tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58804607562482001022024-02-21T09:58:27.472+05:30Perplexing SimplicityCome As You AreAdorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-28349992423383171202009-11-07T19:15:00.006+05:302009-11-07T21:34:46.360+05:30Someone Like YouI just had this uncontrollable urge to write about the special someone in my life. Not that anyone would be interested, seeing as this blog here had two hits last month, one when I checked to see if it had undergone disuse atrophy, and another when my niece hit the keyboard when I was not looking. OK, back to the topic. This post is about the nicest human being I know, the person I love the most in this world, myself*.<br /><br />1. I cannot stand black umbrellas. In fact, I find all single colour umbrellas unappealing, but black is particularly disliked.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW1izJu4AW2fp5rtDSQWcHn1qF8i1sUa3utDcrc4MTbIzqlLOukAFmNgqPbn926Ho5PRKmrUNz2lpcwPWcr1wdgNqF-3HJCKPoV76j7JHR3siIRM5ch0z5XZkraE36eU40tQGyhZVNJEx/s1600-h/umbrella+black.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAW1izJu4AW2fp5rtDSQWcHn1qF8i1sUa3utDcrc4MTbIzqlLOukAFmNgqPbn926Ho5PRKmrUNz2lpcwPWcr1wdgNqF-3HJCKPoV76j7JHR3siIRM5ch0z5XZkraE36eU40tQGyhZVNJEx/s200/umbrella+black.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401381533268250642" border="0" /></a><br /><br />2. My umbrella features a skinny girl with long braided hair and a messenger bag slung across her body cycling to Marseilles.<br /><br />3. This often leads to speculation that the girl on my umbrella is me. It is not. My hair is much longer, mine is an excursion bag, I have never been to France (although I would love to someday) and I cannot ride.<br /><br />4. Yes, I cannot ride a bicycle. Or any other two-wheeler, for that matter.<br /><br />5. Speaking of bags, I am not much of a handbag person.<br /><br />6. I love rice.<br /><br />7. I hate the great big ball of fire in the sky.<br /><br />8. I think geckos are kinda cute.<br /><br />9. Despite being a Hindu, I relish the cooked flesh of dead cows.<br /><br />10. I cannot pose for a picture properly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjn9ZsGo0IbN3pu57h2N9-gp2s9_CtrVefr40lIbV7n8d8yoiU8cpxjPHi8zSniGSMmxn9Sk7_tsp1m2N32ylXx5YzcaZZ_QKdryNtA-ySNfeTveP73BQSOajPWq6OA01YiVvguBUCMvhU/s1600-h/chandler+bing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjn9ZsGo0IbN3pu57h2N9-gp2s9_CtrVefr40lIbV7n8d8yoiU8cpxjPHi8zSniGSMmxn9Sk7_tsp1m2N32ylXx5YzcaZZ_QKdryNtA-ySNfeTveP73BQSOajPWq6OA01YiVvguBUCMvhU/s200/chandler+bing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401382375228624770" border="0" /></a><br />11. I often cannot recall what I have said just seconds earlier.<br /><br />12. I am sorely tempted to poke people who say 'OMG, don't you eat anything <span style="font-style: italic;">at all</span>?' in the eye with a 16 gauge needle. No, I just stand outside and inhale the scents during mealtimes. Retards.<br /><br />13. I am not entirely sure if I am superstitious about the <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rahukaalam">rahukaalam</a>. But I strongly believe in putting off everything that can be put off for as long as possible.<br /><br />14. My least favourite dress style is the one that I am forced to wear most often.<br /><br />15. I read an abridged comic book version of Dracula when I was eleven, and I still have nightmares about the Count. And now I really wish I hadn't performed a Google image search for 'Dracula'.<br /><br />16. In general, I don't care for clothes or jewellery much. When my friends talk about 'that blue dress with tiny yellow flowers' they wore 'that day' with 'the silver and blue earrings', I will smile and nod, but I will have no idea what they are talking about.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3GAFRW67gScZ2OaxHHf9d5fopXAU3DAfinyQLCO25LvvwTVSiI3bf6_-B2kHLq5-nR2zXAmj5aE2WtrpW9XUTU75XBJ-AZdmJ6bvgoXfGqqbjviRxIrdE1g2EhONyhkejV-WBBzyH9IB/s1600-h/no+financial+crisis+in+kerala.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3GAFRW67gScZ2OaxHHf9d5fopXAU3DAfinyQLCO25LvvwTVSiI3bf6_-B2kHLq5-nR2zXAmj5aE2WtrpW9XUTU75XBJ-AZdmJ6bvgoXfGqqbjviRxIrdE1g2EhONyhkejV-WBBzyH9IB/s320/no+financial+crisis+in+kerala.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401387238465244018" border="0" /></a><br />17. Shoes are my Achilles heel.<br /><br />18. Either there is something significantly wrong with me, or I am a hypochondriac.<br /><br />19. I am a borderline misanthrope.<br /><br />20. I have never seen <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0073707/"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Sholay</span></a>.<br /><br />21. I don't like the colour pink.<br /><br />22. I don't own any nail polish, but there is always a bottle of nail polish remover on my dresser.<br /><br />23. There is a mole on my left forearm that was not there last year.<br /><br />24. I am the proverbial 'will not hurt a fly' kind of person, and will go to a lot of trouble to save an ant from a watery grave in the sink, but I can dig up no compassion for mosquitoes.<br /><br />25. I love to play with words and numbers in my head.<br /><br />*Not quite who you were expecting, eh?Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-65865472543360729642009-10-14T19:40:00.006+05:302009-10-14T19:58:22.105+05:30In A Pail, ObviouslyMy niece turns two in a few weeks' time. Here she is, doing one of her favourite things, posing for a picture.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhL2Ky2X-tpMj3O5mmeAH0NEXAHN5XwJPIuVElxAGFnGhF6u9O30qu3cLXOyGWQVhKVGhHwOfFzMapjJsSUPoXHlFm-UFPshJ7qjtQqRgWBlNR-tlMMexO1qKlTtPh9oFTqAbHAVsdS7W6/s1600-h/Vava.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhL2Ky2X-tpMj3O5mmeAH0NEXAHN5XwJPIuVElxAGFnGhF6u9O30qu3cLXOyGWQVhKVGhHwOfFzMapjJsSUPoXHlFm-UFPshJ7qjtQqRgWBlNR-tlMMexO1qKlTtPh9oFTqAbHAVsdS7W6/s200/Vava.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392458613771137538" border="0" /></a><br />She also loves to tell stories. Here is one of her masterpieces.<br /><br />Me: <span style="font-style: italic;">Vava, oru katha parayu</span>. (Vava, tell me a story.)<br />Her: Jack <span style="font-style: italic;">veenu</span>. Jill-<span style="font-style: italic;">um veenu</span>. (Jack fell. Jill also fell.)<br />Me: <span style="font-style: italic;">Ayyo engane?</span> (*expression of shock* How?)<br />Her: <span style="font-style: italic;">Vellam ekkan poyappo.</span> (When they went to fetch water).<br />Me: Oh.<br />Her: <span style="font-style: italic;">Vava</span> guggirl! Clap!<br />Me: OK, <span style="font-style: italic;">Vava</span> good girl. *claps*<br /><br />Other favourite things do include raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, which is magically useful in keeping her still for a while.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-70912080655805179742009-09-24T11:06:00.003+05:302009-09-24T11:19:09.051+05:30Hakuna Matata!I realise I have not posted anything on this blog, even though I promised I would after my exams ended. It's been over a month since that wonderful event, and my promise has not been kept. So unlike me to not post, don't you think? Don't believe me? Look at the archives.<br /><br />I have been watching lots of movies on DVD, sleeping, reading, sleeping, eating, sleeping, lazing around, and in my free time, I sleep. This problem-free life made think of two of my favourite people, and look, here they are!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3GcTFACYjQgv4KteZTzdjrsR7wWyJgXxmyQw6c5dwad-gd_I77McL7CBXPO_rNswx79QfKcQ8Bmcko8NdKyCVSRWlcPP1pYVEswsIzPmlKyLmrMn2_d-Auh_av-UafD5HMUZdOqjsniz/s1600-h/Timon+and+Pumba.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu3GcTFACYjQgv4KteZTzdjrsR7wWyJgXxmyQw6c5dwad-gd_I77McL7CBXPO_rNswx79QfKcQ8Bmcko8NdKyCVSRWlcPP1pYVEswsIzPmlKyLmrMn2_d-Auh_av-UafD5HMUZdOqjsniz/s320/Timon+and+Pumba.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384906554519619762" border="0" /></a><br />I saw this picture, and all I could think was, the guy in the car is standing downwind.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-4202264336176448562009-07-12T15:46:00.002+05:302009-07-12T16:03:03.953+05:30Time TravelOnly a week and a half before I die. Apologies in advance for not posting in the next few weeks.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_K4JHOH8jwog80DDx6rwwg_vOtqRrhGpBo-icticQsA8T7Cjg8nB-xz2QXdF67OPyPX6mdiwGjKd_fHN24gMmf8f2btfig8s9XVPhMUb5GN-eSso1TKU1aZ1S-ANNjDF9SFbxRxwFd_3/s1600-h/Stethoscope+strangling.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_K4JHOH8jwog80DDx6rwwg_vOtqRrhGpBo-icticQsA8T7Cjg8nB-xz2QXdF67OPyPX6mdiwGjKd_fHN24gMmf8f2btfig8s9XVPhMUb5GN-eSso1TKU1aZ1S-ANNjDF9SFbxRxwFd_3/s200/Stethoscope+strangling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357519393065940706" border="0" /></a>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-78530600074988043212009-06-26T13:29:00.007+05:302009-06-26T15:45:48.036+05:30Wedding Invite<div style="text-align: left;">I seem to have run out of topics to write about.</div><div><br /><div>All right, I lied. I have not run out of topics, but that sounds better than whining about how I have so much to study that I have no time to breathe. It's old. So I stole this, I know not from whom. It's been around for a while. Apologies to non-medicos.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><br /><div style="background:url(http://i43.tinypic.com/14kjqxu.jpg) no-repeat;"> <div></div> <div style="text-align: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We, Mrs and Mr Aorta-Brachiocephalic Arch</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Cordially invite your esteemed presence and blessings</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">with family on the occasion of the marriage of our son</span></b></span></span></div><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></b></span></span><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Sublclavian Artery</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">With</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Internal Jugular Vein</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">(Daughter of Mrs Inferior Petrosal Sinus and Mr Sigmoid Sinus)</span></b></span></span></div><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></b></span></span><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">At Posterior Triangular Hall, lateral to Sternocleidomastoid Plaza,</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Prevertebral Block</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Cervical Highway 7</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And for the reception thereafter at their residence at</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Apartment C6</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Fascia Colli Buildings</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Neck Nagar</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Head</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">PIN Code: C567</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Kindly avoid presents</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anatomical accuracy be damned.</div></div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-74133834909618652782009-05-09T20:10:00.004+05:302009-05-09T21:08:40.409+05:30My Best Friend Was An Elephant Even After He Lost WeightThree months. Three whole months during which all the readers of this blog sat around like someone died. Mope no more, my (imaginary) readers, I have returned. And this time, it's no <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.blogger.com/posts.g?blogID=5880460756248200102&searchType=ALL&txtKeywords=&label=f5">Friday Five</a> or <a href="http://www.blogger.com/posts.g?blogID=5880460756248200102&searchType=ALL&txtKeywords=&label=at-tag-ged"><span style="font-weight: bold;">meme</span></a>, it's flashback time!<br /><br />When I was seven, we lived in this place that was next to a huge building owned by a temple. During festival season, the temple authorities would tether their elephants there, and I just had to look out my window to see them (the elephants, not the temple authorities) eat their palm leaves and pee like a waterfall.<br /><br />One of these elephants, I called him Ramu, was my best friend. I would stand at the window and talk to my him, and he would nod his head in agreement. (I learnt later that he would nod his head even when he disagreed, and also when he was asleep. What can I say? I was stupid.) We would talk for hours, and in the evening, my Dad and I would go visit him, and I would take gifts for him. Like maybe half a peanut or so. (Hey, I may have been stupid, but I knew my priorities.) Ramu's <font style="font-style: italic;">paapaan</font> (mahout) would hold it out to him, and Ramu would reach out with his trunk and put in his mouth. And then he would smile and wink at me. (I also possessed a hyperactive imagination. Still do, to be honest, which is why I cannot sleep without a night light. Well, that and nyctophobia.)