walking blues ...

                                          Walking Blues….

                                           By Vivek Hande

Walk your way to health, said the manual and I decided to take it seriously. I worked out my route and got my walking shoes on to ensure a decent hour of sweating.  Consistency is important, I reminded myself.

I am bit of an observer of people and their behavior. I realized, more stimulating than the exercise, were the sights and sounds of the Mumbai morning. All kinds of people and activities make the Mumbai morning special and the vibrant spirit of the city was evident in its morning walkers.

There was this geriatric foursome – absolutely inseparable and at the same spot day after day. They did not seem to be walking much and would keep stopping after a few paces. Their discussion was animated and they would discuss and analyze all current national and international problems and issues till they had found a solution. Their conversation was livelier than any panel discussion on TV and they could out- Arnab the man himself till they got an answer that the country wanted to know!!

Then there was this portly seriously old gentleman, always dressed in tight, yellow shorts who was taken for a walk by his portlier and more serious looking St. Bernard.

There was this very interesting trio who was on a daily fashion parade and walked the ramps of Mumbai roads parading the latest ,in Versace and Pierre Cardin sportswear. How they were able to fit in, leave alone walk in those ultra-tight fitting garments defied all laws of physics!

And then there was this very officious business executive type who would have probably enjoyed walking in a pinstripe but made do with the copy of Economic Times as he ambled with a grave air about him, burdened by the financial woes of the world!

 A couple walked with their chauffeur –driven Mercedes following them slowly at a respectful distance. Every now and then they would disappear into the car to emerge revitalized and charged for the next stretch.

A grizzly veteran, ramrod straight would stop at very intersection and scatter grains for hundreds of pigeons who seemed to know him rather well. Yet another lady was like the Pied Piper of Mumbai being followed by tens of stray dogs. She enjoyed feeding them biscuits every morning. Yet another lady kept handing out Sai Baba photo cards to as many people as she could while she chanted “Om sai Naam “.

Some walkers had headphones around their necks and seemed to be walking with their head swaying to some rocking music. Others could not do without their ubiquitous cell phones.  There were some who walked for the company; others definitely meant serious business and walked and sweated it out as if their lives literally depended on it. Well, there were also some, who used the morning excursion to shop for milk and bread..

I was most certainly enjoying this people –watching and daily display of personalities till I heard a bunch of girls commenting when I passed by, “He is really weird. He is quite creepy you know. He keeps staring at everyone.  He is either a nutcase or a pervert!”

In  today’s sensitive and touchy times, no more people –watching for me. It is serious walking and nothing else…

that tube around your neck..

That tube around your neck..

By Vivek Hande

The stethoscope has evolved over the years and the origin of the stethoscope and its history is as fascinating as the history of medicine itself. The origin of the stethoscope is credited to Linnaeus in 1816, who initially devised a cone made of thick paper and used it to hear sounds!!

The stethoscope or “steth” as it is popularly referred to has come a long way. The tubing has changed in length and consistency and keeps evolving. The bell and the diaphragm keep changing to improve acoustics. The ViScope can, in addition to hearing sounds can also see the heart beating under vision.

For a medical student, the acquisition of the steth marks the transition from theoretical to practical medicine. A doctor is synonymous with a stethoscope and the point of a time when a medical student starts using it is quite a milestone in his medical career. Though, many may not really use a stethoscope for the rest of their careers!

Teachers and professors would continue to stress the fact that more important than the stethoscope on the ears is what is undoubtedly between the ears- that is the brain and its ability to make sense of what one hears!

The steth is a bit of a status symbol for someone in clinical medicine. It could set you behind by an amount ranging from Rs . 200  to Rs. 20000  and beyond.  It really depends whether you are going in for a Nano or a BMW!

The way you carry a steth is also a very individual style statement. Most sling it casually around ones’ neck. There are some who bunch it into a very ungainly mass in one’s trouser pocket. I have seen doctors affixing it on to their trouser belt loop and the steth literally marches with the doctor. There was a lady I knew who use to drape it very gracefully across one shoulder like the “pallu”of a saree and it would miraculously remain in place , defying laws of gravity inspite of her vigorous forays all over the hospital.

