Sick and Tired

The Bangalore Bacteria and Virus Association shifted base last month. They are now headquartered somewhere near my house. Word must have spread in their community that I had relocated and for the first time in my life, there was one living creature that took an instant liking towards me, quite like love at first sight. The Big V is in love with me and V is faithful till date. He is always with me in some form or the other - fever, cough, cold, upset stomach, headache... most times all of them together.

When V made his presence felt for the first time, my reaction was to ignore him. I am not the kind to give any 'bhav' during initial days of courtship. Not even simple home remedies (not that he would have been deterred by it!). No adrak ki chai, more so because there is never any adrak or milk at home when I need adrak-wali chai; no steam inhalation, no piling on warm clothes (I had left all of it in Delhi - who thought I would need them here!). For more effective home remedies I tried reaching out to some key members of my F&F community. Family and Friends, I mean. As luck would have it, Mom was holidaying in South East Asia and the 'relevant' friend was in Dubai. So there we were, me and V, with just a fictitious cup of adrak ki chai between us. V doesn't like being ignored. So he decided to turn on his charm and then things got serious between us. I gave in. The fever was unrelenting and V finally had me all to himself.

After a week of trying self medication (antibiotic, anti-allergic, paracetamol, B-complex and cough syrup - standard stuff that any doc would prescribe under normal circumstances), I realized that this Virus was not going anywhere. It was time to take a hit on my ego and accept that all my friends, who were insisting I go meet a doc, were right. Not that I actually accepted it. I merely gave in to their demand.

With a heavy heart (because there was no hope of meeting a good looking doc in these southern provinces), I set out one evening, about half an hour after popping a paracetamol, to finally meet a doc.

My first stop was at the nearby clinic that looks (and feels) almost like a shopping mall. I swear I had even got an insert in TOI last month promising great service, discounts and stuff like that. Walk in and walk out surgery kind of service! The paper on which this pamphlet was printed was top class glossy stuff with a nice pic of a happy healthy family on top. This was my kinda place - my safest bet. I mean, I have the distinction of fainting in every hospital I have visited - during visiting hours to meet ailing relatives. I have never made an attempt to go these ghastly places for any tests, except the time one of the banks I worked for insisted on a full check up during the hiring process. Naturally the job meant a lot to me and I went through the drill without any mishap but I had already fainted in that particular hospital on an earlier visit. So we were square!  There is a nice path lab near my place in Delhi and they send a nice old man home to take blood whenever required. And naturally I keep my eyes tightly shut throughout the procedure. That takes care of most situations.

Coming back to Clinic No. 1 - I was pleasantly surprised when I reached there cause there was ample parking space available. Now you wouldn't possibly understand the joy of finding a parking spot in Bangalore unless you actually live here. For Delhities, it's like finding a spot in Chandni Chowk and for Bombayites... ummm... just imagine the worst case scenario please. Feeling like the 'Queen of All I Survey' I parked my car using more space than my modest hatch back needs. As I entered the main hall I was even more pleasantly surprised to see that the place was not swarming with the sick. Aha! They must be expensive.. No wonder there aren't too many people around. Good!

Wait a minute. There wasn't ANYONE around! What was happening here? After a few agonizing minutes of waiting in an empty hall, a guard walked in from the main entrance, coming through the same parking lot I had parked my car in. "What are you doing here madam?", he said. Excuse me! Who did he think he was and what the hell was he saying? Why would any one visit a clinic? Naturally to see a doc. I told him just as much. He said what every cab-wala, auto-wala, shopkeeper and guard says in Bangalore when he doesn't understand a word of what I have said, "Yes madam!".

"Don't Yes Madam me. I said I want to see a doc. A General Physician."
"Doctor comes only on appointment no madam."
"OK. Then give me an appointment now."
"Appointment can be given only by the receptionist no madam."
"OK. Then take me to the receptionist."
"Receptionist has left no madam."

Losing my temper a bit as I usually do when faced with ridiculous situations, I screamed at him,"So that's not my problem! I wanna meet a doctor. NOW!"

"Oh! But today is Sunday no madam. Clinic closes at 1pm madam."

By now I was ready to murder the chap but I have a soft spot for security guards. Most of them in Delhi hail from Bihar. And Bihar & Biharis are sacred! That saved him - the soft spot. He was in no way related to my state.

"So what do I do now? I am extremely unwell and need to see a doctor right away!"

He looked at me - up and down, thinking if you look this gorgeous, you are not that unwell!

I mean I would in all my distorted sense of vanity like to BELIEVE that this is what he thought. In reality he must have cursed bloody unruly North Indians under his breath because I was almost screaming at him by then, but let's not go there. My version is better you see. The gorgeous one.

"Come tomorrow madam."
"I shall go to another clinic. This locality is full of them."

