Author Archives: rajuwilk

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About rajuwilk

I am a writer by passion but a surgeon by profession.

The rectum as a repository

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I read in the newspapers a few days ago about a man caught smuggling gold into the country by placing it in his rectum. The Police were at a quandary on how to retrieve it. Their only option was to given him a megadose of laxatives and make sure he defecates in their presence and in a bedpan! This method of smuggling is far from ingenious I have read the South American drug cartels used this method for smuggling cocaine into the USA. The processed cocaine was packed in cylindrical plastic bags and after adequate lubrication pushed up retrograde into the rectum of the couriers. These couriers had the uncomplimentary sobriquet of ‘mule’. Though it did accurately described their job of physically transporting goods from one point to the other.
In the 1970s book ‘Papillon’, by Henri Charriere, an autobiography. He describes how he was wrongly accused of murder in France and sentenced to life imprisonment in the French Penal Colony of French Guiana. He further goes on to describe that the only way they could keep their money safe from the other prisoners and the guards was to roll it up tightly into a metal cylinder, called charger. This cylinder was inserted into the rectum and the author confesses he got so used to this method that even after he escaped he continued using a charger to keep his money safe. He never elaborated how he removed the charger!
Though now this method would not be of much use as a digital examination of the rectum is included in the protocol of frisking of prisoners.
A glance into Bailey & Love’s ‘Short Practice of Surgery’, has a section on the foreign bodies in the rectum. I quote “The variety of foreign bodies which have found their way into the rectum is hardly less remarkable than the ingenuity displayed in their removal. A turnip has been delivered per anum by the use of an obstetric forceps. A stick firmly impacted has been withdrawn by inserting a gimlet into its lower end. A tumbler, mouth looking downwards, has been extracted by filling the interior with wet plaster of Paris bandage, leaving the end of the bandage protruding, and allowing the plaster to set. A pepper pot which when removed had the inscription, ‘a gift from Marsgate’. A screwdriver and a live shell which had to be handled carefully.“
In my surgical practice I have encountered my fair share of ‘foreign objects’ in the rectum. More ingenious than the objects themselves is the explanation of how they came to reside there albeit temporarily. When I was doing my MS, I was called to the casualty to attend on a patient. The patient was an elderly man in his 60s. He told me that he suffers from piles and was using an Ayurvedic medicine which had to be applied locally. The Ayurvedic medicine was dispensed in an old Benedryl bottle (cough syrup). He apparently was sitting on his haunches on the floor, applying the medicine with his finger to the area. The bottle was also placed next to him and then he shifted a bit and accidentally sat on the bottle! And up went the bottle! This explanation caused sniggers amongst the junior staff and incredulous look on the face of the seniors. For retrieving this bottle we used the obstetrics forceps which is used to deliver the head of babies in prolonged labour.
Then there was the case of the middle aged man who was brought with severe abdominal pain. He admitted to being gay, though he was the AC/DC type. He had a wife and two children. He was accustomed to inserting a stick into his anus for the purportedly pleasure it gave him. That day he pushed it up a little too much and it perforated the intestine. This caused a serious condition called ‘fecal peritonitis’, stool contaminating the abdomen. The patient had to be operated and the perforation closed. A temporarily colostomy or an ‘artificial anus’ also had to be constructed.
I was working in a Mission Hospital in rural Madhya Pradesh. A young male patient had been admitted a day earlier with abdominal pain. Since he did not give any other significant history the medicine people admitted him. The next day he passed large quantity of blood in his stools. I was given a call and I ordered an X-ray abdomen standing. To my surprise there was massive air in the peritoneal cavity, which indicates perforation of an intestine. I took him for surgery and was amazed to find not just a simple perforation but complete transection of the intestine! Not only a foreign object was pushed up but it was done with a considerable amount of force. When the patient recovered from anaesthesia I asked him how did it happen? He told me a different story every time. One of the stories was that he was sitting on a tree and fell off. An upright twig went up the wrong end. This was possible but not plausible, the main hole in this story was how did the twig reach the opening so accurately without causing any collateral damages?
The patient never told me the truth!
The most recent incident is just 4 days ago, an 18 year old male was brought to the hospital with a history of having fallen on a construction rod from a height. Again they appeared to be no collateral damages, the rod had accurately entered the anal opening. He also had perforation of the intestine. I have not even bothered to ask the patient for any further details and taken his story at face value.

