First Aid

Growing up with a doctor mom, I took medicine for granted.Since the last couple of years since I have been on my own and the recipient of daily/weekly/monthly small or big injuries (phew..not yet hourly), so when an opportunity to take a two-day first aid certification course came along I pounced at it (and didn’t trip).It was a course set up exclusively for my work place, we were taught all about CPR, bandaging wounds, what to do if you’re hit by lightning, and field surgery. I think my expectations were a little high, especially around the surgery part, because we were only being certified as Level C “first aiders” and not actual medical doctors (I DID learn about being hit by lightning. If it happens, you’re probably toast). I had (and still have) a wicked case of laryngitis, so the introductory part of the session, where we all had to say our names and our first aid background was even more awkward for me than normal. I sounded like a cell phone that was dropping out—luckily, I was sitting with some very nice colleagues who filled in the gaps for me. The instructor—let’s call him Abi— was a very interesting and well-experienced former fire captain, who had some amazing stories to tell about traumatic situations and injuries, the vast majority of which seemed to have happened to his him or his own family and friends. I think my favorite story was how he stabbed a butcher knife completely through his palm getting it out of the dishwasher. Abi had serious bad injury karma, and I was convinced that at least one of our group was NOT going to make it to the weekend. Nevertheless, I took copious notes.At the end of the course we were supposed to administer Heimlich maneuver to a dummy whom I called chuck (any resemblance to Netflix is purely coincidental ) to gain the certificate of “achievement”.I can totally picture this in my head. Imagine, how cool would it be to raise my hand when during my daily commute, the red double deck bus driver asks the question over the intercom "Is there a doctor onboard ?

ooops can’t do it, (8 years of med school vs. 2 half days of first aid course)

OK, Scene 2 : How cool would it be when this question is popped and there is no doctor and the victim’s buddy has a turned into a shade of desperate and I can raise my hand and slow walk (only in my head, I would rush in real life.”Pinky swear”.) from the upper deck as “Heimlich girl”.
So armed with this certificate, I travel everyday keeping the streets of Brighton and Hove safe from me tripping over someone/something.
It’s my turn to give back to society (not just by seeding the torrents)

:)

Hello Kitty

“Grrr—chrrr-grrr"

Chainsaw searing through the bush below my window woke me up on Saturday, not the lullaby one hopes for in the wee hours. A sound that disproved my bed sheet theory. A theory that states that

“One in state of rest or unrest cannot just get up from the 3600 thread count Egyptian cotton bed set, you have to peel yourself like a really old stubborn sticker that only comes out in tattered parts stuck on your favorite table”.

I sprung up to figure what the ruckus was about. A tiny kitten had got stuck on the Paolo Verde tree which stands next to my balcony and a fire truck was here to its rescue.

An interesting scene unfolded in front my now alert eyes. The owner of the misplaced kitten was standing in a corner ready to break into sobs any moment. Three unruffled 6ft fireman stood next took her and took little notice and continued to look at the fourth fireman who was trying to trim the hedges so that he could place his ladder to reach the kitten.

I am not a fan of kittens but this one was particularly ugly. It had no fur on its body and was pink and skinny, to me it looked like a skinny pink rotisserie chicken with beady eyes and pointy ears.

Eucck.

I was ready to step back in my room when I heard someone shout “Watch out”. 

I turned around and found that the fireman was near my balcony and had spooked the kitten. The horrendous creature was now leaping (read flying at 35 mph) towards me. I was in a dilemma, should I deflect it like a volleyball or try to catch it in mid air ?

 I did neither, I dropped it.

Letting go of all her inhibitions, the owner shrieked, am sure now waking people around the block. The cat lay still near my feet not moving. The tables had now turned. I was suddenly the evil one responsible for the cat’s unfortunate situation.

The fireman leaning on my balcony witnessed the sea of horror emotions on my face and grinned.

I stood frozen as the fireman stepped on my balcony and lifted the cat up, he rubbed the ears and pressed on the kitten’s chest, the kitten opened its eyes. Thank god for 9 lives of the cat. I am sure this one was 9/9.

I wasn’t sure who was more relived the owner of the kitten on finding the kitten back in her arms or me that I was not witness to a cat kill.

