All about (not) getting late.

It was almost half-past-two in the afternoon and I was getting abominably late.  Although  it was a Saturday, and a holiday for me, I had to be back in time to take Mama at 3 o'clock to Puri and the Sands of Time seemed to be running out on me. I was, therefore, quite fretful of this inordinate delay on the part of the concerned desk in completing the pending paperwork. Be it said that I had arrived there before noon, with all pre-requisites in hand, and had been lightly assured that everything would be over very soon - in a way that made me revise my personal definition of the word 'soon', while requesting for quicker compliance.

The Sales Guy butted into my peripheral vision and made me miss out a lollipop on the desultory Candy Crush game I was hunched over.

"Ït's about time," I said, pointing to my watch. The same phrase was written on the dial in a catchy font and the Sales Guy mistook my icy remark for a display of personal pride in the matter of ownership of such a trendy watch. I have no qualms in selecting this adjective for the watch, for he said it in no uncertain terms - "Sir, that is a Trendy watch."

"Forget the watch," I grumbled. "Ï'm getting very late. Aren't the documents ready?" I put a threatening note to that last question.

The SG remained unflappable. That's what I don't like about SG's. They are trained to remain unruffled under duress; something the common man should be offered as a complimentary gesture on booking a car. Especially, if the company's executives idolise the slow and steady principles of the proverbial tortoise while doing their job..

The SG was pointing at a typed fool-scap in his hand. "Sir, kindly check out the details for correctness before we take out the final print." I could see the end approaching and brightened a bit. A thorough reading revealed that he had done a good job, all details being correct in spelling and in place - except for one small prefix.

"Ëvery thing is fine. Just add 'Late' before my father's name."

He was on his cellphone in a twinkle and this was the instruction he passed on. Translated into English, it would read somewhat like - "Listen, Sir said everything is fine. Go to Father's Name and just make it Late. Do it soon, we are waiting."

I processed this weird instruction more objectively than he would ever have done, even if it had been part of his school curriculum. Would the Instructee take the literal meaning of the Instructor's word, or make out the subtle difference between 'Late' and 'late', esp in the spoken form? At leisure, it would have been an amusing thought. But, I wasn't taking any chances now.

Fifteen minutes had gone by, jogging at first and barely crawling by towards the end. That's the measure of human patience - the rate of flow of Time. I ended the ennui with a resounding and abrupt "What happened?"

The SG, who was absently doodling on a scrap of paper, did a sitting jump. I looked him square between the eyes and asserted, "Your instruction sounded confusing. Please check whether he has added Late before Father's Name as instructed. And please ask him to hurry up. I'm getting very late."

He was back on his cellphone saying, "Why are you making it so late? You are taking so much of time just to make the Father's Name 'Late'?" ... and then.. "What? Ok, I'm coming." (Loose translation from the Odia vernacular). He looked at me obliquely and I could see that he looked a bit dismayed before his training took over. I watched him unruffle as I felt myself ruffling up for the nth time.

"Sir, he wanted to confirm about adding Late to Father's Name" he said lamely and I said what amounted to Yes in about twenty words. He had been edging away sideways and, by the time I concluded my opinion, he had left saying "... otherwise it will be too late" leaving me gaping at the unfortunate play of words and making me feel distinctly victimised.

It was a quarter past three when I finally got my papers, corrected with the 'Late' entry, and left the dealer's - very, very late. My only consolation was that I hadn't become Late myself.

A day in the life of Shady Sid - Much ado about nothing.

Siddharth Padhi

It began as a dull and unhurried Friday and the problem uppermost in mind was the usual early morning debate on whether Today was The Day to kick-start my grand plans of achieving a superior physical fitness. This internal upheaval usually lasts until the conscientious part of my brain comes up with a distraction, the easiest at hand being the newspaper. I could blame with some conviction the crispiness of the morning daily, with it's fresh fragrance and crackling pages for this particular weakness, for I'm sure I wouldn't care about a soggy sample. On other days, it could be a cup of hot tea or an interesting discussion on the chatlines.

I'm not one of those chaps whose lifeline is plugged into an alien system (read -Company) that controls and regulates their existence through myriad electronic devices and human schemes. These individuals follow a time pattern dictated by The(ir) System, and having settled down comfortably into their man-machine-organisation interdependence, really hit it off well. They are the guys you point out to your children, when you talk to them about striving hard to be successful in life. On the other hand, I'm rather loosely attached to several organisations, much like an ionic bond, which is kind of detachable and can do equally well with a little substitution here and a postponement there. In short, I do have the liberty to tweak my program at a reasonably short notice. 

My typical working day may be summarised as: First half- TCS; second half- RBI. All else - adjust. It unwinds as the demands pile up. There could be a thing from the past that can no longer be set aside and there could be something new that has popped up and appears important for the time being. If they are accommodated, it's mostly at the expense of TCS and sometimes RBI and is like a time-share concept. (The Zurd says that in India, given enough time, problems generally resolve themselves. I have adopted this as my modus operandi for dealing with drudgery. It is, in fact, this that accounts for the clean state of my diary).

