God's Own Country's Trip - part 4

(Another Cruise along Cochin harbour, visit to synagogue at Mattancherry, 22nd May 2006)

This is the last part of the trip travelogue. Also loaded substantially with photos.

Trust me, going on a trip is one thing, trying to belt out posts about it is something altogether different, though the reminiscences are pretty entertaining themselves.

Here are parts one, two and three of the trip, in case you were lucky enough to have chanced upon my blog for the very first time and are still stupidly curious to know what the hell I've been talking about all this time. If you're really dumb, press alt + f4 to see God.

Just as on the day before, we rented "Hari Krishnan", this time for three hours and decided to check out the synagogue at Mattancherry. (Link directs you to the Cochin wiki page, please search for 'Mattancherry' for more information).

Being the pro-Jew person that I am, I badly wanted to see a synagogue and visit it, just out of extreme curiosity, and I also remembered my Mum having mentioned something about a Jewish settlement in Cochin in the early 17th century-types. After checking out with Kutty and Shaavi, and consulting wikipedia, I zoned in on the fact that the synagogue was on my must-visit list.

After a relaxing boat trip that dropped us at Mattancherry, we headed for the synagogue. Jew Town is the actual name by which the entire location surrounding it is referred to as, and it was quite a surprise to have actually seen such a thing. The streets were narrow, and were littered with antique shops owned by non-Jews (we found out eventually that there are only 14 Jews living in Cochin), who sold a whole lot of things that weren't Jewish relics or excavated Semitic memorabilia.

The path to the synagogue was a small paved alley, which had buildings on either side that prevented the sun's rays from penetrating through. This was some sort of a blessing, given the extreme temperature.

We were able to see a single shop that actually sold Jewish prayer shawls and some other religious items and the Menorah, the symbolic seven candle-stand, which is also present as the Coat of Arms for the state of Israel.

Below is Neville standing in the alley, the photographer's back is towards the synagogue.
(All pics uploaded on flickr. Click for the 'bigger picture'.)

When we finally reached the place, we saw a notice in big, bold letters outside, in both Hebrew and English, in that order, which said (and I paraphrase here) "Entry permitted only to those modestly dressed. People clothed in sleeveless clothing/ shorts/t-shirts/ short skirts are not permitted within the synagogue".

Jai. Full disappointment.

Kutty and I had worn shorts to beat the summer heat, and it was proving to be our undoing. Gaurav, Neville and Shaavi on the other hand had worn pants or something close to their ankles, and hence were permitted to visit the synagogue.

It would have been extremely unfortunate for us not to have been able to see the place, as I had been looking forward to it so much.

Desperate times.

Kutty and I decided that we'd take pants from the other guys once they came out, so that we would go without missing out on something we had come so far to see.

To cut a long story short, Kutty and I eventually went into the synagogue, modestly dressed and all, while two of our friends stood in a narrow cul-de-sac next to the place, one of them wearing Kutty's shorts, for they had the same waist-size, while the other unfortunate person, who wasn't able to fit into my shorts was standing there, praying for my speedy return.

The entire story has, fortunately or otherwise, been documented on Gaurav's handycam.

This is an inside view of the synagogue. The entire place is steeped in history, and if you're really interested in the place, google it!

Once we were done visiting the synagogue, and all of us had our pants/shorts back on, we picked up some toddy (Rs.24 per bottle + Rs.3 as bottle deposit) and got back on our boat.

The toddy wasn't enough, though it did get us quite jolly with a somewhat bad aftertaste in the mouth. We had to stop at the same place we did on the previous day for more beer, after which it was beautiful scenery all over again!

Featured below, are the famous Chinese fishing nets.

Under slight influence, we thought the ship's name was...erm...."no smoking"!

Neville walking on the water here. He is also probably a little high.

At the end of the cruise, after playing the fool and talking about a whole lot of stuff we don't really remember, and soaking in the wonderful atmosphere, Gaurav decided to actually go ahead and soak up some of the harbour water where it was at its dirtiest. Before anyone of us had realized, our man had jumped into the water, and thankfully, he knew swimming.