Doctors also vary in the ways in which they embellish their steth and look after it. Many pediatricians have small teddy bears or dolls stuck on the tubing to make them look less intimidating to kids. I knew an oncologist who had a miniature skull with a cigarette dangling from the lips affixed on the tubing –conveying the message in no uncertain terms.

There are some who very religiously clean the diaphragm every morning with spirit and dab some cologne for good measure- don’t know if it improves the acoustics but I am sure it is a pleasanter experience for the patient. One is taught to warm the diaphragm by rubbing it against one’s own skin or clothes before placing it on the chest of the patient, especially in winters. I knew of a doctor who took this rather seriously and had a woolen cap knitted by his wife to store the steth , when not in use!

The steth has functions beyond the obvious. At times, it is used to convey an air of maturity, confidence and worldly wisdom and give the impression of a veteran in business. It is sometimes used as a paper weight. Often, it is brandished and waved emphatically to make a forceful point in heated medical debates. An unusual case in point is the story of this very attractive post graduate resident in Medicine who had the habit of leaving her stethoscope all over the hospital. We, as interns, would  keep retrieving it and returning it to her and be rewarded by a dazzling smile and a cup of coffee. I think I got addicted to coffee and developed a fondness for stethoscopes during my internship and that triggered off my career in Internal Medicine!

Needless to say, a stethoscope does not a doctor make; it is the doctor who makes it the stethoscope an invaluable tool and a faithful ally!!

a foot in my mouth: kuzuzang-po!!

                                              A foot in my mouth

                                                By Vivek Hande

It was a pretty long time ago- almost two decades since.  I received my transfer orders to Bhutan, as a young medical officer, with a considerable sense of excitement and anticipation. I wondered, what exotic treasures and experiences did  the land of the peaceful dragon have for me.  It was an eventful two years and I still recollect with great pleasure, the wonderful friends I made there and the  rich tapestry of memories of days spent there  still makes me glow.

I am definitely richer for the adventures and associations I had in this very lively, vibrant and verdant country. The Bhutanese are a very warm, simple and affectionate lot and it is not for no reason that they are amongst the happiest in the world!

These strong and sturdy people greet you with an enthusiastic “kuzuzang-po”, in welcome and nod “tashi – delek” in affectionate farewell every time you come across them.  As a young doctor, I was able to move all over Bhutan and get to know the locals and gain their confidence. During my brief sojourn in Simtokha, a few kilometers short of the quaint capital city Thimpu, I had gained some mastery over the local language –Dzongkhag.

Keen to explore Thimpu and try my newly acquired linguistic abilities, I trekked upto  Thimpu , one bright Sunday morning. I looked around the markets and the gardens and the lovely gumphas . Trudging back to my location, a bit exhausted after my excursions, I flagged down a passing Toyota and requested the gentleman to give me a lift. A pleasant looking, dignified man and too cautious a driver for my liking.

We got talking – a mix of English which he spoke perfectly and Dzongkhag , which I spoke imperfectly. I told him I was a doctor and he reported that he was working in Thimpu.  When he learnt, I was a doctor, he asked me about the health scenario in Bhutan from a neutral medico’s perspective. I conveyed my dissatisfaction about the work being carried out by the Department of Health and lamented about the haphazard and inadequate medical infrastructure and facilities in general. I spoke about the poor vaccination coverage and the lack of toilets in public spaces. I made no bones about my disgust about the state of affairs.

I realized that my friendly driver was certainly an enlightened and interested citizen. Having reached my destination, I thanked him and bid him “Tashi-Delek”.  A week later, at a banquet to honour a visiting dignitary, some senior ministers of the royal government of Bhutan were also invited. My heart sank when I saw everyone stand up to welcome, His Excellency, the Honourable Home Minister of Bhutan – Dago Tshering – none other than my “enlightened driver friend”!

I was told, much to my mortification that he was then, perhaps the second most powerful man, after the King of Bhutan. I was quite flabbergasted to think that powerful ministers could be such simple men and drive their own cars, sans security and other paraphernalia.

On being formally introduced to him, I could see more than a glimmer of recognition in the ministerial eyes. He put an arm around me and greeted me as an old friend while I blurted a very weak “Kuzuzang-po”!!!

friendly neighbourhood?