0845 Hrs: 
Last date for processing the IPO. 
Plan: Get it done on the way to RBI. (Few minutes late won't matter).

0917 Hrs:
Get a call from Gotya. His Dad had been keeping unwell and it was time to consider admission into a hospital. I ask him to proceed to the Kalinga hospital and give me a call so that I could come there directly.

Alternate Plan: Go to TCS early and exit on getting Gotya's call. Do the IPO thereafter; maybe in the afternoon.

1033 Hrs: 
Not enough petrol in the car to risk TCS.

Another Plan: Fill up petrol at Sahid Nagar and finish the IPO thing. Go to hospital. TCS- we'll see if something comes up.

1036 Hrs:
Mama has called an electrician for some fault repair and has gone for her classes. (She still teaches at the University). Now I have to supervise this guy.

Fresh Plan: Hospital when Gotya calls.  TCS- we'll see. 

1102 Hrs:
Call from TCS (something came up). The electrical job is almost done.

New Plan: Go to TCS. Get petrol on the way at CSPur. Wait for Gotya's call. IPO- we'll see.

1118 Hrs:
I'm on my way to TCS and I get a call from a patient's phone. It's his wife - in panic mode.  She is incoherent and the call terminates before I can gather tangible details. Busy on repeated redialling. The patient is a diabetic, on insulin and erratic habits and has probably done something irresponsible. Got to attend to him first.

Revised Plan: Call TCS and arrange for sorting their requirements online, by and by. Divert to patient's residence, which is closer to RBI and on the opposite hemisphere of Bhubaneswar as TCS. What about lunch? (I'm supposed to have it at home on the way to RBI)- We'll see. IPO- Afternoon, maybe.

1125 Hrs:
I'm at the petrol pump filling up and get a call from the patient's wife. Things are under control and the patient is resting after receiving some medical attention. No reason now to rush over. Meanwhile, I have crossed Kalinga Hosp. I call up Gotya. He says the admission process is over. will let me know if he needs help.

Plan?? I have an hour to waste and still reach RBI in time. How about a pasta and chicken wings at Pizza Hut?
                                          ----------------------------------------
In the evening the good wife enquires: How was your day?
Me: Hectic. (I give her a brief outline of the c 
She: Did you reach RBI in time?
Me: Yeah, just about. Couldn't be home for lunch.
She: Poor chap. You mustn't run around so much.
Me: Yeah (wink,wink) 

Once Upon a Letter

Sipra Pati 

I recently found a letter written to me by Minakshi in January 1991. Needless to say, it triggered memories of a time when letters were the only means of long-distance communication between friends – the purchase of flowery, coloured stationery to write on, visits to the neighborhood post office to pick up postage stamps (beseeching the postal clerk to sell one stamps, newer and more interesting than the tired brown-on-white Gandhiji ones), settling down on a cushioned diwan propping the letter pad on the knees with previously received letters on the side, sometimes a cup of coffee to stimulate the connection between the brain and the fingers… No sooner did I stop smiling at the image, that I had the urge to share this papery blast from the past with folks who would, perhaps, feel the same flush of nostalgia.

I was not wrong. Well… not entirely. Minutes after I posted the picture, Sankalpa responded – rendering my nostalgic foray into the past a fleck of dust. I had no way of anticipating the ‘what’ the letter would trigger or the roads and inroads my friends would amble into. This much was true – they did not disappoint me! I thought it was too interesting of a conversation to languish in the bowels of WhatsApp drudgery and bonhomie (not necessarily in that order). So here’s the conversation. 

On Nov 28, at about 6.30 pm, I posted the picture of Minakshi’s letter with a caption that read “Long, long ago… when the post office was an integral part of our lives.”

Sankalpa: Those were the days! I could write a letter and tear it up. Nowadays I post on   WhatsApp and tear my hair.

Sushant: Sankalpa, you still have the luxury of tearing something and that too hair. Many will envy you...

Sipra: Why all the drama, Sankalpa - just clear as you go!

Gautam: Yes Sankalpa. For guys like me & Tariq, it's a luxury!

Sankalpa: I have, for your information, almost total alopecia. And I don't think anyone's baldness is better than mine. That is the problem, how can anyone stop himself when he has a dramatic urge?

Sipra: I retract.... Do not... You have a captive audience here!

Mrigank: Thanks for explaining the dramatic urge...someone else I know in my vicinity happens to have the same trait

Sankalpa: Hi Mick, don't you have these feelings, just after you hit the send button?

Mrigank: Kinda do... although some of it is mildly calculated.

Gautam: All of us have.

Sankalpa: I suppose most people have it.

Gautam: You know best doc!

Mrigank: Not being able to tear your hair is still a few cuts better than having someone's vicious dog set on you!