There were unconfirmed reports of a tidal wave that occured at Lakshadweep, washing away a tourist couple, around 8 minutes after Gaurav took the plunge, though it would be too arbitrary a conjecture to relate the two incidents.

Gaurav was fished out, dripping wet, to mark the end of yet another brilliant cruise. Our trip had come to a fitting end.

Thats it with them travel blogs, though there are quite a few arbit rantings to follow in subsequent posts. Stay logged on, I say!!!

God's Own Country's Trip - part 3

The story so far:
part un
part deux

(Cruise along the Cochin harbour , 21st May 2006)

After a train journey that seemed to take forever in the extreme heat, we finally managed to reach Cochin. Kutty's house presented a welcome sight, as we went about getting rid of all the grime and filth we accumulated on our sojourn the luggage compartment.

After getting all freshened up, we proceeded to have lunch at 5 PM in the evening, so that all the delicious food cooked wouldn't end up going waste. The wonderful meal we had just went on to reinforce for the millionth time how home food was the tastiest ever!

Based on Kutty brother's recommendations, we proceeded after that awesome meal towards the Cochin harbour, where the plan was for us to hire a cruise boat and chill out in the waters of the harbour. At the sum of Rs.400 per hour, we managed to rent a boat, appropriately named "Hari Krishnan", for an hour and a half.

What we did on the cruise was to sit and chill out on the ship, and take in the sights and sounds of the harbour area, look at all the huge ships and cargo containers and the brilliant skyline of the city, and generally play the fool for Gaurav's handycam to record our errant behaviour for posterity.

The co-operative and friendly boat crew also stopped by at some harbour bar and restaurant for us to buy beer and chug it to our heart's content on the boat. The beer, combined with the cool sea breeze and the natural beauty of the harbour on our gentle cruise were all the right ingredients for an unforgettable evening.

Pictures speak louder than words, and they would do more justice to the beauty of the harbour, than any description of mine.

Neville's camera helped us capture these wonderful moments.

Scroll over each pic for (hopefully) an elaborate description.

@Susie - I love the ocean, but I pledge allegiance to the mountains. WYWH.

To be continued....

God's Own Country's Trip - part 2

This is where we came in.

(Itinerary: Guruvayoor---->Cochin, 21st May 2006)

We were scheduled to visit the temple at Guruvayoor and then proceed to the elephant sanctuary nearby, before heading to Kutty's home at Cochin.

Certain Hindu temples in South India have this particular rule that men are supposed to enter the temple bare-chested, and should wear a "mundu" to cover their lower halves. The temple at Guruvayoor was one such.

My parents had visited the temple a few years ago, and hence I was sufficiently forewarned about the necessity of a mundu, and had stuffed my bag with one. Neville too, had chosen to bring one of his own.

Shaavi and Kutty had decided to buy mundus near the temple, and consequently so did Gaurav. For the four South Indians in the group, it was not too much trouble to actually wear one and walk around and be comfortable in, but for a guy who was born and brought up in Delhi, wearing a mundu in the sweltering heat of Guruvayoor was quite a task.

Our man, Gaurav was quite up for the challenge, as he waited with the three of us in the queue to visit the temple. The queue was extremely long, to say the least, and we were told that it would take three hours more before we actually got through into the sanctum sanctorum of the temple.

Neville decided to give the temple visit a miss, in favour of his friend's marriage ceremony, given the fact that he could come around here some other time. This left the four of us standing in the extremely long queue. It was extremely hot, to say the least, and the line was so long, that it curved and snaked and backtracked onto itself many times over, before actually heading towards the temple.

I ended up having a feeling that I was slowly progressing up the board in a snakes and ladders game, sequentially without the ladders, and if you've been in such queues, you'd know exactly what I mean.

One of the guys had a brainwave and decided to buy the newspaper, and the four of us devotees stood on, piously, digesting the day's events after that, until we had read everything possible that interested us, including some article on TV Evangelists being so well-to-do, written in a manner such that it would expose the farcical nature of their activities.

