In Pursuit of Hedonism

 In the ‘love affair’ series, this one is about my affair with the most unlikely of places, guess what, ‘hospitals’! The exclamation mark I understand is  actually an under-reaction by the reader. Who in his right frame of mind, would fall in love with hospitals of all places? No I am not married to a medico, as medical colleges were prime targets for young bachelors wooing the doctor damsels. But then mine is an affair of a lifetime, having had my brushes over the last near six decades that I have been around. My previous escapades can be perused on Carry on Doctors https://thesuyashsharma.com/carry-on-doctors/

I am sure we all recall the “Lymphosarcoma of the Intestine” from Bollywood movie Rajesh Khanna, Amitabh Bachchan starrer “Anand”, so the disease must at least sound impressive, so how is Gastro Oesophagus Reflux Disorder (GERD), Hiatus Hernia with Barrett’s as a diagnosis ? I had been diagnosed with this GERD almost fifteen years ago, an ensuing endoscopy revealed that there were Barrett’s as well but the symptoms could be managed with lifestyle changes. In simpler terms, it was essentially hyper acidity with reflux, which most of us complain about off and on and treat it with Eno or Digene or sometimes both, the more aware lot resort to a tablet of Ranitidine or Pantaprazole. In my case, I kept a ready stock with me but despite the lifestyle changes it gradually deteriorated and multiple barrett’s resulted. 

Lifestyle changes were not too much of an ask, except that I had turned a strict vegetarian from the occasional maukatarian,(a typical fauji term for occasional non-veg eater for an otherwise vegetarian) and my social drinking too had to be shunned in favour of mock-tails, which are generally the preserve of the ladies. So I bid farewell to not just these pleasures and vices that we indulge in but also my circle of friends who naturally were appalled at my having turned a total Sufi. Mind you a veg teetotaller is quite a pain as a guest, as the hostess has to perforce cater for some paneer dishes which are otherwise anathema to the rest of the crowd. Abstinence from drinks implies that one remains in senses, where as the whole aim of the party is to get sozzled and talk utter nonsense, in other words have fun.  Well, if that was not enough, I had started  observing the tenets of Jainism rather strictly, not abstaining from onion and garlic, but adhering to the evening meal times. In the evening, we have the sun down sleeves down rule as an anti malaria measure to prevent rank and file from being bitten by mosquitoes. During the Burma campaign in Second World War, malaria killed more troops than the Japanese. Anyway without digressing into matters military and Japs, let us  get back to the non-violent Jains, who dutifully partake their evening meals when the fauji hasn’t even commenced his routine sundowners. Apparently, in the bygone era, when the world was without electricity, a meal in darkness or in dimly lit with kerosene or earthen lamps was prone to small insects falling into the gravies and inadvertently becoming a part of the meal, thus making the practitioners of Jainism a sinner having killed and consumed a harmless animate. 

In my case it had nothing to do with my vegetarianism, but the sheer fact that I needed that extra two-three hours for the meal to get digested before hitting the bed, lest, the food decides to cause a reflux by heading in the opposite direction from where it was intended to be despatched. In other words, you are up and about at midnight with your mouth and the throat at the receiving end of Hydrochloric acid mixed with the undigested food particles, not a very pleasant taste by any standards. This occurrence at regular intervals, causes these barrett’s oesophagus, which is supposed to be pre-malignant. Emperor of maladies is scary to say the least and naturally one immediately rushes to the medicos to ascertain the truth, at least the wise ones (like me!!) do that and not rely just on google and social media. Well I am told without mincing any words, that I have been foolishly carrying on with this malaise, whereas it should have been treated laparoscopically at least a decade ago rather than let it grow to this size. 

Well, that can’t be undone, so get under the scalpel pronto and put this hernia eight centimetres under the diaphragm, where it had protruded into the oesophagus and God created ‘Non-return Valve’, the ‘sphincter’ which is entrusted with the task of ensuring food travels just one way, down, starts malfunctioning and we end up suffering. The damn things one day just decided to up the ante and bled, sending me scurrying to the doctors in the family my sis and my daughter, who admonished me for my negligence and asked me to undergo an endoscopy right away.

