A Good Day in Chennai

THEY Say Not to Wear White After Labor Day

The ever vague collective, the THEY, who direct certainty into the "should haves" and "could haves" of sleepless nights, need to go on permanent vacation.

Bred and trained, perhaps, in defense of the common good (which is neither common, nor very good), THEY turn what should just be ordinary fear into wringing doubt.

And the thing about doubt is that it grows, builds and feeds on itself until, one day, it turns feral. It becomes an animal that acts out of a strange volition, separate from your own, but overarching and dangerously imperious. Directed by THEM, estranged from yourself, fear and doubt can drive you into situations you wonder how you could ever have gotten into. Its a sort of quickly enveloping net.

The easy solution, would be to destroy the THEY and cling to that which is its say, nemesis. As Yin is to Yang, THEY answer to you. And the ever besieged soldier of sense of 'you', our integrity.

From 'V from Vendetta'

"Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch, but one. An inch. It is small and it is fragile and it

is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never let THEM take it away from us"

"But I'd only told them the truth. Was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it

is all we really have. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch, we are free."

But of course, the disadvantage of the above is that not only are you constantly at battle, but you are also living, within a very small inch.

As much as believing in yourself, your ideals, your principles gives you a backbone, clinging to yourself, your ideals and your principles weakens your ability to see the world around you, which is as real as yourself.

THEM exists because its a reflection of the things that surround you.

Amartya Sen once said, in Identity and Violence,

"Our freedom to assert our personal identity can sometimes be extraordinarily limited in the eyes of others, no matter how we see ourselves."

This is an important point, because since integrity is dependent on the 'assertion of personal identity', which is more often than not 'limited in the eyes of others,' our sense of self finally does derive, to an extent, from others, and rightly so. Its the reality of the social human.

No matter how much you crave integrity - true integrity, true sainthood, is inhuman.

How much can you battle without losing sight of reality? And really, what would you be fighting for?

So, I suppose, if true peace and happiness exists between the insidious THEM and the stalwart YOU, it isn't quite a pursuit or a fight as much as a discovery.

I've known this all along, and there are 3 friends who've been around since the beginning of med school who've helped me to know this - and who embody this.

Where does peace and truth exist for me?

In the company of people I love.

In the pursuit of knowledge I harness.

In the presence of music I worship.

and

In the consumption of really good food.

:)

.Out.

Blo(g)ck

I haven't been able to blog of late.

There are a lot of thoughts in my head, that are of no use to myself or the cyber-world. They are kind of clogging up the writing process.

If I had something to say, about anything, I would.

Its time to get out of my head.

Awesomenss

Was listening to music today.

Remembered how much I love The Hush Sound, Fink, Wilco.

Phewae. Exhausted.

One of those random crazy nights last night that put everything in perspective and add a little magic to life.

Sleeeeep.

5:55, But actually 3:59, and now 4:17 - AM that is

So I'm still jet lagged from night labor room postings and despite the grogginess and feeling of persistent grime, which was exacerbated by the glasses I now wear due to last night's 3 AM clumsiness, I went out with friends. Well, to a friend's house, but still. And, I had a good but sleepy time.

UNPRECEDENTED!

Antisocial Apta is coming out of the shell.

Anyways, I have a lot to say and I'm in a writing kind of a mood. But its 4:19 in the morning and I have to work a 12 hour shift tomorrow so I really shouldn't be awake.

Oh well.

Well okay, lets take the middle path.

Here are some upcoming posts.

1) Music

2) Phantom (of the Opera)

3) Lee Pace

4) Travel

5) Future

6) Technology

7) Identity

8) Kayaking and other water sports

9) Sisterhood

Egad!

Ok. Word on the street is that I will be headed back to the
Eastern Sea board in the near future.

I think I've got Agora phobia.

I like my cubicle-like dung eon of a room in Porur. Really, I do.

AAHH!

:-D

The 'Girl Child' Phenomenon

I love OP days because my job consists of dealing directly with patients before they get mired in the paperwork tornado of lab tests, high protein diet forms and discharge summaries. Besides the fact that you encounter a variety of medical conditions, you also see bits and pieces of what makes your patient human.

