“Cool... so we finally have proof of the existence of aliens.” The man in front of me said with amazing profoundness as he stared at the film. For once, I didn’t share his enthusiasm.  Still, I played along.

“What ?” I asked.

“See those wide striated lines in that oval head. No doubt about it. And those two beady eyes in between... just like they always showed in the movies.”

I was in two minds. On the one hand, it’s nice to have someone with your own perverted sense of humour around... of course, on the other hand, I was wishing if aliens did exist, they’d abduct him then and there and laser-fry his ass. Instead, since I’m just a mortal ( to the naked eye ), I chose to just stick to the facts.

“Actually, that’s a CT scan of my sacroiliac joint. That’s my butt cheeks you’re staring at. And the beady eyes... they’re called the obturator foramen.”

He stared at me with mock amazement, then stared down the chair at my ass. For a brief moment, I understood how Rakhi Sawant feels every day. We sex objects get used to it after awhile.

“Wow. That’s some ass you got there. And they’re gonna do what, you said ?”

“Stick a really big needle really deep to get a bone sample from over there using the CT Scan in live time” I said, specifying a point in the film.

Again, he looked in amazement at the film, probably imagining the length of that needle, not to mention it’s strength, then stared back at my ass. In his mind, he was probably picturing a construction worker with a mechanical drill standing over my butt and going at it, till he struck oil.

“Wow.” He said again. “These doctors are really great, huh ? They can do anything. In such a big ass, just to find that one small spot and take a bone biopsy. Of course, I had one friend who went into an operation theatre like this. After the surgery, he couldn’t walk or piss. So you can’t say what your future is...” He said as his number came up and he went in to collect his own reports.

I shook my head. I really should learn not to talk to strangers. For starters, I always end up choosing the weird ones.. why couldn’t I have chosen the cute sister on the other side of the room and sat beside her ?

Whichever dimwit claimed that talking to strangers can be therapeutic needs to have a 1000 red ants queue up his honey filled butt cheeks. Therapeutic, my ass. Suicidal is the right word.

P.S. The scan went fine. They did eventually find a needle ( think of it as the son of a snooker stick and a spear ) big enough to poke me with. Reports remain awaited. As for me, well, I’m bedridden and on medical leave...My limp got worse and the cause till date remains unkown. Cool.

Dr Rads. Man of mystery. I like how it sounds. Though, it’s probably ‘Limb of Mystery.’ Oh well. One step at a time... pun intended.

P.S. Just a random observation. Back in Pune, I’d be appreciating the rose design tattoo peeking out the hip of cute hotties at the mall. Out here, as I wait in the hospital, I find myself admiring the cute floral patterns in the burqa of the woman beside me... which tells me two things : -

A) Yup, I’m back home in Kannur again.

B) There really isn’t any point covering up women in burqas or tents or curtains or whatever you have... we perverts will still appreciate women even when we’re in abject pain and limping around on one leg. It’s in our jeans, oops, I mean, genes  after all.

At the onset, let me say, this isn't a funny post. 

It’s time once more for a rant post... you guys know the type... the one where I bitch about something I have and you don’t and I wish I didn’t either. No, not gonorrhoea, wiseass.

I want to talk about post graduate medical life.

Tell me you did not groan. Tell me you ain’t thinking in your mind something remotely like “As if our life after college isn’t hard too.” I mean, ya, I’m sure all your lives have their own shares of hardships too. I can imagine how saddening it is for a Indian airlines pilot ( whose monthly salary is cut down to a measely 3.80 lakhs a month as per new rules from 4.4 ) complaining on how his Kingfisher pilot friends get all the hot airhostesses and he gets stuck with their ‘experienced’ grandmom airhostesses. Or sure, you IT guys and gals ( Ya, don’t look behind you. I’m talking about you – the person on the other side of this screen ) whine about how Benjamin Franklin dollars just don’t have the same homely smell as Indian rupees and how there’s too much transfat in the KFC burger out there in NRI-ville.