             Friendly  neighbourhood??

                   By Vivek Hande

He introduced himself as, “Sam , an investment banker with a multinational bank”. He was based in Mumbai for the past five years. We met at the departure lounge of the Chattrapati Shivaji International Airport. Our respective flights being delayed, we had a long wait of nearly three hours ahead.

We struck up an instantaneous friendship. One just gets along famously with some people. We discovered several common passions and had lots of common ground to talk about. We agreed that Deepika Padukone was a fine actress ; we shared our unhappiness about Vishwanathan Anand being displaced from being the World chess champion ; we discussed the Indian cricket team in the post Tendulkar- Dravid era.  Simon & Garfunkel , Jethro Tull and Carpenters were common favorites. We expressed our dismay about Mumbai’s pot- holed roads which became worse during the rains. We lamented about corruption , price rise, inflation and generally cursed politicians . Consensus was reached that vegetarianism was healthier. We spoke about the recent plays watched in NCPA and the best watering hole in town.

We were warming up over several cups of coffee and the talk was getting more animated. Conversation drifted to our neighbours . His perspective as a financial expert was about the terrible course the Pakistani economy was taking and plunging the country into an irreversible downward spiral. I reminded him that the Indian economy was reeling too. He spoke about the expenditure on the Defense   budget of Pakistan. I was more concerned about our troops indefinitely deployed on the borders away from their families in hostile conditions. I expressed my angst about a proxy war being carried on from across the borders. He seemed unusually defensive and seemed more perturbed about where Pakistan was headed rather than India.

A trifle surprised, I asked him his reasons for this unexpected bend towards our neighbor; I was taken aback when he clarified that he was Sameer(Sam , for short) Haider from Pakistan and was heading home on leave for Karachi.

Suddenly, the blossoming friendship didn’t look so wonderful after all. The bonhomie seemed to chill and the air seemed a little frosty. We had spent three hours being friends; we had enjoyed each others’ company; we could think similarly; we talked on the same wavelength and we had common interests and passions, but somehow friendship seemed distant and remote.

I suddenly needed to make an urgent phone call and Sameer Haider remembered an unavoidable errand and friendship was tossed out of the air-conditioned lounge. I wonder who was to blame- Sameer, me or the times…

stitch in time :instantly !

A stitch in time …

By Vivek Hande

Today we live in an ‘instant” world. Instant coffee, instant  relief from pains and pimples; instant fairness of skin and instant karma and nirvana. I was looking for an instant overhaul of my fraying wardrobe and walked into a series of showrooms looking for readymade trousers.

 After endless rounds of branded stores : ‘Latest material from Italy; Anti crease; anti wrinkle ; Anti stain ; Buy two , get half free; Buy half and get three fourths of a shirt free and so on’; I was beginning to despair. Things were not working out. Either my body was of unique contours or the companies had jointly decided to keep me out of their marketing strategy. 

I decided to seek out a tailor who would drape me as per my proportions. A pedigreed men’s tailor shop very close to my place was recommended and I ambled across. The master was a distinguished looking arthritic Parsi gentleman, hard of hearing with minimal vision and a touch of Parkinson’s. His trembling voice and quivering fingers did not inspire much confidence. There were sepia toned photographs of a much younger master with a young Raj Kapoor and a much younger Dev Anand – presumably his customers in much better days.

 The whole place carried a stale odour; a stench of better days gone by. There were deep and comfortable sofas with the upholstery clinging desperately to the woodwork. The neon sign outside had every alternate letter missing; the carpet was threadbare and the most recent magazine in the waiting area was of the 1970’s .

 I was on the verge of turning back to the nearest showroom, when the master called out to me with a measuring tape slung around his neck.

He was a changed man with the tools of his trade in his hand. Professional, practiced hands expertly took measurements and his movements were deft and precise. The quiver and the tremble were gone and he was confidence personified.

 He gave me suggestions on the current fashion trends and in an unhurried manner went on to tell me about the recession in the tailoring business thanks to the readymade cloth industry.