Sankalpa: Is that what happened to you? Gosh! This fellow (who set his dog on you) has a malignant dramatic urge.

Mrigank: No – thankfully I made the progression from acquaintance to friend rather late in life and so the dog wasn't set on me either as a passing fancy or in actuality!

Sankalpa: ‘Can't be too careful these days.

Mrigank: Some kids grow out of their teenage hormones that compel them to set their pet dogs at people that might cross them – you know how it goes Doc. 

Sankalpa: I will give an example. One doc thinks it is right because it is a congresswalah getting hit. I have told him off. I am going have one friend less.

Mrigank: Graphic!

Sankalpa: One of my college friends (a boy) went to see a class mate (a girl). The girl denied she knew the boy. The girl's father set the dog on the boy. True Story.

Mrigank: In my anecdote too I haven't hinted at the gender of the dog whisperer yet... maybe someday.

Smarajit: Kahin woh ladka tum to nahin....

Sankalpa: Not that time. I chose girl friends who either didn't have a dog or didn't have a father or both.  Did you ever have a girl friend who had a dog?

Sipra: Your process of elimination does seem to have a scientific undertone to it, Sankalpa.

Sankalpa: I know, it made my sample size very small.

Sipra: Very smart! But how did you get access to the data?

Sid Padhi: Concentrate on the dog. The jaw size matters.

Sankalpa: Whose jaw size?

Sid Padhi: The dog, not the GF.

Mrigank: Depending on the moxy of the girl one of those options could have endangered you still!

Sankalpa: What is Moxy?

Sid Padhi: Are you talking of the dog or the GF now?

Sankalpa: Mick is talking about kulfi. I was trying to remain quiet.

Mrigank: Yeah that's better. Sid – when the ice is thin on the lake it is better not to skate on it… 

Sid Padhi: I had to clarify.

Smarajit: It's the dog… 

Sid Padhi: So it's moxy by proxy.

Sid Padhi: I had a dog who had a girlfriend. She was quite a •itch•. Parding your beggon, kister monductor. 

Sankalpa: I knew you would find it difficult to resist. You must have been itching.

Sid Padhi: At the right place at the right time.

Sankalpa: The pleasure of a good itch scratched! 

Sid Padhi: The only real pleasure in an eczematous wretch.

Mrigank: Moxie not moxy.

Subhashis: Moxy is noun.

Sid Padhi: You are out of context here. We are discussing the pleasure of an itch, well scratched.

Subhashis: I am following.

Mrigank: Thanks Subu...

Sankalpa: Why is Moxie better than Moxy?

Subhashis: Your North American usages

Sankalpa: I don't like either. Reminds me of amoxycilin and paroxetine and other work-related things.

Mrigank: It isn't, but someone forced me to believe I was wrong... but you guys came to my rescue.

Sankalpa: So you weren't wrong and no one had set their dog on you.

Mrigank: No one had set their dog on me – no, but they shared their feelings of being tempted to set their dog on other people 

Sid Padhi: All the best with the moxy. Carry on. Amoxy – that which is not moxy.

Baldness, dogs, girlfriends and their fathers, itches and antibiotics, the tussle between the American and British usage of words – this was much more and beyond the expected oohs, ahs, sighs, and the odd chance of someone playing the curious cat and asking me about the contents of a letter written a quarter century (yes… the number is right; the collective us are at a point in life where this unit of time can be used in reference to ourselves) back – but oh, for the many digressions of the human mind!

A couple of acknowledgments and disclaimers: 

Some of our friends gave me a blanket ‘go ahead’ in repeating their statements (thank you for the trust), while some wanted to be sure about what exactly I was quoting (I would have done the same thing). Thank you Sankalpa, Gautam, Mrigank, Subhashis, Siddharth Padhi, and Smarajit for a fun conversation that did test (to some extent) the distances a human mind can travel... and some.

I took the liberty of omitting talk that flowed in between pertaining to things that did not emanate from or pertain to the letter. I also omitted the emoticons punctuating the conversation, which was more a compatibility issue than anything else. The conversation has minor edits pertaining to spelling, punctuation, and the occasional grammar, all which are not priority in a fast-flowing conversational atmosphere, characteristic of WhatsApp.

********

Sports Day Dreams

Mick Das

There is this person you may all know that as all young boys of his age had a desire to be a school age athlete. He had this secret longing to take the podium on sports day. Not that he didn't try - he tried year after year. However the school sports day would come and go and he would never be able to impress anyone or tell his parents that he won something. His parents were quite Ok with it actually.  Because this slightly chubby geeky boy with an unruly mop of hair used to do quite OK on the school's annual academic day and in some other competitions that related to academics.  However the greatest disappointment was that Sports day came and went with different sprints, high jump, long jump, javelin, hurdling, long distance running and many other events and even some hokie pokie ones like slow cycling and sack race and kabaddi, but although he tried, there was always plenty of seeming athletes who were better than him.

