MuRmUr

"Kickass Vikas", a great buddy and an even better human being shares a unique experience....

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2006 was a special year for me. That being the final year of graduation, career was of utmost importance. And I had chalked out two viable options for myself (considering the limited potential I possessed). By February, both of them were just a step away from fulfilment. And I, much closer to redemption. For once, everything seemed to go my way. J

With an interview call from Symbiosis Institute of Mass Communication (SIMC) Pune, and a Service Selection Board (SSB) summon to the Air Force selection centre at Mysore, I couldn’t have asked for anything more. But, both of them were scheduled for the same week. If that wasn’t enough to add on to the confusion, my University (Nagpur) decided to hold the final year Laboratory practicals around the same time. So, the second week of the second month of that year, ensured, that I commemorate it as the one, where my decision-making skills were to be put to the stringiest of all tests in my lifetime. To think of it now, I think I did a commendable job.

Hectic lobbying ensured that I was allowed to sit for the Laboratory Practicals in a week’s time from the original schedule, along with another batch of students. Well, it did come with riders. My Head of the Department (HOD) yielded out a promise from me that I would take her shopping on my Canteen Services Department (CSD) card, once I became an officer in the armed forces! That taken care of, I shot off a request letter to the SSB centre (Mysore) requesting them to postpone my SSB to the next available date. (As per the SSB rules you can, but once, ask for a rescheduled date).  So, Pune it was, for the coming weekend.

The SIMC interview went well. And I had to rush back to Nagpur the same evening to set the laboratory on fire. No, seriously, we did manage to do that.

The practicals were a disaster as usual. A few accidents here and there ensured a complete lockdown of the entire laboratory, with we being chased out of there with an assurance that we had achieved the minimum marks, just enough for a safe passage out of the course.

All set and done, I packed my bags and set off for Mysore in the first week of March. “Uniformed” dreams were taking shape all through the journey. SSB is a strenuous selection procedure spread across a duration of five days in which the candidates are put through Psychological tests, Group Discussions, leadership assessment, group planning and an Interview. Happened to be one of the four candidates to be shortlisted or “recommended”, as they say in SSB terms. Recommended candidates are subsequently put through various medical tests to ascertain that they qualify for the rigorous physical standards of the armed forces. For this our batch of four, were directed to the Air Force Command Hospital (CH) in Bengaluru. Arrangements were made for our stay at the Cubbon Road SSB centre in the city.

“Recommended” candidates are subject to much envy and curiosity by the rest. Your every move and mannerism are keenly observed and aped. After all you were amongst the chosen few who had almost made it. (A candidate has to pass the medical tests and also make it to the final merit list compiled on an All-India basis to finally earn a call from the respective training academies. So we were just about there). Evenings would see us doling out serious “Do’s” and “Don’ts” to the hopefuls, who on their part were greedily latching on to the words of wisdom from the wise men. To be honest, I was enjoying my share of stardom.

Then the medical tests started and we were asked to board an early morning bus to CH, Bengaluru. The tests were supposed to be conducted over a period of 5-8 days depending upon the availability of the specialists. With nothing to do the entire day, except for the trip to CH every day, I was enjoying the stay.  But, the medical tests had its share of embarrassments too. From stripping down completely to your birthday suit to watching the dentist frown at your chocolate-stained dentition, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. I managed to come out unscathed. Though, the one assistant who weighed me on the scale wasn’t entirely impressed by the resultant Body Mass Index (BMI). And he made me undergo the process once again. It was I who emerged victorious as I managed to dodge the underweight bracket by a good 350 gms! J 

Then the Ear-Nose-Throat(ENT) followed. We were put through weird tests, which involved a person whispering words to us from one corner of a sound proof room and we were expected to write them down. The Eye Tests thereafter stated that I was a “Colour Perception-1”, i.e my eyesight was damn good. Then came the shocker.

