Legal Eagle

So, a while ago, I solemnly swore that I would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth on the matter in question yesterday. Was called in to give evidence for a sod who came in from the cold a tad too late for anybody to do anything about. It all began with a cop who walked up to me one morning and presented me with an arrest warrant in my name. Bailable with payment of Rs 500/-. Why? In order that yours truly doth show his countenance at the 2nd MM traffic court on such and such a date and time... "Where was the summons", I enquired. Oh we stopped issuing those. We find that a warrant makes responses quicker and you fellows also turn up only when threatened with arrest.Point.

So I landed up at this crowded courthouse and ambled around trying to locate my liason in the servers and protectors of society. Got accosted by three lawyers who wanted to represent me in whatever matter I was apparently caught up in before I made my way to the aforementioned 2nd MM Traffic Court and met the cop in question. About half an hour of roll call later I was asked to step up in the witness box. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, an actual witness box with a judge and a court reporter and evil eyed defence lawyers hanging on to my every word. So I told my story and was politely asked to exit stage right soon after.

While I was pleasantly surprised about the speed of it all I was a tad disappointed that I wasn't cross examined and all that.

Anyway a good double lamb burger from ice and spice and all was laid to rest.

Brilliant how Ice and Spice has turned out be some really nice deli type place. Cheery interiors and a lamb patty and mayo to die for.

I remember it being some bathroom tiled joint some many thousand of years ago with the same to die for lamb patty.

Times and people have apparently changed so the place has a new look enveloping the old burger.

Go try it. St Mark's Road, opposite the State Bank of India. Sandwiched between a wine shop and Noon Wines.

Speaking of Noon Wines when one is feeling substantially brave and all that feel free to drop in and have that battery acid that he serves in the guise of "house wine". It's potent and honestly the fact that it doesn't taste like any wine you've ever had gets significantly blurred after 3 glasses.

And then last week I decided that Ice and Spice is too far to get to for a burger and one happy day decided to try my hand at making them.

Lamb mince, chopped onions, seasoning (whatever you want, I used salt and red chilli powder(yeah I toyed with saying paprika)), and egg and bread crumbs went in to a bowl and got shaped into patties and cooked on a skillet with just a little oil till both sides were wonderfully done. Buns sliced in half, lettuce, slices of tomato and onion, mustard and mayo and voila...

Bon appetite.

Virtual Reality

So after many profound brain things inside my head I'm back on Facebook. While my angst against social networking is not entirely gone and now that there are a million others claiming their individual superiority and new nifty applications that get sued by toy manufacturing giants, I've decided that a known evil is better than an unknown possibility of a good time. Yes, I humbly accept that that makes no sense. It wasn't meant to.
And thus I'm back on the wild world web having decided to let nifty little applications determine my social life. Of course there's also the fact that compared to the real world, the illusion of the matrix is pretty good.
Anyway profile updated and random socially acceptable likes and dislikes are in situ and I can go back to ignoring the site.
In interesting news Madagascar 2 has finally arrived in our fair part of the world and much as i would like to see it... again... for the fourth time I think I shall pass. I can now recite King Julian's new and improved insanity when woken up from a dead slumber. I feel, deep inside, that it will not be appreciated by the hoi polloi around me. So I shall continue to watch it in the privacy of my laptop. Streaming is so cool. As are cheap dvds of the streamed videos. Except of some time lag in the audio which was, after much wrestling, fixed.
But as I wanted to say but as usual got sidetracked, Madagascar 2, some say is not as funny as the first installment. Nay. I refute thy claims, critic. King Julian of course has been put on steroids for his mental condition and it's worsened. The penguins are a trip.
Alex, Marty and this time even Gloria and Melman go into the usual sentiment trip and considering this time it's in Africa, some much self-discovery and emancipation and yada yada happens that serves only to distract us from the real hero.
Bernie Mac will be sorely missed.
Go watch. Watch it. Maurice, you naughty little monkey, shake my arm.
In other such things the Mekaal Hassan Band (which I remember mentioning) and Shafqat Amanat Ali's solo album (Tabeer) and to say the least very good. I'm not going to go into the cool production, the mature fusion of hindustani and rock and the very excellent voices in detail but you get the gist. Some disappointments though especially with Tabeer. Dum Ali Dum and Naina in particular lack any kind of substance. But like always it's worth a listen and some songs will stick on.
So there it is life in a nutshell. More whenever.

PS I'm back on facebook because some mental plans for ganging up and consuming insane amounts of alcohol are made and propagated therein. It's just easier to plan the hangover thus.

