNANT ABDOMEN….. strecting my asexual Tshirt, “Dad..deliver your baby, dad..ha ha ha.”

I acted with lightening speed to DELIVER my now mature son from his MOTHER’S ABDOMEN…… without having to perform a cesarian section on my Tshirt….

My Maatey ANd MY son’s mother was hysterically mimicking labour pains, tears streaming her cheeks… the after effects of her mad laughter. I heaved a sigh of relief when my son came out gigling with delight. I palpated my T-shirt to access the damage done to my Tshirt ignoring the gleams of joys radiating from my wife’s eyes. But just like stretch marks refuse to fade, my stretched T shirt was irreparably stretched.

I looked at my teary eyed, newly delivered and habouring just got a trophy kind of look wife and said,

” Keep this one as a present from me for delivering me my boy again and don’t dare to mix it in my clothes.” I had to say something. I was burning.

” Oh…. sure!” She went to talk to neighbours while I went in to make my Tea.

My hands ran on my abdomen…. stretched to accomodate the twins which had refused to deliver in past two years. The Tea boiled just as my blood did. I gave up the fight for one last TIME and went to the gym……determined to slim to a SIZE ZERO….sure then I will see which T shirt of mine will become asexual……. and fit the size 100.

A day later, my son came jumping, ” I became daddy! I became daddy!”

I don’t know how many daddys does my household have. He was wearing my T-Shirt just like his mother and jumping about. My Deviji CUM his daddyji was cheering him up for his antics and I was grinding my teeth. She gave me her famous cold stare,” He is a male…”.

I got up and just hit the gym….size Zero, size Zero….control! control! . It works.

Two days later my THAT Asexual T-shirt was rubbing with pleasure the PLATES and glasses in the kitchen. The glasses shined a winning smile. It had to burst beyond repair under size 100 ONE DAY. It did, so it was now used for cleaning in the kitchen. My Jooru smiled “Na rahega BAAS na baajege BANSURI”. In my mind i was controling my urges to CONVERT that baas or bansuri into a BAITH akka Lathi to control my Hathi! Yeh control bahuut hi kathin kaam hai!

MY other T-shirts still remain asexual while I am still working on size zero.

THE moral of the story is that when you want a cup of hot tea without hassels CHOOSE TO IGNORE your wife who is busy permanently stretching your T-shirts. After all they are ASEXUAL. Hide your favorites ones among her clothes coz that’s the last lot she will ever reach out for stretching….. Saab ke saab choote hai…size 5 non stretchable….. can never fit a HER size HUNDRED

Hi Friends…….. This is to wish you all a very happy new year….with a new, matured and so versatile Rediff blogs…i am confused and dazed as to how i can keep in touch with you all..trial and hits is a method best applicable now, i think…..so till i can solve the new puzzle at rediff blogs…I wish you all a happy new year and till then i am hitting hard on Farmville…a new addiction for my daughter and me…….. well i think i would rather be a farmer than a writer as my optional vocation…….. so friends if i am not posting it is because i cannot handle the new blogs… i feeel i am lost in this new world……hoping to find my way into this world…i stay…wishes for a prosperous, recession ree and terror free New year 2010…Rai

TRAVELING CATTLE CLASS
It was my first visit to India in three years. I was traveling in Saudi Arabian Airlines along with my family. And I was traveling the much IN FASHION economy class.  Now as it happens most people traveling to India from Saudi are the guests of Sponsors from this country. So when the guests travel, they travel guest class akka economy class. It is said that when guests enter the homes….monetary economics can get out of control so it is better to attend economy classes. I regret not attending them because i suffered later on.    

Well, guests of Indian origin working in Saudi Arabia are divided into those representing INDIA (educated and well paid) and  those representing HINDUSTAN (workers and labourers). All of these guests travel economy class because only some intelligent ones travel first class and business class having learnt the travel facts of Saudi Arabian airlines fast…. very fast. I am a slow leaner.

That day the airport seemed filled with HINDUSTANIS returning back home. They moved around in groups (Herd policy). Some stood on the chairs meant for sitting…… aisa kyo?? I don’t know. WOH HE JAANE KYO. May be THE plane comes on time when you stand on the chairs. Some stood in groups chatting…. the chatting in herd is good….. knowledge ka aadan padaan hota hai. The PVC bags in various hues of pink, white and blue laid scattered all over…. the lounge was beginning to look like those empty plots of land where neighbours dumped their ghar ka kudda in polythene bags.

My kids wanted to use the restroom at the airport but soon returned with pinched noses and clinched bladder. “YAKKI!” is all they said. The sole Srilankan cleaner was cursing the hordes of Hindustanis and neighbouring country FRIENDS who made sure that they would never forget the ways of OPEN LOTTA system no matter what. She cursed and sweared simply because all other nationality toilet cleaners refused TO ATTEND the toilets during the rush hours of so called Hindustanis and their friends from neighbouring countries. Some toilet cleaners maintain their standards too!