 There were no other customers and we had a leisurely cup of tea. The wizened old master regaled me with anecdotes from the past. We parted with the promise of delivery of trousers a week later. I was already looking forward to my next visit. The trousers were a perfect fit and we had another stimulating conversation over a steaming cup of tea.

I am no one to comment on instant clothing but the master from another era had struck an “instant” friendship with someone half a century younger than him and won a crusader for the art of tailoring. No instant wardrobes for me –that is for sure!!

unexpected side effects

                                    Unexpected side –effects!!

                                             by

                                      Vivek Hande

The practice of medicine revolves around the central ethos of “Primum Non Nocere” or First, do no harm. A physician’s efforts are directed towards beneficence in respect of the patient. The practice of medicine, in many ways is not science, but truly an art. It throws up many challenges and at times, rather, strange and unexpected results.

One directs therapy with a particular goal in mind and the outcomes may be gratifying – for different reasons. I recently had a crusty old octogenarian, who was suffering from chronic constipation along with other myriad ailments. After some persuasion, he consented to undergo a colonoscopy.  He was certainly not enjoying the procedure and he let me know in no uncertain terms what he thought of me and the entire procedure. He bellowed, “Doc, you have the damn tube up my backside and you are telling me everything is fine and asking me to be normal and to take it easy. You must be joking or you must be out of your mind!” Well, we got through the procedure and he got out of the endoscopy room generally muttering and cursing and conveying his displeasure most vocally. I knew we were not going to be friends ever.  I was not looking forward to his OPD follow up visit a fortnight later. I was amazed when the gent walked into my chamber with a huge grin and beaming from ear to ear. He actually gave me a bear hug and told me in his booming voice, “Doctor, I remain constipated but the colonoscopy has completely cured my chronic sinusitis.  Ever since you shoved that damn tube , I have not sneezed. I don’t have a headache and I have not taken any anti-histaminics. I have tried everything for my sinusitis but nothing has ever worked. I need a colonoscopy every month for my sinuses!”  Well, that is certainly a new one and I am trying to get see if one can add this unexpected benefit to the list of indications for a colonoscopy!

Then I had this chirpy middle aged lady who was under treatment for dyspepsia for several years. Her dyspepsia did not seem to be getting well but she would nevertheless, faithfully report every month for her quota of antacids. She would also insist on a prescription of multi-vitamins and Calcium and Zinc for her “weakness”.  After some months, she reported to me for her monthly renewal and said she was doing fine and needed only her vitamin supplements and nothing for her dyspepsia. I went along with it , happy that her dyspepsia was finally coming under control . The next month around she said, “No antacids but I need a double dose of vitamins and other supplements for weakness!”  I did not think she had significantly “weakened” and I asked her why she needed so many vitamin pills. Her answer stumped me, “My kitchen garden and my flowers are coming around excellently thanks to your multi-vitamin pills. I have been using them on my plants; the last few months are they are doing great.  I work long with my plants and my digestion has improved and I don’t need those silly antacids. Doctor, you have to keep my dyspepsia under control by helping my plants grow!” Convoluted logic, but unexpected benefits of treatment, so to say!!

I had yet another patient, an ex- serviceman, who had many gastrointestinal complaints. He was on a regular follow up and some months later told me that he had changed jobs and that was causing his eating habits and bio-rhythm to go a trifle haywire. He started developing many symptoms after the change of job and every month he had a fresh complaint. He complained of chronic headache; blurring of vision; recurrent coughs and colds; chest pain; lack of sleep and anxiety related symptoms and itching of skin and an ongoing list of ailments. After unsuccessfully attempting to sort out his problems, I started referring him to concerned specialist OPDs –ENT; Eye: Neurology: Chest ; Psychiatry and so on. Six months down the line he came to my OPD and offered some sweets to my staff and me. I thought it was in gratitude for sorting out his GI problems. He elaborated, “Sir, six months ago I changed my job and became an Insurance agent. It was very difficult to enlist new customers but thanks to you I have met so many doctors and their staff members. I have sold so many Insurance policies in the last six months. Thanks to your clinical judgment, I have met the correct specialists and I got a huge bonus today. Sir, I have this new problem – my joints are paining at night and I think I need to see an Orthopedic surgeon. Could you please refer me?” I choked on my Barfi and pushed him out as gently as I could. Unexpected side –effects, I daresay?