The swarm of people gathered there only kept on increasing as time progressed, and it made me wonder about quite a few things. One was that I had made up my mind about my favourite temple being the one in my society compound, back home in Mysore, where I could enter the temple immediately without having to wait in a long queue, and at the same time, stay there and pray within the temple to my heart's content for as long as possible.

The other was of how people were willing to endure such a long wait in the extreme heat, just to catch a glimpse of the idol within the temple. Their extreme levels of devotion touched me. It also made me feel upto the task of waiting in line myself, without having realised that I had spent so much time in line.

Two hours after we had first stood in line, we were able to exit the temple, after praying, and having viewed the Lord's idol within the sanctum sanctorum for an extremely short while as some temple staff proceeded to push us forward so that everyone in queue could get a glance. The temple was beautiful, and despite the whole rush of people around, I felt at peace while praying. That was all that was necessary.

Having visited the temple, we proceeded to visit the elephant sanctuary, which houses close to sixty elephants that are trained for use during important festivals at the temple. We saw obese elephants (obviously), elephants of all sizes, a whole load of elephant droppings and some skinny elephants too! If you doubt that there are skinny elephants, a trip to the elephant sanctuary is a well deserved one for you.

The elephants looked quite cute and playful, mainly because none of them displayed a visible tendancy to want to snap their not-so-strong looking chains and charge towards some irritating humans who were hell bent on photographing them despite there being a ban on photography or videography of any sort, which is why Gaurav was unable to use his handycam to scare any of the pachyderms.

To head to Cochin/Ernakulam, Kutty's place, we had to board the passenger train at Guruvayoor that was scheduled for departure at 1:30 PM. After reaching the station at 1:00 PM and purchasing tickets for the five of us and for four other friends of Neville's, we stood on the platform, getting broiled, while spreading the good word to Neville's former college-mates about his new sticky nickname.

The train was fully crowded. In order to get comfortable seats on the train, people had arrived at the station an hour in advance, and everyone was sitting within, occupying every small bit of possible seating space, totally oblivious to the heat at 1:15 PM in the fucking afternoon. A story of human endurance, no doubt, for someone who's not so much at home in non-temperate climates, and has been accustomed to temperature controlled A/C environments at the office and while illegally having entered train A/C compartments.

Due to the unbearable heat, we were absolutely disinclined to go find some standing room within the train, though we had to do so eventually, to be able to get to Cochin.

Gaurav and I walked the length of the train, and saw that only the luggage compartment was free, albeit extremely dirty. The abundance of space within seemed attractive enough for us to be oblivious of the dirt, though we did not, initially, have enough guts to be able to go sit inside directly.

Gaurav, armed with his six words in Malayalam, took matters in his own hands, and was able to convince the station master of our predicament, and let him allow us into the luggage compartment.

So we trooped in, the nine of us, with ten tickets for the train, into the confines of the place, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. Soon another bunch of people trooped in, and our man, Gaurav, in pigdin Mal, went about trying to convince them how we were given special permission, and that he was distantly related to our railway minister.

The family that had entered were the ones who cleaned the train and worked on it regularly, and took no bullshit from us. As the train eventually started moving after what seemed like eternity, we began a long wait to reach Cochin.

A few good pictures were taken, and we were generally taking in the scenery that passed by us within the compartment.

At every station where the train stopped, somebody or the other, as enterprising as we were, wanting to get into the compartment, was summarily stopped by Gaurav and his six Malayalam words. Each of the unsuspecting people wanting to invade our territory was questioned about random things before it was decided that he was unworthy of admission.

As spectators, watching all of this unfold, we could all but stifle our laughter until each poor guy passed by, after being refused admission. For all the fun we poked at Gaurav and laughed at his antics, we must thank him for having actually ensured that we were comfortably seated all through the journey, with minimal discomfort. Way to go, biyatch.

