There once lived a Comedian in a club
His eye was a goat's and his foot a stub
But when he started talking, you forgot it all
For he was full of tricks, humour and gall
In twenty seconds and two lines he could make
A divorce lawyer, a snake
A foot doctor, a fraud
A real estate agent, God
The weatherman bore the brunt of his act
The actress he turned hooker but with such tact
The worst off was the President without a doubt
He was always being caught with his foot in his mouth
There was nothing the Comedian could not make funny
He could make you laugh over a nose that was runny
He had strange faces he could pull in a lark
And face paint that would glow in the dark
But if you met him after the show
Sat with him for a moment, only then you'd know
Behind the laughs and the jokes he'd thrown
Lived the saddest man you've ever known
Monday, April 28, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Tiny Little Steps that Matter
What will it take for this world to be just a little better? Not miles better, not better by leaps and bounds, just a tiny little bit better.
For example, what would it take to have just one more happy person everyday? 365 happier people every year. That's not a lot, it is a drop in the humanity ocean. But one of those persons could be you or it could be me or your neighbour next door or my best friend, and for that one person , it is going to be 25 or 50 years of a better life. Now THAT is a huge gigantic deal. To get here, would it take more teachers to teach us about the world around us and show us how we impact it and how it impacts us? Would is take more interaction with children? Children are instinctively happy, cocooned in their world of simplicity and innocence. Is that what we need? Or do we all need to learn to be travellers - see how others live, experience their lives, see their sorrows and learn to grow beyond ourselves? What about lack of peace and solitude - Is it this lack of introspect and lack of meditation and self understanding that leads to constant disappointment and a sense of failure? Or could it be the other way around? In an ovecrowded world with everyone searching for their own quiet space, has aloneness given way to isolation and loneliness? Ever known a lonely person to be happy? Being able to share and talk and laugh and exchange and to love and be loved and cherished and to hope, these are the stepping stones to happiness. Do too many of us not have this today? How glorious it would be to make just one more person happy everyday.
How can we keep one more person healthy everyday? Is it really lack of affordable medical care and access to medication that starts us on the path of ill health? I don't think so. I think most often sickness starts in homes where families don't know better or just don't care enough - don't care to keep their children warm in winter, don't care about their own nourishment, don't care about keeping the home stress free, don't care about sitting in front of the television instead of getting some exercise. A lot of times sickness starts and stays with people who have long forgotten how to hope to be well again. If we could keep just one more person healthy everyday, how much better this world would be.
Finally, the thing that is closest to my heart - how much better the world would be if more people could find the one thing that they are truly passionate about. The one thing that can raise you above the humdrum and give you a special reason for waking up each day, inspired and grateful.
Sure, the world needs more food, stable weather, better governance and so many other important things. But at the end of the day, in our hands lie the little things which we so easily forget can have a huge positive impact on our world.
"Not only is another world possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing." - Arundhati Roy
"The Grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." - Allan K. Chalmers
Sunday, April 20, 2008
ANTICIPATION
She sits alone at a table for two,
waiting, watching, wilting, as
second after languid second ambles by.
Her fingers drum on the table,
she reminds herself to not be shy.
She knows she is early, painfully so.
To distract she tugs her neckline up,
smoothes the hemline down.
She absently twirls her spoon,
her reflection stares back up-side down.
She wonders:
Do I look alright,
or is my kohl too dark
or my lipstick too bright?
Should I talk a lot,
bare my soul?
...or maybe not.
Will he like what he sees?
Or will it be an illusion,
for he can't see the real me?
The waiting, the suspense, is mounting,
her confidence a thin veneer.
As the clock strikes nine,
the chimes sing to her,
"He's still not here, he's still not here."
She feels her heart beat wildly,
thumping at a galloping pace.
She hears it echo in her ears,
feels the tingle down to her toes.
She hopes the night won't drown in tears.
Then suddenly without warning the door opens
He's there looking right at her.
One hand out, he holds a rose
and smiles at her
And she just knows.
waiting, watching, wilting, as
second after languid second ambles by.
Her fingers drum on the table,
she reminds herself to not be shy.
She knows she is early, painfully so.
To distract she tugs her neckline up,
smoothes the hemline down.
She absently twirls her spoon,
her reflection stares back up-side down.
She wonders:
Do I look alright,
or is my kohl too dark
or my lipstick too bright?
Should I talk a lot,
bare my soul?
...or maybe not.
Will he like what he sees?
Or will it be an illusion,
for he can't see the real me?
The waiting, the suspense, is mounting,
her confidence a thin veneer.
As the clock strikes nine,
the chimes sing to her,
"He's still not here, he's still not here."
She feels her heart beat wildly,
thumping at a galloping pace.
She hears it echo in her ears,
feels the tingle down to her toes.
She hopes the night won't drown in tears.
Then suddenly without warning the door opens
He's there looking right at her.
One hand out, he holds a rose
and smiles at her
And she just knows.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Doctor, My Tooth Is very Sentimental and Other Tales from the Chair
Dentistry can be a pretty cut and dry kind of profession. You see, you drill, you fill. The quintessential image of a dentist has been that of a middle aged man of slight built, with a back that is hunched at 45 degrees to the rest of the body (the more hunched the better the proof that he is a seasoned veteran at extracting very stubborn back teeth), spectacles balancing at the tip of his nose and a very serious disposition. So serious in fact, that he discourages any conversation between him and the patient. Thus in earlier days, the dentist would enter the room, open your mouth, figure out what the problem was, fix it and send you on your way without there being a single exchange of words between you and him.