Alas somebody did climb my balcony, not my Romeo with flowers but a bulky stranger holding a near dead cat.

Back to my bed. Happy thoughts. 

Only Happy thoughts.  

whether Weather

Suddenly it's summer. Just the other day we were sitting shivering indoors, bundled up in sweaters, room heaters blazing, wondering if it mightn't be warmer if we crammed ourselves into the fridge.

And now, before you can say 'heatstroke', the mercury is rising, the woollies have been packed away, and the AC’s are in full swing. And everyone is moaning and groaning about how hot the days already are and how much hotter they're going to get, and how they just can't stand the heat, and how winters are so much better when it's nice and cool.
These are the same people — and i include myself — who till a few days ago were whining and cribbing about how cold and horrid it was, and all you felt like doing was staying huddled in bed under a nice warm quilt, and couldn't wait for it to get warmer.
And as summer advances and it gets hotter and hotter, and then hotter still, so that you sit indoors with a glass of cold cucumber water by your side, dripping sweat and wondering if it mightn't be cooler if you were to switch on the oven and shove yourself into it, you ask yourself when , oh when, will the blessed monsoon come and the rain cool things down a bit, or will El Nino — whoever the heck he is — play spoilsport and leave us gasping and panting in this dreadful heat.
And finally the monsoon will come — yah boo to El Nino —and the rain will come pouring down, and streets will get flooded as they do every year, and there'll be endless traffic jams, and no one will be able to get to work, or to school, or to anywhere on time, and everyone will say when, oh when, will this awful rain stop which is ruining crops all over the country.
What would we do if we didn't have weather to talk about? How hot it is, how cold it is, how wet it is, how dry it is, and so on and on and on?
In an age of increasingly sharp political, social and cultural differences, the weather remains just about the only safe subject to talk about without getting into a heated argument — or worse — with someone or the other who takes a point of view diametrically opposed to yours.
As a subject for polite conversation, politics has become a distinct no-no. Because while you might be an ardent democrat , or a supporter of Seahawks , the person you're talking to could turn out to be a Osho admirer and the next thing you know is that the fur and fists start flying.
The same thing goes for that other grand passion of Indians — cricket, particularly of the IPL variety. Was that last match fixed or not fixed? Is such-and-such in cahoots with bookies or isn't he? Nope, cricket has become an explosive minefield where not only angels but even fools fear to tread.
Movies ? What about movies as a safe topic of conversation? You never know. The movie you say you loved might be one that some group or other is up in arms about and wants banned for hurting religious/community/cultural sentiments and before you know what's what, you find yourself being punched in the face.
No one's going to punch you in the face for saying how hot it is when it's hot. Or how cold it is when it's cold. Or how rainy when it's raining. Thank God for weather. For without it we'd literally be at a loss for words and have nothing to converse about. Or, in this case, to write about. =)

Thy name

On 8th March, 2013, I became a proud “bua“/Aunt (my cousin gave birth to a really pretty angel) .I popped the question in high pitched excited tone the day she was born “What do we call her  ?" I was asked for suggestions and I did my homework and here are my 2 cents (Rs 4 in INR) :

