Care of the Intense type....

It's recently been more or less an "S" less month.  (S is my household help for almost a quarter of a century now, and has figured prominently on this blog).

When "S" returned 5 days ago, she looked a bit different.  

First, there was a message saying she was down with typhoid. Her son mentioned that she could barely get up and was advised rest.  With 8 adults, and 4 small kids living there, I actually worried about the young ones catching it, till I was told that you couldn't catch typhoid sitting next to someone. 

A week later I called to find out how "S" was, and was told by one of her sons (who is on my phone contact) that she was getting better , but her eldest son was in the ICU of a neighboring big hospital, with a combination of pneumonia, jaundice and typhoid and that she had taken it very very badly.

Just when I was about to go see her at her house, one morning, she and her sister landed up at my house.  The minute she saw me she burst into tears.  I have never seen her this way, despite she having faced such tough odds in her life.

Turns out that the eldest was coughing a lot, and one evening started coughing blood; so they rushed him to a local hospital that had an ICU of sorts.  The way "S" told it, there were breathing difficulties,  and they were advised to shift him to a larger hospital  with better ICU's as "the oxygen in this place was "smaller" than the oxygen needed."   S had seen stuff on TV shows, and that was her comment on the size of the oxygen mask placed on the face. 

Then followed days of watching him from a small window. The other brothers rushing around day and night getting medicines, raising money, attending to the hospital requirements. S had seen him heaving laboriously  to breathe once through the observation window, and she couldn't get it out of her mind.  She would go there daily, and return extremely worried , not just about the son, but his young wife and two small school going kids .

I offered her financial help , but she said she would keep it in reserve. Right now , they were somehow managing.  The daily payments were in double digits in thousands, and there were some strong injections, that put you out of 8 thousand Rs for one jab. The other sons seemed to have understanding employers, and they rushed around meeting doctor appointments, their rounds, waiting outside  the ICU, and  trying to discourage their mother from making trips there.

Apparently, one of the medications, had shown an encouraging change, and the fellow would recover, but very very slowly.

" You know, money can be earned anyhow, but a life must be saved. It is so heartrending to see my son struggling like this"  she said amidst tears.

Someone had asked her to do a short prayer at the Devi temple, and offer the prasad items to the lake.  She , who followed Dr Babasaheb Ambedkars teachings, didn't really worship these Gods in real life, but she was willing to pray to anyone, and so she had done that and on her way back stopped at my place with her sister.

The entire family, including her other daughters-in-law, offered their jewellery to raise funds. It wasn't anything stored in lockers, but something they wore daily.  Her sons wore some gold chains as was the custom, and those came off too. The women offered their bangles , chains and mangalsutras.   Everyday items they wouldn't ever move out without, but then these were not "everyday" times. 

By and by, the patient recovered enough to be moved out of the ICU to a ward, and after 3 days of proper observation, was allowed to go home, with lots of restrictions of diet, movement, and enforced rest for some time. 

S did return 5 days ago, and yes, she looked a bit different. 

Her neck was totally bare.  

Although a victim of domestic violence of the worst kind in the pre IPC-498 days, it had been more than 25 years since she had left her husband behind .  Her children went and visited whenever they heard of his illnesses and problems,  were insulted by him, and returned.  But "S" insisted they follow their own standards, and do their duty by him.  She would not go. But they needed to go.

 "S" had continued to wear her old sturdy mangalsutra out of habit along with some tiny string black beads. The husband figured nowhere her scheme of things, but in a society with double standards, and preying males, it was convenient.

She was the first one to sell off all this.  The sons sold off their chains, the other daughter-in-laws offered theirs.  The current high price of gold came in handy, and they were able to raise resources at short notice.

The real riches in "S" life were not these pieces of gold. 

It was the people around her. Her own brothers and sisters, her various other son's in-laws, her own in laws, (who she, amazingly , is on excellent terms with, despite the useless husband,)  all chipped in, some staying at home managing the school kids, some making lunch tiffins for the fellows rushing around for their brother, waiting nights outside the ICU, and some even offering what monetary help they could.

S, is a proud woman. She didn't want to be in a debt, at the mercy of someone. If it came to that, she would borrow against her salary from folks she worked for, all of whom knew her for the last 20 years and more.  And we would give , no questions asked.

But she didn't.

As she said, "Should something happen to me, the worst thing would be to leave for my children, a debt that needed to be paid back. The jewellery we sold was not important. The real jewels are the kids. "

........
........

For me. There was so much to learn.



 

Review: I, Rama Age of Seers by Ravi Venu

To  me, stories of Ramayana , are things that take me back to my childhood, 50 years ago. There was no TV, no cable, no DVD's , no Amar Chitra Katha,  only black and white movies,  and what fired my imagination , were the mythological stories told to us, a gaggle of young cousins, by our grandmother,  at bedtime. 

