So, as another year comes to an end, and the usual cliches abound about if having sped by so fast I decided it was time to revive my blog which had been dormant for far too long, the reasons for which are many. I have been busy living the life of a Neurology resident, and am busy aspiring to live the life of a neurovascular fellow. I have also gone through a rather prolonged phase of indifference towards most things the world has to offer(when Manchester United loses and it doesn't affect me, it's probably time to worry) the reasons for which I still seek.
I have also had several failed attempts at writing a post which I considered good enough for my blog over the past few months, and if it hadn't been for a friend who happens to be an accomplished writer giving me some very sound advice this post might also not have seen the light of day.
So what has been happening with our chronicler over all this time, is I believe what the avid followers of this space are wondering. Life has, in general, been dawdling on rather slowly, and yes, in spite of that I too, will wonder in a week's time how the past year flew by, just because its what we do. I have been surviving this godforsaken land as best as I can, having a few moments of fun thrown in between several of boredom and serious introspection, essentially precipitated by having far too little to do and having nobody to do it with.
Its incredible how some of us take to a foreign country like a European to beer, including many of my friends who now live in the US, while some of us struggle to make any place other than home, home. I first moved out of home when I was but a young lad of 18, heading to Ahmedabad to med school. Since then I have had several visits back to Delhi, and several departures from home, and I have to say, they do NOT get easier. I have over the last 10 years, never really, truly felt 'at home', ironically enough not even during the brief period that I was home, perhaps because I knew it was just a brief stay, in transition to my next destination. I don't know if thats something thats wrong with me, whether I am holding on too tightly to an idyllic place from childhood that exists in my head to accept my new surroundings as home or whether this is something that every immigrant, every re-locator goes through.
The definition of home has now become amorphous. Is it the supposedly 'nice' apartment in downtown Cleveland I share with a friend? Is it my parents house in Noida where I have lived just a few weeks since they moved? Is it the overcrowded yet beautiful streets of Delhi? Is it mainland India in general? Or is it a concept, rather than an actual place? A fairy tale place I seek perhaps, like the end of the rainbow, that I might never be destined to find? (This is probably right where my mom would jump in and tell me to get married and 'settle down' but I'm not sure thats the answer. In fact, I'm sure that its not) What I can be absolutely certain of at this point in time, is that its NOT my apartment in Cleveland, and its never likely to be, no matter how much I call it 'home'.
Well, on this rather introspective and melancholic note, I wish everyone a happy holiday season and great 2010. May we all find our respective ends of the rainbow, or be at peace with not finding them.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Thursday, November 27, 2008
An Ailing Enterprise
Webster’s dictionary defines Hospitals as “institutions where sick or injured are given medical or surgical care”. This definition truly falls short in many respects, especially when viewed from the perspective of the medical fraternity. We, who spend most of our waking hours in one or more of these “institutions” come to look upon them as this, and much more. They are our teachers for the best part, there are times when they are our friends, our shelter, and of course there are occasions when we can barely wait to get out of there. Hospitals are in a number of ways like living, breathing entities. They are born when they start functioning, they grow over years as they develop with the changes happening in the world of medicine and in some occasions, for different reasons, they one day cease to operate, or die.
I have been associated with a hospital that is, unfortunately in such a situation, where it is fighting to stay alive and to put it bluntly, the prognosis doesn’t look too good. In such circumstances, it is natural for all the people associated with the institute to be very worried, and the instinct for self preservation takes over. Perhaps we should take some time out and give a little thought to the hospital itself. Having been around for over a hundred years, having been over a thousand bedded facility in its heyday, having been a premier center for health care and research, for the institution to see this day, to be, metaphorically speaking, on its knees, having stood tall not too long back, is indeed a sad, sad story.
These, however, are also signs of the changing times, when we realize that a hospital is not merely what the lexicon defines it as, but are also financial concerns, with medicine and health care being the multi billion dollar industry it is today, and we also must unfortunately accept that if it is not financially viable for an organization to keep running, it must shut down. If we take a moment though, to reflect on the parallel I attempted to draw between humans and hospitals, I wonder how the hospital would feel at the state of affairs, having witnessed many events in its time. It has seen glorious discoveries, it has trained fresh moldable minds into competent physicians, many of whom are at the forefront in their chosen fields. It has served the changing community for over a century. It has been a part of their joys at the birth of their children and the recovery of their sick. It has been a source of strength in their times of weakness, and a silent sympathetic spectator to their grief. In short, it has done its part and a whole lot more.
Everywhere you go in the premises of the hospital at this point in time, you come across snippets of conversation about the impending fate, and while most of these circulate around how it is going to affect the lives of those associated with the organization, there are underlying emotions which are quite perceptible. There are those who feel angry and frustrated, partly because of the concern for their own futures and careers, but also because they can do little to help the hospital, their home away from home, in its time of need. There are those who feel despair and disgust at the way their workplace is being snatched away from them by financial reasons and constraints that they don’t even comprehend, and there are some who still feel pride at having been associated with an institution that in its day shone like the sun in the world of medicine, leading the way in research and clinical practice. If I may speak on behalf of my fellow workers, it is largely a combination of all these emotions that most of us feel.
Many of the employees, past and present, have been associated with the hospital for a large part of their careers, and declare with pride, “I will go down with this ship”. It is this attitude, perhaps that also reflects what the hospital would feel at this time in its life. Pride, at having accomplished so much, and the will to continue to fight, no matter how dire the circumstances. As for the employees, patrons and other people associated with the hospital, life will carry on, here or elsewhere, but I hope that the mixed feelings of anger and despair will eventually give way to a feeling of pride. Pride, in staying in the fight and not throwing down their arms, pride at performing their duties to the optimum even under the most strained circumstances, and pride, for coming through testing situations which are being witnessed far too often in the American health care system today.
(Written in tribute to Michael Reese Hospital, Chicago)
I have been associated with a hospital that is, unfortunately in such a situation, where it is fighting to stay alive and to put it bluntly, the prognosis doesn’t look too good. In such circumstances, it is natural for all the people associated with the institute to be very worried, and the instinct for self preservation takes over. Perhaps we should take some time out and give a little thought to the hospital itself. Having been around for over a hundred years, having been over a thousand bedded facility in its heyday, having been a premier center for health care and research, for the institution to see this day, to be, metaphorically speaking, on its knees, having stood tall not too long back, is indeed a sad, sad story.
These, however, are also signs of the changing times, when we realize that a hospital is not merely what the lexicon defines it as, but are also financial concerns, with medicine and health care being the multi billion dollar industry it is today, and we also must unfortunately accept that if it is not financially viable for an organization to keep running, it must shut down. If we take a moment though, to reflect on the parallel I attempted to draw between humans and hospitals, I wonder how the hospital would feel at the state of affairs, having witnessed many events in its time. It has seen glorious discoveries, it has trained fresh moldable minds into competent physicians, many of whom are at the forefront in their chosen fields. It has served the changing community for over a century. It has been a part of their joys at the birth of their children and the recovery of their sick. It has been a source of strength in their times of weakness, and a silent sympathetic spectator to their grief. In short, it has done its part and a whole lot more.
Everywhere you go in the premises of the hospital at this point in time, you come across snippets of conversation about the impending fate, and while most of these circulate around how it is going to affect the lives of those associated with the organization, there are underlying emotions which are quite perceptible. There are those who feel angry and frustrated, partly because of the concern for their own futures and careers, but also because they can do little to help the hospital, their home away from home, in its time of need. There are those who feel despair and disgust at the way their workplace is being snatched away from them by financial reasons and constraints that they don’t even comprehend, and there are some who still feel pride at having been associated with an institution that in its day shone like the sun in the world of medicine, leading the way in research and clinical practice. If I may speak on behalf of my fellow workers, it is largely a combination of all these emotions that most of us feel.
Many of the employees, past and present, have been associated with the hospital for a large part of their careers, and declare with pride, “I will go down with this ship”. It is this attitude, perhaps that also reflects what the hospital would feel at this time in its life. Pride, at having accomplished so much, and the will to continue to fight, no matter how dire the circumstances. As for the employees, patrons and other people associated with the hospital, life will carry on, here or elsewhere, but I hope that the mixed feelings of anger and despair will eventually give way to a feeling of pride. Pride, in staying in the fight and not throwing down their arms, pride at performing their duties to the optimum even under the most strained circumstances, and pride, for coming through testing situations which are being witnessed far too often in the American health care system today.
(Written in tribute to Michael Reese Hospital, Chicago)
The Code
Suddenly it was all over
And everyone looked at me
As I looked at my watch,
Said “time of death - 4:53”
After all the frenetic activity
A squalid pall had descended
For, on ICU bed 3
A code had just ended.
(also a piece deemed unworthy by the Annals)
And everyone looked at me
As I looked at my watch,
Said “time of death - 4:53”
After all the frenetic activity
A squalid pall had descended
For, on ICU bed 3
A code had just ended.
(also a piece deemed unworthy by the Annals)
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Life, death and that post call feeling
The last 4 months have been a bit of a blur. The last 3 weeks even more so. Since moving to Cleveland in June, lifes been either ridiculously busy or ridiculously dull. No real in-between moments. The last 3 weeks I've been in the Neuro ICU, (One more week to go, and its been really, really tiring!) which if one has the time is the kind of experience that will make one reflect on life, on death, on dying, and also on that incredible thing we call the post call feeling.
It will make one realize how fragile life is, as indeed many of our daily experiences do, and how a small blood vessel popping somewhere in a persons head can bring an end to what might have been a long and happy life. It will reiterate the belief that dying might actually be a lot harder on the loved ones of the patients rather than the patients themselves. It will bring a relative, in some cases an absolute lack of emotion dealing with death and dying, which is unfortunately, and in an ironic extreme, a part of life.
Coming to that amazing post call feeling, I'm not sure if there is any non-medical parallel I can draw for the more fortunate folks amongst us who were smart enough not to go to med school. I could liken it to running a marathon, somehow getting through it, and then seeing the finish line, the home stretch, but then I dont know too many marathon runners either.
You spend almost 30 hours at a stretch, working like the devil, getting almost no sleep. Somewhere about 20 hours or so into the call, it really hits you hard, but you keep going and around 24 hours into the call you get a second wind, which is the beginning of the post call feeling, even though you're technically and physically still there, still answering questions, presenting cases, and sometimes unknown to the ACGME, doing procedures, you bask in the knowledge of having successfully completed a call, in anticipation of the comfortable bed and undisturbed sleep that await you at home. Trust me, it is almost euphoric, as is the feeling of actually hearing those hospital doors slide shut behind you and the half asleep drive back home.
I still have over half a year of calls every 3rd or 4th day and I expect that like everything else this too shall pass. At least on every call day I have the post call feeling to look forward to.
I still have over half a year of calls every 3rd or 4th day and I expect that like everything else this too shall pass. At least on every call day I have the post call feeling to look forward to.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
The "Graduates"
Michael Reese Hospital celebrated the graduation of its last ever class yesterday. It was a great occasion. A happy one. A sad one. A proud one. A beautiful one.
As part of the outgoing intern class, I was perhaps amongst the people with the briefest association with MRH at the graduation party last night. The gamut of emotion that many were going through was very palpable to me nevertheless, the open bar not withstanding.
As all of us leave Michael Reese, we all take with us a small part of the institute, a small part of each other, the people we worked with, and the people who were friends, practically family for the last 1 year. We also as a corollary, leave behind a small part of ourselves with this place and with these people.