In 6th grade the disappointment came and went, and in 7th grade the same sequence was repeated. Even the slow cycling wasn't slow enough, the boy's partner in the sack race usually had two left feet and so they couldn't even scrape the bottom of the barrel. Couldn't make the kabaddi team either...boy was all forlorn and sad at the end.  All the so called 'popular girls' cheered for the winners and this  boy came home empty handed once again and to drown his sorrows doubled down on the next novel to hide his pain and disappointment. His skill set in the languages, science and math did not translate to the sports arena. Even all the evenings playing cricket and soccer with the colony kids didn't help him any on the biggest stage with the biggest spotlights.

On to 8th grade with no fantasy in sight...
Somehow this boy had developed an unlikely friendship with two chinese boys whose family ran a chinese restaurant in town; John and Peter Wong. The chinese boys liked this geeky boy because he was very nice to them and had hung out in their restaurant often eating some yummy chilli chicken and learnt a lot about their family. They had a sister Daisy who happened to be the geek's sister's friend too. So a bond had developed. The boy told his sad sport's day disappointments to the younger of the chinese brothers John.  John was pretty moved. Both the chinese brothers were quite athletic and did pretty good on Sports day. So John had an idea and he shared with this boy... and a plan was hatched.
As 8th grade rolled on, every day at recess or in Physical Ed class the two chinese brothers and this boy would practice a certain skill. Now this skill had a peculiarity in that it has some physics and body mechanics to it which wasn't trivial.  The chinese boys were very magnanimous.... and very encouraging as coaches. Finally they told the boy that he would take the podium. The boy was very skeptical... he wasn't a jock and he knew it.  But he enrolled for that particular event.  Hopefully the 'popular girls' would see it and realize he could excel in more than just exam scoring.

The 8th grade Sports day rolled around with a lot of fanfare. The school principal was there, a lot of the teachers, the usual ensemble of girls and boys and the games began.  Then that particular event was announced. Our boy's name was called.  There were a few encouraging cheers since he was well known for reasons other than sports... but those cheers did not hide the tenor of 'what the heck is he doing participating in this event?'  Doesn't he know this will be embarrassing for him. Two Punjabi girls who liked this boy even asked him to let it go.. but the boy was stubborn. He didn't want to let down John Wong (and his chili chicken :)).

The event was Discus throwing. Some very athletic lads came up, but they didn't know how to throw the discus. They just hurled it like a rock without trajectory or spin. Then Johnny came up and pirouetted 360 degrees and sent a superb parabola arcing through the sky with great spin and came up first place in the measurement.  A couple of others tried after that with little success. Our boy, as usual was called last borne of the knowledge that he was just a footnote to be ignored and humored as he won accolades for the school in other regards. They almost hoped he had left the arena. But he hadn't. He came up and inspired by his two chinese friends who stood there and encouraged him, did the same pirouette as John and sent the discus with spin with the body mechanics that John had taught and the thing flew skyward in a parabola, magically arcing the sky. Not as good as John's but it was good - the discus landed a few feet behind John's marker.  Nobody noticed - this boywas no good on this field anyways. But the event was over, and the microphone announcer called the names on the Podium of the discus throw. John Wong - first, the slightly chubby boy with the mop of unruly black hair - second, and God only knows which poor sod got third. The 'popular girls' did cheer... some of them who were the boy's sister's friends even came up and offered their congratulations. The dream had come true!

Walking the straight line…

Y.Sailaja

It was a beautiful evening, a memorable one indeed....rather highly intoxicating....due the presence of all friends....I couldn't fall asleep till 2 a.m...I wish to share a few of my feelings with u all....there were some active n passive friends in the group...I prefer to begin with the passive ones…1) Tapan...don't get carried away by his silence... there's a volcano deep within... check out for yourself... 2) Subbu darling...the puny fellow in the group... I guess it's his cold that prevented him from being active yesterday... but we can always catch up... 3) It was appalling to see Sahoo attain sainthood as such an early age… 4) Gautam... was silent... but no... He went missing in between to catch up on his daily dose of... and then sat at a distance like a good boy… outward appearances are deceptive ...I guess I’m done with the passive ones... were they really passive?? Time to ponder... Now coming to the active ones 1) Sandeep... graceful and warm... love you Sandy... 2) The philosophical Padhi... (oh no its buddy ) some of the things he spoke just went off my head... but I nodded my head in agreement 3) Geeta and Tridib... poise and grace to a tee... a lot for me to learn from the couple... their strength leaves me in awe 4) The beautiful Chinu... jazzed up the party with a lightening flash. And disappeared... left me broken... but... in spite of her busy schedule she spared some time for us 5) And, then the captain... the ramrod... Chichi... I guess I spoke about every one... I don't want to be too formal by saying thank you friends... rather I tell you, "ye dil maange more". Right now I dole out my heart to u all... take a scoop... Sailaja loves you all. Bye for the time being... and now for some of my other friends... a hi to u all the handsome Mrigank...the gorgeous Minks... Biswajita... the chic. Then and now also (…that's very bad, of course) the vivacious Sip... whose birthday party we celebrated... and yes, two sexy ladies - Tamsa and Rita... love you all... bye for the moment... In case I missed out some forgive me I my not to be blamed – it’s my age...

