They are a common sight ... a person who's mostly seen alone, a person about whom people hardly know anything, a person who fails to mingle with the crowd, a person who's obviously uncomfortable in a party ...
What does it take to be a social misfit??
First of all, there is a small matter to be cleared – that a social misfit doesn’t always have to imply being a social failure. Simply put, an individual may be a social misfit even though he’s NOT a social failure; though on the other hand, a social failure usually ends up as a social misfit!
The difference lies in one’s attitude and outlook towards life. A social failure is a person who wants to fit in – and he works towards it, makes an effort to project himself positively, and actively mingles with the crowd in order to create an exclusive “identity” for himself - but eventually fails in doing so, thus becoming a misfit out of compulsion. Obviously he hates the failure, and so he always keeps working to improve the way he is perceived by others.
On the other hand, a "genuine" social misfit isn’t really someone who’s failed; it’s more like someone who’s never really tried... rather someone who doesn't even feel the need to try. I know many won’t agree – most critics will cite man as the proverbial “social animal” – but there definitely are people in this world to whom social concepts of recognition, appreciation, admiration, respect and even gratitude (from others) simply do not matter. And it isn’t that they don't deserve all these feelings from the society either – more often than not, people will shower these on such misfits (and some times begrudgingly so!) and they will take them in their stride too! What makes them different from mere mortals though, is that it doesn’t really make a difference to such individuals when they generate such sentiments around them – and they are equally unperturbed even if they don't get what they deserve.
In short, a genuine misfit has a single mantra – I don't give a damn – and more importantly, that’s usually the way he projects himself too. Which is why the society either hates him (more common) or is intrigued and attracted by him (less common). Either way, misfits end up in a peculiar state: though they are openly proclaimed as misfits, they cannot be ignored – in fact, being ignored is what a social failure has to deal with, not a genuine misfit!
The single most important quality needed to become a misfit, then, is being an introvert. I guess this point needs no explanation ... its obvious enough that a person who needs others – for materialistic needs or spiritual ones – can’t really become a misfit, a failure maybe, but never a genuine misfit. To qualify as a misfit one needs to be self sufficient and independent, in all aspects of life, and often successful too. Of course, it needs to be pointed out that a genuine misfit’s concept of success is totally different from that of the society in general, and conversely, a successful misfit doesn’t need the society to recognize his success either! The simple reason being that for this introvert, his personal success or failure is as sacred and private to him as any deep dark secret can be. And he alone is the sole judge of it.
Going by the same logic, a person having an inferiority complex (that most social failures harbor deep inside them) can never become a genuine misfit – introversion arising from a sense of personal failure or loss is actually a negative state of mind (which may become a psychiatric condition one day) and a misfit is far from being negative. Genuine misfits will never have a superiority complex either – though many people will no doubt think they do – simply because such individuals know themselves too well. In fact, one would find such people going about their lives in a totally unobtrusive manner, with neither a desire to be noticed, nor the desire to influence or be influenced by others.
Now does this make such misfits reclusive?? Not at all. Ok, so on the surface they may not have as many friends as a socially active person does, but scratch beneath the surface (if you can get near enough!) and you’re bound to find the misfit having really some strong and passionate relationships that have stood the test of time. The thread common to all such relationships being selflessness.
As stated earlier, what a genuine misfit seeks for in any “real” relationship is not appreciation, admiration, respect or gratitude; because he knows that such sentiments are bound to fade with time. What he’s really interested in is selfless intent, genuine trust (that may often border on the blind), and a relationship devoid of materialistic need. It figures then, that his friends – real friends – will be friends for life, and he’ll cherish them from the very core of his substance, the feeling being mutual, of course. Similarly, such a person will never fall in love “at first sight”, but his belief in love, true love, is supreme because he alone understands what love really is.
So finally, where does the genuine social misfit “fit” in society??
Well, this is a person who doesn’t need society, but the fact remains that society needs him. Simply to maintain a healthy balance between the have and the have-nots, the failures and the successful, the winners and the losers, and such like. He is needed for his unbiased judgment in times of conflict, for his stoic demeanor in times of crisis, and for his selfless love and friendship in times of need.
...and most importantly, for the fact that he can be – and often will be - easily and conveniently forgotten once the times of conflict, crisis and need are over!
Not that he’ll care, of course!! Coz he just doesn't give a damn!!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
A Day Spent Travelling
It was pure exhilaration, I tell you! Driving the luxury sedan… the silky smooth road winding along the Western ghats… the adrenaline pumping speed… the slightly misty after-shower weather… it was PURRFECT!!
But nothing can really be perfect, can it?! And all good things do come to an end... as does this early morning dream!! I wake up with a start, still feeling the rush of blood in my face, and its 4:32AM, 14th of October 2009, my alarm would go off in anther 13 minutes, and the long and tiring day ahead has just begun at an annoying note!!
Fact: The distance from Manipal, where I work, to Dehradun, my native place, is roughly 3000km, give or take a few hundred.
Fact: IDEALLY, when going by air as the main mode of transport, it shouldn't take more than 16 hours.
Fact: in REALITY, it never takes less than 24 hours!
Train to Goa leaves at 6:25AM.
All autowallahs in Manipal are criminals. The way they charge can’t be called anything less. Still, it’s a pleasant surprise when this one asks for only Rs.70 … at that hour I’d expect nothing less than a hundred, that too after an argument. Hmmm... so the start isn’t so bad… nearly gives me a (false) feeling of optimism for the rest of the journey!
5:45AM. I am at Udupi railway station. The train’s on time – in these parts, it’s not really a surprise. In general, this train – and there’s a train between Udupi and Madgaon (Goa) same time everyday – NEVER gets late, not more than 15-20 minutes at the most.