As the train slowly chugged into the Cochin (South) station, we all heaved a collective sigh of relief at the fact that our journey ended, and the backwater cruises awaited our royal presence.

Here is a parting shot - a view of the outside, through our luggage compartment.

to be continued.....

God's Own Country's Trip - part 1

(Itinerary: Mysore ----> Thrissur----> Guruvayoor, 20th - 21st May 2006)

The past weekend, along with a couple of days taken off during the working week, saw five of us undertaking a trip to Cochin, Kerala, in God's Own Country. The trip was planned after a careful deliberation that lasted for 2.5 minutes, during which the first of the five - Neville informed us that he had to be there on 21st and 22nd May to attend a couple of marriages, that of some classmates of his.

Enthused at the prospect of free food, Gaurav, Kutty and I, throwing caution to the wind, as well as conveniently forgetting the fact that masquerading as wedding guests wasn't really our cup of tea (or plate of vegetarian thali), and that it was cheaper to pay for food and eat it here in Bangalore, decided to join Neville.

Our quartet was joined by another guy, Shaavi, who had time to kill before work ended up killing him. He is scheduled to join IBM in June. RIP in advance.

The trip meant different things to each of the five of us.

For Neville, as I stated, it was the hanging out with friends and max chilling out before the grind began for him at IIM A, combined with the convenient excuse of 'shaadi-putting', a phrase concocted in a stroke of extreme eloquence.

For Gaurav, headed for MDI, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see Mallu-land without getting fleeced by the natives, who would otherwise pounce on a chubby guy from Delhi who knows exactly six words in Malayalam, with instinctive ease.

For Kutty and Shaavi, Cochin was home, where they had studied, and had a lot of memories associated with the place. They were our designated guides to all the good places to visit and ang out at, and they surpassed themselves, for us to have the maximum amount of fun possible in our (mis)adventures. More about this in the subsequent posts.

For me, it was a chance to visit Kerala in good company, and slack off work, something I hope to get really good at, so I can write a book about it, and live off the royalties for the rest of my life.

"How to slack off work and still retain your current paycheck", ladies and gentlemen, the book Dale Carnegie wishes he'd have written had he been able to think of such a thing in the first place.

Our trip was supposed to be packed with things to do and places to see, and we wasted no time in mobilizing ourselves to reach the first rendezvous point. We all were supposed to meet in Thrissur, and then head for the Guruvayoor temple, 14 km away.

I had rushed off to Mysore, to spend saturday there at home, and I boarded a bus to Thrissur from there, while the other guys were starting off from Bangalore direct.

My bus journey was alright, though there was one incident that stood out in mind. At around 1:30 PM at night, somewhere on the Karnataka-Kerala border, I was trying to count trees to fall asleep, since counting sheep was evidently not really proving to be that effective.

The road was really narrow, and our man, the bus driver, nearly hit another bus headed in the opposite direction. The sudden screeching of brakes woke all of us passengers up, and the two bus drivers commenced their invective-exchange exercises.

I presume neither of them knew which language to start cursing in, and so they started off in Hindi, it being our national language and having the most cuss words present in it. Censored translations provided below actual dialogue.

"Teri maa ki....."
(Your mother's....)

"Arrey, teri behan ki...."
(Your sister's.....)

"Abbey, tere baap ka....."
(Your father's......)

"oy! Tere bhaai ka....."
(Your brother's......)

They went on cursing previous generations for quite some time, until their limited vocabulary so far as relations were concerned was finally exhausted. Eventually, one of them let loose some bad words in Kannada, which the other guy picked up and responded to as well.

Once the warring adversaries figured out that they had more than just Hindi in common, they unleashed upon each other the very same things that they had initially said, but only in a different tongue.

This happens only in our country, where, with a whole host of languages and dialects present, it is very easy to be a polyglot. If the two drivers had four or five languages in common, the entire conversation would've been repeated that many times.

This was also a ripe opportunity for chlidren that were present on both buses to really soak up like sponges all the foul words that they would otherwise be subjected to, only in physical education or NCC classes, much much later down the line.