To be honest, this was pretty much the way I worked when I was doing my Dentistry at Mangalore. There was no point me listening to what the patients said about their dental problem for the simple reason that I didn’t understand a word of the language. So, irrespective of what was said, I would open their mouths and figure out what the real issue was…I had a far better chance of providing accurate treatment this way than by deciphering all the various local dialects of Kannada, Tulu, Konkani and Malayalam.
Today, I am happy to state that things are very different. Now there are days I do a lot less clinical dentistry and a lot more talking with my patients. Ofcourse we do talk about teeth. Thankfully we also talk about things that really matter to people – health, family, finances, interests. I even have a few brave patients asking me for relationship advice. Much as I love doling it out (and I really do, ask me for advice and you’ll see), I have warned them to follow my advice at their own risk.
It is in these many conversations about teeth and other things that lie little nuggets of inadvertent humour so funny, that despite appearing to keep a straight face thanks to a very large mouthmask, I am actually grinning from ear to ear.
The following are conversations or incidences that have taken place between patients and myself
A Sensitive Issue
Mrs. Raman sits on the chair. I ask her if all’s well with her teeth.
Yes, she replies, but this last tooth is a bit sentimental!
Hilling Away
I walk into the room to see Mrs. Nair on the chair. She is a sweet 75 year old woman who insists on speaking English with me. She already has the good judgment to realize that my communication skills in most other languages, gets her gender all wrong.
I ask her that the matter is.
My lower teeth are hilling, she replies.
Never in 10 years of Dentistry, or in my many other years of life, have I heard this phrase. So I think maybe she means they need a filling. I take a look at them and by gosh, they are definitely ‘hilling’ - shaking and literally rotating in their sockets!
Bottom Line
Mr. and Mrs. Shah are visiting us from the UK. They have been living there for about 2 years. They have just about reached the stage where they have adopted the British pronunciations without the fluency. So happy are they with their treatment that Mr. Shah returns the next day with a box of sweets.
To thank you from the bottom of my heart, he says smiling, and from my wife’s bottom.
That was one thank you I sincerely hope he did not mean!
Strip Show
Mr. Harry Wright is a top guy at one of the consulates. He weighs 110 kgs and his stomach generally makes an entry before he does. The first time he comes to me, just before he sits on the dental chair, he says he needs a minute. Then right there before my very eyes, he starts to loosen his tie and belt. He then removes both. He proceeds to remove his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. He unbuttons his shirt to expose his vest (thank God). He then starts to unbutton his trousers. I feel that I urgently needed to stop him at this time but am completely stunned. I had never had anyone feel the need to strip in my clinic before. Is he angling for a discount, I wonder. As he lowers his trouser zip, I finally find my voice.
Mr. Wright, I say as casually as I can, what are you doing?
Oh, gas, is all he says. Cannot lie down with tight clothes.
I am so relieved. My clinic is not turning into a strip club after all. And if gas is a problem, I will gladly help him kick those trousers off! Needless to say, my assistant gets the shock of her life when she walks into the room to see Mr. Wright stand there in his vest and boxers and socks. She gives me a dirty look. So does the next patient waiting outside, who sees Mr. Wright when he steps out to use the washroom. As for Mr. Wright, I have never seen anyone dress more comfortably for the dental chair. There are days when I even have to remind him to put his clothes back on when he leaves.
Mr. Sujan
I had just started work. It was my first day as an associate at a well known dentist’s clinic. I was going to show him how good I was and how great my patient management skills were. My very first patient walked in. A very fashionable woman called Mrs. Makhijani.
She speaks to me in Hindi and unwisely I reply likewise. She says that there is ‘sujan’ on the outside, looking at me suspiciously. (No one has faith in a new doctor in my experience.)
Now ‘sujan’ was another word that I had never heard before. To me it sounded very much like a first name. Perhaps someone who had come with Mrs. Makhijani and who was waiting outside, I concluded.
I take off my gloves and walk out into the waiting room and loudly call out for Mr. Sujan a few times. I then walk back in and confidently inform Mrs. Makhijani that there is no ‘Sujan’ in the waiting room. She looks at me shocked and asks for Dr. Arora, my boss.
Needless to say that for the next 4 years that I worked there and pretty much took care of the entire practice, Mrs. Makhijani never once let me treat her.
(To those of you, who like me, are not very familiar with Hindi, sujan is the Hindi word for swelling. Something every dentist needs to know before he sees his first patient!)
Identity Problem
This happened at the previous practice where I used to work. The conversation was again all in Hindi and very, very strange.
She walks in with her mother. Both are looking rather scared, but this is to be expected in a dental clinic. I make her sit on the chair and she spends a while adjusting her sari. She works as a domestic help and has taken time off for this very important visit. I am impressed with her dedication to her dental health. She is very shy and speaks very softly.
So, I ask in Hindi, what’s the problem with your teeth?
She says there is no problem.
I am perplexed. Do you have pain in your teeth, I ask her.
She’s looking at me just a bit strangely. No pain in the teeth, she answers.
So what is the problem with mouth? I ask again
She’s beginning to look worried, thinks really hard and then says, no problem with my mouth.
I decide to use my age old method. I ask her to open her mouth and peek inside. After doing a thorough check up, I have to agree with her. Her teeth are in sparkling good condition. By this time mother and daughter are in the midst of a conversation, rapid sentences going back and forth, and quick furtive glances being stolen at me and at the door.
I finally ask, why have you come here?
Because of the itching, she says.
I’m thrilled to finally have an answer. But wait a minute, itching in the mouth?
Itching down there, she says.
I take my gloves off and refer her to the VD clinic next door.
In case you are wondering, all of these stories are true. To make them up would require more imagination than I possess!
To be honest, this was pretty much the way I worked when I was doing my Dentistry at Mangalore. There was no point me listening to what the patients said about their dental problem for the simple reason that I didn’t understand a word of the language. So, irrespective of what was said, I would open their mouths and figure out what the real issue was…I had a far better chance of providing accurate treatment this way than by deciphering all the various local dialects of Kannada, Tulu, Konkani and Malayalam.