Yes, I can see it’s hard for you all. I can go on for ages on how P.G. life as a medico is slavery with 56 hour duties, no/minimal monetary stipend, the constant degradation by seniors who know you can’t fight back even if you’re right because they can fail you for years and years if they so please, the inhuman level of knowledge required .. but I’ll leave that for my autobiography. In fact, in most instances here, I’m gonna try not to pass judgement. I’m just gonna state facts and leave you to form your opinions.

Today, I want to talk to you about an incident that’s going on with a friend of mine. You see, like me, he’s a P.G. He’s getting married next month.

There’s only one problem. As of right now, he doesn’t have leave to attend his marriage !!Of course, I’m sure the girl’s side will be understanding. After all, he wasn’t there for his own engagement for the same reason... no leave.!!

And lest you judge him too early, let me state this – he did not use up his quota of 14 days leave for the year. Rather, leave isn’t being granted because he made a unique mistake – he’s the best in his batch. As a result, his absence will be felt more in the department than say, his lesser working batchmate who’s on marital leave right now as I type this.I spoke with my batchmate regarding the irony/stupidity of the situation and found out my pal wasn’t alone. Turns out there’s been a better case recently down unda’ ( Tamil Nadu, to be precise... ).

You see, my buddy attended the wedding of his co-worker one fine afternoon and then headed off to work for his night shift. Well, can you guess where this one’s going ? Surely not, you say ?

Hah.. shows how much you know about the slave-master relationship that is P.G. life. Yup, who should he find in the hospital doing night duty and delivering babies than the same girl who got married that day. Her staff too were of the post-Hitler Nazi-Indian love children brood and told her she can get married if she wants, but she better be back for night duty in the hospital or else she’d could kiss her exams goodbye for 6 months. Wise or not, you decide, but she went through with it. So her first night ended up being in a labour room filled with blood and babies and placentas... take a moment and imagine for yourself how you would feel if you were in her position, the most important day of your life, the one you’re supposed to cherish forever ( not to forget the one where you get to do the honky-tonky with a guy WITH PARENTAL PERMISSION !!! ).. and instead because someone feels it’s ok to screw around with you because you’re their junior, they leave you on call in a hospital on your wedding night.

Another marital incident comes to mind now that I think of it... a first year surgery resident in a hospital started distributing wedding invitations for his upcoming marriage to his department. How did his department react ? Well, his senior P.G. told him that if he got married, his ward work would decrease as his focus would be on ‘lesser issues’ ( lesser issues like, you know, HIS WIFE ). So he told him to postpone the alliance for 3 years till his P.G. course was over.

No, said the young P.G. ( after consulting a visibly bewildered mommy and daddy and to-be-inlaws. )

Fine, said the senior. And thus, the young P.G. was not allowed to enter the operation theatre for the next 3 months as punishment for getting married.  His entire department ranging from the head of the department downwards kept quiet and allowed it to take place... a silent approval.

As for my friend, I’ve given him a few options.

I’ve told him to consider the ‘Kubool hai / I accept’ phrase over the phone to solemnise the wedding ( keeping in mind that phones are not allowed in the operation theatre for him and his co-residents and so would get confiscated if he’s found talking on it ) . As for the first night, I’m counselling him on the benefits of phone sex , what with my immense experience... cough cough, of counselling sex addicts, of course.

I mean, it’s important for the husband and wife to have good communication skills, right ? And what better way than to start early.

Funny... he doesn’t talk to me much these days since I’ve given my scholarly advice. Something about his fiancé disapproving some of his ‘filthy perverted’ friends.

Sigh... no good deed goes unpunished. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to limp on one leg ( I still have my cool-sounding sacroiliitis...) to my wards and see my patients for tomorrow before my 36 hour duty starts. Heaven forbid someone realise bedrest would be good for my condition.

Someone, like say, a doctor. But gee, where would I find one of those ?

The two of them came and sat on either side of the still form in between them.

“I can’t believe she’s dying.”“Dad, you have to be strong. Mom would have wanted you to be so.”

“I know, but this is Mom, Rahul. She’s my childhood sweetheart, my first and only love. I’ve never loved another before or after her.”

“Dad...”“I still remember it like as if it were yesterday. She was my classmate, you know. She had the most awful plaits back then. Plus with her glasses, she was like..”