6:00AM. The train is announced, first in Kannada that I don’t understand, and people around me seem restless. How late could it be?? No patience these days!! But the next announcement is in Hindi – train will leave at 5:40AM. 5:40AM?? What the...??!! Wait, the next one is in English. 7:40AM this time. Now I am flummoxed!! Am I supposed to average out the time and assume it to be 6:40AM, just 20 min late??
6:40AM. Still no sign of the train, and the same announcement has been repeated 4 times since. I go to check myself – 7:40AM it is! OK, there goes the optimism!! Still, I’ve plenty of margin, I think... should still reach Goa in time. I mutter a curse, get a bag of chips and mineral water (skipped dinner last night) and my patient wait begins.
8:10AM. My train arrives, almost two hours late. No sweat, I know the usual stop is for less than 5 minutes. But today my train stays – we wait for a superfast to come and leave.
8:30AM. My train finally starts after 20 minutes, not 5, a little over 2 hours late. Hmm... this will be tight, I now think!!
A saffron clad baba is sandwiched between two Bihari laborers on the seat in front of me. (Yes, I am travelling in general class. Unreserved. Always do!) Feels nice to hear Bihari Hindi after so long! Suddenly the Baba gets up, does a peculiar jig with his kamandal, then decides to climb up on the luggage rack. As he makes room for himself to lie down, he carelessly pushes the luggage with his feet. The Biharis aren’t amused, it’s their luggage. A small argument follows – Baba tells them (surprisingly in Hindi) that they have only half a mind. A Bihari retorts that the Baba doesn’t even have that much!
For a moment, I think we’ll have a free-for-all… but even that little amusement isn't meant to be – the situation is diffused by the arrival of a coffee vendor. I feel I need it, I order it... bad choice! Its not coffee – it’s a lukewarm sweet concoction made of some obscure ingredients, none of which can be real coffee, maybe with a touch of coffee essence. I throw the vendor a silent glare – for the tasteless coffee and for diffusing the situation. He doesn’t give a shit.
Flight to Delhi leaves at 2:15PM.
The train makes good speed, as always. Usually takes about 4.5 hours to reach Madgaon – I should reach at 1PM. Tight, but I’ll make it!! Besides, flights are never on time anyway…
12:00PM. Some daily passengers board at Karwar. I casually ask them how much time it’ll take from here. 1.5 hrs they say. Oops!! Not daily passengers after all, I guess. But now I AM doubtful. Should I take a taxi to the airport or go by bike, once I reach Goa? Time silently goes by as I mull over the all important question. I hope the flight is late, as always.
1:00PM. Reach Balli. Still some time to go. Ok, now I am positively worried. I decide on taking a bike. Bikes are easily and immediately hired, cheap, and they take short cuts, a good biker can get me to the airport (around 22km) in 20 minutes. I’ll make it if I reach with half an hour to spare. Besides, flights are always late anyway…
1:30PM. Finally arrive at Madgaon, 2.5 hours late. Today is definitely NOT my day. I rush out to the bike stand – its gonna be very very tight! Now I’m silently praying for the flight to be late.
Old habits die hard, I guess. I haggle with the biker for money. He wants 250 bucks, I am stuck at 200. 3 minutes. I win the argument, but lose some precious minutes in the bargain. But that isn’t all… A minute into the ride, my biker tells me his bike is out of shape – maybe I should take another! By now I am as “highly inflammable” as the diesel tanker causing the traffic jam ahead. He calls for back up as an exasperated me wonders whether to laugh or argue or cry. I try to convince him instead that he can still make it in 20 minutes but he’s already called a back up.
1:40PM. The new biker comes, passengers are exchanged, and we’re off again. I tell him about the precarious situation, he responds by picking up speed. He’s a good guy and a good biker, deftly weaves through the afternoon traffic. We hit the highway after 10 minutes and he zooms ahead at breakneck speed. For once I am not so concerned about safety, even though he negotiates through some ludicrously placed speed breakers - one handed - while first wearing his helmet and then talking on his cellphone. Wow… I lean forward to have a look at the speedometer over his shoulder, its heartening to see that it doesn’t work at all. Cool. Thank God the rest of the bike is in good shape! We fly along the highway, and as some cars overtake us, I start having second thoughts about taking the bike… a taxi would’ve been much faster on the highway at least! My fingers are crossed… the flight HAS to be late!!
Flights are always late.
2:00PM. We reach the airport in 20 minutes, as promised. Cursing myself silently, I give him his 200 bucks and offer him my gratitude in addition – I can’t remember the last time I said such an honest thanks to anyone. The guard scrutinizes my e-ticket and compares the 10 year old driving license photo with the guy facing him. Handing them back, he comments that probably the security check is on for my flight. God, I’m saved, I think, and rush to the SpiceJet counter.
As a general rule, all flights take off late from Goa, simply because they don’t come in on time. None of my flights have ever been on time till now – NEVER. Its no surprise then that the status boards are showing all flights to be late… but I don’t see my flight anywhere on them. You see, of late my life is becoming positively diabolical, pardon the oxymoron. So on the day when the train that’s ALWAYS on time gets late by 2.5 hours, the particular flight that am supposed to take among all other flights that are late – as ALWAYS – is bang on time!!
Now what are the odds of that happening??
I get an apologetic smile from the ground staff – No Sir, the flight is on time, security check got over 15 minutes back, and it will leave in 5 minutes. I stare at her beautiful face with bewilderment as the fact slowly and painfully covers the seemingly wide distance between my ears and my brain. I‘ve run out of even the silent expletives doing the rounds in my mind. Please, I ask, the flight still hasn’t left… maybe they have some engine trouble or baggage handling problems, couldn’t you just radio ahead and ask?? Another apologetic shrug, this time with a tinge of scorn thrown in too, I think – Sir the ATC just cleared the flight for take-off and they are taxying to the runway now.
I am doomed!!