Ambujo... how did I forget you??? Your line maro-fying days... and myself so close to a nervous breakdown... but yes, that was past... Ambujo, the sweet and responsible guy... missing you dear.

And yes, forgot to add another thing about Padhi - sexy... but what puzzles me doctor is... how do u balance philosophy and...???

Tryst

Santanu Sahu

I take opportunity to use this platform to share my tryst with S. Devi Madam. I recollect the incident of Class-VIII when we appeared the half-yearly in RCE premises but result sheets were shown in the School premises. Some of you might recollect we were allotted a room in the middle portion probably over Biology Lab.

Madam distributed the Exam sheets. Everybody was busy going through the results with mutual discussion in a loud voice. My score was 61. But in one question relating to samasa conflict arise on the right answer. The question was what is the samasa for Bhimakanta. Many wrote Bhima O Kanta i.e., Dwanda Samasa. But Madam finally announced it is Je Bhima se Kanta i.e., Karmadharaya Samasa.

The interesting part I remember was that, I got marks for my wrong answer. But Nanu saw that. He did not get marks for writing the same answer. He promptly complained to madam. Madam immediately shouted, where is that answer. Of course Nanu kept quiet without further uttering my name or pointing at me. But Madam again searched that paper. I gave up after some more shouts. She promptly reduced one mark. That was the end of one part. What was still interesting is, with a gloomy face I went through my sheets. After adding up, it came 60.5. Immediately, I rushed to Madam for correction of my total. She looked at me and uttered, “are ebe mark katithili na” and gave a smile. I do not exactly remember if the mark was revised, but I still remember that moment of reconciliation between Madam and me.

Let her soul rest in peace.

A PERSPECTIVE ON FANATICISM

Mick(Mrigank) Das 

The battle between Absolutism and Relativism in the modern world has put us in a conflicted state where Fanaticism has prevailed instead. Fanaticism is typically (and perhaps rightfully) associated by the mainstream populace as having a nexus with major religions and an extreme and deranged form of Absolutism. Dogmatic faith and the zealous assumption that only the faith that one is embroiled in should be unquestionably accepted by others or they ought to be the object of punitive measures has left the world in a sad and vulnerable state to the acts of terror, that seem to be coming at a much more frenetic pace chronologically. The counter to Fanaticism is Relativism - where we just pander to a middle of the road position of accommodation and aversion to any top-down axiomatic principles of moral philosophy and faith.
 Relativism encourages the discarding of mainstream religion deeming it as a ultra-conservative right wing position that strips away an individual's prerogative to be the moral arbiter of their own lives and the lives of those around them and also their intellectual ability to philosophize the overall approach to the passage of life. However Relativism does allow for moral depravity - whether it is in music, culture, the predominance of stimulants, the relaxation of the rules of marriage and promiscuous behavior. This angers the opposite side that favors Absolutism which looks at trends in sexual orientation, drug use and permissive social norms (among others) as signs of the decadence of society arising from the liberalism that follows hand in glove with Relativism. The result is an incessant and increasingly turbulent edge of friction from which is borne fanaticism, radical behavior and the sinister and chilling birth of terror which is perceived by Absolutionists as the only way to redress the balance that they deem to be intolerable and a bane to their ability to subjugate or coerce compliance of their particular form of religion on their family and community.
 However Absolutism doesn't have an universally harmonizing principle so far - as evidenced by the tension between the world's major religions. Do we have a good answer yet? No. However it seems like if there is a non-atheistic universal harmonizing principle that favors the cause of Absolutism it cannot be something that professes acts of terror as the means of redressal. Neither is it a fire-and-brimstone or excoriating approach that uses barbaric means to cultivate adherents - that seems to be the antithesis of a harmonizing principle that ought to be aligned around the discovery of transcendence in a non-permanent passage of life, that frequently asks us to deal with affliction.  It has to be a non-peurile, stabilizing, substantive harmonizing principle based on logic and scientific reasoning. It has to teach us that there is something in us that death cannot touch, that has an eternal quality and has a journey that aligns it with some universal power that loves and cares for us. The chicken-and-egg problem is if there exists such an harmonizing principle, driving someone from a position of adversary to adherent requires sometimes an approach that may not be very pleasant, palatable and warm and comfy at first. The key for a discerning individual is to recognize the true north of a harmonizing principle as different from fanaticism even as the bonafide preachers for both may compete for your attention in a rather similar manner.

Limericks

Siddharth Padhi

I see u

The Optometrist asked me,

How do you do?