By and by , I was exposed to the best of Marathi literature, a very richly developed resource, and the classic SriRamayana, Srikrishnayan,  KarNaayan and other stories, told in spell binding fashion, by folks like the late Gopal Neelkanth Dandekar, who were the types who personally lived history, making their writing very attractive. These stories were written from the points of view of the main personalities, though not in autobiographical form.

So  when I received this Book, "I, Rama" from the Blogadda Book reviews program, I couldn't wait to start reading.

I was disappointed. 

While the idea of an aged Ram telling his story to his sons,  Hanuman, and his brother Laxman, with the help of Sage Vashishtha's son  was  interesting, there appeared to be a confusion on whether this was a story being told or history being stated.  Sometimes it even looked like a script being written....

To start with, there are too many supplementary characters here, being treated in primary fashion.  Too much detail, that takes the emphasis away from our effort to know the mind of Lord Ram, which is what I expected the book to be about. I thought an inordinate number of pages were spent on King Dasharatha and the going ons  regarding defeating the asuras, with almost step by step fight details, and descriptions of fighting hierarchies starting with gods coming down from the heavens, forts appearing and disappearing, wild attacking animals emanating from attacked forts etc etc.

The only new learning from this book was the character of Kaikeyi, who has been treated as a kind of warrior princess, who is very smart intellectually and who gets her way each time.

Whether it was fooling the king in a man's garb, at her initial encounter, whether it was about  being offered in trade, as queen , against Dashratha helping protect her father's kingdom, whether it was preferring to take a call later on the 2 boons offered to her, or whether it was about getting the boon timing so perfect with regard to her son's "promotion", that today's management gurus would  greatly applaud  .

 It is a bit difficult to visualize her sitting behind a screen playing the dutiful wife and watching the arrival of the sages at court, after having just returned, from not just fighting shoulder to shoulder with Dasharatha against the Asuras, but even saving him with her amazing charioteering , horsemanship  archery, and bravery. 
 
The book is studded with special effects using laser technology, physics, chemistry, biology, cosmology, intergalactic travel, not to mention conversion of fields into matter and matter into fields, with a alacrity that would shame the Higgs Boson.


The narration is in flashback form, but fails to hold your interest.

For various reasons that have to do with  inadequate editing , proofreading, and crowding of too many characters, this book appears to be an attempt at pouring in into   a small space, the huge research possibly done by the author. And the reader loses concentration.

The whole idea of children/elders listening to stories from mythology , was so they learned about and admired the qualities on the main characters, and how they dealt with problems, with a lot of thought, dedication to certain ethical values, and tough decision making .  Listening to mythology gave you a peep into the minds of the various deities, and  warriors. 

The way, one heard such stories, made us demand for more. Whether it was from a story-telling grandmother, a play , a film or something else.


 This book does not fall in that category.

 I delayed picking it up after I had momentarily put it down while reading. It is not a book that will keep you awake.  



This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

 

Amar Boson....!

At first everyone thought Bamata Mannerjee had something to do with it.

I mean, an international atomic particle named after a son of Bengal , in the same month, that someone she didnt support, who declined to be the son of Bengal (and declared himself son of India), was likely to be elected President.

Mr Higgs has been duly invited and will be felicitated at the Eden Gardens.

Most of the peoples' representatives have been agog since they learned that the Higgs field is really the basic thing present all over the universe.  The Boson is much the Brand Ambassador of the Higgs field. And its a kind of Draupadiki Thali of atomic particles. Huge varieties of particles.  Massless, possibly angrily charged particles shoot fast through the Higgs field,  while some lumber around , slower.  And are said to have, Mass.

For the folks in the capital, it all rings a bell.  Shri Ralu Srapad actually called it "Hi(gg)s field".  This business of being in a field with nothing. Not even fodder..  Having no mass, nothing to call your own. And then suddenly acquiring mass   So many particles already following that philosophy.   Some electronic, some positively civil-ly constructed in a capital way.  Loaded with unaccounted mass grabbed across the Hi(gg)s Field.

Of course, some end up being used in the Tihar Particle Collider,  mostly to prove a theory that acquired  "mass" today can be a hard labour "field" tomorrow.

Then there are folks calling it the God Particle, much to the consternation of those who call themselves secular parties.   The ruling party spokesman, tight lipped, appeared on BNN-ICN, and announced that they would respond after consultations with the High Command.  There was naturally a vociferous demand to change the name of the particle to the RGSon (abbreviated for Rajiv Gandhi Son).  The most populous state of India, demanded that the particle be renamed as the Baba-on (after Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar).  Naturally, one heard loud whispers on how the particle should really be called  Laliton or even Karunon

But the folks really upset, are the Communist party of India (Marxist) or CPI(M).        

The CPI(M) Politiburo has since been in an agitated state  and has strongly condemned  the nomenclature bringing God into the particle proceedings, bringing as it does, several doubts into Karl Marx's laws of communist society : viz ; There is no God, Everything is material,  Human nature is the product of the economic environment in whichthe individual is raised ,  A special environment creates a special class  and  The proletariat must win.....