It was the 4^th day of the tests and our batch was supposed to undergo a few cardio-vascular tests. It was to be followed by a 3-day break  due to string of Government holidays in that week.  As i walked into the diagnosis room, a mechanical pumping heart greeted me with the customary “lubs” and “dubs”. The doctor, a Squadron Leader , made me sit on a stool near him. He asked what I planned to do the next day, for Holi? I replied “what I do best on that day, keep myself indoors”. He laughed and pulled out his stethoscope from the side wings of his apron and asked me to do the usual, the breath-in and breath out. I think he looked at me straight into the eyes for a second, then again went about repeating the whole procedure. Convinced about something , he laid the stethoscope to rest and went for his notepad. “I think you have a cardiac murmur” were his exact words.

I nodded, without realising that i was doing so. “You know, what it means” he asked. “Yes. I had biology as one of my subjects” I replied. He wrote it on his official pad that bore his name and designation that I was to be referred to a senior cardiologist and undergo an “Echo”test. The “urgent” written in bold, on top of his scribbled lines is still imprinted on my mind. I walked out of the room saying nothing. As the words of the doctor finally started sinking in, i started feeling uneasy. The next 3 days were going to be the most turbulent in my life.

Here, i was on the verge of achieving something which was a childhood dream and now it all seemed futile. I went back to the SSB centre and started pondering about my future course of action. Should it to be my elder brother to whom i break the news first, or my parents? Was the question. I even calculated the time I will have at disposal after wrapping up my final year exams. After all I had worked hard all these years and if death comes i atleast want to die a graduate. The day passed, but the night wasn’t going to do so easily. Compulsory lights off in the dorm meant  I was grappling with the sudden darkness on a larger scale. The next two nights too, were similar. It was only during the day I lost track of the “murmur” within, as I had made many a pals over there and was having a gala good time with them. Monday was to be the day of the Echo test. And Sunday night my restlessness made me withdrawn from my group of friends there. I pulled out a white A4 sheet. It was thus decided that I would call up my brother first. On the white sheet i wrote a letter to my parents. Telling them , how much i loved them and how things should be after i am gone. The P.S section i had written, “The guitar would go to Tushar. No questions asked”. (Tushar, happened to be a friend of mine, whose guitar i had unknowingly broken while landing on it after pulling off a stunner during a game of in-bedroom cricket. He was a lucky dog. Was getting a brand new Gibson in place of an old bent-back Hobner. All just because my heart valves were an undisciplined lot) The letter also had many “I love you’s” strewn all across. I wasn’t writing them, they just kept flowing on their own. I also asked them to plan a family trip every two months from now on.

Monday, finally came. I boarded the bus at 6 sharp and reached CH. Was then guided to a senior cardiologist, of the rank of a Wing Commander. He could sense my nervousness as i walked into my room. He made me comfortable and offered me a can of Pepsi. “Darn! He too thinks i am not gonna make it” was my first thought at his noble gesture. I politely turned it down. He then asked me take off my shirt and lie down. I was ready for the “Echo” test. He applied some medicinal lubricant/gel on my chest and then attached a few plugs to it. Then he made himself comfortable on the monitor nearby, all the while moving up a diagnostic joystick kind of instrument all over the problem area. After a few run downs he asked me to get up and helped me with the tissues to clean of the lubricant. 
“Who sent you, here??” was his question. I prompltly told him the Squadron Leader’s name. He nodded his head. This, made me more anxious. 


"You have a perfectly fine heart, kid. Nothing to worry.” He said. I thought he’s being sympathetic and didn't want me to panic right there, therefore the words. He sensed my disbelief and said “ The Echo tests shows no signs of a cardiac murmur. You were wrongly diagnosed at the first stage.”

                                                                           WTF!!!!

I didn’t smile, as I still couldn’t believe this.

Then he said  “I think, it was the chest hair which gave the doctor a false impression of your cardiac valves malfunctioning”.

Embarrassing, but nonetheless relieving. I sprang to my feet, collected the reports, said a quick ‘thank you’ and vanished into the corridor. Life wasn’t that unfair, I thought.

 Back in the dorm, I tore up the letter. Pulled out a fresh sheet and wrote “Tushar, agreed you are my friend. But honestly, you don’t deserve my Gibson. After all it was your mistake that you placed your Hobner there.”

That Awkward Moment

We all have our shares of awkward moments. Here are some of mine....