Left with little choice, I followed their instructions meekly, just surrendered to their diktats and landed up in Delhi for the  surgery. BLK-MAX Super Speciality Hospital in Karol Bagh was homed onto as Dr Deep Goyal had treated my younger brother’s rather complicated case of a burst gall bladder very deftly two years ago. I must say, our trust was well placed as his team of doctors was highly professional and I was out in precisely about 36 hours from the time of admission having successfully sorted the dam hernia out for good having pushed it down, where it belonged and tied a mesh around it to prevent a recurrence. The benefits, apart from returning to the good old tamasic or hedonistic  way of life from the forced satvik one (two of the three gunas (qualities) in Hinduism), getting rid of the tyranny of the double pillows, which ended up giving me a stiff neck each morning and welcome amongst the friends once again as a normal human being.

PS – My apologies to my friends and coursemates as I have kept this under wraps till now, as I did not want BLK hospital to be invaded by my well-wishers, attired with their medals and regalia sending them scampering rather than attending to the patients. Now I am back home, mandated by the doctor to follow a strict regimen of diet for the next about six months, then it is obviously party time folks!!

The Real Boss

 Last 25th Oct, we lost one of my favourite actors of Indian Cinema, Satish Shah, who over the last about four decades has kept us in splits through his sheer genius  of comic timing and wit. Most of us, who were introduced to the new medium of entertainment in the eighties, the television, were amused and amazed at his vast repertoire of acts that he put on for the  52 episodes of the sitcom, “Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi” (YJHZ). He appeared in a new avatar in each one, one better than the other and carried them through with aplomb. That was just for the starters, by the way, in later years, there were many movies, including the cult classic, “Jane Bhi Do Yaron” the satirical masterpiece, where he excelled. The serial spitter of “Main Hoon Na”, who slobbered Shahrukh in scene after scene,  but it was in “Sarabhai Vs Sarabhai”, as Indravardhan, he was simply unmatched.

Well, much as I would have loved to write his eulogy, but I don’t think I can probably do justice, while recovering in the hospital, I was again reminded of that one episode of  YJHZ,  where, he walks into any home and rushes straight to the rest room and returns exclaiming, “What a relief!”, I had alluded to this in one of my earlier blogs also, https://thesuyashsharma.com/what-a-relief/. After the surgery, the most important part is the resumption of the normal body functions, especially the excretory system. So here I was, having been operated upon, after a very different kind of operation than what we in the Army are used to, where we hold something akin to the scalpel, but more deadly. I was under the spell cast by the anaesthesiologist, still recovering, when the bladder started to declare that it was time for a relief. Try as I did, went and sat down on the throne, expecting it to provide some relief, but to no avail. I was in discomfort and the hospital staff helpfully asked me to keep water running, which may help. But the efforts were not fruitful or should I say juiceful (pun intended), the suggestion to use an icepack on the bladder, with my niece playfully  making those sssssshhhhh… sounds which we normally hear the mothers do to help their kids . But finally it was the threat of the catheter being inserted you know where, which finally got  it going.

The battle was far from over, as the stomach had started to bloat now, and with the upward movement of gases restricted due to the surgery, the only escape was in the downward direction. Flatulence is normally something which is shunned in public out of courtesy, but here, one doesn’t have a choice and one is forced to move around hoping that some trickles would finally find an exit route out to provide the much needed relief. Once again, the threat of an enema finally gets the body to respond. The threat in being, almost always works stands proven. I am reminded of this T poster which we all have seen in our younger days

KAR-BEKAR

  

My Wagon R was purchased in Feb 2006, I had assumed command of the unit, having sold my previous Maruti 800 couple of years ago, while moving to Leh-Ladakh on a field posting which was followed by my deployment in United Nations for a Peacekeeping assignment. Now back in the civilisation a convertible being a basic necessity, a small hatchback was chosen as it could be driven comfortably by my wife as well. The car  has served us well over the years, with initially my better half driving it around for her school, institute,  NGOs, shopping etc. Then my daughter drove it around to the hospital as a young medico, until this 15 year rule kicked in. We did some memorable family trips to Badrinath, Kedarnath from Patiala, to Simla, Kasauli or finally Delhi to Indore when Delhi

cops refused to let us drive it despite the renewal of registration. So much so that both my kids wanted to be driven in the Wagon R after their marriage with their respective spouses. Bruised and battered but still fighting fit,It is practically  a family heirloom now.

