Henpecked

So barely had I recovered from jaundice and returned to work (for a whole ten days!!!) than I was struck down again.

This time, it's chickenpox.

I know what you're thinking. Isn't that a kiddy disease? Well, yes, it is. But I didn't have chickenpox (or jaundice, malaria, measles or mumps) as a child, and now I'm making up for it.

It was last Saturday that I noticed myself covered in boils. They'd taken over me, from face to torso. There were even boils on my head! (Which I first attributed to Parachute After-Shower Hair Gel and swore to throw away, a resolution I can gladly give up, Parachute After-Shower Hair Gel rocks, thank you.)

And the worrying part was that only Mom has had it – neither Dad nor Sis were ever afflicted by chickenpox.

The cure – antibiotics to prevent the skin from remaining scarred (I'm getting married you see, and I have no time for Fair & Lovely's 3-month guarantee), anti-histamines and a soothing lotion.

Believe me, it's worse than jaundice. Why? Because of the isolation.

I now live alone in my room. Sis has moved into the folks' bedroom. So I spend most of the day alone, reading and re-reading books, faffing on my laptop and watching the rubbish they're serving up on TV these days.

Yeah, the folks have decided that if they had to have got the virus, then they've gotten it already. So they're not exactly keeping their distance – but neither are they getting too close.

And, of course, I've had to tell Slappy (and all my friends) to stay away.

So I've met Slappy precisely thrice over the last two weeks, with one more week of isolation to go.

Argh.

There are some interesting learnings from this experience, though.

Did you know that you can easily keep yourself entertained between 11 PM and 1.30 AM every night? At 11, tune in to Jay Leno on the Tonight Show on Zee Café. Move on to Friends on Star World at midnight. After that, Friends moves on to Zee Café. And then switch back to Star World for The Simpsons at 1 AM.

Fun, no?

The other learning is that daytime television has started sucking really badly. Even the movies.

The other thing that's caught my interest is the progression of the disease. The initial eruptions ripened into nice, fat boils – some of them filled with pus even. Then they started drying up and scabbing, and now, one by one, the scabs are beginning to fall off. Every time a scab comes off, I almost applaud.

(It's really getting frustrating in here.)

It has come to my notice that I can deliberately infect people with chickenpox by scabbing or bursting boils around them. So, for the heck of it, I drew up a (short) list of people I'd like to infect.

The owner of Befit Zone – yeah, you looking for it on the search engine, Befit Zone – for robbing Slappy and me out of our memberships. He refused to acknowledge that we'd gotten jaundice and weren't allowed to work out, and allowed our memberships to expire. On top of that, he was very rude to both of us, and even threatened me on the phone after I'd hung up on him.

A couple of clients come to mind, for frustrating me by shelving projects and work constantly.

Hmm. Obviously I didn't think too much on this, I've run out of targets.

So, anyway, I'm stuck in bed for another week. And I'm feeling rather sorry for myself. I've just spent a month in bed, and now I'm back there. Argh!

Don't laugh, or I'll burst a boil on you and then you'll be sorry.

The Story of Jane and John Diss

Once upon a time, there was a young couple, Jane and John Diss. And, as young couples go, they were very much in love. They had been managed to put up with each others’ shenanigans for three years, and had decided, on that basis, to get married in a few months’ time.

As I have mentioned before, the two were deeply in love, and wanted to spend as much time as possible with each other. So they’d meet almost every single day after work, and go out together – for movies, dinners, drives, ice cream…whatever caught their fancy.

Wedding talks had just recently concluded between their parents, to the satisfaction of all concerned. There was much excitement in the air because, children, marriages come once in a lifetime (twice, thrice at the most), and are made in Heaven.

The Disses had just settled on the wedding venue, and the fun part was around the corner – the shopping.

Then, one fine Saturday afternoon, Jane Diss fell ill.

It didn’t seem like anything serious. Just fever. But it didn’t go away. It carried on through Sunday. And on Monday, Jane went to work and just came back, feeling sick.

John was spending his time working really hard, and worrying really badly.

So Doc came over to meet Jane, and told her to stay home. And she did. But she didn’t feel much better. She went back to work on Wednesday, but was bedridden on Thursday and Friday.

On Friday, a worried John took the day off, and summoned the pathologist to draw a sample of blood from Jane’s veins (and that, children, is sheer poetry). And woe! Because the results, obtained later that evening, suggested that Jane had contracted jaundice.

John’s parents immediately took their soon-to-be daughter-in-law under their wing. Special food was prepared for her. She was sent to spend the night under the roof of Doc, whose parents are also practitioners of the medical arts. Thank Heavens for that, children, for do you know what happens in jaundice? You cannot retain any food. You feel breathless and uneasy. And Jane went through all of that, multiple times, that Friday night. So bad, that it took a late-night injection to quell her symptoms.