That awkward moment when you find out that your dog is allergic to you.

That awkward moment when you are singing D.K Bose, and your father tells you it meant "something bad" when he was young.

That awkward moment when you make that grunting noise while laughing and your beloved sister points it out. (in public)

That awkward moment when your father confesses that he thinks that you bear a strong resemblance to music director Pritam. (obviously now am not going to share his picture over here)

That awkward moment when you feel more like Bappi Da. Without the gold though.

That awkward moment when Linda Goodman describes your laughter as 200 perfect hens laying 200 perfect eggs, and your family nods in fierce agreement.

That awkward moment when the LCD of your laptop mysteriously turns blue, so every movie you watch is blue.

That awkward moment when it starts working fine when you accidentally pour alcohol over it.

That awkward moment when you are dancing, and your dog heaves a sigh, gives you the look and walks out of the room.

That awkward moment when you wake up on a super sleepy morning and brush your teeth with your father's shaving cream.

That awkward moment WHEN YOU DO IT AGAIN.

That awkward moment when your family doesn't need a mosquito repellent when you are sitting in the room. (because of some damned factor in your blood, the buzzing blood suckers prefer you over anybody else).

That awkward moment when you affectionately plead your defunct table lamp, microwave, water purifier and sandwich toaster to start working again and they oblige, immediately.

That awkward moment when you intelligent electrician divulges to you the wisdom that Plug and Socket are known as male and female respectively.

That awkward moment, when you are walking on the road and a donkey appears from nowhere stands right in your path and starts shaking his head as if he has just accepted your proposal of marriage.

That awkward moment when a random dog starts howling when he sees you, runs to you like Majnu to Laila and lies down at your feet, only for the pack of biscuits in your hand.

That awkward moment when you realize that all your crushes are either dead or octogenarians.

That awkward moment when you start coughing while pronouncing Vincent von Gogh.

That awkward moment when you are admiring a Picasso and someone tells you its Modigliani.

That awkward moment when your maggi mysteriously turns green.

That awkward moment when you pour "kevra jal" into the Chinese, instead of vinegar.

That awkward moment when you discover Rohini was Moon's wife and he had 27 of them.

That awkward moment when he tells you that you are his sunshine, and he is wearing his Ray Bans.

No escape.

He became conscious of the beads of sweat on his forehead. There was no escape. It was all his doing. Now he had to pay the price. His hand were cold and numb. The noose tightened. He closed his eyes and said a small prayer. Took his last free breath and muttered,

"I do."

The Dream :X

What happens when you wake up one fine morning and attempt to recall your dream. And what happens when you have finally recalled it and you painfully wish you hadn't. What happens when your dream is so exasperating that even the characters curse you all the while. Don't bother...Just try and get over the trauma of it.

One such dream that gives a new definition to nightmares took over the remains of my brains about a fortnight back. I still cannot get over the shock. Let me share it and feel better...

Its a dark place, an abandoned theatre or something of the sort. There is an owl in shades of white and pink who apparently loves ribbons. To his glee I am wearing one. (Good God, I am wearing a ribbon!! ) and for the rest of this dream, he is on my head as well.

                                               

                                                      

So yeah, coming back to the theater... there is the stage in front of me. I must be invisible at this point of time as I am given no attention and with the owl on my head, am pretty much thankful for that. On the stage is a circular grey platform. Around this platform are kept dozens of formalin jars with creatures I dont really recognize. (Formalin perhaps entered the scene because I am a zoologist by degree). Now the platform is rotating. There is a man standing on it. His face is in the dark. Body appears like that of a beefy arthropod. Grey Shirt, Black Pant. Lights please.

Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting before you, The One and Only

                                                              " INSPECTOR DAYA"

                                     

                                                    D:  "THIS LADY HAS LOST IT"

So now the man of my dreams is standing right in front of me. This sure is a fairy tale. But wait, where is the villian. Theres got to be a villian, a classy one.