Whether it be the overly-friendly, prescription pad grabbing 2 year old - who attempts to climb into your lap while you are trying to maintain a professional distance, (I'm the youngest one of the team. I barely feel older than the patients I am supposed to be treating. Must. Act. My. Age.) the wails at the sight of what you thought was your "friendly-face" 6 year old, or the infant who sleeps peacefully through his immunizations - with a sense of humor, OP day can be lots of fun.

However, there are times when you feel horribly limited in your role as a 'doctor.' When a patient's medical problem is secondary to something social, economic or emotional - something that, try as you may - you are powerless to resolve.

We saw one such patient recently.

A reportedly 16 year old girl that came with a complaint of breathlessness and was completely normal on examination. On further questioning, the so called 'breathlessness' seemed to be psychogenic hyperventilation rather than true exertional, or otherwise breathlessness. Moreover, the patient admitted to admission in the hospital 1 month earlier for attempting suicide by overdosing on her mother's medication. We began to inquire as to the reason for her suicide attempt, (Which in itself is both insensitive and wrong. Subtler approaches are necessary, especially for a touchy adolescent. However, I suppose that in a country of 1.2 billion people, bluntness and directness is almost a way of life.) and expectedly, she wasn't exactly eager to pour out her soul in front of two strangers.

As a matter of course, the treating physician began to 'counsel' her, 'Not to try this again. To be a good girl. And to study well in school from now on, so that when she grew up, after her education, she could have children and be a good mother.' (Note: If that sounds feudal to you, its not. Its the way things work in this nation. The catchphrase of every mother, grandmother, older sister and aunt. Follow the right path, and things will fall into place. Repeated like a broken record.) Sigh, if only it were that simple.

In this country, where doctors are used to having their word obeyed like that of God, the concept of proper 'counseling' is hard to sell. Nevertheless, this physician had already done far more than any other paediatrician would have. Most would have overlooked the history of suicide attempt, auscultated briefly, ordered for investigations, and been on their way. Its the utter lack of training or awareness on these holistic aspects of medicine, the flip side of physical health, that is a grave limitation of most allopathic practitioners. Sadly, its almost a cultural issue. The culture of medicine (in my limited experience) in this nation, does not allow for time to consider the patient's non-physical needs, and the training barely addresses this aspect.

Anyway, as we good naturedly gave the patient advice, attributing without a doubt, her behavior to adolescent hormones and other inanities, the mother dropped a sudden bombshell of a fact. "She is getting married, soon. Her marriage is being set." For an educated 16 year old in an urban setting, whose mother could afford a private hospital, that seemed a little strange. The mother later revealed that she had been diagnosed with cervical cancer and was a known epileptic, had been a single mother for the last 10 years after her husband left her for another woman, and had a son studying in the 3rd grade.

We should not have been so quick to try to solve the daughter's problems. To begin with, we didn't know what they were.

Ideally at this point, we should have offered the mother referral to a support group for her condition, as well as advice as to where to get good medical care. We should have, perhaps, led her to realize (after further understanding of her situation of course) that she really wasn't as powerless as she thought. Leaving aside our role as doctors, perhaps it was our duty as fellow women.

But instead, we listened to her story, gave her a rather lame rallying statement, and told her to come back next week for a psychiatric consult. (Who by the way, was referred to as "the special doctor.")

As a doctor, I'm not sure I fulfilled my duty. However, there is the absolute need for professional distance. As idealistic as you are, if you do not remain within your limits, you risk losing your judgement, and perhaps even professional integrity. But I am beginning to realize, more and more, as I go through internship, that you set that distance. Its your comfort level that will dictate how much you do for a patient, how much you allow yourself to care, how much you can get involved. Until now in medical school, everything was dictated. The normal WBC count is 4000-11,000 cells/mm3. The lifespan of an RBC is 120 days. Clinical postings is from 9am to 12pm. Now, those lines are not as apparent. You have to take care to draw them. Use your judgement. And other such things we are out of practice doing, from 5 years of textbooks, memorization and written exams. Its a balancing act, the understanding of which, has created extraordinary people out of a mere physicians. Someday, I hope to balance these things.