While the existence of God cannot be proved by naming a particle, (just like someone doesn't become a saint by being named after one,) and the proletariat is certainly not winning vis-a-vis the Rulers and Rajas, some Z-plus environments are certainly creating Z-plus-plus classes, and there seems to be an element of Boson prediction in Karlbhau's declarations.  At the end of the day, everything is about creating material benefits out of a field of nothing.  

A small set of people have been harping on how we seem to be specializing in India, on a "Inverse Higgs Boson".  Whenever something important and useful with a decent mass exists, this new particle, the "Corrupt-on", simple converts it into a field where things with mass disappear, that too with a different mass-pieces into  various pockets.

The powers that be are , as they say, seized of this matter, and a GOM has been appointed to study and present a report.  This being a matter of deep social,political, secular, and constitutional importance, the report is not expected to come out before the end of 2014.

Reports indicate, that Dr Higgs, who started all this in the first place in the 60's , is completely stunned to note that the Higgs-Boson-matter-mass concepts have been known to Indians and in practice , since a long time.

His felicitation at the Eden gardens will have a special showering of Sandesh Particles interspersed with ChamCham particles of smaller diameter. Rukh Rukh Khan, the city's idol, is expected to perform on  his evergreen hit "Kuch Mass Mass Hota Hai" , Dr Higgs, will be presented the Keys to Kolkata as an honorary citizen. Except no one knows which locks they are to be used on.

In the meanwhile according to reliable sources, a powerful leader of Bengal was heard saying on the telephone, "Oh, Higgs Boson?  Amar Couson ..."

Right . Such Capitalistic ideas . The Left is not amused. ..

Hair Tales

Folks like Rapunzel have nothing better to do than stand in the balconies of towers showing off their long hair cascading to the ground in ringlets, so that fellows can climb on that and reach the balcony, possibly in a great display of stupidity..

In reality, things are much different.

As a little girl, she had lovely soft curly hair, each strand with a perfect Young's Modulus, and regardless of how enthusiastically you brushed it straight, she always ended up with a halo of curls around a determined face.  It was a breeze to maintain the hair. Even if you just washed it, and went out to play, her hair never flew helter skelter, but always dried and withdrew firmly,  each strand  curling  with a lot of natural grace.

By and by,  as a child of 5, she got a chance to travel to Germany, and  a whole new world opened up.  Life was just endlessly thrilling with no writing in kindergaarten, lots of life experience field trips, the teachers exclaiming in wonder over her wheatish complexion, jet black thick curls and she herself going gaga over her best friend who had waist length blonde hair that fell in ringlets.  She occasionally observed people on trips , and even on TV (she learned German very fast), and was enraptured with the punk hairstyle.  Her mother once found a pair of scissors , and a couple of chocolate wrappers under the pillows, and the next time the hair was combed, there were these weird fringes that curled, and a few standing up on top of her head.  The then current hair style was the "wet look" which folks cultivated with a lot of slathering of gel and stuff, but the little one achieved that by simply not drying her own hair, causing stuff to get entangled later on.

Back in India, her face radially framed by a mass of curly hair, classmates would tease her over a then highly regarded Godman, who had similar hair. The experiments continued, with the hair getting a providential escape from certain doom, when , during a fancy dress competition, she became Indira Gandhi , and  her mother arrived in the nick of time to snatch away a jar of fevicol, with which she was planning to get the white streaks in her hair. Talcum powder was immediately substitued.

Teenage, and college, and the curls were getting to be a problem, where slim girls were moving around with straight hair, and appeared on TV and movies, looking at you through their equally slim eyelashes,  slathered in mascara.  The salon where she went for a haircut, always marvelled at the quality of her hair and mentioned it to her mother. She herself quietly observed, girls her own age, having strands wrapped in silver foil, and later emerging with red streaks. In a wild streak of independence, experiments were done at home using bleach for silver streaks and some fancy hair color for red streaks. Fancy shampoos and conditioners were insisted on, on trips to supermarkets, and she started reading labels.

There emerged friends, who massively straightened their hair in the vacations, and appeared with hair that looked like a broom when tied up.  Some folks went blonde, with a red tinge.  Her confidence was a bit shaken , but then someone gifted her a hair straightener.  Capturing unruly strands and curls between two flat heated plates, and kind of moving across the strands was the lesiure activity of choice. And Curls was, well, a 5 letter word.

All through, the gentle hints at wanting to straighten her hair , now became fairly vocal. 

In between , shampoos for shining, straight, clean and clear, head and shoulders, strength, colored , damaged hair etc, made their way across the bathroom shelf with an amazing frequency.  Then came serums.  Then concoctions like curds, tomatoes, oil, and beaten eggs, were mixed in various combinations and proportions  and slathered on the hair, and washed up, leaving the hair clean, but the bathroom smelling .