With my standard 'To Hell With You' demeanor, I turned and left. Just two buildings away there was another clinic just as promising in size, shape and looks as the earlier one, with an upmarket pharmacy right next to it. This had to be it. But this one didn't open on Sunday AT ALL! Exasperated I decided to try my luck in another block.

I found another 'sister concern/clinic' there, with a guard at the gate busy on his mobile phone. With a lot of hope I looked at him and finally, the Gods smiled at me. He ushered me in with a wave and I happily walked in. The ground floor had a small red light on top of the entrance gate. Uh... they don't watch bollywood movies at all I guess otherwise they would know that these hideous lights always get installed outside Operation Theatres. This is basic stuff, from Nirupa Roy's umpteen surgeries in films (I love the lady!).

As I went past the gate I was a little surprised to see another gate quite similar to the first one. Well.. what kind of architect did they hire? Any way! As I went past this gate, a voice called out to me saying, "No shoes allowed beyond this point madam."

"What?" I certainly didn't get that. Why do I have to take off my shoes to see a General Physician? I turned around to see a harassed looking couple standing there. Apparently the gentleman had made that 'no shoes' statement. I looked at him puzzled. And then I turned around to see that I was actually right outside an Operation Theatre! I looked at the man again (who, as I had guessed by now, was waiting anxiously outside the OT while a relative/friend was undergoing an operation somewhere inside that very door) and asked him quite sheepishly, where could I meet a doc for a mere sore throat and fever. The man duly informed me that OPD was on the second floor, accessible by a lift at the back.

This is where I lost all hope of finding sense that evening. Why on earth would a clinic have its Operation Theatres on the ground floor as you enter and it's reception and Out Patient Department on the second floor? As you have already guessed, OPD was closed on Sunday. They would gladly operate upon me on Sunday and remove my tonsils if I wished to go ahead but there was no doc to check my temperature and prescribe an antibiotic.  

I tried three more clinics in this block with the same result.
  

By now the poor paracetamol I had taken gave up and Big V's magic was working again. I decided to give up my quest there, came back home and crawled into bed.

I did manage to meet a doc three days after this fateful Sunday and there is nothing dramatic that happened. The doc was nothing like my uber cool dentist in Delhi with an upmarket Khan Market address. And all he did was give me a different antibiotic, a different anti-allergic and a different cough syrup. I knew Big V had won. There was nothing one could do but wait for V to have mercy on me, which slowly after another week, he did, leaving me with a new 'Bangalorean' lesson - This is no place to fall ill. Next time, I am taking the first flight to Delhi. That's it!

Master Chef

"We are not the breakfast, lunch, dinner generation Mom! We eat on the go!" I said, with more emotion in one sentence than what my mother can handle in about a week. "No wonder your generation has weight problems!" she retorted with more below the belt sarcasm than I can handle in a month. My mother is naturally gifted at cutting out nonsensical drama. "Take a look at yourself!" she said. "One month away from home and you have gained so much weight! Aise to tum..." and she left it hanging there. Ah! That hurt. This is Day 1 conversation during my first trip to Delhi after having settled down in Coffee City. I would vote for Nirupa Roy any day against my mom. Ms Roy would never have such a conversation with her celluloid kids, even if they cast Randhir Kapoor or Sanjeev Kumar for the role!

The conversation started with my boasting about how well stocked my new kitchen was with.. er... all kinds of food..umm... of the instant variety. You can't call it junk any more, can you? We have maggi noodles packed with iron, calcium and dietary fibre, with the goodness of REAL vegetables added to the pack. Every pack now comes pre-loaded with 2 peas and 3 pieces of carrot (I assume) of 1 cubic cm size, each. Now that is real nutrition. Then there is instant soup, instant pasta, popcorn, lays, instant curries, frozen parathas, all kinds of namkeens, salami, sausages, dips, cheese cakes, muffins, juices... well, you see... THE WORKS! This didn't go down too well with mom. 

But let me explain. When I went about the tedious, arduous, tiresome task of stocking up my kitchen, the problem statement at the back of my mind was - "What will I eat when I feel hungry in the middle of the night?" 

Now is it my fault that during all those years of living in Delhi, middle of the night was the only time ma would not be there to handle my food crisis? I mean.. Really! It's the only time I had to worry about food.. the only time I was faced with the "what do I eat now" problem. At all other times food was just something that appeared on the table miraculously, even before one felt hungry. Breakfast, lunch, shaam ki do chai ke saath nashta, dinner and then dinner ke baad ki chai... I never really gave it much thought. 

Now, of course, I give it more than just a thought and there are two distinct and serious issues here. 

One - I can't really buy veggies. For two reasons - one, I can't identify most of them except for the very basic potato kinda stuff; two - I can't figure out the goodness/freshness quotient. I can handle the rest of it - milk, bread, eggs variety. But veggies - NAAH! Why can't they stamp 'date of production' and 'best before' on vegetables? Beats me! 