Today, I am happy to state that things are very different. Now there are days I do a lot less clinical dentistry and a lot more talking with my patients. Ofcourse we do talk about teeth. Thankfully we also talk about things that really matter to people – health, family, finances, interests. I even have a few brave patients asking me for relationship advice. Much as I love doling it out (and I really do, ask me for advice and you’ll see), I have warned them to follow my advice at their own risk.
It is in these many conversations about teeth and other things that lie little nuggets of inadvertent humour so funny, that despite appearing to keep a straight face thanks to a very large mouthmask, I am actually grinning from ear to ear.
The following are conversations or incidences that have taken place between patients and myself
A Sensitive Issue
Mrs. Raman sits on the chair. I ask her if all’s well with her teeth.
Yes, she replies, but this last tooth is a bit sentimental!
Hilling Away
I walk into the room to see Mrs. Nair on the chair. She is a sweet 75 year old woman who insists on speaking English with me. She already has the good judgment to realize that my communication skills in most other languages, gets her gender all wrong.
I ask her that the matter is.
My lower teeth are hilling, she replies.
Never in 10 years of Dentistry, or in my many other years of life, have I heard this phrase. So I think maybe she means they need a filling. I take a look at them and by gosh, they are definitely ‘hilling’ - shaking and literally rotating in their sockets!
Bottom Line
Mr. and Mrs. Shah are visiting us from the UK. They have been living there for about 2 years. They have just about reached the stage where they have adopted the British pronunciations without the fluency. So happy are they with their treatment that Mr. Shah returns the next day with a box of sweets.
To thank you from the bottom of my heart, he says smiling, and from my wife’s bottom.
That was one thank you I sincerely hope he did not mean!
Strip Show
Mr. Harry Wright is a top guy at one of the consulates. He weighs 110 kgs and his stomach generally makes an entry before he does. The first time he comes to me, just before he sits on the dental chair, he says he needs a minute. Then right there before my very eyes, he starts to loosen his tie and belt. He then removes both. He proceeds to remove his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. He unbuttons his shirt to expose his vest (thank God). He then starts to unbutton his trousers. I feel that I urgently needed to stop him at this time but am completely stunned. I had never had anyone feel the need to strip in my clinic before. Is he angling for a discount, I wonder. As he lowers his trouser zip, I finally find my voice.
Mr. Wright, I say as casually as I can, what are you doing?
Oh, gas, is all he says. Cannot lie down with tight clothes.
I am so relieved. My clinic is not turning into a strip club after all. And if gas is a problem, I will gladly help him kick those trousers off! Needless to say, my assistant gets the shock of her life when she walks into the room to see Mr. Wright stand there in his vest and boxers and socks. She gives me a dirty look. So does the next patient waiting outside, who sees Mr. Wright when he steps out to use the washroom. As for Mr. Wright, I have never seen anyone dress more comfortably for the dental chair. There are days when I even have to remind him to put his clothes back on when he leaves.
Mr. Sujan
I had just started work. It was my first day as an associate at a well known dentist’s clinic. I was going to show him how good I was and how great my patient management skills were. My very first patient walked in. A very fashionable woman called Mrs. Makhijani.
She speaks to me in Hindi and unwisely I reply likewise. She says that there is ‘sujan’ on the outside, looking at me suspiciously. (No one has faith in a new doctor in my experience.)
Now ‘sujan’ was another word that I had never heard before. To me it sounded very much like a first name. Perhaps someone who had come with Mrs. Makhijani and who was waiting outside, I concluded.
I take off my gloves and walk out into the waiting room and loudly call out for Mr. Sujan a few times. I then walk back in and confidently inform Mrs. Makhijani that there is no ‘Sujan’ in the waiting room. She looks at me shocked and asks for Dr. Arora, my boss.
Needless to say that for the next 4 years that I worked there and pretty much took care of the entire practice, Mrs. Makhijani never once let me treat her.
(To those of you, who like me, are not very familiar with Hindi, sujan is the Hindi word for swelling. Something every dentist needs to know before he sees his first patient!)
Identity Problem
This happened at the previous practice where I used to work. The conversation was again all in Hindi and very, very strange.
She walks in with her mother. Both are looking rather scared, but this is to be expected in a dental clinic. I make her sit on the chair and she spends a while adjusting her sari. She works as a domestic help and has taken time off for this very important visit. I am impressed with her dedication to her dental health. She is very shy and speaks very softly.
So, I ask in Hindi, what’s the problem with your teeth?
She says there is no problem.
I am perplexed. Do you have pain in your teeth, I ask her.
She’s looking at me just a bit strangely. No pain in the teeth, she answers.
So what is the problem with mouth? I ask again
She’s beginning to look worried, thinks really hard and then says, no problem with my mouth.
I decide to use my age old method. I ask her to open her mouth and peek inside. After doing a thorough check up, I have to agree with her. Her teeth are in sparkling good condition. By this time mother and daughter are in the midst of a conversation, rapid sentences going back and forth, and quick furtive glances being stolen at me and at the door.
I finally ask, why have you come here?
Because of the itching, she says.
I’m thrilled to finally have an answer. But wait a minute, itching in the mouth?
Itching down there, she says.
I take my gloves off and refer her to the VD clinic next door.
In case you are wondering, all of these stories are true. To make them up would require more imagination than I possess!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Running on a Treadmill and Going Nowhere
I see them everywhere. Flat abs (for those who have been living in outer space, that’s abdomen in gym talk), buffed arms, broad shoulders. If you cannot tell them by their bodies, their conversations are dead give-aways. They liberally use these 4 key phrases /words – carbs, fat content, diet & workout. These are the new generation gym bodies. Chest puffed out (no, not just the guys), stomach sucked in, 36”-24”-36” has a new meaning all together.
