Studying Medicine in India, noble?

28th April, Two days before the AIPMT, we are ordered by the ‘Honourable’ Judiciary of India (in all its glory?) That the admission to all Medical Colleges of India (govt as well as private) will be on the basis of marks obtained in the AIPMT (which was renamed to NEET WITHOUT any proof in the form of admit cards). It mentioned that all exam applications that we had filed in the past months had been SCRAPPED, leaving us with NO backup in case that one day of Aipmt proves unlucky for us. Technically even after the exam we did not know whether we took the AIPMT or the NEET. (MEGA LOL)

I have never been one to contradict anything that is laid out by the Judiciary of my Country, but when something of this magnitude is decided TWO days prior to a major exam and which may handicap my future (which is ironically supposed to be the Noblest profession), I will not support it.

Funnily enough, there is hardly a news channel which covered this episode wholly and hardly a newspaper which guided us as to what to do next!? Study for the next exam? Look up the news on the internet? Search everyday whether an exam is going to be conducted or not? Sit at home and inwardly die every second while waiting for results for three months of an exam which wasn’t even fair (some NEET Phase 1 and Phase 2 nonsense)? Blame ourselves because that one day we didn’t beat the now-or-never stress? What do I do with the results of other exams I qualified? Stress? Because the only important exam to be qualified to pursue Medicine is one paper of three hours? The only thing which is true about this entire ritual is that it is Absolute Nonsense.


Women’s Day, Happy? Happy.

As grateful as I am for all the special treatment you shower on me this day, I don’t want it. Before you react cynically or (worse still) think this is a cynical opinion, do read the entire status.
Don’t glorify me into incarnations of beautiful Indian Goddesses and don’t magnify my strengths to the point where I cease to see me in those kind words of yours. Don’t fill my inboxes with tempting offers on this one day because you want to show me how much you care. Here’s what I would love a whole lot more- let me live a normal life.
Let me step out to roam around without thinking of the oddness of the hour. Let me wander about in clothes that I find comfortable, minus the worries around my hemline. Let me nurture my big dreams, without being judged. Let me earn my money and let me spend it my way. Let me be. That’s right. Just give me a perfectly normal life and let me be.
Once that has been achieved, shower me with all this love once every while because everyone needs love. Once you truly begin to treat me as an equal to my male counterparts, I will actually not mind an occasional lack of equality of this nature (Women’s Day), but please, I beg of you, get me there first. Stand by me if you’re a man. Stand by me if you’re a woman. Stand by me without any grudges or pre conceived notions that my gender brings with it. I promise to return the favor! Let’s get there first. Then I’ll happily celebrate this day, and Men’s day too! Until then, I’ll wait. I know I’m not asking for too much and I believe that it’ll happen. 🙂

Colour Colour

Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8 color boxes, but what you’re really looking for are the 64 color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64 color box, though I’ve got a few missing. It’s okay though, because I’ve got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8 color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation. So when I meet someone who’s an 8 color type…I’m like, hey girl, Magenta! and she’s like, oh, you mean purple! and she goes off on her purple thing, and I’m like, no I want Magenta!

Oh! And wish you all a very happy Holi 🙂

Gujju Love

Why is a single Gujju lady noisy and a group of them silent?
Because one lady is a ‘Ben’. Many ladies are ‘Ben-z’.

All Gujju cooks are highly skilled, people. Their only issue is they are a tad forgetful.
Like they prepare the tastiest of food and then, every once in a while, drop in Sugar instead of Salt.

‘Barobar is the answer to life, the world and everything in it.’

Douglas Seth Adams

Why does the tall Gujju lady always know the time?
Because Big ‘Ben’.

The most idiotic thing about mainstream Bollywood is the ‘song’ choreography. Like cue music and suddenly everyone on the street knows all the steps. This can never happen in real life.

Or so I thought.

And then someone played Garba music in-front of me.
Garba – the original flash mob.

If you’re a Gujju and/or any of the above offended you, here’s one:

It is a little bit annoying when people talk rapid Gujarati and you look at them with wide open mouths. No clue as to what they’re saying.

I almost feel like, ummm,a north-Indian in Chennai. Uff.

See, I cracked a self-referential joke. Chill.

Seriously, best people these Gujjus. Best food also.

P.S: Pardon spelling errors in the post. I am distracted by a tiny tub of Shrikhand. Yummmm.