I believed in Hum saab ek hai until my HINDUSTANIS travel mates decided to chew PAN in the plane and spit at the window…coz it refused to open. The AIR HOSTESS SCREAMED and shouted at the bloody sight. INDIANS held their head down and gazed in another direction while HINDUSTANIS laughed aloud passing insane comments at her. She had her acid laced comments to hit back. After all she was of Indian origin. Some HINDUSTANIS had worn some old stinky clothes having saved every penny to bring smiles on the faces of their family back in Hindustan. Now sometimes the old clothes smell or was it the lack of deodorants? Some sat with their feet folded on the seats. Some cleaned their ears and teeth with toothpick made of human nails. Some made usual Indian noises while they talked to their friends sitting two rows away. My kids refused to sit on the assigned seats and me being an INDIAN didn’t know what to do.

The food arrived and with huge chewing sounds erupting from all sides, the HINDUSTANIS consumed the goodies with their hands. The INDIANs PUSHED THEIR food away pretending dead and totally deaf and blind. My INDIAN head forced my kids to use the toilet before the HINDUSTANIS decided to wash off the goody laden fingers. TRUE to my Indian understanding we soon heard air hostess swearing about blocked toilets. An air hostess understanding our plight offered us a couple of empty seats away from the HINDUSTANIS. The INDIAN in me heaved a sigh of relief. But the irritated air host and hostesses disappeared refusing to return during the rest of the flight. INDIANs MISSED THE SIGHT OF SMILING AIR HOSTESS coz now they seemed transformed into waitress and haggard ones at that.The worst was not yet OVER.

The plane reached the destination port and landed and taxied slowly to a halt. The seat belt sign was still lit on. The HINDUSTANIS all got up and the cabin luggage was dragged out. DHOOM DHOOM DHOOM. Every HINDUSTANI was now standing. The INDIANS KEPT on sitting, waiting for the plane to  reach the romp. Now was it that these Hindustanis lived in slums near the airport so they were trying to catch the glimpse of their homes? BHAI KYA PATAH. A leader of the Hindustanis decided to show his pack of cattle some sense,” ARREY baatah jaaye. Khana se KUDEGE? Kucch toh deemag ka UUZZ karreh” The Hindustanis refused to sit. The leader sat down saying
 ”BEWAKOOF LOGO KABHI NAHI SUDHAREGE!”

The plane moved. The HINDUSTANIS swayed. The microphone screamed
” AAPNE SEAT PAR BAATAH JAAYE. Please take your seats and fasten your belts.”  Some HINDUSTANIS sat down on the seats where they stood. A fight erupted among some bakrey and sheep. The  microphone screamed again,
” please sit down, aap log baathey until seat belt light is off. AND SIT AT THE PLACE JAHAN AAP LOG KO KHAANA mila tha.” They say that the cattle can find their way back home when hungry.

I HOPE THE BHARTIYAS CAN UNDERSTAND THE PLIGHT of INDIANS caught among the PLANE LOAD of Hindustanis. Shashi tharoor ….. YOU ARE RIGHT ABOUT CATTLE CLASS. I can be a cattle in all other airlines except Saudi airlines and all those which ferry the cattle between SAUDI ARABIA AND HINDUSTAN… NO NEVER. There is huge difference between Hindustani cattle and Indian cattle and even european cattle….. App bhartiyoo mere pareshani samajh payee na?

I can only sing ” MAULA  TU LIFT KARA THEY…BUSSINESS CLASS ME  TICKET KARA THEY … HINDUSTANIYOO SE BACHA DE”

Mera bharat mahan……    

With summer vacations still going strong and with my inability to find enough time to take my kids out, my kids nagged me when ever they set their eyes on me. To overcome this problem, we decided to let some of their friends meet at our home every once in a while. This meant that I had to reschedule my work around the mandatory pick and drop service to a bunch of kids, all over the city. It happens that I am an expert when it comes to remembering all the GALLI - GUCCHEs and I normally land in some strange neighbourhood with no recognizable landmarks.. With screaming n howlling kids and loud music and a chak chak mother, I can be crowned the Lost King when it comes to following simple instructions for the direction, on the mobile phone.  

It was one of these busy working days that my son called me,
“Suno Pops, Mai tumhara KHOON pe jaaoo?”
I was taken aback, not believing what I had heard. Taming the parental hormonal boil I said,
“My SWEET BABY ….What happened?”
“Bolo mai tumhara Khoon PE JAAOO, Boloo…” he replied, “Bahoot Gussa hoo!”
“Bolo na…What is making you MAD?” I asked again.
“You didn’t bring my friends home” he complained, “It’s so late now.”
“So sorry Darling, just half an hour more!” I banged the phone down, changed my coat and dashed to pick up his friends, navigating my way through the lunch hour traffic rush.