When Juliet said “What's in a name ? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet." Shakespeare was definitely deluded!!
As I dig through Wikipedia entries, I realize increasingly, parents are giving their children unconventional, made-up names which are not linked to any specific language or cultural tradition and could belong to any part of a cosmopolitan planet. Saddle a little kid with a name like Subharnarekha and likely as not she'll grow up and emigrate to Antarctica, or Adelaide, or Kotakinabalu, where everyone, starting with herself, will call her Subs for short, and also for long.
No, made-up names, which sound good and are easy to pronounce in any language you like, including Esperanto, are definitely a yes-yes, as distinct from a no-no. The name that identifies you should be like your fingerprint: exclusively yours and yours alone, as individualistic and un-interchangeable as you know yourself to be.
A made-up name doesn't carry unnecessary and sometimes inconvenient baggage. A child named after a well-known politician, say, might well be embarrassed in later life to be the namesake of a politician caught out in a major scam or scandal, as well-known politicians seem increasingly likely to be.
History has a way of turning heroes into villains. Unlike an Adolf, or a Stalin, or a Mao, made-up names don't run the risk of one day turning out to be politically incorrect. Free of the burden of history, made-to-order names — or designer names, if you prefer — are not about the past, but about a future which will be as independent and creative as the out-of-the-box-named individual chooses it to be.
Indeed, this business of unusual name-calling could well turn out to be just that: a mega-business, like iPhones or Twitter. Future jobs could include that of the professional name-caller, whom people would consult to devise an original name for them, much like people go to event managers today to devise original theme parties for them.
Lawyers and patent attorneys would also benefit, what with people registering their names under the Copyright and Trade Marks Act. After all, little use going to a name-designer, and paying the person a lot of money, if a couple of weeks later you discover that the person next door has pinched the name you've chosen so that there are now not one but two Ulianilonias, or Zingaloos, or whatever, on the block, whereas by all intellectual property rights there should only be one, your Ulianilonia, or your Zingaloo, or your whatever.
Numerologists will ensure that the name you chose is not only one-of-a-kind but also numerically calculated to bring good fortune to the person who is called by it. However, as in all things, moderation has to be exercised in name-calling. For instance, while Zyxwrut, or Aeiou, might be even uniquer than an Aadhaar number/SSN, as well as being numerologically sound, that they require a contortionist's tongue to pronounce should rule them out.

Some names are just too bizarre to be for real.
For example, what weirdo would end up being called Swati?

Duh!

Why are we sitting in the refrigerator ?

Why are we sitting in the refrigerator ? I asked Chinu (roomate/partners in crime) with one eyebrow lifted at an angle of 40'.
We`re not sitting in the refrigerator; we`re sitting in our living room she replied. This conversation took place during the recent cold wave that swept Scottsdale (Believe it or not Scottsdale actually got snow!!), the app on my phone read the temperature as 50 F making not just the living room but all the rooms of the house feel like the inside of a Ice box.
Teeth chattering in Morse code I marveled at this unique phenomenon of global warming. How had this global warming which was melting the Arctic ice cap and giving polar bears heatstroke all of a sudden become a global colding? What next??? Would they schedule the skiing and ice-skating events of the forthcoming Winter Olympics in the Mojave Desert in mid-July ?
However, environmentalists soon came up with a phrase which explained why the planet was freezing over even as it was heating up; it was an example of what they call Extreme Weather Events (EWEs). Thanks to global warming the Earth would increasingly experience extremes of weather; unusually hot hot waves, unusually cold cold waves.
As we huddled in front of the fireplace , both of us bundled up in woollies, Mili my pet ant (We met during my camping trip and I mused on the wondrous laws of Nature which could turn global warmth into global freeze, all as part of the day`s work and no overtime either. How cool or how globally warm was that. How cool indeed, Mili wiggled in acknowledgment, an icicle forming on the tip of her nose .As we shivered and shuddered in sympathetic unison, it struck me maybe if I go on a virtual expedition on google maps in the warm sunny beaches of Macau the placebo effect might kick in. Google can you please launch FIBRE in Scottsdale sooner, my fantasy for soaking in the sun needs to be supported by sonic speed

Larry and Sergey are you guys listening ??
=)