Its been pretty much a roller coaster ride during my internship - I apologize for using such a cliche. There've been times of joy, times of sorrow; Times of sheer frustration and agony, somewhat outnumbering the times of ecstasy (its a residency - thats about par for the course); Times of nerve wracking stress (I never, ever want to hear the words 'business' and 'lunch' used together again.) and times of complete relaxation (the last couple of months have been pretty easy).
As the party came to a hesitant end last night, after all the music and dancing (yours truly danced as well - most people who know me well know that happens even less often than a sighting of the Halley comet - to underline how special the occasion was) one could tell that many of us were reminiscing on such moments (the open bar was a help this time around). Everybody looking back on the time they spent here, with each other, lasting memories they would have of each other, of themselves, of the hospital. The education they received here, which would of course serve as the foundation for most of their careers. The relationships they forged. The laughter they shared. The quarrels they had. The things they shouldn't have said but did, the things they should have but didn't. (I know thats what I was doing, at the very least.)
Now that the serum alcohol levels are tending towards zero, I can think clearly and realize that I was thinking pretty clearly last night anyways. In about a week, all of us will move on to our lives at other programs and hospitals. The hospital, too, doesn't have too much long left in terms of operation. At this point in time I would just like to thank everyone I've had the pleasure of working with over the last year and wish them the very best of luck.
If any of you guys are ever in Cleveland, give me a shout out. It'll be great to catch up.
As part of the outgoing intern class, I was perhaps amongst the people with the briefest association with MRH at the graduation party last night. The gamut of emotion that many were going through was very palpable to me nevertheless, the open bar not withstanding.
As all of us leave Michael Reese, we all take with us a small part of the institute, a small part of each other, the people we worked with, and the people who were friends, practically family for the last 1 year. We also as a corollary, leave behind a small part of ourselves with this place and with these people.
Its been pretty much a roller coaster ride during my internship - I apologize for using such a cliche. There've been times of joy, times of sorrow; Times of sheer frustration and agony, somewhat outnumbering the times of ecstasy (its a residency - thats about par for the course); Times of nerve wracking stress (I never, ever want to hear the words 'business' and 'lunch' used together again.) and times of complete relaxation (the last couple of months have been pretty easy).
As the party came to a hesitant end last night, after all the music and dancing (yours truly danced as well - most people who know me well know that happens even less often than a sighting of the Halley comet - to underline how special the occasion was) one could tell that many of us were reminiscing on such moments (the open bar was a help this time around). Everybody looking back on the time they spent here, with each other, lasting memories they would have of each other, of themselves, of the hospital. The education they received here, which would of course serve as the foundation for most of their careers. The relationships they forged. The laughter they shared. The quarrels they had. The things they shouldn't have said but did, the things they should have but didn't. (I know thats what I was doing, at the very least.)
Now that the serum alcohol levels are tending towards zero, I can think clearly and realize that I was thinking pretty clearly last night anyways. In about a week, all of us will move on to our lives at other programs and hospitals. The hospital, too, doesn't have too much long left in terms of operation. At this point in time I would just like to thank everyone I've had the pleasure of working with over the last year and wish them the very best of luck.
If any of you guys are ever in Cleveland, give me a shout out. It'll be great to catch up.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Nightcrawler
As the night passes by I think thoughts that I am sure many have thought before me, and many will continue to think for ages to come. These thoughts pretty much range around causing some sort of bodily harm to my pager, perhaps flinging it far into Lake Michigan. It is my first day - rather, night of my night float rotation. I haven't slept a wink as the minutes tick away and the clock shows 3:36 AM. Still 4 long hours to go. The lack of sleep is partly due to the job description of an intern and partly due to my complete inability to sleep on the on call bed or couch(As my resident just told me, I'm going to be in a lot of trouble if I can't learn to do that). So I use some minutes of relative silence to pen (type, really-but that doesn't sound too authorly - i know thats not a word, before any of you smartasses correct me) my thoughts and break what has been a pretty long silence for my blog. I think I'll have to send emails to all my readers reminding them of its existence.
The news from my end is that I survived the first 2 months as an intern and the better news still is that so did all my patients. Whether that represents my skills as an internist, or those of my residents/attendings, or just plain old good luck is anybody's guess. Residency has had its moments thus far. Some good, some bad, some funny, some exasperating(yet funny), some easy, some rough but almost none dull. The people here are a very eclectic mix and make for some very interesting company. (I know everyone expects it but I shall refrain from saying anymore. If I was a 16 year old girl it is at such an occasion perhaps that I would draw a smiley)
As for the city of Chicago, I have unfortunately not been able to see much(the job description of an intern again, can rather come in the way of that. "Patients before Sears tower" is my motto) but I have no complaints (this is a rare magnanimous mood where I refrain from airing my complaints. Even those against USPS) as I have 3 (what promise to be really long) years here before life figures out where it shall take me next.
I think I shall stop this midnight sleep-deprived ramble here as it dangles precipitously at the point of getting philosophical and finish on the note that I'm doing fine and think I'll manage to survive the Year of the Intern, including this month of 'the nightcrawler'. Besides, as one of the Indomitable Gauls of Michael Reese, my only fear is that of the roof falling on my head one day.
The news from my end is that I survived the first 2 months as an intern and the better news still is that so did all my patients. Whether that represents my skills as an internist, or those of my residents/attendings, or just plain old good luck is anybody's guess. Residency has had its moments thus far. Some good, some bad, some funny, some exasperating(yet funny), some easy, some rough but almost none dull. The people here are a very eclectic mix and make for some very interesting company. (I know everyone expects it but I shall refrain from saying anymore. If I was a 16 year old girl it is at such an occasion perhaps that I would draw a smiley)
As for the city of Chicago, I have unfortunately not been able to see much(the job description of an intern again, can rather come in the way of that. "Patients before Sears tower" is my motto) but I have no complaints (this is a rare magnanimous mood where I refrain from airing my complaints. Even those against USPS) as I have 3 (what promise to be really long) years here before life figures out where it shall take me next.
I think I shall stop this midnight sleep-deprived ramble here as it dangles precipitously at the point of getting philosophical and finish on the note that I'm doing fine and think I'll manage to survive the Year of the Intern, including this month of 'the nightcrawler'. Besides, as one of the Indomitable Gauls of Michael Reese, my only fear is that of the roof falling on my head one day.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Scrap That Scrap
Over the last year I have gradually evolved from being an extremely reluctant and somewhat nonplussed semi-computer literate who was quick to dismiss the invitations to join this blessed thing called 'orkut' sent by many relatively more social and computer savvy acquaintances to a rather frequent 'orkutter'. If you cant beat 'em, join 'em, I figured.
What is really amazing about orkut (and the like - I believe there are other similar services that I have not yet subscribed to) is how people get hooked to it and how it offers complete strangers a window into our as yet very personal lives - which, oddly enough, nobody really seems to mind. Orkut is like a telescope you put in your window and pretend not to peep into other peoples homes. 'Orkuting' and 'Orkuter' are words that have become commonplace and I suspect might find their way into the Oxford lexicon at this rate. Another semi-medical term I propose is ' Orkutitis' - A condition that may result as an overuse of one's orkut account.
The diagnostic criteria I propose for severe Orkutitis are as follows:
(2 Major or 1 Major and 2 Minor criteria are required to establish a diagnosis)
Major Criteria
1. If you have over 2000 scraps in your scrapbook(chronic orkutitis) or receive/send/exchange over 20 scraps a day (acute orkutitis)
2. If you have over 10 photos in your album in all OR
If you have less than 10 photos but one of them is of a baby(yours as a baby, your baby, your niece/nephew, random baby pic - the prognosis gets worse in that order)
3. If you have greater than 2 video links on your account
4. If you change your profile name with every changing phase in your life (exams coming, exams over, getting admission, getting a job, getting married etc etc)
5. If the last meaningful conversation you had was in 'scraps'
6. If said conversation did not contain any vowels.
Minor Criteria
1. If you meet more people through orkut in a week than in real life.
2. If you check your scrapbook more than 4 times a day for new messages.
3. If you update the pictures in your album more than once in 2 months.
4. If you belong to greater than 25 communities.
5. If you have over 200 friends on orkut.
6. If you have mastered the art of typing alternate letters in CaPiTaLs
I'm still working on a possible management regimen of severe orkutitis. As of now I can only recommend controlled exposure. Prevention is better than finding there's no cure. For more developments, watch this space.
What is really amazing about orkut (and the like - I believe there are other similar services that I have not yet subscribed to) is how people get hooked to it and how it offers complete strangers a window into our as yet very personal lives - which, oddly enough, nobody really seems to mind. Orkut is like a telescope you put in your window and pretend not to peep into other peoples homes. 'Orkuting' and 'Orkuter' are words that have become commonplace and I suspect might find their way into the Oxford lexicon at this rate. Another semi-medical term I propose is ' Orkutitis' - A condition that may result as an overuse of one's orkut account.
The diagnostic criteria I propose for severe Orkutitis are as follows:
(2 Major or 1 Major and 2 Minor criteria are required to establish a diagnosis)
Major Criteria
1. If you have over 2000 scraps in your scrapbook(chronic orkutitis) or receive/send/exchange over 20 scraps a day (acute orkutitis)
2. If you have over 10 photos in your album in all OR
If you have less than 10 photos but one of them is of a baby(yours as a baby, your baby, your niece/nephew, random baby pic - the prognosis gets worse in that order)
3. If you have greater than 2 video links on your account
4. If you change your profile name with every changing phase in your life (exams coming, exams over, getting admission, getting a job, getting married etc etc)
5. If the last meaningful conversation you had was in 'scraps'
6. If said conversation did not contain any vowels.
Minor Criteria
1. If you meet more people through orkut in a week than in real life.
2. If you check your scrapbook more than 4 times a day for new messages.
3. If you update the pictures in your album more than once in 2 months.
4. If you belong to greater than 25 communities.
5. If you have over 200 friends on orkut.
6. If you have mastered the art of typing alternate letters in CaPiTaLs
I'm still working on a possible management regimen of severe orkutitis. As of now I can only recommend controlled exposure. Prevention is better than finding there's no cure. For more developments, watch this space.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Our Cup Runneth Over
Its over. Or almost so. At the time of going to press, Bermuda could still beat Bangladesh and India could still go through to the 'Super' 8 (Yeah, I know, NOT happening, but i did get an award for optimism in high school). When the WC pools and fixtures were announced, nothing seemed so 'super' about the eight teams that would make it to the next round. It seemed terribly obvious and the pools were laughable to say the least. Yet, now it seems that a super effort was required, which of course our team rarely delivers when needed. We flex our muscles and show off our might against poor Bermuda and we bow down meekly in front of the ever competitive Sri Lankans.
Murali, Vaas and Jayasuriya continue to be thorns in the collective Indian side(pun very much intended). The number of times Murali has beguiled the Indian side and made them look as confused as Mika would be at a Beethoven recital or Rakhi Sawant in an art film(i.e. as clueless as a child in a topless bar) is perhaps just fewer than the number of man hours wasted in India over all these matches. Hence we have the number two batsman in the world, Mr Dhoni trying to cut an offspinner bowling around the wicket (Either the victims of the reported heart attacks during the game were of weak heart, had a lot of cash riding on the outcome or were real cricket purists and could not stand such blasphemous flouting of the cricketing manual) and we have Sachin, the Boss, the Master Blaster, the man closer to being God in our country than many of the gods themselves being bowled through the gate for the umpteenth time in his career. The above mentioned Lankan players are going to give many die hard fans nightmares for a while to come, and they'll probably still be playing 15-20 years later and give our kids the same nightmares too.