Later that day I decided to investigate the reason why my still too young son had learned to mouth the dharmendra dialogues WITH  relative ease.  I blamed the cartoon network for producing SHINCHAN etc etc  …. which my kids religiously followed. I was sure it cannot be Tom and Jerry which just taught my son that it was acceptable to pull ears, climb on back, throw water and bang things all over the house and then Hide and Grin. In fact my son can give a run to IMRAN HASMI for being a serial kisser. Tutored by Jerry, my son can kiss from head to toe just to get things done his way. We call it a KISS MARATHON. If you ask where he learned it, he replies,
“Jerry kiya Tom koo! I see in TV “

After watching several reruns of all the cartoons of Cartoon Network, I was unable to find FREE DIALOGUE CLASSES which my son had attended. The mystery would have remained a mystery had I not entered my HOME during the so called evening nap period for my wife. My son came up to me and said,
“Mommiee Sooya hai….sshh silence!”
“Aacha….What will Mama do if i make noise?”
“Mommiee bahoot gussa hai…She will shout.” He tried to advise me not to try any stunts. But me being me, I went into the bedroom and switched the lights on.
“KYO MERA KHOON PE RAHE HOO….tum log.. you won’t let me sleep?” My wife woke and got up from the bed and ran towards me.  Thankfully I ducked down otherwise I would have been wounded fatally. My son clapped and shouted,
“PAPA, Mommiee ka KHOON PIYA.”

That day I learned that the summer vacations come with numerous problems with all the involved parties suffering VOCALLY. And that I had to talk to my wife about  this dialogue classes she was conducting unknowingly. It was one of the busy OR days that it become mandatory for some blood sample to be drawn in middle of a case. I happen TO WATCH MY DEAR WIFE draw that patient’s blood in 10 mL SYRINGE. What made me say this i dont know but say it, I did,
“BAS KAR NA….. KITNA KHOON PEEYEGE es patient ka?”
I was the only one to laugh because no one understood what I had said. She straightened up and gave me a devilish look and said,
“Mera DEEMAG MAAT KHAOO…..otherwise I will inject this blood into you.”
I had learnt it a hard way that she does what she says. And that I had to shut up and finish the patient before I lost my way in his intestines and fainted with wrong blood transfusion and left my mobile and keys inside. What if i forgot to sew back the things i had cut???? HA HA HA …I remember all those movies and jokes on forgetful Doctors. Bhagwan save my patients.
Now i know that my son will soon be asking,
“Tumhara deemag khaoo???”
And don’t have courage to tell my wife,
“Biwi…aise dialogues maat maar..biwi!”

The moral of the story is that don’t marry a Tom boy….because the tomboy syndrome  runs in genes LINKED TO Y GENES. Your children will be tomboy and tomgirl just like their fore father and mother and their fore fathers and mothers from the TOMBOY side of family. This points to the fact that MALE CAME FIRST INTO THIS WORLD. The women evolved from Males because some women still carry the TOMBOYISH GENES. And that it is no use reasoning with the Tomboyish Wife. And that your kids can become actors and actresses in remote future…….I pray not Dharmendra and family….. I really don’t have so much MONEY as ANIL AMBANI.
  

THAT OLD MAN AND HIS WIFE

I was trying to beat the traffic light. It had just turned yellow. I stepped on gas to avoid yet another red signal. But I missed it. Fuming, I sweared and stopped at the signal. My wife broke my concentration.
“Can we talk?”
“YEAH!”
” I think we are well in time.”
” I know.”
” Then is there any reason that you have to speed?”
” Nothing, just habit!” I knew not why these red lights made me want to break them. And my wife was right. We were on our routine time to the hospital.
She asked me again, “What will you do if I die?”
“So you started again?”
She had this strange habit of asking me about my plans if she ever happens to die before me.
” You won’t die just because I love to race at signals. I never break a signal?”  I never answered this question of hers.
“Answer me”
“On your Death Bed.” I smiled and she smiled too.  We both knew what I would answer. But she never stopped asking me and I never stopped answering her the same thing.  


I parked my car and we walked together into the hospital. We were always among the first of the staff to arrive. We would then stand near the elevators planning the day out. These seven to ten minutes were precious to our married life. We would discuss any engagements, our children’s activities, pending housework and share a joke or two. Then we would hold hands for a brief second before we headed to our respective departments. She would take the lift to the second floor for the operation theatre. I would walk to the ER and then visit my post operated patients in the wards, finally heading to the OPD.

Today we were not alone. An elderly couple was waiting near the elevators. We both smiled at them and continued our routine discussion.  My wife playfully punched me into my protruding belly. I laughed. The elevator opened just then. The elderly men pushed his wheelchair bound wife into the elevator. We watched him mesmerized. They both looked quite old…. in their seventies. The white grey hair neatly combed in place, he smiled a toothless smile. His wrinkle covered face looked at us. I felt as if the old lady had motioned him towards us. A lift of fingers or was it the movement of her eyeballs. I could not pin point what made me think so. But I had to be wrong. She was old and white haired too. She was motionless. Her head was bent to one side and her face was ex-pressionless. Her skin was wrinkled and freckled and she was painfully thin.  She appeared paralyzed on one side of the body. I made the diagnosis of Stroke, Senile related Dementia and even Alzheimer’s disease, subconsiously. They disappeared as the elevator went up.

We both looked at each other.
” Must be Alzheimer’s.” We both said in unison. We had seen so many patients in our daily life that we worked towards a diagnosis even before we talked to a patient. We believed that they were here to show the old lady to an internist following her apparent medical problem. As such diabetes, hypertension etc were so commonly encountered in elderly people. My wife looked at me and asked,
“Do you have any operation today?”
” Yeah, A Lap chole and a Lap Hernia.” I held her hand and she smiled,
” We will have tea together in OR then.”