Out for Launch

Poems-It takes talent and I believe a different wiring in your head to write and appreciate them.I can never make the words falls so perfectly in sequence that would evoke a emotion in the readers head.My sister Sakshi on the other hand has several one them to her credit published in journals. What is my contribution to this feet you ask ? I can proudly tell you that I am the sole source of "countless nuisance moments" in her life which inspire her to write .(a.k.a vent it all out).
 Her latest penmanship made me think that perhaps she should bundle her writings and publish her own book. (After all my grandfather had several under his belt.They are out of print now but you can still request order them here Amazon Link1, Amazon Link 2)
We should celebrate her publication in style.Let me do a book launch for her book (Hopefully not like the one I attended in 08).
All I need is :
Invitations: I looked up my list of Facebook friends to invite.
I pinged a few and soon realized that the book-reading habit is not just dead but buried, with a stake through its heart so that unlike Dracula it can't rise from its grave.
Nobody reads books any more, not even on Kindle which was devised as a fashion accessory - like Gucci earplugs or Armani hernia trusses .Medical science has yet to establish that the reading of books can cause cancer and make hair grow on the palms of your hands. However, it is generally accepted that books are injurious to mental health in that they distract from watching Bigg Boss/Bachelor, playing angry birds, and catching up on the latest tweet that's doing the rounds .No worries, it would be a small cozy group.
Guest of Honor:
Undeterred, next on the agenda is finding someone to launch it. It had to be launched by a Celebrity, who should be a Big Name. It could be a politician or a show biz personality or perhaps another author. But the preferred kind of Big Name is the Big Name which doesn't fit into any particular slot and is known only to be famous for being famous. Like Kim Kardashian or Charlie Sheen.
{Coin Toss}
Heads. Charlie Sheen it is.I hope he reads my mail when he is sober i don't want my invitation to be swept under the carpet in his drunken stupor.
Cause:
It’s in vogue , to associate part of your earning to a charity. My mom does enough pro bono activities to support education, girl rights,unemployment and what not.So now its my responsibility to stand up for what i believe is a lost cause and needs attention.
Shoes.
I can already see the electronic scroll in font size 12 ,color neon ,font -Helvetica on the website “In aid of buying new shoes relief fund”.This should evoke enough empathy and drive sales.Yayy.
Website : 
I need a place to display the cause, share pictures  and get RSVP's.
Summary:To summarize ,the checklist for a successful launch are: guests, chief guest, cause, website and oh yeh the book maybe..just maybe.
Sorry need to go now, I need to update my out of office message to “Out for launch”.

In full disclosure, the checklist above is not going to get you very far with your book launch but I highly recommend Guy Kawasaki’s latest publication.

Call NOW !! 1-800-CHEAT-ME/1-800-BELIEF

CONGRATULATIONS! Your mobile phone number has won GBP 7,500,000! SMS your full bank account details immediately to Mr 420 to receive the money!
Yep.
It's another 'pesky' message. And the peskiest part of it is that it assumes that the recipients of message - you and I - must be idiots to believe in what is so obviously a scam. Who on earth would be so dumb as to send off their bank details to some totally unknown person who, having promised them the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, will clean out the entire contents of their bank accounts? And of course the answer to that question - who on the earth would be so dumb etc? - is:
Plenty of people.
And no, they're not necessarily dumb. They suffer from - or should that be that they are gifted with? - something common to us all, and without which day-to-day life would be impossible:
Hope. All of us live in hope.
 Which is another way of saying that we make ourselves believe what we want to believe. What are the things we want to believe? As children we want to believe in magical kingdoms where the trees are made of chocolate and the rivers of lemonade. As students we want to believe that, after all those hours of study, we'll top our class in the exams. When we get our first jobs, we want to believe that we'll end up being the CEO of the company. We want to believe that our friends like us, that the new diet will help us lose weight, that if we brush our teeth religiously every night we won't have to go to the dentist for root canal treatment. We want to believe in so many things. Most of all we want to believe in belief itself. We want to believe in hope. We don't have much choice. Because if we didn't believe in hope we'd have to believe in its opposite thing; we'd have to believe in despair. And if that happened - if we believed in despair - then life literally wouldn't be worth living.
So, from childhood, we train ourselves to believe in hope, to believe in what we want to believe. That there are indeed fairy godmothers who will make all our dreams come true. That hard work must inevitably lead to success. That in the book we are reading, or the movie we're watching, everything will turn out all right in the end, and that the hero and the heroine will finally be united and live happily ever after. It's called the willing suspension of disbelief . And this is what con men, and crooked brokers, and racketeers of all descriptions, rely on when they take us for a ride (Congratulations! You have won ten gazillion dollars...!) They're not cashing in on our stupidity. They're cashing in on our hopefulness, the human ability to keep on believing what one wants to believe, repeated disappointments and letdowns notwithstanding.
Call it foolish gullibility or the sucker syndrome.
(beep.. beep)
Wait, I just got a text
"Invest today and double your money in three months.
Send your bank account number in a text to 1-800-CHEAT-ME or 1-800-BELIEF."