In an earlier post(Just Not Cricket) I had compared global cricket to a circus and Indian cricket to a masala movie. This current WC goes well beyond these descriptions. Its a soap opera, a whodunit(It really is tragic about Bob Woolmer. Nobody should lose their lives over a game. Unless its football.) full of drama and suspense, but sadly devoid of good cricket. (Thus far, at least)
So what happens to the Indian team now? Is it the end of the road for Sachin, Rahul, Saurav and Kumble? Do we get a radically overhauled team? Does BCCI do what the South African Board did after the last WC, and appoint a captain out of nowhere - Kaif or Raina, perhaps? Chappel of course, has to go.(An SMS doing the rounds suggests we give him away to the Pakistan team) Not for his coaching or management, but for his arrogant press conference after the Lanka game. I agree that he is not employed by the junta but he should have the grace, the dignity and the humility to accept his faults and responsibility in this debacle rather than come out swinging at the reporters and appearing like a petulant 10 month old who's all day sucker's been taken away and is throwing toys out of his pram.
As a corollary to this question, what happens to the Indian fan? Do we forgive and forget? Do we stop the unreasonable business of the yagyas, sangeet mehfils, and prayers for these random 11 people who are 'not employed by us, but are employees of BCCI' (which in a way makes them the BCCI XI and not 'Team India')? Or do we still continue to shower our adulation at them also making them targets of our spite when they fall short of our exacting standards? Do we still continue to say "Match fixed hai, these guys are selling the country" just because its easier than admitting, even to ourselves, that maybe, just maybe, we weren't good enough?
To quote an old classic song, "The answers my friends, are blowing in the wind". Till then I switch my support to the Irish team for the 'Super Eight'. May the best team win.
Murali, Vaas and Jayasuriya continue to be thorns in the collective Indian side(pun very much intended). The number of times Murali has beguiled the Indian side and made them look as confused as Mika would be at a Beethoven recital or Rakhi Sawant in an art film(i.e. as clueless as a child in a topless bar) is perhaps just fewer than the number of man hours wasted in India over all these matches. Hence we have the number two batsman in the world, Mr Dhoni trying to cut an offspinner bowling around the wicket (Either the victims of the reported heart attacks during the game were of weak heart, had a lot of cash riding on the outcome or were real cricket purists and could not stand such blasphemous flouting of the cricketing manual) and we have Sachin, the Boss, the Master Blaster, the man closer to being God in our country than many of the gods themselves being bowled through the gate for the umpteenth time in his career. The above mentioned Lankan players are going to give many die hard fans nightmares for a while to come, and they'll probably still be playing 15-20 years later and give our kids the same nightmares too.
In an earlier post(Just Not Cricket) I had compared global cricket to a circus and Indian cricket to a masala movie. This current WC goes well beyond these descriptions. Its a soap opera, a whodunit(It really is tragic about Bob Woolmer. Nobody should lose their lives over a game. Unless its football.) full of drama and suspense, but sadly devoid of good cricket. (Thus far, at least)
So what happens to the Indian team now? Is it the end of the road for Sachin, Rahul, Saurav and Kumble? Do we get a radically overhauled team? Does BCCI do what the South African Board did after the last WC, and appoint a captain out of nowhere - Kaif or Raina, perhaps? Chappel of course, has to go.(An SMS doing the rounds suggests we give him away to the Pakistan team) Not for his coaching or management, but for his arrogant press conference after the Lanka game. I agree that he is not employed by the junta but he should have the grace, the dignity and the humility to accept his faults and responsibility in this debacle rather than come out swinging at the reporters and appearing like a petulant 10 month old who's all day sucker's been taken away and is throwing toys out of his pram.
As a corollary to this question, what happens to the Indian fan? Do we forgive and forget? Do we stop the unreasonable business of the yagyas, sangeet mehfils, and prayers for these random 11 people who are 'not employed by us, but are employees of BCCI' (which in a way makes them the BCCI XI and not 'Team India')? Or do we still continue to shower our adulation at them also making them targets of our spite when they fall short of our exacting standards? Do we still continue to say "Match fixed hai, these guys are selling the country" just because its easier than admitting, even to ourselves, that maybe, just maybe, we weren't good enough?
To quote an old classic song, "The answers my friends, are blowing in the wind". Till then I switch my support to the Irish team for the 'Super Eight'. May the best team win.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Love...Actually?
Its that time of the year again. Everything around me is pink or a slightly less nauseating shade of red. Everything that could have has had its original shape contorted into that of an anatomically incorrect heart. You can run, but you can't hide. If you're one of the few single people on the planet February 14 is a curse that you can neither fight nor escape.
Over the last few years I've tried some different things to battle this horrible day (Yes, I've been single on ALL the Valentine's Days I've survived thus far. Initially it was a battle, which has now evolved into a mere quest for survival). It started in school where veritable score cards were discussed at the end of the day ("X got 3 cards and she didn’t accept any!", "Y gave 4 cards this year"). I was always one of the people discussing these news makers and thought I'd probably figure out this bizarre concept of arbitrarily picking one day of the year to profess your 'love' for some random guy/girl just because Tom, Dick, Harry, X, Y, Z, Chunnu, Munnu, Teena, Meena, Bunty and Babli(I really wanted to name names here, and I mention it so my restraint can be admired by all) were doing it, when I grew up and went to college.
I went to BJMC Ahmedabad and I didn't figure it out. (All fellow BJites give me a "Hell, Yeah!"). In college the numbers for both X and Y came down to one, and I was blessed (or cursed) with a group of friends as nonplussed and incompetent in this department as me (all members of the gang, give me another "Hell, Yeah"). Bottom line, I still didn't get it (the concept and/or a valentine-take your pick).
I've tried going out with my friends, ‘Stag' is I believe the (im)polite word for people like us. What ended up happening was a collective frustration forum ("Dammit.. Look at THAT guy, how’d he end up with THAT girl?????!#@!?##!$" and the like..) I’ve tried staying in all day and studying (Thank you, Gujarat University for conducting the exams in February) but my solace was invaded by radio and the newspapers carrying commercials for lots of places in the city that had special valentine evenings planned for “couples only” which were pinker than Steven Tyler’s new obsession and carried more hearts than my med schools pathology museum. The worst thing a single 20 something year old guy can do on V day though is to go out for dinner with his parents (I know its supposed to celebrate love in all its forms and in all relations, and I love my parents very much, but the heart shaped balloons on the ceilings, soft candlelight and a restaurant full of couples did NOT make for a comfortable environment).
After losing so many battles I have reconciled myself to a life of peaceful coexistence with the devil that is 14th February. (Kudos to the Shiv Sena for continuing the relentless rage. I have, on many occasions considered joining their moral police for this one day of the year but I must admit, burning greeting cards just wont do it for me. Making guys do sit-ups because they were with their partners in a park does promise to be fun though.)
There is actually a variant of 14th Feb that is celebrated by my single brethren, and me and is called ‘Singles Awareness Day’ (Ironically enough its acronym is SAD), which is a humorous and self-deprecatory take on the more conventional celebration of the same date. So to all those who share my views on the subject, I wish you a very Happy SAD.
What makes everybody celebrate Valentines Day? I agree that there’s probably not enough love in this world to go round, but if it’s that realization, lets do it every single day! I guess expressing love, or pretending to express love on a regular basis is just too much of an effort. In that case are the millions of cards Hallmark sold this week, the millions of roses that were plucked for no fault of theirs, the thousands of red heart-shaped soft toys destined to go into a closet for life and the tons of money spent on dinners and gifts symbols of love…actually?
Over the last few years I've tried some different things to battle this horrible day (Yes, I've been single on ALL the Valentine's Days I've survived thus far. Initially it was a battle, which has now evolved into a mere quest for survival). It started in school where veritable score cards were discussed at the end of the day ("X got 3 cards and she didn’t accept any!", "Y gave 4 cards this year"). I was always one of the people discussing these news makers and thought I'd probably figure out this bizarre concept of arbitrarily picking one day of the year to profess your 'love' for some random guy/girl just because Tom, Dick, Harry, X, Y, Z, Chunnu, Munnu, Teena, Meena, Bunty and Babli(I really wanted to name names here, and I mention it so my restraint can be admired by all) were doing it, when I grew up and went to college.
I went to BJMC Ahmedabad and I didn't figure it out. (All fellow BJites give me a "Hell, Yeah!"). In college the numbers for both X and Y came down to one, and I was blessed (or cursed) with a group of friends as nonplussed and incompetent in this department as me (all members of the gang, give me another "Hell, Yeah"). Bottom line, I still didn't get it (the concept and/or a valentine-take your pick).
I've tried going out with my friends, ‘Stag' is I believe the (im)polite word for people like us. What ended up happening was a collective frustration forum ("Dammit.. Look at THAT guy, how’d he end up with THAT girl?????!#@!?##!$" and the like..) I’ve tried staying in all day and studying (Thank you, Gujarat University for conducting the exams in February) but my solace was invaded by radio and the newspapers carrying commercials for lots of places in the city that had special valentine evenings planned for “couples only” which were pinker than Steven Tyler’s new obsession and carried more hearts than my med schools pathology museum. The worst thing a single 20 something year old guy can do on V day though is to go out for dinner with his parents (I know its supposed to celebrate love in all its forms and in all relations, and I love my parents very much, but the heart shaped balloons on the ceilings, soft candlelight and a restaurant full of couples did NOT make for a comfortable environment).
After losing so many battles I have reconciled myself to a life of peaceful coexistence with the devil that is 14th February. (Kudos to the Shiv Sena for continuing the relentless rage. I have, on many occasions considered joining their moral police for this one day of the year but I must admit, burning greeting cards just wont do it for me. Making guys do sit-ups because they were with their partners in a park does promise to be fun though.)
There is actually a variant of 14th Feb that is celebrated by my single brethren, and me and is called ‘Singles Awareness Day’ (Ironically enough its acronym is SAD), which is a humorous and self-deprecatory take on the more conventional celebration of the same date. So to all those who share my views on the subject, I wish you a very Happy SAD.
What makes everybody celebrate Valentines Day? I agree that there’s probably not enough love in this world to go round, but if it’s that realization, lets do it every single day! I guess expressing love, or pretending to express love on a regular basis is just too much of an effort. In that case are the millions of cards Hallmark sold this week, the millions of roses that were plucked for no fault of theirs, the thousands of red heart-shaped soft toys destined to go into a closet for life and the tons of money spent on dinners and gifts symbols of love…actually?
Monday, February 05, 2007
Reality Bites
One of the incredible things about home is that no matter how long you were away, 5 minutes back home will make you feel like you never left! I landed at IGI about a fortnight back and have since spent the most relaxed two weeks ever, making the occasional trip to Delhi from NOIDA(after much procrastination), eagerly lapping up all the soccer and cricket action on TV having missed these like crazy in the US, and meeting up with family and friends.
Needless to say, it feels great to be home. I also think I got back at the right time, else I would have missed all the excitement about Ms Shetty conquering the world and then some(my hearty congratulations to all fellow Indians. We might not win the world cup this year, but we already have Big Brother). I would have missed the furore over Mr President and his Baal Thackeray and the critics universally panning and proclaiming a complete lack of ishq for Nikhil Advani's Salaam. On a more serious note, I would have also missed Manchester United thrashing Spurs 4-0 and Sachin giving a 100 of the best to the hapless West Indians.
Coming back to Big Brother and reality TV, I must say, I really don't get it. Talent hunts seem to have sprouted up exponentially in the six months I was away. Every channel from A to Z(ee) has got one-or more. Every one from Palash Sen to Pooja Bhatt is a judge. Pooja Bhatt judging an acting contest is one of the great ironies of life. Who knows, next we'll probably have Rakhi Sawant playing quiz master(or is it mistress?) on Master Mind India!