Daya looks around for doors to break. no doors, only curtains! Damn you Rohini Singh, where are the doors?? Poorly dreamt. :(

Enter Villian  *FAINT*

                                                                   " DARTH VADER"

                                      

                                          DV: " I shall gag and die after this dream is over"

Lights, Camera, Action!!! Perhaps the most memorable scene in the history of dreaming. Na kabhi dekha tha, na kabhi dekhoge! Its altogether an extra terrestrial experience to watch Daya chasing Vader. And chasing him straight into the ruins of Machu Picchu... *SOB*

                                                                 "MACHU PICCHU"

                                      

                                                      MP: "What was she thinking???"

Here, my hero disappointingly disappears. And Vader is running alone is the ruins, then he stops breaths a sigh of relief and enters an SBI ATM (yeah right.. In Machu Picchu). After playing the baddie is all those movies, he has been unemployed for quite a while you see. Poor guy must be pretty much out of cash. Try and be sympathetic people.

                                   

                                                            DV: "DIE WOMAN!!!"

But look at his kismat, he steps out straight into a Mafia Shootout. And before long he swears at the author of this dream and jumps from a cliff nearby.

Rest in Peace.

                                         

                                      

                                                     Don Watever: "She'll spare no one"

And here I am, caught in the crossfire, with something in my hand that looks suspiciously like a green dual Beretta. Bling! Must be my sister's. And then I notice my cousins, sitting behind a wall playing Uno! (some relief!! this is normal). And woah, I have something else is hand, bulky and big! WhatS that??

"Concepts of Economics" by Dutt and Sundaram.

BAD BAD DREAM!!!

The owl is still hooting on my head. And somebody is shouting. Wait that sounds like my mother..Yeah baybeh..its Mum.. my Saviour... How I loved her that morning... Waking up was never such a relief.

For a temporary pout.. ;D

Pizza in kitchen.                              
Rohu like pizza. Ants like pizza.  
Rohu bite pizza. Ants bite Rohu.
Rohu look like Donald Duck.      
Rohu no like pizza.                          
Ants say Cheeeese. :/                        
(This was absolute horror for me. if only i had bothered to switch on the lights! :@ I would have liked to write Angelina Jolie instead of D Duck but then i dont want her to commit hara- kiri if she finds out by the remotest chance. Good for getting a temporary pout. ;). Actions were performed by an expert #at disasters# Readers are requested not to try this at home.) 

Bhoot Badha

My Kundli suggests i have a "pret badha yog".. which implies that i have a special affinity to GHOSTS and that they find me alluring and intriguing as well. Which of course does not come as a surprise. Most of the living creatures whose light cones i have entered have gone mad. I am that sort of a specimen which the museum of Human Wonders would like to keep in its "Fatal to mankind" sections.
Coming back to the para normal activity, I accept there is no dearth of it. If I start recalling incidents since my childhood, the next 200 posts or so will be exclusively haunted. Though there are a few that I would like to share, its a pity that I will not be able to tell it to in person because the real essence of telling ghost stories lies in switched off lights, changing pitch, variety of noises, moving furniture, screams of the dear terrified lady and then ofcourse the Expression. But still in the next few post whatever I share, I'll try my best to make you feel at home, as in, my home. which parents and pandits have declared to be haunted. Yet again.
The posts will essentially be a mix of the amusing and the terrifying. Sometimes, the not so terrifying. Things which have happened in my presence and those lovely ones, all mirch masala added from the preceeding generations. Bhoots love the Singh Parivar I tell ya.

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Slap me if you can

My Bua had been married to a businessman in Mysore. When she had newly arrived in the city, their family, which consisted of the benevolent (honestly!) mother-in-law, the always amused brother-in-law, the more or less surprise resistant husband and herself, moved into an apartment in some lesser known locality. Since the husband would often be away on business trips and the bro-in-law amused himself at the seas (he was in merchant navy), so the ladies in law would generally be alone in the house. They got along well since gossip was available in plenty. Rather it was so much in excess that they had to borrow hours from their nap time to finish the daily quota.

On one such moony loony night, Bua and sasu ma gossiped their way into slumber. She was comfortably snoring when something surprisingly louder than her snores woke her up. Her partial consciousness evolved into complete horror when she realized that the sound is coming from the kitchen and felt like somebody was throwing all the utensils around. She glanced at the clock "hey prabhu!! Its three in the morning!". The Devil's hour!!