The day was busy. With seven operations lined up for the morning and an OPD where patients kept popping in well beyond the appointments, I was finally free late in the afternoon. My wife rang up that she would come to the OPD to meet me for few moments before I left for home. She did the straight shift while I did broken shifts. It was convenient for our children. I would often find my family fast asleep when I returned home late in the night.

She almost pushed the door with force.
” Hi, DID THAT OLD COUPLE COME TO YOU?”
“No!”
“They are in surgical waiting room.”
“May have come to show to the Ophthalmologist, orthopedician or even to the urologist.”
She went on to tell me that the old man was feeding the woman with his hands in the waiting area. She found it angelic and romantic. Women are so sensitive. My wife felt that the couple was in love.
“Wonder if you would love me the same way when I become old ?”
“Now don’t be stupid. Emotions run high for you” I removed my white apron and wore my coat as we walked out of the clinic. My gaze met that of the old man as i passed the waiting area. He smiled. My wife waved to them. We walked away. I  held my wife’s hand as suddenly I was impulsive. My wife was right. Something drew us to that couple.

We met them at the elevators each day for the whole next week. We would smile at them and then continue our daily discussions. Some how this elderly couple would creep into our discussion each time they left us near the elevators.
“Learn something from him.” My wife would say.
“From her you should learn how to look elegant and poised even when old and paralyzed.” I would say.
” You would be the one who dresses me up when i become like her.”
“Okay teach me how to coordinate the colours.”
“I will take pictures and videos for you, now on!” She would laugh.  
They both were so well dressed. His pants and shirts were so well ironed. And she always wore matching jewelery and shoes. My wife made me polish my shoes lest the old man happened to look at them and twisted his nose. She made an effort to match her accessories lest they noticed her failing fashion sense. We often wondered as to what the woman suffered from making them come so regularly to the hospital.

By the start of the next week we started anticipating the daily presence of this couple near the elevator. They were there, well before us, each day. We noticed that the man held her right hand, always. The wheelchair was battery operated yet he pushed it into the elevator. We noticed him smoothing her hair, cleaning the edge of her mouth if the saliva drooled, adjust her dress etc but still held her right hand. Sometimes we felt the old lady was watching us and that they grinned at each other. We never were sure coz she moved very little. Our heart would fill up with pity, love and admiration.  


It almost two weeks later that they were not standing near elevators for the first time. We were disappointed but concluded that their problem was treated. My wife rang me up on my mobile from the Operation Theatre that day,
“Why aren’t you picking up the land line?”
“What happened? Relax first and then tell me” I knew something was up as her toned was pitched.
“Come to the OR immediately!”  We talked on the mobile as I took the elevator up.
“What happened? Something serious?”
“No, They are here”
“Who?” I scanned the list of possible they.
“That old man and his wife.”
“Is she for surgery?” I wondered what could she be posted for.
“No, It is him. He has prostate enlargement and needs operation. He goes into urinary retention off and on.”
We were wrong in believing that it was the old lady who was under treatment. Prostatic enlargement was common in males. And surgery was the only answer.
” So what is the problem?”
” Come up and see for yourself.” My wife never called me like this before. Since the case was under the care of the urologist, I was not sure why she wanted me up in the theatre.


When I entered the Operating Room, the commotion was obvious. Six anesthetist stood besides the Patient’s trolley. The urologist and the medical director stood there too. My wife stood a little far away.
“He is my patient. I have to anesthetize him. But I cannot separate them also” She motioned towards him.
“So?” I looked towards the group of doctors surrounding them. I couldn’t understand why my wife had to be so disturbed.

” They want to go in together! The man wants to be accompanied by his wife through out the operation. No one is able to convince them. She is so sick herself.”
I walked to them. He was sitting on the trolley looking so fragile and vulnerable in operation gown. He looked pale and ghastly white. He showed no emotion. The doctors were trying to explain to him that keeping in view of his age and the condition of his wife, they cannot allow her inside the room. She was strapped to the wheel chair and looked so fragile. I noticed his pursed lips. My eyes fell on his hand. He was clutching her right hand. My wife was right. I felt tears rimming my eyes. I knew he would not proceed for the operation until his wife accompanied him.


He motioned me near him. I knew that he recognized me. He placed his left hand into my hand and closed it. I felt a paper slip into my palm.
“Read it later. And give it to my children”
“But how do we allow her in?” I had asked.
“She is my life. We will die otherwise” He answered slowly and clearly.
“Your children?”
“They are on way. ”
I looked at the Medical Director.
“Let her accompany him. I take the responsibility.”
“Are you related?” He asked.
“Yes and No, They are like my parents. I will stay with them in case she has to be ejected out of OR if need arose.”

I signed the consent form explaining my relation of humanity and their condition. He countersigned too with his pale shaking hands.
They were shifted inside the operating room. My wife gave him spinal anesthesia. He clutched her right hand into his hand all the while. It was strange to watch a patient being operated like this. The surgery proceeded. At one point I felt my wife was little nervous and shaky.
“The Blood pressure.” She pointed to the monitor. “He is sinking.”

