Anaesthetised Sati

Mother tells me I have a wild imagination. But what does one think of, when in spite of a cold that has clogged olfactory modality, one gets a distinct whiff of one's flesh vaporising. Cautery under anesthesia is like going sati without the pain and the eventual demise.

My nerves seem to have taken the brunt literally though. I feel nothing. All tactile sensation is gone. I can pinch myself all I like, and still continue dreaming. Some subcutaneous nerve may have been excised along with the cyst.

Que sera sera? Who knows...I don't need painkillers !! :)

That's NOT What I Go to School For ...

5, September 2006 - Teacher's Day.

I woke up to hear the rain beating its thunderous symphony on my always closed pane. I would have to take the cab again, and the ride without my MP3 player was going to be a drag. I rummaged through my cupboard and pulled out the headphones for my cell radio.

***

Teacher's Day dedications blared and voila, the RJ dedicated the following number to all teachers...

Her voice is echoed in my mind
I count the days till she is mine
Can’t tell my friends cuz they will laugh
I love a member of the staff

I fight my way to front of class
To get the best view of her ass
I drop a pencil on the floor
She bends down and shows me more

CHORUS
That’s what I go to school for
Even though it is a real bore
You can call me crazy
But I know that she craves me
That’s what I go to school for
Even though it is a real bore
Girlfriends I’ve had plenty
But none like Miss Mackenzie
That’s what I go to school for
That’s what I go to school for

So she may be thirty-three
But that doesn’t bother me
Her boyfriend's working out of town
I find a reason to go round

I climb a tree outside her home
To make sure that she's alone
I see her in her underwear
I can’t help but stop and stare

CHORUS

Everyone that u teach all day knows your looking at me in a different way
I guess that's why my marks are getting so high
I can see those tell tale signs telling me that I was on your mind
I could see that you wanted more when you told me that I’m what you go to
school for
I’m what you go to school for

She’s packed her bag it's in the trunk
Looks like she’s picked herself a hunk
We drive past school to say goodbye
My friends they can’t believe their eyes

CHORUS

***

Gag. Choke. Splutter.

***

That is definitely NOT what we go to school for !!!

Busted ??

I'm a Barbie Girl in a Gay World !!

Lesbian Barbie upsets Mattel

Curitiba: Toy manufacturer Mattel is reportedly threatening to sue a Brazilian artist for portraying Barbie as a lesbian.

Karin Schwarz's exhibition features pictures of Barbie in compromising situations, reports the Jornal de Sao Paulo newspaper.

Mattel has given the artist 24 hours to close down the exhibiton or they say they will take legal action.

But Ms Schwarz says she will not back down: "Barbie is exploited by Mattel. She wears a bikini, she shows off her belly, has big breasts, and even has a boyfriend," she said.

The exhibition, entitled Amazing Girls, is on show at a bar in the city of Curitiba.

A Mattel spokesperson said: "Barbie is a very proper lady and she is not happy about being portraited as something that she isn't.

"We are going to sue and we hope that this teaches people a lesson. Also, Barbie is 46 years old, she should be respected!"

Courtesy : The Mumbai Mirror

P.S. - Hail Ms Schwarz

The Nevermore

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell;
Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell
Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between;
Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen
Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my spell
Is now a shaken shadow intolerable,
Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen.