One fine day, having worn down the resisitance of the opposition and budget  controllers  by sheer persisitence, the hair was straightened, appeared on FB and was commented on favourably by many.  She had become a photoblogger in the meanwhile and got to attend a blogger meet sponsored by Dove, where actual hair washes were conducted and folks emerged from behind curtains, supposedly transformed. Her mother , in the meanwhile, had developed significant grey strands, and was constantly badgered by the daughter into getting it transformed into what it was not.

Then, thanks to the bloggers meet, she discovered something called , mask or masque , (depending how sophisticated you want to sound), and she gleefully came home with a hamper of stuff .

Today, her straight hair has remained straight, no one teases her about certain Godmen, she doesnt look wistfully at certain magazine photos of silky strands of hair falling languidly across heavily made up faces, and she has developed a technique of clicking excellent photographs of herself, displaying  a crown of hair, gracefully falling across her face.

Her mother  would love to say that , that was the end of the daughter's  hair problems.  She  doesn't really know.

 Fashions change. Girls change. Sometimes the mothers change the way they think.

Turns out that earlier , folks used things like boiled slugs, olive oil, honey, saffron, soap and cumin to improve and condition the hair.  Exclusive modern hair treatments often contain ingredients like snake venom, bird droppings, snail serum, cow dung, caviar, hemp and hold your breath, whale vomit.

Snakes, birds, snails and cow dung is locally in great abundance. It boggles the mind to wonder how you collect a whale's vomit. But never mind.  Whales-in-retail hasnt yet happened in Parliament. (We tend to latch on avidly, to things that arrive from the west ).

And one must be grateful to be living at a time when hair treatments are available in decent containers, without wild ingredients.

Until then, the mother hurriedly declares, that yes, that was the end of her daughter's hair problems... 

   
(Submitted as an entry for the Dove  " ... and that was the end of my hair problems!"
competition with the Dove Hair-Aware App  )

Passing On....

(Inspired by a wonderful post by my friend Zephyr Nag)

First quarter of the last century...

She had lost her mother at a very young age. Her father, never remarried, in those days of  alarming step-behaviours,  and his being both father and mother to her was actually an education for her.  Her father , had risen to his position, from very humble beginings by virtue of pure hard work and struggle, and helping out folks who needed resources for education was something he religiously did, and she imbibed an attitude that no formal education could have given her.

Attitudes can never be taught. They have to observed, imbibed and learned. And practised. 

Her own children grew up, with a conservative bringing up, in the face of different lifestyles they observed in their often cosmopolitan classmates. There was entire set of unrelated folks who owed their college education to her and her husband, who assisted them with fees and books, and often, even some counseling. And there was never a pervading spirit of highlighting what-chariity-you-did, have-vs-have-nots-publicity etc ,  in all this giving and taking. This was how life was lived. Period. 

By and by her children settled down in their own lives. And she travelled around the world, being the indulgent grandparent who attended the important milestones in the lives of the grandkids.  Be it someone's graduation,  be it someone's important sports meet , or even someone's annual day or felicitation somewhere. Grandpa didnt travel so much, and so she had to be present.

On  a winter's day in November 2000, at 83, she returned, tired  and jet lagged from attending the eldest grandson's graduation in the US. Her own daughter in India had just returned from attending a state sports meet with her own daughter, and travelled back with grandpa to Mumbai to receive her.  It was Divali, an they would all stay together for a while at the daughter's.    

This granddaughter was an adopted child, who then didnt know about her own adoption. But the daughter's family had made it a point everyyear, to visit the orphanage near their house , during Bhaidooj every Divali, when they took sweets for the kids there  and played with them.

That Bhaidooj, she was still coming out from her jetlag and preferred to rest at home.  Grandpa had just returned from his morning walk, and was reading the papers and getting orgainzed when the family set out for the morning visit.

"So are you guys off to visit the temple ? "  he asked , gesturing at his daughter, son-in-law, grandson and granddaughter .

Before they could answer, she looked up from some vegetables she was sorting and cutting.

 Like so many of her ilk, she could never sit idle; the hands were always busy, helping or giving.

"Yes. Something almost like that . Like a temple. "  she said, looking into the distance, as they waved goodbye to the family off on their annual morning trip to the orphanage.


Her daughter never forgot those words.

They were not to know that, that  was her last day with them. She collapsed that evening , was hospitalized and passed away 2 days later.

One of the biggest legacies she left,  was the understanding, that religion , was not how you did rituals, and got intimidated by Gods and  rules.

It was really, how you learned to give , from what little you had.  It was about respect and empathy for those life stories which were not as happy and secure as yours. It was about thinking something deeper than appearances, looks, and a spik-and-span life.  And it was never something you shouted from the rooftops...

 A learning and a set of values , imbibed, hopefully, by her descendants, over all the years.....

She clicks, you click, we all click .....

Photography is the best form of imitation .

Don't know who said that, but I guess I just did .

National Geographic Moment Awards are happening, and the daughter, a completely self taught photographer is participating.