<br /><br />He would leave at the end of the festival season, and it always seemed to me that he too was crying. My mom bought me a lot of books to console me, and when I read that the Indian elephant is the closest surviving relative of the woolly mammoth, I cried all the harder. I missed my only friend. So I improvised.<br /><br />Thus it came to be, that my Mom came home from work one day to find me sitting on top of the wall, talking to Ramu. Only Ramu had left a few days ago. Curious, she leaned over the wall, and nearly fell over laughing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/19/91959961_25aa367399.jpg?v=1138500349"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 428px; height: 428px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/19/91959961_25aa367399.jpg?v=1138500349" alt="" border="0"></a><br />Like I said, I wasn't too bright those days.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-13780970803573974432009-02-17T13:51:00.011+05:302009-09-24T20:46:50.134+05:30Picture PerfectI seem to do nothing but Friday Fives and tags on this blog. I swear, it's not that I can't find things to write about, it's because I am lazy. Anyway, no one reads this blog, so it's not like anyone gives a damn.<br /><br />I found this tag <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://rockusnarus.blogspot.com/2009/02/pic-tag.html">here</a>, and it looked interesting.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">How to and what to :</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. You are given a set of questions.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. Google the image which best suits the answer and post a picture from first page of image search with minimal explanation.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. After you finish tag 6 other blogger friends and let them know.</span><br /><br />Now that we are clear on that, let's start.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. Your age on your next birthday</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.quantumfire.net/nohohon/images/100_1265_twentythree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 250px;" src="http://www.quantumfire.net/nohohon/images/100_1265_twentythree.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />He looks an awful lot like <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://twitter.com/pintsize0101">Pintsize</a>. Now that birthdays are all about growing another year older, I am going to swear like Pintsize at anyone who dares to wish me "Happy Birthday". I meant <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://twitter.com/yelling_bird">Yelling Bird</a>, not Pintsize.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. A place you’d like to travel to</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://nicomedia.math.upatras.gr/conf/Sunbelt2007/images/corfu201.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 331px; height: 241px;" src="http://nicomedia.math.upatras.gr/conf/Sunbelt2007/images/corfu201.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Corfu, Greece.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Your favourite place</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.sulekha.com/mstore/wordsmith/albums/default/shillong1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 208px;" src="http://www.sulekha.com/mstore/wordsmith/albums/default/shillong1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Shillong, Meghalaya.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Your favourite food/drink</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.dominos.com.my/images/Side-Edge-Sprite-Can-copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 252px;" src="http://www.dominos.com.my/images/Side-Edge-Sprite-Can-copy.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />My favourite food changes all the time, but my favourite drink doesn't.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. Your favourite pet</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.catfacts.org/cat-facts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 172px;" src="http://www.catfacts.org/cat-facts.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. Your favourite colour combination</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.specialeventlinens.com/images/BlueWhiteNapkins100.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 188px;" src="http://www.specialeventlinens.com/images/BlueWhiteNapkins100.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7. Your favourite piece of clothing</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSbSt6gF98MnWhjJfyT87m0WYjyWMKbzkWfIFHcN5kvUXBWDC7t14iBvAY81vr9G1kElfgW5M-1ZbE49MBOunVFHUgRMNE-MJuQHlw0F5CFXTlUnk4BCfzYfgvk2yvKBRl5DbvjH3rwA/s320/saks_chloe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpSbSt6gF98MnWhjJfyT87m0WYjyWMKbzkWfIFHcN5kvUXBWDC7t14iBvAY81vr9G1kElfgW5M-1ZbE49MBOunVFHUgRMNE-MJuQHlw0F5CFXTlUnk4BCfzYfgvk2yvKBRl5DbvjH3rwA/s320/saks_chloe.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />It's not clothing, technically speaking, but you can see pictures of cute shirts any day, whereas Chloe is rarer, don't you agree? No? OK, then, here are some shirts.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.femalefirst.co.uk/image-library/land/376/h/hols-checkshirt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 170px;" src="http://www.femalefirst.co.uk/image-library/land/376/h/hols-checkshirt.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I could <span style="font-style: italic;">kill</span> for the one on the right.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8. Your all time favourite song</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.birminghamuk.com/wikipedia/images/moodyblues.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 277px;" src="http://www.birminghamuk.com/wikipedia/images/moodyblues.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />God, I LOVE this song. I just <span style="font-style: italic;">melt</span> when Justin Hayward starts singing. Which is probably not the most appropriate thing to say on the Internet, but it's not like people are reading this.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9. Your favourite TV show</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media.monstersandcritics.com/articles2/1443308/article_images/houseMD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 330px;" src="http://media.monstersandcritics.com/articles2/1443308/article_images/houseMD.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">10. Full name of your significant other</span><br /><br />Not applicable.<br />:(<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">11. The town in which you live</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.sasnet.lu.se/bilder/tmc1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 162px;" src="http://www.sasnet.lu.se/bilder/tmc1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />I spend more time here than I do at home.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">12. Your screen name/nickname</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://th06.deviantart.com/fs11/300W/i/2006/233/9/8/An_Adorable_Pancreas_by_deadums.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 252px;" src="http://th06.deviantart.com/fs11/300W/i/2006/233/9/8/An_Adorable_Pancreas_by_deadums.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />That is one of the most disturbing images I have ever seen.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">13. Your first job</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.imrmedical.com/Doctor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 212px;" src="http://www.imrmedical.com/Doctor.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>You are required to travel at least 8 months in the future for this to be true.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">14. Your Dream Job</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://xxfactor.files.wordpress.com/2007/11/ist2_2729905_cardiologist.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 141px; height: 184px;" src="http://xxfactor.files.wordpress.com/2007/11/ist2_2729905_cardiologist.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">15. Bad Habit you have</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thehatchergroup.files.wordpress.com/2008/05/stumble-upon-logo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 142px;" src="http://thehatchergroup.files.wordpress.com/2008/05/stumble-upon-logo.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">16. Your worst fear</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.winsupersite.com/images/showcase/xbox3601_darkness_33.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 167px;" src="http://www.winsupersite.com/images/showcase/xbox3601_darkness_33.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />I am nyctophobic. Very much so.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">17. The one thing you would like to do before you die</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.newyorkhotels.com/assets/shared/uploads/999-400x-MetOperaHouse.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 180px;" src="http://www.newyorkhotels.com/assets/shared/uploads/999-400x-MetOperaHouse.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a>The Metropolitan Opera House, New York.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">18. The first thing you’ll buy if you get $1,000,000</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.bagsnob.com/images/Louboutin%20gold%20shoes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 161px; height: 201px;" src="http://www.bagsnob.com/images/Louboutin%20gold%20shoes.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">19. Your favourite credo in life</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.recklessts.com/images2/procrastinatemain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 205px; height: 264px;" src="http://www.recklessts.com/images2/procrastinatemain.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> I am not tagging anyone. You can take it up if you want to.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-47447243050915268752009-01-03T13:39:00.018+05:302009-01-04T12:00:49.164+05:30The Friday Five: Totally WastedAfter stuffing myself to the gills during Christmas, I went back to college and promptly resumed doing nothing. As always, nothing happens, and this is why you, beloved reader, are being treated to a monologue on how I waste my time, courtesy <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://community.livejournal.com/thefridayfive/65030.html">Friday Five</a>. You can thank me later. And read carefully, I will ask questions at the end. (This is how our teachers start a class.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. What is your biggest waste of time in your home?</span><br /><br />My textbooks*. I hit the books the minute I get home, and keep at it until I take a shower. I get back to the books before my hair dries, and stay with them until dinnertime. I check my email (you have no new messages), and return to wrestling with the textbooks, until I need toothpicks to keep my eyes open. The trouble with this is, the bigger ones hit me back, and all of them weigh more than I do. And yesterday I found out I was actually supposed to open them and read, not keep bashing them. Ah, woe is me!<br /><br /><b>2. When at work, what is the activity that you find wastes the most time?</b><br /><br />Classes<b>. </b>They just want to protect the lecture halls from becoming termite food, and we provide the perfect solution.<b><br /><br /></b><b>3. When getting busy with a date or significant other, what ritual could you do without?</b><br /><br />The 'date' or the 'significant other' not showing up. Never have either of them presented themselves before me. *sigh*<br /><b><br /></b><b>4. What is the biggest waste of time on the Internet?</b><br /><br /><span>The</span> Internet is not a waste of time. And <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.stumbleupon.com/">StumbleUpon</a> is not addictive.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.pronetadvertising.com/articles/images/ms_stumbleye.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.pronetadvertising.com/articles/images/ms_stumbleye.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><b>5. What do you do at a restaurant to waste time when waiting for your meal?