Each day in practice teaches you something new and the results are at times baffling, unexpected and quite out of the ordinary. I continue to learn…

wheels within wheels

                Kolkata driving manual :   Wheels within wheels!

                                                   by

                                         Vivek Hande

Driving in each city in India brings its own set of unique challenges. I recently had a fair amount of driving to do in Kolkata. My father asked me the other day, “how is the driving experience in Kolkata? Is there some kind of a pattern?“  My first response was that there was no pattern whatsoever. But I then thought back and realized that there was definitely a pattern and driving in Kolkata is a unique experience and there are certain rules of the game which one has to learn and certain rules which have to be forgotten! I would like to share some of the rules I have learnt in my short diving experience in the City of Joy ….

(a). Driving on the road is always a race. You have to, have to, have to come first !

(b).You can overtake from the right but it is preferred to overtake from the left!

(c).You have to realize you are always in practice for the Monaco Grand Prix; weave in and out of traffic; keep changing lanes to hone your reflexes. It is most imperative to keep changing lanes!

(d).Try to keep your vehicle as close as possible to the vehicle adjacent or ahead of you. Try to graze the other vehicle at least once; from any side. If you fail to do so, overtake and follow rule (a) or (b).

(e).The Horn is a weapon to ensure victory on the roads. Try and keep one palm fixed on the horn and try not to stop pressing the horn, whatever the distraction or provocation!

(f). If you are a cab driver ,your license may be suspended if you do not have a success rate of at least 75% in landing a healthy dose of Paan juice on the door of the adjacent vehicle!

(g). Another weapon in your hand is the “indicator”. Use it liberally to confuse your opponents on the road. Indicate to the left and turn right; indicate to the right and turn left or indicate in any direction but don’t turn at all!

(h). Above all , remember , when you drive ,you are the King of the roads. The road belongs to you and you alone and others on the road are incidental; a necessary evil to be borne and tolerated. You are the King!!

These are some of the rules I have picked up and I am sure there will be some more as I drive along. But for those new to the city roads, assimilate these rules; these are key to survival.  Frankly, if you follow these rules, you will be the king of roads in most Indian cities. You will definitely win the race!

hospital rounds

                                                                      Hospital rounds...

                                              by Vivek Hande

I work in a rather busy hospital in south Mumbai. It is true that OPD figures seem to be only going up and all specialist and super-specialist OPDs seem to be bursting at their seams. Patients seem to be entering in large numbers to avail the facilities of the hospital and most of them do walk out reasonably happy and hopefully rid of their ailments.

I like to walk up to my fifth floor office rather than take the elevator. Apart from providing me some much needed exercise, it also provides me an opportunity to see the hospital in action from different floors. I also get to see patients going about the various OPDs and at times, I am even able to direct some patients to the right department. Earn some Brownie points while you burn off the Brownies, in a manner of speaking!

However, during my forays, through the hospital, I saw some people very frequently  day after day. The faces became familiar and we wished each other as we went past. I thought they were far too often in the hospital and did not seem particularly sick. Curiosity got the better of me and I ventured to ask many of my new found friends what was ailing them.

I was more than surprised by their candid admission that nothing at all was wrong with them and they were perfectly healthy and intended remaining so. I was genuinely intrigued. I asked an elderly couple whom I used to invariably cross on the sloping ramp from the ground to the sixth floor at various levels. They pointed to their track -suits and the torrential rains outside and said, ‘No better place in Colaba for a walk during the rains. This ramp is easy on our old knees, you know!” Another young man, who always seemed to be in a tearing hurry- he told me he worked in a school close to the hospital. He would rush in  for a mid morning Idli Sambhar in the cafeteria, grab a cup of steaming hot tomato soup from the vending machine in the hospital lobby and charge back to the school , refreshed and fortified to face the rowdy bunch of  boys in class eleven!