Suddenly she brightens up a bit – my hopes rise, but only to fall again as she tells me that the next SpiceJet is at 8:10PM and if I take it I’ll only have to pay around 2500 extra. Only. And no refund if I choose another carrier, of course. I can’t help notice that this is a really nice looking gal and I silently ask myself, will she be there on the night flight? Immediately the reality kicks in – of course not, you moron, she’s the ground staff!! So I turn to the Indigo counter (seeing another cutie there) and ask for their next flight. It’s late Sir, but has already taken off from Delhi, and it’s supposed to leave Goa at 4:10PM now – saying this, she smiles at me – she knows that I am probably one of the rare fliers who would be pleased to hear about a fight being late, rather than on time! And by how much would that set me back, I ask?? A cool Rs.5500, thank you!! Yeah, life sucks, and sucks big time!!
2:30PM. I head towards the reservation counters outside and indeed, those are the only options I have. Save Rs.3000 and prolong the already disastrous journey or spend an additional Rs.5500 and save at least 6 hours. Not much of a choice, I guess! I go for the next Indigo flight. I am dejected, scorned, exasperated, hungry, physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Would’ve been monetarily drained too, if not for debit cards – not only do they provide emergency money, they lessen the pinch of coughing up extra money straight from one’s pocket too – a swipe of the card and that’s it... Whew ... 5.5 grand down the drain, just like that!! I head back inside, new ticket in hand.
As I head toward the Airport Café skirting the many newly weds that seem omnipresent in Goa, I feel even more forlorn. Thank God, for food is a good anti-depressant!! I glance over the menu card and I’m shocked at the prices. Happens each time I cross the place, though they haven’t changed the rates in the last two years… 100 bucks for a burger, 120 for a pizza, 40 for a miserable little veg pattie?? The world has gone to the dogs, I tell you… People just know how to exploit these days!! I take some, though I know my tummy won’t be able to digest such expensive food. It doesn’t help the depression either – and now I have a headache to boot!
Ye aeroplane nahi hai!!
Thankfully, the already late fight isn’t delayed any further and I am spared the agony of another endless wait. As we enter the transit bus for boarding, the couple ahead of me has a tough time consoling their 3 year old. “Ye aeroplane nahi hai!!” screams the indignant little devil, clawing at the bus window in despair. He wants to be in the nearest plane on the runway. Everyone seems amused, except for the irate parents, who are relieved only when the bus reaches our plane. Some nice looking Air Hostesses invite us inside, apologizing for the delay. I brighten up a bit, but then realize I have the aisle seat. Would’ve liked a window seat, makes it easy to rest one’s head on the window and sleep. My dour-faced perpetually-bored middle-aged co-passenger doesn’t make it look too good either.
4:10PM. We taxi to the runway and the pilot informs us that though we are ready for immediate take off, there are some birds on the runway and we have to wait for their permission to leave. My headache seems worsened by the strong AC… this is definitely NOT my day!! We finally take off after a 10 minute delay which feels insignificant in comparison the day’s earlier events, the pilot informing us that we should reach Delhi by 6:15PM. I hope so!! I try to test the cute but harried staff a bit – is there any vacant window seat by any chance? The already hassled girl promises to get back to me soon. Surprise, surprise, there actually IS a vacant seat a few rows down!
I plant myself there and look out at the spectacular cumulonimbus cloud formation resting on stratus shores. But the plane levels off above them at about 34,000 feet and the sky above is a brilliantly clear blue. The popping ears are a bit of a bother, the headache a major one. I try to sleep them off, what I end up with is a disturbed sleep taken in bits and pieces. No food. I NEVER buy any food on these low cost flights – too damn expensive and rarely good in taste – besides, this is no longer a low cost flight for me anyway!
6:15PM. It's dusk as we circle around Delhi and it’s a beautiful sight as always to look at the glittering metropolis below that seems straight out of some futuristic sci-fi movie. Today I just don’t give a damn. We finally land after another 20 minutes, and the long wait to reach the terminal begins. The continuous high-pitched siren that’s been blaring since we landed seems to trouble no one else except me, and doesn’t seem to help my persisting headache either. The new IGI airport is huge – the plane taxies for another 20 minutes before coming to a stop. Incredible!!
Aasman se gire, khajoor me atke ... Which means, phalling phrom thee isky, getting istuck in date palm.
7:00PM. I exit the terminal and it feels good to be back on solid earth – and nearer home. If I get the 8 o’clock bus, I’ll be at home by 2AM, I think. Not really so bad, huh!! But there’s still more agony to come. You don’t get any autos from the IGI these days, and I know it. I stand in line for the pre-paid taxi and it’s another 30 minutes till I finally get inside a refitted CNG Ambassador driven by what looks like a 13 yr old kid. Did they check his license before giving him the permit, I wonder?? I ask him if he knows the way to ISBT. Of course, he says unruffled, and off we go.
8:15PM. The drive usually takes 30 to 40 minutes and we make good time as I try to catch some shuteye. I wake up when the car stops, expecting to be at ISBT. No, it’s not ISBT, the kid tells me, we are still in Daryaganj and we are trapped in a huge traffic jam. The crawl ahead is agonizingly slow, the heat and pollution are stifling, and I still have a throbbing headache. Silently, I curse all big cities for being so big, the Delhi Metro for constructing bridges seemingly everywhere, the rickety car I am stuck in and the kid for driving it, the Delhi Traffic Police for being a total failure, the impatient commuters for picking up fights at the slightest provocation and causing further delays. Doesn’t help much. Someday all this stored bile is gonna hurt my health. And then I curse myself for being alive!!
9:00PM. Finally we reach ISBT, 2 hours since I landed in Delhi. I rush straight to the Dehradun bus stand – ALL High-Tech and AC buses (in all 6 of them) will leave at 10:30PM, informs a conductor nonchalantly. It’s wrong, I know, they are bound by rules to leave at half hour intervals, but I don’t have any energy left for an argument. He tries to help, tells me to take the ordinary bus. I take his advice – and that proves to be a good decision – the next bus will leave within half an hour! Though it is packed, I still manage to squeeze on the front seat between a mountain of luggage on one side and a harried family with another irate kid on the other. Incredibly, I thank my stars, at least I’ll be moving ahead, instead of waiting at the bus station!!
