Rosy Pastor

Englishmen whiled away their spare time in pre independent India pursuing many productive activities. One of them was watching birds and trees and naming them. This was a major contribution to our knowledge of plant and birdlife around us. Amongst the others was the production of a delightful community of mixed blood called Anglo Indians. Rosy Pastor is the name given to a bird [size of a common Myna] which has a rose colored front with a black hooded head and has a peculiar habit of looking down [appears to do so]. Imagine a Pastor [priest] with his rich robes castigating you for some mischief you have done and You have the Rosy Pastor. What an apt name!

Rosy pastors [I don’t like the new name of Rosy Starling] breed and live in Eastern Europe and migrate to India during the months of September to March. 15 years ago I used to see thousands of them. On one occasion, during the fruiting season, the orange berries of the ficus tree were completely hidden from view by the avidly feeding Rosy Pastors. In the early 1930s a bird watcher observed ‘the sky went dark when a flock of rosy pastors flew by’ such was their number. This has decreased so much that I did not see any last year and thought I would not see them this year too. But I was in for a delightfully surprising experience.

I went golfing the other day to a golf course located some distance away in a semi rural set up. While I was about to putt on one of the greens, I heard the unmistakable chirp of the Rosy Pastor. Looking up I saw a row of these Pastors resplendent in their rose colored front with blackish hoods raised, chirping [praying I thought] for my putt to drop into the hole. There were at least thirty of them sitting on the silk cotton tree branches all looking in the same direction. It took some pressure from my partners to make me leave that spot. The putt of course was missed what with me imagining a row of red fronted and black hooded priests perched on the tree branch in supplication. You can’t putt with this kind of funny images disturbing you. The missed putt was worth the sight nevertheless.

Some of you must have heard of the names Brahmany and Pariah kite. The Britisher who thus named the two widely seen kites must have been well versed with the caste system and the looks of different castes of the country. The colorful white and russet brown kite was named Brahmany [Brahmin] and the rugged dark grey kite the Pariah, though both raptors live on the dead and rotting flesh!

Sir Garfield Sobers

Garry Sobers as he was popularly known played international cricket representing West Indies for a period of twenty years from 1954 to 74. He was probably the most naturally gifted cricketer ever to have played the game. Coached players play the game by the rules. Players to whom the game comes naturally do it differently and Sir Garry was one of them. Many rate Sir Donald Bradman and our own Sachin Tendulkar among the best who have played cricket but my choice goes to this West Indian from the island of Barbados as the greatest of them all. Do I have reasons to rate him higher than the other two? Yes, many. Sobers was ambidextrous, though he preferred to bowl and bat left handed as it gave him a natural advantage. He scored 360 odd runs in one test match, a record which stood for many years. He bowled leg spin, off spin, medium pace and fast. He could also swing the ball very late. He excelled as a fielder both close in and out field. They said he could also keep wickets! Those who were fortunate to watch him action told that they have never seen the likes of him. He was a five in one all-rounder and enjoyed himself as only a West Indian could.

There are many stories attributed to Sobers. One of them was that he spent a whole night partying and one did not expect him to be on the field next morning. To everyone’s surprise he was there on the field cold sober! West Indian cricketers are exciting to watch. They seem to have the ability to transmit their joy to the viewers. They play their cricket like no others do. Very few of them like to defend. For them the ball is bowled at them to be hit. Hit hey did and in the bargain many times they do get out cheaply. Despite this trait they have produced some all time greats, the latest of them, Brian Lara.

In 1974 the West Indian team visited Bangalore and the present Chinnaswamy stadium was under construction and the stands were made up of Bamboo! I remember one shot vividly. I don’t know who the fast bowler was but the Batsman was Alwn Kallicharan. He went down on his knee and hook pulled the ball out of the stadium. They were like that. They made shots which were not seen before.

Sobers once hit six sixes in an over in a first class match which was done again many years later by our own Ravi Shastri and more by recently by Yuvaraj Singh. Remember that Sobers played his cricket in the pre helmet days!

Sir Garry took to serious golf after he quit cricket. Like many ex cricketers [our own Kapil dev and Roger Binny] he too excelled in the game. Being ambidextrous he played both right and left handed. His handicap during his best days was 1 left handed and 2 right handed!