The empty shoebox!

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Anatomy dissections got over at 1 pm. We left the hall frustrated and dejected because we had been ‘muddied’ (Tamlish word for ‘bajaoed’) by Madhavi or Marja (they were the iconic lecturer and professor of anatomy) or some other sadistic soul doing his or her bond as an anatomy tutor. We were also extremely hungry and rushed towards Mens Hostel. The sweltering heat and the sun which did not help in elevating our moods. When we reached the mess we would check the pockets of our lab-coats before divesting them. This inspection would invariably reveal whole lot of body parts surreptitiously slipped into our pockets by our ‘so called’ friends. This would normally consist of skin, fat and fascia. The discarded bye products of dissection however once in a while the entire penis sans the scrotum and the testis was also found (these ‘choice cuts’ were normally reserved for the girls however when a ‘friend’ could not find a convenient female pocket he disposed it in the most easily available pocket). Those were simpler times when we never thought twice about the reverence or more specifically lack of it in our pranks. Then you enter the mess and wash your hands in the sink. It’s almost impossible to get rid of smell of the cadavers from your hand especially since you have just disposed of a ‘pickled phallus’. Then we stand in line for a Thambi to dish out a plate of limited vegetables and unlimited serving of rice, rasam, sambar and mor (buttermilk) on your table. After an unsatisfying meal we relax for sometime in our rooms and maybe smoke a cigarette (statutory warning :cigarette smoking is injurious to health. I no longer indulge in this unhealthy activity). The ash of the cigarette is flicked into a cranium turned over to form an ashtray. This had an amazing capacity and could hold more ash than any conventional ash trays (a smaller version consisting only of the frontal bone and the orbits was also available). Then maybe mug up for the physiology practical in the afternoon, to avoid getting ‘Zapped by Zach’ (our Physiology professor) followed by a snooze and then get up cursing and walk along the corridors of Men’s Hostel (to avoid the sweltering sun) towards the Physiology department. Along the way in the Appendix (we had a block in the hostel called that) lies an old discarded shoe box right on your path. By this time frustration has built up. How dare someone discard a shoebox on your path. You bring up all the force you can muster backed by all the pent up frustrations and kick it out of the way with your foot most probably shod with ubequitious ‘MCR Slippers’ or plain old bathroom slippers. The moment your foot makes contact with the shoebox an excruciating pain rushes up your foot from the point of contact and the box hardly moves an inch! You scream in pain and hold your toe and meanwhile the door of the appendix room in front burst open and your seniors having a good laugh at your predicament emerge. You realize that the shoebox was not discarded but deliberately planted and it was not empty but contained two bricks. Just another typical day in the life of a resident of MHU!

The Ghost who walks wearing Tantex Jocks!