There was no recordable pulse and blood pressure. She pushed Atropine and Ephedrine. The nurses pushed in I V fluids. I kept myself out of way. I could sense that things were not right. My wife motioned me to help her warm him with warm fluids and warming blankets. She asked the surgeon to stop his surgery. A nurse pushed the blood. I was getting restless. The monitor kept on alarming. The heart rate was almost zero. It was the first time I had felt so weak. Never before did I panic in a case of cardiac arrest. But today my concern was the presence of the old lady. Her right hand was in his hand. She had to sense that his body temperature was down. She had to know that he was cold.

My wife motioned me to separate her from him. She was about to administer cardiac massage. I knew he was almost gone.
“Do something” I whispered.
“I am trying. God knows I want him back too!” The cardiac massage was on. He was intubated and connected to the ventilator.
 
” I have to give him D.C. shock! No other way. Take her away from the room. Clear the patient” I saw her helplessness. But then I saw the old woman lift her left hand slowly, almost dragging it to his hand. His hand was now held between her two hands. She moved her head and looked at me. I stood still . My wife looked at me with surprise. The woman had moved her left side of the body, that part where she was paralyzed. Her eyes met mine. I looked away. I placed my palm on their hands wanting to separate them. His hands clasped her hand so tightly that it was difficult to remove. I saw the tears flowing down on her face. I saw the pain fleet across but then she became rigid.  I didn’t possess the courage to separate their hands.  I noticed his intubated face. The drops of saline streamed his eyes. They seem to be crying together silently.  Suddenly my wife yelled, ” No shock now! The pulse and the BP are coming back.”  A wave of relief spread through the operating room.  Wonder if this was a kind of miracle. I will never get my answer. We witness so many patients sink and came back to life in our medical life.

The staff congratulated each other. Our eyes were filled with tears too. I walked out of the room unable to control myself. The surgeon finished his surgery soon afterwards. The old woman sat holding his hands through out the surgery and in the recovery period. She remained strapped to the wheel chair. Their children arrived to OR by the time we were shifting them to their room.

I slipped  the note the old man had given me at the start of the operation into his son’s hand. He read it aloud.
“TOGETHER WE LIVE, TOGETHER WE DIE.”
“Doctor, our guys believe that they will live together ever after.”  The children were relaxed about the way their parents were inseparable.
“We have seen them like this since we are born! God listens to them.”

I write this story today …. almost seven years later. My inbox had a message from the children of that old and his wife, a few weeks ago.
” Our parents passed peacefully in sleep two days ago. They died holding eachother’s hand. We plan to cremate them together.
We write to you because they always talked about you both. They saw the love that you and your wife shared. They said they saw themselves in you.”


My voice chocked with emotion as I called my wife to read that mail. We held our hands as we silently bid that old couple goodbye.

My wife never asks me now that question of hers. She knows my answer without me telling her. We hold our hands so often now. That old man and his wife have certainly changed our lives.

 

life in OR still goes on…  
 

Me…. The Kaam dev of Kaama Sutra.
It all happened on a Holiday. My bigger half woke me up with her dhai kilo ka haath. Thankfully I only woke up, poora uttah nahi. She smiled and said,
“Swami kucch karne ka maan hai.”
“Matah, bolo….. subah subah, why are you giving me these smiles?”
“Sooch rahe the ke woh karee!” Mere kaan khade ho gaye.
“Woh kya?” Mai muskuraya. Had just finished a dream. Maybe it would turn out to be true. Wanted to cross my fingers but crossed my legs instead.
“Aaj tum kaam dev ban jaoo.” She smiled. It had been ages when my huge half had  something different to talk about instead of ROTI, KAPADA aur MAKKAN and baal bacche.

“Accha, Woh kyo?”
“Bas, Kucch Mood hai aisa.”  She was driving me nuts. Then she got up from the bed and said,
“Kitchen me aa jago”
“Kitchen me? Bacchee?”
“I will take care of them.” She asked our kids to go and play outside until she calls them back for lunch.
I tried recalling if it was our anniversary, her bday…nothing came to my graying brains. She looked and behaved like a MenakaJi. I was stupefied.
I got up and walked to the kitchen. She stood there smiling,
“Suno, lets try a new position.”
I climbed the chair as she had requested and turned to look down at her.
“Kucch ajeeb nahi hai?”
“Kya?”
“YEH POSITION! Where did you get this?”
She held my legs tight and handed me a cloth while she said,
“In Kamasutra”
“Really!” It was my turn to get surprised. “Now what?”
“What kya??? Now clean the exhaust fan and then clean the topmost cabinets. Today is your Kamma sutra day…Kaam devji!”

Fooled by my very own MAINE KAHA arrthath MANEKHA …I DID KAMA (work) SUTRA(continuous)….. kaam ke baad kaam ……. And she ordered me around till my haadi pasli ek ho gayee and saang me mai ek Jaale (spider web) LADEN Kaam Dev ban gaya. Woh toh Manekha the……. order karte rahi.