On Saturday, John took Jane for an ultrasound to determine if the bile ducts in her liver were obstructed. Thankfully, this was not the case. But later that evening came the shocking news! Jane had contracted not just Hepatitis A (the usual cause of jaundice), but Hepatitis E as well!

The next evening, Jane’s worried parents arrived from Delhi to take their ailing daughter into their care. And a Godsend that was, children. For John’s soon-to-be in-laws took strict and loving care of their daughter. Not allowing outside food. Making sure she got the right nutrition. Crushing eighteen sweet limes a day for their juice. Anything to make their daughter better.

And, as John Diss worked really hard to finish a campaign, Jane Diss started to recover.

John would meet her almost every night, spending time with her and her parents. Fetching them books, magazines and comics to make their time in Bombay a little more leisurely. For their part, John’s parents turned in a sterling performance, visiting often and taking Jane’s folks out for dinners and brunches. This had a twofold effect, children. It meant that Jane’s parents were kept entertained, and that John and Jane managed to snatch some time out together.

As Jane recovered her strength, her folks decided to take her to Delhi. They would therefore be able to get back to work, and yet take excellent care of her. And so it was ordained. And before John could blink twice, Jane was winging her way to her hometown.

The weeks stretched by, long and lonely, for John. What was there for him when Jane was gone? He was too busy to meet his friends very often. And while bonding over the phone is possible, it is also limited, children, as you will find out when you grow up.

Then, one weekend, John decided to go to Delhi to visit his sweetheart. And simultaneously, meet her Grandfather, something on which Jane was very keen. And so he flew to Delhi, where he spent a glorious 28 hours with his wife-to-be and her family. Then he flew back. And was promptly despatched to Bangalore for a meeting on Tuesday.

When John Diss awoke at 4.15 AM on Tuesday, he was running a fever, and really not feeling all that well. Yet, he pushed on through the day, popping paracetamol tablets at regular intervals. He returned home later that evening, knackered. The next day, it was worse. He went to work feeling miserable, and returned feeling worse. On Thursday, he took the day off.

By now, his stomach had started acting up. Doc’s dad examined John, and pronounced antibiotics. But they didn’t help. After agonising all weekend, John noticed that his urine had turned dark yellow on Sunday afternoon. And on Monday, blood tests confirmed his worst suspicions. He too, had contracted jaundice. Hepatitis A, to be precise.

The rest was obvious. Jane Diss returned to Bombay after her birthday ( that very Tuesday) to be with her ailing boyfriend. Who, as the latest blood tests confirm, is recovering slowly.

And that, children, is the story of John and Jane Diss. A story of two people who fell in love, so deeply that when one fell sick, so did the other. A story of true love.

Pleasantly Paunched

Pleasantly Paunched
14th May 2006

At this stage of life, I find myself in a situation I’ve never been before.

I find myself battling an unfamiliar enemy. A battle I struggle to sustain.

For the first time in my life, I can’t quite make out my...er...family jewels when I look down at them.

Because every time I do look down, I see a fat, hairy belly bulging out from under my ribcage.

While a paunch may seem like normal life for a lot of people, let me rewind.

I’ve always been the skinny type. The ectomorph. My weight in school and throughout Jai Hind hovered between 50 and 54 kg. By the time I hit Pune, it had touched 56-58 kg. Then, in Pune, I thinned down even more.

Back in Bombay, 8 months into a working life, I was pleasantly surprised to notice I’d gained 8 kilos. 64 kg seemed like a good weight. And when it rose up towards 68, I was fairly happy.

Now, however, having shopped for a new wardrobe (waist 34, up 2 inches), and weighing about 72 kg, life doesn’t seem like a bed of non-fat roses.

Truth be told, the belly had started developing last year itself. I used to laugh it off, calling it a sign of prosperity. Never knowing I’d end up too prosperous for my own good.

Now let me explain the battle.

I started gymming last year, at Radio Club. The results were encouraging. Not only did the jelly belly (as Slappy calls it) disappear, my shoulders and chest began to expand.

Then I suffered from low blood sugar, and had to stop working out.

And my opportunistic belly took the chance with both hands. And slowly began to obscure my view of said family jewels.

So I resumed in November with Doc, carefully this time. Slowly upping the weights. Once again, the results were encouraging.

Then came the regional project. And workouts became more and more erratic. Trying to win the hearts (and wallets) of newborn mothers took on greater importance than trying to win a battle against fat.