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Our Hostel in Christian Medical College, Vellore was called by the residents as ‘The Mansion of the God’ (sometimes derogatorily referred to as ‘Se-Men’s Hostel). It was a great place to have spent the formative years of our lives.
The Hostel was described as a ‘Five Star Hotel’, it had all the amenities of a Five Star Hotel. It had a swimming pool (a pond in the centre of the driveway) in which on hot summer days we used to laze around in or sometimes some unwary passing soul invariably a pisser bugger (referring to the juniors) would get thrown into it. It had a Health Club (Men’s Hostel Gym) where you would find lots of muscle men and wannabe muscle men training for the title of Mr. Men’s Hostel. It was a tradition to choose the most emaciated of the freshers to compete. Just to make the true body builders look good and provide laughs. In our first year our own ‘Arnold Shwarzenegger’ incarnate Sunil Agarwal (Bugaroo) took part in Mr. Men’s Hostel competition. He posed in all his hirsute glory, flexing his biceps, triceps and then turning around and showing his ‘Paulie-ceps’). It had a Men’s only Saloon (Nathan’s) where we could get suitably ‘shaven and shorn’ for the benefit of the residents of the ‘other side of the road’ all forlorn. It had an all night coffee shop (Swamidoss who was also reputed to be a drug pusher on the side). A well stocked library (though it was rumoured that the best pornographic literature could be found tucked away under the mattresses of the residents). A recreational area with TV, Carroms, chess and cards (the dumb ones played ‘28’ and the smart ones played Bridge). You would find card players with card sticking behind their ears as a penalty called ‘kunooks’ (whatever that meant, my Malayalee readers please translate). Finally we had the shopping arcade, the Co-operative Store. A bell ringing would herald the opening of this store and the residents would line up to purchases their essentials. One of the essentials included ‘Tantex Jocks’ manufactured by the TTK conglomerate (for the uninitiated the store kept a supply of ‘Chaddis’, ‘Jattis’, innerwear or lingerie, whatever you wish to call them) and in various colours. You could get them in orange, green, red and even in purple. This was one article of dress which you had to keep a good supply of as you needed to change them everyday (though one resident came up with the good idea of wearing them inside out the next day and prolonging their wash life by a day). Normally these ‘unmentionables’ was not given to the dhobi for washing unless you were interested in fungal infections of your balls. These were carefully washed and hung for drying on a line strung in front of your room. It made an interesting sight especially when the bus would come around the drive of Men’s Hostel you would see a rainbow of jocks.Remember we had a programme called ‘Impact’ in which class wise we presented skits which made an Impact. I think it was during our first year our skit was planned by S.T.C. The skit began with a darkened stage and a prop on stage, then suddenly out jumped a figure from behind the prop. He was a masked man, wearing purple tights and over the tights he wore ‘purple Tantex Jocks’ and he was none other than the ‘Ghost who Walks’ Phantom being acted out by our own ‘Director Elect’, S.T.C., Sunil Thomas Chandy. He danced a jig singing “Devil O’ my Devil, where the Hell are you oh my Devil” (Devil is Phantom’s Dog sorry wolf, by the way). He really made and impact as Chandy always manages to do. We suddenly realized that only in comics do Superheroes look dashing wearing their underwear outside their tights! The piece de resistance was that the Jocks were not his own but borrowed from Priyo Sada who did not give a second thought about loaning his jocks and not enquire about the use.

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Checks or Sex?

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Checks or Sex?

