Constructive Witticism

This is an SOS call to all the civil engineers reading this blog post. The three storied blood count building that I erected few months back, located on the top right corner of this post, needs some strengthening  Our short-sighted engineer seeing the third floor's occupancy weight not go beyond couple of  thousands planned its support structure with those figures in mind.  Today we had an occupant weighing 6,600 and as you can see the building has begun to crumble.

We don't want to lose this valuable occupant so can one of you be kind enough to do the required masonry work?

:)

Psi Sickness - Part I

Are you an owner of a vehicle that trudges on four legs, dispassionately referred to as tyres (and quite aptly "tires" in some countries)? Does the sight of tyre going sapless and hapless at the most inopportune moment leave you in cold sweat? Does it make you feel like a person who has just saved a drowning person but doesn't know how to resuscitate him? Have you ever been on a long drive - a drive well beyond the cozy confines of 1-800 emergency road services? And have you noticed that while your co-passengers are busy cooing oohs and aahs seeing the beautiful countryside, you are endlessly thinking whether your tyres are asymptomatic and at a healthy 30 psi? If the answers to our questions above were in affirmative we must sadly impart the news that you are suffering from Psi Sickness.

But there is hope. Air Apparent Academy can cure you! We will transform you from a nervous psi sick person to a person who is a jack-of-all-treads. Never again will you look at those miserable tyres with fear. On the contrary you, with your newly achieved alacrity, would want to fix every punctured tyre you come by on the road. We aren't didactic and have our own inimitable way of teaching you our subject of expertise.

Take for instance this couple from Pune. The wife is a daring adventurer and the husband a textbook case of psi sickness. Our tireless experts undertook his case and worked out the modus operandi to bring this pitiful bloke to normalcy.

It was learned that the couple was planning a drive to Lavasa - a picturesque hill city some 40 kms away from their home. Our surveillance center immediately apprised our experts, who within no time were on their drawing board and worked out the most unobtrusive plan to treat.

Scenes at F.C. Ground

Cricket is in the air these days in India (when it isn't one might ask?). All the cricketing enthusiasts are getting their errands hurriedly done so that they can uninterruptedly watch the India-Pakistan match in the evening today. I thought this would be an opportune time to share a mail on the same subject that I wrote to recount my experience of playing cricket with friends on the famed Ferguson College ground. I hope you enjoy reading it :).

30 September 2007

Since sometime now I have been playing cricket at F.C. ground with my friends. We convoke at the ground at around 7 on Saturday mornings. The ground is teeming with activities - people of all ages exercising, cricket teams of varying team sizes with varying paraphernalia playing, F.C. ground staff rolling the patch of ground that has semblance of a pitch etc. However, these activities themselves were not the ones which drew my attention. Unfailingy at around 7:15 AM a distant loudspeaker somewhere in the college campus heralds the beginning of day by first playing few second-long shehnai-based classical music piece which is immediately followed by our national anthem. As soon as the national anthem begins the whole F.C. ground freezes as far as you can see. The joggers, the young boys cricket brigades - *everyone*. They literally stop whatever they were doing and pay reverence to the national anthem. After the national anthem concludes it is as if someone pressed the play button to resume the hustle bustle where it left from. It was such a heartwarming scene!

The cricket matches themselves are pretty amusing. At any given time there could be six to seven matches going on on the same ground. It is enough to make any ICC official's jaw drop. The boundaries of each "groundlet" overlap. The pitches themselves are haphazardly placed. It goes without saying that it isn't uncommon to find fielder of match A at mid-on just a few pace away from a third-man fielder of match B. In fact during one match while fielding at mid-wicket position I almost ran into the batsman of match B at striker end who was just about to swoosh the ball wildy towards *his* mid-on. I was saved from a jaw-dropping incident - literally. Seeing the IT folk riding of the outsourcing wave, these cricketing teams have mastered outsourcing too. The fielding beyond certain circumference is duly outsourced to the adjacent team. So when you find a pinch hitter hitting the ball off the park (park = groundlet) you will invariably find the fielders from that match A screaming "Eh ball! ball!" signalling the fielders of match B to collect the outsourced fielding assignment. Fielders from match B do that diligently often juggling with their ongoing fielding chore. And we have mergers and acquisitions too. When a few slackers from some match don't make it to the ground they find the most appealling team and make them an offer for alliance.