Legal Eagle

So, a while ago, I solemnly swore that I would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth on the matter in question yesterday. Was called in to give evidence for a sod who came in from the cold a tad too late for anybody to do anything about. It all began with a cop who walked up to me one morning and presented me with an arrest warrant in my name. Bailable with payment of Rs 500/-. Why? In order that yours truly doth show his countenance at the 2nd MM traffic court on such and such a date and time... "Where was the summons", I enquired. Oh we stopped issuing those. We find that a warrant makes responses quicker and you fellows also turn up only when threatened with arrest.Point.

So I landed up at this crowded courthouse and ambled around trying to locate my liason in the servers and protectors of society. Got accosted by three lawyers who wanted to represent me in whatever matter I was apparently caught up in before I made my way to the aforementioned 2nd MM Traffic Court and met the cop in question. About half an hour of roll call later I was asked to step up in the witness box. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, an actual witness box with a judge and a court reporter and evil eyed defence lawyers hanging on to my every word. So I told my story and was politely asked to exit stage right soon after. 

While I was pleasantly surprised about the speed of it all I was a tad disappointed that I wasn't cross examined and all that.

Anyway a good double lamb burger from ice and spice and all was laid to rest.

Brilliant how Ice and Spice has turned out be some really nice deli type place. Cheery interiors and a lamb patty and mayo to die for. 

I remember it being some bathroom tiled joint some many thousand of years ago with the same to die for lamb patty. 

Times and people have apparently changed so the place has a new look enveloping the old burger. 

Go try it. St Mark's Road, opposite the State Bank of India. Sandwiched between a wine shop and Noon Wines. 

Speaking of Noon Wines when one is feeling substantially brave and all that feel free to drop in and have that battery acid that he serves in the guise of "house wine". It's potent and honestly the fact that it doesn't taste like any wine you've ever had gets significantly blurred after 3 glasses. 

And then last week I decided that Ice and Spice is too far to get to for a burger and one happy day decided to try my hand at making them. 

Lamb mince, chopped onions, seasoning (whatever you want, I used salt and red chilli powder(yeah I toyed with saying paprika)), and egg and bread crumbs went in to a bowl and got shaped into patties and cooked on a skillet with just a little oil till both sides were wonderfully done. Buns sliced in half, lettuce, slices of tomato and onion, mustard and mayo and voila... 

Bon appetite.

Inspired.

Here's a new cartoon inspired by an old joke which was popped back into the head by an old friend. 

___________________________________________________

Just like that....

So as time and space and planetary alignments would have it I find myself way north of the usual latitude in the NCR recovering from the acute removal of a parotid. Long story but the bottom line is I have a funny haircut, a lopsided smile, an aching face and am grossing out the north with a suction drain sticking out of my neck. Which one hopes will come out today.
I also haven't been writing for many reasons. Primarily since I've had nothing to write about, or if I have it's just way too technical, neurosurgery-wise, since that's all I've been up to.
The entertainment industry is in shambles. With the possible exception of House being available as a streaming video nothing spectacular has happened. We've finally as an industry broken into the hallowed grounds of animation with Roadside Romeo which as a movie sucks. I've been listening to the absolute worst music courtesy the radio.
Let's play a game. Think of the worst song you've heard in modern times. The chances that I'd have operated listening to it and worse yet would know the lyrics and in moments of stress have even hummed it are close to 95%. The latest in the long list is the not so new Sajanani Vaari Vaari from Honeymoon Travels Pvt Ltd. What a song it is! But that is just one... there's come songs from Cash and Race and other such monosyllabic movie titles whose soundtracks inundate my consciousness from time to time and in true altruistic fashion I ensure that the consciousness of all around me are also inundated by the same bad music.
So there's the rub on work and entertainment.
What else is happening? The usual wikipedia trolling is getting me nowhere.
And yes a new day has dawned. America Voted for Obama, despite all the jokes and misgivings this is a momentous occasion. The world will not be the same and history has been rewritten.
Watched his acceptance speech through the haze of post operative delirium and I found myself thinking, "Yes, we can." Brilliant speech. Now all we can do is to hope and pray he doesn't go mental. Which is the word of the day by the way.
That's all from here and now, from the other side of the knife and the back of beyond. As usual we end with promises to write more and draw more, to fill lives other than mine with joy and humor but we know deep down that the only thing that will actually happen is I'll hack more heads and drill more holes and occasionally get mails chastising my choice of profession and the resultant step motherly treatment that this blog gets. Oh well, such is life (since I forgot where the apostrophe's come in c'est la vie...)