Some years ago, a new policy was unveiled whereby, vehicles 15 years or older needed a renewal of registration for another five years and thereafter they were to be simply retired with no benefits. The policy was conceived apparently to keep the rising levels of pollution under check and in the bargain, give a boost to the automobile sector of the economy, as the vehicles scrapped will obviously be replaced. It was supposed to be a win-win for the govt and also for the environment, except that the consumers were suddenly faced with a major challenge in creating the financial resource for purchase of a new vehicle. 

Be that as it may, it is the cars who are up in arms now, as having served their masters/mistresses well, this step-motherly treatment whereby they were suddenly rendered ‘be-kaar’ and their ‘car-acass’ were to be consigned to the scrapyard. No voluntary retirement benefits or gratuity, enhanced disability payout etc were payable, although they have had their share of accidents and brushes with the traffic authorities.  Ladies do not normally take kindly to the seat belts, the reasons are obvious, their carefully chosen attire starts appearing ‘tired’ when they alight after their gruelling drive through the streets encountering all kinds of human and inanimate obstacles thrown in their way. The traffic inspectors are at the receiving end, whenever the lady was checked for this violation, and more often than not, the married ones realise the futility of the argument which would ensue, and just let them off with a perfunctory warning. Anyway, I am digressing, we can discuss the driving skills of the dames some other time.

So cars have represented that they be permitted ‘kar-seva’ as they can still contribute to the society rather than forcing them to become modern day Sage Dadhichi (who gave up his life, so that his bones could be used for making Vajra the deadliest weapon for the ‘Devtaas’), after all their self sacrifice does boost our economy. While we are discussing mythological aspects, the Sagun ‘Sa-kar’  car owners are not keen to take on the mantle of ‘Nira-kar’ (without car). No doubt the formless existence (nirakar) proponents are more evolved, but then as mere Earthlings we would prefer to be ‘Sa-kar’ (personified God).

As an advisor (salah-kar) all that I would like to suggest to the govt is this ‘Car-obar’ (business) needs a review where fitness of the vehicle should be the factor and not its age which should determine whether it should continue to serve their masters/mistresses or like the humble faujis who get to serve only 15 years and then are forgotten, these too shall be left for the itihaskar (historians) to dig out  decades later.

                   

Raksha Bandhan:A Lifelong Bond

 Today is ‘Raksha Bandhan’, a unique festival in Indian culture, unparalleled in any other society in the world. This sacred ceremony  essentially commemorates the bond between a brother and sister. Brothers eagerly await this festival to show off their wrists tied with beautiful ‘rakha sutras’ and sisters are overjoyed as it provides them an opportunity to shower their love and affection on their siblings. I am sure each one of us has sweet nostalgic memories associated with the way we celebrated  Rakhi. 

It transports me back to the days when we would all gather at my grandfather’s place in Indore, we didn’t have this concept of ‘real sibling’ or ‘cousins’, just brothers and sisters. By the end of the day our hands were full of rakhis, right till the elbows and we would strut around like peacocks it with pride. It was also time for getting to eat as many laddoos as the number of rakhis, so it was pure bliss. Sisters were richer with all the gifts which they collected and of course, the fact that there were so many brothers who were at their beck and call. Traditionally this thread was meant to signify that the brother would protect his sister at all costs, but honestly, I feel this ‘thread’ manifests itself as a  ‘kavach’ (shield) that protects the brother from all evils. 