“Mom used to wear glasses ?”“Ya, those big semi-oval ones which were the rage in the early 90s. With her thin frame, it made her look like E.T. ”“So what made you fall for her then ? Let me guess, her personality. Even then, you saw beyond her looks and knew she was special.”

“The hell I did !!! I was after her best friend, Shilpa. Now, that was a babe, Shilpa. Even back then, she was the hottie of our class. Man, if your mom hadn’t been friends with Shilps, I wouldn’t have even spoken to her through high school.”

“Woah !!Wait a minute. So Mom wasn’t technically your childhood sweetheart ? ““Well, she did have her qualities back then. She used to bring good chocolates.. Gulfy chocs. ““So how did you two fall in love ?”

“Well, the thing with Shilpa never really took off. But in all the efforts, I made a good pal in your Mom. Then as luck would it, we got stuck together in the same college. “

“And love blossomed ?”

“Well, not actually. I was actually after Divya.. you know Divya aunty, right ?“No way !! You and Divya aunty ? What happened ?”

“Well, I outgrew her... and Naina too, now that I think about it. Hmmm, I doubt your mother knew I had a thing about Naina. ““Uh , dad...”“Anyway, through all of it, there was one constant that kept me rooted to who I was. I knew that whenever I wanted I could talk to her about my deepest feelings and she’d understand me. She never judged me, she always had time for me. There was such an unbridled admiration for me in her eyes. It was like destiny. We were meant to be together.”

“And thus you finally realised that the woman for you was Mom, right ? Sweet perfect mom.”

“Mom ? I was talking about Pintu, my Labrador. Damn, she was a sweet dog. Your mom !! I married her for the money. We had dowry back then, remember. In fact, now that she’s gone it wouldn’t be a bad idea to find out where Naina is...”

“I’m gonna kill you. You know that, right ?” a heavy husky voice spoke from under the towel.

“Umm.. dad ? I don’t think she’s dead yet.”

“You mean she’s not got her head dipped in a metal tumbler filled with sulphuric acid under that towel ?”“No, dad. I think she’s just inhaling the steamed Vicks in there. In fact, from the sound of her voice, I think her cold’s getting better.”"Yes, and I'm gonna kill your father as soon as I finish this steam inhalation."

“Hmmm. Son, did I ever tell you how beautiful your mom is. How her eyes shine brightly like sparkling jewels or how her skin is like silk in the rain..“

“Didn’t you write those words in your letters to Divya in college ?”

“Not to mention a memory like a pitbull’s teeth.. doesn’t let go once it’s got you.”

“I’m almost done with this steam inhalation. And when I do come out of this towel, Rahul, your dad may become the victim of a flying utensil so if you have anything to say to him...”

“Awww.. your mom’s such a kidder. She loves me.”“Loved you.. not loves, loved. Past tense. And what’s this about Naina..”“ You mean, Naina didi... ““Acha... now that “I’m alive”, she’s your sister all of a sudden.”“Well, actually, I meant your Naina didi.. as in your sister.. did I forget to mention I married her in a secret temple ceremony back in college ? Technically you’re the illegal wife.“

“Aniiiiiiiillll” Renuka screamed in frustration as she threw the towel at him. Rahul had already taken evasive action hiding behind his dad. Renuka looked at her husband and burst out laughing. He was dressed in a long white bedsheet and was wearing a fake grey beard.

“What the hell is this ?”“Au contraire, Mrs Renuka Anil. This isn’t hell. This is heaven. Seeing how you were behaving since last night, we figured that you’d be dead by morning.. and since you’d anyway be going to hell, we thought you deserved to atleast have a glimpse of what heaven looks like, you know. If you’ll wait a minute longer, Rahul will get the fake snow and spray it around.”

“I have a cold. I’m not dying.”“Damn. Rahul, save the spray. We’ll use it another time.”“Sure, dad.”

“Rahul. Would you leave your dad and me alone for awhile ? We have some talking to do.”“Sure thing, Mom. And dad, no freebies like last time. If mom kicks you out of the room, it’s 50 bucks to share my room.”