I start to panic. I am definitely slim, but I can’t really say I am perfectly toned. And I downright refuse to be the only un-toned body around. I re-think my health mantra, which when simply put, is to eat absolutely everything, drink almost everything and walk like a manic. Only it now seems terribly inadequate. Oh, what abuse I have been subjecting my body to. In a desperate attempt to set things right (and also in my quest to aim for higher things, like a JLo body) I join a top gym. I pay for 6 months (to be fair, they have a deal going on that gets me a great membership at 50% of the cost).
Joining the gym is like getting into a special club. I all of a sudden develop a paraphernalia of things that did not exist earlier – clothes of 100% spandex or lycra that cling and make me look horrendous, special gym shoes that I’m promised is different from shoes for tennis or shoes for sprinting, a water bottle from which I can squirt water into my mouth from a distance, a napkin to wipe away that bucket of sweat that comes with losing 1500 calories an hour, a change of clothes, a deodorant and a gym bag to hold all this.
Day 1: I walk in, terrified. Everyone looks at the new girl and I keep my eyes firmly on the floor. I spy the trainer and head straight towards him.
What do I need to do? I ask.
Let’s start with measuring your fat content, he says.
Please note: I personally think that it is much better to hear someone say let’s start a root canal, compared to let’s measure your fat content…but hey, it could just be me.
He gets a strange vernier caliper like gadget and then asks me to hold out various parts of my body, which he then proceeds to pinch and measure. Finally after doing great mathematical calculations, he looks at me and clears his throat.
21, he says.
What’s that, I ask, wondering if he is really asking me for my age.
That’s your fat content, he says.
21% of my body is fat? I am thoroughly disgusted. 1/5 of my body is FAT? I would have pinned the figure closer to 10%, but then again I am an optimist by nature….
It’s actually not too bad, he says, quickly adding – for a girl.
I ask him some questions, get no real answer and come to the conclusion that most people are so shocked at hearing their fat content, they lose their power of speech. This gives the trainers time to pop you on a machine and start your workout, after which you cannot talk even if your life depends on it.
I am started on the basic treadmill.
Don’t touch the red button, don’t touch the yellow switch, don’t touch the keys on your left side, he says.
I keep my hands firmly on the handle and don’t touch anything. I am walking at a happy pace and am thinking this gym thing is not so bad. No wonder everyone is doing it.
He comes back 2 minutes later.
You have not increased speed, he barks.
This, from the man, who told me not to touch anything.
He increases my speed intermittently and after quite a while (er, 7 mins exactly) I begin to feel weak limbed and light headed. I touch the only button he has actually given me permission to – STOP. The treadmill comes to a blissful stop and I tumble off, so glad to be on non-moving ground. Just as my eyes are beginning to focus again, he puts me on the cross trainer. Now this is the mother of all torture in my humble and very limited experience. It requires extreme coordination, great stamina and lots of courage. I lack all of the above, but step on it nonetheless. He starts it up, again after giving me a list of technical instructions that I do not understand. 45 seconds is all it took for me to jump off in a state of extreme agony – my throat is so dry I cannot swallow, my legs are burning, my stomach is paining and as for my lungs – well, they have just collapsed. I lie on the floor (now everyone is really looking at the new girl sprawled on the floor between the cross trainers and the exercise bikes) and I wonder for the 100th time – WHY???
He gives me a squirt of water. I can catch only half of it in my mouth, my eyes are not focusing too well, you see. I am just wondering how I could slink away without being noticed when he says that I should do 15 minutes on the exercise bike and then stop for the day. I pedal at 0 resistance and at 1.5 km per hour – it is all I could do without fainting.
Day 2: My body aches a bit, but my self-appointed personal trainer calls to tell me that I have to come in today. I try to tell him I have a serious life- threatening disease, but I can already hear him scream at someone – another 10 reps - before he hangs up on me.
I show up. I survive 8 minutes on the treadmill, steer clear of the cross trainer, and do 20 minutes on the cycle. He is not amused to see the resistance level and tells me I need to be more sincere. I tell him I just need to be able to breathe right now.
Day 3 – 10: Things get better, but only by a bit. I am no longer on the verge of death, but I still look it as I step off the cross trainer, wet hair plastered across my forehead, sweat dripping off my chin, T-shirt clinging to me in the worst way possible. But I think it can only get better from here.
Day 15: I am wrong. Without warning, he introduces me to resistance training. I am shown a series of exercises on some very scary looking machines. I nod and try to look enthusiastic, all the while hoping those weights don’t do serious body damage.
I’ll start you on the lightest weight, he says.
Ok, I say. It’s what I say when I have no option.
And so I start. 1 rep, 2 reps and the arms just won’t lift it for a 3rd rep. The mind is willing, I am pushing myself, but the body is flatly refusing, non negotiable. He sees me struggling and for the first time I see humanity in him….or maybe it is just pity. Either way, I am grateful and frankly, beyond caring.
I’ll take off all weights and you do these exercises with only the base ok, he says.
Have you any idea how strange it is to see someone do weights with no weights on? 3 people stopped to ask me if I knew the machine had no weights. One sweet boy offered to put 10 kgs on. NO, I screamed and he backed away slowly.
Day 16: My muscles ache so bad, I lie in bed and take a painkiller. Someone tells me that I need to move, because otherwise the muscles will tighten and hurt more. So I take a slow walk to the fridge and get a tub of ice cream. Except for the pain, it is a great gym-free day.