10:00PM. Though we started almost 40 minutes back, we are still stuck in Delhi. Thankfully, the bus crosses the last major traffic snarl and picks up speed. 3 hours wasted in crossing Delhi, I think. Amazing!! How do local people manage that everyday?? Its Diwali time, the conductor informs me, all roads are full. As if I’ve never travelled before... The journey ahead will seem far longer and more tiresome than the past, I know. The jam-packed ordinary bus won’t offer much comfort to catch some sleep either. And it’s been over 24 hours since I had a proper meal. Sighhh… I resign myself to fate. And incredibly, I sleep. Not fitfully, not comfortably, and not without some bewildered breaks. But I sleep all the same, thanks to the tired state I am in.
Maybe, such days are destined so that we can appreciate the better ones and be thankful for them.
Bottom line is, all’s well that ends well.
Or, for pessimists such as me, I am reminded of an anonymous quote:
I guess I just prefer to see the dark side of things. The glass is always half empty. And cracked. And I just cut my lip on it. And chipped a tooth.
heh heh heh …
Note: I am sorry if you’ve read through this blog and are thoroughly bored … I know there was no point in writing it, but I wrote it coz I needed to, not coz I wanted it to be read!! :-p
But nothing can really be perfect, can it?! And all good things do come to an end... as does this early morning dream!! I wake up with a start, still feeling the rush of blood in my face, and its 4:32AM, 14th of October 2009, my alarm would go off in anther 13 minutes, and the long and tiring day ahead has just begun at an annoying note!!
Fact: The distance from Manipal, where I work, to Dehradun, my native place, is roughly 3000km, give or take a few hundred.
Fact: IDEALLY, when going by air as the main mode of transport, it shouldn't take more than 16 hours.
Fact: in REALITY, it never takes less than 24 hours!
Train to Goa leaves at 6:25AM.
All autowallahs in Manipal are criminals. The way they charge can’t be called anything less. Still, it’s a pleasant surprise when this one asks for only Rs.70 … at that hour I’d expect nothing less than a hundred, that too after an argument. Hmmm... so the start isn’t so bad… nearly gives me a (false) feeling of optimism for the rest of the journey!
5:45AM. I am at Udupi railway station. The train’s on time – in these parts, it’s not really a surprise. In general, this train – and there’s a train between Udupi and Madgaon (Goa) same time everyday – NEVER gets late, not more than 15-20 minutes at the most.
6:00AM. The train is announced, first in Kannada that I don’t understand, and people around me seem restless. How late could it be?? No patience these days!! But the next announcement is in Hindi – train will leave at 5:40AM. 5:40AM?? What the...??!! Wait, the next one is in English. 7:40AM this time. Now I am flummoxed!! Am I supposed to average out the time and assume it to be 6:40AM, just 20 min late??
6:40AM. Still no sign of the train, and the same announcement has been repeated 4 times since. I go to check myself – 7:40AM it is! OK, there goes the optimism!! Still, I’ve plenty of margin, I think... should still reach Goa in time. I mutter a curse, get a bag of chips and mineral water (skipped dinner last night) and my patient wait begins.
8:10AM. My train arrives, almost two hours late. No sweat, I know the usual stop is for less than 5 minutes. But today my train stays – we wait for a superfast to come and leave.
8:30AM. My train finally starts after 20 minutes, not 5, a little over 2 hours late. Hmm... this will be tight, I now think!!
A saffron clad baba is sandwiched between two Bihari laborers on the seat in front of me. (Yes, I am travelling in general class. Unreserved. Always do!) Feels nice to hear Bihari Hindi after so long! Suddenly the Baba gets up, does a peculiar jig with his kamandal, then decides to climb up on the luggage rack. As he makes room for himself to lie down, he carelessly pushes the luggage with his feet. The Biharis aren’t amused, it’s their luggage. A small argument follows – Baba tells them (surprisingly in Hindi) that they have only half a mind. A Bihari retorts that the Baba doesn’t even have that much!
For a moment, I think we’ll have a free-for-all… but even that little amusement isn't meant to be – the situation is diffused by the arrival of a coffee vendor. I feel I need it, I order it... bad choice! Its not coffee – it’s a lukewarm sweet concoction made of some obscure ingredients, none of which can be real coffee, maybe with a touch of coffee essence. I throw the vendor a silent glare – for the tasteless coffee and for diffusing the situation. He doesn’t give a shit.
Flight to Delhi leaves at 2:15PM.
The train makes good speed, as always. Usually takes about 4.5 hours to reach Madgaon – I should reach at 1PM. Tight, but I’ll make it!! Besides, flights are never on time anyway…
12:00PM. Some daily passengers board at Karwar. I casually ask them how much time it’ll take from here. 1.5 hrs they say. Oops!! Not daily passengers after all, I guess. But now I AM doubtful. Should I take a taxi to the airport or go by bike, once I reach Goa? Time silently goes by as I mull over the all important question. I hope the flight is late, as always.
1:00PM. Reach Balli. Still some time to go. Ok, now I am positively worried. I decide on taking a bike. Bikes are easily and immediately hired, cheap, and they take short cuts, a good biker can get me to the airport (around 22km) in 20 minutes. I’ll make it if I reach with half an hour to spare. Besides, flights are always late anyway…
1:30PM. Finally arrive at Madgaon, 2.5 hours late. Today is definitely NOT my day. I rush out to the bike stand – its gonna be very very tight! Now I’m silently praying for the flight to be late.