Good Morning. My new India.

Good morning India.

When BJP uses Mahatma
And Congress uses Sonia
When BJP protects Tharoor
And Congress creates a furore

When NaMo replays his Vadra Views
And Rahul G is no where in news
All is well and will be forgotten
After votes in Haryana are ill gotten.

When Supreme Court opposes Government
And opposition opposes Supreme Court
When Prosecutor proposes a bail
And the Judge denies Jayalalita’s bail

When cancer drug price rises 14 times
And Indians mourns gold prices fall
When petrol prices are brought down
While price of electricity shoots up

When BJP proposes Swach Bharat
And Sena sweeps after NaMo’s rally
When Sena calls BJP ‘Afzals’ army
And NaMo’s calls Sena a ‘Hafta’ party

When Pak army kills 5 civilians
And India mows down 15 of them
And both nations celebrate
Killing of innocents on the other side

Good Morning. My new India.

Let the unsaid words rust undeciphered.

Let’s bury dead dreams and see what grows.
Let’s imagine the harvest before we sow.

Let’s never throw things that’ll keep making us smile, Let’s halt today, been running for a while.                                                               Let’s tie something that defies time, Let’s let love and care always be our prime.                                                                                       Let’s know if we hold hands, we can conquer all life hurls. Let’s face it, we’ll always be Daddy’s little girls.                                        Let’s never let our hopes and dreams surrender, Let’s never let our eyes lose its sense of wonder.                                                 Let’s find a sun for every dark night, Let’s keep our vision strong even if the world blurs our sight.                                                      Let’s find big joys in little things, Let’s keep in touch with both our roots and wings.                                                                           Let’s always greet a stud when we meet one on the street, Let’s not let all directions be decided by our feet.                                           Let’s lose all maps and find our souls, Let’s fix two broken halves and make a whole.                                                                      Let’s do everything we do in style, Let’s make sure we’ve humour on our speed dial.                                                                                 Let’s unend travel, inspire time and distance, Let’s build boats that sail us back to innocence.                                                                   Let’s aim for stars even when they’re way out of sight, Let’s ‘meet’ and connect beyond screens of artificial light.                           Let’s NOT keep calm when we need to raise a tide, Let’s burn down the fence, let the fire choose a side.

  Let’s shoot stars and make them all wish.

Let’s never let the sun rise on last night’s anguish.

Let’s also end a poem abruptly. 🙂

Following picture began circulating in November. It should be “The Picture of the Year,” or perhaps, “Picture of the Decade.” It won’t be. In fact, unless you obtained a copy of the U.S. paper w hich published it, you probably would never have seen it. The picture is that of a 21-week-old unborn baby named Samuel Alexander Armas, who is being operated on by surgeon named Joseph Bruner. The baby was diagnosed with spina bifida and would not survive if removed from his mother’s womb. Little Samuel’s mother, Julie Armas, is an obstetrics nurse in Atlanta. She knew of Dr. Bruner’s remarkable surgical procedure. Practicing at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville, he performs these special operations while the baby is still in the womb. During the procedure, the doctor removes the uterus via C-section and makes a small incision to operate on the baby. As Dr. Bruner completed the surgery on Samuel, the little guy reached his tiny, but fully developed hand through the incision and firmly grasped the surgeon’s finger. Dr. Bruner was reported as saying that when his finger was grasped, it was the most emotional moment of his life, and that for an instant during the procedure he was just frozen, totally immobile. The photograph captures this amazing event with perfect clarity. The editors titled the picture, “Hand of Hope. Little Samuel’s mother said they “wept for days” when they saw the picture. She said, “The photo reminds us pregnancy isn’t about disability or an illness, it’s about a little person” Samuel was born in perfect health, the operation 100 percent successful. Now see the actual picture, and it is awesome…incredible….and hey, pass it on! The world needs to see this one!

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A Short Queer History of Ice-cream Flavors

A Short Queer History of Ice-cream Flavors

Once upon a time, many eons ago, ice-cream was invented. In the beginning of the time ice-cream came in many flavors. There was vanilla and strawberry and blueberry and butterscotch and almonds with caramel; and then there was chocolate. People loved ice-cream! In fact, it was believed to be the best thing to happen to humankind. As it was newly invented, people kept experimenting with flavors trying to make new flavors, perfecting the art of ice-cream making.