Day 17 – 40: I have gotten better at this, albeit slightly. My trainer and I no longer look at each other with dread. He is actually quite sweet when he isn’t trying to get me to do 3 sets of 30 reps each. Right now I can proudly do 1 set of 10 reps. He spends a lot of time these days telling me all about his dental problems. I even sneak a peek at his molars, all the while holding a 10 kg dumbbell in one hand. He is a brave man, I’m thinking.
Have I lost weight with all this exercise? No.
Have I lost fat? Probably not, though I have not asked him to measure my fat again. I am probably down to 20% but then again, I did say that I am an optimist!
Day 55: I am playing tennis after 2 years. After being in a closed, airconditioned gym for 2 months, this feels like heaven. I can feel the breeze on my face. I can smell only my sweat and no one else’s…ah, what bliss. And then it happens. A bad backhand and I feel a sharp pull and a radiating burning pain in my back. The Doctor says I’ve pulled a very large muscle, could be a sprain, no lifting heavy weights, no excessive pressure on the legs, no aggressive twisting at the waist. In other words, no gym for a significant duration. I could have kissed him!
When I tell my trainer this, I could see the look of pure liberation on his face. He is trying to hold his joy in when he tells me that I should take a couple of months off and then re-start all the way from the beginning again. I say no, I am not that masochistic by nature. I don’t know who is happier at this news, him or me. Either way, I say goodbye to him, kiss my 4 months of membership goodbye (no, they would not let me transfer it to anyone, much as I begged) and am back to happily walking in the fresh air.
As for that perfectly toned body? I’ll get it someday, just not today.
"To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable." - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891
I start to panic. I am definitely slim, but I can’t really say I am perfectly toned. And I downright refuse to be the only un-toned body around. I re-think my health mantra, which when simply put, is to eat absolutely everything, drink almost everything and walk like a manic. Only it now seems terribly inadequate. Oh, what abuse I have been subjecting my body to. In a desperate attempt to set things right (and also in my quest to aim for higher things, like a JLo body) I join a top gym. I pay for 6 months (to be fair, they have a deal going on that gets me a great membership at 50% of the cost).
Joining the gym is like getting into a special club. I all of a sudden develop a paraphernalia of things that did not exist earlier – clothes of 100% spandex or lycra that cling and make me look horrendous, special gym shoes that I’m promised is different from shoes for tennis or shoes for sprinting, a water bottle from which I can squirt water into my mouth from a distance, a napkin to wipe away that bucket of sweat that comes with losing 1500 calories an hour, a change of clothes, a deodorant and a gym bag to hold all this.
Day 1: I walk in, terrified. Everyone looks at the new girl and I keep my eyes firmly on the floor. I spy the trainer and head straight towards him.
What do I need to do? I ask.
Let’s start with measuring your fat content, he says.
Please note: I personally think that it is much better to hear someone say let’s start a root canal, compared to let’s measure your fat content…but hey, it could just be me.
He gets a strange vernier caliper like gadget and then asks me to hold out various parts of my body, which he then proceeds to pinch and measure. Finally after doing great mathematical calculations, he looks at me and clears his throat.
21, he says.
What’s that, I ask, wondering if he is really asking me for my age.
That’s your fat content, he says.
21% of my body is fat? I am thoroughly disgusted. 1/5 of my body is FAT? I would have pinned the figure closer to 10%, but then again I am an optimist by nature….
It’s actually not too bad, he says, quickly adding – for a girl.
I ask him some questions, get no real answer and come to the conclusion that most people are so shocked at hearing their fat content, they lose their power of speech. This gives the trainers time to pop you on a machine and start your workout, after which you cannot talk even if your life depends on it.
I am started on the basic treadmill.
Don’t touch the red button, don’t touch the yellow switch, don’t touch the keys on your left side, he says.
I keep my hands firmly on the handle and don’t touch anything. I am walking at a happy pace and am thinking this gym thing is not so bad. No wonder everyone is doing it.
He comes back 2 minutes later.
You have not increased speed, he barks.
This, from the man, who told me not to touch anything.
He increases my speed intermittently and after quite a while (er, 7 mins exactly) I begin to feel weak limbed and light headed. I touch the only button he has actually given me permission to – STOP. The treadmill comes to a blissful stop and I tumble off, so glad to be on non-moving ground. Just as my eyes are beginning to focus again, he puts me on the cross trainer. Now this is the mother of all torture in my humble and very limited experience. It requires extreme coordination, great stamina and lots of courage. I lack all of the above, but step on it nonetheless. He starts it up, again after giving me a list of technical instructions that I do not understand. 45 seconds is all it took for me to jump off in a state of extreme agony – my throat is so dry I cannot swallow, my legs are burning, my stomach is paining and as for my lungs – well, they have just collapsed. I lie on the floor (now everyone is really looking at the new girl sprawled on the floor between the cross trainers and the exercise bikes) and I wonder for the 100th time – WHY???
He gives me a squirt of water. I can catch only half of it in my mouth, my eyes are not focusing too well, you see. I am just wondering how I could slink away without being noticed when he says that I should do 15 minutes on the exercise bike and then stop for the day. I pedal at 0 resistance and at 1.5 km per hour – it is all I could do without fainting.
Day 2: My body aches a bit, but my self-appointed personal trainer calls to tell me that I have to come in today. I try to tell him I have a serious life- threatening disease, but I can already hear him scream at someone – another 10 reps - before he hangs up on me.
I show up. I survive 8 minutes on the treadmill, steer clear of the cross trainer, and do 20 minutes on the cycle. He is not amused to see the resistance level and tells me I need to be more sincere. I tell him I just need to be able to breathe right now.
Day 3 – 10: Things get better, but only by a bit. I am no longer on the verge of death, but I still look it as I step off the cross trainer, wet hair plastered across my forehead, sweat dripping off my chin, T-shirt clinging to me in the worst way possible. But I think it can only get better from here.