Of whatever sense she could gather, she woke up the mother-in-law. When they both sneaked out slowly and silently and peeped into the kitchen. They could both not believe what they saw as much as I cant still believe what they said. The utensils were flying about in the kitchen. SUO MOTO.

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It will take another decade to go through the details of that night. Just that everyone was alive and well and that the coverage was better than that of Al Jazeera. Calls and visitors kept them busy that day. Sasu Ma, though visibly traumatized, soaked all the attention. Remedies were suggeted, Jyotshis were called. Flat was declared contaminated and unfit for residence until the twenty grand bhoot bhagao pooja was done.
By the time, the final agreements were reached, the moon was up again.

So then saas bahu yet again talked their way into snores. Bua who is famous as the "Tabela bech ke soti hai" sleeper, perhaps did not wake up to the routine endeavors of the ghost. Poor Fellow! I am positive he must have tried. But then when nothing else seemed to work, there was only one option left.

Phattaaackkk!!! Bua sitting on the bed wide awake, open mouthed, hand on her cheek. Clock declared 'ten minutes past' three (I told you he must have tried).
Next morning the not so amused Brother in law called to relate a frightful incidence of being slapped hard by no one around ten past three in the morning.

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Drama repeated. The now vindictive Bua and Sasu ma refused to sleep that night. They furiously chatted through it.
At three in the morning they heard a painful howl.
Shhhh.... Its nothing... okay ya... So as I was saying...................................................................
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Thousand miles away....

                                    ___________________________________________

The Accident

Hurt and bruised and blue and black
With angry neck and swearing back
Walking stick and medicine rack
Funny bone without caprice crack! ;)

Half a dozen worried chairs
Maternal cries, paternal cares
Bandages in three hundred layers
We hope nothing happened to the stairs! :/

Good that there are fractures few
Good that she can happily chew
Arthropod with purple hue?
Wonders the bewildered nephew (3 YRS OLD)

Plaster adorns the best wishes now
Cousins at incredible clumsiness bow
They still cant really make out how
With "Holy Christ!" and "Holy Cow!"

Brandy thinks I should die soon
"One way to get rid of the buffoon!
In disguise let this be a boon
By Dog! she is such a loon!"

Pa thinks I hit my head too hard
Besides then, there is too much lard
Hence the madness of the Bard
Chases all phantoms in the graveyard

(source-Google)

Purpose was the mindless rhyme
Sincere apologies for wasting your time
I know this is a serious crime
but then is most of Solitude Sublime!

:D (EVIL LAUGHTER)

The Rohu that is me!

There are things that the human form of me will perhaps never get over. Though there are not more than a handful of them that genuinely ignite passion in the crab, but when it is up in flames, the most efficient of your fire brigades might just want to quit their jobs.  For once the claws decide to hold on…God bless!

About one of these obsessions, you will get a fair idea if you read the preceding para again. I am sickeningly proud and morbidly irritated at being born under the sign of the Crab. And even though I am a semi theist, I adore Linda Goodman. This may as well be seen as a highly narcissistic tendency. Even writing something of this kind is. Or perhaps it’s just a very crabby trait. Typical symptoms may be absolute loony tune like behavior, laughter that can scare hyenas away, bouts of incandescent senseless happiness and haunting baseless depressions, overwhelming motherly tendencies (more than a dozen people from a variety of age groups call up to wish me on Mother’s day), desire to live in the kitchen (if not nursery), fatal attachment to the place they call Home, tendency to hang on to old buttons and buddys, socks which have had their break up long ago, pen caps, strings, threads, bills, beads, tickets,  coins or even casual to-do notes written by a once close friend. If you happen to find a diary with a various denominations of currency, dried petals, coins, chewing gum wrappers and stuff with stupid things written beside them, you’d probably find me somewhere around. A drawer which looks like a lodge of a beaver high on marijuana, will in all probability have my third standard id card hiding in its depths. And yeah, I think more than you think I am capable of thinking.