Old habits die hard, I guess. I haggle with the biker for money. He wants 250 bucks, I am stuck at 200. 3 minutes. I win the argument, but lose some precious minutes in the bargain. But that isn’t all… A minute into the ride, my biker tells me his bike is out of shape – maybe I should take another! By now I am as “highly inflammable” as the diesel tanker causing the traffic jam ahead. He calls for back up as an exasperated me wonders whether to laugh or argue or cry. I try to convince him instead that he can still make it in 20 minutes but he’s already called a back up.
1:40PM. The new biker comes, passengers are exchanged, and we’re off again. I tell him about the precarious situation, he responds by picking up speed. He’s a good guy and a good biker, deftly weaves through the afternoon traffic. We hit the highway after 10 minutes and he zooms ahead at breakneck speed. For once I am not so concerned about safety, even though he negotiates through some ludicrously placed speed breakers - one handed - while first wearing his helmet and then talking on his cellphone. Wow… I lean forward to have a look at the speedometer over his shoulder, its heartening to see that it doesn’t work at all. Cool. Thank God the rest of the bike is in good shape! We fly along the highway, and as some cars overtake us, I start having second thoughts about taking the bike… a taxi would’ve been much faster on the highway at least! My fingers are crossed… the flight HAS to be late!!
Flights are always late.
2:00PM. We reach the airport in 20 minutes, as promised. Cursing myself silently, I give him his 200 bucks and offer him my gratitude in addition – I can’t remember the last time I said such an honest thanks to anyone. The guard scrutinizes my e-ticket and compares the 10 year old driving license photo with the guy facing him. Handing them back, he comments that probably the security check is on for my flight. God, I’m saved, I think, and rush to the SpiceJet counter.
As a general rule, all flights take off late from Goa, simply because they don’t come in on time. None of my flights have ever been on time till now – NEVER. Its no surprise then that the status boards are showing all flights to be late… but I don’t see my flight anywhere on them. You see, of late my life is becoming positively diabolical, pardon the oxymoron. So on the day when the train that’s ALWAYS on time gets late by 2.5 hours, the particular flight that am supposed to take among all other flights that are late – as ALWAYS – is bang on time!!
Now what are the odds of that happening??
I get an apologetic smile from the ground staff – No Sir, the flight is on time, security check got over 15 minutes back, and it will leave in 5 minutes. I stare at her beautiful face with bewilderment as the fact slowly and painfully covers the seemingly wide distance between my ears and my brain. I‘ve run out of even the silent expletives doing the rounds in my mind. Please, I ask, the flight still hasn’t left… maybe they have some engine trouble or baggage handling problems, couldn’t you just radio ahead and ask?? Another apologetic shrug, this time with a tinge of scorn thrown in too, I think – Sir the ATC just cleared the flight for take-off and they are taxying to the runway now.
I am doomed!!
Suddenly she brightens up a bit – my hopes rise, but only to fall again as she tells me that the next SpiceJet is at 8:10PM and if I take it I’ll only have to pay around 2500 extra. Only. And no refund if I choose another carrier, of course. I can’t help notice that this is a really nice looking gal and I silently ask myself, will she be there on the night flight? Immediately the reality kicks in – of course not, you moron, she’s the ground staff!! So I turn to the Indigo counter (seeing another cutie there) and ask for their next flight. It’s late Sir, but has already taken off from Delhi, and it’s supposed to leave Goa at 4:10PM now – saying this, she smiles at me – she knows that I am probably one of the rare fliers who would be pleased to hear about a fight being late, rather than on time! And by how much would that set me back, I ask?? A cool Rs.5500, thank you!! Yeah, life sucks, and sucks big time!!
2:30PM. I head towards the reservation counters outside and indeed, those are the only options I have. Save Rs.3000 and prolong the already disastrous journey or spend an additional Rs.5500 and save at least 6 hours. Not much of a choice, I guess! I go for the next Indigo flight. I am dejected, scorned, exasperated, hungry, physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Would’ve been monetarily drained too, if not for debit cards – not only do they provide emergency money, they lessen the pinch of coughing up extra money straight from one’s pocket too – a swipe of the card and that’s it... Whew ... 5.5 grand down the drain, just like that!! I head back inside, new ticket in hand.
As I head toward the Airport Café skirting the many newly weds that seem omnipresent in Goa, I feel even more forlorn. Thank God, for food is a good anti-depressant!! I glance over the menu card and I’m shocked at the prices. Happens each time I cross the place, though they haven’t changed the rates in the last two years… 100 bucks for a burger, 120 for a pizza, 40 for a miserable little veg pattie?? The world has gone to the dogs, I tell you… People just know how to exploit these days!! I take some, though I know my tummy won’t be able to digest such expensive food. It doesn’t help the depression either – and now I have a headache to boot!
Ye aeroplane nahi hai!!
Thankfully, the already late fight isn’t delayed any further and I am spared the agony of another endless wait. As we enter the transit bus for boarding, the couple ahead of me has a tough time consoling their 3 year old. “Ye aeroplane nahi hai!!” screams the indignant little devil, clawing at the bus window in despair. He wants to be in the nearest plane on the runway. Everyone seems amused, except for the irate parents, who are relieved only when the bus reaches our plane. Some nice looking Air Hostesses invite us inside, apologizing for the delay. I brighten up a bit, but then realize I have the aisle seat. Would’ve liked a window seat, makes it easy to rest one’s head on the window and sleep. My dour-faced perpetually-bored middle-aged co-passenger doesn’t make it look too good either.
4:10PM. We taxi to the runway and the pilot informs us that though we are ready for immediate take off, there are some birds on the runway and we have to wait for their permission to leave. My headache seems worsened by the strong AC… this is definitely NOT my day!! We finally take off after a 10 minute delay which feels insignificant in comparison the day’s earlier events, the pilot informing us that we should reach Delhi by 6:15PM. I hope so!! I try to test the cute but harried staff a bit – is there any vacant window seat by any chance? The already hassled girl promises to get back to me soon. Surprise, surprise, there actually IS a vacant seat a few rows down!