Day 15: I am wrong. Without warning, he introduces me to resistance training. I am shown a series of exercises on some very scary looking machines. I nod and try to look enthusiastic, all the while hoping those weights don’t do serious body damage.
I’ll start you on the lightest weight, he says.
Ok, I say. It’s what I say when I have no option.
And so I start. 1 rep, 2 reps and the arms just won’t lift it for a 3rd rep. The mind is willing, I am pushing myself, but the body is flatly refusing, non negotiable. He sees me struggling and for the first time I see humanity in him….or maybe it is just pity. Either way, I am grateful and frankly, beyond caring.
I’ll take off all weights and you do these exercises with only the base ok, he says.
Have you any idea how strange it is to see someone do weights with no weights on? 3 people stopped to ask me if I knew the machine had no weights. One sweet boy offered to put 10 kgs on. NO, I screamed and he backed away slowly.
Day 16: My muscles ache so bad, I lie in bed and take a painkiller. Someone tells me that I need to move, because otherwise the muscles will tighten and hurt more. So I take a slow walk to the fridge and get a tub of ice cream. Except for the pain, it is a great gym-free day.
Day 17 – 40: I have gotten better at this, albeit slightly. My trainer and I no longer look at each other with dread. He is actually quite sweet when he isn’t trying to get me to do 3 sets of 30 reps each. Right now I can proudly do 1 set of 10 reps. He spends a lot of time these days telling me all about his dental problems. I even sneak a peek at his molars, all the while holding a 10 kg dumbbell in one hand. He is a brave man, I’m thinking.
Have I lost weight with all this exercise? No.
Have I lost fat? Probably not, though I have not asked him to measure my fat again. I am probably down to 20% but then again, I did say that I am an optimist!
Day 55: I am playing tennis after 2 years. After being in a closed, airconditioned gym for 2 months, this feels like heaven. I can feel the breeze on my face. I can smell only my sweat and no one else’s…ah, what bliss. And then it happens. A bad backhand and I feel a sharp pull and a radiating burning pain in my back. The Doctor says I’ve pulled a very large muscle, could be a sprain, no lifting heavy weights, no excessive pressure on the legs, no aggressive twisting at the waist. In other words, no gym for a significant duration. I could have kissed him!
When I tell my trainer this, I could see the look of pure liberation on his face. He is trying to hold his joy in when he tells me that I should take a couple of months off and then re-start all the way from the beginning again. I say no, I am not that masochistic by nature. I don’t know who is happier at this news, him or me. Either way, I say goodbye to him, kiss my 4 months of membership goodbye (no, they would not let me transfer it to anyone, much as I begged) and am back to happily walking in the fresh air.
As for that perfectly toned body? I’ll get it someday, just not today.
"To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable." - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Goodbye Old Year
Another year gone, only memories remain
What I saw and what I heard will never come again,
Like leaves floating on air, it’s there and then it’s gone
The old year has just decided to move on.
The skin is the same and so is the hair
The sight is as bad. No, no improvement there.
The smile is as wide, the waist is as lean
There is no sign of age, no more than last year.
Relationships have changed, some grown, some died
My heart has rejoiced, it has loved, it has cried.
All this has now passed, now wrapped in a thought
to be stored somewhere safe and thus not forgot.
Some new friends have come and left with a smile
Most old friends are around, they’ll stay for a while
They know what’s important and hence I am told
“Baby it’s not you, but the year that's grown old”.
What I saw and what I heard will never come again,
Like leaves floating on air, it’s there and then it’s gone
The old year has just decided to move on.
The skin is the same and so is the hair
The sight is as bad. No, no improvement there.
The smile is as wide, the waist is as lean
There is no sign of age, no more than last year.
Relationships have changed, some grown, some died
My heart has rejoiced, it has loved, it has cried.
All this has now passed, now wrapped in a thought
to be stored somewhere safe and thus not forgot.
Some new friends have come and left with a smile
Most old friends are around, they’ll stay for a while
They know what’s important and hence I am told
“Baby it’s not you, but the year that's grown old”.
Having a Boss vs. Being the Boss
6 years of corporate life has spoiled me rotten. Centrally airconditioned office set to a comfortable 23 degree celsius, 24 hours on-site computer support (alas, cannot blame a computer break down for not having done anything productive in any given hour), airport pick up and drop, flight bookings taken care of by the company travel desk who are so efficient they can change your bookings about 25 times in a span of 2 days and can literally get you on a flight that has already taken off. And oh, the coffee dispenser coffee – so sweet and strong, it can make a believer even out of a coffee teetotaler. And I have not even begun to talk about exciting meetings at exotic locales, personality and leadership building courses that aim at building the perfect..well..er, person and leader, and the benefits of having a full time secretary who keeps the wrong people out, gets the right people in and answers all those pesky emails.
A Company is more than the sum of its parts. I use a capital C for Company because it really does have a personality of its own and I do speak of it as if it is a flesh and blood person….
"This stupid Company won’t even give me a Saturday off."
"The Company says that it will reward good work and good results."
And thus the Company is like a huge human being, with a brain and limbs and hopefully, a heart. Working for a Company is a lot less about who you are and a lot more about whom they need you to be. The Company dictates your vision, your mission and the terms of your bonus. Then ofcourse, there is the question of power. In a large company, and in my position (and completely irrespective of the important sounding designation on my visiting card), I have finally accepted that I only have complete power to choose when to go to the loo and when to call home to check if all is okay. Every other action and timeline is evaluated, discussed and decided at team meetings, by company policies, by my boss or at the very least by my secretary. Sure I can decide when to call these meetings, when to re-evaluate budgets and expand business, but only if all 25 people that I work directly with (and including the temporary secretary) are in complete agreement!