This whole business about Big Boss and Big Brother(I know one of them has more g's than the other but I don't bother enough to find out which and how many) left me quite nonplussed as I didn't even know they existed till very recently. The firang version which created a 'rang' controversy that even 3 year olds who can't count know about was apparently intended as a celebrity episode. How Shilpa Shetty could be considered an international celebrity then is also beyond me, not to mention the rest of that motley crowd comprising the Goody, the Bad and the Ugly. The desi version of the same packed in a bunch of dysfuntional(or in some cases, malfunctioning. Right Ms Gracias?) also rans and losers like my favorite 'actress' Ms Sawant(I don't mean Abhijeet), Deepak Tijori and the eventual winner(I am still obstinate in my allusion to him as loser) Rahul Roy. The forced drama, the manipulated results, the crocodile tears are there for all to see, yet there seems to be this perverse streak in a global audience that compels them to not only watch the trials and tribulations of these random people locked in a house, but to also get involved and vote for or against some of them.
I considered adding this whole concept to the list of things I would never understand(Women, Money, Computers...) but i figure this is nowhere near important enough to make it to the list. My only advice to 'Reality TV' people is - Guys, get real.
Needless to say, it feels great to be home. I also think I got back at the right time, else I would have missed all the excitement about Ms Shetty conquering the world and then some(my hearty congratulations to all fellow Indians. We might not win the world cup this year, but we already have Big Brother). I would have missed the furore over Mr President and his Baal Thackeray and the critics universally panning and proclaiming a complete lack of ishq for Nikhil Advani's Salaam. On a more serious note, I would have also missed Manchester United thrashing Spurs 4-0 and Sachin giving a 100 of the best to the hapless West Indians.
Coming back to Big Brother and reality TV, I must say, I really don't get it. Talent hunts seem to have sprouted up exponentially in the six months I was away. Every channel from A to Z(ee) has got one-or more. Every one from Palash Sen to Pooja Bhatt is a judge. Pooja Bhatt judging an acting contest is one of the great ironies of life. Who knows, next we'll probably have Rakhi Sawant playing quiz master(or is it mistress?) on Master Mind India!
This whole business about Big Boss and Big Brother(I know one of them has more g's than the other but I don't bother enough to find out which and how many) left me quite nonplussed as I didn't even know they existed till very recently. The firang version which created a 'rang' controversy that even 3 year olds who can't count know about was apparently intended as a celebrity episode. How Shilpa Shetty could be considered an international celebrity then is also beyond me, not to mention the rest of that motley crowd comprising the Goody, the Bad and the Ugly. The desi version of the same packed in a bunch of dysfuntional(or in some cases, malfunctioning. Right Ms Gracias?) also rans and losers like my favorite 'actress' Ms Sawant(I don't mean Abhijeet), Deepak Tijori and the eventual winner(I am still obstinate in my allusion to him as loser) Rahul Roy. The forced drama, the manipulated results, the crocodile tears are there for all to see, yet there seems to be this perverse streak in a global audience that compels them to not only watch the trials and tribulations of these random people locked in a house, but to also get involved and vote for or against some of them.
I considered adding this whole concept to the list of things I would never understand(Women, Money, Computers...) but i figure this is nowhere near important enough to make it to the list. My only advice to 'Reality TV' people is - Guys, get real.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
A Hitchhikers Route to a Residency
As my first trip to the US comes to an end I look forward eagerly to heading back home. It’s definitely been a long and tough 6 months which I really enjoyed. To sum it up I’ve been through 2 exams (and their results), 2 countries, 11 states in the US itself, possibly all the modes of public transport in these 11 states (a lot of which were delayed/cancelled/broke down – I am somewhat of a lightning rod in this matter, and it seemingly does strike more than once. A lot more than once. Some more on that later, perhaps), 15 interviews (I had my last one just two days back and am exhausted with the traveling, smiling, shaking hands and generally pretending to be nice. Not that I’m not nice, it’s just that the pretence is more convincing. And don't even get me started on the suit.)
My experiences with public transport thus far have not been the best, and on the bright side have certainly not been dull. I have had a Coach USA bus break down in the middle of nowhere on the Garden State Parkway, an Amtrak train cancel on me in the middle of the night in Cincinnati after which I had to take a cab and ride through the night all the way to Huntington, WV, for an interview the next morning. (about 150 miles and 3 hours, not to mention it cost me nearly as much as Luxembourg’s nuclear defense budget. At the end the cabbie wasn’t happy because he thought he should have charged me something closer to North Korea’s. The African-American lady and her daughter I let share my cab were quite amused and thrilled at the prospect and spent half the cab ride calling up friends, waking them up and telling them about the crazy guy who was driving from Cincinnati to Huntington. The remaining half was spent trying to decipher whether I was French or Italian. They weren’t the sharpest tools in any shed, but I’m sure even they guessed I was Indian at the end of the journey when I didn’t tip the cabbie, which may just have disgruntled him further) I have actually had the ever reliable NY subway delayed by as much as 20 minutes and the Staten Island ferry delayed by 10(its just a 25 minute ride) - even though the ferry doesn’t have to worry about traffic or trains in front of it getting derailed, they somehow could not find a place to dock that day. I have been through quarrels with Greyhound and refunds from NYC Transit, through flight delays at LGA and bomb scares at the Port Authority.
I feel a little like Arthur Dent when he reached the Earth after being thrown around in the universe a bit barring the fact that I am quite certain that at least some variant of the earth and of Delhi still exist even if the real ones may have been sacrificed for a hyperspace bypass or something. (For those who didn’t get that, please, I beseech you, please read the good book - The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.)
My interview experiences have been far from this exciting. Most of the interviews are similar, the questions remain the same but the people asking them change. There are a few different ones where the Program Director might start playing medical jeopardy with you or when you get to ride in a stretch limo. There are long interviews in the places which genuinely care about the sort of candidate they take in and there are those in NYC where you might miss your interview if you blink. There are some where they will ask you medicine related questions as if you got somebody else to take your MLEs and some where they will ask you anything but. The upshot of it all is that I feel that my relationship with programs and program directors is a lot like my relationship with women, in the following ways :
1) I believe one can’t trust either. One on one, they’ll say wonderful things about you. Literally tell you that you are ‘the one’ - their McDreamy, or in some very rare cases even their McSteamy. And then very conveniently, they will say that to the next guy too.
2) The programs I like, much like the girls I like, don’t like me. At least not in the same way. With girls, the ones I really like always end up telling me I’m just a good friend and how much they care about me and that they aren’t interested in a relationship at that point in time. With residency programs, I ask the ones I really like for a prematch and they tell me how I am a very strong candidate and that they aren’t giving any prematches just yet. Eerily similar, I think.
3) Interviewing at residency programs is a lot like dating. I’m checking them out, they’re checking me out, trying to figure out if its going to work on a long term basis. I interviewed at a hospital in Boston where I’d spent a month observing and it was more like an awkward second date rather than a nervous first one. They knew everything about me, and I knew everything about them and that pretty much left nothing to talk about.
4) After every interview (read: first date) I come back and send them a communiqué telling them how much I enjoyed the meeting and how eager I am to take our relationship to the next level, and again just like most girls, most programs don’t bother to reply to my painstakingly written, carefully worded, double spell checked, treble proof read emails.
5) Despite my miserable track records with girls and residency programs, I still dream of getting the right ‘match’ in both departments. I wish everyone the best of luck in love and life on their respective matchdays. Have a great 2007 folks.
My experiences with public transport thus far have not been the best, and on the bright side have certainly not been dull. I have had a Coach USA bus break down in the middle of nowhere on the Garden State Parkway, an Amtrak train cancel on me in the middle of the night in Cincinnati after which I had to take a cab and ride through the night all the way to Huntington, WV, for an interview the next morning. (about 150 miles and 3 hours, not to mention it cost me nearly as much as Luxembourg’s nuclear defense budget. At the end the cabbie wasn’t happy because he thought he should have charged me something closer to North Korea’s. The African-American lady and her daughter I let share my cab were quite amused and thrilled at the prospect and spent half the cab ride calling up friends, waking them up and telling them about the crazy guy who was driving from Cincinnati to Huntington. The remaining half was spent trying to decipher whether I was French or Italian. They weren’t the sharpest tools in any shed, but I’m sure even they guessed I was Indian at the end of the journey when I didn’t tip the cabbie, which may just have disgruntled him further) I have actually had the ever reliable NY subway delayed by as much as 20 minutes and the Staten Island ferry delayed by 10(its just a 25 minute ride) - even though the ferry doesn’t have to worry about traffic or trains in front of it getting derailed, they somehow could not find a place to dock that day. I have been through quarrels with Greyhound and refunds from NYC Transit, through flight delays at LGA and bomb scares at the Port Authority.
I feel a little like Arthur Dent when he reached the Earth after being thrown around in the universe a bit barring the fact that I am quite certain that at least some variant of the earth and of Delhi still exist even if the real ones may have been sacrificed for a hyperspace bypass or something. (For those who didn’t get that, please, I beseech you, please read the good book - The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.)
My interview experiences have been far from this exciting. Most of the interviews are similar, the questions remain the same but the people asking them change. There are a few different ones where the Program Director might start playing medical jeopardy with you or when you get to ride in a stretch limo. There are long interviews in the places which genuinely care about the sort of candidate they take in and there are those in NYC where you might miss your interview if you blink. There are some where they will ask you medicine related questions as if you got somebody else to take your MLEs and some where they will ask you anything but. The upshot of it all is that I feel that my relationship with programs and program directors is a lot like my relationship with women, in the following ways :
1) I believe one can’t trust either. One on one, they’ll say wonderful things about you. Literally tell you that you are ‘the one’ - their McDreamy, or in some very rare cases even their McSteamy. And then very conveniently, they will say that to the next guy too.
2) The programs I like, much like the girls I like, don’t like me. At least not in the same way. With girls, the ones I really like always end up telling me I’m just a good friend and how much they care about me and that they aren’t interested in a relationship at that point in time. With residency programs, I ask the ones I really like for a prematch and they tell me how I am a very strong candidate and that they aren’t giving any prematches just yet. Eerily similar, I think.
3) Interviewing at residency programs is a lot like dating. I’m checking them out, they’re checking me out, trying to figure out if its going to work on a long term basis. I interviewed at a hospital in Boston where I’d spent a month observing and it was more like an awkward second date rather than a nervous first one. They knew everything about me, and I knew everything about them and that pretty much left nothing to talk about.
4) After every interview (read: first date) I come back and send them a communiqué telling them how much I enjoyed the meeting and how eager I am to take our relationship to the next level, and again just like most girls, most programs don’t bother to reply to my painstakingly written, carefully worded, double spell checked, treble proof read emails.
5) Despite my miserable track records with girls and residency programs, I still dream of getting the right ‘match’ in both departments. I wish everyone the best of luck in love and life on their respective matchdays. Have a great 2007 folks.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
The Amtrak Diaries
Chapter One
One of the most fascinating seasons in North America is fall. Just last month I had traveled to Montréal from New York by train and was mesmerized by the myriad hues of nature. (Its not often that an insensitive bloke like me gets moved by natural beauty – hues interesting to me are usually blondes, brunettes and the rare redheads). At this very moment I am on my way to Ann Arbor, Michigan from Boston changing trains at Albany and Toledo (don’t even ask – I love Indian Railways – my train’s been stuck in the middle of nowhere for the last 40 minutes, a little longer than Ashram Express used to stop for some incomprehensible reason at Rewari outer.)