As a woman, I wasn't surprised to hear her story. I am exposed enough to not have the delusional arrogance to assume that everyone's lives are as good or as easy as mine and that when things go wrong it isn't because people are not living the 'right way.' But its not easy, even knowing all of the above, and expecting this sort of situation to arise, to not feel sympathy for that young woman. There isn't anything wrong with sympathy, except that its the sort of useless emotion that creates things like charity. I'd rather not feel bad for her and powerless than to feel something else that could lead me to want to help her.

Yes, its 2010 - and this is still the state of womanhood.

2 educated women from the best of backgrounds, feeling powerless to help 2 of their brethren (haha - what a word to use in this situation) through a tight spot.

Its been a learning experience, and I understand now this label of the 'Girl Child.' I understand in part, that I everyday perpetuate that stereotype by acting powerless.

Powerlessness in a woman is far more dangerous than in a man. Simply because you are behaving in a way that is expected of you. If you're a man and powerless - you're weak. If you're a woman and powerless - you're ''just a woman."

And no one should ever be allowed to say that about you.

Moments of Inanity

Just spent a wonderful evening educating ourselves about soccer players from around the world. Must keep up with the times you know, FIFA and all. And it doesn't hurt that some of them look like they've been dropped off the island where all the good looking guys seem to have gone.

Good times.

On another note, work and inhibitions have prevented me from properly updating in a long time. Will overcome both and continue to post in my own little corner of cyberspace....eventually.

Waka Waka!

To Soccer Players!

Sunday Mornings

.

This song was my Sunday. Mellow, enveloping and peaceful with a hint of promise, melancholy and an almost intangible uncertainty. Thats a lot of words for a Sunday and music that in actuality needs no words to describe it. I get goosebumps when I listen to this album - even, strangely on my knees.

To more solitude and rain!

The Geek is Back

When I think of Eicosanoids, I think of a molecular sized super-heroes who look somewhat like Stephen Fry hopping around cells sometimes wreaking havoc, sometimes saving the world. Yes, I suppose imps and not super-heroes would describe it better. Ok, maybe imps dressed like super heroes. Who look like Stephen Fry.

You, polyunsaturated fatty acid, you.

Grousing

Just ran around for the past 3 hours trying to collect blood for absolutely no reason. Because apparently, on 'new block' side, you can't transfuse blood at night. Which they tell me after I've collected the blood of course. At around midnight. On a non-duty day. In Ortho.

Grrrr.......

Reminder: Always second-guess a first year PG

Reminder 2: Don't pick up phone calls after 8pm if you're not on duty

Reminder 3: Stop obsessing and go have a life.

My phone goes on 'unreachable' tomorrow....

Pillow Talk

me: Sigh - what should I do with myself?

Srividya: be happeeeee!

we crazy tamilians make ur life uber cool

Srividya:

me: Stop talking!

Srividya: okay, u weird thing!

me: I'm not WEIRD

I'm AWESOME

Srividya: if ur sleepy, log off!!

me: but u keep TALKING

Srividya: awesomely weird?

me: And i'm compelled to reply

Srividya: awww

sweet!

me: Weirdly awesome bitch

lol

Srividya: yes. that.

me: sorry.

Srividya: ?

me: not a bitch

Srividya: who, u or me?

me: both?

Srividya: haha sure

so off to bed or just gonna pretend to feel tired but secretly wanna continue talking?

me: booblesnackers

and other entropous agents

Srividya: yes, that SO answered my question

Melancholy

Something sad has happened.

I can't quite put my finger on it.

It has something to do with realizing that my ideals don't seem to weather the realities of everyday life all that well. Worse, that I can't be less than what my dreams drive me towards. Also, I've realized that sometimes dreams can't die without twisting your shape. And I can't let them die, because my shape doesn't deserve to be twisted - but I can't seem to find a place for my visions in everyday routine.

Its something amorphous and sinister. But only in the fact that my eyes are seeing, for the first time, the facts.

I don't know what I'm dealing with.