By the time I GOT A BREAK, it was evening and I asked her for a cup of tea.
“Why should I make?” She was not at all concerned about my tuuti haadi.
“YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME” I didn’t want to shout but somehow my vocal cords had their own mood. They wished to vibrate. She started sobbing.
“I never listen to you? Bolo?” She was agitated. I know when ever she becomes agitated she becomes mad. I am afraid of her DURGA Maatah KA Roop. She develops six to seven hands minimum and then uses them to throw brooms, bat , knives and fork etc. Today MERE  HAADI BHI DUKH rahe the. I didnt want to run around the house.
“Shaant ho jaaye, matah. I will make the tea”.
I went into the kitchen and she went into the bedroom. I could hear some noises. It seemed she was cleaning the cabinets and drawers in the bedroom. The Dhoom Dhadam was going on.

(Two years ago she had picked up a fight with me when I had said,
” You don’t listen to me.”  Bas she became mad.
“I DON’T listen to you? I don’t listen to you?” She kept on asking FULL VOLUME as she raced from one room to another.
“Yes, you never listen to me!” I had stood in the corner of the room holding my fort, watching her dive from one room to another. She then emerged holding a scissor in her hand.
“I don’t listen to you, right? Toh yeh NAAGIN KE POOCH…..YEH  KYA HAI?”
She was holding her Pony Tail. It had taken two years of my efforts and constant nagging to turn my TOM BOYISHLY HUGE wife into a woman who had long hair. She had loathed her hair coz they were sparse but had grown them to shut me up.
“What NAAGEN KE POOCH?” I Should have assessed  the situation that day.
“I don’t listen to you, right?” She chopped off her long hair with just a stroke of the scissors. I never performed any surgery this fast.
Women can attain lightening speeds when they are in Durga Mattaish Moods. I stood paralyzed.
It took me next two hours to calm her down and three hundred rupees to reshape her hair into that SPANNED COBRA hair…what they SAY shoulder length DEEP U CUT. She NEVER grew her hair again and I still live with a TDH.)

With the Tea balanced in one hand and Biscuits in another I went to the bedroom . She was still cleaning. I asked,
“Suno, Chai peelo”
“Mai tumhara nahi suntee hu na?”
“Nahi re, It is okay!” I smiled at my beena Pooch Walle Naagin. But she somehow looked better without her poonch.
“Why are you smiling? You never help me clean the home.”
“But you never clean it too.”
“Dont make me mad” The Naagin was again taking a Vikraat Roop.
“Okay..tell me what is below the mattress?” I was sure she didn’t know.
“There is a big brown envelop from your boss and you haven’t looked at it since two years!” She was in her ‘going to last the whole day’  Bad Mood. “And i don’t listen to you? You think I am MAD”
“I will answer this question” I SIPPED MY TEA ,” You are not Mad … just a POONCH KATEE HUEE NAAGIN”
“What nonsense?”
I handed her the envelope she had removed from the mattress.
She opened that aged brown envelope which was lying under the mattress since two years.
“My God!” was all she said. In the envelope were her once long hair sliced away from HER ANGRY HEAD in that moment of Mad rage. It lay in that envelope, forgotten for two years.

My Avkash ka din ghar ka kaam karke neekal gaya. It turned out to be the day which reminded me that I was still in love with my TDH Durga Maatah and Poonch Kaate Naagin.     

I had applied for the visa of a country who’s people had conquered the Mughals, drained our wealth and looted our diamonds and then released us after a big divide. (Okay, joo hota hai aache ke liye hota hai. Yaha TAK  toh unka bhala hogayaa. Abb hum bharatiyoo ki baari aayege.) Well, it is called the first world and me a poor guy from the third world’s mostest (he he) developing country had dared to apply for visa. So the torture in form of numerous delays from the embassy because of breakdown of first world’s information technology system was enough to make my jet black hair turn white even before I could become jet lagged tired.
The condolences for the delay started in form of
” Chood na re” while I ask “Kisko saathiyo … I am not catching anyone.” 
” AARE AAJ KAL BAHOOT SARE PLANES tapak rahe hai! Aap ko praasan hona chaheye ke aap ja nahi pa rahe” while I asked “kaahan…woh bagwan ke pass?” Mujhe patah nahi yeh subh kamnaye thee ya phir buree kamnayee.
   

Ek din Maaji bolee,
“Hanuman mandir me puja kar ke aa ja.”  Suna tha Delhi me ek Hanumanji saab ko phoren foreign bhejteh hai. Bas I decided that I will take my Human form to Hanuman Mandir for his blessings so that I could see the world around like he did. Hanumanji jump kar kar ke poora vishav ghoom lete the. Kash woh mujhe bhi aapne saang le jate! Wonder if Hanumanji could ever be forced to a obtain a visa to fly in the airspace of the foreign land and to use a desired path to fly the world around. Aur agar unkee takkar ho jati thee with one of these planes toh kya hota? May be it is the angry Hanumanji who is pushing these planes away from blue skies to depths of land and ocean, scattering planey and humaney remains everywhere.

With my daily aarti at Hanumanji’s temple, gurudakshina to poor panditji and multiple requests to God from my children on my behalf, fate smiled at me. I flew all alone to the land where people had white faces but dressed in black and had aging brownish black buildings. Wonder if all the bleaches in the world could ever change the black colour from their buildings. I think India should export Fair Ever and Fair and Lovely to these countries, not for use on human beings but for use on these buildings. Atleast to make them some shades lighter and presentable. Or what about MULTANI MITTI KA LEEP? If TajMahal can get a pack to unclog its pores then why not these buildings of first world. Unke BLACK HEADS AKKA KEEL MUHASE THEEK HO GAYEGE. Strange that land of Goore log had brown black AGED buildings where as brown Indians had a famous Goora monument!      