Two - My concept of portions is distorted. You see, I learnt (whatever little bit I did) how to cook in the early 1990s when our house used to be packed with college-going-hostel-residing-at-local-guardians-home-over-weekends-for-enormous- amounts-of-ghar-ka-khana-and-non-stop-carrom cousins. Hence, no matter how much I try, I still end up cooking large portions of food which my dear maid-of-honor gets her precious paws on every other day. In fact going by the amount I eat and what she gets to take home, I am eating left overs!   

Anyway.. I had to convince ma that things were not as bad as she thought. So I told her I also have five kinds of dal stocked up in my kitchen. Huh! NOW what would she say??? 

"Name them", she said. Ouch! Stumped again!

"I can name the colors."

"Try."

"Black, Yellow, Light yellow..."

She had stopped listening by then. Clearly she knew me well enough so who was I kidding.

Almost on cue sis-in-law walked in. I was so happy to see her.. more than usual thanks to the timing. And then she said, "Hey! Bangalore suits you! You have gained so much weight!"

Hmmm... :( 

One Great Cuppa Coffee

Once upon a time there was a woman who believed one great cup of coffee could sort out most things. That's me. And "Once upon a time" is used here purely with reference to the fact that I have slipped up on this most basic belief of mine several times. Actually it also refers to the fact that I am now prehistoric enough to be referred to in this manner. You can also interpret it as a lame attempt at trying to bring in a fairy tale-ish flavor back to my oh-so-bland existence. Uh... guess I deviated from the point.

I started this blog as a sob story station for me a few months back only to realize... that is so NOT me. I am the more "har fikr ko dhuein mein udaati chali gayi" type who didn't really need a sob station- figuratively speaking my friends. I still do not smoke. Bad for throat. But... back to my blog. I decided to put an end to it, deleted the two miserable posts I had managed in six months or so and decided to... well... just blabber on. 

Most of you who know me, also know that I recently moved to the coffee capital of India. Politics and Finance be damned. For the uninitiated, I mean Delhi and Bombay I left behind! Coffee-land it is for me now, for let's see how long. And why this reference to Bombay one would ask. Ask! Ask! Bombay has been home too with Bhai living there till last year. Bombay has also been beckoning me for years, sort of a game of hide and seek. There have been several professional opportunities there that I let go. You see, I love to hate the place and also hate to love it. But this is not about me and Bombay (I refuse to call it Mumbai.. NO, NO, NO WAY!). This is the about me and Bangalore. :)

Most of my family and friends have believed, with good reason, that I would be a complete disaster if I were left to fend for myself, pampered brat that I am! OK... I shall make the correction. ALL of my family and ALL my friends have believed it. So who am I to contradict them. But I guess I wanted to surprise myself more than anyone else. So here I am. Single in the coffee city. Shamelessly borrowed from Sushmita Bose.  

From the 'morning bed tea served by grumbling mom' days to my new routine of 'wake up - shut the damn alarm - trudge along to the coffee maker - go out to pick up TOI - avoid looking at pics of southie moustached heros splashed on  front page of Bangalore Times (who the hell wants to start her day like THAT!)'... it's been one hell of a change! 

My maid of honor is honorable enough to call every other day with a new excuse for why she can't put up an appearance. Sample a few - "Didi, Aadhaar card banwana hai", "Didi, bete ke school ki fees deni hai (hindi picture Nirupa Roy type mom!)", "Didi, bohot high bukhaar hai", "Didi, meri saas beemar hai". I caught her on the last one. Which self respecting bahu in India would take leave to care for her ailing mother in law. All of Ekta Kapoor's excellent work on Star TV collectively flushed down the drain! I told her just as much when she resumed work after two days of 'informed' absence. The poor girl was actually in tears and with almost genuine hurt in her eyes she told me,"Saas abhi bhi hospital mein hai"... Boy! Did I miss something here?!! How did I, in a split second, become the monster for keeping her away from her hospital-bed ridden saasu ma? There is something about women and tears, I tell you! Very dangerous!!!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I did give her another day off the very next day to get the old lady discharged. During my customary morning phone conversation with mom that day, I told her about it, feeling smug about the "you are such a kind-hearted little gem I was lucky enough to give birth to" comment I was sure ma would make. She gave me the "You've been conned stupid girl" with a lot of feeling in her voice. She said with years of accumulated helplessness and anger at the randomly chhutti-taking maids, "How can you be so naive?"... and on and on it went. Sis-in-law was a little more kind. "Some things don't change no matter which city you live in! But you've gotta be more careful girl or you shall get fleeced by the likes of her. How many days has she taken off already? You do maintain attendance records, right? That's why they still publish calendars in this country darling!" 

Hmmm... Life has come full circle. I can no longer smirk at the dhobi-hisaab-keeping, grocery-shopping, doing-dishes, washing-clothes routine any more. But what the hell... I still get time to savor a great cup of brazilian coffee while I read Single In The City. Long live Sushmita (Bose)!!! 

Life is sorted.