Photographs in five categories have been invited : Wildlife, landscapes, conservation/earth/, people, India........

Found out about this only recently, and looks like the last date might happen soon .

This is an appeal to all my friends to click below and vote on all her photos. She will be greatly encouraged!

It only asks for your email address, and a person can vote for a photo, only once.

The link

 Thank you, Merci, Shukriya, Dhanyavad, Dhanyabad, Aabhaar,  Danke schön, arigato gozaimasu , Terima Kasih, Mamnoon, Obrigada, Спасибо, Nandree,  Dhanyavaadaalu, Gracias, Asante, Kiitos, Diolch, Teşekkür ederim, Dhan Waad, Grazzi, Dziękuję,  Gamsahapnida,  Grazie, Euxaristo, Todah, Salamat, Shokrun, Xie Xie.........!!!

The Flash of Knowledge...

Staying in a college hostel as an undergraduate, meant you went home during vacations, and thanks to my father's transferable job, I often ended up going to new places, most of them in mofussil areas.

This was the late 60's.  The living spaces were all in special colonies, some with old British style houses, with  wildly growing gardens, and very often, a very propah club, where you went in the evenings to play badminton, talk, and watch folks playing bridge and argue about calls. Typically in the outskirts of small towns, with hardly any traffic, and then there were the fireflies !  No, we didn't catch them and put them in bottles, but always marvelled at the scene and wondered, as we walked home through the trees...

I remembered the fireflies, when I recently came across this wonderful visual above (with explanations) , posted by my FB friend Suhas Baljekar .....

Lots of fires and flies in Mumbai today, but a sad lack of fireflies.  

 I learnt how these insects had really, one of the most energy efficient lighting systems .

And there was actually a  Devil in the Details.....

Fireflies contain a pigment called Luciferon. In the presence of a body enzyme called Luciferase, a dollop of ATP (Adenosine triphosphate, which is like an energy molecule) and oxygen, the pigment oxidises  to create light. 

There are several theories about how the fireflies set the light on and off, having to do with controlling oxygen, or the nerve cells , but what is very noteworthy, is that the production of light here is very efficient. 100% of the energy is light energy here, with no wastage in the form of heat. In a normal light bulb , 10% of its energy is light, with 90% being wasted as heat ....

Turns out , that all this flashing around of light by the fireflies, has a purpose. Firefly larvae use this light to tell predators that they have defensive chemicals, bad taste, and they better stay away. When worried, the larvae also increase the frequency and intensity of glow. Male fireflies,  flying around ,send flashing glow signals in specific patterns at certain times at night, to stationary female fireflies, who fittingly respond only after a  fixed time delay.  There is much flashy communication between the two, before the male finally decides to  come down and meet.

This bioluminescence , as the glowing is termed, serves various purposes like camouflage, attraction, repulsion, communication and illumination.

 Scientists at Syracuse University found a new way to harness the natural light produced by fireflies using nanoscience. Their breakthrough produces a system that is 20 to 30 times more efficient than those produced during previous experiments. Using different lengths of what they call nanorods, they are able to produce  different colors in the visible spectrum, as well as in the invisible spectrum.  And it is all about converting chemical energies to light .

   Scientists can now identify the gene that causes the glowing in the firefly, and this DNA structure  can be cloned into a host using what is called Recombinant Gene technology,(  joining together of DNA molecules from two different species that are inserted into a host organism to produce new genetic combinations that are of value to science, medicine, agriculture, and industry.)

Which opens up a world of possibilities.

-You can have trees that light up at night , without having to be electrically wired . Think of a onetime cost, and no maintenance.Think of kids in unelectrified areas , or areas with electric load shedding , being able to study when they want, not decided by official fellows who did bad resources planning.

- You can have plants that glow a certain color when they are in need of watering. Think of less wastage of water and optimum irrigation based on types of plants.

-- You can have certain cells in your body organs light up whenever certain conditions are true. (There are some cancer treatments currently being experimented  using the glow factor to highlight the cancerous cells to the medication being injected)

- We have several hormones in our body, the dynamic balance of which greatly affects our physical and mental well being. When the values go haywire, we do not realize it till we see some physical symptoms like hypoglycemia(low sugar),  hypo and hyperthyroidism (many symptoms), anxiety/depression/panic (serotonin levels), kinases (muscle breakup enzyme found in liver)....  

 What would be nice if some kind of light could alert us to any immediate sustained  change in these levels or an imbalance.  In an age when pacemakers are installed in chests and insulin is released through skin patches, some kind of standard nano chip in the human body should not be difficult.
 
Like something that senses blockages/inflammations in  key areas , and alerts us, and we don't end up waiting till we actually get a stroke or a heart attack. (It is well known that medical intervention in the first 90 minutes of an episode, leads to a better prognosis).

I wonder if this glowing light firefly technology, can be used to monitor early dangerous changes in brain activity. 