I plant myself there and look out at the spectacular cumulonimbus cloud formation resting on stratus shores. But the plane levels off above them at about 34,000 feet and the sky above is a brilliantly clear blue. The popping ears are a bit of a bother, the headache a major one. I try to sleep them off, what I end up with is a disturbed sleep taken in bits and pieces. No food. I NEVER buy any food on these low cost flights – too damn expensive and rarely good in taste – besides, this is no longer a low cost flight for me anyway!
6:15PM. It's dusk as we circle around Delhi and it’s a beautiful sight as always to look at the glittering metropolis below that seems straight out of some futuristic sci-fi movie. Today I just don’t give a damn. We finally land after another 20 minutes, and the long wait to reach the terminal begins. The continuous high-pitched siren that’s been blaring since we landed seems to trouble no one else except me, and doesn’t seem to help my persisting headache either. The new IGI airport is huge – the plane taxies for another 20 minutes before coming to a stop. Incredible!!
Aasman se gire, khajoor me atke ... Which means, phalling phrom thee isky, getting istuck in date palm.
7:00PM. I exit the terminal and it feels good to be back on solid earth – and nearer home. If I get the 8 o’clock bus, I’ll be at home by 2AM, I think. Not really so bad, huh!! But there’s still more agony to come. You don’t get any autos from the IGI these days, and I know it. I stand in line for the pre-paid taxi and it’s another 30 minutes till I finally get inside a refitted CNG Ambassador driven by what looks like a 13 yr old kid. Did they check his license before giving him the permit, I wonder?? I ask him if he knows the way to ISBT. Of course, he says unruffled, and off we go.
8:15PM. The drive usually takes 30 to 40 minutes and we make good time as I try to catch some shuteye. I wake up when the car stops, expecting to be at ISBT. No, it’s not ISBT, the kid tells me, we are still in Daryaganj and we are trapped in a huge traffic jam. The crawl ahead is agonizingly slow, the heat and pollution are stifling, and I still have a throbbing headache. Silently, I curse all big cities for being so big, the Delhi Metro for constructing bridges seemingly everywhere, the rickety car I am stuck in and the kid for driving it, the Delhi Traffic Police for being a total failure, the impatient commuters for picking up fights at the slightest provocation and causing further delays. Doesn’t help much. Someday all this stored bile is gonna hurt my health. And then I curse myself for being alive!!
9:00PM. Finally we reach ISBT, 2 hours since I landed in Delhi. I rush straight to the Dehradun bus stand – ALL High-Tech and AC buses (in all 6 of them) will leave at 10:30PM, informs a conductor nonchalantly. It’s wrong, I know, they are bound by rules to leave at half hour intervals, but I don’t have any energy left for an argument. He tries to help, tells me to take the ordinary bus. I take his advice – and that proves to be a good decision – the next bus will leave within half an hour! Though it is packed, I still manage to squeeze on the front seat between a mountain of luggage on one side and a harried family with another irate kid on the other. Incredibly, I thank my stars, at least I’ll be moving ahead, instead of waiting at the bus station!!
10:00PM. Though we started almost 40 minutes back, we are still stuck in Delhi. Thankfully, the bus crosses the last major traffic snarl and picks up speed. 3 hours wasted in crossing Delhi, I think. Amazing!! How do local people manage that everyday?? Its Diwali time, the conductor informs me, all roads are full. As if I’ve never travelled before... The journey ahead will seem far longer and more tiresome than the past, I know. The jam-packed ordinary bus won’t offer much comfort to catch some sleep either. And it’s been over 24 hours since I had a proper meal. Sighhh… I resign myself to fate. And incredibly, I sleep. Not fitfully, not comfortably, and not without some bewildered breaks. But I sleep all the same, thanks to the tired state I am in.
Maybe, such days are destined so that we can appreciate the better ones and be thankful for them.
Bottom line is, all’s well that ends well.
Or, for pessimists such as me, I am reminded of an anonymous quote:
I guess I just prefer to see the dark side of things. The glass is always half empty. And cracked. And I just cut my lip on it. And chipped a tooth.
heh heh heh …
Note: I am sorry if you’ve read through this blog and are thoroughly bored … I know there was no point in writing it, but I wrote it coz I needed to, not coz I wanted it to be read!! :-p
Sunday, October 11, 2009
The Final Destination
How does one deal with DEATH??
The first emotion, once the bewilderment gets over of course, is denial. Then slowly, painfully, the reality sinks in. What next … Shock? Despair? Anger?
But what does it mean to a doctor – specifically when it’s a personal loss?
Frustration. Helplessness. And above all, GUILT.
Most would opine that a doctor is in a much better position to handle death, that a doctor is trained to deal with it. Some may say that doctors are used to it, after all, don't they see it as a matter of routine?? A few would even go to the extent of saying that doctors are so hardened into taking a stoic view of death, that they become incapable of feeling the loss to the extent that a non-medico is likely to feel.
Is all this true?? Absolutely NOT!! Yes, we doctors do see a lot of death – at least most doctors from the clinical sides do – and maybe we do get used to it. But does it mean that we don't feel the hurt?? No, it does hurt. And it hurts every time. Fact is, we are trained just to deal with it rationally and with an unbiased "cool" approach. Doesn’t work every time though. Gently ask if he / she ever developed an emotional attachment with a patient, and many will grudgingly admit that they did. Grudgingly, not because they aren’t "supposed to", but because they probably suffered for it, especially when it ended in losing the patient! Coz what we are not conditioned for is to face death – emotionally. And even more so when it is a loved one, not a patient. That’s when every “training” fails, every defense mechanism breaks down and logic becomes redundant.
