National...

... Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences offers 3 seats every year for Super specialization in Neurosurgery.
I join on the 1st of August.
This blog and maybe many patients might die over 3 years. Not because I want them to but because I may not be able to do too much.
But yes I will be a neurosurgeon.

Forked Up

Home. There's no place like it. It maybe Geneva, Mogadishu or even just Bangalore. It's still home. It's where the roots are and somehow comforting. Most things are easier to deal with at home. Being de-homed, so to speak, causes enough stress to make even the slightest disappointment seem like the sky's been doing the whole falling act. And I've had my share. Not to be cribbing the the past month has been a bitch. And while I do not want to crib about my life considering it is primarily due to my own choices that I find myself at these crossroads there are still things that get my goat. Like this.

The take is simple don't fork my dosa. And this isn't a naan-issue.This incidentally is at the Madras Cafe at Green Park where, along with Adyar Ananda Bhavan (A2B, yeah), one can get dosas for Rs 50/- and about 50 ml of Pongal for Rs 40. I'm thinking, "Keep it."

So here springs my alternate profession plan #56. This comes after ambulance driver (hell an MBBS degree and a driving license), quack, and best-selling author of how not to do things right. Open South Indian restaurant in Delhi.And unlike the competition import both cooks and raw material from, say, Chennai. And con Mohayana to DJ the place with gaana-patu. And we're in business. Get the boys to run around in mundus and speak like Mehmood in Padosan and the choms will flock like flies on fresh you-know-what. It beats idea #43 which involves recycling used underwear with sources tell me is a very lucrative business given cheap labour and Surf Excel.

And who is Pratibha Patil? And since when did loyalty to the Gandhi family start being the prime criteria for Presidency? And why do we laugh at Bush when there's enough nonsense in our own backyard.

Too much...

... love can kill you, yeah we know. But this time around it's how too much of anything is bad. No this isn't advice medical or otherwise it's just a bunch of observations.
But before the jist of it all the usual digression commences now spurred by the current misery. The heat. May was a confused month of alternate day rainfall and everyone accusing greenhouse gases and global warming for a midsummer chill in Delhi, but that's gone. Almost as if the weather follows a calender, the past three days of June have been miserable. And yours truly had to go to Mayawati's own Lucknow for an exam. And I've already cracked the let's see how's my luck now joke. So, we got on to the Shatabdi at 6 AM and got a cup of tea and I decided to sleep when I heard that Ghaziabad was going to be next stop for the scheduled 2 minutes with intentions of waking for breakfast. An hour later I woke to find myself still in Ghaziabad because the Gujjars of recent newsmaking had pulled off about half a kilometer of track and were making merry on the train that had left ahead of ours. Four hours later we were given the option of getting our tickets refunded and heading back to Delhi. By which time I'd more or less had enough of Jalebis and bread pakoda and a couple of calls later was on my way back to Delhi to fly out to Lucknow later that evening.
Now which idiot holds an exam in lucknow, in summer, at 11 AM, in a fanless room. And a bad paper at that.
Apparently there are such idiots. And people flock from near and far to go through that torture.
I'm incidentally blogging off a mac. I like. Jokes apart, I like.
Ok then back to basics. Been listening to In Dino from the Life in a Metro soundtrack and loving the song. Except that it would have been so much better without all that extra music. It's got a good tune, decent lyrics and a bad voice but that's ok. Why in god's name is there a distorted guitar blaring away every 3 seconds? And why is it so layered? I can just see Pritham (the music director) with Vegas or Audition, layering track over track to bugger up the song.
Same with Joss Stone (my new love) and her first album. She has such an incredible voice that there is no need to add instruments and a cool rhythm section and a blistering lead to her songs. Thankfully Soul Sessions her second album is produced based on her voice and very little else. Listen to Fell in Love with a Boy, a cover of White Stripes' Fell in Love with a Girl. Actually listen to both. Hilarious it is.
Also been listening to Porcupine Tree and Blackfield. Progressive, but not quite. Interesting.
Three more exams including the ultimate test of tolerance - PGI, Chandigarh.
Adios.

PS haven't bothered with either Pirates or Shrek III. Spidey was bad enough and there are very few things in life that work the third time around.