Sobers is now 75 and lives in his home country and takes active interest in promoting cricket in the West Indies.

My Stroke of Insight

Just finished reading this remarkable book. The author is a neuroscientist, Jill Bolte Taylor who suffered a hemorrhagic stroke when she was thirty seven and the book is the story of her recovery. If it was one of those rehab stories I would not have thought fit to write about it. It is much more than that. During the process of recovery she discovers the nature and location of human mind and the many facets of I consciousness. The intricate interplay of the right and the left cerebral hemispheres and what happens when one dominates the other are very well brought out. More than that, it gives some very valid and acceptable explanations of our relation with life, death and the larger universe that we are part of. A must read for bigots, believers, atheists and agnostics.

Those of us who have valued and enjoyed the immense beauty of our existence, this book gives a fresh evidence why it is so.


Most corrupt country

Surely, India ranks at the top. There was a news report of an Indian Administrative Service officer [these are the blue eyed boys of the government service] getting caught with a mind boggling amount of ill gotten money, 300,000,000,000 Rupees! The story found a tiny place in our newspapers. The same news papers carried full page news with photographs of the scion of our political royal family taking a train ride in the city of Mumbai. We have degenerated so much that we now accept and even appreciate the corrupt!

Dermatitis Medicamentosa

It was closing time when Shabbir came in. Seeing me getting ready to leave, he said, ‘doctor saab, 'I will come some other time, it is nothing urgent’ But his face was tense and I was pretty sure that there was something important he wants to discuss and at the same time he was trying to avoid and postpone the consultation. ‘I have plenty of time, especially for my friend Shabbir’ so saying I took him inside and made him sit down and said, 'now you tell me what is the problem’.

Shabbir, when the incident occurred, was a young man of thirty [twenty five years ago] and an up and coming business man. His work took him to many cities of the country. He had a young wife and a two year old daughter and I was pretty close to the family having been the doctor even for his parents.

He would not begin his story right away and needed some more prodding from me. And at last he began in Urdu. When one is in serious trouble it is the mother tongue that comes to the rescue and not the acquired language English which he usually spoke whenever he met with me. Urdu is a rich language which developed over centuries in this country and it has borrowed liberally from Persian, Hindi and Sanskritand many local dialects. The fun is that the language spoken in north India is different from that spoken in south ad even in south Urdu spoken in Hyderabad is different from one spoken in Bangalore. 'Doctor saab, I feel shy to tell you this trouble I am having since six months, I have gone to many doctors before coming to you’ he stopped to catch his breath and resumed, I got his problem when I went to Bombay on business and since then what to tell you, my life has become one hell’ he stopped. 'You still have not told me your problem’ I said. ‘Yes, yes I am coming to that, please don’t scold me, you know mw I am not such a person but this one time mistake happened'. ‘What mistake happened’ I asked him. ‘Woman mistake’ he said virtually breaking down. I came back from Bombay and my skin there began burning and I was too scared to see you so I went first to Dr-- and he gave me ointment and tablets. I took them for one week. I felt no better and he sent me to hospital specialist who did all tests for VD [Venereal Disease] and gave me injections and some more ointment. I felt little better but the skin peeling continued. I have seen another doctor and even tried homeopathy. You don’t know the tension I am going through, I have not touched Nafiza [his wife] and she is very angry and thinks that I am seeing another woman [bibi bambdy mar is the word he used], you please help me’.

I asked him to undress and had a look at his genitals. The penile and scrotal skin was abraded and covered with whitish scabs. There was no evidence of severe infection. I had a look at the prescriptions he was carrying. He had been given all possible antibiotics that were available in the market and extensively investigated and treated for venereal disease. There was no definite evidence of VD except for the history of having had sex with a strange woman. I asked him to stop applying the two types of ointments he was using liberally and just to wash the skin with soap once a day and see me after one week. When he came after a week he looked much relieved. The skin looked far better. Another week of doing nothing, Shabbir’s allegedVenereal disease got completely cured!