And then there was this very distinguished looking elderly gentleman who would religiously come every evening; park his car and walk across to the lush lawns behind the hospital overlooking the sea. A widower, he told me, he was staying with his son in an apartment close to the hospital and his best time of the day was the half hour he spent on the hospital   lawns. He would watch the patients and their relatives ambling and rambling gaining strength from each other; he would enjoy the bracing winds, he would watch the waves lap the rails, the birds chirping and   feel alive and vital. He told me that the half hour in the hospital in close contact with nature and the serene surroundings and in the midst of so many people whom he did not know at all would revitalize him like nothing else could!

Then there was this middle aged lady whom I saw periodically on different floors and in various OPDs , often helping people and directing them to their destinations . At times she would stand in the Dispensary queue for ladies with babes in arm. She looked animated and seemed to enjoy helping out. I asked her what her story was-she confessed to me that she was a case of severe depression for several years and was on long term medication. She said she had gradually recovered with medication and psychotherapy and was off   treatment for the past two years. Her visits to the hospital and efforts at helping out people kept her happy and gave her a sense of well being. I thought that was really touching.

I, thus realized during my hospital rounds that the hospital  was really more than a hospital. It meant several things to several people and the hospital touched lives in more ways than one could imagine. It was not only about sickness and health and caring and curing; it was and would remain a part of peoples’ lives in a million different ways.

What Is In A Name?

                            What is in a name ?

                                     By

                            Vivek Hande

What is in a name, you might ask? I talk about nicknames or pet names or whatever you may call them. These names have so much of a story to tell. They tell you often about regional affiliations, religious inclinations, musical preferences; at times about size, shape, color or even a state of mind. Well, sometimes   they convey nothing at all. Some names are distinctive of a particular region and you could almost fix a personality and a face to the name by merely listening to the name. An analysis of these names is as fascinating as the names themselves! Very often, the nickname becomes the person and one struggles to remember the real name and it is the nickname which is the only name you can remember. Nicknames stick to people and the most ridiculous are the most adhesive!!

                     Classic nicknames like Tony, Rocky, Bunty,  Pinky , Dolly ,Sweetie invariably remind you of warm , hearty ,affectionate, energetic folks invariably from Delhi, Punjab or thereabouts. Jhumi, Tinku,  Rinku, Jhumpa, Jhumpi, Bulu , Toolu, Baapi and Khoka-the list is endless and  takes you to the Bengalis, who are one of the great masters of the nickname business. The Bengali 'Daak Naam" as they refer to the nickname is in a different league altogether.   A Goan couple I knew, had their first two kids named Bunny and Sunny and when they were blessed with a third one, a little late in life , they had no option but to call the young fellow Funny!

            Chotu, a very popular name might have been alright for the kid but just seems a little incongruous when a hurly six -footer with a thick beard responds to this epithet. Also, somehow, most waiters in hostels, canteens and cafes just somehow are always Chotu. Baby, need not necessarily be of  diminutive size and delicate disposition- I have seen enough who  are neither baby-like in size or behavior. Tingu ,is more often than not a short , wiry individual. A subtle one was AB Singh ,a Sardar ,a trifle whimsical but who was rechristened ‘Ab-Surd’ for life!

       Some names, invariably transform into abbreviated names and that sticks for life. Bharadwaj almost always is Birdy; Subramanian is either Subbu or Mani. Saxena, is often Sexy(regardless of a total lack of sex appeal); Venkatesh is Venky; Chopra is more often than not Chopsy; Parthasarthy is Partha and Pattabhiraman is obviously Pattu. Krishna Kant Prem Kumar is KKPK; Dayaram Naresh Arolikar is popularly DNA and   Algappa Baindraj Chellaiah Doraiswamy has to be ABCD and nothing else!

        I may get confused with the real names of some very interesting personalities in college. But their nicknames are still fresh in mind. I don’t remember whether it was their physical attributes or behavior or persona which prompted these names but they sure got engraved in memory. Bull; Gainda (Hindi for Rhinoceros); Chipku(sticky); Moti(pearl) and the trio of Aadu, Maadu and Khadu- I don’t have the foggiest idea regarding the significance or the origin of the names but these names have survived time and tide. They will eternally be known by these inspiring names. I do wonder why many also call nicknames as "pet names". Often they are used interchangeably for master and pet...