To save time I said,

"SDLPVROU"

He said it's fine,

You are 6/9,

Just pay me before I bill you.

Tense pay(sh)ense 

I have a cantankerous patient named Hense,

Who is at times a bit dense,

He gets on my nerves,

More than I deserve,

By muddling my senses with nonsense.

Flight season 

The Admissions Season.

When your children are looking to fly the nest, 

When you are intent on giving them your best,

Let them flee,

With freedom and glee,

And give our poor souls a rest.

Khaki and Maroon

Sushant Paikray

The best part of meeting my khaki pant and maroon skirt friends:

• The hug was tight and warm enough to let me feel they missed me
• The smile was bright enough to let me know I made a difference
• We drank as if we forgot to finish it the previous evening
• No one made me feel inferior or superior
• The handshake was firm enough to let me know, someone will always be there

Though the khaki pants and maroon skirts are gone, the bond still exists. The bliss was visible though the sad part was to say goodbye with a promise to meet again.

Marriage of (whose) convenience?

Rita Sinha

On a cloudy day under a tree at Dalhousie, a leg less physically challenged beggar man, was severely beating up his wife. The wife was calmly sitting near him and accepting all his bashes. She was sitting........!!..?.. Had she stood up high on her strong legs, she would have been saved from the bashes. But she was sitting, to help her husband hold her hair tight and hit her cheeks hard because the husband has no legs to stand and cannot reach up to her height.

Standing helplessly, I was wondering what keeps her going like this. Is she a dumb? A numb? Or is this Eternal LOVE?! Oh God!!! I saw tears rolling down her cheek, I saw her tremble in fear and pain.

By this time, I was little inattentive, to look for a taxi. All of a sudden, I heard a loud outburst of cry. Turned back to see... ?! No. The woman did not hit back her husband. She only pulled and tore off the colourful glass beaded neck piece which her husband was wearing, with all her force to express her anger, her pain, stored in her heart. The beads, got scattered all over and kept on rolling down the footpath with tinkling sounds. I could see the woman’s anger in the rolling beads like a silent volcano.

By this time, there was a heavy downpour of rain when I got into the taxi and was conversing with the taxi driver. Within a blink, I saw the same woman carrying her husband on her shoulder and the husband, confidently and comfortably sitting on her back as she was crossing the main road amidst the dense traffic. It was such a wonder to see. This man hits the woman, who is his only ''Vaahan'". She is his bread earner. Without her, his life doesn’t move on an inch! Waaaha... re... Waaha....’Patidev’!!

As they were passing by, my eyes kept tracing them as far as my sight could go. But they gradually got faded into the crowd. Throughout the way, back to my quarters, I was wondering, maybe the life of millions of women keeps on silently rolling and rolling like the colourful glass beads which they again and again bind together in one string.

I had witnessed the incident on 8^th March, back home after celebrating International Women's Day at RBI Kolkata.               

HOW TO HANDLE A SCRINCH

Siddharth Shankar Padhi

In simple terms, a Scrinch is a strain, sprain, stress or any equivalent term used to refer to any injury to soft tissue as a result or consequence of sudden/inappropriate movement. Injuries from impacts are not included in this category. How you handle a scrinch, especially on the first day will determine the speed of recovery. 

Some days back, while bending forward to tie my shoelace, I scrinched my lower back in one sudden, unexpected instant. One moment I was la-de-dah about the great outdoors and the next, absolutely still, with nothing but my back in the front of my mind. 

When I think of it now, I feel it was waiting to happen for quite a while. I had not been exercising of late and ye olde muscles had been steadily fattening up on the rich food and lazy lifestyle. I could sense an increasing degree of lethargy and insincerity in them, even with moderate workloads. It was cause for concern, for these things could be early signs of mutiny,  but the Central Vigilance Unit from the Grey Matters Dept of the Upper Chamber were in a holiday mood and neglected the warnings.

So, when I crossed one leg across the other and leaned forward to tie the shoelace, I inadvertently isolated a particularly lazy group of myocytes by this action and yanked them out of their bed. There was immediate protest. I heard something go 'snap'. It was a squelchy, stringy, muted kind of snap that arises out of soft tissue being torn apart by alien critters feeding on human flesh in some B grade horror-sci-fic production. The myocytes started creating a ruckus, yelling and screaming and causing intense local pain in the process. Others quickly joined in and took up the cause, as willingly as the Bengali Babu, who, while hurrying to office, spots a small gathering of three people protesting against the government for building the airport near their home and offers to shout their slogans for them while they put up their posters on the nearby wall. The commotion spread slowly, but surely, outwards like a mutinous tide and pretty soon, all routes to and from the place started jamming up. The Tubes (Arteries) started constricting and impeding adequate passage of the myriad traffic. The angry mob took to the streets through their individual by-lanes, further clogging them up. As the by-lanes opened, plasma, that soupy medium through which all the cells move, started leaking out and congealing the neighborhood in a slow-motion tsunami. It caught those myocytes in the area, who were hitherto unaware of the disruptions around them, in the middle of their routine activities and threw their peace of mind out of gear. Naturally, they ganged up and grabbed their banners on the way out. Pretty soon the district authorities were in a frenzy and put on the sirens and switched on the heaters (whenever there is disruption in peace and tranquility, law and order, heaters are switched on to disperse the unruly crowd. These heaters glow red). Everything comes to a standstill till law and order returns.