What had happened was that he had developed allergy to the ointments he was applying and those days we used to call this condition, 'dermatitis medicamentosa’. Our Shabbir did not have VD but DM.

Peace once again prevailed in the Shabbir household and has remained so since then!

Lost and found

It was the persistent whimper that drew my attention. It appeared to be a child’s small but persistent cry. I went out to the waiting area to investigate. The waiting room was empty but for this two year old who was sitting on the floor weeping. In my clinic I am not only the doctor but also the cook, baby sitter and bottle washer. I don’t have any receptionist or a help to manage the patients and take calls. I have over the years trained my patients to be disciplined and take their turn and I take the calls myself. Though many of my friends have found managing a practice without help tough, I have found it better this way as long as you don’t do procedures needing help. So don’t wonder how the consulting area was so empty. But for this little fellow there was not a soul in sight.

Seeing me he brightened and stopped crying but that did not solve my problem. Where did he come from? None of my neighbors have a toddler of this age and he couldn’t have trespassed into my clinic from the road. The wild thought that has some one intentionally abandoned this boy in my clinic was dismissed as unreasonable. The only conclusion that I could come to was that the couple who came in last, which was some good half an hour ago, must have forgotten the boy and gone.

Though that was the only possible explanation I could not explain how one can forget a child who is with you and leave him and go? Then, was he there when they came out? Was it possible the mother made him sit outside and came in to see me and this boy went outside to investigate my little garden around the house and was not there when the parents came out after the consultation? Yes, that seemed likely. I asked the boy with gestures, did he go out? He replied in Malayalam and his Malayalam vocabulary was better than mine and what he told me was that he needs his mother. This answer was follows by another bout of crying, this time louder.
I picked him up and tried to comfort him telling him that his mother would soon be here, His cry was even louder as obviously he did not follow what I said or he had no confidence in me. I thought some bribery would help. I took him inside and gave him a piece of chocolate. He stopped crying and for the next few minutes was occupied in gobbling up the sweet. The job done he became restless again and began asking for the mother. I took him out and stood near the gate. My curious neighbor who was passing by asked me,’ so doctor at last has one grandson’ [he knows I am too old to have a son of this age]. I had to tell him why and how this little boy was not my grandson.’ If the mother doesn’t turn up he will be yours’ was his parting and rather uncharitable remark.

We came inside and by now we had become friends and the boy was not demanding the mother having probably found a better alternative who gives him an endless supply of sweets and also doesn’t mind playing with him. My worries too faded as I was busy with him. Things thus stood when I heard loud commotion outside. That was the return of the mother who had at last realized that her son was found safe and sound.

As I had thought, when she came out, the boy was not sitting where she had parked him but was out in the garden possibly not visible. She was so preoccupied with discussing her problem with her husband that both forgot about the boy. Even strange was that from my clinic they had gone to the chemist’s and then had driven home. Only when they reached home they realized that their child had gone missing. It took some time for them to deduce that he must be with me. What a relief it was to all concerned to see this reunion.

That was the first and the last time a child has been left behind. Other objects that have been found unattended include umbrellas, ladies bags and purses, shawls, briefcases, mobile phones, foot wear, spectacles, brief cases, a dead drunk patient and once a dead patient. The latter two incidents make stories in their own right and I will tell you guys’ some other time.

Gautham Gambhir

One day cricket has come to stay and threatens to take over test cricket. This form of cricket is a compromise between the five day [test] variety and the twenty twenty one which gets over in three hours. The twenty twenty is the most vulgar and the test most sedate. The one day variety is a compromise between the two and oldies like me who grew up with test cricket and who intensely dislike the slam bang twenty twenty, have come to accept the one dayer as it still has elements which are pleasant and enjoyable.

There are very few players who can step in to all the three forms with ease without compromising the basic nature of their game. One such player is Gautham Gambhir. It is a pleasure to watch this small built left hander play the classical mould of cricket. He is all style and grace and runs come from shots which we are trained to enjoy. He doesn’t hit many sixes because that is not his way. But the fours he hits are a connoisseur’s delight.