Anesthesia

So it turns out that for the past few OTs I've noticed a definite giddiness and somnolence that sets in while assisting a case at around 3pm. Initially I attributed it to sheer hypoglycemia from attempting to stand for about 9 hours on a cup of coffee. That got dumped after I almost fell asleep despite hearty breakfast and half a liter of milk. Then was the thought that the job of an assistant is to say the least, boring. One dribbles saline into the surgical field and occasionally clears everything up with a well directed suction tip and on rare occasions points out that the boss is actually wrong/right/or has no clue.
The answer to the sleeping beauty riddle is apparently the lack of a scavenger in the anesthesia machine. The scavenger is what keeps the sleepy gas that comes out the patient away from the atmosphere of the theater itself.
Isoflurane, I can say with great experience works like a charm...

Fwd:

So with all the criticism I'm trying to come up with something that's not minimalist, involves that neurosurgeron face, unispired in a good way, has blood gore and a drill. Reminds me of that Dilbert and Dogbert conversation regarding stringing together the top ten words that make funny jokes. Don't remember most of them but weasel was somewhere there. In the top 5.
Anyway since I've always believed in buying time here's a forward I got that I think is funny. According to which I'm sane, hard-working and mean. So you might want a pinch of salt.

Toon #2

One of the constant grouses that we let simmer in our hearts is that almost everyone we know gets to eat the 3 square meals provided by the directive principles of state policy. While this is often accepted as a part of life, it gets a tad irritating sometimes.

Cartoon Cartoon

So I landed up at Staples and despite every fibre screaming at the thought of patronizing an MNC and all that jazz I went berserk on a stationery procurement spree.
One of the few things I picked up apart from another wi fi router to replace my old Linksys (we mourn it's sad demise and rue the day it's circuitry was cruelly snatched from our midst by the ravages of an electric storm) was a Pilot Sign Pen. Works like a sketch pen from the local store but is about ten times as expensive and absolutely useless for anything but maybe doodling. I can't fathom of signing off discharges with it and since no one's pestering me for an autograph at every street corner I decided to go with the doodle.
Here's the first of a another bold venture - Neurosurgery 'toons. Let's hope it lasts longer than the blog.



Bring it on.

On the days gone by

Ok then. Been a while and all that jazz. Many things have changed since the last post and that annoying blog-in-Hindi option seems to have suddenly appeared, as has a new grammar Nazi, albeit anonymous, who's made mincemeat of my syntax, spelling and inappropriate punctuation. While I shall try to toe the queen's line and be as proper as I possibly can, I've never had the patience to edit more than once so any of the inconsistencies that crop up geographically, grammatically or ecumenically should be forgiven and forgotten.
Life's been revolving around work and a new found passport into the operation theater and the past few weeks have had me going medieval on many a random skull. Yeah so we're in the 21st century and survived the Y2K crisis (which some people made out to be potentially worse than the nuclear holocaust that Nostradamus had predicted) and technology rules our lives but still medieval is what we are while getting to the brain.Yeah that's what we use... it's hard initially as is the skull but does wonders to shoulders and forearms.
The average neurosurgeon therefore is lean, emaciated, unshaven, but has arms to die for... or at least a right arm to die for.
We also apparently believe in the 24 hour validity of both a bath and brush.
Work apart what else is news?
Kabhi Kabhi Aditi is a trippy song. Trippy enough to have on constant repeat and begin a groove to it when it plays in the middle of surgery.
What you say?
Some of us like music when we work. And considering we're all low tech (see above) we use FM. And till a little while ago that was good. Then every station barring two decided to go local. Now while I have no grouse with local music and to be honest while the melodies are catchy and some even excellent musically the lyrics I'm afraid drive me up the wall and get me to the state of wanting to grind my teeth to a fine white powder and replace whatever the man was snorting when he wrote this. So with much cunning I position the dials to Radio One 94.3 since 91.9 will be vetoed by all except the anesthetized patient and begin to scrub for the case. Only to find that some more cunning and devious lie in wait in the shadows to switch to the hottest local station - Mirchi - less than a minute after I gown up for the surgery. It's an unerring regularity with an unerring tendency to piss me off (since this plays at hourly intervals). Anyway 94.3 plays contemporary hindi film and pop music which is how I got to hear the Aditi song in the first place and has the funniest fillers in Prof Ulfat Sultan, Chamarajpet Charles and Rajani Saar. Since it's all accent dependent a transcription will not be attempted and neither in the near or distant future a recording and streaming of the same. Best that you should hear them for yourself.
So that's what's been happening. Bad humor, worse work shifts but a good dreamless sleep after it all.
A parting shot at new music, I shall consider reviewing Sampooran by the Mekaal Hasan Band. Think it's got the potential to be the next good thing that'll never make it big.