The view from the train window is a lot different now than it was 6 weeks back (although the coffee’s still as bad). It’s dark and gloomy outside and its just late afternoon. Its been raining, the trees have shed almost all they had, perhaps having realized that they cant fight the cruel winter, which by the way has got me petrified too. (I have ‘Take Away My Pain’ playing on my computer). I on the other hand feel a lot better than I did then - mostly because I took my USMLE step 3 and got it out of the way. There’s a lot to be said for the post exam feeling which I am sure all of us unfortunate enough to have been educated are fortunate enough to have experienced. It’s not all good though. It is a kind of euphoria mixed with a little bit of uncertainty and anxiety about the way the exam actually went down. It’s somewhat of a void.
Chapter Two (and a bit more than I bargained for)
It’s about ten days since I started writing this post and have been traveling like crazy, so I haven’t had time to actually put it up yet. (I know all this is going to sound a bit weird when the post is actually up.) I have, since then experienced a lot more of the Amtrak, Railway stations and the American hinterland. I spent enough time at Union Station, Chicago in just a 2 day trip to the city to know it pretty much inside out. From there my journey to New York was supposed to take around 18 hours and took over 26. Yeah, I know. Ouch. Another Déjà vu of times spent on Indian Railways.
The one thing that totally rocks about Bhartiya Rail is the sort of people one meets in the average second class compartment. In that section of 8 berths one would usually find, to mention a few, an extremely entertaining mix of students, senior citizens and traveling businessmen (In my travels, almost exclusively Punjabi and usually the most frustrated and cynical of the lot, which by default makes their comments the most interesting). Everyone there has an opinion and more than that has an irresistible urge to share it, nay, impress it upon all others present. A group of jats discussing politics can sometimes be funnier than Seinfeld, Frasier and Friends put together, not to mention the language being more colorful than some rap songs labeled ‘Parental Advisory-Explicit Lyrics’. Trains in the US pale in comparison as most people spend their time watching movies on their laptops or are totally tuned into their iPods.
Another interesting thing I found in my recent and as yet unconcluded travels was that these days bumping into fellow residency aspirants traveling for interviews is easier than catching a cold.(I haven’t caught one yet, thankfully, but its almost inevitable in the winters. I do however keep bumping into guys from India, Pakistan and Nepal who are in the same boat as me - figuratively the same boat, literally the same train). In fact I saw an attractive girl traveling from Chicago to Rochester and went up to her and said “Let me guess, you’re interviewing for your residency?” and she stared at me blankly and said that she studied there. Not the best ice breaker ever.
I just completed one leg of my traveling and came back totally exhausted, having visited 5 states in a week! The next leg starts in a couple of days as I head north for my biggest interview yet. I hope the trips are somewhat interesting to keep the Amtrak Diaries alive, and also because I’ve pretty much run out of my stock of movies to watch on the train.
One of the most fascinating seasons in North America is fall. Just last month I had traveled to Montréal from New York by train and was mesmerized by the myriad hues of nature. (Its not often that an insensitive bloke like me gets moved by natural beauty – hues interesting to me are usually blondes, brunettes and the rare redheads). At this very moment I am on my way to Ann Arbor, Michigan from Boston changing trains at Albany and Toledo (don’t even ask – I love Indian Railways – my train’s been stuck in the middle of nowhere for the last 40 minutes, a little longer than Ashram Express used to stop for some incomprehensible reason at Rewari outer.)
The view from the train window is a lot different now than it was 6 weeks back (although the coffee’s still as bad). It’s dark and gloomy outside and its just late afternoon. Its been raining, the trees have shed almost all they had, perhaps having realized that they cant fight the cruel winter, which by the way has got me petrified too. (I have ‘Take Away My Pain’ playing on my computer). I on the other hand feel a lot better than I did then - mostly because I took my USMLE step 3 and got it out of the way. There’s a lot to be said for the post exam feeling which I am sure all of us unfortunate enough to have been educated are fortunate enough to have experienced. It’s not all good though. It is a kind of euphoria mixed with a little bit of uncertainty and anxiety about the way the exam actually went down. It’s somewhat of a void.
Chapter Two (and a bit more than I bargained for)
It’s about ten days since I started writing this post and have been traveling like crazy, so I haven’t had time to actually put it up yet. (I know all this is going to sound a bit weird when the post is actually up.) I have, since then experienced a lot more of the Amtrak, Railway stations and the American hinterland. I spent enough time at Union Station, Chicago in just a 2 day trip to the city to know it pretty much inside out. From there my journey to New York was supposed to take around 18 hours and took over 26. Yeah, I know. Ouch. Another Déjà vu of times spent on Indian Railways.
The one thing that totally rocks about Bhartiya Rail is the sort of people one meets in the average second class compartment. In that section of 8 berths one would usually find, to mention a few, an extremely entertaining mix of students, senior citizens and traveling businessmen (In my travels, almost exclusively Punjabi and usually the most frustrated and cynical of the lot, which by default makes their comments the most interesting). Everyone there has an opinion and more than that has an irresistible urge to share it, nay, impress it upon all others present. A group of jats discussing politics can sometimes be funnier than Seinfeld, Frasier and Friends put together, not to mention the language being more colorful than some rap songs labeled ‘Parental Advisory-Explicit Lyrics’. Trains in the US pale in comparison as most people spend their time watching movies on their laptops or are totally tuned into their iPods.
Another interesting thing I found in my recent and as yet unconcluded travels was that these days bumping into fellow residency aspirants traveling for interviews is easier than catching a cold.(I haven’t caught one yet, thankfully, but its almost inevitable in the winters. I do however keep bumping into guys from India, Pakistan and Nepal who are in the same boat as me - figuratively the same boat, literally the same train). In fact I saw an attractive girl traveling from Chicago to Rochester and went up to her and said “Let me guess, you’re interviewing for your residency?” and she stared at me blankly and said that she studied there. Not the best ice breaker ever.
I just completed one leg of my traveling and came back totally exhausted, having visited 5 states in a week! The next leg starts in a couple of days as I head north for my biggest interview yet. I hope the trips are somewhat interesting to keep the Amtrak Diaries alive, and also because I’ve pretty much run out of my stock of movies to watch on the train.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
These Romans are Crazy
The last few days have been a bit of a drag as I don't have a lot to do but study for my next exam (yes, there's a Step 3 as well!). During breaks from the incredibly torrid questions on usmleworld I generally turn on the TV and always end up realizing that American TV channels are very similar to Indian channels in one respect - there's usually nothing worth watching on them. A few days back, I was going through my usual routine of changing channels mindlessly, sipping my coffee when I caught the sight of choppers with green hills in the background accompanied by very familiar strains of music. It was a rerun of a TV show I used to love as a kid and brought back memories of the people at the 4077th MASH. From the C.O. Col Potter to the adorable company clerk 'Radar'; 'Hotlips' Hoolahan to the softspoken Father Mulcahy; the unfortunately sane Max Klinger to the almost crazy team of surgeons.
M*A*S*H was one of the few shows that actually at times was so entertaining it stopped me from going to play soccer(that is possibly the biggest compliment a TV show can get out of me). What I realize now is that it wasn't just entertaining , it was also inspiring. I can't really be sure about this but I think it played a part in my choosing medicine as a career, not to mention my wanting to join the armed forces as a doctor (Most of my friends from school might remember my near brush with AFMC). I remember an episode where they're all sitting around singing a song about their own roles at the MASH and the doctors sang "Doctors in the army, they think they're mighty bright, they work on patients through the day and nurses through the night"(Can you blame me for wanting to join AFMC??).
My idol was, and continues to be 'Hawkeye' Pierce. An excellent doctor, a real stand up guy, a good son, and of course, a complete wiseass, I realize that thats all I want to be. (He was also somewhat of a ladies' man, but we all know I gave up on that a long time back. Its always good to be realistic!)
Coming back to American TV shows, the first few times that I watched TV here, I was quite concerned to say the least. The fact that the first few shows I caught were Jerry Springer and Maury should explain my concern. Jerry Springer is one crazy show where people bring all their dirty linen, wash it, wring it and leave it out to dry. They argue, debate and fight about their personal matters. On national TV. Very dysfunctional if you ask me. On Maury there were couples who had children with parental disputes and the results of their paternity tests were read out. On national TV. Incredibly insane in my opinion. Then I happened to watch one of those mad ass "judge" shows. Another opportunity for the average American to do his weekly laundry- on TV - and try to get some compensation for it as well.
By now I've learnt not to wander away from the known and safe territory of sitcoms as these crazy things on TV were skewing my opinion on how dysfunctional American society actually is.(Before this I thought The Simpsons were the yardstick for the same, and I dont mean Ashlee and Jessica-although I'm sure they wouldnt be too far behind. In the same token, I would certainly not want people to judge Indian society by the mind bogglingly sappy drivel doled out by Ekkkkta Kapoor and the rest of her K-tribe.)
I feel a lot like Asterix when he taps his head and says "These Romans are crazy".
M*A*S*H was one of the few shows that actually at times was so entertaining it stopped me from going to play soccer(that is possibly the biggest compliment a TV show can get out of me). What I realize now is that it wasn't just entertaining , it was also inspiring. I can't really be sure about this but I think it played a part in my choosing medicine as a career, not to mention my wanting to join the armed forces as a doctor (Most of my friends from school might remember my near brush with AFMC). I remember an episode where they're all sitting around singing a song about their own roles at the MASH and the doctors sang "Doctors in the army, they think they're mighty bright, they work on patients through the day and nurses through the night"(Can you blame me for wanting to join AFMC??).
My idol was, and continues to be 'Hawkeye' Pierce. An excellent doctor, a real stand up guy, a good son, and of course, a complete wiseass, I realize that thats all I want to be. (He was also somewhat of a ladies' man, but we all know I gave up on that a long time back. Its always good to be realistic!)
Coming back to American TV shows, the first few times that I watched TV here, I was quite concerned to say the least. The fact that the first few shows I caught were Jerry Springer and Maury should explain my concern. Jerry Springer is one crazy show where people bring all their dirty linen, wash it, wring it and leave it out to dry. They argue, debate and fight about their personal matters. On national TV. Very dysfunctional if you ask me. On Maury there were couples who had children with parental disputes and the results of their paternity tests were read out. On national TV. Incredibly insane in my opinion. Then I happened to watch one of those mad ass "judge" shows. Another opportunity for the average American to do his weekly laundry- on TV - and try to get some compensation for it as well.
By now I've learnt not to wander away from the known and safe territory of sitcoms as these crazy things on TV were skewing my opinion on how dysfunctional American society actually is.(Before this I thought The Simpsons were the yardstick for the same, and I dont mean Ashlee and Jessica-although I'm sure they wouldnt be too far behind. In the same token, I would certainly not want people to judge Indian society by the mind bogglingly sappy drivel doled out by Ekkkkta Kapoor and the rest of her K-tribe.)
I feel a lot like Asterix when he taps his head and says "These Romans are crazy".
Friday, September 29, 2006
Viral Fever
I spent the last week battling some unknown forces that had laid siege on my computer. Everytime I tried to run any program even remotely related to the internet (doesn't leave much, barring perhaps MSDOS which I still remember our computer science teacher going through great pains to get into our heads in 7th grade) I got a whole series of windows which popped up (hence their being called "pop-ups"-ingenious I say) and tried to sell me cars, college degrees, antivirus softwares (a conspiracy or just ironic-who can tell?) and also promised to introduce me to some very lovely ladies in my neighborhood. Since I cant afford a car, already have one degree and can't really purchase the next one I'm vying for, would never pay for antivirus softwares (or for that matter for the lovely ladies- my conscience doesnt allow either-its company policy) I found those pop-ups quite trying as you may well imagine.