 Like fear, violence, anger, sorrow and so on.   Scientists are today able to pinpoint parts of the brain that deal with these emotions. I wonder if something can alert us , by lighting up to indicate abnormal situations.  Even for situations like a beginning of schizophrenia, depression, and so on.

I wonder if at some point we will be able to save lives by preempting some one's violent behaviour, and stop someone from behaving irrationally in the face of fear.  I wonder if we can personalize education across a set of children with a spectrum of various abilities, by being aware of changes before they physically manifest themselves in a person .

A kind of real time monitoring of folks before things get serious in anatomical terms.

Of course it is impossible to have an Utopian life , where there are no problems, or easy solutions exist for all problems. If life was all about Utopia, there wouldn't have been any reason for research, and effort at learning.

So, it is very interesting to note, that the fireflies, who we try to applaud and emulate for their glowing abilities and technology,   are not such saints themselves. 

And they have possibly learned something from other species.

Turns out that Female Photuris fireflies are known for mimicking the mating flashes of other "lightning bugs" for the sole purpose of predation. Target males are attracted to what appears to be a suitable mate, and are then eaten.

 For this reason the Photuris species are sometimes referred to as "femme fatale fireflies."

Ah ! A bit of reverse engineering and adulation,  that ...... 

The Onco Society

I have often thought of the similarities between our human body processes and our country/society as it exists today.  It very uncanny, but you may mentally superimpose one on the other and see.

We have  an entire set of rivers flowing from the mountains into the oceans. Some big, others small. Most of them being subject to, as they say in medical parlance, environmental insult.  The Ganga, of my younger days, is now  a troubled flow, replete with the silts of progress, industrial  effluents, and sewage of a shameless humanity.

What can you expect of a people, who gave up sensible seasonal organic eating, a daily high-movement lifetsyle and avidly pursued food studded with trans fats, additives, banned chemicals , heavy sugar, heavy salt and phosphoric acid, and messed up their own Ganga , the Aorta , the main artery in the body; with blobs of sticky plaque all over, and sometimes, even stretching encroachment outside its 3 layered banks, in the form of blooming aneurysms.

Of course there are rivers like the Brahmaputra , that are cursed for changing courses, and creating new channels of flow. Maybe, like collateral flows (compensating alternative blood flow  paths ) that happen in our body when faced with blocks in the normal flow, the river too, took corrective action. 

A sense of intense greed makes us reclaim land from what is normally a free wavy sea, and  we show off smooth and posh constructions unconcerned about the fact, that somewhere else,  the sea will have to make up for being driven out. And so you watch, ladies traumatised by age , using Botox fillers to reclaim youth and beauty, unaware that this is going to show up at some point , problematically somewhere in the body, which has a fixed capacity to throw out junk.  In various places , we artificially try and flatten, raise, and sculpt the body parts, just like we flatten entire forests and hillocks in the interests of landgrabbing and progress.

And then there is the business of the genes.

These are in the nucleus of the cells, millions of which make us what we are. These genes, basically contain the operative instructions for the growth, maintenance and running our body systems. Some of these genes we inherit from our parents/ancestors and we call them traits/predispositions. Others we are born with. 

While we need to be aware and knowledgeable on what genes we have inherited, turns out that some of the other genes get affected by things like environmental insult (smoking, unnecessary scans, UV radiation), and the coded operative instructions inside them get smudged. 

The understanding between the cells and the genes is lost and the cells go wild replicating themselves, and the gene is said to have mutated. Of course, there are also other genes which specialize in various repairs, and they try to right the situation.   When it's a lost battle, we realize that we have an unnecessary proliferation of rogue cells, thanks to some terribly messed up , misguided genes, and we say that it is cancer.

Can anything be more different in the country ? 

There was a time when the entire country was united; education was still taken seriously, and educators were greatly respected. Money had quality, and not just  quantity. There was an  ethos, a predictability and sense of balance about society, a graceful seamless taking over by the young of the old. 

But at some point, there were disruptions , of standards. How you got money became unimportant, how much you got made you great. Lying and indulging was considered OK, so long as you achieved your ambition.  The killing gene in society was rampant. Someone didn't respond to your overtures, throw acid on her; someone blocked your path from thieving, push them out of a train; don't like your election opponent, bump him off.

So many rogue genes in society, forcing some many other hesitant genes to change for the worse. Cheating in exams, in diagnosis, in following rules, and even in living, became rampant. Even those who were supposed  to save society from the bad folks, became evil themselves, as in the recent news about the Haryana Women's Homes, and ruthless female infanticide by doctors and ill educated husbands in Beed, Maharashtra.

It is as if a cancer is growing wild and rampant all around us.

While our bodies get subject to extremely invasive treatments for the management of detected cancers, with outrageously expensive treatments and medications being the norm, all this at a huge other cost to the human body, I often wonder what we do to eradicate or even fight these mutating  goonda genes in our society.  For some, it is simpler to turn Goonda themselves.....