It took me a year to realize that I had given up autonomy in exchange for the tremendous sense of achievement that working in a large Company can bring. I have the authority to make decisions that can affect millions of people around the world, I have the monies to make this happen, I have the resources of brilliant minds and technical know-how literally at my finger tips (I email many of these minds several times a day in hopes that they will save me from impending disasters. Till date, they have, which is why I live to tell this tale). I have efficient supply chain systems in place and powerful advertising to make this happen. It just does not get any better than this, does it?
At the end of the day, when I work here, I am the Company and the Company is me. I am bigger than myself.
But my dental practice is my baby. I dreamed about it…well that’s actually a gross understatement. I fantasized about it. I obsessed about what kind of practice it would be and about the kind of dentistry it would provide. I made blue print after blue print of layout plans, I was architect cum supply chain manager cum desk top publisher cum sweeper. (Thank God the plumbing was being taken care of by someone else.) I chose the exact equipment that I wanted, I selected the perfect wall colour, I decided what my work hours would be, how many staff I needed and what my rates would be. Then more importantly and quite impossibly, I had to be Dr. Genuis and Ms. Sales Person at the same time. Let's just say, I am still working on some of these skills, and no, it's not the former!
When I decided to expand my practice and put in an additional dental chair and some more equipment, it was such a relief to not have to get a work order passed by a purchasing department and to not have to speak to the man who holds the budget who just happens to be sitting in Paris and who wants to club the purchase of my dental chair with the start of another project in a completely different part of the world, thus delaying my plans by 4 months! My new dental chair was in place in 3 weeks – the perks of being my own boss is pretty great.
That’s the beauty of running your own show – there is absolutely nothing stopping you from making it as fantastic as you want it to be. It is clay in your hands, waiting for you to mould it and give it life. But every step has to be well thought out and researched. Mould it one way, and it may be impossible to change it's shape later on. The history of any business weighs heavily on it's future. When it's your baby, you get to determine what it's history is.
To be honest, it is not true that if you run your own business, that you do not have a boss. For me, my bank can make a formidable boss! On some days, so do my patients:-)
Today if I have a happy practice, all the glory is mine. I’ll be the first to admit that all the failures have been mine as well. The buck ends with ME. And I will have it no other way. It’s really is the best feeling in the world to start your own little Company and grow it into a giant. The hardest part is to take that first step.
"Success in business requires training and discipline and hard work. But if you're not frightened by these things, the opportunities are just as great today as they ever were." - David Rockefeller, US banker (1915 )
A Company is more than the sum of its parts. I use a capital C for Company because it really does have a personality of its own and I do speak of it as if it is a flesh and blood person….
"This stupid Company won’t even give me a Saturday off."
"The Company says that it will reward good work and good results."
And thus the Company is like a huge human being, with a brain and limbs and hopefully, a heart. Working for a Company is a lot less about who you are and a lot more about whom they need you to be. The Company dictates your vision, your mission and the terms of your bonus. Then ofcourse, there is the question of power. In a large company, and in my position (and completely irrespective of the important sounding designation on my visiting card), I have finally accepted that I only have complete power to choose when to go to the loo and when to call home to check if all is okay. Every other action and timeline is evaluated, discussed and decided at team meetings, by company policies, by my boss or at the very least by my secretary. Sure I can decide when to call these meetings, when to re-evaluate budgets and expand business, but only if all 25 people that I work directly with (and including the temporary secretary) are in complete agreement!
It took me a year to realize that I had given up autonomy in exchange for the tremendous sense of achievement that working in a large Company can bring. I have the authority to make decisions that can affect millions of people around the world, I have the monies to make this happen, I have the resources of brilliant minds and technical know-how literally at my finger tips (I email many of these minds several times a day in hopes that they will save me from impending disasters. Till date, they have, which is why I live to tell this tale). I have efficient supply chain systems in place and powerful advertising to make this happen. It just does not get any better than this, does it?
At the end of the day, when I work here, I am the Company and the Company is me. I am bigger than myself.
But my dental practice is my baby. I dreamed about it…well that’s actually a gross understatement. I fantasized about it. I obsessed about what kind of practice it would be and about the kind of dentistry it would provide. I made blue print after blue print of layout plans, I was architect cum supply chain manager cum desk top publisher cum sweeper. (Thank God the plumbing was being taken care of by someone else.) I chose the exact equipment that I wanted, I selected the perfect wall colour, I decided what my work hours would be, how many staff I needed and what my rates would be. Then more importantly and quite impossibly, I had to be Dr. Genuis and Ms. Sales Person at the same time. Let's just say, I am still working on some of these skills, and no, it's not the former!
When I decided to expand my practice and put in an additional dental chair and some more equipment, it was such a relief to not have to get a work order passed by a purchasing department and to not have to speak to the man who holds the budget who just happens to be sitting in Paris and who wants to club the purchase of my dental chair with the start of another project in a completely different part of the world, thus delaying my plans by 4 months! My new dental chair was in place in 3 weeks – the perks of being my own boss is pretty great.
That’s the beauty of running your own show – there is absolutely nothing stopping you from making it as fantastic as you want it to be. It is clay in your hands, waiting for you to mould it and give it life. But every step has to be well thought out and researched. Mould it one way, and it may be impossible to change it's shape later on. The history of any business weighs heavily on it's future. When it's your baby, you get to determine what it's history is.
To be honest, it is not true that if you run your own business, that you do not have a boss. For me, my bank can make a formidable boss! On some days, so do my patients:-)
Today if I have a happy practice, all the glory is mine. I’ll be the first to admit that all the failures have been mine as well. The buck ends with ME. And I will have it no other way. It’s really is the best feeling in the world to start your own little Company and grow it into a giant. The hardest part is to take that first step.