After trying everything I could I decided to call in the big guns as reinforcements and SOS'd(I think we can redefine SOS from "save our souls" to "save our softwares" in todays age considering we already sold our souls to the devil when we bought pirated software at palika bazar) 2-3 of my IT related friends for help. The first thing all of them said when I told them I might have a virus was "dude, you gotta quit surfing porn!". I could not quite fathom the reason for these allegations which i found utterly baseless(not to mention offensive!) especially because I hadnt been surfing porn(not lately at least!). I wasn't really able to make the correlation between beautiful women in cyberspace and malicious programs on my hard disk. Its seemingly like the layman who knows about HIV and Syphilis never thinks that he's going to get infected till he gets naughty and careless.
Fortunately though my computer seems to be well on the road to recovery and I apparently need to bolster its defenses and be a little more..ahem, discreet about what I do online. As my cousin put it, "No more unprotected internet surfing". He tried his best to give me my lessons about adware, spyware, trojans, worms, viruses and the like(I still cant tell one from the other, but i know they exist) but I will have to leave it as one of those things which I perhaps am not meant to fathom. And at the risk of repeating myself for the zillionth time, I shrug my shoulders, sigh and say that Computers and women are two things i will probably never understand! (Yes, I know women are not "things", and I do not intend to imply that either-I simply allude to their thought processes which I am perhaps not destined to comprehend-so I request the women's libbers out there to please refrain from igniting their lingerie over this.)
After trying everything I could I decided to call in the big guns as reinforcements and SOS'd(I think we can redefine SOS from "save our souls" to "save our softwares" in todays age considering we already sold our souls to the devil when we bought pirated software at palika bazar) 2-3 of my IT related friends for help. The first thing all of them said when I told them I might have a virus was "dude, you gotta quit surfing porn!". I could not quite fathom the reason for these allegations which i found utterly baseless(not to mention offensive!) especially because I hadnt been surfing porn(not lately at least!). I wasn't really able to make the correlation between beautiful women in cyberspace and malicious programs on my hard disk. Its seemingly like the layman who knows about HIV and Syphilis never thinks that he's going to get infected till he gets naughty and careless.
Fortunately though my computer seems to be well on the road to recovery and I apparently need to bolster its defenses and be a little more..ahem, discreet about what I do online. As my cousin put it, "No more unprotected internet surfing". He tried his best to give me my lessons about adware, spyware, trojans, worms, viruses and the like(I still cant tell one from the other, but i know they exist) but I will have to leave it as one of those things which I perhaps am not meant to fathom. And at the risk of repeating myself for the zillionth time, I shrug my shoulders, sigh and say that Computers and women are two things i will probably never understand! (Yes, I know women are not "things", and I do not intend to imply that either-I simply allude to their thought processes which I am perhaps not destined to comprehend-so I request the women's libbers out there to please refrain from igniting their lingerie over this.)
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Are you Johnnie re?
"Who is John Galt?" - The cry goes round the world once again. Well, not quite the world, but in some people's universes at least. Could this allusion be to the Scottish novelist of the 19th century? I think not. Its the "mystery worker", the "destroyer", the man who changed the world. For the fortunately uninitiated he was a character in Atlas Shrugged(you can check out http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Characters_in_Atlas_Shrugged#John_Galt). I read that book about 5 years back and found it to be a terribly tedious ordeal. Took me close to three months to finish, and a 90 page speech by Mr Galt himself was nothing short of torture. Yet the book had a fascinating concept. In short, it was good but it just wasnt worth the effort involved (what else do you expect from a guy who's read The Hitchikers Guide 5 times in the last two years?!).
Sure, we need John Galt today. The world is such a screwed up place, that we could actually do with several hundreds of 'em, but the point is do we keep going on with our lives and hope John Galt turns up, do we just sit around and wait or do we look for the John Galt within each one of us and the people we know?
There are those who wait for Mr Galt. According to lore, he's not a superhero. Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Phantom, Kriisisshshsh(I'm sure I misspelt it-but i'm sorry hrithik, i dont really care) are superheroes. John Galt is one of us. Could be you, your best friend or your worst enemy.(I've been informed by someone very reliable that its not me, so thats not an option).I firmly believe that Mr Galt doesnt exist but there is a little bit of him in all of us. For those who wait for him, for whatever reason- whether for him to bring them salvation, to be their saviour or to bloody marry them - I wish them all the best. I can only quote lines from Chad Kroegers 'Hero' to tell them how I feel about it..
"And they say that a hero can save us.
I'm not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold on to the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
Now that the world isn't ending, it's love that I'm sending to you.
It isn't the love of a hero, that's why I fear it won't do."
Sure, we need John Galt today. The world is such a screwed up place, that we could actually do with several hundreds of 'em, but the point is do we keep going on with our lives and hope John Galt turns up, do we just sit around and wait or do we look for the John Galt within each one of us and the people we know?
There are those who wait for Mr Galt. According to lore, he's not a superhero. Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Phantom, Kriisisshshsh(I'm sure I misspelt it-but i'm sorry hrithik, i dont really care) are superheroes. John Galt is one of us. Could be you, your best friend or your worst enemy.(I've been informed by someone very reliable that its not me, so thats not an option).I firmly believe that Mr Galt doesnt exist but there is a little bit of him in all of us. For those who wait for him, for whatever reason- whether for him to bring them salvation, to be their saviour or to bloody marry them - I wish them all the best. I can only quote lines from Chad Kroegers 'Hero' to tell them how I feel about it..
"And they say that a hero can save us.
I'm not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold on to the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
Now that the world isn't ending, it's love that I'm sending to you.
It isn't the love of a hero, that's why I fear it won't do."
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Statement of....Purpose??
I sincerely apologize for my last post (its not there anymore, so this apology is only there for those who were (un)fortunate enough to have read it). It was very uncharacteristic of me and was due to a momentary lapse of reason - as i told the person responsible for the whole post - my immense intellect has been clouded by emotion the last few days-not sure if she got the sarcasm. Despite my requests, I still received a few sympathetic messages and am grateful for the concern expressed by everyone. I'm doing fine now (wasnt doing too badly then, but tostitos, coke and ice cream are never good for health) and very much back on my feet.
I spent a month in Boston doing an observership at a hospital where I was pleasantly surprised by how friendly everyone was. I had expected I would stick out like a sore thumb(which i might have done, but i didnt really feel it). There were residents from all over the world and the time i spent there was as much a geography lesson as a medicine experience. It actually looks kind of like an advert for UCB. I guess something thats only possible in the US.
After a flurry of recommendations, personal statements, common application forms and endless lists of residency programs suddenly all is quiet. D-day, 1st September (yeah, Happy Birthday SPS) has come and gone. I survived it, as did I guess just about everyone else in the race for a residency spot in the US of A. Now begins a long and painful wait for programs to invite us for interview calls. Everyday that goes by without any word from them - neither rejecting, nor inviting, is full of an eerie sort of silence - emptiness, a void. It is this factor which over the next month or so will decide whether a day was good or bad. Or ugly (hope I don’t have any of those).
I seem to have become somewhat of an authority on personal statements. Having nearly lost my mind writing my own(which by the way I myself didnt think was too great), I subsequently had to write/edit/repair (for want of a better word-because I have seen some really bad ones too!) close to ten others (5 of them being variants of the same one as a friend of mine was applying to 5 branches- i hear there's a 6th one in the mix as well now! I could participate in the recitation tests I used to dread as a kid with one of her PS’s.). My spectrum expanded a couple of days back as I actually wrote out a PS for a friend applying for a fellowship in Cardiology and have already been warned by another who will be applying to B schools that I'll have to write his too!
"Statement Of Purpose" - These words have been echoing in my head for the last few weeks as I needed to sum up all the ambitions, desires, achievements of a lifetime(thus far, at least) in a solitary page to apply for a residency program. The problem is not one of plenty and of squeezing in stuff into those few hundred words, but rather how to write a statement of purpose when i believe I have the most purposeless existence known to mankind. I like to eat, sleep, play, read, write. All very fine pursuits, but somewhat lacking purpose. I figured all this wouldnt look too good on my application, so I had to be a little creative and mention something or the other about "helping humanity", "intellectual pursuits", and "career goals". Made me feel not unlike a Miss India contestant( "My idol is Mother Teresa..." - when actually its Rakhi Sawant or Isha Koppikar.)
It's virtually impossible to avoid these cliches when writing a Personal Statement, and that is precisely the problem I was facing. How do I make myself look different yet make it seem like I'm every PD's dream, while just about everyone else is doing the same, barring those who hired one website or another to do their dirty work for them. (I can do a better job than most-at half the price-anyone interested?)Its a mystery to me as to what they want in a Personal statement. They want some emotion, some passion in it, but don’t want it to be over the top. They also need you to be politically very correct, which of course poses a huge problem for someone like me.
So kids, if any of you ever need any help writing a personal statement, please dont hesitate to go elsewhere because i have had more than my fair share of them. If you're willing to pay, however, that is a different matter altogether.
I spent a month in Boston doing an observership at a hospital where I was pleasantly surprised by how friendly everyone was. I had expected I would stick out like a sore thumb(which i might have done, but i didnt really feel it). There were residents from all over the world and the time i spent there was as much a geography lesson as a medicine experience. It actually looks kind of like an advert for UCB. I guess something thats only possible in the US.
After a flurry of recommendations, personal statements, common application forms and endless lists of residency programs suddenly all is quiet. D-day, 1st September (yeah, Happy Birthday SPS) has come and gone. I survived it, as did I guess just about everyone else in the race for a residency spot in the US of A. Now begins a long and painful wait for programs to invite us for interview calls. Everyday that goes by without any word from them - neither rejecting, nor inviting, is full of an eerie sort of silence - emptiness, a void. It is this factor which over the next month or so will decide whether a day was good or bad. Or ugly (hope I don’t have any of those).
I seem to have become somewhat of an authority on personal statements. Having nearly lost my mind writing my own(which by the way I myself didnt think was too great), I subsequently had to write/edit/repair (for want of a better word-because I have seen some really bad ones too!) close to ten others (5 of them being variants of the same one as a friend of mine was applying to 5 branches- i hear there's a 6th one in the mix as well now! I could participate in the recitation tests I used to dread as a kid with one of her PS’s.). My spectrum expanded a couple of days back as I actually wrote out a PS for a friend applying for a fellowship in Cardiology and have already been warned by another who will be applying to B schools that I'll have to write his too!
"Statement Of Purpose" - These words have been echoing in my head for the last few weeks as I needed to sum up all the ambitions, desires, achievements of a lifetime(thus far, at least) in a solitary page to apply for a residency program. The problem is not one of plenty and of squeezing in stuff into those few hundred words, but rather how to write a statement of purpose when i believe I have the most purposeless existence known to mankind. I like to eat, sleep, play, read, write. All very fine pursuits, but somewhat lacking purpose. I figured all this wouldnt look too good on my application, so I had to be a little creative and mention something or the other about "helping humanity", "intellectual pursuits", and "career goals". Made me feel not unlike a Miss India contestant( "My idol is Mother Teresa..." - when actually its Rakhi Sawant or Isha Koppikar.)
It's virtually impossible to avoid these cliches when writing a Personal Statement, and that is precisely the problem I was facing. How do I make myself look different yet make it seem like I'm every PD's dream, while just about everyone else is doing the same, barring those who hired one website or another to do their dirty work for them. (I can do a better job than most-at half the price-anyone interested?)Its a mystery to me as to what they want in a Personal statement. They want some emotion, some passion in it, but don’t want it to be over the top. They also need you to be politically very correct, which of course poses a huge problem for someone like me.