Feelings of guilt after losing someone close are the most difficult to handle for anyone, whether or not they belong to this profession. Most would ask themselves if they did enough for the deceased, especially in more recent times... and usually the answer is a big painful NO. I didn’t give him / her enough personal attention. I was careless. I didn’t talk to him / her enough. I was rude just this morning, I fought, I even shouted. Every little thing that wasn’t quite right – but still manageable maybe – suddenly becomes an overshadowing wrong. And the sentiments can be worse… I was too pre-occupied with my own problems. I didn’t call the doctor / ambulance soon enough. I procrastinated in consulting a doctor earlier. And the unkindest cut of all – I wasn’t there when he / she needed me the most…
A doctor faces all these questions, and then some more. Guilt is a much more substantial emotion for a doctor than any lay-person. I could have noticed the subtle signs. I could have checked the blood sugar once more. I could have given the mildly low BP some more consideration. I could have (re)trained in giving resuscitation. I was too busy seeing patients. I was too busy “making money”!! The permutations are endless for a doctor. And worse if you belong to a “non-clinical” or “para-clinical” branch, like radiology or pathology. That’s when the feeling of helplessness becomes even more pronounced. Yes, they may be “doctor’s doctors” but as far as clinical skills are concerned there’s only a theoretical knowledge with no hands-on experience to bank on. It’s the same for other branches like dermatology or psychiatry, which hardly ever face serious situations, let alone with life-&-death decisions. One may know everything, one may think of a hundred and one possibilities, but practically, one isn’t the least prepared to handle most of them, let alone an emergent condition.
What if…?? That’s the ONE question that keeps coming back again and again to haunt a doctor after suffering a personal loss. Being a doctor ensures not only an understanding of the clinical condition of a loved one, it also translates into understanding the prognosis and limitation(s) of medical treatment in a much better and detailed way. And that is the point where the trouble starts. If the prognosis is dismal just to begin with, the feeling of helplessness starts there itself and grows with time. What use is my being a doctor if I can’t help the one I love? No “logic” can dissuade it; any amount of “rationalization” won’t help to handle it. No matter how well one is mentally prepared for it and for how long, when the final moment comes, it exposes one’s vulnerability for all to see.
Indeed, regardless of the profession one belongs to, in facing the death of a loved one every person is equal. Bitter, confused, repentant, nostalgic …and defenseless.
Maybe that’s why it’s been famously called “Death the Leveller”…
The first emotion, once the bewilderment gets over of course, is denial. Then slowly, painfully, the reality sinks in. What next … Shock? Despair? Anger?
But what does it mean to a doctor – specifically when it’s a personal loss?
Frustration. Helplessness. And above all, GUILT.
Most would opine that a doctor is in a much better position to handle death, that a doctor is trained to deal with it. Some may say that doctors are used to it, after all, don't they see it as a matter of routine?? A few would even go to the extent of saying that doctors are so hardened into taking a stoic view of death, that they become incapable of feeling the loss to the extent that a non-medico is likely to feel.
Is all this true?? Absolutely NOT!! Yes, we doctors do see a lot of death – at least most doctors from the clinical sides do – and maybe we do get used to it. But does it mean that we don't feel the hurt?? No, it does hurt. And it hurts every time. Fact is, we are trained just to deal with it rationally and with an unbiased "cool" approach. Doesn’t work every time though. Gently ask if he / she ever developed an emotional attachment with a patient, and many will grudgingly admit that they did. Grudgingly, not because they aren’t "supposed to", but because they probably suffered for it, especially when it ended in losing the patient! Coz what we are not conditioned for is to face death – emotionally. And even more so when it is a loved one, not a patient. That’s when every “training” fails, every defense mechanism breaks down and logic becomes redundant.
Feelings of guilt after losing someone close are the most difficult to handle for anyone, whether or not they belong to this profession. Most would ask themselves if they did enough for the deceased, especially in more recent times... and usually the answer is a big painful NO. I didn’t give him / her enough personal attention. I was careless. I didn’t talk to him / her enough. I was rude just this morning, I fought, I even shouted. Every little thing that wasn’t quite right – but still manageable maybe – suddenly becomes an overshadowing wrong. And the sentiments can be worse… I was too pre-occupied with my own problems. I didn’t call the doctor / ambulance soon enough. I procrastinated in consulting a doctor earlier. And the unkindest cut of all – I wasn’t there when he / she needed me the most…
A doctor faces all these questions, and then some more. Guilt is a much more substantial emotion for a doctor than any lay-person. I could have noticed the subtle signs. I could have checked the blood sugar once more. I could have given the mildly low BP some more consideration. I could have (re)trained in giving resuscitation. I was too busy seeing patients. I was too busy “making money”!! The permutations are endless for a doctor. And worse if you belong to a “non-clinical” or “para-clinical” branch, like radiology or pathology. That’s when the feeling of helplessness becomes even more pronounced. Yes, they may be “doctor’s doctors” but as far as clinical skills are concerned there’s only a theoretical knowledge with no hands-on experience to bank on. It’s the same for other branches like dermatology or psychiatry, which hardly ever face serious situations, let alone with life-&-death decisions. One may know everything, one may think of a hundred and one possibilities, but practically, one isn’t the least prepared to handle most of them, let alone an emergent condition.
What if…?? That’s the ONE question that keeps coming back again and again to haunt a doctor after suffering a personal loss. Being a doctor ensures not only an understanding of the clinical condition of a loved one, it also translates into understanding the prognosis and limitation(s) of medical treatment in a much better and detailed way. And that is the point where the trouble starts. If the prognosis is dismal just to begin with, the feeling of helplessness starts there itself and grows with time. What use is my being a doctor if I can’t help the one I love? No “logic” can dissuade it; any amount of “rationalization” won’t help to handle it. No matter how well one is mentally prepared for it and for how long, when the final moment comes, it exposes one’s vulnerability for all to see.
Indeed, regardless of the profession one belongs to, in facing the death of a loved one every person is equal. Bitter, confused, repentant, nostalgic …and defenseless.