Somewhere around this point, people began noticing the paunch. And pointing and whispering.

It had almost reached the stage that my paunch preceded me into a room. That’s when we went to Australia.

There’s something about the meat over there. I ate tons of it, but I didn’t fatten up further. I swear. I was the only member of the team who really pigged out on the food. And I didn’t bloat up.

During my last week there, I got the chance to swim regularly. And, for two weeks after my return, I swam every day.

The results were showing. The chest and shoulders filled out, the body shaped itself. A late growth spurt neared completion. I was feeling good, and looking even better.

Then my boss returned, and brought the workload with her. And my swimming routine sank slowly beneath the waves.

Naturally, the paunch returned.

We finished the film, but started work on another. And my routine still hasn’t taken root firmly. Where I should be swimming at least 5 times a week, I average around 2-3 times.

The belly’s winning this battle, but now it’s time to unleash my secret weapon. My version of the bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

My iron will power.

No more chocolates during the week. Cut down on alcohol –no more than twice a week. Cut down on cheese – salami sandwiches, not salami and cheese. No more Maggi noodles at work. No more stuffing face 24 hours a day.

Walk as much as possible. No more cabs to work – take the bus, and walk that 150 metres to the building.

And swim whenever I get the chance. No more shirking. 16 laps minimum, with a view to increasing.

There is, however, one problem I face.

Like I said, everyone’s commented on the paunch. Minty, Slappy, my best friend.

The thing is, every time they talk about the paunch, they also end up caressing it.

Why would I want to throw away something that women love to hate – so much so, that it’s the only thing that gets them to feel me up!

I’m in a quandary. But the first step to fixing a problem is to admit you have one. Okay, I admit it.

So what’s that saying about losing a battle but winning a war?

The war’s begun in earnest.

But for the moment, I remain pleasantly paunched.

Doctor, Doctor

Doctor, Doctor
23rd April 2005

A few days ago, I had the chance to assist in my first surgery.

No, I haven’t left the advertising industry. And neither am I masquerading as a surgeon on the side – one cannot learn how by just watching Catch Me If You Can six times.

It seems Groper had corns. In her foot, I mean. Three of them – two big, ripe, infected ones, and one little baby corn. After bearing with the two big ones for 6 months, she’d finally come to her senses and asked Doc to operate.

So we figured out a schedule for surgery. And on the appointed day, Groper arrived, her friend Movie Man in tow.

She’d already ordered me to be there. Not out of any real love or affection, but because Groper has a huge phobia of injections. As we found out.

The surgery was to take place under local anaesthetic. Before starting, Doc decided to take Groper’s blood pressure. Sure enough, she started wailing the moment the pad clenched up around her arm. Low threshold of pain it seems.

The fun was, however, just beginning.

Doc, being Doc, was terrifying the life out of her (literally). Telling her that it was going to hurt like hell. Showing her the large syringes and needles he was going to use to inject the anaesthetic. Frightening the wits out of her by saying that either he was going to burn the corns out, or use a blade. And then, to top it off, he made her buy the blade!

We now have her lying on the operating table, and Doc is treating me like a compounder. Ordering me around to take her BP, get gauze, spirit and whatever else he needed.

In the meanwhile, Groper’s having second (and third, and fourth, and fifth...you get the picture) thoughts about surgery. All this while lying, foot draped in sterile surgical mat, on the cutting table.
So, hard-hearted Doc tells her, okay, don’t have it today. But you will sure as hell have to come back next week.

So she agrees.

But her foot doesn’t.

Doc tells her, loosen it. Keep it tight and it’ll hurt even more. She says, ok. But foot is tighter than Pamela Anderson’s training bra.

Movie Man is holding one hand, not saying much. Me, I’m holding her leg, caressing it. Other hand is on her stomach, telling her to breathe, that she’s no good to anyone if she’s not breathing. Kidding her about my abs being better. Telling her that payment would be to take her top off. Hearing her scream even louder at that prospect.

She started screaming even before Doc put in the injection. At that point she grabbed my hand in pain, eyes wide open, feral, twisted expression on her face. Then began the screaming, the tears.
So, to prevent the cops coming in, we locked both the clinic doors and told her to go ahead and scream.

Then Doc starts checking whether the injection’s worked. Lo and behold, Groper feels no pain.
(Note here that the only alcohol involved in the procedure was the spirit Doc used while cleaning up.)
Then he starts cutting away. All the while explaining to her exactly what is going on. Frightening her even more.

Let me interrupt here. I was really worried about Groper. She was born with a hole in the heart (though the more dangerous one is in the head), and was operated upon as a child. That’s why I asked Doc to go easy on her...and he did. Only, it didn’t seem like it to her.