</b><br />That is what cell phones are for, if friends are unavailable. At the college canteen (eating there is the easiest way to poison yourself), a commentary about the varying expressions of pain on the other patrons' faces is called for, until our meal arrives and we make our own faces. If we are at some swanky place (at the expense of some individual unlucky enough to be born, and thus, have a birthday) and we don't get a table, a graphic description of the vaginal hysterectomy we saw that day (or many years previously) in a loud voice does the trick. After we have ordered our meal (an hour long process, involving much name calling and arguing), we consider it our duty to remind the sponsor about the complex process known as ageing, and the diseases associated with it. It is soon followed by someone (there is always somebody who does this) remarking that if we went around to the back, we would see our waiter energetically pursuing a chicken, which is the prompt for the others to make similar imbecile comments about the waiter venturing out to sea with a fishing line or sacrificing goats. We continue in this line, until the smells from the next table reach us, and all of us practise breathing exercises. Pictures of the 'Birthday Grandpa/Grandma' and their 'friends' in different crazy poses are snapped, and then, having nothing else to do, we start telling jokes, with punchlines like, 'he wanted to see the butter fly'. In the ensuing uproar, the rest of the patrons walk out giving us dirty looks, and the waiters ask us to leave the premises. We refuse to leave on empty stomachs, and we are served our food in record time.<br /><br />Ooh, Arch has a birthday in a couple of weeks. Yay! On second thoughts, I think we may have run out of restaurants where we don't have a lifetime ban.<br /><br />Those of you who did not die of sleep apnoea, answer this: Why did the boy throw his toast out the window?<br /><br />God, I am SO funny.<br /><br />*Lucky for me my Mom does not read my blog. Neither does the rest of the world, but that is beside the point.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-14766442318990738122008-12-26T21:09:00.009+05:302009-01-03T19:27:19.706+05:30Friday Five Archives: Books!I had planned on doing a <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://community.livejournal.com/thefridayfive">Friday Five</a>, but they haven't yet updated the ones for this week, so you now get the inside story on my <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://community.livejournal.com/thefridayfive/61735.html">favourite books</a>. Haha, I made a pun. A weak one, to be sure, but one pun is better than no pun.<br /><br />I was <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://expressthemind.blogspot.com/2008/09/mystery-humor-mischief-truth-and-much.html">tagged</a> by <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16894195422278069398">Sumana</a> a really long time ago. It has to do with books, and is similar to today's Friday Five, but lazy bugger that I am, I will do it some other time.<br /><br />The Friday Five! <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />1. Who is your favourite author?</span><br />Oo, toughie. If they mean the author whose books entertains me the most, that would be the <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/Agatha_Christie/The_Secret_Adversary/">Queen of Crime</a>. Sure, they are fun, and all that, but her writing seems rather unoriginal to me, and her characters feel one dimensional. On the other hand, <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.durrellwildlife.org/">Gerald Durrell</a>'s books are sheer poetry. Even his animals are full of character in a way Miss Marple can never be. But I have been bored by some of his books, so I refuse to label him my favourite author. If it has to be an author who has never bored me, <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/17125">Richmal Crompton</a> gets the grand prize. William Brown is one guy who can always make me laugh out really loud. More like cackle wildly, to be honest. So Richmal Crompton is my favourite author. And <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/g/richard-gordon/doctor-in-house.htm">Richard Gordon</a>, and <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.roalddahl.com/">Roald Dahl</a>. They are my 3 R's.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. What is your favourite book/series?</span><br />The <span style="font-style: italic;">Harry Potter</span> series. Not. Yes, I love the books, but, I did not like the ending. You hear that, J K Rowling? The <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.amazon.com/Bartimaeus-Trilogy-Boxed-Jonathan-Stroud/dp/142310420X"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bartimaeus</span></a> trilogy depressed me, and the <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.dragonmount.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Wheel of Time</span></a> got really boring after a while. Ah, I have got it- <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://gb.asterix.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Asterix</span></a>! Goscinny and Uderzo are geniuses. Remember the legionary named Gluteus Maximus? It began to <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gluteus_maximus">make more sense</a> after I became a medico.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Who is a book hero you most wish to be like?</span><br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/45">Anne Shirley</a>. She has brilliant gray eyes, long thick hair, an imagination, queenishness <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> she got Gilbert. Everybody likes her, and she knows Joseph.<br />You don't blame me, do you?<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Who is a book character that you envy?</span><br />This one is really easy- any <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.fictiondb.com/author/nora-roberts%7Efor-now-forever%7E31925%7Eb.htm">romance novel</a> heroine. They are all gorgeous and intelligent, everything goes perfectly for them, and they get to live happily ever after.<br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Fiercely dedicated </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">medical student</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"> Anna Whitfield couldn't have been less suited to become Daniel MacGregor's submissive, heir-producing wife even if she'd tried. So why was the arrogant self-made </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">millionaire</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"> moving heaven and earth to prove she was his perfect mate?</span>"<br />Um, Mr. Millionaire? I am single. Just saying...<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. Which book do you wished you lived in?</span><br />Any book written by <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.alexandermccallsmith.co.uk/">Alexander McCall Smith</a>. There is something delightful about his characters and the idealised world they inhabit. Even the most terrible occurrences are trivialised, and the people handle it well.<br /><br />So, now you have it. I hope you have a great 2009, in which you will all tell me about your favourite ones. I promise to blog more next year.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXzleph7SJZ_5SrvNYAWgaruIyfT273qlOI6-by8XWo5ScXAN-NwC921m873Rv6nOB9iWS3aHr6Q3VejzMc3PMv8iKLVOiRcDfehmo5LFd8Qh9LfucnK1olG-J0RdZaAGfGDdGiN3grvx/s1600-h/New+Year+Resolution.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXzleph7SJZ_5SrvNYAWgaruIyfT273qlOI6-by8XWo5ScXAN-NwC921m873Rv6nOB9iWS3aHr6Q3VejzMc3PMv8iKLVOiRcDfehmo5LFd8Qh9LfucnK1olG-J0RdZaAGfGDdGiN3grvx/s320/New+Year+Resolution.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284145937678468562" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE:</span> Turns out <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/thefridayfive/64865.html"><span style="font-weight: bold;">this week's Friday Five</span></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> about books, and is quite similar to the one I have done here. And then I got all tempted, and here are my answers.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">1. Do you enjoy reading?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">No, I do not. If I have ever led you to think that I do, I lied.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Man, really dumb question.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">2. What is the first book you remember reading?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The Secret Garden</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I was about seven at the time, and my Dad was in the hospital having his first heart attack. My aunt had very kindly taken me away from the hospital during the day, and I thanked her by raiding her library. Other books I 'borrowed' during the same time include </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The Five Have Plenty of Fun</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">, and a Nancy Drew, </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The Whispering Statue</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">. This is one of my favourite childhood memories. Even the hospital bit, we came through that pretty OK.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">3.Who is your favourite author?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">You are really lucky, you know. I am not going to answer that again. Please do not allow your sigh of relief to blow stuff away.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">4. What is your favourite book?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">See previous answer.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">5. What is the last book you read and the first you'll read next?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The last one was Sue Townsend's </span><a style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);" href="http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/reviews/number-ten-by-sue-townsend-604314.html"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Number 10</span></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">, which wasn't as funny as the cover claimed to be. The next one is </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Davidson's Principles and Practice of Medicine</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">. I have exams in February!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">This was more like Friday Ten, or more accurately, Friday Five and Saturday Three.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Yes, I </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">am</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"> leaving now. For real.<br /><br />P.S. I got bored with the template.<br /></span></span>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-36714384957812211292008-12-17T20:45:00.016+05:302008-12-27T10:12:33.818+05:30Auscultate, O HeartI found this tag at <a href="http://sayesha.blogspot.com/2008/11/ishuffle-d.html">Sayesha</a>'s, and since it looked like fun and I have not blogged in the last three months, this is your lucky day.<br /><br />These are the rules:<br />1. Put your music player on Shuffle mode.<br />2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.<br />3. Write the song name no matter what it is.<br />4. After you've answered all of the questions, tag 5 other people and let them know they've been tagged.<br /><br />Before I begin, let me tell you that I have weird taste in music (and clothes, too, come to think of it). Queries along the lines of "you actually listen to that crap?" will receive a lesson on the indecencies of the enquirer's ancestors. Consider this a statutory warning. Wow, I used "statutory warning" in a sentence. My, what, language skills, are, like, getting, y'know, better. I mean, like, wow.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. If someone says "Is this okay?", you say:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Come as you are, as you were</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">As I want you to be</span><br />Hey, that would have been appropriate if my usual response wasn't "What crapped on it?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. What would best describe your personality?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">She's got you high and you don't even know yet</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The sun's in the sky, it's warming up your bare legs</span><br />I would love to meet whoever is singing this about me. He (note the masculine pronoun) better be handsome. And rich. And not given to airing his bare legs in public.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. What do you like in a guy/girl?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He's everything you want</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> He's everything you need</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> He's everything inside of you</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> That you wish you could be</span><br />That is the chorus. I had to use that because I couldn't make any sense out of<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Somewhere there's speaking</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> It's already coming in.</span><br />The girl, well, she means nothing to me, and I don't know why.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. How do you feel today?