Mark me, how still I am ! But should there dart
One moment through my soul the soft surprise
Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs, -
Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.


~~~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Open Sesame

Courtesy : My student Hridaye Ashish Nagpal

The Rising

Some clouds have a chemical lining !!

The Slough of Despond....

Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful!

Possessed?

12.5 %

My weblog owns 12.5 % of me.
Does your weblog own you?

Hiatus

On break from blogging until inspired by the moronic Muses.

Armed for Life

Sushila Patil is an ex-army nurse. She was recently operated for ovarian cancer. She presently resides in Aalandi (a town near Pune) in a small rented room all by herself.

There is much I can and want to say about her, but to use a cliche, I shall never do her any justice. So I end my brief ramble here though it shall continue metaphysically.

Amen !!

Depraved

"Isn't Ross cute?"

"Yeah. I love 'Friends'"

"Me too"

I've had no 'Friends' in my life. None at all. It's been more than a decade. I won't really say I miss them. But yes, I wouldn't mind having them around. Of course, it would mean I would get no work done, but it would be nice to live vicariously for a change.

Yes, I confess. I am a freak !! I haven't watched regular television for more than ten years. "Jurassic Park", anyone?

And no, I'm not complaining; but it does make me a sucker for movies. It's almost 4 a.m. and I am still glued to my laptop. These 25 DVDs with all the movies I've ever wanted to watch have driven me crazy.

Am I depraved or what?

Ennui

There shall be no more posts until I manage to clear my cache of tons of bad humour !!

Friday the 13th, May 1983

"Happy Birthday to You" is a song which is sung to celebrate the anniversary of a person's birth. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, "Happy Birthday to You" is the most popular song in the English language, followed by "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" and "Auld Lang Syne". The song has been translated into many languages, though it is often sung with the English lyrics in countries where English is not a primary language. It's also the most frequently sung song in America.

The melody of "Happy Birthday to You" was written by American sisters Patty and Mildred Hill in 1893 when they were school teachers in Louisville, Kentucky. The verse was originally intended as a classroom greeting entitled "Good Morning to All". The version as we know it was copyrighted in 1935 by the Summy Company as an arrangement by Preston Ware Orem, and is scheduled to expire in 2030. This was the first copyrighted version to include the lyrics. The company holding the copyright was purchased by Warner Chappell in 1990 for $15 million dollars, with the value of "Happy Birthday" estimated at $5 million. [1] While the current copyright status of the song is unclear, Warner claims that unauthorized public performances of the song are technically illegal unless royalties are paid to them. It is not completely certain who wrote the lyrics to "Happy Birthday to You".

During the SARS outbreak in Hong Kong in 2003, the government advised people to regularly wash their hands with soap for around 15 seconds. In order to make this practice more easily handled by kids, some primary school and kindergarten teachers told their students to sing "Happy Birthday to You" slowly while they washed their hands, and to only stop washing after finishing the song.

Courtesy : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Happy_Birthday_to_You

Vade Mecum

I am no longer a part of the countless unemployed Indians.

The Power of Goodbye

I owe my brother an immense debt for introducing me to this song by Madonna. It teaches one to stop self-flagellating.....with or without a "bruised heart" !!

Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no

You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something’s wrong
I pray to God that it won’t be long
Do ya wanna go higher?

Chorus:

There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power
Than the power of good-bye

Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress

Chorus2:

There’s nothing left to lose
There’s no more heart to bruise
There’s no greater power
Than the power of good-bye

Learn to say good-bye
I yearn to say good-bye

Courtesy : http://www.lyricsfreak.com/m/madonna/86871.html

Oh Caro...

Three theories explaining the possible causes of the untimely
ghostification of K**** and other phantom members of the class of 2006:

1) The Note-to-Float Model: This content-based theory, first proposed
by Blahblah and Boring (1532), states that the content of notes may be
toxic, and repeated prolonged exposure may result in feelings of
weightless floating and spirit-type non-being.


2) The Study Sickness Theory: This theory, propounded by Yawn et al
(1860), is process-based. Similar to the Sleeping Sickness caused by
the Tse-Tse Fly, this condition is caused by the equally deadly Paper
Five, which induces a deep sleep in the reader. Although this condition
is not permanent, it occurs every time the paper is taken up, thus
contributing to confused cognitions regarding the reality of one's own
existence.


3) Type Zzzz Personality: This trait approach suggests that Type Zzzz
Personality persons and xeroxes are incompatible and contact may result
in a sudden state of REM, and thus to instant ghostification.


Short term interventions for the spirit state include sleeping, staring
into space, chatting with friends, complaining about how pointless it
all seems, and watching T.V. However, these have been found to have
only temporary positive effects.

(Reproduced without the permission of my comrade Caroline D'Souza - a budding psychotic psychologist)

Patented Puking Pastilles

An erudite monograph on modes of lowering the suicide rate among stressed students

(Coming Soon at a Chemist near you)

Airborne to Chairborne

"Airborne to Chairborne" is the title of the essay I studied in school as a 10th standard student.

Later, I met the man. His ideas on God, euthanasia and the condition of the disabled induced a catechism of my very complacent notions.

This post (his article) is a tribute of sorts !!

Airborne to Chairborne

All my attempts to move my limbs were futile. The pain in the neck was excruciating and it intensified by the second. I was stumped for a moment but quickly recovered to realise the seriousness and significance of my inability to get up. I do not remember whether I screamed involuntarily, then, in sheer desperation. On that abominable night, my mind was in a medley of intense frustration, utmost dejection and extreme disappointment. For some timeless moments, I wished I were dead.