He popped out the first corn, and she refused to look at it. Then started begging him to cut out the second without repeating the anaesthetic. Doc didn’t listen. He just waited till she said to finish it fast. Then he injected her, and the cutting began again.

At the end she was in tears. Both corns were out, but she was freaked out. Not by the operation – which was painless. But by the sight of the needles and the pain of the injections.

And cruel Doc, he proudly showed her all the needles before injecting.

Then Groper howled even more, when Doc told her he needed to give her a tetanus and a painkiller – two additional, separate injections. Both are especially necessary because of her heart. So I put my foot down.

Then I held her hand again.

Doc gave her the tetanus in the arm. Not much pain.

Then came the interesting part. Where he had to inject the painkiller in her...er...backside.

So, of course, I learnt a little bit more about Groper that day. That she was wearing striped underpants. No sexy, lacy, erotic lingerie – just functional undies.

Obviously that girl knows what she can and cannot pull off.

Then that shot went in, and we were done.

Doc had already dressed her foot. We then got her dressed up. Took her to my place so that she could pee. Then Movie Man dropped her home.

I’m glad I attended the surgery. It made me bless my decision to not even consider the possibility of the probability of the chance of getting into medicine.

Doc – well, he’ll be a good one some day. He was fast, clean, and just cruel enough to get the job done.

What about my future as a compounder? Good. If only I can distinguish between six-inch plaster and gauze, and stop handing the spirit bottle to the surgeon when he wants disinfectant.

Finally, what about Groper? Her left foot is doing well. Improving everyday. She’s on antibiotics, as well as painkillers. So she’s very drowsy. She has just one complaint, though.

Her throat aches from all the screaming.

So do my ears.

Situation Report

Situation Report
29th August 2001

It’s been a long, tiring month.

Having somewhat recovered from the virus that had laid me low after my incredible work stretch, I returned to college to work on the Convocation. My fever promptly returned, and I spent the last two days working with a hundred-degree fever. However, the Convocation went off fairly well – the yearbook was well appreciated, as were the rest of the ceremonies. The launch of the media newsletter Blab!, which I designed, titled and contributed to, went off as planned at the hands of Cyrus Oshidar. Although the newsletters were left behind in college and nearly forgotten. Until Auntie and myself rescued the day. Superman and Supergirl to the rescue.

I returned late on the night of 12th August, miserably ill. Too ill, in fact, to attend Oshidar’s workshop the next morning. I did something intelligent and visited a doctor, and spent the next four days convalescing.

And then Dad and Amma landed up in Pune on the 18th. Dad needed a break from work; Amma was tagging along. It was definitely nice to see them, but there was something very strange about having other people in the house all the time. I’ve no problems readjusting when I return home, but I’ve gotten too used to the loneliness of my home in Pune.

Anyways, I needed a long break. Something that was promised to us by our Director, but never delivered. So I took off for home with my family for Ganesh Chaturthi. That was the second-best break I’ve had since coming to Pune – the best being the first time I returned home. I’ve slept like a log, watched TV and generally farted around with no pressures to worry about.

The best part was that I got to meet my best friend and my sweetheart. Not to mention Hairy Puttar and DJ. DJ and I spent over six hours at Andheri at my best friend’s house. My sweetheart also joined us, and it was a lovely evening.

I’ve been worried about my best friend. She hasn’t gotten admission as yet into an M.Sc. or Pathology course. Her last recourse is an MBA, and it’s slowly turning into her main option. The only problem is her conservative family. They want to get her married.

She’s been sounding like she’s already lost hope. Her emails read, "I’m getting married in 6 months. You are invited." I’ve been trying to boost her spirits, reminding her that it’s her life and that she’ll never be happy unless she does what she truly wants to. Things are slightly better now – she’s more relaxed and hopeful. That’s the way it should be. I just can’t bear to see her unhappy.

My sweetheart still holds that status in my life. We only had a few minutes alone that day, but we were as we’ve always been. Cuddled up, holding hands on the sofa, talking. And now she’s thrown me into confusion. I’ve just received an email from her, where she signs off saying, "Love you."

I’ve had very strong feelings for her for a while now, feelings that only my best friend knows about. Even when I was going around with Smelly my heart was divided. Last evening I went for a movie with my college pals. However, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my sweetheart since last afternoon. I guess I still have some soul-searching to do. Not for the first time I wish I could read women’s minds, a la Mel Gibson in What Women Want. I really wish I knew how she feels about me.