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not like them</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But I can pretend</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The sun is gone</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But I have a light</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The day is done</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But I'm having fun</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I think I'm dumb</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Or maybe just happy</span><br />I feel a little nauseous, to be honest, so happy I am not. I guess I <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> dumb to eat all that shellfish for dinner.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. What is your life's purpose?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Young teacher, the subject</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Of schoolgirl fantasy</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">She wants him so badly<br />Knows what she wants to be</span><br />*pointedly stares in the opposite direction*<br />For those who know me, this is highly inaccurate. I repeat, inaccurate. As in, not true. I cannot emphasise that enough.<br />For those who are in on my deepest, darkest secrets, isn't this ridiculous?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. What do your friends think of you?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;" class="gen">Si ella te hace falta<br />Como el agua<br />Si es tu mayor necesidad</span><br />That is the Spanish version of <span style="font-style: italic;">Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman. </span>Jeez, my friends secretly wonder if I am gay? I have said this before, and I am saying it again, the answer is NO. N-O. No. Nicht. Nahi. Non. Nein. A very emphatic no.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7. What do you think of your parents?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Come to decide that the things that I tried</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Were in my life just to get high on</span><br />Reminds me of <a href="http://perplexingsimplicity.blogspot.com/2008/04/eh.html">this</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8. What do you think about very often?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To really love a woman, to understand her</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You gotta know it deep inside.</span><br />Holy shit. This is NOT funny.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9. What is 2+2?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Such a feelin's comin' over me</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">There is wonder in most everything I see</span><br />Nah. Let's see the next one.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The wise man said</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Just walk this way</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To the dawn of the light.</span><br />And forget about stupid Math problems.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">10. What do you think of your best friend?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Talk to me softly, there is</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Something in your eyes</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Don't bend your head in sorrow</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And please don't cry</span><br />Yeah, I won't let her cry tonight. Because she has a bad cold and went to bed early.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">11. What do you think of the person you like?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Uske siwa, kuchh yaad nahi</span> [I think of nothing but him]<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Uske siwa, koi baat nahi</span> [I talk of nothing else but him]<br />This would be true if I did have a crush on someone at the moment. I don't.<br />For those in on my deepest, darkest, secrets, *giggle*<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">12. What is your life story?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Love of mine</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Someday you will die</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But I'll be close behind</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And follow you into the dark</span><br />He is going to die before we meet? And I have nothing to fear because I am going to die too? I <span style="font-style: italic;">knew</span> the world was coming to an end.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">13. What do you want to be when you grow up?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">We passed upon the stairs</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Spoke of was and when</span><br />I am going to sell the world. The one that is going to end soon. Take that, suckers!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">14. What do you think of when you see the person you like?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Kyun aaj kal neend kam khwab zyada hai</span> [I wonder why I dream more and sleep less now]<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lagta khuda ka koi nek irada hai </span>[I think the Big Guy has something in store for me]<br />*giggle*<br />On a more cynical note, I think the song is more about indigestion.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">15. What do your parents think of you?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Take a bow</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The night is over</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This masquerade is</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Getting older</span><br />Now my parents want me to leave home. How can they even think such a thing? I have no money, no job, no other place to live. When I sell the world, they go too.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">16. What will you dance to at your wedding?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's good news week</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Someone's dropped a bomb somewhere</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Contaminating atmosphere</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And blackening the sky</span><br />It's been wonderful, love, and we are going to live happily ever after, just the two of us. Because everyone else is dead.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">17. What will they play at your funeral?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">She's got a smile that it seems to me</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It reminds me of childhood memories</span><br />If only they would stare long enough to break down and cry. It would be better if they all stopped laughing until after I get cremated.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">18. What is your hobby/interest?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Somewhere over the rainbow</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Way up high</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">There's a land that I've heard of</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Once in a lullaby</span><br />Yes, I am dreaming of a land where there are no exams.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">19. What is your biggest secret?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Soy un hombre muy honrado, </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Que me gusta lo mejor </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Las mujeres no me faltan, </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ni el dinero, ni el amor </span><br />Uh-oh. Now everybody knows that I am really Antonio Banderas. That is not good.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">20. What do you think of your friends?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dancing bears, painted wings</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Things I almost remember</span><br />In a strange way, this is probably about long lost friends from kindergarten.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">21. What should you post this as?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Listen with your heart</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You will understand</span><br />That will teach you to laugh at my misfortunes. This is the solemn cry of my heart, et cetera.<br />Hence the title.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">22. What do you think about this tag?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When the night is still</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And the sea is calm</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lonely shadow</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You'll fall upon me.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lay by my side</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Fear not tonight</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lonely shadow</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You'll find a new light.</span><br />WTF? I am guessing that the lyricist was high on crack.<br /><br />I have skipped all the instrumental ones. Otherwise my biggest secret would have been the Four Seasons. Which is not really something to be ashamed of. It shows I have good taste. HA!<br /><br />And now, I tag, well, no one. The nausea is getting worse, and I think I'll go find out how my intestines look like floating in the toilet.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE</span>: Not that anyone reads the blog, but I felt compelled to put this in. The nausea I kept talking about? Was bad. Very bad. And the vomiting that followed was even worse. I nearly died of shellfish poisoning. I am out of the hospital, where they did every conceivable test on me to rule out saxitoxin poisoning, which I had never heard of before. And the bill. Oh, lord, the bill! Anyway, I am fine now, and (almost) completely recovered. So yay.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-17903865342881167292008-09-29T16:53:00.005+05:302009-06-25T19:57:27.541+05:30Raw FactsWhen I was at school, we used to have tests on subjects General Knowledge and Art. Yes, ART. The same thing Renoir did. They used to give us a theme, and we would have to draw a picture about it. This was one of the few subjects I was terrible at, apart from the Social Sciences. (Seriously, what <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">is</span> the point in learning about the Battle of 1142 in 1999?). I could not (and still cannot) draw a straight line which has less than 4 curves.<div><br /></div><div>This particular exam, the theme was "Farmer in a Field". Everybody was happy. Except for me, that is. I <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">suck </span>at drawing people. No, really. My stick figures need identifying labels. The field part was all right, pour green paint over the canvas, and it would be done. The farmer was the hard part.</div><div><br /></div><div>Using my innate cleverness that serves me to this day, I devoted one corner of the canvas to a tree (green paint for the leafy bit and brown for the trunk), and had a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">ladder lean against it</span>. The farmer was up the tree, and thus was hidden from view.<br /><div><br /></div><div>GK wasn't quite so bad. Most of the questions were along the lines of "Who is the current Prime Minister of India?" and "Who won the Booker Prize for <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The God of Small Things</span>?", but sometimes they would throw in bombs like "Should Sachin Tendulkar be made the captain of the Indian cricket team? Write at least 200 words on the subject", which could induce fits of hysterics in cricket allergics like me. I would usually manage a B on these, and sometimes even a B+, if there were more of the Prime Minister type questions than the Sachin Tendulkar types. But the most unforgettable exam was the one that I topped. I remember just one question from that exam, and this was it.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Question</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">:</span> What is India's intelligence agency known as?</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Answer:</span> Research and Analysis Wing.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Obviously, there was no way I would know that. And thus was born, the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Spying Corporation of India</span>. If only I was making this stuff up.</div></div></div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-10003865139817929702008-05-16T21:18:00.010+05:302008-12-27T10:29:17.144+05:30When Darkness Falls<span>Midnight hour.<br />The clock struck twelve.