Once both the drivers had let off steam, and had exhaustively questioned each other's parentages right upto about four generations preceeding them, they moved on, finally realizing that they had passengers who would be telling them the very same things they were telling each other.

The bus reached Calicut/Kozhikode thirty minutes after the incident. I noticed some interesting signboards there, including one which said:

"Roentgen X-ray and Diagnostic Center"

Appropriately named, I must say.

Another thing I noticed was that a whole lot of signboards all through Kerala had expanded initials. SV was YesVee, RV was RVee, BS was BeeYes and so on.

There was one which said "Cee Pee", and it has surely put the imagination of you perverted readers into overdrive.

These peculiar spellings posed quite a problem while Neville was attempting to provide directions to his friends, for them to be able to arrive at the RVee'S hotel at Guruvayoor. To further compound his misery, there was another RV tower hotel present a hundred meters away from our hotel.

I guess it would be a good idea to learn the NATO phonetic alphabet before heading towards Mallu-land, for the simple reason that it will make life so much more easier for you if you have to give someone directions.

"Dude, come to Hotel Yankee-Echo-Sierra Victor-Echo-Echo, room no 605. Over!"

"Cut out the retarded soldier act, Private. But major thanks anyway. Over and out!"

I reached Thrissur at 6:15 AM on sunday, and met up with the other guys, and we took a bus to Guruvayoor, and managed to land there at 7:30 AM. On the cards was a visit to the famous temple there and a small trip to the elephant sanctuary.

To be continued.....

When Train Engines put Jai !!

This was a post which started off as a parody of the Polar Express, but was reduced to shambles because I got blogger's block.

Funny, you say, considering every other post I write makes you wish I had it more, but alas, that is not to be. The irony of life in general is that, unless its a pseud book like the Alchemist, things do not usually turn out the way you want them to.

This post is probably not funny, and if you want do want some laughs, please go look in the mirror. It has also turned out to be somewhat long.

Sometimes you hit a bad patch where each day progressively becomes the worst day of your life.

You suddenly wish you had met Tyler Durden yourself, so that he could spout things that made the most sense possible, while actually just telling you what's on your mind in a brilliantly packaged manner, that can set the box-office cash registers ringing and alleviate you from your precariously miserable situation, and ensure that you monetarily benefited from it too!

Mysore, tourist destination for a whole lotta people outside Karnataka, "sleepy non-happening place without too many hangouts" to most "hep" Bangaloreans and home to me, is where I was headed after yet another week of work in Bangalore. The train from Bangalore to Mysore passes via this satellite town named Kengeri, which has a station from where I usually board the train.

Friday last, it so happened that the trains were painfully late, and so much behind schedule, that I was able to board the train that departs before the Chamundi Express (also known as the IT express by most of the junta, due to the abundance of 'techies' from Mysore who return home on it, come Friday evening), the Jaipur Express.

The Jaipur Express is a long distance train (sort of d-uh!), and for all the discerning rail travellers, has a pantry where the train staff make reasonably tasty food that I had the chance to gorge upon for the first time the day Dr.Raj died, because our office closed early and I had the chance to escape to Mysore before anything untoward happened to those around me. The only problem was the fact that the pantry was at one extreme end of the train, and I had, as luck usually has with me, boarded the train at the other end. Jai.

Walking through around fifteen sleeper coaches teeming with an entire cross section of people from all over the country was sort of unnerving. Curious people, indifferent people, people sleeping without a care in the world, people looking as you walked past sighing inwardly with relief that you chose not to disturb them and occupy the seat next to them (I get that all the time!), people dropping peanut shells on the floor, people getting major kicks out of blocking the path on purpose so that they could give you dirty looks while you tried to tunnel through with the obligatory but insignificant "excuse me", "bhaisahab, thoda side" or "Guru, swalpa sideige hogi", depending on the probable linguistic background of whomsoever you're talking to.