As the story goes it was Bhagwan Krishna who nicked his finger and Draupadi tied a piece of cloth from her Sari to bandage him, He subsequently  protected her honour when Kuravas were trying to disrobe her. Historical accounts also mention that Alexander’s wife Roxana  also sent a Rakhi to King Porus and Porus honoured it by not attacking Alexander and in the bargain lost the battle. Rani Karnavati of Mewar is also reported to have sent a rakhi to Humayun when her kingdom was under attack by Bahadur Shah of Gujarat and Humayun sent his military and restored the kingdom to her son, as the aid reached late and by then the valorous Rajput ladies had performed the jauhar.

For people like us, who have spent their entire life in uniform, away from their kith and kin, the celebrations were mostly through the letters containing these precious Rakhis delivered by the Postal Department. Since the festival is celebrated during the monsoons, the full moon day of Shravan month of Indian calendar, it fell during the academic/training term in RIMC as well as NDA/IMA, I missed all the fun back home. But we as a family were quite progressive in this regard, so my Rakhi was always tied just before I embarked on my way back to school/academy, sometime mid July. I also received my share of Rakhis by post, as on the auspicious day, I loved to flaunt all those pretty looking threads, some of which were crafted artistically  by my sisters themselves. Siblings are God’s gift to the children, who are not just playmates but are soulmates who stand by you even in adversity. As a famous quote goes, “A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.”

The bond between a brother and sister in India is so special that even after her betrothal, she retains her special status in the family. Traditionally sisters’ presence is a prerequisite in all auspicious occasions be it a wedding, house warming or any other sanskaras (roughly translated as rituals). Mind you their presence is not just ornamental or perfunctory, they are the edifice on which the family bonds rest. They carry with them the ethos and values which nurtures her own family. Richa my little sister, is a neurosurgeon and she has been truly a saviour by taking on the mantle of keeping everyone in the family healthy. This blog is dedicated to her and my cousins, late Pragya, Rekha, Sulekha, Sheela, Seema, Ruchi, Avni and Ami, who have  always made it a point to shower their love and affection on us brothers wherever we may have been, in the wilderness of Africa or high altitude deserts of Ladakh, in Kashmir Valley during the worst period of insurgency, providing me with their good luck charm, the “Rakhi”. Happy Raksha Bandhan folks

UMBILICAL UNIFORMS

 Uniforms are glamorous and men/women donning these do not just stand out but outshine  all the others in a gathering. In the Armed Forces we take great pride in our uniforms and have the highest respect for this as well.  Now that I have finally shed the Olive Greens for good, it seems as though I have been skinned, the uniform was  de facto the papillary dermis (the outermost layer of the skin). Having been cocooned all our lives, retirement felt almost as though our umbilical cord was severed. From the age of 11 when I joined school, Rashtriya Indian Military College based at Dehradun, this protective layer has been my most faithful companion. 47 years is practically a lifetime, without it I feel like a dressed chicken, well almost!! The associated issue of a life sans uniform is the inadequacy of our wardrobe, as we practically lived our lives in uniforms and now we have to perforce dress up in the civilian clothes only. Most of us find ourselves  challenged in this aspect.

Uniform does change colours though, sometimes it is black (Cavalry, NSG), Olive Green or even Khaki (NDA), and in the good old days even overalls (dungarees); then there is the pomp and show of the Ceremonial dresses with complete regalia swords, medals, peak caps or in just the bare essentials the Camouflage pattern or Combats as they are referred to in our parlance for us Pongos (Army). Then we have the silent service (Navy) who in their immaculate whites and the fly-boys (AirForce) in their blues, we are literally head turners or show stoppers wherever we are. Quite a few of us fell for this glamour and even in the current generation many continue to do so today. We are not the only one who have been bitten by this bug, ask the damsels as they are smitten by the men in uniform and watch them swoon over the handsome hunks.

Uniforms  and striving for  uniformity  is quite natural for us humans, right from our school uniforms days to the blue collar workers in the factories, doctors in their white aprons, policemen and firefighters in khakis, the uniformity helps distinguish the personnel for their respective roles. Each of these roles are unique and essential for a civilised society but all said and done, the aura of the Armed Forces is in a different league; ‘awe inspiring’ and citizenry by and large remains grateful for the never say die spirit of these men and women. The honour associated with the military men worldwide is because this profession requires guts, extra ordinary resolve and the fact that they face bullets in order to safeguard their nations. No wonder when they walk in, there is genuine respect in the eyes of the general public.