<br /><br />Twelve (who was the Empire in disguise) struck back, and the fight that ensued is still talked about by the hallway. Unsurprisingly, neither The Clock nor Twelve noticed a being stealthily sneaking into the house through the window.<br /><br />The dog (the bitch!) exhibited very curious behaviour that night. It ran away with the hot dog next door, never to be heard of again.<br /><br /></span><span>Adorable Pancreas (AP) woke up clutching her chest. She had had Garlic Chicken (GC) for dinner, and it was now burning her heart. AP wanted to sleep. GC did not like her plans. And her heart was becoming crisper. AP decided to throw cold water on GC's plans, and got up.</span> <span>Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the wall and fell upon AP. Before she could scream, the shadow had clamped her mouth shut. And screamed and withdrew its hand.<br /><br /></span><span>AP's burning heart broke speed records. She reached for the trusty torch which lived under her pillow, and managed to turn its bright beam onto her assailant's face. AP screamed. Dracula screamed louder. The torch fell to the ground and died an untimely death. AP switched on the light.</span><br /><br />It was all a GC-induced dream.<br /><br />I am scared of vampires. And things that go bump in the night. But vampires, most of all. I can deny their existence in the daytime. But sometimes, I believe in as many as six impossible things once the lights are out.<br /><br />Thus, I find myself thinking about Vlad a lot. Especially at night. And then it hit me. The Impaler is Pale!<span><span><br /></span></span><br />This should be impossible, but then, the lights were switched off. I turned it over in my mind, and when it was done to a golden brown colour, the solution came to me. AIDS!<br /><br />The virus <span>is</span> transmitted through infected blood, but it has to be transfused. Undead physiology is probably very different from ours, so drinking blood probably could transmit the infection.<br /><br />To be honest, it could be cancer, but I'm placing my bets on AIDS, and I shall now tell you why.<br /><br />*He is pale. But his diet consists exclusively of blood. So his being anaemic is a little hard to digest. If anything, he should have a ruddy complexion. Iron overload, haemochromatomosis, bronze diabetes, yes. Anaemia? Hell, no. <i>Phir kyon</i>?<br /><br />*He looks emaciated and cachexic. But he doesn't have that dying look in his eye. If anything, he has a wicked gleam in his eye. Of course, that is one of the occupational hazards of becoming a vampire.<br /><br />*He has definitely had exposure. Contrary to popular belief, Rock Hudson *drool* required blood transfusions after a close enounter of the blood kind with good ol' Dracs. Vlad liked his taste so much he flew down to Pennsylvania all the way from Transylvania three times a week to drink Hudson. And you know the rest. May his soul rest in peace, although I doubt it.<br /><br />*Unprotected blood meals. As far as I know, he does not screenthe blood for HIV, syphilis, malaria and the others. The technical problems would be enough to discourage him, even if he were to consider ruling out infections. Would <i>you</i> give him a sample so he could test your blood before attacking you?<br /><br />Now you know. All I can tell you is, protect yourself. With garlic. And wolfsbane.<br /><br />Coming soon, If pink is the new black, should I do a Tonks?Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-78565807265674979512008-05-04T17:25:00.002+05:302008-12-27T10:13:36.713+05:30Conversation<span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Take the right turn near the red building.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Big Brother</span> (although born well before 1984): Which one?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: The RED building.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BB </span>(he plays the blues sometimes, but he’s no King, either): It has streets on either side.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: The distal one. The proximal one goes to the supermarket.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BB</span>: Funny how medical lingo creeps in all the time.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: I don’t do that as much as you.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BB</span>: You do it oftener than me.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: No, I do no- What is that creep doing, driving on the medial side of the road?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BB</span>: *smirk*<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Go stick your head inside a PR.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BB</span>: That’s wrong grammar, too.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: You want me to answer that?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">BB</span>: We’re there.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-65990196579988375082008-04-25T19:38:00.006+05:302008-12-27T10:13:56.510+05:30Eh?<div align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqB5cc6KBkdUcVQYxreRpWWmqROE7Nm4ag9_l7wsskCbqXUs-H4ByZG87wrgOj3hhL8VmkKujDqLzCE4K0b9eGcIWoJ465DityHfVuHXMXYORfyd9sTUEhKm2wU6ET-6Cn48g97BnzMsJ/s1600-h/Sense.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqB5cc6KBkdUcVQYxreRpWWmqROE7Nm4ag9_l7wsskCbqXUs-H4ByZG87wrgOj3hhL8VmkKujDqLzCE4K0b9eGcIWoJ465DityHfVuHXMXYORfyd9sTUEhKm2wU6ET-6Cn48g97BnzMsJ/s400/Sense.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193190972041313202" border="0" /><br /><br /></a></div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-78464356884692047032008-04-03T21:20:00.002+05:302008-12-27T10:14:17.495+05:30ET Had ElliottHave you ever felt like an outcast among the people you thought were your friends? Like you don’t belong, and never really have? Am I from Pluto? Do I have antennae that only I can’t see? I hate it when I am teased relentlessly about the things I hate about myself, and my strengths are made to sound inconsequential, especially when compared to their own. My achievements are nothing; I got what I did because they weren’t in the running for it. I often wonder how much of it is meant in earnest. Or am I merely being paranoid?<br /><br />Dammit, I wish I were me.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-88812902072039926392008-02-23T16:27:00.005+05:302008-12-27T10:14:55.991+05:30Toddling AlongSo my blog has turned one. It can walk a little, but it prefers to crawl, judging by the number of posts.<br /><br /><div align="center"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp89vEMZknhxNHpngeJz__771awCCQCDU8-HB72MNeC97eepdJ7glr44-kAdPctx2uYEdmRT1qLCWNygS_fBcwKoK1vXq4sc4LL96n4y6A233FuzqqQhAz7VX01wPvdN6pVF694isMZSpo/s200/1st+birthday.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170133422123306338" border="0" /></div><br />Leave a gift. And say nice things about the new template.<br /><div align="left"><br /></div>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-83429973003043562322007-11-20T21:29:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:16:05.777+05:30Rain<p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I wrote this nearly 2 years ago, one rainy March evening. I forced a lot of friends to read this *ahem* 'literary masterpiece', and most of them have refused to acknowledge my existence ever since. <span style=""> </span>Now you know why I don’t write fiction.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I dream of rain.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The heavens opening and crying out its heart, carrying with it the grief of untold generations. The rain mingling with the tears on her face, flowing down her cheeks as one, to gaze apprehensively at the world below, only to get pushed down over the curve by their successors. The sweet liquid merging with the salt, to wash away the evidence of her broken heart.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The lightning, mirroring those moments when her wrath could destroy worlds. A blast of pure energy that reflects the heat in her eyes when the pain that threatened to overwhelm her transformed into rage. Lightning, blasting him into a million tiny pieces, each one glowing bright as the sun before fading to ash, to dust, fading to the black of oblivion.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And the thunder as loud as only thunder can be, yet, too soft to be heard over her screams. Thunder, shaking the earth, moving continents by its sheer intensity, while her anguish burnt a hole inside her, with no hope of escape.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She looked up at the sky. Black clouds had blotted out the sunshine from her life, hid from her the silvery moonbeams of hope, and shrouded the stars in her eyes. The very Universe was darkened by the shadows in her heart.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And it began to rain. Just a drizzle, and then harder, and harder, until each drop was a boulder. They pelted her face, washing away the signs of her emotion with a vengeance. She stood there, while the tears from heaven cleansed her soul of sorrow. She could feel it, each drop absorbing her grief, washing it away, leaving hopes of a better tomorrow in its place. Soon, joy began to make itself at home, for now her heart was healing, with scars that time would heal.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And a bolt of lightning came forth from the skies.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They found her the next day, a burn mark running down her body, and a smile on her face.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Moral of the story: Seek shelter during thunderstorms.</p>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-47961785816677315492007-10-27T19:26:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:16:44.699+05:30Purple DreamerA few million years ago, dinosaurs roamed the earth. After a while, birds and some pterodactyls flew about in the sky. Then somehow the dinosaurs and the pterodactyls died out, but the avians survived on fish. The fish became creatures who fed on milk, but couldn't fly. The birds wanted milk, and couldn't get any, so they took to swearing at the cows. Some of the abused took to the trees, in an attempt to intimidate the birds, but they (the birds, that is, and not the yay-I-can-climb-a-tree types) merely took to the skies and pooped on them. The tree-dwellers immediately (give or take a million years) evolved into the Wright brothers, and thumbed their noses at the foul-mouthed fowls. This just goes onto show you that in the vast and important scheme of things, time is irrelevant. <a href="http://angel-doc.blogspot.com/">Angel-Doc</a>, remember tagging me? Although this post has nothing to do with it, let me emphasise that any resemblance to the meme is purely coincidental. As would have been obvious by now, it's all about how I'm slowly going off my rocker.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I baptise:</span><br />1. <a href="http://tysonice.blogspot.com/">Tys on Ice</a><br />2. <a href="http://venivididormi.blogspot.com/">Spunky Monkey</a><br />3. <a href="http://asliceoflime.blogspot.com/">Ziah</a><br />4. <a href="http://nittsermons.blogspot.com/">The Monk</a><br />5. <a href="http://monkinhotwater.blogspot.com/">Bullshee</a><br />6. <a href="http://untangledtee.blogspot.com/">Tangled</a> :)<br />These worthy souls shall carry on the torch of enlightenment. Please don't set fire to the furniture, and keep an extinguisher handy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">People I'd like to execute:</span><br />1. <u>My way or the highway</u>:<br />Commands like 'You should do Gynaecology for your PG', or 'You should not wear high heels.'<br />The last I checked, this was a free country. I'll walk on <i>stilts</i> if I choose to. If my back hurts later, dammit, it's <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> back.<br /><br />2. <u>Insufferable know-it-alls</u>:<br />I have an aversion to individuals who try to teach me hitherto unknown medical facts. I will not die if I eat curd and fish together. And hanging my cell phone round my neck will not give me a heart attack. There is a very good chance that I might die from a temporal glioma, but not a heart attack. Really. And the sex education perverts who get their kicks from expounding upon 'the union of the male and the female is achieved by the...'? Finish that sentence, and you'll be missing vital parts of your anatomy.<br /><br />3. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">You're only a <span style="font-style: italic;">girl</span></span>:<br />I understand that men have different qualities, and that women are far superior, so what hell do you mean when you say 'women' with as much venom as you can muster? If you are so contemptuous of what you perceive as feminine weakness, let's see you bleed for a week every month. And thanks to modern technology, now <a href="http://www.malepregnancy.com/science/">you can become pregnant</a> too. Good luck with getting rid of the placenta.