Writing, hmmm… I am not really sure if it’s a lifelong obsession or a temporary Marilyn Monroe sort of an infatuation. I love writing but then it never satisfies me and I never trust the acknowledgement of the reader (sincere apologies for that). Nevertheless it makes me very happy that they take the time and pains and I am grateful that they are this generous. I feel my work is not really honest or profound, bordering on sheer dishonesty sometimes. It has an inevitable dark hint to it and is more than often repetitive. I hope to see a day when I might just be a little more capable with my pen and put a few of them together in print. For now, it’s more like a nightmare in which Don Corleone looks suspiciously like Mithun da.

Animals, them I love almost compulsively but very truthfully. It doesn’t matter to me whether they are giving 300 million bacteria and viruses a joy ride. Even my benevolent jyotshis suggest all animal friendly “upays” to me. So not only are they present in my history and geography and science (I am a zoologist by degree), but also they influence the decision making of my whimsical Rahu and Ketu. If you are an animal, pray to Pashupati that I am not in a cuddly mood when I find you, for you might have to end up in an emergency ward for the lack of oxygen (I'll save you anyway) . And you might like to have a conversation with Brandy Singh sometime, the female canine who would probably open a bottle of pink champagne if someone informs her that I was deflated under a road roller.

Kids are my favorite companions. Perhaps because my mental development stagnated very early during my growth years, I feel very very happy and calm when they are around. I can stay in their company for hours and not get tired. Thankfully after the various experiments which were potentially lethal at times, I emerged as an inevitable winner with kids. From solving weird puzzles to reading lines from Paradise Lost to finishing off their soup and toast, Kids do remarkably well in my company. And though I haven’t really arrived at a conclusion as to what the actual reason is. I like basking in the sunshine of their innocence. (Their blunt honesty keeps me on ground :D)

Food, I may be eating it or I may be cooking it. But food will always be in proximity. For this reason despite having a straight orientation, I feel I have a slight crush on Nigella… Absolute adoration. You will often find me repeating her lines, “Everything should be in moderation, even moderation”. Food fascinates me like the Moon does. I love giving it shape, I love giving it the taste, the form, the love, the warmth. My mother says I’d probably stuff up my hubby dear and kids to death. When the sane sibling sapien is talking about some cute guy at a café, all that I am able to think about is, his coffee. Whether it was Cappuccino or Latte or Irish, in what kind of mug, with what kind of art. And then I end up asking her if he took sugar. She sighs and turns around to sleep. I might be seen baking at 3 in the morning, or preparing shahi toasts, halwa, phirni, kheer, puddings, pies etc (my sweet tooth is gigantic! So is my waistline ;) ).

My name, Rohini (Rohu as I am popular as). It was Shubham when I was born, basically because my entire family for some reason had presumed that I will be  bestowed with the all supreme Y chromosome. Fate had other plans, and for that my dear family was almost unprepared. So unprepared that for the next 15 years they could not think of a more feminine name and I had to bear the almost inevitable comment “YEH toh ladkon ka naam hai! He he he”. Thereafter I was Rohini, which has a variety of meanings. Balram’s mother, Moon’s wife( as if my being the crabby lunatic was not enough), seventh nakshatra and all, but the one that intrigues me most is “Mother of all cows”. Almost incredible. The cows don’t seem to have any specific affinity to my being but then I think am afflicted with universal motherhood to an extent that it manifests itself in almost all spheres of my life. I often talk to electrical appliances when they are not working, and defying probability they oblige almost 70 percent of the times. My mother calls me before she calls “Bijli Dinesh”. My insanity. HENCE PROVED

Books I love. Until it has not got Mills and Boon or something of the sort printed on its cover. Poetry, prose and drama make my life much easier and uncomplicated than I would prefer it to be. “To Kill a Mocking Bird” is my my Bhagwad, and it puts me off when MS word auto corrects it to Baghdad! The piece of writing that I am currently obsessing over is an absurdist drama written by Samuel Beckett. It’s called "Waiting for Godot". There a lot of people including Papa Singh who think the play is “absurd”. I think I have never come across such a brilliantly thinking piece of the human mind on paper. There are lines that make my heart stop, lines that move me to tears, lines that make me twitch with their agony. And yet “nothing happens”. That is all what the play is about. The loss of purpose, the phases of conscious and unconscious hope, the endless wait of the unknown. The belief of finding light at the end of the tunnel even when you are not even sure of what will you do with it or what will it do with you. The pretence of living, the despair, the escape, all of it. Something that pulls all my nerves together and ties them up. Nothing has ever been able to penetrate my soul in the way it has. And the lines, the most stunning lines “We always find something eh Didi, to give us the impression that we exist”. I am not widely read. I know there may be far better things to come across. But today this play has its words written all over my heart. I can dedicate an entire blog to it.