It’s surprising, but I’d been thinking of Smelly quite a lot before I left for Bombay. I guess it happens whenever I’m planning to return home. Bombay holds some fond memories for me about us – Pune has soured those memories now. I’ve now struck out twice with girls I’ve taken to that little lane near the NCPA – first with Jum and now with Smelly. I guess I’ll need to find another khopcha for my next affair. I’d better start exploring Kandivili well – who knows what’ll happen between my sweetheart and me.

And what about Legs? We spoke for nearly two hours the night after I returned. She was a little low and I caught it immediately, stunning her. I keep telling her that I know her better than she thinks, but her memory is like a sieve. She never remembers.

We’ve become closer since our little three-month rift. We’ve also become closer since my encounter with Smelly. She’s opened up a lot about her love life, and we’ve had some amazing conversations since then. I always tell her that we should get together as a couple – for the first time she agreed that night. On the condition that I give her a solitaire for our engagement. So I’ve started saving up.

Groper and I are having an affair – that’s what we tell everybody in class. This is what you call keedas. She spent the night at my place a few days ago – working on an assignment, nothing else, you pervert. And she threw up with food poisoning two days ago. So we’ve started spreading the rumour that she’s pregnant – but not with my child. I’m gonna become a chacha. Extra keedas, no?

We’re going for another movie this afternoon. Free passes to film festival, must take full advantage. So I’m going to sign off now, but I’ll be back. Like the Terminator. Or a bad penny.

End of situation report. Over and out.

When Viruses Attack!

When Viruses Attack!
19th July 2001

My classmates have been dropping like flies. One by one, all of them are being afflicted by this malady. They’ve been crashing for a few days, recovering and promptly passing it on to the next poor victim.

Who, in this case, happens to be me.

It started with a sore throat last night, which worsened this morning. I could feel the ache in my shoulders – still can – and my eyelids are heavy. I went to college and walked out of the first lecture. I headed for the Health Centre, hoping to obtain some healing herbs.

But instead of a smiling, sympathetic doctor and the Sanjivani mountain, all I got was a frown, three Crocin and a few Ayurvedic lozenges. For no additional charge, the doctor added a few cursory pronouncements about the diet I should follow, and then sent me packing.

Haggard, shivering, I made my way into the classroom. Picked up my bag and headed for the Computer Labs, hoping to print the dummy for the newsletter I had designed the previous night. The software seemed to be ill as well, for it refused to print. It also forced me to change some fonts and alignments. To compound my woes, I had two fans whirring at top speed above me.

I had no choice but to take a rickshaw home. I had to pick up a few essentials, which I did. Even the supermarket owner commented on my appearance. I personally feel that I am still irresistible. Just ask the girls, who were all over me with worry this morning.

Spoke to Mom, who initially thought I had returned to Bombay. After setting her straight, I prepared some soup – God bless concentrated food powders – which seemed like manna from heaven. And then, after dosing myself liberally with vitamins, cough syrup and Crocin, I curled up in bed with a blanket and went off to sleep.

I’ve been awake since 1530 now. Reading L. Ron Hubbard’s classic slugfest Battlefield Earth. Very entertaining indeed.

On the advice of my father, I made a trip down the road to obtain some booze. No, there are no sorrows to drown. It’s just that brandy has medicinal value, which I plan to tap in plenty tonight.
Believe it or not, the fresh air has done me some good.

I’ve been relaxing since then. Thinking about nothing, really. My overworked grey cells are finally getting the rest they need. As is the rest of my weary, care-worn body.

It’s amazing how much concern my classmates have shown. Chubby forced me to take a rickshaw home, even though it set me back 44 bucks. Snowflake, Ads, Bunny, Mallu and all the rest have been very concerned. No sign of Smelly. I don’t give a damn anyway, but the person I thought would be the most caring before I arrived here has been the least. What goes around comes around, I guess. The decency and kindness I try to maintain during interpersonal activity may be returning to me when I am in need of it. At least one of my life’s philosophies seems to be working out well for me. I’ll let you know about the other two later on – that’s another story altogether.

The sounds of Enigma echo in my head, playing off the CD as I type this article in. It’s altogether possible – 90% probable, in fact – that I will skip college tomorrow. Stay at home, get myself back into shape to face the uncountable, unspeakable horrors that our Director and his Deputy throw at us daily. But, as the song goes, I will survive.

I still haven’t been able to pin down the responsibility for this illness on anything. Fatigue or virus? Both? Who knows. Methinks it’s this virus that seems to be going around the class, rejecting host after host. And, for the first time in my life, I am praying for a rejection. From this entity anyways.

Laid low, I can only ponder upon this fruitless toil of existence that we go through. And then laugh as the poor philosopher inside me is buried once again under the natural me, the logical me.

Symptoms of what happens when viruses attack?