Nickel back?

It recently came to my attention that Nickel Creek, a band I've loved for a few years now has decided to indefinitely split up and its 3 members want to pursue their own individual solo careers. While this is yet another instance of something giving me great joy disappearing in a puff of reality, this post is hopefully not yet an obituary.

I remember reading an edition of Rave, a magazine that I will still say has some moments of good music journalism, which was about Live 8 and also had an article on Robert Corwin. Who? Photographer who specializes in music/musician photography. As they say in the IRC way JFGI for more information.
Anyway the article on Corwin (who incidentally is related to that Animal Planet fellow Jeff) obviously had examples of his work and one picture caught my eye.
That's Nickel Creek.
Three musicians, in the air. The next couple of days were spent prowling the net for information and a few torrents later (yeah yeah sue me) I discovered joy.
It's not often that the sheer passion and happiness of music is almost exactly reflected in a picture but this is one instance.
Their music is traditional, folksy, bluegrass injected, acoustic, passionate and just happy.
And after some many years of touring and making music they apparently find it's no longer as easy and natural as it used to be...
So they're off on some soul searching expedition and all I can do is hope and pray that they get back sometime.
Their last farewell (for now) tour did feature one hilarious track.
Google "nickel creek" and "toxic" download the mp3 and listen to it.
Then listen to Smoothie song, House of Tom Bombadil, Beauty and the Mess and the host of others and you'll see what I mean.

To Sean, Sara and Chris, hope you guys get back.

Back.

Didn't think it would come to a time when sitemeter and google analytics would start telling me that the number of people visiting our little patch in the woods would reduce to levels that it no longer made sense for either site to devote a bit of memory to keep count of the few who swing by. And many thousands of people egged (notice it's egged not egg,are egging or will egg) me to continue writing despite all and reminded me of promises I had made and am not keeping.
So here goes nothing.
After the last run in with suicidal/homicidal/genocidal gas repairmen, we've settled in quite well thank you. No more telltale aromas of LPG wafting through the house. The occasional new house glitches of flushes going off on their own still exist. And only because it's a new house can one be sure it's the plumbing and not some poltergeist.
This time's funny story comes courtesy the paterfamilias. Not something he did or thought but just the usual anecdote. He's gotten himself a Swift and yours truly managed to wrangle a spin. Nice car that. Spacious, responsive but a little tight on the gearstick. That should resolve in a while I guess. And with some cool new car stereo that reads a flash drive via USB and plays it all with scrolling text. Makes my Xplod look like some Jurassic Park hand me down (which it is, the only thing the tape slot is used for is the tape adapter for the Pod). All the cribs aside there is one more to add and that's the fact that there's a nasty blind spot at about 30 degrees that the designers didn't quite take care of. So while driving and narrowly missing many a wayward motorist due to the aforementioned blind spot and cribbing about it, Dad launches into a story.
Long, long ago when the man was globetrotting and found himself in Europe and the conversation turned to cars in India, Dad mentioned his car that was an otherwise nice drive and all that but had this blind spot problem that forced him to look out of the window every time he wanted to turn to the right. When further interrogated he mentioned that the car was a Premier Padmini (yeah that long ago) made by Fiat. Perplexed at the loud laughter that ensued my rather distraught father probed into the possible cause of such joy. Turns out the explanation was thus, "It's obvious, isn't it. It's an italian car. Italians always drive with their heads sticking out of the window."
That episode apart, we've come a long way from the time that changing gears meant trying to haul the steering wheel off the assembly.
Also been discovering more and more of Rashid Khan. And loving it...
And since my well of ideas is running dry we'll leave you with a few snippets.
The first is courtesy Jay Leno who pointed out that a recent German study has shown that many adult Germans are depressed and most of them think that the best way to deal with that is a long walk. And the Poles are now worried because last time the Germans were depressed and decided to walk, they walked all the way across Poland.
Maggi Cuppa Mania - the Chilli Chow Yo flavour is good.
When not paying attention to what one is walking on, one must at least have that much awareness of the ground to avoid stepping on BOTH gum and cow dung. Each is bad enough, together they're impossible to deal with.
And finally, heard on radio - Save the earth, stop eating meat since cows produce methane by the gallon and methane after carbon dioxide is the greenhouse gas of the millennium. I'm thinking why won't they stop drinking milk. A steak doesn't produce half as much methane as a healthy, grass-munching heifer.
Peace be on thee.