Our uniforms  also have a dominating kind of effect which is exactly what one political leader confided in me. He said while they were clothed in simple kurta pyjamas, the military personnel by their attire invoked an envy which does result in they trying to avoid interactions. I am not so sure of that any longer though, especially the way our brethren have been ill treated in the recent past, be it the Odisha Nightmare, Chandigarh high handedness or lawlessness in Lucknow they are a poor reflection of the civil society as a whole. It is high time, the  issue is addressed in right earnestness.

Donning this uniform is a privilege accorded to the few lucky ones like me. There are many whose lifelong ambition goes unfulfilled. A uniform has to be smartly maintained, whether it is the shining shoes or the neatly ironed uniforms, the  gleaming brass on the shoulders, or the tilt of the berets, every aspect has to be just perfect. This practice of perfection is the potion which works as the panacea for pongos. Guess why? Well, there are no runners up in the war.

KARGIL: SAGA OF THE SOLDIERS

 

Kargil, the sleepy looking idyllic heaven nestled in the lap of Himalayas, where it was reported that pure Aryans were still the inhabitants. A place which was hidden from the world, a Shangri-La, quiet peaceful, just a transit point for travellers  moving from Ladakh to Kashmir via the Zojila Pass. Until 1999, other than the Army personnel and locals, the rest of the country was not even aware of this region, or its inhospitable and challenging terrain. Our friends across the border, having successfully fomented trouble in the neighbouring Kashmir valley and Siachen regions over the last two decades, were on the lookout for some action here as well. We Indians have proved to be gullible and hopeless romantics for peace, whether it was taking the Kashmir issue to UN in 1948, or returning Haji Pir in Tashkent in 1965, Simla Agreement in 1972 repatriating 93000 prisoners or the Lahore declaration of 1999. Hoping against hope that some day, good sense will prevail on this rogue nation and ‘we will live happily ever after’. 

Pursuing everlasting peace is a noble agenda, no doubt, but not without keeping our guards on, for the inevitable stab in the back. Kargil too was to meet the same fate, where we were caught totally off guard. Then languishing in absolute denial, we kept ignoring the intelligence inputs about the incursions, which obviously did not happen overnight. Indian Army has proven its professionalism every time and has risen to the challenges posed, but we also have a history of overconfidence, recall the brash claims of Gen Sundarji of flushing the terrorists out in just 48 hours in OP BLUE STAR , or the OP PAWAN fiasco. Similarly Kargil too was initially perceived to be a minor incursion which could be addressed at local formation level itself.

It was only when we suffered casualties that the grimness of the situation facing us became evident. Having realised the gravity of the challenge posed and in the nuclear overhang with severe restrictions on trans Line of Control operations, it was akin to fighting with one hand tied behind our back.  ‘Cometh the hour, cometh the man’, it was now the turn of the humble soldier to redeem his honour. Despite severe constraints in terms of weapons and ammunition, where he outdoes the adversary each and every time is in his ‘indomitable spirit’ and ‘abundance of courage’.  Highly unfavourable terrain where  the enemy was perched on top of the hills and he was faced with climbing up all the way under observed fire, as these hills were barren with no cover, other than the fieldcraft which he had honed his skills in, over the years.

Units also faced another major challenge, which was the change in tactics from Counter Terrorist operations to conventional ones.  The last war having been fought in 1971, the troops had to reorient themselves without the luxury of any preparatory time. In fact, many units had to be launched into the battle even without the laid down acclimatisation period.  This did not in any way deter him, undaunted he rose like a phoenix, vanquished not just the peaks physically but also the foe with such ferocity that at many places they scampered, despite enjoying the inherent advantage as defenders in mountains. Despite the barbarism on display by the nemesis, he maintained our age old ethos, honouring the traditions of respectfully burying the fallen enemies in marked contrast to the Pakis who refused to even acknowledge and accept the mortal remains of their own comrades.