A whole lot of those techies who travel on that train are acquaintances from another time and another place, and unless its someone I really like talking to, and can spend a decent amount of time with, I'd rather avoid them like the plague, because "there is no such thing as tolerable small talk", just like non-existant free lunches.

I'd rather fall ill with an upset stomach, than endure queries like "So, how's life?" or "How's work?" or "How's your girlfriend?" or something like that, which is frankly, not worth answering. Anyone who asks you such questions is definitely not in the need-to-know close circle of friends that you'd have, because such details are made available to those people without them having to ask.

The pseudo-purposeful strides that one acquires while walking along a railway compartment to make it across to the pantry to eat to one's heart's content is precisely for all the above stated reasons.

After thulping hot paneer pakodas in the pantry, I made my way back towards the side from where I boarded, because the pantry wasn't exactly the cleanest of places to be at, which I have conditioned myself to turn a blind eye to, after having worked and lived in Bangalore, minus home food for most part of the time.

Just a couple of minutes after I found myself a reasonably comfortable place to sit at, the train came to a halt at some station which was about twenty km from where I'd boarded. What the passengers assumed as a routine stop turned out to be an extremely long wait. The train was pretty crowded and it had also started raining, much to everyone's discomfort. Once everyone found out that the train was going to stay put at that particular location for a substantial amount of time, everyone settled in.

The smokers heaved a sigh of relief and went outside about their business, while most of the other passengers resigned themselves to what they thought was another crossing, which happens frequently on the Mysore-Bangalore railway track, due to it being a single-line track.

After waiting for forever, someone came around to each compartment and informed us all that the engine has conked off. That was his way of acquiring good Karma for the day.

The news that the engine was not in a condition to pull the train along sent most of us who wanted to get back home soon in some sort of a tizzy, and heated conversations were overheard everywhere I turned my ear to.

The final plan of action that everyone seemed to be in general agreement of, was that they would board the Chamundi Express, the very same train they had initially planned on boarding anyway, when it arrived at this particular station. The fact that they had to board the train straight off the ground, on the space between two tracks, where all the huge jelly stones were lying, not to mention the high probability of stepping onto something unpleasant, did not seem to deter them in the least bit.

Another fifteen minutes after which the highly crowded train finally managed to arrive, there was absolute mayhem at the station. Both trains were extremely crowded, and with people wanting to get home at the earliest possible, the crowd kept on swelling, reminding you of the crowd that gathered in Bombay outside Filmistan studios when they heard that Mallika Sherawat would be shooting for a movie, fully clothed!!

As people got onto the train with the working engine, some of us had enough presence of mind to move towards the front of the train (from the outside, of course) to take shelter in the two compartments where seating space is usually available - the A/C coach and the reserved coach.

The people sitting in either coach were not readily willing to oblige and open the bolted doors to let the swelling crowd inside, and were eventually persuaded when someone politely started pelting those jelly stones that I was previously talking about at the windows. Heated exchanges between people within the train and on the outside ensued, and eventually the doors did open.

The A/C coach is usually filled with the elite people, those that can cough up a princely sum of close to Rs.200 for a short journey, that most people undertake by paying up Rs.45, or purchasing a monthly season ticket for Rs.370. They were naturally extremely disturbed to see people entering the coach and standing in their midst, interrupting their comfortable journey.

All those of us who managed to gain entry into the A/C coach had to endure the TTE's wrath, as he went about instructing us to vacate the coach. Naturally, in the battle of 40 angry people forced to board another train V/S hapless TTE, the former won, and we managed to stay put in the A/C coach, giving the guy the assurance that we'd vacate as soon as we had standing room in the general compartment.

Left with no choice, enduring dirty looks from the elite, we stood on for a substantial amount of time.

It was pretty interesting to observe the behaviour of a certain set of people who thought that they owned the compartment, for the sole reason that they coughed up more to be able to enjoy its comforts. It was not as if all those people who actually entered and stood within did so to inconvenience those inside. It was just a last resort measure.