Like in actual cancer, there are , in society, some repair-gene like folks, who work towards trying the stop the wild multiplication of the societal cancer cells.

That is where the similarity between the cancer in our body and that in society ends. 

Current cancer research focuses on identifying the defiant gene(s) in the cell, that are responsible for a particular cancer, and creating medication to straighten out the undisciplined tendencies of that gene, so that orderly cell activities can take place.

A simple look at a newspaper on any given day,  shows more and more innovative wild proliferation of society cancers. With so many genes  in society giving in and  mutating to take the easy way out, i shudder to think of the world that lies in store for the Generation Next.

Welcome to the Mutating Onco Society......

The YBIMB Gene

Think about the creation of the universe/humans whichever way you want. Big bang, whimper, design, evolving from the amoeba . or what have you. But whenever, whatever, or whoever dealt out the various genes and chromosomes, I am convinced , that , all the YBIMB genes , came to us . To those of you who are acronymically disabled, that is the "Your Business Is My Business "  gene.

While this is called Fine Industrial Espionage in say, management circles,  for those of us living humdrum ordinary lives, this takes the form, of bare acquaintances, and sometimes even total unknowns,  pretending to be suddenly casual and making it their business as to ask questions, which are really none of their business.

38 years ago,  standing at a suburban rationing office window , for adding one's name to the ration card post marriage, we submitted the documents. In those days, the legal marriage certificate was not mandatory, but was part of the sheaf of documents we submitted anyway, since it was logical.

The guy inside, normally not  having encountered one  so far,  thought this was really glamorous, that maybe we had to get a certificate because standard modes of marriage (priest, parents, hordes of relatives, hall, 500 guests, massive lunches, receptions, decorations) were not available to us;  he  perused the documents, looked up at us through the window grill, and with a snide smile, said "Runaway marriage ?"   After an initial shock , he was told in no uncertain terms about  how he shouldn't worry about whether we walked , ran or leaped,  and where was his boss's desk anyway?  Several pairs of idle eyes looking at us from inside, wondering how runaway types could look so boring.  By and by the work was done.

Eight years ago,  I voluntarily retired from my job  because I had to take up some family responsibilities regarding my parents. The spouse worked in the same organization, and had several years of fruitful service left.  Walking out of the campus hospital after some test, a sometime aquaintance, walks up to me in great urgency and asks " So, he is going to America ?"

Nonplussed, for a moment, I thought it was someone behind me being addressed. Then I realized that folks who had no clue about  my parents, assumed that I had resigned so I could accompany the husband abroad. This "abroad"  stuff was news to me. I asked where he heard this amazing America news. To which I was told that it was a natural conclusion because I had resigned. I told the guy I would ask my husband if he was going to America and let him know. The fellow sheepishly walked away. 

A few months ago, we were seated in the waiting area of the OPD in a large leading  hospital, as we had an appointment with the doctor. Being a specialised OPD, consultations were often time consuming and there was a TV , kept soundlessly on, for the entertainment  of the waiting folks. Cricket was on, and the spouse  was intently watching it. I normally carry a book to read whenever one has to wait, and I sat a couple of seats away where the fancy lighting was a bit more conducive to reading.

A one time acquaintance walked in. Highly educated. Brimming with confidence.  Or possibly bravado. I don't know. He too had an appointment, and  sat down amidst us, talking about the old days, other folks, heart problems, costs, advances in technology today, the hospital etc etc. Each other's children were enquired after, the state of the nation was commented on, and the spouse got up to go out and attend to a phone call.

Suddenly this man turns and  asks, "Why are you sitting there, so far away ? "

" Oh . I don't care for TV and I have this book I am reading. The light is better here."  Me.

He looks at me as if I am lying. The book is lying by my side, as it is impolite to read when someone you know is having a conversation with you.

" No. But why there ? He (the spouse) is sitting here. "  Insistent. Digging. And honestly, none of his business.

" Ah .  It's OK."  I spy the spouse returning. " Why don't you ask him ? "

The man gets embarassed. Of course he doesn't ask the spouse.  They sit.

He casually  bends. " What is this book you are reading ?"    

I hold up the tome. With both hands. It's heavy. In weight and in the amazing content.

"The Emperor of Maladies", by Dr Siddharth Mukherjea.   A wonderful book. "

The conversation ends. Small talk on this book is not possible. I let him stew in his puzzled thoughts.  Maybe he thinks I am hiding something, maybe he thinks I am a supporter of Monarchy.  

I don't really care what he thinks.

 I open my page and continue reading, in the same seat, as the spouse enjoys some soundless exciting cricket , a  few feet away, till we are called in by the doctor.

I wish someone would come out with a tome on Social Maladies. They will find several Emperors .

And you know what ? More the education, more the Emperors..... 

The Best Gift of All....

Like Winston Churchill said . "“I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.”....

Sometimes I need to say that too. 