Movement was painful, to say the least. This was no ordinary pain to trifle with. It was sharp and piercing when I bent forward, stretching and tearing when leaned backward and a complaining ache on either side. Twisting was like someone pulling a cistern chain dangling from the brain. As I sat perfectly still, wondering what to do, I recalled a dozen examples of people lying in bed as a consequence of sudden back scrinches, none of them particularly heartening.

These are the typical signs of an inflammation. Whenever, wherever there is damage to tissue in any form, the reaction of the tissue up to the time of complete healing is controlled by this process. There are five elements of an inflammation: Rubor - Redness, Calor - Increase on temperature, Dolor - Pain, Tumour - Swelling and Functio laesa - Loss of function. The Romans couldn't find one word for it, so we also couldn't. Redness is caused by an excess flow of blood to the area. This happens only in the initial stage, when the rowdies are still within their work area. It's the police rushing in. Blood brings in a rise in temperature and a host of defensive chemicals are secreted by the cop-cells or corpuscles. All these activities activate the nerve pathways and they start sending pain messages to the Dept of Pain in the Brain. The Dept of Pain issues orders on nature and severity of the pain (that The Body will perceive and suffer from) only after referring the matter to the Dept of Tolerance, which has a significant say on the final degree of pain before it is dispatched to the Dept of Perception, which may or may not send a Directive to the Dept of Sound to produce a noise, as appropriate to the Recommendation of the Dept of Tolerance mentioned before. With a lot of plasma pouring out of the leakages in the Transit Tubes or arteries, the healthy tissue areas are permeated and the entire area swells up and becomes tender to touch or pressure, as also any movement. The common refrain is - "Let status quo prevail." As a result, there is loss of function - same as when factory workers go on strike.

The obvious thing to do was to assess the extent of damage, so I froze until the pain subsided. Slowly, I assisted the already hoisted lower limb to it's appropriate position on terra firma and despatched two sets of fingers to examine and report back on the back. The report would read something like this: alignment of bones (vertebrae)- normal, protrusions/ gaps - nil, tenderness - moderate, localised but not distinctly at one place, nature of pain - as arising out of superficial soft tissue, movement - painful but bearable if gradual. By saying 'gradual', I mean the average speed of an aging snail. Inference- localised muscle tear/pull but spinal alignment - OK. In other words, a Grade II Scrinch of the lower back at the level L5-S1. Further experiments on studying the characteristics of the pain while cautiously shifting positions confirmed the exact site and nature of damage.

Low back aches of sudden onset are the commonest of scrinches followed by those of the upper back, (tennis) elbow, knee and shoulder joint. Most are caused by sudden, dis-coordinated movement resulting in over-stretching of muscle fibres (upper back, calf) or ligaments (knees, ankles) or sometimes, both (lower back). A few are caused by lack of movement; over-stretching tissue over a prolonged period of time - like a hand used overnight as a pillow produces a swollen, tender elbow for a couple of days.

I got up and walked around a few experimental steps. It was not as bad as I had dreaded. My father had had a bad back and was prone to such painful episodes, which he would pragmatically term as 'inconveniences' and lie down still, sometimes for days, until it healed. But, that was an unexpected proposition as I had serious business to attend to before going for my daily toil to earn bread and butter (he was a govt employee with leave privileges while I am a paid-by-the-hour guy). So, I just went ahead and did what I was supposed to do, which started with an hour of loitering around on uneven land in the sun, supervising a boundary wall construction and then sitting for five-and-a-half hours (with a half-hour break in between) attending to patients who had no idea that they were with a very patient patient, who was grinning and bearing it. The entire lower back bunched up into one amalgamated, indistinct, stiff mass of pain. Walking around helped. The tablet I had taken after lunch was somewhere inside me, doing nothing. Getting in and out of my car was an exercise of contortions (of body and face) in slow-motion.

Back at home, I was subjected to standard procedures. I was asked to lie still on my tummy while a vile smelling gel was liberally applied and massaged in. The heating pad was next and I was subjected to a slow roasting while contemplating the vagaries that make up the complicated process of living. Pretty soon the old spirit of rebellion made its presence felt and I was back on my feet. After that, it was normalcy with the exception that no position sitting or standing, erect or slouching was comfortable for very long and all my effort went in trying to maintain a neutral position for the affected group of muscles.