He is also a person with a large heart. He was responsible along with another promising youngster called Virat Kohli in winning the fourth one dayer recently against SriLanka and rightly declared the man of the match. Gautham did something unusual in modern day sport. He gave the award and the prize money to Virat Kohli.

There are still gentlemen left in modern day sport.

Season’s greetings and Ushering in the New Year

A year is about to end and another about to begin and time has come to share my thoughts and feelings. These are:
To those of you who are my patients, a big thank you for keeping me active in the profession and for the confidence, love and affection you continue to shower,
To those of my friends, especially my golfing and badminton buddies, for having kept me happy and healthy,
To my small scattered family for continued support and love,
To the colorful plant and bird life which continues to give me so much of visual pleasure,
To readers of my Blog for the encouragement which has helped me to keep writing,
And lastly, to that mighty force which has kept me mentally fit and physically active, given me the ability to enjoy and appreciate the little things in the evening of my life.

Hope you don’t mind a bit of advice from an old man.
Eat less, consume less, exercise more, laugh whenever you can, help out, forget the past, enjoy the present and don’t worry about future.

Riding a Bicycle

He would not come in when it was his turn. Other patients came and went but he sat there in the waiting area with head held in his hands [common gesture among worried Indian patients]. I went out and called him in. He came in with great reluctance. I asked him what his problem is. He said,’ Nayak sent me here.’ This was no answer to my question. I repeated my query. He broke into a sweat and started to stammer. The answer came in bits and pieces. ‘I went cycling to Yelhanka [small township then way out of town and now an important suburb] two days ago and since then I have this severe burning when I pass urine’, he said. Few more questions got me the information I needed. He also had the urge to frequently urinate and also was discharging pus from his urinary opening. The diagnosis of Gonorrhea, a type of easily treatable, acute venereal disease was easy.

The story of pedaling a bicycle for long hours was a lie and the patient wanted me to treat him without going into the sordid details of how he got it. Those days, thirty years ago, I was rather pig headed and did not appreciate the fact that patients often lie not because they want to but to save their faces. I insisted on the truth and he persisted on his bicycling story. I refrained from asking him whether the cycle he rode was male or female. I told him unless he told me the truth; I cannot treat him and told him to find another doctor who would treat him. ‘But saar,’ Nayak told me to see you only.’

Here I must tell you about this Nayak. Nayak is one of early patients and was a travelling sales man for a paint making company [he recently retired as one of the top guns in the business]. His travels took him to different parts of the state and later when he rose up in his profession, to different parts of the country and even abroad. During his travels he would stay in hotels and guest houses and was not beyond picking up a skirt if he found one to his liking. He would occasionally end up with the kind of problem this young friend of his was having now. He made no bones of what he did and how he got it, took the medication and got better and stayed so till the next event. This experienced man had correctly spotted his young friends problem for what it is and had advised him to see me.

‘Riding a bicycle will not get you this disease and unless you tell me the truth I will not be able to treat you’. The young man stood his ground for a while and then wiping his sweaty face went out of the clinic. I got on with my work and soon forgot the episode.

Two hours later came Mr Nayak,’ How are you doc, now don’t worry, I have not got my old problem, but my young friend has got it, I know he told you some cock and bull story and you threw him out, you know how ashamed these fellows are to tell the truth, you please treat this katthe [Donkey] a common word used to describe dumb fools’ He said in one breath.’ But he has gone’, I said. ‘Where will he go? He is here with me’ Nayak said and called out loudly for the youth to come in.

A less shamefaced young man of the morning came in. He was now spared of telling me the details of his misadventure. I gave him an injection of penicillin. Those days [even now but at a much higher dosage] it worked like magic. Within a few days he got completely cured. He is still my patient, now a sedate and respectable family man.

A word about gonorrhea. Before the advent of penicillin this was a dreaded disease and would leave the urinary passage scarred. This [stricture urethra] would result in obstruction to the flow and to ease the obstruction the doctors of yester years would periodically pass a metal tube down the passage to open the passage and irrigate the area and bladder with mercuric chloride solution, an antiseptic. I remember, during my college days, doing this procedure on some relics of pre penicillin days. So the saying those days when one saw these unfortunates was,’ five minutes with Venus, lifelong with Mercury’!