<br /><br />4. <u>Religious fanatics</u>:<br />There are all kinds of people out there, and twice that many Gods. Those getting totally obsessed about God or religion have my contempt. I know this girl who is so orthodox she's never been inside any place of worship other than her own, because <span style="font-style: italic;">her </span>Big Guy won't like it.<br />And the heathen. Don't get me started on that.<br /><br />5. <u>Bimbos</u>:<br />Anyone whose head is more for ornament than for its circuitry. I'm not very tolerant of stupidity, even when the packaging is pretty.<br /><br />6. <u>Hypocrites</u>:<br />I believe the followers of some faiths do not visit doctors when they are ill. There was one such person in my (please not the point) <span style="font-style: italic;">medical</span> entrance coaching class. She had an acute asthmatic attack one night, and the warden of her hostel called an ambulance. She refused to get into the ambulance saying Satan gave her asthma and that it would go away if she prayed. Why on earth did she want to become a doctor? She didn't get through the entrance, if you were wondering.<br /><br />7. <u>Arrogant snobs</u>:<br />'I can't sleep without an AC' types. I can arrange for it to be converted to DC, Your Lowness.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">People I'd award the AP Nobel to:</span><br />1. <u>Surgeons</u>:<br />I have a rather complex relationship with surgery. I don't like the subject much, but I surgeons rarely fail to amaze me. All that confidence. 'Bleeder! Cautery.' Just how do they manage to stay on their feet for hours? How do they know one structure from another? How can they do it with such precision? How can they be unaffected by the things they see? How much control does that take? No wonder they think they are Gods. I do, too.<br /><br />2. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Param Vir Chakra</span>:<br />Ordinary people with the courage to face the daily grind. Or if you prefer corny flakes, the unsung soldiers in the battle of life. I find it easier to deal with big emergencies than the little ups and downs. Q. E. D.<br /><br />3. <u>Well rounded brainiacs</u>:<br />No, no. no. That's <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> what I mean.<br />I'm talking about people like my friend Scar. He is brilliant, well-read, athletic, and to top it all, he is a nice guy. And I've never found him with his nose buried in a textbook. The latest gossip, or the newest medical breakthrough, I hear it from him. I hope he gets the <span style="font-style: italic;">real </span>Nobel someday. He sure deserves it.<br /><br />4. <u>Artists</u><u> </u>:<br />Whether it's a paintbrush or a scalpel, an artist is an artist.<br />Was it Mark Twain who said, "If it falls your lot to sweep streets, sweep them like Michelangelo painted pictures, like Shakespeare wrote poetry, like Beethoven composed music." Somehow I can't imagine Mark Twain saying that.<br /><br />5. <u>B, 65</u>:<br />I knew him only as B, 65 years. He was a patient in one of the Medicine wards. He had aplastic anaemia, and needed frequent blood transfusions, and that meant regular blood tests. He was the first person I ever drew blood from, and he liked us students. One of the first things we did in the morning was to go talk to him. He used to tell us to work hard, care for our patients, and would never crib about us pricking him for blood everyday. He never complained about his illness, no 'why me'. He always had a smile for me, even on a bad day. He never yelled at us, unlike many of the patients. He had the bed at the end of the ward for the 3 months I was posted in Medicine, and we used to go back and visit him even after our posting ended. One day, he wasn't there, and I heard he'd been shifted to the ICU. He died 2 days later.<br /><br />6. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Smilers</span>:<br />People with a wonderful sense of humour. I can't find a better example for this than my mom. I was 11, and with the idiots on the Municipal Council blocking the major drains in our area, our house flooded with water during the rains. It was cold, we were knee deep in water, most of our things were on the road on ruin, and the stench was awful. We decided to go away for a couple of days, and were packing everything that could be salvaged. Suddenly, Amma laughed and showed me my foam slippers floating around in the water. It was funny seeing it getting stuck on bits of furniture. I've never met many women her age who is amused by the little absurdities in life. Most of them are very grim and prim.<br /><br />Having successfully established myself as the epitome of frivolity, here's my Postal Joke. It's an old one, and one of my favourites.<br />Q: For every 90 sins you commit, you get caught 45 times. Wonder why?<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />.<br />A: Because sin 90<sup>0</sup> = cot 45<sup>0</sup>.<br /><br />P.S: As of today, I have an official fans association at college. What else can I ask for?Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-85166877567122859522007-10-04T22:59:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:17:15.347+05:30Monkey BrainsGuess what I saw <a href="http://www.danharlow.com/blog/2007/10/04/what-kind-of-brain-do-you-have/">here</a>.<br /><br />And <a href="http://www.cracked.com/index.php?name=News&sid=2417">this</a> was very interesting. What do you say?<br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br />Real posts takes time, and I don't have any right now. The postman is on leave. A new post when he comes back on duty.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-40947205326041072312007-09-20T12:58:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:18:00.959+05:30Of Blogs and Rats and MeWhy do I blog?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hFf7c0tR7It5Ex6tPLHurGhyNbHokVSGFUdNhwd4yH5nyE9Gv0lfrDle-aF4DO4C0qGISMIzvb_WWNf3esFBTBc9wZKc1lEqYaYWHMwBA7eh3uOiLnklopWzluF1PDZvRrz3lEvgG7nK/s1600-h/94834610_7151f82bd2_o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hFf7c0tR7It5Ex6tPLHurGhyNbHokVSGFUdNhwd4yH5nyE9Gv0lfrDle-aF4DO4C0qGISMIzvb_WWNf3esFBTBc9wZKc1lEqYaYWHMwBA7eh3uOiLnklopWzluF1PDZvRrz3lEvgG7nK/s400/94834610_7151f82bd2_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112192334573832066" border="0" /></a>This is as good an answer as any.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">At this point, I'd like to inform everyone that Stephan Pastis (may he live forever and continue to draw <span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls</span>) owns <span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls Before Swine</span>. I don't. Copyright and all that, everything, belongs to Pastis & Co.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls</span> is my favourite strip. Not that kind of strip, perv. Comic strips. The kind they put in newspapers. Like, say, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dilbert</span>. Anyway,<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>about <span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls</span>. It's my favourite strip (I love repeating myself). Not <span style="font-style: italic;">Calvin & Hobbes</span> (it's a close second), not <span style="font-style: italic;">Garfield</span> (third, like Ender), not <span style="font-style: italic;">Dilbert</span> (it's nowhere on the list), not {insert name of comic strip here}, it's <span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls Before Swine</span> that's my favourite. The title is taken from a line in the Bible, that goes something like, thou shalt cast no pearls before swine. The strip is about a bunch of anthropomorphic animals that live in a city, alongside humans. Humans don't appear in the strip very often, and when they do, they don't find talking animals unusual at all.<br /><br />The humour is dark, it often comes across as insensitive, there are plenty of people lobbying for the un-syndication of Pearls, it pokes fun at many serious issues, but, bottom line is, I find it funny. Funny as in 'hahahaha if I laugh any more I'll die' funny.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xxZlCjFA2vQU38FKt3jqTAA-mXJp7c8ZqE1EY7s1JHVhmlnQX24ZDiKvNTNAwmeX0FRFRQZ4qfO3N00i2z58Y-kZFj9Nxhxo5WGIV1gT9Vfb5sTaq31SRsYwRFIg1rQYUpm02wBgILpE/s1600-h/000grhd2.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xxZlCjFA2vQU38FKt3jqTAA-mXJp7c8ZqE1EY7s1JHVhmlnQX24ZDiKvNTNAwmeX0FRFRQZ4qfO3N00i2z58Y-kZFj9Nxhxo5WGIV1gT9Vfb5sTaq31SRsYwRFIg1rQYUpm02wBgILpE/s400/000grhd2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112246451161761682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls</span>, for the lack of better words, is me. I can identify with <span style="font-style: italic;">all </span>of the main characters in the strip, except one. God, not <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>one, please.<br /><br />The hero, Rat, is the personification of our greatest vices. And I don't count greatness as a vice. I think, when things get really really sticky, we think about our own skins alone. I don't mean that we are all always uncaring monsters, we do give lots of damns about our loved ones, it's just that we love our own selves a little more. Take unrequited love, for instance. X (yeah, took me an hour think up the name) loves Y (it was easier this time, only 45 minutes). But Y does not love X (big surprise, huh?). X is sad (understatement of the year) because (duh!) Y does not love X. What I'm trying to say is, although X loves Y, all X is wants is another person to love X. There is no such thing as an unselfish act. No, that's too general. <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> have never come across a completely unselfish act. Think about it.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZI_u1fjg5z-WHFXffdd67EzwjsOBk9ny0AnEbZ27K5ubu6mloptcF20C3lLtoSMxeLf6awCN_AVQBJBqMvlU5Ocgy8L-E3QmQvI_mVfle1H3er_IgfN-cswK2a5DQKiuG_JlozIVGlNmx/s1600-h/000x261e.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZI_u1fjg5z-WHFXffdd67EzwjsOBk9ny0AnEbZ27K5ubu6mloptcF20C3lLtoSMxeLf6awCN_AVQBJBqMvlU5Ocgy8L-E3QmQvI_mVfle1H3er_IgfN-cswK2a5DQKiuG_JlozIVGlNmx/s400/000x261e.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112248036004693938" border="0" /></a>Rat is the personification, or more accurately, the rodentification, of the worst of many of my faults, magnified into something enormous that fits into the body of a rat. He is a self-centred, cynical, cruel, sarcastic, insensitive, totally hateful megalomaniac. I know myself well enough to realise that I have a nasty streak in me. I don't kick small children, but I'm tempted to, if they bug me. I need to use a lot of restraint when it comes to not pulling their hair out by the roots when they do that to me, the force of temptation being directly proportional to the age of the child. Rat is multi-talented, he writes children's books and romance novels, owns a tabloid (<span style="font-style: italic;">The National Enquirat</span>), and is also a highly successful (what else?) lawyer.<br /><br />Pig, Rat's roomie, is, well, a little dumb. He says and does a lot of things that are misunderstood, because he did not know they could be taken the wrong way. He is innocent, not very worldly-wise, shy, insecure, a little slow, a misfit among his peers (he likes bacon). I wish I could say I'm nothing like him, but the truth is that I'm too much like him for comfort. But he's also very sweet, a description that, sadly, does not apply to me.<br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rat</span>: If you could have a conversation with one person, living or dead, who would it be?</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pig</span>: The living one.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">[pause]</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pig</span>: You must really think I'm stupid.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcmPQVzjKmt5KtCyAHVffEhnvkMCRiQdziK8yBPqKtoXiiB6UhZO2Eui4Y225t-LcIgo5w4tBxFdl6xh1XC42k-1qrU1X43XmZa67jprMWMKizts0IXFk7gaF6eqXhcOhhYcTK1Qh8KXl/s1600-h/000ake83.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcmPQVzjKmt5KtCyAHVffEhnvkMCRiQdziK8yBPqKtoXiiB6UhZO2Eui4Y225t-LcIgo5w4tBxFdl6xh1XC42k-1qrU1X43XmZa67jprMWMKizts0IXFk7gaF6eqXhcOhhYcTK1Qh8KXl/s400/000ake83.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112257283069282258" border="0" /></a><br />Goat is quite intelligent, a loner, prefers books to people, is always the butt of Rat's ridicule, and easily exasperated by stupidity and apathy. He can't stand Rat, either, but it's always Rat who gets the last word. Goat keeps a blog that no one reads. Yes, I know, the resemblance is uncanny.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPp1ozUgWZPxhUXAB38rkouyQKhTiZFreRC0BsDdrEimddBNDyglRpCPGjnWVpPjF4IzQRty_9y2v9TCjQSsaIx2o0DExkE4GAJsKMNXUO4Xq3MSvP_oIQ9hvOHS6ELgAEyOFJOdjEDgt/s1600-h/pearls2006091357209.