“50 bucks !! That’s robbery. “

“Business, dad. Business.” Rahul said as he walked out.

“Your son gets more devious day by day, Renuka. I swear it must come from your side of the family. Damn Marwadi genes.” He turned around. She was staring at him with that ‘pissed off’ look that he was so familiar with.

“Remind me... Why did I marry you again ?” she asked in exasperation.

He came up to her side, grasped her slim fingers in his palms and kissed them. Then, robe, beard et al, he bend down on one knee and looked up at her.

“I’ve known you 3 decades, loved you two. God willing I will love you for many more till the day we have to part. But till that day comes, I want you to know, that I’m grateful for every moment you’re beside me loving me and being a part of my life. Today, Valentine’s day, isn’t a celebration of our love as everyone says.. it’s just an opportunity to remind myself that I’ve been blessed and that I should be thankful. And believe me, I am. I wouldn’t give up this life with you for anything.”

She stared down at him. Smiled.

“Idiot. You always had a way of escaping punishment, you know. Even in school when you used to throw chalks at sir and I’d get caught...”

“Ummm, Renu.. this bedsheet is heavy. If you could just get to the point...”

She shook her head. Helped him up to his feet again. Then put her hands around his neck and before he could spoil the moment, kissed him hard on the lips. They both smiled at each other as she withdrew. She waited for it.

“Ewww... I got girl cooties on my lips now.”

“Shut up, idiot. Go pay your son and sleep in his sofa tonight. You ain’t getting any in here.”

“Awww, mom. Do I have to ?”

“Out !!! I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Renu...” he called as she turned towards the bathroom.

“WHAT NOW ?”

“Happy Valentine’s day, dear.”

She smiled.“Happy Valentine’s.”

HAPPY VALENTINE’S , EVERYONE. Here’s hoping this week brings great romantic memories in all your lives.

I must be the only doc in my hospital who’s so crazy about old TV serials and sitcoms. Nearly every night that I’ve had free from work last year, I’ve ended up having my 5 star dinner ( rice, dal and veggies in a tiffin box ) while watching ‘acquired’ TV serials on my laptop. Thus, while last year was spent completing SCRUBS & SUPERNATURAL, this year I’ve gone on to one of my oldest TV serial memories ( STAR TREK – THE NEXT GENERATION ) and two of my favourite onscreen nutcases.. HOUSE & MONK. But I guess it’s really HOUSE that’s relevant to this post.

For those of you who don’t follow the serial, HOUSE is this brilliant concept of a megalomaniac doctor who knows how to get on everyone’s bad side with his razor sharp tongue, but eventually comes up with the right diagnosis.

How am I related to HOUSE ? Well, my dear, this is where this post really starts. You see, most of the qualities I pursue in life, I seek from flawed TV characters, rather than perfect real life geniuses. For example, I aim for the wit of Hawkeye ( Alan Alda in MASH ), the facial expressions of Jim Carrey from ACE VENTURA, the wisdom of hindsight of Kevin(the protagonist from Wonder Years ), the beefcake physique of Arnold  from Terminator 2 and the romantic conquests of Joey from FRIENDS. Moral values? What the dickens is that ???

Of course, God in his infinite wisdom chooses to play with me when I give him my choices. Thus, 28 years into life, I find myself bestowed with Eddie Murphy’s body from the Nutty Professor( not to mention his appetite ),  the sense of humour of the HULK ( HULK SMASH.. Tee hee hee ), the facial expressions of Chandrachur Singh and oh, how can I forget ( God actually got one of the characters right.. almost )– the sex life of Arnie  from Terminator 2. Way to go, big Guy. On your damn hearing aid next time !!!

Without digressing any further, I’ll get to the point. I also wanted the clinical genius of House. I would have killed for his life saving skills. Again, God was playing ring-a-ring-a-roses when he should have been listening. So instead, I now find myself having got an attribute of House I’d much rather not have. 

His painful limp.