As time passed, it was noticed that some flavors were preferred over others. To get to the bottom of this and find the best flavor, a survey was conducted. The thing with surveys is that it is highly dependent on the sample size (and it’s a very important point, so remember it). The sample size was arbitrarily selected, and the results were astounding! Majority of the people liked chocolate and no other flavor. It was also realized that later generations of the chocolate loving families had never tasted any other flavor. There were some people who liked other flavors but they were not in large numbers and thus ignored by the media, (media has always been treacherous and deceptive in reporting) although why it did so is never clearly understood but we shan’t busy ourselves with that here. Gradually, ice-cream companies realized that they should make only chocolate ice-creams and not waste resources on other flavors. Then there came a time there were no other flavors available. If any child complained about chocolate or disliked it, he/she was reprimanded. Everyone would try and convince him/her that chocolate is the best flavor; their argument was very simple and very effective, “Look around you! Do you see any other flavors? Everyone is enjoying chocolate ice-cream. Come now, not everyone can be wrong and you alone are right, can it?” and the child, irrespective of age, scratched his/her head and thought “Of course if everyone likes it, it must be good! One person alone can’t be right against the whole world now. Don’t be silly. Don’t bother others with a petty matter. I will come to like chocolate in time.”

As it always happens, some did come to like chocolate, some didn’t.

A long, long time passed like this. One day a group of people found an old recipe book. It had recipes for ice-cream of all flavors. Those who didn’t like chocolate started preparing vanilla and strawberry and blueberry and butterscotch ice-creams in secret. But soon this news was leaked. The chocolate lovers went into frenzy. “This is preposterous!” they exclaimed. They could not understand how anyone could like any other ice-cream flavor. But somewhere deep down in their heart, and I mean deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, DEEP down in their heart they knew it might be a possibility. Sadly, no one ever looks so deep in their heart. So they argued that these people have never tried chocolate ice-cream and hence they should, no they MUST, try it to realize how much they love chocolate over vanilla or strawberry or blueberry. The only thing was, some of them had tried chocolate and were either dissatisfied by it or worse they were revolted by it.

Somehow the chocolate lovers convinced themselves that such diverse ice-cream flavors were threatening to the environment and atmosphere. They argued that it even adversely affects the culture. (Now dear reader, we all know this is stupid. Someone’s liking vanilla is not threatening to chocolate lovers. In fact, it is the opposite of threatening. But of course, I will let you be the judge of that. This is just my silly opinion and you are way cleverer than me.) As the chocolate lovers were in majority, they devised a sinister plan—it was decided, anyone who liked any ice-cream flavor other than chocolate must be persecuted and was liable of getting strictest punishment. It worked too. People hid their likings and choices. Some ingrained this conditioned love for chocolate. But as time passed, another generation came and they decided to confront the chocolate lovers. And so, every time someone argued “you think you like vanilla because you haven’t tried chocolate yet” they retorted “Have you tried vanilla? No? You THINK you like chocolate because you haven’t tried vanilla yet.” Chocolate lovers were confused now. The more confused they got, the more furious they became and the more furious they became, the more hostile and threatening it was for non-chocolaty flavor lovers.

Several years have passed since; some chocolate lovers are still prejudiced against those who prefer non-chocolaty flavors. Some vanilla and strawberry and blueberry lovers are prejudiced against those who love more than one flavor. There still are, for the want of better word, ‘stupid’ laws. Now and then people are punished, tortured and murdered for liking different flavors. (Tell me it isn’t stupid to kill someone for not liking what you like? I know, I know. You should make an independent decision and a good writer is never biased nor should she blatantly try to influence her readers. Apologies. Ignore the last 3 sentences. You never read them.)

There are also some people who don’t like ANY ice-cream flavor and they too have to convince everyone, not only chocolate lovers but everyone, that its possible and not a problem to not like ice-cream. And the short history to ice-cream flavors shows us that it will be a long, long time till ice-cream non-lovers will be generally accepted by all.

I don’t know what you, my precious reader, think. If you ask me I can tell you one thing–everyone should decide for themselves after all A’s eating blueberry ice-cream does not affect X’s eating chocolate ice-cream or Z’s not eating any ice-cream.

“mah lyf mah attitewd”

It’s fascinating how language evolved. From a few sounds to communicate essential information, to “selfie.” And “twerk.”