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPp1ozUgWZPxhUXAB38rkouyQKhTiZFreRC0BsDdrEimddBNDyglRpCPGjnWVpPjF4IzQRty_9y2v9TCjQSsaIx2o0DExkE4GAJsKMNXUO4Xq3MSvP_oIQ9hvOHS6ELgAEyOFJOdjEDgt/s400/pearls2006091357209.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112300477555378242" border="0" /></a><br />Zebra is a very ordinary sort of guy, but unfortunately, prey. There are all kinds of predators waiting to eat him, or one of his herd members back home in Africa. He's an idealist, trying to make the predators more understanding about the plight of becoming eaten. Not a particularly easy task, when staying alive is hard enough. He also has a lot of principles that he lives by, and he finds it frustrating when they are paid no heed. I could write entire books on the subject.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCEvEXkG-zU7Wtvljz3SPC8I0_7sDokhFzx8d-urIoMr0DtQTeJB3VSWP6WBH7x4r4OByfrbNMC6zELEqeZ-Vd-fBAvdkwLRe0cuV0FSa-lORkjzjnsCykhoPY23a5BUcY5Fwf5WmDc8m/s1600-h/000y0b9d.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCEvEXkG-zU7Wtvljz3SPC8I0_7sDokhFzx8d-urIoMr0DtQTeJB3VSWP6WBH7x4r4OByfrbNMC6zELEqeZ-Vd-fBAvdkwLRe0cuV0FSa-lORkjzjnsCykhoPY23a5BUcY5Fwf5WmDc8m/s400/000y0b9d.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112274557427746802" border="0" /></a><br />Most people have guard dogs, but Pig has a Guard Duck. His solution to every problem, small or big, is his rocket launcher. Not a bad idea, that. Nothing like a rocket launcher to stop others from being annoying.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxjDuNi0B90b0ctj1D7R6z_cOl8-N_-L5-fETjRfQnenjQhrMSASXuPhvJS80BWL7MKFY7VSdztJDJmTvebjQnbzo2GZcqTL9ZfScRFGP4wS11TLv6j2ROD9gRoma9y2ZChCJmLpPI4kvA/s1600-h/0004r4cc.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxjDuNi0B90b0ctj1D7R6z_cOl8-N_-L5-fETjRfQnenjQhrMSASXuPhvJS80BWL7MKFY7VSdztJDJmTvebjQnbzo2GZcqTL9ZfScRFGP4wS11TLv6j2ROD9gRoma9y2ZChCJmLpPI4kvA/s400/0004r4cc.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112279655553927170" border="0" /></a><br />Da Brudderhood of Zeeba Zeeba Eata. The dumbest Crocs on earth live next door to Zebra, and are such incompetent predators that they have to subsist on take out from KFC. Da only seemilareety between da Crocs and me ees dat me sometimes talk like dem. But that could be because I'm addicted to <span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls</span>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GwdtsaTpvesfjgXWwufNUe2ZXsDd8sXc0CaK0WMPEGjMgkxs3-HBSYVEduZPFgeXDhCrS3-1g66vCvMHlqZ4B_0bWeAGD9Ze_4Hc-fsIp0Vg_gXimN9Jxy6-i6vUMNDrWuM2P3pLhdA6/s1600-h/000wt5rf.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GwdtsaTpvesfjgXWwufNUe2ZXsDd8sXc0CaK0WMPEGjMgkxs3-HBSYVEduZPFgeXDhCrS3-1g66vCvMHlqZ4B_0bWeAGD9Ze_4Hc-fsIp0Vg_gXimN9Jxy6-i6vUMNDrWuM2P3pLhdA6/s400/000wt5rf.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112249238595536834" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JDDp40X-9Jx1voE6dnZMc9FwtZ8hLs7IDeyBtwfcX66O-nlL56dFxF17cl78XTlIOE-qp2HcM7GOAWXPBiQzHpFwu18DajXzQ7RCycBdtUwzkSCs2KA2HGeYmyPtUf9o10U40KM2laql/s1600-h/000saaxq.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JDDp40X-9Jx1voE6dnZMc9FwtZ8hLs7IDeyBtwfcX66O-nlL56dFxF17cl78XTlIOE-qp2HcM7GOAWXPBiQzHpFwu18DajXzQ7RCycBdtUwzkSCs2KA2HGeYmyPtUf9o10U40KM2laql/s400/000saaxq.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112280647691372562" border="0" /></a><br />The jokes in the strip are my favourite kind- horrible puns that would leave my victims writhing in agony.<br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rat</span>: I saw my cousin Gene today.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pig</span>: Is he the guy that runs marathons?</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rat</span>: Yeah, but he's a real jerk ... nobody in my family likes him.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pig</span>: It must be tough to have a bad Gene that runs in the family.</span><br /><br />I hope everyone liked the new display picture. And do check out <span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls</span> <a href="http://www.comics.com/comics/pearls/">here</a>. You can read the Wikipedia entry on <span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls</span> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pearls_Before_Swine_%28comic_strip%29">here</a>. Enjoy.<br /><br />There are dozens of recurring characters, like Danny Donkey, Farina, Stromoski, and Angry Bob, who is the hero of the romance novels Rat writes, but none of them are, well, me. The day I become Angry Bob is the day I die (pun intended). Plus the strip is really complex, with cross overs, pop culture references, running gags, and all. In short, just like life. But taken in in its entirety, the strip is totally me.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjGF0tKM0_gigCWexusF_9KW7dWNkIp6RcGDk97PJMm2cJaYo0IcrV7YMnK5BmpZv_R-xgripKwXjIG_H3F-1Q9bP7tmH3Hub3pFSDyZSPCn4dj8uHMOGkhvemfKj_6zd24aPQbsMePxI/s1600-h/000hyhgh.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjGF0tKM0_gigCWexusF_9KW7dWNkIp6RcGDk97PJMm2cJaYo0IcrV7YMnK5BmpZv_R-xgripKwXjIG_H3F-1Q9bP7tmH3Hub3pFSDyZSPCn4dj8uHMOGkhvemfKj_6zd24aPQbsMePxI/s320/000hyhgh.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112355801029118034" border="0" /></a><br />I'd like to remind everyone that all of the pictures I have used here, and the characters, are the property of Stephan Pastis, the creator of <span style="font-style: italic;">Pearls</span>, and that the copyright and things belong to him.<br /><br />There are very few things for which I have strong feelings, humour is one of them. My tastes are another. There are a few more, but Medicine tops the list. I also love stating the obvious. I don't know how boring this has been, I talk seriously only about issues that are very close to my heart.<br /><br />From now on, I'll be ending all my posts on this blog with a joke that <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> find funny. I'm going to call it *drumroll* <span style="font-weight: bold;">Postal Joke</span>.<br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pig</span>: What are you reading?</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Goat</span> (holding book): It's a mystery.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pig</span>: Have you checked the title page?</span>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-5078558321632517242007-09-14T17:55:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:18:36.194+05:3018 and AboveNo explicit content, peepals, it's the 18 things you've all been dying to know about me. Oh, someone already died? Thou hast not died in vain, O William of Avon, thy sacrifice has been rewarded. You can read this if you can access the net from your grave. You can all thank <a href="http://dailyrium.wordpress.com/">Sreejith</a> for this literary masterpiece.<br /><br /><strong>1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.<br /></strong><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8J9lfrx20L9KbkioyhWLSzKFmHgeM_TlXqOoqzBG_y03mN-r5n96eFsdPiTmAEn194LryEM_UNIPWN-MuJhQvP-a-FmsZKaeh_s0WLDpzNJ8iZ7yQkI58-8ERRIwa1NbDpznlGJAmhNZt/s1600-h/DSC00011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8J9lfrx20L9KbkioyhWLSzKFmHgeM_TlXqOoqzBG_y03mN-r5n96eFsdPiTmAEn194LryEM_UNIPWN-MuJhQvP-a-FmsZKaeh_s0WLDpzNJ8iZ7yQkI58-8ERRIwa1NbDpznlGJAmhNZt/s200/DSC00011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110038250987443106" border="0" /></a>Healed scar, 0.5 * 0.1 cm, on the dorsum of the right hand, 1 cm below and lateral to the 2nd metacarpophalangeal (MCP) joint. I had my viva exam in Forensic Medicine yesterday, so please forgive me for not speaking English. Translated, it's a small scar on the back of my right hand, below my index finger. Don't be misled by the size, I bled like a stuck pig. As is true of all of women's problems, this too was due to an MCP. Looks can be deceiving. That's him on the right.<br /><br /><strong>2. What does your phone look like?<br /></strong><span style="font-style: italic;">You don't know what an iPhone looks like? Tsk-tsk</span>.* I was just <span style="font-style: italic;">dying </span>to say that. My phone is a combination of dirty silver and a particularly ugly shade of blue, thanks to some idiot at <a href="http://www.sonyericsson.com/spg.jsp?cc=gb&lc=en&amp;amp;amp;ver=4000&template=pip1&pid=10412&zone=pp">Sony Ericsson</a> who thought he was a designer.<br /><br /><strong>3. What is on the walls of your bedroom?</strong><br /><strong></strong>Blood, and other less colourful things that splatter when people die under torture. Makes for a very unique design. I could tell you why they were tortured, but then I'd have to kill you.<br /><br /><strong>4. What is your current desktop picture?</strong><br /><a href="http://www.comics.com/comics/pearls/wallpaper/Pearls_WP_endo1_1024.gif">This</a> one, from my favourite comic strip, Pearls Before Swine, by Stephan Pastis. Zeeba Zeeba Eata!<br /><br /><strong>5. Do you believe in gay marriage?</strong><br />Weddings are serious affairs, sometimes a little too serious, so I think a little more liveliness would do no harm. And if the bride(groom) and (bride)groom add to the gaiety, I have no objections.<br /><br /><strong>6. What do you want more than anything right now?</strong><br />I want mosquitoes to practice birth control.<br /><br /><strong>7 . What time were you born?</strong><br />My mom went to work as usual, thinking about her maternity leave which began the next day, and how her little Arjun would be born after a month. She was wrong on all counts. I came along a few hours later, and turned out to be this 2.4 kg Amazon any football team would be proud of! Everyone was expecting a boy, because of how I used to kick. Amma's sari would be lifted into the air and slowly come to rest against her tummy, waiting for me to start again. And I was a month early, the doctor said I was as developed as a baby at full term, so I didn't have to be incubated.<strong><br /><br />8. Are your parents still together?</strong><br />My dad is watching TV, and my mom is in the kitchen. So technically, they're not. No mean feat, considering the Bush-heart-Osama moments, (flashback to the time Sun Tzu visited them to get tips on waging wars), but it's been 32 years. Are you listening, Nobel Peace Prize guys? I need one!<br /><br /><strong>9. Last person who made you cry?</strong><br />It wasn't a person, it was a weighing machine. *sob*<br /><br /><strong>10. What is your favorite perfume / cologne?</strong><br />I never go out and buy perfume because all my relatives in the Gelf insist on gifting perfumes, and I don't get a choice in the matter. My favourite so far was Red Door.<br /><br /><strong>11. What kind of hair/eye color do you like in the opposite sex?</strong><br />I can't stand guys with straightened long hair and tinted contacts, a fad that is hugely popular here. Somebody shoot me!<br /><br /><strong>12. What are you listening to?</strong><br />Moody Blues- Nights in White Satin.<br /><br /><strong>13. Do you get scared of the dark?</strong><br />I go to sleep clutching a torch and another one under my pillow so that if there's a power failure in the middle of the night and my night lamp goes off, I can scare Count Dracula away. He attacks only in total darkness. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and shine my torch around the room, to ensure that he isn't hiding behind the bookshelf. No exaggeration, this.<br /><br /><strong>14. Do you like painkillers?</strong><br />They go well with my migraine.<br /><br /><strong>15. Are you too shy to ask someone out?</strong><br />I think I would be. Anyone who could make me want to ask him out would be capable of making me tongue-tied.<br /><br /><strong>16. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?</strong><br />Grapes. I'm crazy about grapes. I can eat grapes morning, noon and night, and even while I sleep.<br /><br /><strong>17. Who was the last person you made you mad?</strong><br />An ad for spectacle lenses with brand mark. Brand nahi to style nahi. What the bloody effing nonsense? I'd like to throw my Lacoste shoes at them.<br /><br /><strong>18. Who was the last person who made you smile?</strong><br />My cousin, when he rang up and asked for Dr. AP. :)<br /><br />Anyone who has cats can take up this tag.<br /><br />PS: Bill from Avon, stop turning over in your grave.<br />PPS: The guy who gave me the scar is actually a girl. He's pregnant now.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-76760171920553706682007-08-26T20:56:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:19:07.865+05:30Ordeal by InnocenceIt was to begin at precisely 8-30 AM. The victim stood with her head bent, hands clasped as in prayer, eyes closed, awaiting her judgment. She knew what to expect, but she kept hoping it would not happen. It could not happen. Should not. Death would be preferable to... Shivers ran down her spine at the thought.<br /><br />She opened her eyes. The judge had entered the room. She saw her fate in the judge’s eyes. “NOOOOOO…” She screamed.