You see, I’m one of those doctors who’s more prone to ignore symptoms when they involve me. I may have spotted it in others as patients but in myself, there’s a veil covering my eyes. So when my leg started paining after I’d fallen on it ( all 90 hunky kilos of me ), I just started popping the appropriate pain pills. The odd fever too was easily smothered. And then, two months later, this week – the pain increased tenfold. Suddenly, I was carrying my leg around rather than vice versa. A belated MRI/XRAY/CT SCAN revealed I had sacroiliitis. Which, believe me, really isn’t as cute as it sounds.

The ortho docs tell me I have restricted external rotation of the hip. In humanese, that means I have a major OW-OW-OUCHy whenever I walk, roll over in my sleep, try to get out of bed or turn around. It also means I will not be taking part in this year’s English Premier League. Guess Ronaldo’ll have to save Manchester’s ass without me.

Having a limp isn’t always a bad thing, mind you. A limp looks good actually on some people. Football players use it as a sign of machismo ( Yeah baby... that’s right. I’m allowed on the field. No sitting in the benches for me, honey. ) I hear women find it a real turn on in war veterans. ( The fact that the ex-fighter plane pilot got the limp falling over his kid’s tricycle nobody mentions ). A limp makes these people look like they’ve been ‘injured in the course of duty’. It makes them MEN OF ACTION.

Of course, then there’s my kind of limp. The one with the weird facial expressions and the slow sliding of the leg, which suggests I’m wearing Jockey shorts that are two sizes two small for me. While a Salman Khan limp is reminiscent of a wounded tiger defending his ladylove, my limp evokes images of a snail plodding through the rain carrying his house and cable on his back.

Of course, it doesn’t annoy everyone. For example, the dog with the limp outside my college campus suddenly wags her tail when she sees me. She even walked beside me for awhile before deciding I’m too slow for her and running ahead on her 3 and a half good legs. I don’t mind. I was just too busy trying to see how she runs so fast that way. If nothing else works, after all, I’m gonna have to walk on all four limbs too, right ?

Anyway, since work policy is quite clear ( COMMANDMENT NO.420 – THOU SHALT NOT REST LEST THOU IS DEAD. NOT ILL, NOT BLEEDING, NOT DYING, BUT CLINICALLY DEAD. ), I’m making the best of a bad situation presently. I’m putting a positive spin on it for my future marriage resume. Here’s what I’ve got so far. The bracket is what’s really true. That’s just for you guys cause you’re mah buddies... it’ll be edited out of the final paragraph –

28 year young ( old.. visibly wrinkled and balding ),

handsome ( in dim light and dark alleys ) , well built 6 pack body ( double barrel belly,bilateral love handles and twin cheek butts make 6 , right )

stands out in a crowd ( because of ANNOYING ‘FROG TOUCHING TOES’ LIMP... see how I added it into the resume.. tada !!! )

doctor ( yet to be debarred.. am safe for now because noone’s crazy enough to give me a case yet) ,

financially sound ( my daddy sends me pocket money every month, like every other 28 year old doctor !! )

seeks ( craves, lusts )

alliance ( me, you, bed, oooga booga )

with like-minded ( you, me, bed, oooga booga )

simple-minded ( must believe I’m the centre of the Universe, which includes the ultimate sacrifice of womankind – giving me control of the TV remote. )

homely girl (Kim Kardashian kinda homely girl !!! )

Profession no bar ( though experience in pole-dancing is  a welcome bonus )

Religion no bar ( we can eat at everyone’s festival parties without prejudice )

No Dowry ( just daddy’s bank account numbers.. we’ll split it 50-50. )

For further details, contact : humblepiousdoc @godsfavourite.com or call 998xxx2367 ( hornymonkeyinheat @growl.com or 888-XXX- STUDMUFFIN )

I have a good chance of getting married soon, don’t you think? Ya, me too. Anyway, till my bride comes calling, I’m left seeking the diagnosis to the cause of my sucky-iliitis... looking through the possibilities is like looking through a regular episode of House with a lot of far fetched rare options. Let’s see how it turns out. Till then, I have only this to say -

Juliet.. O sweet Juliet, where art thou ? Send me not an sms, nor sting me with your sweet voice. For it is the age of MMS and my GPRS mobile awaits yer 'fine' pictures, lassie.

Shakespeare would be so proud of me.