Showing posts from May, 2014

Homeopathy and My Dad

My dad is a Homeopathician. I don't mean he has a BHMS. Actually, you didn't need a degree to be a Homeopathician when it had intially started out. So, my dad doesn't have a degree in it, but I'll bet my bottom paisa that he knows more about Homeo meds than all the kids graduating in it in these days.
Since I was six months old, he has been treating me with these meds. We never went to doctors, not even for stuff like jaundice, and typhoid. My dad treated us - I, my brother, my mum, my uncles, my aunts, my cousins. And, We never went to a homeo doctor, it's always been my dad who dispensed the meds.
He gets all the medicine from this place in Calcutta , puts them into sugar pills and puts them into those little,glass bottles, and we use them. Of course, he also buys the ready-made , little bottles (drams, they are measured in) from Zorastrian,Mumbai and, Ramakrishna,Hyderabad.

Now, I'm a pill-popper. I have a very low suffering threshold, and I need my quick-tr…

I've Been Ill

I've been sick the last 7 days. It was one thing after another. Firstly, I came down with food-poisoning, which basically meant I camped out in the restroom and kept throwing up till I was turned inside out. And, it has to be said, short hair comes in handy. When you have long, lovely hair (which I did for twenty years. Lol modesty.) , barfing becomes a two person activity; there is one person to hold your hair, and then, there is you, throwing up and befouling the other person's ears with your delightful language. And,you must know this, it is the liver. I assure you. People, for centuries, have blamed the stomach and the stomach lining and the intestines. But I'm convinced they were all lies concocted to throw us off. It is the liver, my friend. The liver which says, "Aha! Eff you." , and you are clutching the pot like a piece of life saving flotsam junk for the next four days. I know this, cause I always call my doctor after 36 hours of vomiting, and I go, &qu…


So, a few months back... I was scribbling in Sanvee's Colouring Book. And it suddenly hit me that everything I'd written was crappy... There's an awesome effing song to say all this .. I'm not sure where I was going with it , a poem of some kind I can only presume... but, the song , the song says everything !

What I scribbled -- I never thought that one day I would have to write such a letter,
begging the one I love – and who's quit loving me, – to give our love
another chance, for I could never imagine that something so big,
strong and bright could ever need such a thing. But, unfortunately, we
have reached a point where our small differences, our different points
of view overcame our feelings, turning all the love we feel for each
other into dust overnight! ,[well, actually its only on your part,
mine's intact]
Let’s forget the nasty details, let’s concentrate our strength in the
good things, such as this longing to be there for each other, all this

Male Work, Female Work

My ideas have been very limited by the environment I grew up in, which let's face it has been far less than ideal.
Like, in my mind, so far, work has always been divided into male work and female work, and I was always biased against female work cause I was taught that it was inferior. I'd decided outdoor-sy work into male work and indoor-sy work into female work; which is why I always fought with everyone saying I didn't want to cook, clean, wash and stuff.

Last month I went to Guruji's place and stayed for a couple of days. Imagine. My cousin's been engaged for almost a year and I went now. If I had gone there a couple of months back, it would have afforded me a lot of peace of mind and I'd have been proud of what I learnt and the mature ideas I adopted.

So, I was there ; the whole house and the temples and the ashram are all one big entity. They aren't separately located. And almost 400 people come over for lunch every weekend. So there I was servin…

Gloomy Sunday

Sundays have always been depressing. Since, I was about seven years old I dreaded Sundays. I know children love Sundays. A school holiday. We got to sleep in late and play all day long. But, I've always been a creature of habit, and to me no school, no friends, no 5-6 Disney hour, not staying alone with mum till 1900 (when dad came back from work), not meeting my bus friends - made me feel out of place, anxious and a wee bit sad. I liked my life the way it was, I liked the routine. It was weird to have my dad at home the whole day (this meant I had to speak softly, and behave myself and stay in fear of a silent,disapproving look all day along). It was weird to have no homework to do (I finished it on Saturday evening) , it was weird to have no where to go to, to have nothing to watch and nothing to do. We lived in a lonely house on a lonely street, and there were no kids to play with. This continued into my teenage. I was a loner,and never really had any friends to hang out with…

Another Waiting Room

I am making this post because it feels mean to only blog about the bad experiences and leave out the good ones. I picked another doctor today and took an appointment at her clinic for 1830. I got there at 1800, played with this really sweet , little girl who was sitting next to me for half an hour. This waiting room had fans , coolers, ACs, everything. I had walked in feeling dizzy and nauseous and in a really foul mood (the things summer heat does to you, 46 degrees) . After I had cooled off a little, I was ushered in to meet the doctor, an elderly woman with a sweet smile, and a patient hand. I poured forth all my agonies to her. Told her about everything from the little finger nail that hurt to maiming migraines. And , surprise, surprise -- she actually understood. She heard me out, explained why I was feeling the way I was feeling, described what lifestyle changes needed to be made, wrote a prescription for stemming the crippling pain, told me that the pills would make me feel hu…

The Waiting Room

I spent the entire day, yesterday, sitting in a doctor's waiting room. I had an appointment for 14.30 , and I was there from 1400 to 1700, and her highness was still too busy to attend to her punctual patients. I tried to find out what was keeping her, but the head nurse just kept telling me that she was tied up with patients, earlier appointments,lunch,phone consultations,visiting relatives and she would see me in 15 minutes ( and I thought my math was bad). This waiting room did not have a fan because a fan is not fancy enough for their uber classy clinic. They had two air conditioners ( Bluestar, the nurse thought it pertinent to point out when I complained about the heat), neither of which was working. So, here we were , about 60 people cooped up in a hall with no air at 45 degrees. I had dragged myself to the doctor for a pain problem, and I was forced to pop half a dozen painkillers 10 feet from the doctor to keep from screaming out in agony. I'm sure there were a lot …


I have always refused to blog . I am a very emotional, impulsive, open person with a very lowered sense of discretion, and I'm afraid I will write about personal things , about my honest opinions of things and will land myself in a truckload of trouble.
But , these days I find myself incredibly bored and for the lack of a better occupation ( actually, from the lack of a will to be productively occupied) , I've decided to throw caution to winds and blog. I could create a fake account and write under a psudonym and avoid being ostracised from society but I'm stupid that way, I like attention.

These past few days have been rough. PMS thinks I'm its experiment field where it can develop ever more lethal weapons to destroy unsuspecting victims. Thanks to its immense love for me, I get its first, intense blast. For the last ten years, I've tried hard to raise awareness about this condition that people treat lightly and even humoursly. Let me assure you that its…