I began wondering if I might have behaved in the same way, had I been sitting in the A/C coach, and I guess I actually would have. Its funny how human behaviour is so situationally dependant.

Eventually, the TTE did manage to unceremoniously evict people from the coach, as the crowd in the general compartments thinned down, and all of us were genuinely glad to go.

The other train got a working engine and reached Mysore thirty minutes after the Chamundi Express did.

At the end of the day, after nearly four hours for a journey that would have ideally taken two and a half hours, people got back to their homes or to wherever they wanted to get to in the first place. But I guess everyone learnt a thing or two, at least, on that journey, the day the train engine put jai.

A royal pain in my gluteal region

(caution: blood and gore and injections involved, not recommended as a read for heart patients and pregnant women, and you can kindly go to Esselworld or your friendly next door amusement park to be insulted further about your condition. Also, extremely long post, I think!)

Ogden Nash, (who I remember, not because I am some poetry fanatic, but because we had a poem of his in class 9 or 10 as part of our English Course 'A' syllabus) once said:

"some tortures are physical,
some are mental
but one that is both is dental"

or something to that effect.

Pretty encouraging for sadistic people to take up orthodontistry as an alternate career option if starting a BDSM website is not legal in their country, but, its obvious Nash was speaking from personal experience, keeping his own fears in context.

Maybe he's never had to take an IM (intra-muscular, for the benefit of those lucky people not jabbed in the butt with a needle, or those simply ignorant and illiterate) injection in the gluteal region, after having been bitten by a creature with a powerful sting, some hornet or wasp or something equally bad.

What started off as a usual lousy lunch at the office foodcourt turned out to be an extremely harrowing experience in the end. The bad food that one invariably gets used to (supposably) was already making me extremely miserable, after a 3 day weekend that I'd rather not recall too much, and to compound my misery further, a wasp/hornet/big bee stung me on the right index finger.

Youch!!!

Excruciating pain.

Extreme agony.

Finger swollen up. Big jai. I couldn't help but wish that the wasp or whatever had stung my middle finger, so that I could hold it up proudly after the pain subsided, in order to show it off to everyone who could see, and inadvertently give the finger to those people, who I wouldn't dare show it to normally. The totem pole hierarchy thing makes even the most defiant people superficially mild-mannered. The occupational hazards that go along with being a lowly IT employee should be put up in bold on one's offer letter.

A couple of my colleagues with whom I had put lunch egged me to run, as soon as I got stung, apparently because the wasp was after me. From a third person's perspective, it was quite a funny sight, I guess, with me clutching my right hand and running a la Forrest Gump, all over our office campus, away from imaginary wasps. Quite the reverse of chasing imaginary windmills, I must say.

A very responsive administration team at my office managed to hire a taxi, and those same two colleagues who were shouting - "Run, Hari, run. Don't let the wasp catch up with you!" , accompanied me to the 'super-speciality hospital' in the vicninty of my office, to give me some company, as I went about trying to alleviate my condition.

The super-speciality place was very neat and clean, very well maintained and well, empty. Totally devoid of people, which made one wonder what it was about that place that kept people away. Did they provide such excellent healthcare that people didn't ever have to return? Were the hospital staff so competent that there was no scope for any errors? Were people in that locality extremely healthy?

The answers to all these bullshit questions running around in my mind would soon be answered. Once I figured out what it was, it didn't seem all that mysterious anyway.

I had to request the people at the reception to take me to their emergency out-patient dept, so that I could show the doctor on duty my finger. To make one of the worst days of my life lousier, the nurse said that I would have to fill up a form and register before treatment could be administered. With an index finger that looked like a Tibbs' frankie, expecting me to fill up the form was sort of like asking a blind man to read a piece of sheet music not written in Braille, or something equally absurd.

After pretending to be much more miserable than I actually was, the nurse was kind enough to lead me to the doctor on call that day, and I was led straight to the dental care room.

Yes, the dental care room. A dentist lady, who apparently didn't have any patient to tend to, decided to take matters into her own hands, and proceeded to diagnose my condition.