"Success in business requires training and discipline and hard work. But if you're not frightened by these things, the opportunities are just as great today as they ever were." - David Rockefeller, US banker (1915 )
LOVE is not a four letter word
Care is a word, a four letter word
It can make you soar on the wings of a bird
If care is the soul, then love is the heart
Two sides of a coin, they are slightly apart
Hope is a word, a four letter word
The most wonderful thing you ever heard
If hope brings peace, then love springs joy
Both merging into life giving alloy
Kiss is a word, a four letter word
Two lips touch while their hearts roar
If kiss is the thread, then love is the quilt
For many a kiss may not love build
Dare is a word, a four letter word
It can capture the warrior and the nerd
If dare is on earth, then love floats above
For you may love to dare but not dare to love
Love is not a word, not a noun nor a verb
It is but life’s most precious herb
To love is to give, to hold and to free
All of one’s being to another’s eternity
It can make you soar on the wings of a bird
If care is the soul, then love is the heart
Two sides of a coin, they are slightly apart
Hope is a word, a four letter word
The most wonderful thing you ever heard
If hope brings peace, then love springs joy
Both merging into life giving alloy
Kiss is a word, a four letter word
Two lips touch while their hearts roar
If kiss is the thread, then love is the quilt
For many a kiss may not love build
Dare is a word, a four letter word
It can capture the warrior and the nerd
If dare is on earth, then love floats above
For you may love to dare but not dare to love
Love is not a word, not a noun nor a verb
It is but life’s most precious herb
To love is to give, to hold and to free
All of one’s being to another’s eternity
A Life Less Ordinary
Today is the first day of the rest of my life. It is a brand new start. Today I have decided to live a life more intentional, a life more deliberate. To not just go with the flow, lovely as it may sound. For, as experience has taught me, the flow may not go any place I want it to. It may not even actually 'flow', but may just pool and puddle and do nothing else but look at me with large droopy eyes, waiting for me to create a wave. I am going to take initiative. Give wishful thinking the promise of reality. No more finding excuses for not doing the things that I really want to do and for not learning more about the things that really interest me.
You ever met one of those people who can take 24 hours and make 48 out of them? They are the ones who do what we can in a day and then so much more. They work, study, play, party and are pretty darn successful at all of these. They find the time to do things that they have to (like work) and then find some more time in the day to do things to are important to their soul. Things that they are passionate about and things that actually make their day worthwhile. This does not happen by incident or accident, rather it does by desire, focus and smart prioritizing.
I know a person just like this. For starters, he works 10 hour days in a high level stressful job. Now if he were a regular jock, he would spend the rest of his time between bed, bath and tv and wishing that he were not missing out on all the fun things in life. But no, this boy - he is way beyond ordinary. He devours fantasy fiction. You know he has read a lot of it when he can quote from them verbatim and then give you a history lesson on when the book was written and what made the author tick. He works out - his physique does not reflect it but hopefully his heart and arteries do. He keeps track of current affairs - nothing like a meal with him to bring me up to date with all topics that I know nothing about - national politics, implications of the budget, new age swamis, and the perils of being in the IITs and IIMs. He does yoga in the mornings, every morning irrespective of the night before. And he listens to music with an unbridled passion. Rock bands from 20-30 years ago are his thing. He knows his bands, he knows their first albums and their last. He listens to them everyday. I learn from him everytime we meet. More than anything I see how rich his life is because he gives his 100% to everything he does.
So here's to a new beginning. I'll start small, big starts always scare the hell out of me. There are so many things that are close to my heart and that I really want to do - re-learn the piano, start a 2nd business, travel more for pleasure, walk everyday, nurture certain friendships, read more of the kinds of books that leave an impression, learn to cook the kind of foods that I like to eat... I've always wanted to write - this blog is my start to a life less ordinary.
"Work like you dont need the money, love like you've never been hurt and dance like no one is watching" - Randall G. Leighton
You ever met one of those people who can take 24 hours and make 48 out of them? They are the ones who do what we can in a day and then so much more. They work, study, play, party and are pretty darn successful at all of these. They find the time to do things that they have to (like work) and then find some more time in the day to do things to are important to their soul. Things that they are passionate about and things that actually make their day worthwhile. This does not happen by incident or accident, rather it does by desire, focus and smart prioritizing.
I know a person just like this. For starters, he works 10 hour days in a high level stressful job. Now if he were a regular jock, he would spend the rest of his time between bed, bath and tv and wishing that he were not missing out on all the fun things in life. But no, this boy - he is way beyond ordinary. He devours fantasy fiction. You know he has read a lot of it when he can quote from them verbatim and then give you a history lesson on when the book was written and what made the author tick. He works out - his physique does not reflect it but hopefully his heart and arteries do. He keeps track of current affairs - nothing like a meal with him to bring me up to date with all topics that I know nothing about - national politics, implications of the budget, new age swamis, and the perils of being in the IITs and IIMs. He does yoga in the mornings, every morning irrespective of the night before. And he listens to music with an unbridled passion. Rock bands from 20-30 years ago are his thing. He knows his bands, he knows their first albums and their last. He listens to them everyday. I learn from him everytime we meet. More than anything I see how rich his life is because he gives his 100% to everything he does.
So here's to a new beginning. I'll start small, big starts always scare the hell out of me. There are so many things that are close to my heart and that I really want to do - re-learn the piano, start a 2nd business, travel more for pleasure, walk everyday, nurture certain friendships, read more of the kinds of books that leave an impression, learn to cook the kind of foods that I like to eat... I've always wanted to write - this blog is my start to a life less ordinary.
"Work like you dont need the money, love like you've never been hurt and dance like no one is watching" - Randall G. Leighton
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