The first language I learnt was my mother tongue Hindi, then my family
relocated to the USA when I was 4 and I forgot Hindi and learnt English. We came back to India when I was 7 and settled in Nagpur. I had to relearn Hindi and had Marathi as a third language. Then 17th July 1978 I joined Christian Medical College, Vellore to study MBBS. The South of the Vindhyas is almost like a different country with a totally different languages. If you had to survive you had to pick up some functional Tamil. We had some Tamil classes where we were taught bookish Tamil. But as all of you know the man on the street rarely speaks the bookish version of a language. It is always the street version.
So the major learning of the language was by the interaction with the Hostel watchmen, mess boys who were euphemistically called ‘thambis’,which in Tamil means younger brother. This is similar to the Chottus, Munnas & Pintus we have in the North. Learning expletives is very useful because as we are all aware on the street the language is heavily coated with curses.
The next step of my journey took me to Ludhiana Punjab where Punjabi was the language. Of all the languages Punjabi is the easiest to pick up if you know Hindi!
Finally I was back in my hometown and I am placed in an environment where it is taken for granted you speak Marathi so I really had to brush up on the language and I am still in the process of perfecting it.
And how can I forget! Being married to a Malayalee, visits to the in-laws forced me to try to understand a smattering of the language or forever be relegated to the status of an out-law!
I became a polyglot, though not fluent in any of the languages except for ‘the Queen’s English’.
This constant endevour to learn new languages gave me a Prof. Higgin-eque approach to languages.
All of you must be thinking, “When will he cut to the chase and talk about sex!” Well I am coming to that just be patient.
In our Hostel the Thambis had typical Tamil names like Anbarasu, Appavoo, Pichamuthu, Vadivelu, Paneerselvam and so on. Being a cosmopolitan crowd in the hostel not all were familiar with these Dravidian names and the younger generation tends to give people monikers. So a Selvaraj became ‘Silverass’, one Thambi who had a strong resemblance to the runner Carl Lewis was christened Carl Lewis. Then there was also a Kapil Dev and a ‘Creep’. Creep was the most interesting and a mean moniker. His actual name was T. G. S. Munnusamy Gounder but when asked his name he would say “Nan per Greep (that is not a typo) ” or my name is Creep. Since he predated me in the Hostel I asked my seniors the origin of his moniker. The short and sweet answer given was “because he looks like a Creep!” Creep unfortunately suffered from congenital syphilis and now though no active disease he had the deformities of the nose, teeth and eyes associated with the disease.
But coming to the deliberate misspelling of Creep to Greep, well he was Christened Creep by the then resident of Mens Hostel but because of the influence of his native tongue he used to pronounce his Moniker as Greep.
Our native tongues influences the way we speak a foreign language to a large extent and I have made some observations in Tamil speakers.
They normally have difficulty in differentiating from ‘ka’ (as in crow), ‘kh’ (as in Khan),  ‘ga’ (as in grow). I remember trying to teach a Tamilian classmate the difference between ‘Khana’ (food) and ‘Kana’, for him both were the same. For the same reason Creep substitutes the ‘ka’ for a ‘ga’ pronouncing his name as ‘Greep’. Similarly the name Padma is also pronounced by some people as Badma or even Fadma because again ‘pa’ (as in Party), ‘ba’ (as in Bakery), ‘fa’ (as in Food) are all represented by one alphabet. I remember a classmate telling me that the letter for ‘ha’ (as in Hare Ram) was adopted from Sanskrit so you find a lot of Tamil purist don’t use it and Mahalakshmi will be pronounced as ‘Maggalakshmi’ and Bahadur Singh will be ‘Baggadur Singh’. Then we have the example of ‘t’ (as in Total), ‘th’ (as in Thought), ‘d’ (as in Dumb). Those who have lived in the south know that a Sangeeta will become a Sangeetha, an Anita will become an Anitha and so on. But the ‘th’ at the end will be pronounced more like ‘d’ so will sound like Sangeeda. Similarly is it Murlitharan as the cricketer likes to spell it or Murlidharan or Senthilkumar or Sendhilkumar .
Finally we come to the ‘sex’ part, two of our female classmates went shopping. They went to a clothes store and asked the shopkeeper to show them ‘checks’. They were horrified when the shopkeeper shouted to his assistant, “thambi sex kunduva” (thambi bring some sex). They were further aghast when the shopkeeper asked them, “Enna madari sex vanom, chinna? Persaa?” (What type of sex do you want small or big?) Well our classmates did not know whether to be indignant of to laugh out loud. Checks and sex could also be confused by a native Tamil speaker for the same reason Charles is pronounced as ‘Sarless’.
I hope I have not hurt the sentiments of any Tamil speaker I could have given similar examples for Marathi, Punjabi, Hindi or Bengali but would not have been relevant to the story!