I gave her my right hand, and it was very evident which finger I was stung on.

"On which finger did the wasp sting you?"

I thought it was a rhetorical question, and proceeded to show her the index finger, making a gesture very similar to Billy Bowden's, since I wasn't able to flex the finger anyway.

Ms.Dentist lady hadn't made anyone screech in agony for quite a while, which is why she must have mumbled a prayer of thanks, as she went about pressing the finger really hard at the very place where the wasp had stung me. Or maybe she was among those closet sadists that I was previously talking about.

After a considerable amount of "ouch", "oooh", "aaaarrrrgh" and other assorted noises indicating pain, which positively indicated that Dentist lady wasn't too big on taking hints from patients who were in excruciating pain, she went on to write a list of medicines that I was supposed to take.

Two injections and three sets of tablets, all because I came in the path of a fucking wasp.

I told her thatt here was no way I was going to take two injections, especially when I had taken one just the previous week, an anti-tetanus shot, and she relented and struck one off the list, after considerable chiding.

"You said you're 23? and working? We have five year old kids who come here and take injections without creating a scene! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"

*Sure, thats because I am old enough to stand up for my rights and not succumb to blackmail!*
*Thats because I'm not into BDSM the way you are.*

A whole lot of other smart replies came to mind, but I was afraid she'd force me into a dental examination, just for kicks, free of charge, and so I took all those insults without flinching.

"Oh, by the way, tell the nurse that the injection has to be an IM one, though I'm sure she knows it."

"Doctor, whats an IM injection?"

"Intra-muscular. It has to be injected in the gluteal region."

"You mean, she's going to prick my butt?"

"Something to that effect, yes."

Fuck. Getting injections was painful enough, but getting one on my hindquarters was adding extreme insult to extreme pain.

To cut a long story short, after paying the exorbitant consultation fees, and the money for the medicines and the injection, and wishing I could charge all of this to my company for having fucking wasps flying around in the campus, biting innocent 23yr old people scared of injections and trying to argue and then plead to the nurse to inject my shoulder instead of my butt, there I was, lying on the hospital bed, while the nurse was standing with the injection in her hands.

I'm glad I don't have my eyes on the back of my head, or else I think I would've fainted. The injection was to be administered near my lower back, just about near the waist, and hence the nurse didn't have to see my gluteus maximus, thankfully, and proceeded to make small talk while preparing to jab me.

"So where are you studying?"

"Some college." (I lied, ob!)

"So you're studying or working?" (Now she tries to psych me out.)

"Working!" (I succumb to the psyching out.)

"Where?"

"Some company. Why? Are you done?"

"Not started yet. Which company?"

"Some vague company. Why are you asking me?"

I felt a sharp pain, and was suddenly wondering why I had to endure more pain to reduce the pain I had in my finger. The irony was just too much to bear.

"Relax, its ok. You just might feel like your legs are falling off, but trust me, they're still attached to the rest of you! You might blank out, but we've got Ramu there to revive you with mouth-to-mouth if you do."

Ramu, who she pointed to, was this huge pan-chewing orderly, with chest hair all the way till his double chin, and a smile that reminded you of the cud-chewing cow in that Orbit chewing gum ad. I guess they got the orderly for "shock and awe" purposes, or so that you'd not hit on the nurse. Hitting on the nurse would be the last thing on your mind, as she went about emptying 3cc of some vague injection in your gluteal region, but maybe other people have other ideas.

Once the whole thing was done with, I was trying to walk, as my colleagues were laughing at my plight to keep me in good spirits. It was quite an ordeal, sitting in the taxi on the way back to the office, with my wallet extremely light, sans all the money.

I had to rush to the ATM at my office to pick up some much needed cash. Thank God for small mercies, atleast our campus had an ATM!!

I inserted the card and requested for cash to be dispensed, and I got a slip which said "Your ATM card has expired. This transaction has failed."

Fudge fudgitty fudge fudge fudge.

Did I mention it was probably one of the worst days of my life????