So how do I overcome it?

dfkjlsadfskjl

dsjklsdkjfkjls

kdfsjdfkljdfsk;l

yes

dkjjsj;dkkdsjl

very creative

flkfask;lkjfkakl

sadly, something like this could pass as modern art.

dslfkjsdflkjsdfklj

oh! but now i've said it - it can't be DISCOVERED - and I don't think I'm starving enough to be that sort of an artist.

kjfl

OVer and ouT.

CRRRRRRIIIII/ER/Whacked out Diurnal Variation

Its finally here - the first year of my life where I'm not a student in the classroom sense.

Being called doctor - and every time I look for one, I see people looking at me. Then I'm like..."Right...I have a vague recollection that something like that may have happened." Lol.

I've just completed two months of community medicine - traipsing about in Aam's car with the two other complete goof balls (hmmm....that doesn't sound right). Coming in late for work because none of us could get that 9th hole in mini golf and making Pots in a cultural anthropology exhibition aka Dakshin Chitra. Why is Pots capitalized? Weird.

'Twas the night before Christmas and not even a mouse....right. Okay.

Anyways, CM was all daylight, fun and constant quest for a cup of Chai before work. Work 3 hours - attend weddings and engagements in the evenings. Rather like making the pre-retirement rounds. And whats with everyone getting engaged or married anyway? We're only 22! God help us.

Now of course, is the Emergency Room. The ER. A strange place filled with stranger people and dramatic events.

My meals are a palindrome - dosa for breakfast at 7pm, dosa for dinner at 8 am, sleep for lunch. Not sure which I enjoy more.

Waiting to go to work now - its dark again.

Go into the ER, and its like being sucked into a vortex you're never quite a part of. I spin around, just as disoriented, but never quite catch the rhythm. Except of course when I'm shoving tubes down peoples throats or sticking needles in their vessels. I get a strange feeling of satisfaction - like I am finally learning something valuable. But of course, the past 4.5 years are rather blank. I look back and don't really see very much.

8 am off-duty times are certainly the best. This morning there was a nice breeze and quite a bit of sunlight. When I finally went to bed, I felt like I was on vacation. Sleeping in the daytime and all.

Time has become a plaything of the psyche. I suddenly feel the need to sleep much more though really, I'm only awake for about 14 hours a day now.

You'll see when you come to it.

And the worst part is - when I'm hungry, I don't know what meal I'm eating.

Eyes Wide Open

IIT girl's murder solved, fellow IIT-ian arrested - Yahoo! India News

For someone with, as my sister put it, "a serious case of Peter Pan syndrome", the idea of love, romance, and passion in India was always limited to Bollywood song-dance routines and melodrama. People never actually fall in love in India.

In fact, in the 7th grade I was enough of an ignoramus to be surprised when a family friend from Hyderabad visited us wearing flared jeans and said that - yes, it was common, and kids in India did wear jeans and keep up with the latest trends. I was so used to people surrounding us and wowing our jeans, Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls and light up sneakers that I assumed that the entire nation was in the dark of what I considered the "Western" lifestyle.

Even to this day, after living and learning here for nearly 7 years, I am still surprised when I hear the more sordid of gossip or like 2 nights ago when I saw some pretty intense PDA at 9ft high. A part of me still holds on to that childlike understanding of people and events in this country.

Moreover, I live in a city where those of the older generation and much of our generation still upholds that veneer, regardless of what is actually going on beneath it.

So when I read the above story - oh boy. Did my eyes ever bug out.

Can you imagine if something like that had happened in this University? They'd lock us in our rooms and escort us to class.

Ugh

I should listen to myself more often. I'm usually right.

Consistency, rather, the Lack Of

Played a round of mini-golf today. Held a golf club for the first time in 16 or 17 years and discovered that despite my disparaging the game to my dad and granddad all this time, i do like it. Rather a lot.

9 holes of absent minded aim interspersed (albeit very rarely) with some shots of pure brilliance and even a hole-in-one.

My score sheet read like the story of my life. Sometime brilliant, sometimes horrendous, most of the time, just scraping by without getting noticed.