Now when I flew to the first world country, I was alone but when I caught the flight back I was supposedly accompanied by faceless friends. I managed to escape the laser devices and came back home, hale and hearty. My children surrounded me and i was bombarded with kisses, hugs and questions,
“Dad, what about this Flu?”
“Which one sweetheart? Bird or H1N1?”
“Nope, this Swine flu, Dad”
“Oh that comes from both birds n pigs and Humans …… everyone infects each other!”
“Yaaki! Bird and Pigs ko nosey aatah hai?” My son used his brain and asked.
“Babs, they are like us” I tried to give all animals their dignity.
“What about the treatment?” My daughter wanted to know.
“Tamiflu.” I said.
“TOMMY FLEW… Did it fly Dad??” My son had inhereted my brains. Tommy was my neighbours dog.
“You mean Dad that we have to treat the patient with tommy’s flu?” My daughter has my brainy genes too.
“NAHI! It is the name of a medicine! Now go away and don’t disturb me!” I was irritated about the flu discussion. And I felt a little warm.

Soon I had fever, cough and cold.  I COUGHED and coughed and choked. My colleagues were REFLEXIVELY sympathetic. They jumped when ever I coughed and ran away. They maintained a politically polite distance. I could hear some people discussing the increasing number of swine flu cases in the country. KHUSAR PUSAR me paatah chaala that I had not returned alone but BROUGHT some swines along. The rumour spread. And soon I was left all alone as half of the swines kept my body WARM and remaining swines ran about when I coughed.

The moment I coughed, all the swines stored inside me went flying out to the world around. Some ended up meeting people of their species akka my enemies but  some, I regret, went to meet my friends. All efforts, on my part to stop these swines from coming out of me, went in vain. No matter how I cupped my mouth or stuffed my mouth with tissues and handkerchief and even the dupattas of my better half, the swines just forced  their way out of my mouth to world around. They just flew around to the world, without my permission, at an expulsive force which almost chocked my breathe out . Wish I could draw out restricting orders from the court, for swines,  restraining their movement out of  my mouth. Wish the swines were in my control!  They are pure swines who love to jump out of nowhere from the darkness of my mouth to everywhere.  I was isolated everywhere even when my Incubation period was well beyond 10 days. I had acquired the flu at work and was surrounded by porky swines in form of human beings. My new Motto in life is ‘don’t spread smiles at work but spread the swines’.  

Wonder when these swines would leave me and my mouth alone. But now I do see lot of swines coming out from people who eat pan, tambakoo and gukta. Wonder if our Third world country will stop SWINEY expulsions from the mouth.

Now I hear abt first world countries looking down upon Third worlds for persistent  epidemics of Malaria, Filaria And Tuberclosis while they coolly hand down the third worlds exotic diseases like Bird flu, swine flu and conversion flu. Wonder if they can ever be booked for spreading the flus and hatred among the lawful occupiers of the third world.  

the end      

Sardar Sher Singh was traveling back to his native Punjab from London. He was not only just a proud Sardar but also a Jat. When he arrived at Victoria Terminal railway station, he was informed that Tube was closed. He looked at the Goora man across the information centre,”I going Heathrow airport. I go train….”"Excuse me, I told you that the tube is closed. There is a strike. No tickets”
“No tickets??? I do nat need a closed tube. I do nat need an open tube, na! “
“Next please! Move” The goora man was so irritated that he almost screamed at him. Sher Singh chaal paada. Usse bhi na maloom tha kaha. Then he saw a Brown Man. He looked over baked amidst the clumps of under baked goore goore Nar Nari. He smiled. Uss ke saas me saas aaye. All Indians were his brothers and also sisters. He walked over to him and asked,
“India??”
“Yes, I, an proud Indian!”
Sher Singh wondered if he was a Malyali or a Bengali or ……
“Yaar, Heathrow I going, Air India catch and go Punjab.”
“Okay, pretty cool, How can I help you?”
“I take train to Heathrow. That man saying Tube closed. I dan’t want any Tube. I have toothpaste and also full shampoo. I already buy here. Phoreeen quality.”
“Ooye SARDARJI! Tube is also called the Metro Train! There is a strike ongoing . So you better take a bus to the airport….almost one hour journey.”
Brown Indian laughed aloud.
Sardarji started itching his turban, ” AAYE LOO..eetheey bhi log chakkajaam karan se!”

Now Sher Singhji took a bus to Heathrow. He sat near the window on the front seat. He was very happy coz he managed to get a window seat without dhaka mukki and without throwing the newspaper first or a cap to reserve the seat. He wanted to have a last look at London before he flew to his NATIVE PUNJAB. He wanted to be prepared when his friends and relatives asked MCQ’S on this phoreen land. The sky was blue and there were clouds every where. He enjoyed looking at these clouds. He recalled how his native Punjab had the cotton piled sky high and how that resembled the clouds. Then he saw an aeroplane flying in the clouds. He smiled. Soon he would be sitting in one and flying back home to Sardarneji. He remembered the makki ke roti and sarsoo ka saag. He remembered the Lassi ka baada gilaas and phir jooro ke dakaar.