<br /><br />“Stop fussing,” said mom. “Everyone will be wearing Kerala saris today.”<br /><br />Everyone<i> was</i> in Kerala sari, so it should not have mattered. But it did. She hadn’t yet mastered the art of walking normally while wearing a sari. The others had. She almost didn’t enjoy herself. Almost. Onam celebrations at college is always fun.<br /><br />Happy Onam, people.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-75978026851833278452007-07-25T21:19:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:19:39.868+05:30Practice, In theoryWe were really surprised to hear that we would be having a theory class on Forensic Medicine that day, since the university had held the theory exam a week ago. The practical exams were to start the following week, and all the departments had announced their intention of giving us lab revision classes. All of us had totally forgotten what congested spleens looked like under a microscope, and it was real nice of them to do that, especially when the trouble we've made over our year and a half is considered.<br /><br />It came as real shock that the Forensic guys were taking a <span>theory</span> class, and that too from 9.30 AM to 3.30 PM. That's 7 hours, for the mathematically challenged geniuses like me. Almost everyone turned up for the class with unquenchable enthusiasm, an astonishing event, since the turnout is only about 78% for the classes where attendance is compulsory. The class turned out to be about the theoretical aspects of the practical exam, and was a total washout. Nothing more will be said about the class, and the title loses its relevance.<br /><br />Unaccustomed to having both eyes open as early as 9.30 in the AM, I had raced to class with the minimum of fuss, without wasting time over frivolities such as breakfast. I <span>had</span> brushed my teeth and washed my face, but only out of consideration for R's feelings, who is submitted to the rare privilege of being my friend. After the lecturers exited the torturing chamber at 11.30 amidst thundering applause (the 3.30 ending time turned out to be a myth), I dragged R to the canteen and polished off some atrocious food giving it the respect all edible materials command. After racking our brains for a while, we discovered there was nothing further to do at college, and tearfully decided to return home.<br /><br />We were joined on our journey to the bus stop by G, and the three crazy females had fun giving a cute guy the directions to the office. I believe he ended up at the pharmacy college. Suddenly, A rang up R and announced that all the inmates of the Ladies' Hostel were going to catch the new Harry Potter movie, were we interested in joining them. Even after years of friendship, I haven't been able to convince R that the Harry Potter books are fun to read, and she nixed the idea on the spot. So did I, but for different reasons (a book is a book is a book is not a movie). G had already seen it, and considered 2 hours from her life as hopelessly wasted.<br /><br />The three of us walked on,waiting for the next cute guy to pop up, when G suggested we see the new comedy. R and I liked the idea, and we rang up A to discuss the new development, but A remained true to Umbridge. That's when we ran into our good friend K, and begged him on our knees to accompany us, promising him a place in heaven as St. Peter's right hand man, since 3 'little' girls isn't a strong enough number for my folks. But K said he was going to see Harry Potter no matter what, but a couple of his friends were getting the tickets to the comedy <span>that very second </span>and to call one of them to book us tickets if we wanted to go. Torn by K's betrayal, we wearily trudged to the bus stop. Everyone we met on the way had the same thing to say, "Ha-rry. Ha-rry. Ha-rry." Unable to take more of this harrying, the three heartbroken girls decided to drown their sorrows in Sprite, and unhappily took a detour to the bakery.<br /><br />After a couple of swigs from the Sprite bottle, washed down by a sandwich, our spirits rose high enough to catch a bus to the Planetarium. But Fate had a different idea...<br /><br />While in the bus, G's boyfriend, N, rang her up and said he'd go with us, even though he'd seen the movie twice. Moved by his sacrifice, we arranged for K's friends to book us tickets. Having an hour and a half left for the movie to begin, we thought we'd sample the delights the planetarium had to offer, only to discover that the planet show began at 2.30, the same time as our movie.<br /><br />That's when I realized we had no idea where the movie theatre was. N informed us over the phone that it was only a 5 minute walk from Big Bazaar. That was all we needed to hear. The next thing I knew, we were taking the escalator to the clothes section at Big Bazaar. All hail department stores. It's a deep unsolvable mystery, how we lost track of time. The highlight of the mad rush to the theatre at 2.28 PM was running into the seedy lodge next to the movie house.<br /><br />We found N waiting outside with our tickets, and entered the hall just as as the movie began. The first sight that greeted our eyes as we shuffled inside was a smiling K waving to us. A closer look revealed the reason for his smile, almost all the seats in the balcony were occupied by our classmates from the Ladies' Hostel. Then the lights went off, we switched off our brains for a couple of hours and watched Communism being massacred on the screen.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-19794728383749882032007-07-09T21:58:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:20:12.797+05:30I've been busy. Studying.The title isn't true, you know. It's true that my exams have been going on for the last 3 months, the last I checked. Yeah, yeah, I know. But I haven't been busy studying. I've been busy lazing around every couple of days, then getting all edgy and panicky the day before the exam, ringing up R for 'inspiration' only to find out she's in the exact same state, and hanging up after a zillion "What's wrong with us?", "Why are we like this?" and "Maybe it's the <span style="font-style: italic;">climate</span>.", noticing the situation is worse since I just spent an hour on the phone, bringing on another panic attack, prompting me to attempt an all-nighter, and then falling asleep at 1230 hours to wake up at 1000 hours the next (or technically, the same) morning with the revelation that there are 20 chapters left, and less than 4 hours in which to complete that. That's when I get busy.<br /><br />Where does all this terrifying efficiency go when I know the exam is still a couple of days off? I read 200 pages in less than 2 hours the night before the exam, but I get through only about half a page (alright, half a paragraph) a day otherwise. I can watch TV for hours, browse for even longer periods, and these days I manage about 12 hours' sleep. Oh, my God. What <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> wrong with me?<br /><br />Penicillin, here I come.Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880460756248200102.post-22581064464323510482007-05-11T17:53:00.001+05:302008-12-27T10:20:42.367+05:30The Indestructible SalmonellaIt was one of those cold winter evenings. Or as cold as winter evenings get in the tropics. Whatever. This isn’t a weather report.<br /><br />Our heroine was in depths of despair. She paced the room, looking for a way out. There were none. She was trapped. She suppressed a groan. On thinking it over, she decided to groan louder. Several loud ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ later, her mother heard her. <i>Mission success.<br /></i><br />“What’s wrong, honey?”<br /><br />“I think I’m coming down with something. I’m feeling really tired. And there’s this weird ache all over.”<br /><br />“Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”<br /><br /><i>Damn! She <strong>had</strong></i><i> to remember that. Switch to plan B.</i><br /><br />“That’s what, Mama. I can’t concentrate. Probably because of this fever.”<br /><br />“Hmmm... No temperature. Are you shamming?”<br /><br /><i>What an idiotic question.</i><br /><br />“Would I do that?”<br /><br /><i>There goes her brow. Now why didn’t I inherit that?</i><br /><br />“I can’t understand any of this nonsense, Mama. I’m sure I’m coming down with something. I don’t feel good. (<i>Groans.</i>) Besides Microbiology is pure nonsense.”<br /><br />“Nonsense? Don’t talk about your studies that way.”<br /><br />“But Micro<i> is</i> nonsense, Mama. It’s really tough.”<br /><br />“I’ve heard it’s really interesting.”<br /><br />“You listen to Manu too much.”<br /><br />“A brilliant young doctor doesn’t throw away a lucrative career in surgery for one in Microbiology if he didn’t feel strongly about it.”<br /><br /><i>Yeah, whatever.</i><br /><br />“Hey, why don’t I ask him to come over and teach me something? Maybe some of that enthusiasm will rub off on me. Now, why didn’t I think of that earlier?”<br /><br />“I hope he gets something into that thick skull of yours.”<br /><br />“I’m <i>not</i> thick skulled. I got into medical school.”<br /><br />“But you’re having hard time staying in. Ring him up, then. Do you need a tablet for the ‘fever’?”<br /><br /><i>Man, is she sarcastic.</i><br /><br />“Yeah.<i> (<span>Groans.)</span> </i>I’d like some hot coffee too. Sore throat. <i>(Coughs.)</i> ”<br /><br /><i>Acetaminophen never killed anybody. Or did it? Gulp!<br /></i><br /><div align="center"> * * *<br /></div><br />“Hi, Manu. I have a test on bacteriology tomorrow. Can you come over and teach me something? I don’t know<i> anything</i>. Please?”<br /><br />“Come on, don’t be so pessimistic. I’m sure you know the basics.”<br /><br /><i>Yeah, right.</i><br /><br />“Please, coz. You’ve <i>got</i> to help me.”<br /><br />“Sure. Be there in an hour.”<br /><br />“Thanks a million. You’re a lifesaver.”<br /><br /><div align="center">* * *</div><br />“Teach me something, coz. I really need to pass this one.”<br /><br />“Did you flunk the previous one?”<br /><br /><i>Uh-oh...</i><br /><br />“Errr... Barely scraped through.”<br /><br />“Let’s see. Bacteriology, right? Hmmm… Ok. Let’s start with <i>Salmonella</i>. What do you know about <i>Salmonella</i>?”<br /><br />“It’s a bacteria.”<br /><br />“And <i>I </i>was thinking it's a virus. Thank you for enlightening me on that point. And bacteri<i>um</i> is singular, wiseass. What disease does <i>Salmonella</i> cause?”<br /><br />“Ooh, serious diseases. Pretty bad ones, you know, where you can even lose the patient. Severe disease. <i>Salmonella</i> is a bad bacteria. Bacteri<i>um</i>. It causes horrible diseases. You know, a really severe-”<br /><br />“Typhoid.”<br /><br />“Typhoid, yeah. I know that. I was just <i>going</i> to say typhoid. Now typhoid is a bad disease, you know. It’s a really serious disease. You-”<br /><br />“Stop. Please. What organ does it primarily affect?”<br /><br />“<i>Salmonella</i>? Typhoid? It's a very bad disease, you know. Pretty serious. You can even lose the patient. Really bad when it affects the... The brain.”<br /><br />“Your brain is definitely affected, assuming that you have one, of course.”<br /><br /><i>Sarcasm certainly runs in the family.</i><br /><br />“ Shut <i>up</i>. Lungs, then. Respiratory infection. It causes a <i>necrotising</i> haemorrhage into the-.”<br /><br /><i>Oh, man. How can such anyone outside the Mafia look so murderous?</i><br /><br />“Enteric fever. FYI, that means the GIT. I hope you know what the GIT is.”<br /><br />“Gastro-intestinal tract. I’m not an idiot.”<br /><br />“Really?”<br /><br /><i>He can do the single brow lift too?</i><br /><br />“Very well. <i>Salmonella</i> causes typhoid, an enteric fever.”<br /><br />“What is the diagnostic test for typhoid?”<br /><br />“Err… A blood test?”<br /><br />“Oh, my God! Have you heard of the Widal test?”<br /><br /><i>Why dal??? Sounds like a culinary disaster.</i><br /><br />“Of course I have. I’m not an idiot.”<br /><br />“Really?”<br /><br />“Knock it off, coz. Tell me about the Widal test.”<br /><br />“It's used to measure the level of certain antigens in the blood. Which ones?”<br /><br /><i>Whoa! Antigens? S for Salmonella, so there’s probably an S antigen. And he said antigen<strong>s</strong>, so there’s more than one. T for typhoid.</i><br /><br />“S antigen and T antigen.”<br /><br />“Where did you get <i>that</i> from?”<br /><br /><i>This isn’t going well at all. </i><br /><br />“The textbook.”<br /><br />“Which one? The last I checked, it was H and O.”<br /><br />“I knew that… I confused it with something else. H stands for ‘heavy’, right?”<br /><br />The book hit her squarely on the head, and the last thing she remembered as she lost consciousness was the sound of frenzied swearing.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span>NOTE: The characters and incidents in the above account are blah blah blah blah blah. You know the rest. And no, this is <i>not </i></span><span>an autobiographical account.</span></span>Adorable Pancreashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05824201985240804750noreply@blogger.com5