Inflammatory signs typically peak in 72 hours and then subside. In my case, it started abating in 48 hours. Three things must have attributed to this early recovery- keeping the injured muscles relaxed as far as possible, no prolonged immobility and further heating. All the poor chaps wanted was a few days sick leave and I was willing to grant them that. 
It would come at the cost of overworking a few others, but they were a well-fed, healthy lot and needed the occasional exercise. The heating seemed to be a bad idea. When you target an area that is several layers of cell down, you have to raise the surface temperature to a much higher degree to achieve any satisfactory diffusion of heat to the desired level. In that process, you manage to overheat healthy cells and create more morbidity. It's has the same effect on people standing close to huge speakers when you decide to entertain a group of people 50 meters away. There was also a problem with lying down for long. Barring the fact that people have by and large forfeited the luxury of a few days rest, by way of their complicated existential liabilities, no single position can ensure equal rest to adjacent groups of injured as well as healthy muscle tissue. That may be accepted as a fact.

So, here's a brief summary on dos and don'ts in handling scrinches. 

Prevention: 
1. Limber up in the mornings. Avoid deliberate bending or stretching without a cardio workout first. RBCs are the supply trucks that get oxygen to the tissues. Get them moving. Everybody cheats unless you supervise their activities.
2. The time period from and up to an hour after your bath is a vulnerable period for muscles. They are about as disciplined as a bunch of kids in a swimming pool. Take care to avoid sudden and stretching movements.
3. After exercise, cool down as naturally as possible. Losing heat quickly stiffens muscles and slows them down. If you are resting between activities, do not allow complacency to set in, something I realised during my Himalayan trek. (The locals rarely sit down to rest).
4. Electrolyte replenishment helps when you sweat a lot. But, everyone knows that these days and many end up in osmotic diarrhoea after overdoing this.

Management: 
1. On occurence, keep still until you have yourself assessed the extent of damage and are sure of your moves. If asking for help, explain what you want to be done without ambiguity.
2. Any injury involving bones and joints are not to be self-managed.
3. Local application of gels and liniments helps as long as it is not rubbed in with pathological vigour.
4. Heat application must be limited to a peak surface temperature not exceeding 45*C. After that the superficial cells start suffering from heat fatigue and lose efficiency.
5. For the next three days the three foremost considerations should be comfortable posture, painless posture and a change of posture if the first two are not achieved.
6. Laga helps.

Note: There is no term as 'scrinch', but a scrinch by any other name is still a scrinch.

God, Godliness, Religion, Responsibility and Choice

Rajesh Srivastava

God is associated with 'Godliness'. There itself, God of which particular religion (as conventionally and quite unfortunately misunderstood) becomes insignificant.

Godliness is the Key. Godliness is whatever adds to or is sustaining the Happiness of this World. It's akin to Beauty in the Truest sense like when we say "make the World a better place to live". All beautiful things -- lovely songs, smiles, friendship, acts of goodness, parenting -- go in there.

Therefore, claiming to be 'religious' without practicing Godliness is faking around, hypocritical and strictly speaking 'irreligious'.

A word about 'Dharm' and 'Karm'.
'Dharm' is actually " Laws of the Cosmos" in line with e=mc2.
'Karm' is a person's deeds -- good or bad in the perspective of Godliness as described above.
These are not to be mistaken for Hindu religion words, as commonly misunderstood.
They are Fundamental and Universal like Science and Maths.

Why have I explained all this?
Just to tell a simple straightforward fact:
Good deeds are good and
Bad deeds, bad. Bad deeds are Crime and the doer a CRIMINAL. No confusion. No justification. Period.

Our Responsibility:
Again, it's not only Good Deed and bad deed. Other than Su-karma and Ku- karma, there's one more --- 'A-karma' !! Beware of this !!
This is a silent killer!
By Not acting against Ku-karma which is Ungodly, we all fall prey and fail in our Duties to add/ sustain the Beauty. It is considered as bad as Ku-karma. It's like silently observing something wrong taking place and remaining quiet.

WHILE FOLLOWING GODLINESS, IT IS ALSO INCUMBENT UPON US, EVEN MORE SO FOR THE SAKE OF OUR CHILDREN'S FUTURE, THAT WE STAMP OUT CRIMINALS FORCEFULLY WITH ALL OUR WHEREWITHAL AND MIGHT

Essentially, there's just good Deed and bad Deed. Good Deed adds to the Beauty of the Universe and bad deeds just the opposite.

It is in the very nature of Existence (Kayanat) and Human Beings, nature's Supreme Creation, to love and share Goodness.
Friends, also note - another interesting thing:

'Religion' and 'Mazhab' aren't the true synonyms of 'Dharm'!
The former are simply 'a way of practice or faith, customs' while the latter is 'Laws of the Cosmos' (not conventional Hinduism)
All this I have written for you/ all to introspect "what real Value Addition/ Contribution/ Goodness" each of these so-called Religious Sects have brought in, given to the world. And then Choose! 😊