Something has been on my mind, and I’d hoped I’d be able to really collect my thoughts and write a comprehensive article on it, but that doesn’t seem to be happening, so I’m just sharing what I’ve been thinking. Definitely vague, possibly incoherent, seeminglyjudgmental(?), but you’ll get it if you’ll get it.



Now, I really like words. I like writing, being able to express myself well, get a point across in conversation. It goes without saying that I love reading too. What fascinates me and pisses me off equally, is the fact that there are the right words to communicate everything.


Words have been put together to say “distance makes the heart grow fonder.” But words have also been put together to say “out of sight, out of mind.” They say “birds of a feather flock together,” and they say “opposites attract.” I’ve read the most convincing of quotes about letting go, but I’ve also read the most sincere words about holding on. I’ve been advised by things I’ve heard and read that I am the most important person in my life and I am all I have and I should care for myself above all, but then I’ve also been moved by words that have told me, that what I do for myself, dies with me, what I do for others, lives on, what matters in life is to love truly and give generously.


Two absolutely opposite ideas, given the right words, can both be made to sound perfect. That’s okay if on the scale of right / wrong, moral / immoral, both are positive or neutral. However, since the advent of social media, I’ve found a lot of negative ideas being justified too convincingly. And that pisses me off. Some might say there’s nothing like right / wrong, moral / immoral, it’s all subjective. I humbly disagree. Killing, hurting, lying, cheating, stealing – definitely wrong, definitely immoral. And then of course, this is only my opinion, so there are some things that I feel are wrong, and it pisses me off when “itz mah lyf mah attitewd” quotes and sarcastic e-cards make them sound cool.

I’ve read articles that advocate being selfish, articles that would have you believe that selfishness is a virtue. I’ve heard people justify their recklessness with a “YOLO.” And it pisses me off.


People are so keen on making comebacks that it’s difficult to have an actual conversation. What if I don’t want to be witty? Do people just talk anymore? Just say things without consciously and effortfully making them sound cool. (So effort. Much cool. Wow like.) There’s so much sarcasm in the way a lot of people respond these days. What happened to kindness? Kindness is cool. I insist.


Sarcastic responses, inappropriate jokes, all start out as humour, and people wanting to be seen as witty and funny, with wanting to give off the “I don’t care what people think about me, I’m cool” vibe, but lately I’ve had the feeling that people are so busy being witty / funny / sarcastic / trying to get likes / trying to seem cool and be popular, that people are forgetting to be good people.


Sometimes, I think that in the quest for individualism and individual ambitions, we’ve gone too far. We as a generation have tipped over to the side of selfishness and insensitivity. I vote for more love, more sincerity, more kindness.

Old Conversations

We all go back to old conversations.


Letter-writing went out of fashion a generation or two before ours. We don’t have the perfume, the handwriting. We have nothing to touch, to hold. I’d much rather be turning pages of long, long, long letters, but I make do with what we’ve got.


I scroll up our chat-box; up, up, up, till I find conversations garnished generously with ” 😛 ” Then I slowly scroll down, to find more ” 🙂 ” It marks an important transition. It’s when the need to pretend you were just kidding when you said something nice gave way to saying it, and letting me know that you really meant it.


The conversation never ends. I know when you woke up and what you did all day and why you’re pissed off and where you went and whom you met and what you ate and when you slept. Not much important information there, but I think you have to be really special to know the ordinary things about somebody.


We all go back to old conversations. Those that we pretend never happened. Those that we will never have again. We all go back to them to find some lost happiness, and we do, but now it is tinged with pain. Not intense, but chronic.


So much has changed. It’s awkward to even say “hi” anymore. Would we pretend to not know each other if we met now? Or worse, shake hands, meet like acquaintances. It doesn’t matter. You and I will be just a fraction of all the letting go we’ll have to do in life.


Have I let go? Most certainly I have. It’s not really about not reminiscing anymore or even regretting, but about accepting that it’s all a part and parcel of life. Some stories will find conclusions, some will meander their way into oblivion.

If I have let go, why do I still go back to the conversations? It’s a tough one to explain, but, I think I go back to feel sane. It would drive you crazy to feel a great pain in your shoulders for no reason, but if you saw your dismembered arms, it’d make sense that it hurts. The old conversations will always bear testimony to the fact that there was something that we let go of.


Drowsy monsoon evenings lead your thoughts to strange places. I’d much rather step out, get a good cup of coffee, and have new conversations.