Scary

Ok I've had it with abortive ideas, exhaustion, writer's block, the lack of internet and perhaps sheer laziness. I type with renewed vigour and zest and will to complete this post and then retire in to my shell of the above mentioned for another 20 odd days before my conscience and other influences prod me on to a new post.
So we shifted to an apartment. Whee. Apart from my dad waking up screaming in cold claustrophobic sweats once or twice a week due to a previously mentioned issue, the transition from house to flat has been smooth with less hitches than Will Smith. It's nice, 12th floor, one less than the expensive drinking joint, overlooking a concrete jungle and a hyacinthed lake, with faint strains of bhangra and biriyani, not always mutually exclusive, occasionally wafting through the windows. But I love apartments. Life is so easy. Within minutes of shifting we had milk, water and newspaper delivered by some enterprising little man who for a tad extra offered to bring by flowers too. Valentine's notwithstanding I had to pass that offer.
So one day in this new abode, sleepy and disoriented due to some paradigm shift in my internal clock I was rudely woken up by a man claiming to have put in the internal gas line in the kitchen. He of course wanted to check and see if all was well and we weren't living in some gas chamber, so to speak. Here's my problem, the standard way to check for a leak is either by dabbing soapy water on the joints to look for bubbling, or in the absolute worst case scenario to do it inspired by a truffle hunting pig - smell. They do dope the cylinders with some sulphurous compound for that simple reason. Our intrepid little Darwin award contender proceeded to pull a matchbox out and light up under the pipe. 30 of the longest seconds in my life later he turns with a grin and proclaims all is well. I haven't slept since then...

Back.

Ok I've had enough of aborted posts. Some five lie incomplete in the drafts folder and it's beginning to look like the death of a blog and one that I swore never to let die.

So here goes. After some many half-hearted lines on small towns, John Butler and his two friends and a bit on Rashid Khan taking Malkauns to a new level, I've decided to start small and wax eloquent about what I know best. And no it's not that you sick mind, I was talking about medicine.So I had some impacted, infected molar with the roots growing all awry so it needed to be yanked out and I had to, after much procrastination, visit the local dentist. Sweet man with all the regular jazz of assistants, unprotected-thyroid-cancer-inducing X-rays and a lifetime supply of 'Outlook' in the waiting room. So last Saturday evening was spent in his company with him going at the old biter with an assortment of scary implements (and bending two in the process). Saturday night was spent in hungry agony. Saturday afternoon though, was spent in prayer to the Gods of blasphemy at Koshy's consuming some incredible beef fry that they serve with beer. But that lasted only little longer than the anesthesia which explains the rest of the night. The next day happened to be apartment checking out day considering the folks have finally gotten tired of living with the fungus. No that's not their idea of me. The old house is falling apart and the only saving grace is that it isn't ours. So the usual house hunting saga happened with us finally settling on an apartment. Now those of you who've been avid readers of this space and hang on and memorize every word would remember that dad had an apartment complex... well it seems while you can't make horses drink water, most would once led to a stream or some similar water body.
So we found an apartment and once the interior designer has decided that the upholstery is the right shade of blood red and is finally satisfied with the cool inlaid saree on the cupboards we shall shift. Will have to remember to take the Balinese menstrual cloth that she's put in one of the rooms as a curtain and sentence it to purgatory.
managed to rip the sound track of Unreal tournament and put it on the pod, if I have already mentioned some technological achievement of this sort, I beg for forgiveness.
But getting back to our medical story - what connects a tooth extraction, burning feet and high fever the next day? House would go infection. It's not auto immune and certainly not Lupus and god forbid a tumor. But yeah the feet have been doing the hot coal routine for the past day or so and it's driving me up the wall. Much rumination went into it's etiology and after denying access the the zebra diagnosis of Gopalan's Burning Foot Syndrome (yeah I know it is cool too) I've settled for post infectious radiculoneuropathy.
All that's left to do is to load up with some legal trippy meds and kick my feet up. Suggest you do the same.

On the afterthought, to do justice to the many posts that didn't see the light of day Rahid Khan does make Malkauns a tad more magical than it already is, John Butler Trio is trippy music, if at Madikeri or Mangalore eat at Eastend (Biryani) and Costa's (Neer dosa and any curry you want) respectively.
And check out the Hero 849. Cool?