The bus was running on the highway. Sher Singh saw the aeroplane again in the clouds. Then he saw it vanish in the clouds. He smiled. Sure this must be his Air India pheelight. He saw the plane following him among the clouds. He almost shouted, ” Wait phor me. I will be on time.” The Plane disappeared into the clouds again. Sher Singh looked around in the bus. All the boiled egg whites seemed to be dozing off into the land of dreams. Only one boiled white egg with blue eyes stared back at him. He looked out of the window. Soochane laga tha woh ke God preferred to let the humans from developed countries go unbaked because there was minimal pollution there while he preferred people from developing countries more cooked so that pollution and its effects on skin get hidden.

There he saw the plane all over again as he looked out. Sher Singh knew that he had crossed three towns in the bus by now. And the plane was still following him.
“Is this a plane which is supposed to fly very fast?” He thought. “Stupid Pilot, he is phlying with Snai…no no , Bus’s Pace!”. The plane seemed to fly very near to a tall building.
“Takkar maare ga kya?…..ooye sambhaal kar chalaa!” Sher Singh closed his eyes with fear and mumbled. “Another 11/ 9!”. When he opened his eyes he started assessing the situation again. Everything seemed all right. No takkar, no blast. The pilot ne last moment par plane ghuma diya. The plane was still flying high slowly, bery slowly.

“OOye Rabba… pheecha karan se….” Sher Singh felt that he was being followed by the Aeroplane. He looked into his bag. The passport was in place. He looked at his Visa. Everything was alright. But he felt something was just not right..
“Why should a aeropilane follow me on the bus??” He wondered. He palpated the contents of his bag. His fingers touched a packet. He got panicked. He counted them.
“One, Two.” The thought of strawberries, vanilla and banana quietened his hormonal boil.
“Only three …… enough for today. Tomorrow I would be in Punjab.” He was feeling relieved. Three will satisfy him today, he thought. His wife would never know. He could never do this in Punjab because his wife would kill him or divorce him if she discovered it.

He picked up the magazine and leafed through the pages. He had decided to ignore the aeroplane which kept hiding in the clouds and then kept coming back again and again. ” Spy ..khotiya!” He murmured. He eyes stared at the advertisement in the book showing a man looking into the eyes of a woman.
“Damn …..Is he following me coz he thinks I am a woman?” Sher Singh ran a hand over his turban and long long mustaches. He sighed in relief. His long hairs didn’t show.
“Can’t trust even the pilots in this country!” He turned the pages on. On one page it was written,
‘Expect any gay to attack you only from the back’

Sher Singh gabara gaya. He turned around and started palpating the back of his seat. Pagalo ke tarha! Ten inches of solid steel. Nothing can… no matter how hard, could break that steel. A wave of relief washed him. No gay or guy, straight or curved could attack him from behind, he thought. Then he looked at the bus driver. She was driving unaware of the plane hovering over the bus. Maybe the pilot was after her, he thought. Her seat was also made of steel and she had a chakra akka Arjun chakra akka driving wheel in front of her. She was safe. She reminded him of his wife. His wife was also a strong hot woman.

The plane kept disappearing and reappearing over and again, bothering him. He decided to contentrate his thoughts on his wife. The beautiful woman…… he had those small packets with vanilla, strawberry and chocolate flavor on his Suhaag Raat too. He had tried to tempt her into trying different flavors but she became wild and almost chopped off his hair in rage. He vowed then and there that never again he would do it again. He had lived in fear of being attacked by a pair of sharp pointed scissors ever since. But once out of the country he was free to tempt himself into trying all the flavors. He wife would never know. No infections and no sticky materials as long as he made sure to discard it all in the end carefully. Even the doctors openly recommended it. He smiled at the thoughts of the three still remaining in his possession. They were quite rubbery, stretched well and would stay intact even if he choose to blow balloons in those playful moods. He wondered if the pilot of that plane had some in his possession. Sure the beautiful air hostess must be having a few, just in case of emergency demands.

He pulled out one of the three still with him and slipped it into in his pockets. He smiled at the woman driving the bus. They had reached the Heathrow Airport now. The plane was still hovering around but now it seemed that it had finally decided to land. He debated whether to ask the driver if she liked to ……. but the memories of his wife holding a scissors and chopping his hair off came back to him. Just then the thought struck him.

“The pilot got lost among the clouds. Badaloo me bhatak raha hoga! doing Bhul bhullaiyya in clouds. Bechara bahoot pareshan hua hoga. Yeh lugga chuppi bhi theek nahi.”

He stuffed his chewing gum into his mouth and entered the airpot. He was now careful that the chewing gums didn’t get entangled in his hair or got stuck on his clothes. His wife hated his chewing gums. He relished the remaining two strawberry flavors after dinner on the flight back home.

The end.

This is something out of nothing!!! My LIFE is as busy as Sher Singh’s calculations now a days. Khaalee deemag ka khayali pulao!