On 28 June '88, at around 2300 hrs, whilst returning to the Officers Mess on my motorcycle after night flying, I drove onto a road barrier just ahead of the technical area gate, inside Air Force Station, Pathankot. The impact of the helmet on the wooden bar wrenched my neck and broke the cervical spine. Fifteen minutes after the accident, I was taken to the Station Sick Quarters in an unconscious state. While being carried, my head was left unsupported. The base of the helmet (rear side) which was resting against the nape of the neck pushed the fractured vertebrae into the cervical spinal cord. (The casualty must always be carried in a stretcher, after immobilising his/her neck with a cervical collar.) The resultant spinal injury completely paralysed me below the neck.

After overnight's stay in Military Hospital (MH), Pathankot, I was transferred to Army Hospital, Delhi (AHDC). Neck surgery failed to mitigate my predicament. Though I had brief spells of consciousness during the fortnight's hospitalisation in AHDC, my memory fails to recollect my fight for survival. On 12 July '88, I was transferred to the Spinal Cord Injury Centre of MH Kirkee, Pune.

Two weeks after my admission, I gathered my wits and eagerly inquired about the prognosis. The medical officer looked up and motioned his hands skywards; perhaps he wanted me to adjure divine intervention. This charade instantly deflated my hopes but it lucidly conveyed the enormity and helplessness of the incurable nature of the incapacitation. Inconsistencies of life have always bemused me but not even the wildest nightmare presaged that one day I would fall prey to such a quirk of fate. The modicum of faith I had in Providence got shattered when I failed to show even an iota of improvement.

The cervical spinal injury (quadriplegia) necessitated me to lead a totally dependent life, tethered to the bed and wheel chair. Now, I am like a man fettered for life; unable to use my hands and legs, incontinent and spoon‑fed. Ironically, the most painful aspect of quadriplegia is the painlessness! It isn’t mere loss of tactile inputs and outputs but absolute dependence on someone else to accomplish mundane necessities and domestic chores that yoked me; even for things like swabbing ears and swatting flies.

Disuse atrophy had set in within a couple of months and took its toll by altering the geometry of my torso and limbs. The mirror replicated the image of a human skeleton swathed in a layer of wizened skin. Two years' stay in MH Kirkee taught me how to battle the numerous encumbrances and how to conquer the bouts of depression. With a smile on my face, I managed to dissemble the pangs of the heart. The Indian Air Force (IAF) realised my uselessness and discharged me from the service on 12 April '90. The silly accident dealt coup de grace to my aspirations and terminated my fledgling career in the IAF. In August '90, at the young age of 26, I got admitted in Paraplegic Home, Park Road, Kirkee, Pune, as an inmate to begin the second phase of my life ‑ afresh.

I was born and brought up in a village by name Chirayinkil, 35 kms north of Trivandrum. At the age of nine, I entered Sainik School, Kazhakootam. A slow learner and an unobtrusive student by nature, I had excelled consistently in both academics and sports. Later on, I was found worthy enough to be adjudged as the best Air Force cadet of 65th course of National Defence Academy (NDA), Khadakwasla, Pune and as the best in aerobatics of 134th Pilots Course of Air Force Academy, Secunderabad. In Dec '84, I was commissioned into the IAF as a fighter pilot. I had 700 hours of flying experience (including 500 hours of flying in a magnificent flying machine called MiG-21) during my truncated career in the IAF.

All my efforts to rationalise personal catastrophes have always mystified and at times stupefied me. To adapt to the new challenges posed by the debility, I had to unshackle myself from the self‑imposed stupor. Therefore, in Sep '90, I decided to learn the art of writing by holding a pen in my mouth (because of dysfunctional hands). I began scribbling illegibly but was chagrined to find little progress even after 3 weeks' laborious efforts. Then, I decided to change tactic and wrote a letter to Sheela George, the person who kept on chivvying to start mouth‑writing (earlier I had paid little attention to her exhortations). My joy knew no bounds when I completed the few lines that embodied my first mouth‑written letter. Initially, I found my hard work to be a mere pie in the sky; but, 4 to 5 months' assiduous efforts resulted in attaining a readable style of writing. This modest achievement enabled me in reviving the chain of correspondence and begetting new friends.

In May 1991, I was presented with an electrically operated wheel chair, with chin controls for manoeuvring, thanks to the benevolence of the IAF. Motorised mobility, though only a poor substitute for natural one, has enlivened my lifestyle considerably.

It was Wing Commander PI Murlidharan, my former flight commander, who mooted the use of a personal computer (PC), as a writing tool. He added that it would assist me to utilise my mental faculty to the hilt. Hitherto unsuccessful attempts in procuring a keyboard (modified to suit my requirements) have somewhat emasculated my resolve. Nonetheless, my hope of acquiring a PC remains undiminished.

In the meantime, I toyed with the idea of teaching. For some untenable reasons, I kept on declining the offers by bringing one imaginary reason or another as an ad hoc excuse. Aforesaid setbacks notwithstanding, I'm very hopeful of converting the second phase of my life into something as meaningful as the one I would have had from the confines of a cockpit.

Believe it or not, every dark cloud has a silver lining. To surmount even seemingly insuperable obstacles, one has to muster the remnant faculties and shun the thought of disability and then canalise one's dormant energies purposefully and whole‑heartedly. It isn't just physical ability and average intelligence but an insatiable appetite for success and an unflagging will power that would texture the warp and woof of the fabric called human destiny. Greater the difficulty, sweeter the victory.

Prejudice & Prejudice

The backdrop is quasi Grecian.

It is pouring cats, dogs, and elephants.

Elizabeth Bennet is drenched, and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is dripping too.

He tells her he loves her. She rages and refuses him.

Soppy?

***

Lizzie is visiting Pemberley.

Michelangeloesque art is splashed across walls and ceilings.

Naked bodies. Fluttering cloaks.

Nude sculptures are caressed by electronic eyes.

Particularly the butt.

Soft porn?

***

Proud to be Prejudiced !!!

Premacha Gulkand

By a Marathi poet whose name I forget..