The monkey menace,

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Some lesser known facts about the these tourist spots. Shimla is a beautiful place but it suffers from the ‘monkey menace’. More specifically from the rhesus macaque monkey menace (the rhesus antigen or rh antigen by which our blood groups are classified into rh +ve and  -ve was first discovered in them and then in humans) . All over the city you find boards warning you about the ‘Bandaro ka Atank’. The warning says in a confrontation with a  monkey over the food in your hand, just hand over the food to the monkey. Don’t attempt to monkey with the monkey because you will end up at the receiving end. I used to take a morning with my children and what we observed is the locals either carried sticks or stones (not to break any bones) in their hands. At first we were a little puzzled at the utility of these objects. But it became adequately clear. During a  walk a group of monkeys surrounded us. Luckily for us a group of good samaritans locals were nearby, they began shouting at the monkeys and pelted them with stones. Rescuing us from a potentially dangerous situation. We discovered that the locals don’t share the pacifistic ideas of the authorities of turning the other cheek. For them its an eye for an eye. On our visit to Jakhu temple which is appropriately dedicated to Hanuman, the monkeys rule the roost. We were warned to remove our spectacles and not to carry any food. Well apparently the monkeys steal your spectacles and barter them with you for food. A friend of mine disregarded this warning and entered the temple wearing his glasses. They were stolen by the monkeys and he could only get them back when he offered them food. Along with the prasad items which you can buy at the entrance, you get a complimentary stick to prevent the monkeys getting to it before it is offered to the Monkey God. This monkey menace exists in a lot of cities even in our capital Delhi. They have taken over some government buildings and the government has hired monkey catchers. A bounty of Rs. 100/- per live monkey head is placed. They are caught and taken to a forest and released only to find their way back. The other solution was to have specially trained ‘kale muh ka bandar’ (black faced langurs) patrol the property. The rhesus monkeys are wary of these black faced commandos and will give them a wide berth. However it has had limited success. But why do these primates invade our cities? The same reason our cities are getting over crowded by people from the villages, a better life, easier pickings, shrinking habitat and an easy life of crime. 

An aging male’s ego!

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Age creeps on you insidiously. Somewhere around your late twenties and early thirties, young girls and boys address you as ‘Uncle’. When this first happens you get a jolt of indignation and respond with a sarcastic ‘Niece’ or ‘Nephew’ response. However you find that this is not a chance happening, it has become the norm.You begin to introspect. You dont feel any older however there must be some change. As you age a year seems to go faster. Alvin Toffler has explained this phenomen well. When you are 1 year old, a year represents your entire life. When you are 10 it represents 1/10th and this fraction progressive becomes smaller. So when you are 50 this fraction has shrunk to  1/50th of your life. I am sure all of you are also experiencing the shrinking of a year. When you hit 40 your hair begins to acquire a hoary tint. Presbyopia sets in,  also called ‘the arms are not long enough syndrome’. You begin holding your newspaper or book further and further away from your face. That is because the lens in your eyes is losing it elasticity and unable to adjust its focal length to near objects. As a child we all were fascinated with glasses and wanted to wear them. Now your childhood dream has come true with  a vengeance! You also begin to be more aware of your knees. They keep on reminding of their existence, especially on ascent and descent of stairs. Aging is not a bad thing mind you. Wisdom comes with age. I equate it to climbing a mountain. You are at the base when you are young. You cannot make out the road ahead but once you age you have reached a height or maybe the summit. You can see the path you have taken clearly and easier paths you could have chosen. The flip side is the way down is also clear!    

The continously evolving English language.

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This friday in the Times of India there was a debate on the pros and cons of sms language (point and counterpoint). Personally I don’t use sms language and prefer using the correct spellings (the old fogey in me and when it creeps into answer papers I put a query mark on it) but I do appreciate the ingenuity of the younger generation. I believe a language should convey a message and purists of the language may moan but nothing is constant but change. The more flexible a language the more user friendly. English  has incorporated words from almost every language in the world that in part may be the reason for its popularity. Some months ago the Central Government have  issued a notification that the Babus are now allowed to use English words in official Hindi documents. Earlier they had to find a Hindi equivalent or coin one. This in the 70s reached ridiculous proportions and subject to jokes, for example, what is the Hindi equivalent of railway signal? Answer ‘Agni rath aagaman naagaman tamra suchika taamb patika’. Quite a mouthful and by the time you say it you have missed your train plus the agni raths are on longer in use. Signal is a word almost everyone understands and it does not make sense in reinventing the wheel. The French are also famous for this purist approach and in France it is illegal by law to have a foreign word in French hoardings or public notices. So an ad for chewing gum cannot use the word ‘chewing gum’ though every French knows it by that name. This maybe in part maybe the reason for the decline of the use of the French language in the Continent. In the earlier part of the 1900s it was considered the ‘lingua franca’ or the ‘bridge language’ in Europe. Today the usage of French is confined to France and its ex colonies. In India even in the old French colony of Pondycherry the use of French is very limited.  English has undergone metamorphosis from ‘go ye forth and do likewise’ to ‘go and do the same’. During my childhood I my memories are of reading Enid Blyton books I doubt anyone of the present generation has heard about her. The books were in a very British English with very quaint terms like ‘I shall be very cross’ (I will be angry) or ‘Blow! Blow!’ (Damn! or Shit!). You had dolls which were called ‘Gollywogs’ which is now considered a racist word because the doll was black with curly hair. A word like gay has different connotation from the 70s when it meant ‘light hearted or care free’. I remember getting a questionnaire with a question, do you enjoy gay parties? Who would word a question that way now. So finally variety is the spice of life. You can live without spices but it makes life very bland. So go ahead express yourself in whatever way you are comfortable.   