There is so much to each of us. We are too vast for own selves to comprehend and consequently most of the time we are too much with ourselves. Of how good or bad, great or small, rich or poor, learned or illiterate, beautiful or ugly we are. It’s the story of all of us. There are always people greater and lesser than us. A source of continuous vanity or bitterness. And that how we like it to be. Thats how we will always be. In our own heavens and hells, decorating the interiors, admiring and criticizing them. Not bothering much about helping someone build theirs, but only comparing. The words which I have written today only prove to me my vanity. Of how obsessed I am with my own Paradise and the loss of it. My own Gabriel and Lucifer, my own left and right. But then it also gave me a chance to know what I am like in the written word. And after all dear reader, its my blog, my little Lilliputian kingdom, and thus to Monsieur Gulliver, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn”. 

        

[A Carcinus rohinensis Bravery Award for you if you survived this. Even if you attempted. :D]

For making me, me

If I were a butterfly, an entomologist would probably pin me up
If I were a robin in a tree, they'll chop it down and export to Europe
If I were a fish in the sea,they'll swallow me whole with a warm cup o tea
So I just thank you Father for making me, me

For I gave me a dart and I gave me the style
I gave me Satan and I made me hostile
And I just thank you Father for making me, me

If I were an elephant,they'll make ivory idols my precious tusk
If I were a kangaroo, you know i'll only end up in a zoo
If I were an octopus, they'll cook me up without any fuss
So I just thank you Father for making me, me

For i made me so smart and i made me so guile
I gave me hatred and they call themselves vile
And I just thank you Father for making me, me

If I were a wiggly worm,i'll be broken into 2 and thrown in the farm
If I were a fuzzy wuzzy bear, i'll be skinned in no time to bleeding despair
If I were a crocodile, I'll be found on designer bags, forget my Nile
So I just thank you Father for making me, me

For i gave me the art  i have you to beguile
I gave me Envy and i made hope futile
And I just thank you Father for making me, me....

Letter to the Tumor.. PART 1

Okay, so i am not sure whether you are hiding in my spine or sitting at the top of my touchy adrenals or smoking in some other quiet muscle. And for all the mess that i have been going through for the past two months you refuse to take any blame. That damned hollow abominable machine kept torturing me and the mother  for a good two hours and a half while you were out there somewhere sniggering at my plight. I was only half the the human i am when i came out but you had no pity. Whether they did a thin slice or a thick slice, you just made a sandwich out of it and gobbled it up. Then the poor doc looks at my bp of a 220/170 and smiles helplessly. MORON
and of all the names that could exist in the world, you had to be called something  like PHEOCHROMOCYTOMA. :
What does this mean dude? for all your impressive uselessness that you have proudly exhibited in the past few weeks. if you had been a person, i swear, i would locked you up in a room and played non stop Reshamiya songs, full volume. You would then know what it feels to be in an MRI machine for three hours, bladder full... :/
And to top it all, you refuse to be malignant,so i cant even feel melodramatic and give good speeches which people would listen to and praise me. You don't even guarantee me substantial attention. Only minutes of insanely high blood pressure, this vahiyat backache and and sulking relatives. You know you are as faltu as Left Ventricular Concentric Hypertrophy. :P
dude ya... I've not had a morsel of good adventure in life. and you are certainly not my idea of adventure. I know you love my adrenals or my spinal cord or whatever, but attachment of this sort is not worth it..Google laproscopy if you feel like knowing what my funny little surgeon feels like doing to you. and certainly, do Google yourself, yeah that's what you look like. :P

Yours Unfaithfully
Rohuness