So kids, if any of you ever need any help writing a personal statement, please dont hesitate to go elsewhere because i have had more than my fair share of them. If you're willing to pay, however, that is a different matter altogether.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
A Yankee Doodle
"Bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free.." says the inscription on the statue of liberty. Who can turn down such an invitation? Well, so here I am. Tired from a year of studying for my USMLEs, broke from having paid my exam fees, and definitely a huddled mass yearning to be free! (a considerably larger mass than i ever envisaged myself to be, but a huddled mass, nevertheless)
America. Amrika. The US of A. The land of opportunity. The land of the free. The home of great people like Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, Henry Ford, Donald Trump, Walt Disney, George W Bush, Paris Hilton and Angelina Jolie. The land of which I have read about in all sorts of places from history books to Archie comics. The country whose TV programs(rejected, delayed, old, rerun-whatever) we have been watching since Mr Murdoch conquered India. The place where Ross met Rachel, and where Kramer always got Jerry into trouble.
This was my first ever trip abroad and hence I had a lot of fears, some justified, and a lot of them quite unwarranted. The foremost among the latter being that I would feel like a village idiot, a complete 'dehaati' when I left India. I was pleasantly surprised to see that I didnt (except on one or two occasions like when I couldnt figure out how to lock or unlock the door to a restroom somewhere, and when I had no idea what some of the things offered to us for lunch at our exam center in Philly were, or how they were supposed to be consumed)
There were a few things that struck me about this place in the few days that i've been here. The cleanliness is undoubtedly one(except when I went to Jersey City, which is a totally Indian, and predominantly Gujju hub-it reminded me of Ahmedabad, on a bad day). The orderly and patient way everyone drove their cars was another thing. On our way from the airport, my uncle must have driven at least 20 miles before I could hear a single person honk(even then it was a rather exuberant sardarji who broke the silence). Another impressive aspect of the American lifestyle is the sheer magnitude of doing things. Everything is on a scale nearly as grand as the average Punjabi wedding. The buildings are tall, the cars are big and juice is sold by the gallon. Despite all this I am still yet to see what the big deal is. Why are people from all over the world drawn to the US like Mika to Rakhi Sawant? What is it that has made the US a dream for people for generations now? The promise of a "better" lifestyle and the US dollar is the answer I guess. There really is something about the US dollar. The very first time I put messrs Jackson, Hamilton, and Washington in my wallet at the Forex shop in Delhi, I felt a sense of power that the US currency brought to me(I felt totally powerless a few days later when I saw a slot machine at Caesars Casino in Atlantic City rob me of Mr Jackson in under an hour)
Whether I will ever see what the big deal is or not, I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure I won't stop seeing what the big deal about India is.
America. Amrika. The US of A. The land of opportunity. The land of the free. The home of great people like Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, Henry Ford, Donald Trump, Walt Disney, George W Bush, Paris Hilton and Angelina Jolie. The land of which I have read about in all sorts of places from history books to Archie comics. The country whose TV programs(rejected, delayed, old, rerun-whatever) we have been watching since Mr Murdoch conquered India. The place where Ross met Rachel, and where Kramer always got Jerry into trouble.
This was my first ever trip abroad and hence I had a lot of fears, some justified, and a lot of them quite unwarranted. The foremost among the latter being that I would feel like a village idiot, a complete 'dehaati' when I left India. I was pleasantly surprised to see that I didnt (except on one or two occasions like when I couldnt figure out how to lock or unlock the door to a restroom somewhere, and when I had no idea what some of the things offered to us for lunch at our exam center in Philly were, or how they were supposed to be consumed)
There were a few things that struck me about this place in the few days that i've been here. The cleanliness is undoubtedly one(except when I went to Jersey City, which is a totally Indian, and predominantly Gujju hub-it reminded me of Ahmedabad, on a bad day). The orderly and patient way everyone drove their cars was another thing. On our way from the airport, my uncle must have driven at least 20 miles before I could hear a single person honk(even then it was a rather exuberant sardarji who broke the silence). Another impressive aspect of the American lifestyle is the sheer magnitude of doing things. Everything is on a scale nearly as grand as the average Punjabi wedding. The buildings are tall, the cars are big and juice is sold by the gallon. Despite all this I am still yet to see what the big deal is. Why are people from all over the world drawn to the US like Mika to Rakhi Sawant? What is it that has made the US a dream for people for generations now? The promise of a "better" lifestyle and the US dollar is the answer I guess. There really is something about the US dollar. The very first time I put messrs Jackson, Hamilton, and Washington in my wallet at the Forex shop in Delhi, I felt a sense of power that the US currency brought to me(I felt totally powerless a few days later when I saw a slot machine at Caesars Casino in Atlantic City rob me of Mr Jackson in under an hour)
Whether I will ever see what the big deal is or not, I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure I won't stop seeing what the big deal about India is.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Soccer Secrets from the Dressing Room
The Football (Guess I'll start calling it soccer now, since I'm leaving for the US) World Cup is almost over. All the pre tournament favorites have fallen by the wayside. All the pundits (myself included) have been left embarrassed by their predictions, and are blushing nearly as red as Rooney's punishment. Throughout the tournament I've wondered what it must be like in the dressing rooms of the different teams, and I imagined a few scenarios which might have had all the flies on the walls rolling in the aisles. This is what I think some team talks must have been like...
ENGLAND
Sven: (stifles a yawn) So you boys really want to play this match?
Beckham, Gerrard, Rooney et al in unison: Crikey! Yes Boss!
Sven: OK..David, you're the skipper. Today you decide the line-up and formation. I'll just nip into the showers for a bit. Faria's waiting.
Crouch: Duh,boss..can I play today?
Sven: Sure, whatever big guy. Theo, you come with me and Faria. I didnt bring you all the way here to play football..
BRASIL
Parreira: OK boys here's the plan. We'll attack them from the beginning- I read somewhere that attack is the best..something..cant remember..what was it Mr Zagallo?
Zagallo: Damned if I remember lad, can barely recall my wife's name at this age..
Parreira: Anyways, We are going to score ten goals today. First three from Ronaldo so he gets his record. I want everyone to pass the ball to him. Then Kaka, Ronaldinho, Adriano and Robinho will score one each. Then time for the defenders to get their share. Is that clear boys?
Lucio: But boss, what about the defense? And what if they score?
Parreira: IDIOT! We are Brasil. They CANT score. And since you're so worried about the defense, you are banned from crossing into their half. Lets see how you get your pic in tomorrows news now
Dida: Boss, can I score today? (Parreira rolls his eyes and reaches for his antihypertensive medication)
Roberto Carlos: Boss, do I have to come back and defend too? (Parreira takes another dose)
ITALY
Lippi (to Del Piero): Alex, you're out.
Del Piero: Why boss? Why?
Lippi: Who told you to get your head shaved? Now you make us look like a soccer team. I think thats why we lost the sponsorship of Dolce and Gabbana. You are a disgrace to Italian modelling..er..football
Luca Toni: Boss, can I start?
Lippi: Yeah, you're a good lookin lad, why not?
Iaquinta: And me, boss?
Lippi: On the bench. We cant defy tradition by starting with two out and out strikers son.
PORTUGAL(in a training session)
Scolari(blows whistle): OK boys, thats enough football for today. Time for simulation training.
Team, in unison: Yay!
Scolari: Right boys, lets see all of you dive in the penalty area and sucker the ref
Figo: Been doing this for 20 years, I'm the best diver in the world.
Deco: I suckered 10 refs in the Champions League this year
C. Ronaldo: Yes. but I can get people sent off...
Pauleta: Ya, lets get a penalty. No other way I can get a goal..
ARGENTINA
Pekerman makes a complicated diagram on the board which looks somewhat like the Argentinian Airlines Flight chart out of Buenos Aires and says "Got it boys?". Everyone slowly turns their head towards Riquelme who lazily nods and says "Yeah, sure". The next day the team scores six, and composes a 24 pass symphony that will be imprinted on our memories for decades to come. Truly, one of the greatest goals of all time.
ENGLAND
Sven: (stifles a yawn) So you boys really want to play this match?
Beckham, Gerrard, Rooney et al in unison: Crikey! Yes Boss!
Sven: OK..David, you're the skipper. Today you decide the line-up and formation. I'll just nip into the showers for a bit. Faria's waiting.
Crouch: Duh,boss..can I play today?
Sven: Sure, whatever big guy. Theo, you come with me and Faria. I didnt bring you all the way here to play football..
BRASIL
Parreira: OK boys here's the plan. We'll attack them from the beginning- I read somewhere that attack is the best..something..cant remember..what was it Mr Zagallo?
Zagallo: Damned if I remember lad, can barely recall my wife's name at this age..
Parreira: Anyways, We are going to score ten goals today. First three from Ronaldo so he gets his record. I want everyone to pass the ball to him. Then Kaka, Ronaldinho, Adriano and Robinho will score one each. Then time for the defenders to get their share. Is that clear boys?
Lucio: But boss, what about the defense? And what if they score?
Parreira: IDIOT! We are Brasil. They CANT score. And since you're so worried about the defense, you are banned from crossing into their half. Lets see how you get your pic in tomorrows news now
Dida: Boss, can I score today? (Parreira rolls his eyes and reaches for his antihypertensive medication)
Roberto Carlos: Boss, do I have to come back and defend too? (Parreira takes another dose)
ITALY
Lippi (to Del Piero): Alex, you're out.
Del Piero: Why boss? Why?
Lippi: Who told you to get your head shaved? Now you make us look like a soccer team. I think thats why we lost the sponsorship of Dolce and Gabbana. You are a disgrace to Italian modelling..er..football
Luca Toni: Boss, can I start?
Lippi: Yeah, you're a good lookin lad, why not?
Iaquinta: And me, boss?
Lippi: On the bench. We cant defy tradition by starting with two out and out strikers son.
PORTUGAL(in a training session)
Scolari(blows whistle): OK boys, thats enough football for today. Time for simulation training.
Team, in unison: Yay!
Scolari: Right boys, lets see all of you dive in the penalty area and sucker the ref
Figo: Been doing this for 20 years, I'm the best diver in the world.
Deco: I suckered 10 refs in the Champions League this year
C. Ronaldo: Yes. but I can get people sent off...
Pauleta: Ya, lets get a penalty. No other way I can get a goal..
ARGENTINA
Pekerman makes a complicated diagram on the board which looks somewhat like the Argentinian Airlines Flight chart out of Buenos Aires and says "Got it boys?". Everyone slowly turns their head towards Riquelme who lazily nods and says "Yeah, sure". The next day the team scores six, and composes a 24 pass symphony that will be imprinted on our memories for decades to come. Truly, one of the greatest goals of all time.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Just Not Cricket
India drew their third Test match against the West Indies as well(yawn!). In my opinion, a boring test match ambling towards an inevitable draw is possibly the worst sight that professional sport has to offer. I consider it even more boring than watching Billiards or Chess (I do appreciate the skills involved in these sports, and also the thrill of playing them, but with all due respect they aren't exactly a spectator's dream!). I have spent a large percentage of my life watching sports (I Once actually watched the National Korfball Championships on DD) and of this a rather huge fraction has been spent on cricket. It has provided me not only some of my best sporting memories (Venkatesh Prasad bowling out Aamir Sohail-1996 world cup), some of my worst (India losing the Chennai test to Pak after Sachins century), and also some of my most boring and exasperating sporting memories(Innumerable test matches being drawn, matches being rained out and abandoned, matches being abandoned due to poor light)
I really believe if it wasn't for India, Pakistan and Sri Lanka, Cricket would be extinct by now. Its just that we suck at every other sport, and crickets the only game where we can consistently stay in the top ten (any guesses why?), that we are so crazy about it. The Aussies, despite being really good at lots of other team sports probably continue playing Cricket because its one game where they can consistently thrash the pommies(yes, I know what happened in the Ashes this year, but I consider it an aberration till England can prove otherwise).