Nomenclature Nagpur Style!

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In my neck of the woods we have surnames based on either the person’s profession or related to the village where he comes from or some notable deed his ancestors may have done. So if someone has the surname Sutar then traditionally a carpenter, if he is called Sonar then a Goldsmith, if he is called Kumbhare then a potter (On the lines of the western surnames like Carpenter, Gold Smith and Harry Potter only our version would be Hari Kumbhare). Then you have the Nagpurkars, the Tendulkars and the Gavaskars who have their ancestral village suffixed with a ‘kar’. Finally you have those names which are based on some notable deed their ancestors may have done so you have the mighty Waghmares (Tiger slayer), the lesser Bailmares (Bullock slayer), the more diminutive Titarmare (Partridge slayer) and finally last but not the least Undirmare (Rat slayer). But some of the surnames make no sense at all so I came up with a list of unsuitable surnames for doctors.
1.Dr. Andhare (Blind)-Opthalmologist (Why on earth would someone be treated by a Doctor who sees only darkness)
2.Dr. Lulay (Crippled)-Orthopaedic (Would you go to a Doctor who has a surname which means crippled?)
3.Dr. Kanfade (Tear ear)-ENT (Perhaps you may consider it appropriate to visit a Doctor who is called ‘ear cutter, by the way there is also a ‘Jibkate’ tongue cutter for you to visit)
4.Dr. Doke (Head)-Neurologist (this name may not be that unsuitable for you would consider it a good omen to visit a neurologist called Dr. Head)
5.Dr. Potdukhe (Stomach ache)-Gastroenterologist (Why on earth would you like to visit a doctor who is called stomach ache for your own stomache)
6.Dr. Kane (One eyed)-squint specialist (Considering getting your squint corrected? Then visit Dr. Squint himself)
5.Dr. Manmode (Neck twisted)-spondylitis specialist (Got a pain in the neck? Then visit Dr. Necktwister for relief)
6.Dr. Parkarwarkar (Raise your petticoat) -Gynaecologist (Ladies if you have a problem would you consider visiting a doctor called ‘Petticoat-raiser’ even though thats what all gynaecologist ultimately tell their patients to do)
7.Dr. Dungankhajawe (Scratching bum)o-Piles specialist (it may be comforting to know when you are suffering from piles that you are not alone. Your doctor is also suffering from pruritis ani due to which he has to constantly scratch his behind or at least that what his name suggests. Another friend suggested the name of Dr. Ghanfade but he may be a little too violent constantly tearing asses)
8.Dr. Boob-Breast specialist (One of my colleagues resigned and joined practice with Dr. Boob. He was asked which Boob? The bigger or the smaller? By which the person meant the father or the son? Well my friend innocently replied the smaller one. So boys remember ‘Bigger is not necessarily better’, though it may be ‘tighter and svelter’ but alas even that sags with age!)
9.Dr. Screwala-Sexologist (This would be a totally suitable name if you have problems in screwing!)
So friends here ends my epistle, it may be funnier if you know the language but I have tried to translate.

My fall from grace!