Maybe that’s why it’s been famously called “Death the Leveller”…
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Hindustani Classical Guitar Recital - by Smt. Kamala Shankar
One of the great things about living here in Manipal is that one gets a chance to attend various cultural programs regularly. It’s no surprise then, that an international organization such as SPIC-MACAY (Society for Promotion of Indian Classical Music and Culture Among Youth) is quite active here, even though not at a full-fledged level yet. They organize two or three classical music concerts around this time each year, under their Virasat programme, bringing some highly acclaimed musical maestros to the Manipal campus.
It was my good fortune then, to savor a delectable classical guitar recital by the famed Smt. Kamala Shankar this evening. And what was even more endearing was the realization that even though she belongs to a South Indian family (born in Tanjore district of Tamilnadu), she chose to learn Hindustani classical music, and that too from an exponent of khayal gayaki, Pt. Channoolal Mishra of Benaras! Now having a soft spot for all things coming from Benaras – or Varanasi, to be politically correct! – it felt like the icing on the cake to me!! She went on to study under the sitar maestro Bimalendu Mukherjee (of Imdadkhani Gharana), and the rest, as they say, is history...
What I was treated to this evening then, was over an hour of simply mesmerizing music ... the sound was quite different from what one would expect from a Hawaiian guitar, but then it wasn’t really a Hawaiian one in its true sense – the memorable performance was delivered on her self-improvised Shankar Guitar, a modified version of the Hawaiian guitar … and I suspect that not one person present there would have felt even for an instant that it was an instrumental recital! Indeed, it almost seemed as if the unique instrument itself had come alive when placed in her hands, and started singing! No wonder, the maestro had started her training learning classical vocal, and it was only later that she took up the guitar on the insistence of her Gurus while moving ahead in her musical journey. Makes sense then, that this talented musician has developed the Shankar Guitar as a singing instrument and uses the celebrated "gayaki ang" with "Imdadkhani-baj" to display her range of Hindustani classical music.
The small but eager crowd sat enthralled for over an hour (…wish it had been longer!) by four beautiful compositions in various ragas and taals, that culminated in a Benarasi Dadra, a playful Holi number, that was so reminiscent of the fun-filled sentiments typical of the festival of colors celebrated with a flair that is characteristic of Benaras… In all, an unforgettable performance!!
A little co-incidence here, was that the now-famed musician happens to be the daughter of a famous Ayurvedic Physician of Benaras – known simply as Dr. Shankar – and what’s more, the renowned doctor (and his prodigal daughter) is personally known to my folks as a family doctor and a family friend!! This, I got to know only after the recital, after I told my father that I attended it!! Small world, isn’t it?? :-)
It was my good fortune then, to savor a delectable classical guitar recital by the famed Smt. Kamala Shankar this evening. And what was even more endearing was the realization that even though she belongs to a South Indian family (born in Tanjore district of Tamilnadu), she chose to learn Hindustani classical music, and that too from an exponent of khayal gayaki, Pt. Channoolal Mishra of Benaras! Now having a soft spot for all things coming from Benaras – or Varanasi, to be politically correct! – it felt like the icing on the cake to me!! She went on to study under the sitar maestro Bimalendu Mukherjee (of Imdadkhani Gharana), and the rest, as they say, is history...
What I was treated to this evening then, was over an hour of simply mesmerizing music ... the sound was quite different from what one would expect from a Hawaiian guitar, but then it wasn’t really a Hawaiian one in its true sense – the memorable performance was delivered on her self-improvised Shankar Guitar, a modified version of the Hawaiian guitar … and I suspect that not one person present there would have felt even for an instant that it was an instrumental recital! Indeed, it almost seemed as if the unique instrument itself had come alive when placed in her hands, and started singing! No wonder, the maestro had started her training learning classical vocal, and it was only later that she took up the guitar on the insistence of her Gurus while moving ahead in her musical journey. Makes sense then, that this talented musician has developed the Shankar Guitar as a singing instrument and uses the celebrated "gayaki ang" with "Imdadkhani-baj" to display her range of Hindustani classical music.
The small but eager crowd sat enthralled for over an hour (…wish it had been longer!) by four beautiful compositions in various ragas and taals, that culminated in a Benarasi Dadra, a playful Holi number, that was so reminiscent of the fun-filled sentiments typical of the festival of colors celebrated with a flair that is characteristic of Benaras… In all, an unforgettable performance!!
A little co-incidence here, was that the now-famed musician happens to be the daughter of a famous Ayurvedic Physician of Benaras – known simply as Dr. Shankar – and what’s more, the renowned doctor (and his prodigal daughter) is personally known to my folks as a family doctor and a family friend!! This, I got to know only after the recital, after I told my father that I attended it!! Small world, isn’t it?? :-)
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Why Doctor Blue??
The most common question people ask when they hear it first!! No, I know this is my first post here, but I've gone by that nom de plume for quite some time on orkut.com, from where it started!! of course, i've moved on to da iИtЯaИSigЄИt ЄgΩtiSt since then... guess it has a more dramatic effect!! ;-)
Well, coming back to the topic, Doctor Blue is a gift from a dear old friend - a langotiya yaar, no less - that was coined out of humor after seeing a particularly "blue" caricature that was put up as a profile pic!! But why did I stick to it?? Well, for one, blue actually happens to be a fav color of mine, and the fact that the name was "suggested" by such a friend added to its appeal!!
But does it go beyond just a superficial preference for the color?? hmmm... maybe it does!! I could tell ya, but not just yet!! Coz if I tell ya, I'd have to kill ya!! heh heh heh
Well, coming back to the topic, Doctor Blue is a gift from a dear old friend - a langotiya yaar, no less - that was coined out of humor after seeing a particularly "blue" caricature that was put up as a profile pic!! But why did I stick to it?? Well, for one, blue actually happens to be a fav color of mine, and the fact that the name was "suggested" by such a friend added to its appeal!!
But does it go beyond just a superficial preference for the color?? hmmm... maybe it does!! I could tell ya, but not just yet!! Coz if I tell ya, I'd have to kill ya!! heh heh heh
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