            Another set of interesting names are those based on gastronomic delights. One of my favorites was a set of twins, Kaju and Kishmish! Nobody can take away the thrill of calling out to Jalebi or tenderly beckon  Jamun. HS Nath became Nuts for life and is quite nutty in his own way. A little out of the usual, a passionate mango lover, who had three boys fondly responding to Langda, Dasheri and Aapus- believe it or not! Some nicknames kind of convey a definite image:  masculine(Tiger); winner(Champ); a certain body type(Motu/Fatty/Caddy)and what have you ...

As per a meta analysis , published in an indexed journal , the most popular nicknames in India are Chotu, Sonu, Babu, Papoo and Munna. Each name has a distinct character, flavor, identity and at the cost of disagreeing with Shakespeare , Rose can certainly not smell as special  as Gulab!! 

time travel

                                                     Time travel

                                            By

                                     Vivek Hande

It was an interesting journey to say the least.. I  had the occasion to travel recently  by train  from Mumbai  to Karwar along the Konkan coast. I was to alight at my destination  at an unearthly hour of half past two in the morning . A cluster of stations had arrival times around the same time and consequently there were a lot of  people waiting to get down roughly around the same early hours of the morning or late hours of the night ,if you please. The train was running more than an hour late and losing time further adding to the uncertainty.

I , for one kept looking at my watch and could not sleep after midnight and kept peering  at poorly lit stations awaiting my destination. 

The gentleman across my  berth  ,had fixed alarms on his two cell phones spaced fifteen minutes apart  from two am onwards. He managed to sleep through each of the sixteen alarm ringtones and ensured that all around him were awake to keep vigil. Another elderly couple had asked the coach attendant to awaken  them fifteen minutes before their expected destination. The wife had a healthy suspicion of the attendant’s abilities to stay up and awaken them. Consequently she would prod her husband and   dispatch him every twenty minutes to ascertain if the attendant was awake and remind him of the assigned task. The attendant had every hair standing on his head and   I am sure he   would have been the happiest person on the train when the couple finally departed.

 I must tell you about another elderly  gent , who was petrified about missing his station and not being able to get off with his luggage in the scheduled two minute halt. Therefore  ,he moved with his baggage soon after midnight to the area adjacent to the toilet. The poor man was in for a rather long and smelly wait-three and a half   hours to be precise! 

And I must tell you about this extremely restless, obviously NRI type youngster. He was really wired in every sense of the word. Armed with his I-Pod, Blackberry and a headphone slung around his neck for good measure, he would keep darting in and out of the compartment and getting down at every station to reconfirm that it was not his destination. Finally  , he managed to find himself stranded on the platform with the train speeding away, two stations short of his destination. Kareena Kapur of “Jab We Met” fame would have applauded. A case of so near and yet so far!

 Another portly bald haired gentleman, a most laconic character, if there was one- he changed into shorts; put on ear plugs; strapped on an eye patch and dug himself deep into the folds of his blanket. He told me to relax before he sank into slumber-land, “  The train is going to get another two hours late. You can sleep comfortably for five  hours !” He got his beauty sleep and alighted fresh as a daisy five hours later as he had predicted. Talk about letting sleeping dogs lie.

Well, most of us did manage to get off at our  stations , bleary eyed and battle weary; fighting sleep and the uncertainty in our own unique ways. The journey, was an “eye opener”, in a manner of speaking,   about the trials and tribulations  of time travel !

the wagener clime flavor

                                 The Wagener –Clime flavor

                                              By Vivek Hande

I have always loved ice – cream in any shape, form, size, color or flavor. I could gorge  ice- cream at any time of the day and it could well substitute any meal.  A constant battle of the bulge and the fear of a generous waist line prevent me from indulging as often as I would like to. However, my eternal favorite has always remained fresh strawberry. 

For many many years, fresh strawberry has always been the Wagener –Clime flavor for me.  There is a little story behind it.

It was more than two and a half decades ago when I was doing my internship after medical school in Delhi. I attended the World Congress of Neurology. It was a glittering affair and it attracted leading neurophysicians from across the world. It was a stimulating week. 