Oddly, after a one and a half month streak of happy-go-lucky 'do-er not think-er' me, mini-golf brought things to a roaring halt.

To be taken down by a stolen morning of elitist 'sport' - just great. (We started about 15 minutes before we were due at work, turned up an hour late and cried "Puncture, Sir!").

Now I'm plagued by questions of "WHY?" (to be cried out in a lament worthy of Shakespearean tragedy) and "HOW?" and "WHAT CAN I DO?" about my inconsistencies and lack of results - in life, not just golf. I've been stuck in my head for too long to simply dismiss these 'concerns' as I should and continue living life, but at the same time have been plagued by them often enough to know that more thinking is not the answer.

Blech. I liked yesterday better - running around Dakshin Chitra worrying only about not squishing my pot and reaching Andhra Pradesh.

Not quite sure if this makes any sense, but I suppose the return of emo-me was inevitable and hence the blog must reflect it.

Consistency I suppose isn't really a process to be learned and figured out as much as repeated action. But I'm so used to change and instability that I perhaps thrive on the drama of it all - despite complaining that I need peace and quiet.

To be consistent, you'd have to do the same thing every day, constantly improving and persisting. The only thing I like to do consistently is to try new things every day and run about with a mad look on my face. But that isn't really passion I suppose. I know it really isn't that difficult, but I'd rather just embrace the ADD rather than force on the straight jacket.

Flooglewhopper.

For a long time I never understood Edvard Munch's The Scream. I could not comprehend why a circle of man with paint swirling around him inspired such passion in so many. (Of course, the first time I saw the painting, I was 5 years old and flipping through posters in the Nature Store while my parents shopped/chatted. I also wondered why there were so many pictures of an ugly drab looking long brown haired woman without a smile). But now, I feel somewhat like the screaming circle of a man, in that there are things swirling around my head - but I'm kind of envious of him - because I wish I could scream, but can't seem to find the gumption.

Like Virginia Woolfe said at some point of A Room of One's Own - "...pulled apart by her own contrary instincts..." - feel rather like that at the moment. And worse, all my instincts are looking for a place to settle -a place to call home - and there really isn't anywhere except an insane drive forwards to places I don't really want to be.

Ok - I am going to stop now before I explode into an emo rock ballad of badly expressed feeling.

Ich.

********** 5 minutes later ************

After working off-campus for the past month and a half, coming back to Archana's for lunch was rather unsettling.

While I was comfortable, happy and free everywhere else - I was suddenly discomfited back over here.

Too many people.

Agoraphobia.

Ouch - Ouch - LOVED it - Ouch - Ouch

No pain, no gain?

Despite the hoards that debunk this well known aphorism, this weekend proved that it is, undeniably, true.

After a great night at 9ft high that ended more than a little late, 3 hours of semi-wakeful sleep, frantic packing and shady encounters at a gas station, we wound up all alone at Tidel Park at 4:15 in the morning. Waited for the bus - introductions all around - and got eaten alive by the merciless mosquitoes.

About five hours later, as our buses wheezed along village roads, we finally arrived at Nagalapuram. 82 people, most of us women, since this was a ladies trek, stumbled/sprang/zoomed (depending on the fatigue/excitement/restraint ratio) out of the bus onto a mud road and made our way to the first destination - a dam of red earth. I scrambled up the dam, and as I skidded through the dirt a phrase began to beat in my mind that would continue all day, 'Don't fall - don't fall - don't fall' intermingled with 'Wow - this place is beautiful, I wonder whats on the other side?'

My question was soon answered. As soon as we reached the top of the bund - a large reservoir, completely placid, spread out about 10 ft below us for a mile or so. Surrounding the reservoir in front of us, were hills so untouched that wanderlust began to take over. Behind us, fields and other artifacts of civilization remained. But needless to say, none of us were looking back.

After a quick break and photo-op we proceeded around the reservoir into a path that led up the hills. Shrubs and thorns soon gave way to a grove of mango trees so large, old and untamed looking, they seemed to have nothing to do with the pretty yellow fruit that graces everyones table come summer.