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Thank you for your good wishes and prayers. I am writing from my hospital bed recovering from a fall of 15 feet.  Thanks to modern technology it is possible to stay in touch with a mobile phone. Well all of you are wondering how it happened. We have a guava tree in our compound which this year has given a particularly bountiful harvest of fruits. The branches overhang our first floor balcony. So in the morning at 8 am I had returned from my workout in the gym (these days I have become health conscious) I got ‘tempted by a (forbidden?) fruit’. There is a water tank on the balcony and I stood on it. While plucking the fruit I got a premonition that I may fall and had a momentary wave of giddiness. I slumped to one side and I was airborne without wings. The moments after that seemed like in slow motion. There was a rain shade which broke my fall. I slid off it and landed 15ft to the ground on the right side of my back, then my thoughts shifted back to real time from slomo. The pain was excruciating and for some time I could not inhale. There was a servant girl washing clothes and she starting shouting ‘Papa has fallen’. My 81 years old mother came out and became hysterical. I somehow managed to shout in a normal voice ‘Mama dont worry I am alright’. I was relieved that my toes and lower limbs were moving. Then my wife came down and I told her to call a known doctor and tell him to send an ambulance (unlike you lucky ones who live in the ‘first world’ merely have to dial 911, we have to depend on contacts). I did not move from the spot and even if I wanted I could not. I asked the servants to get of an icepack and asked them to apply it on my back and also asked them to get a bed cover and roll me on it. Meanwhile the ambulance came and I told them to transfer me with the sheet onto the stretcher. My wife also came on the ambulance and I told to instruct the drivers to take me straight to the CT Scan centre (we have standalone diagnostic centres in our town) I knew no point in getting admitted and then be shifted for a scan. On that journey on an ambulance with poor suspensions and me with an injured back and the pot holed roads, I realized what my patients must have to go through (I could call it an epiphany moment). I also realised that even the ramps leading to the centre are not without bumps and each one causes excruciating pain. Then in the scan centre I have to be shifted to the gurney of the centre and then transferred to the gantry of the scan. The CT report showed fracture of the transverse processes of all lumbar vertebrae on the right side with bilateral fracture on L1 and fracture of 6, 7 & 8th ribs with pneumothorax and lung contusion. By then all my juniors were with me and conveyed the report to the neurosurgeon. He wanted a MRI to rule out cord edema or compression. I had to be shifted to another centre which has the facility of MRI. So you can imagine that involved another round of transfers jumps and bumps. The MRI experience was like entering a  large water pipe followed by whole lot of whirring, clanging & banging. I can understand why people get claustrophobic in MRI. However the good news was my cord was intact. Then ‘piece de resistance’ was that before getting into my hospital bed I had to get a chest x-ray for which I had to sit up. I felt like passing out but somehow retained consciousness. Now I am on a firm air bed in an hospital ICU (though I really dont need ICU care) and as the old cliched saying goes ‘it only hurts when I laugh’ or when I move. In retrospect I got away cheaply from this fall. Definitely someone above is watching over me. My fall was broken by the rain shade and I landed on my back which distributed my weight over the length of my body. Because I kept my neck flexed it did not strike the ground with force, therefore avoiding a head injury. The neurosurgeon treating me said that I was lucky most who fall from that height have compression fractures of the vertebrae with paraplegia. So as the saying goes “every cloud has a silver lining”.

Chinna Veedu

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In South there is the concept of ‘chinna veedu’ which literally means ‘small house’. This concept was brought to Bollywood by the Sexy South Indian Sirens of yore. Hema Malini was the first when she married He-Man Garam Dharam and set up a chinna veedu. She managed to give it respectability with her dignity. Sridevi was the next when she married Boney Kapoor. Apli Marathi Mulgi Smita Patil was not behind promoting this trend when she married Raj Babbar. You may not know but Rekha also comes from a chinna veedu. She is the daughter of Gemini Ganesan from his second wife. So is Kanimozhi, her father Karunanidhi has multiple chinna veedus. The bigger the man the more chinna veedus. Somebody has justified this by saying ‘if you marry one woman she will fight with you and if you marry two they will fight for you’. Why doesn’t the law swing into action? After all bigamy is illegal. In Hema Malini’s case when the police were asked they replied “only if the first wife lodges a complaint can we act. Cohabitation is not illegal.