The lectures were top grade and it was intoxicating picking the brains of the leading authorities on various subjects. In addition to the academic activities, there were a host of lavish lunches and dinners. As a very junior medico. I would at times feel a trifle overawed and a bit out of place at times. My discomfiture was noted by a white haired old lady. She was very elegant and carried herself with great dignity. She introduced herself as Dr. Wagener-Clime, MD from Copenhagen; a rather modest introduction for one of the leading neurophysicians from Denmark.

We hit it off very well and notwithstanding the difference in age of more than fifty years, we became friends. We discussed everything under the sun-Neurology, Indian customs and traditions; marriage, politics, music and cinema. She was thrilled with snake –charmers and cycle –rickshaws. The Qutub Minar fascinated her and she found the Saree highly intriguing. She found Hindi film songs pleasing to the ear. She even picked up a smattering of Hindi and I introduced her to the nuances of Kannada. She was turning into quite an Indophile.

However, come mealtime and her sense of adventure would abandon her and nothing would convince her to try anything cooked in the hotel. She showed me her suitcase full of tinned food-sausages, ham, salami, baked beans and cheese. She even had an amazing supply of Danish pastry and bottled water. She had a mortal fear of getting food poisoning and acquiring a deadly strain of Salmonella or Cholera or some other tropical infection.

With considerable difficulty, I persuaded her to overcome her fears and try some of my favorite strawberry ice-cream. She was hooked thereafter. “Indian ice- cream is so much better than back home”. The next few days she attacked strawberry ice-cream with lip smacking gusto for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She devoured strawberry ice-cream with a maniacal zest. She returned a few days later to Denmark and we remained in touch over the years. She is no more but for me strawberry ice cream can be nothing other than the Wagener-Clime flavor!!

the soldier scholar

                                               The Soldier Scholar …..

                                            By Vivek Hande

My father served in the Indian Army for 34 long years. All who served with him regarded him a “soldier down to his boots”. He was an Ammunitions expert and had participated in the military operations in 1962, 1965 and 1971. He joined the Indian Military Academy as a teenager and having virtually spent a life in the Olive Greens, he knew no life other than the Army.

 Well, Dad has always been a very impressive figure; in many ways larger than life. One grew up on his anecdotes for every possible occasion, and it did not matter that very often they were a repeat. Somehow, each time, they did sound different and entertaining. He has always been the life and soul of every party. He has had the amazing ability to make friends. His friends have included the watchman in my school, a watch –repairer and corporate head -honchos. The men who have served under him have been loyal to him long after his retirement. 

 He was a competent tennis player in his younger days and a pretty bad golfer- but he was willing to try out everything. He has always spoken his mind, and stood his ground on his convictions and has often paid the price for the same. There are many things I have admired him for over the years.  He has always been a soldier and he has always plunged into everything headlong and faced everything head on. 

 I respect and admire the way he has reinvented himself. From a  hard-core soldier to a German language Professor, it has been a long journey.  From the rudimentary seeds of interest in the language, sown in him by way of an official “interpreter ship course”, way back in the late Sixties, he has come a very long way.   After retirement, he decided to pursue the language whole-heartedly.  He took all the courses in the Max Mueller Bhawan at Bangalore, and was by far the senior most student of a class with an average age of thirty!  

  Some might have sniggered behind his back but that did not deter him. 

He came through with flying colours. His fluency in the language and command over the vocabulary amazed everyone. His memory was razor sharp and he soaked in the language like a sponge. His command of the language drew the admiration of the locals, during a visit he made to Germany.  He was certain; he was born in the wrong country! 

He teaches German today, six days a week and would take on students on Sundays too, if my mother went along.  Amongst his students have been corporate executives, Germany-bound nurses and air-hostesses, as also Germans and Austrians residing in Bangalore, who have all enjoyed and gained from his teaching skills and proficiency in the language, over the last two decades and more.  He is pleased as punch when he gets letters and e-mails addressed as "Professor". 

He has reinvented himself yet again over the years. From the Chalk and Board classroom to getting net savvy along the way, he has adapted brilliantly to the online mode.  He has students across the world who log in for his classes and he does revel in the journey and the process and the opportunity to interact  as much as the language. 

Salutations to the scholar soldier or is it the soldier scholar? Life does begin at sixty perhaps but the learning and the journey goes on forever!!