There are many lessons which have been driven home in this war, the most important one being staying on guard against the skullduggery of our nemesis. While technology is playing a major role in the warfare today as evidenced in the recent OP SINDOOR, but it would be a grave mistake to undermine the prowess of the soldier, who has proven his mettle time and again. In our context given our geographical compulsions, “victory will still be measured by foot”

WHATSAPP WARRIORS

 

WhatsApp Warriors’ is the term I have coined for my friends who wage their own war on all and sundry utilising their most deadly weapon, the smart phone. This war is non violent in the kinetic domain but in the vitriolic one, it is deadly. The only difference being it is in the virtual world, the old adage which went something like this, ‘if looks could kill’, here this has been replaced by ‘if posts could kill’, ‘we would have a genocide’ at our hands on a daily basis. These warriors are typically not the ‘shoot and scoot’ types, they will stand their ground and the barrage of posts will continue unabated till hunger pangs makes them part with their weapon system, ‘the phone’. In Punjabi, the term for ‘good for nothing’ people is ‘velle’, these velles indulge in their favourite pastime, ‘vellapanti’, in other words ‘while away the time’ at hand. These guys are typically either retired folks with plenty of ‘gyan’ on all subjects under the Sun and which nobody at home is prepared to even acknowledge or the actual vella youth of today tutored in the WhatsApp University.

WhatsApp provides them with this outlet which keeps them occupied for better part of the day or night. The issues could be as diverse as OP SINDOOR to Digital arrests, Cyber Security to Performance of Indian Cricket Team or the F35 stranded in Kerala, healthy foods, weight loss and even surefire  cure for cancers and baldness. We all have  watched the ‘Fastest finger first’ challenge in the KBC shows, well these guys can beat those winners who get to the hot seat, any day. The moment they cursorily even glance at a message, it is their duty to immediately post in the scores of groups that he/she is a member. As though a moment’s delay will invite the wrath of the Admins of the group, which may jeopardise their very existence. The funny part is the members  of these groups too are common and receive the same messages in all the groups. As if that is not enough, there are many others who don’t even bother to peruse what has been posted earlier in the group and just go ahead and do the needful. So the same message of someone gone missing will appear number of times in the group posted by anyone who came across the same post in some other group. The guy has been found and restored to his kith and kin may be an year ago. In fact in some cases these people have been forcibly got hold of again and again to send them back home, as the finders have just seen the message for the first time.

This ‘compulsive forwarding syndrome’ which is afflicting almost the whole country has now assumed epidemic proportions. We the veterans are equally guilty as we are part of our course groups in all the training academies that we have been to starting from school which may be RIMC, Sainik School, Military Schools or even KV, APS etc to National Defence Academy, here too the squadron types have their own separate group and then IMA,  Young Officers course, Degree Engineering course, Staff College, Higher Command, National Defence College, then institutions  and Units, Regimental groups and so on. Then there are the family groups, in laws, outlaws, the immediate siblings, the cousins, the distant cousins, friends and the residential society etc. One doesn’t even need to imagine, as each one of us has been subjected to this frightening tyranny of forwards almost daily and it takes us better part of the day to delete these messages, resisting the temptation to delete all in the vain hope that there might be some useful message which is likely to be lost. Perhaps the inner journalist in us in our eternal pursuit of Pulitzer for exclusive scoop, like our TV Channels claiming to be the only ones and the first ones, to report an event, imagine that the Group Admins will reward them in a similar manner.

I am sure we recall that famous story about ‘Whose Job is it Anyway’ Everybody thought that Somebody will do the job, but Nobody did which Anybody could have done. Here everybody  is convinced he is the only one and hence he must do it. If we go back to our typical Inertia of rest state, where we are loath to get up and pick up even a glass of water, preferring to order around, just be rest assured this forward will reach the millions even without your push. So just relax read it but don’t forward it, the WhatsApp Cup is already overflowing.

PS- Just one request though, this ‘don’t post’ doesn’t apply to my blogs, these you must post ;).