Tears, toil and sweat are almost mandatory in Mumbai, whether one likes it or not. Given the messed up infrastructure, crowds, and the weather.  And when it comes to blood, whether in wartime or peacetime, one way for ordinary folks like us to give blood , is to "donate blood"....

I was initiated into this 42 years ago as a young adult in Pune. My parents recommended such things.  The late 60's  was wartime in the country, our college, one of Pune's finest, had organized a blood donation, and we went in droves.  The experience was interesting to say the least, and some of us  learned that we could withstand the sight of 350 cc's of blood, without falling into a dead faint.  I followed that up    off and on , and today, my children do the same.  It helps if you stay in an institutional area where proper camps are arranged with safeguards, instrumentation, attending doctors, and  adequate patient care and excellent documentation and checking of individuals. 

I have known folks, fairly well educated,  who avoid talking about this. They alarm their kids, albeit unknowingly, with misinformation. Mobilizing blood donors to  contribute for a friends  major surgery, and trying to do the transport arrangements, some folks I knew well, even started crossing the road away from me, seeing me come by.  

A few young folks , curious about all the noise and rushing around, came to ask details . Can you get up and walk afterwards ? Do people faint ? How long does it take ? Does it hurt ?  Will I miss classes the next day ?   What about getting infections through the syringe needles ?  Can I go to work straight from there ?

Yes. Anyone above 18yrs who weighs 45+ kgs and has a hemoglobin count of more than 12.5 can donate. Remember, there is no factory to produce blood except the human body.  Every unit of 350ml blood collected saves 3 lives, the 350ml is buffer blood in our body and is re-generated within 24 hours.  Today, a fresh disposable syringe/needle is used for every person, who is deemed fit to be a blood donor. 

You are queried about your medical history, medications, etc. Your weight, blood pressure and haemoglobin is checked and recorded , your blood group is ascertained, and those satisfying the set criteria are allotted a specialized blood collection bag. You then lie down as instructed, quietly squeezing a rubber ball in the donating hand, and your blood pressure is constantly monitored. I have seen folks nonchalantly messaging away on their phones and playing games with the free hand while the blood donation is in progress.  Nothing dramatic happens, your 350 cc is collected in no time, and they disconnect all the paraphernalia and ask you to lie down for sometime.  Ointments/tiny tapes are put where you were poked by the needle.  

You then relax in an area where they serve you  tea, coffee. fruit juice and biscuits.  You are ready to go.  To work, to school, home , anywhere. I know someone who even went swimming after 2 hours.  The personnel at these places are almost always gracious,polite and grateful to you.   You get a card as a blood donor with details.  Should anyone ever need blood, your card will entitle them to a bag of blood, no questions asked.  Those who have had to mobilize blood for  major surgery at one of the lesser hospitals will know what I mean. 


This time , it was at one of the most upmarket areas near us. A very posh supermarket near  fancy shopping areas and coffee shops, alphonso mangoes cascading on show outside, cars driving up to a hotel , with valet parking happening, and folks in their casual Sunday best ambling in to shop. 


 Those like us who knew about this event and came specifically for it, went ahead with the process. As usual , I was rejected because of age , but the daughter sailed through and donated her blood. 

This was an event specifically to help people who had Thalassemia.  This is a disorder of the blood, where the patient has problems with the haemoglobin in the blood. This affects carrying of oxygen all over the body, and the thalassemia patient needs to have blood transfusions every 15 days. Which causes its own problems with iron stores in the body.   There are 1 lakh thalassemic chidren in the country and a thousand of them are receiving regular transfusions in Mumbai alone.  To know more about this please see this.  


There was a steady stream of folks coming in, mostly young, many of them ladies,  but many in their 50's and 40's too.  And there was a wait for beds. Which was great......


Outside, in the sun, a  midsize car swathed in a huge banner announcing the blood donation event was parked at a vantage point.  There were these young folks standing outside holding placards saying "Donate Blood" in glorious red and white.  Almost marketing the event. 

I've never seen this before.  Real time marketing of the event.  Yes, there are normally welcome arches, and folks volunteering services, but inside the venue, with the documentation, refreshments, assisting the desk people etc etc. I have never seen anyone standing outside  and urging folks to go in.


But this was like advertising the event, looking so much a part of the supermarket ads announcing deals and stuff.  

It can be insensitively abused. 

Visions of "Donate blood and get 1 dozen mangoes free" or what is worse, some unscrupulous educational institution coming up with  "Show cards for 2 blood donations and get 10 marks added to your total" .......  (I've known of people who showed up 5 times for some  social service class in Dharavi as part of NSS, in the late 90's,  and added 5 marks (or was it 5 percent?) to their already outrageous totals , now exceeding 100 as a result. Happens only in India....)

There are no deals in blood.

Donating has to be completely voluntary. 
 
But we are a country where folks are blind to blood when its a matter of their life, death or surgery, but very much aware of it when they query the biological background of an adopted child of marriageable age. 

So much of  educating of the public still required .....