We usually play till 9 AM or so and then the event culminates with a customary trip to Vaishali or some other F.C. road eatery for piping hot idli sambhar and filter coffee.

Mystery of the Wavering Hemoglobin - Part II

When Watson walked in he found Holmes sunk in his armchair. There was infinite bliss, like that of sage, on his face. The smoke from his pipe was dancing in front of his face. His eyes were shut as if he was in a trance.

"Watson!," said he. "Pray sit down, my dear friend. How was your visit to the countryside this morning? And I know you are anxious to know the outcome of my Indian mystery."

"Holmes!" said Watson incredulously, "how is heavens did you know that I had been to country side and that I was dying to know about your Indian client?"

A smirk appeared on Holmes meditative face. "The smell of the grass and moist mud from the soles of your shoes suggest you were out of London and in the greener pastures, Watson. And today you opened the door with more urgency than you usually do which suggests your anxiety about something, dear friend."

"Ha, haa!," said Holmes and drummed his long fingers on the side table. "You have cracked the affair of mysterious hemoglobin, haven't you Holmes?" Watson said with twinkle in his eyes. "Yes!" said Holmes and paced towards fireplace. "Mr. Kartik's hemoglobin was at a healthier 8.3 and not a paltry 6.7. The WBCs also were much livelier 1600 than the bleak 1000 which the suspicious report suggested. This time the blood was drawn through a prick in the hand and not through the central line."

"So it was the diluted sample which was the cause?" queried Watson.

"Unquestionably!" said Holmes stoking the fire, "the bad sample had traces of the anticoagulant which might have crept inside the blood sample because only 5 ml of blood was disposed before taking the sample instead of the conventional 10 ml. My only regret, Watson, is that my telegram arrived a bit late I couldn't prevent Mr. Kartik from undergoing an unwanted blood transfusion." Holmes settled back in his armchair.

"Well what's important Holmes is that you brought relief and smile on the faces of family members of Mr. Kartik, who probably had a harrowing time seeing a report which was out of place."

Holmes had suddenly became more reflective and said, "yes undoubtedly. Rindanis are breathing a sigh of relief. However, Watson, there are so many things which my logical reasoning fails to see sitting here, seven seas away from my client. For instance, why weren't eyebrows raised by doctors on seeing this dip? Why was patient not asked questions that would ascertain if he was bleeding or not? Why a new sample was not asked for? Sitting here logical deductions will not help me find out if this lapse was due to sheer workload pressure on doctors or due to apathy? Regardless wasn't it imperative to have these checks done for a patient in such delicate state as Mr. Kartik?"

Mrs. Hudson walked in it with supper before Watson could answer Holmes. "Come join me for supper Watson. Mrs. Hudson has made some fine baked oysters, cream soup with broiled fish with Mrs. Hudson's piece de resistance - plum pudding." "Mr. Holmes, please ring the bell if you find anything malodorous in the courses!" said Mrs. Hudson with a mischievous smile. Holmes chortled knowingly.

"Watson, I have two tickets for immersing ourselves in the divine music of this new violinist from Vienna. Let's forget everything and anything related to blood for the next two hours. I am not taking a no for an answer, Watson."

Mystery of the Wavering Hemoglobin

The breakfast had gone cold much to the dismay of Mrs. Hudson. She gave a look of disapproval to Holmes who had immersed himself reading a pile of documents. They had just been delivered to him a few hours ago. They were from his client - a certain Mr. Kartik all the way from India. Watson stormed into the room excitedly to share an episode that took place with one of his patient when Holmes gesticulated him to stop by waving his arm and thereby making the storyteller in Watson livid.

"Humbug!", said Holmes, "Bah!" "It defies logic," he continued unfalteringly, "How can hemoglobin dip to 6.2 from 9.3 in matter of two days, Watson?"

"Well, it could happen to a patient who has profuse internal or external bleeding, or, someone who is in the midst of chemotherapy," said Watson, who was noticeably taken aback seeing Holmes uttering jargon from his field of expertise.

"My dear Watson, you always impress me with your excellent reasoning," said Holmes. Just when Watson was showing a countenance of satisfaction Holmes said, "But I am afraid, my friend, on this rare occasion you are wrong."