India, I'm sorry to say is not a sporting nation. Don't get me wrong, I'm a proud Indian, but we must accept what our limitations are. The environs we grow up in are not really conducive to developing future sportsmen. I thus have extra respect in my heart for the Leanders, Sanias, Gopichands, Irfans and Baichungs who make it despite all odds - and perhaps even more so for the many others who don't.
When we watch a cricket match we don't treat it like a sport, we treat it like entertainment. I agree that the line dividing sport and entertainment is a blurry one, but the facts remain that we booed Sachin off the pitch in Bombay, we booed the Indian team off the ground in Delhi for scoring just 200 runs (our side eventually won the game-but who cares-we just want to see Dhoni hit the ball out of the park), we throw stuff onto the field and disrupt games when things aren't going to plan(Delhi, Mumbai, Calcutta). We are very bitter losers, and not very sporting people at all. This behaviour is sometimes really disgusting and actually reminds me of a couple of terrible movies I've had the misfortune of being audience to, where the junta got bored and erupted into whistles and catcalls, and on one occasion went so far as to break the chairs in the theater and threaten to beat up the manager if they didnt get their money back! Contemporary cricket is designed to appeal to the masses, with silly rules being introduced into an already complicated game (powerplay, super-sub). Its like a masala movie - Sachin and Sehwag are the heroes, Shoaib/Brett Lee/Murali the villains, Dravid and Kumble are the heroes' ever reliable friends ("best supporting actor goes to.."), Bhajji is the hero's funny friend (the guy who usually gets beat up by the villain and waits for the hero to save his ass), and Dhoni is the latest 'tadakda-bhadakta' item number - comes on anytime in between,usually doesnt last long, and is there for pure entertainment value - the item number after which the match can be classified as 'paisa vasool' or not.
The ICC and BCCIs relentless peddling of the sport in the name of spreading Cricket to the far corners of the world has to some extent resulted in even a cricket crazy population like us losing interest(yours truly included). They have turned it from a unique, if somewhat placid sport needing patience and skill, to a mediocre circus advertising cheap thrills(twenty-twenty,anyone?). Gone are the days when an India Pak match in Sharjah would capture the imagination of the entire sub-continent, when kids in school would mass-bunk to catch the game on TV. Gone are the days when a cricket match defeat would hurt till the next victory, when we actually hated the Pakistan team, and the matches were like war. Now many of us just dont see what the big deal is. They beat us today, we'll definitely play them next month, so we can beat them then. If not even then, we can just dismiss it with a wave of our hand and say, "saala match fixed hai" and forget about it.
All this can be attributed to a number of reasons, not least of which is the extreme overdose of cricket. Its a huge moneyspinner, especially in the sub-continent, but ICC should really read the story about the hen that laid the golden eggs. Another reason is the dilution of the level its played at. Teams like Zimbabwe, Bangladesh and Kenya have done little to increase the interest in the sport. They manage to please the item number fans to an extent(by proving to be easy meat, and getting thrashed all over the park), but the purists are quite turned off by their pedestrian efforts to make it internationally.
I know its a bit surprising that with the football world cup(i refuse to call it soccer) in full swing, I'm actually writing about cricket, but its just that a certain Mr Bhogle's habit to compare "the beautiful game" to "the gentleman's game" gets on my nerves(who let him anchor the World Cup on ESPN anyways? Blasphemous, i say!). Especially when what we see these days is just not cricket. Its too much of something else.
I really believe if it wasn't for India, Pakistan and Sri Lanka, Cricket would be extinct by now. Its just that we suck at every other sport, and crickets the only game where we can consistently stay in the top ten (any guesses why?), that we are so crazy about it. The Aussies, despite being really good at lots of other team sports probably continue playing Cricket because its one game where they can consistently thrash the pommies(yes, I know what happened in the Ashes this year, but I consider it an aberration till England can prove otherwise).
India, I'm sorry to say is not a sporting nation. Don't get me wrong, I'm a proud Indian, but we must accept what our limitations are. The environs we grow up in are not really conducive to developing future sportsmen. I thus have extra respect in my heart for the Leanders, Sanias, Gopichands, Irfans and Baichungs who make it despite all odds - and perhaps even more so for the many others who don't.
When we watch a cricket match we don't treat it like a sport, we treat it like entertainment. I agree that the line dividing sport and entertainment is a blurry one, but the facts remain that we booed Sachin off the pitch in Bombay, we booed the Indian team off the ground in Delhi for scoring just 200 runs (our side eventually won the game-but who cares-we just want to see Dhoni hit the ball out of the park), we throw stuff onto the field and disrupt games when things aren't going to plan(Delhi, Mumbai, Calcutta). We are very bitter losers, and not very sporting people at all. This behaviour is sometimes really disgusting and actually reminds me of a couple of terrible movies I've had the misfortune of being audience to, where the junta got bored and erupted into whistles and catcalls, and on one occasion went so far as to break the chairs in the theater and threaten to beat up the manager if they didnt get their money back! Contemporary cricket is designed to appeal to the masses, with silly rules being introduced into an already complicated game (powerplay, super-sub). Its like a masala movie - Sachin and Sehwag are the heroes, Shoaib/Brett Lee/Murali the villains, Dravid and Kumble are the heroes' ever reliable friends ("best supporting actor goes to.."), Bhajji is the hero's funny friend (the guy who usually gets beat up by the villain and waits for the hero to save his ass), and Dhoni is the latest 'tadakda-bhadakta' item number - comes on anytime in between,usually doesnt last long, and is there for pure entertainment value - the item number after which the match can be classified as 'paisa vasool' or not.
The ICC and BCCIs relentless peddling of the sport in the name of spreading Cricket to the far corners of the world has to some extent resulted in even a cricket crazy population like us losing interest(yours truly included). They have turned it from a unique, if somewhat placid sport needing patience and skill, to a mediocre circus advertising cheap thrills(twenty-twenty,anyone?). Gone are the days when an India Pak match in Sharjah would capture the imagination of the entire sub-continent, when kids in school would mass-bunk to catch the game on TV. Gone are the days when a cricket match defeat would hurt till the next victory, when we actually hated the Pakistan team, and the matches were like war. Now many of us just dont see what the big deal is. They beat us today, we'll definitely play them next month, so we can beat them then. If not even then, we can just dismiss it with a wave of our hand and say, "saala match fixed hai" and forget about it.
All this can be attributed to a number of reasons, not least of which is the extreme overdose of cricket. Its a huge moneyspinner, especially in the sub-continent, but ICC should really read the story about the hen that laid the golden eggs. Another reason is the dilution of the level its played at. Teams like Zimbabwe, Bangladesh and Kenya have done little to increase the interest in the sport. They manage to please the item number fans to an extent(by proving to be easy meat, and getting thrashed all over the park), but the purists are quite turned off by their pedestrian efforts to make it internationally.
I know its a bit surprising that with the football world cup(i refuse to call it soccer) in full swing, I'm actually writing about cricket, but its just that a certain Mr Bhogle's habit to compare "the beautiful game" to "the gentleman's game" gets on my nerves(who let him anchor the World Cup on ESPN anyways? Blasphemous, i say!). Especially when what we see these days is just not cricket. Its too much of something else.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Sailing to Philadelphia
I had applied for my US visa and went for my interview today. I was more impressed than surprised at the junta that had come to apply. There was a potpourri of humanity that thronged the portals of the US Embassy to get a foothold into the land of opportunity. There were newly married women carrying their wedding photo albums(one actually insisted that her father be allowed to accompany her as she couldnt carry that much weight), there was a long line of very obvious IT professionals(they stick out like sore thumbs wherever they go-and yes, this is coming from a doctor), there were families who probably wanted to take their kids to Disneyland(I'm going to go too, if i get a chance), there was one particular elderly sardarji who seemed like he'd been coming there everyday since he was six, and last but certainly not the least, there were doctors going for their CS exams(yours truly included)
My dad had been quite amused by the way i had been "preparing" for my visa call. He, in his infinite wisdom thought its just a walk in the park, and all you need to do is go there and get a stamp on your passport. In retrospect, I agree. I had carried every conceivable document to attest to my family's wealth-property papers, every FD, passbook, stock, bond, and share that i could lay my hands on, just in order to prove to them that i could afford to sustain myself in amreeka for 10 days. In the end, I didnt really need any of these papers, but I'm a boy scout in many ways-doesnt hurt to 'be prepared'.
A lot of my friends have been going to visa counsellors, and I also met a couple of them. I liked one of them, intensely disliked the other, and hired neither. I couldnt help but feel that I was being ripped off like anything, and also my intelligence was being insulted when I was being told what to write in what column. I mean, I pretty much knew what to say when I went there, and the only reason I would have actually hired one of them would be the fear factor. The fear caused by the voice in my head saying "what if the visa is denied to me, and everyone else gets it?". The fear that then I would have to live with the regret of not having gone to one of these guys all my life. I assume that is pretty much the philosophy behind anyone going for visa counselling, and it really lowers my respect for people in this profession. I mean all they do is fill your form for you, and tell you what to say when you're asked "Why do you want to go to the US?". Any biped can do this job in my opinion. Glorified clerks, if you will.
I know, I know..most of you are thinking just because I got my visa, I am waxing eloquent on these 'counsellors' (and their limitations), and i must admit, you may just be right. Bottomline is I got it, and saved me some 5 grand.
I just got back from the Embassy a couple of hours ago, and since then I've got Mark Knopfler singing "Sailing to Philadelphia" in my head. I cant get it out, primarily because I don't want to.
My dad had been quite amused by the way i had been "preparing" for my visa call. He, in his infinite wisdom thought its just a walk in the park, and all you need to do is go there and get a stamp on your passport. In retrospect, I agree. I had carried every conceivable document to attest to my family's wealth-property papers, every FD, passbook, stock, bond, and share that i could lay my hands on, just in order to prove to them that i could afford to sustain myself in amreeka for 10 days. In the end, I didnt really need any of these papers, but I'm a boy scout in many ways-doesnt hurt to 'be prepared'.
A lot of my friends have been going to visa counsellors, and I also met a couple of them. I liked one of them, intensely disliked the other, and hired neither. I couldnt help but feel that I was being ripped off like anything, and also my intelligence was being insulted when I was being told what to write in what column. I mean, I pretty much knew what to say when I went there, and the only reason I would have actually hired one of them would be the fear factor. The fear caused by the voice in my head saying "what if the visa is denied to me, and everyone else gets it?". The fear that then I would have to live with the regret of not having gone to one of these guys all my life. I assume that is pretty much the philosophy behind anyone going for visa counselling, and it really lowers my respect for people in this profession. I mean all they do is fill your form for you, and tell you what to say when you're asked "Why do you want to go to the US?". Any biped can do this job in my opinion. Glorified clerks, if you will.
I know, I know..most of you are thinking just because I got my visa, I am waxing eloquent on these 'counsellors' (and their limitations), and i must admit, you may just be right. Bottomline is I got it, and saved me some 5 grand.
I just got back from the Embassy a couple of hours ago, and since then I've got Mark Knopfler singing "Sailing to Philadelphia" in my head. I cant get it out, primarily because I don't want to.
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