"My client showed no signs of bleeding except for a couple of petechial spots and neither is he undergoing chemotherapy. Petechial spots explains the dearth of platelets but doesn't explain the huge drop in hemoglobin," said Holmes. "Watson, let's step out and wire Mr. Kartik to get his hemogram done again because I smell something really suspicious here. Can you please shout out for a hansom, Watson. Mrs. Hudson, please take the malodorous eggs from the table! I am already nauseated by something else which smells fishy," said Holmes and stormed out of the room wearing his deerstalker cap.

:) For all you know the drop in hemoglobin can be explained but you know the dreamer in me always finds a route which isn't always the logical one. We intend getting the hemogram done again tomorrow to make sure that the drop was genuine and not due to a diluted sample. Chances are it was genuine - and chances are really strong. Stay tuned. Rest assured Holmes will get to the bottom of this :).

P.S.: Writeup is heavily inspired from one of the Sherlock Holmes episodes that I saw recently (Jeremey Brett version - the best Sherlock Holmes portrayal in my opinion).

Wouldn't It Be Loverly?

My most recent bone marrow biopsy spurred that part of my brain which has an existence in the lala land, a land where reality is thousands of miles away and you have the license to build up anything you like however crazy or repulsive the dwellers of Rationalpolis may find it. Let me take you through an alley of my thoughts in lala land. This particular street's name is Chemo Street. Here is some graffiti that I found written on walls out there. The first one is terse - "Wouldn't It Be Loverly?". As we stride along you see more wordy graffitis and I share those with you.

Wouldn't it be loverly if:

• Chemo drugs came in form of drinkable liquid and if they are indistinguishable from your other beverages? Wouldn't it be nice if you had a choice of Cocoa-cola, Strawberry and Tropical fruits flavors? All you need to do is empty the bottle and then wonder why the dose prescribed just one bottle?
• After consuming chemo drugs you start showing side-effects which are more interesting? For instance the patient, hitherto a novice in mathematics, fluently speaks out the first 20,000 prime numbers and can solve even the most arcane of theorems, enough to make the mathematicians' jaws drop? Or perhaps the patient who couldn't even catch a ball 9 times out of 10 suddenly juggles all the 10 balls nimbly. Or maybe the patient starts somersaulting deftly over the saline stand, much to the dismay of the nurse. Maybe instead of vomiting the patient croons when side-effects are at their peak.
• The dearth of a particular kind of blood cell in you can be replenished by an off-the-shelf candy-flavored pellets? The coloring of pellets would be self-explanatory - red for RBCs, yellow for platelets and white for WBCs. And what's more, again, just like chemo drugs they come in your favorite flavors. Just pop them in your mouth, chew and in an hour your hematologist would look at your normal blood report with sheer disbelief.
• If bad cells could be wiped off using your favorite word processor? Simply enter the pattern that identifies the bad cells in the Find box, select all locations using the ever-convenient mouse and press the cathartic Del button.
• If we had an built-in junk cell filter like the one we have in our email boxes? The moment a bad cell (spam) comes into mainstream (Inbox) junk cell filter catches it and removes it before it gets naughtier.
• If transplanted cells could be labelled? That way hematologist will never lose track of cells with tag "Kartik" on baggage carousel.

Suddenly the writings on the walls on Chemo Street become indecipherable. Maybe something more will come up when you and I visit the wall again in the coming days. :)

P.S.: All the "My Fair Lady" movie fans would know where the blog's title came from :)

Magnificent Shaven!

Recently one of my uncles gave me the best compliment for my hairless face. He said it resembles that of Yul Brynner - the "Magnificent Seven" fame. I am flattered and cannot ask for more. :)

In-clay-dible!

In-clay-dible Originally uploaded by kartiksurbhi

Three aclaymed artists in the family, Mahy (2 year old prodigy) and her uncle and aunt (Kartik and Surbhi), united to carve out some of the finest clulptures that had the admirers in rapture. A motley of artwork consisted of rolling pin with its base, a plate, a glass, a bucket, a spoon, a car seat, a soup bowl, a rickety table, a boat, few coins and a couple of dahlias.

The exhibits have caused a stir in the arts fraternity who have been befuddled by the sheer lack of coherence in the exhibit. Why did the artists chose such diverse exhibits? What message are they trying to impart? Is the message of hope or of despair? Is it mirthful or melancholic? Luminaries of art world are gathering to find an answer to this conundrum.

Readers are welcome to hazard a guess and contribute their interpretations. Should your answer bring an end to the eternal quest the sculptors have embarked on, you will be idolized (no pun intended).