We proceeded up a gradual incline into thicker forest, where the path became wide enough for only a single file and tree branches eagerly blocked our way.

Soon, we could hear a the sounds of a stream - and caught our first sight of it at a crossing. The water was, as promised, crystal clear, and I picked up speed in eagerness to get to the first of three pools.

Our arrival at the first pool was punctuated by splashes and shouts of glee. I soon dashed off and stepped into the water. It was so cold! After swimming around, relaxing under the waterfall and an ill-fated attempt or two at ferrying non-swimmers to the other side of the pool we were on our way to pool number 2.

The path was immediately more difficult. The first obstacle being a narrow passageway through a boulder. Slinking through that was tricky, but fun. We skipped boulders, crossed the stream a few times and voila - there was the second pool.

Now if the first pool was paradise, this was surely whatever is more than that. The water was clear, even in the deeper parts of the pool - and no imagination had to be exercised as to what "lurks in the depths." Small fish swam around and the waterfall had a wonderfully positioned stone right underneath it as well as small vines to climb up on the rocks and cannonball into the water. A lot of people opted to stay out of the pool, but the 'takers' still approached it with glee.
The sunlight shone right on this pool, making it warm and absolutely ideal. I jumped off one of the rocks into the pool - going underwater without goggles - unprecedented for me.

After sometime, Peter (the founder of CTC) decided that a group of us could go to the 3rd pool if interested. He said it was a 30 minute hike to a pool about 40 ft deep. I considered not going, but I don't think that was ever a real option.

The path to the second pool was quite difficult. There was no flat ground - just lots of boulders, twigs, and many many possible things to trip over. We had to cross the stream several times - which involves balance, steady feet, and concentration - not exactly my strengths. But I still had fun pretending to be agile and looking around at the ever thickening forest. At a certain point branches of a tree stretched across the path - they looked, for lack of a better description, like someones curly brown hair.

After losing the group in front of us, calling out and following their voices we made a last climb to a ledge of rocks. Upon looking down, we found a group of us relaxing in the water about 15 feet below and no direct entry into the pool other than a jump from about 8 ft above the water.

I had decided not to go into the pool, not wanting to "risk it." But the sight of non-swimmers relaxing in the sun on the other sight of the pool like mermaids, and the perfect serenity on the opposite side compared to the gathering multitudes on this side, forced me off the ledge into the surprisingly warm water. I struck out for the other side and lay lazily in the sun with the others.

At a certain point, I heard a loud splash, cheering, and saw some pretty major ripples. A few minutes later, I looked up at the waterfall and saw Peter, whizzing out with the water into the pool. Promptly two other girls scrambled up the rock face on the side of the waterfall and all was lost. I had to go. Fear pounded in me, but some insane drive drove me up the rock face about 25 feet in the air to the side of the waterfall. At that point I froze, though my decision was already made. Either get over my fear and slip into the path of the water and be down in 3 exhilarating seconds or try and make the same slow, precarious climb down - fearing perceived imminent death instead of enjoying myself.

So in I slid and after hitting the water pretty hard, came out to the sound of cheers all around. Life was good.

After some more amazing jumps and dives by the more experienced trekkers we began to head back to the second pool to collect the rest of our party. As we proceeded back home, dusk began to fall. Pretty soon, it was night - pitch black - and we walked back by the light of our torches. Glances upwards into the night sky reminded me of my long unexpressed love for nature. The stars spread out, almost littering the blackness with points of light. Around us were low shrubs and in the distance loomed the outlines of the hills we had just left behind. Silence abounded broken only by the squelching of my wet sneakers.

By the time we made it back to the bus, decided to head to a Dhaba for dinner and left, it was 9 pm, already 1 hour after the scheduled hour of arrival back in Chennai. Despite my utter exhaustion, the bus ride to the dhaba was memorable. Listening to Coldplay, stretched out on my seat, and looking at the stars and hills, there wasn't a better place to be.

At the Dhaba - sleeping in a room filled with simple wooden cots, we devoured some of the most fulfilling Paneer Butter Masala and Dhal Makani to date.

Back in the bus on the way back, I stretched out my legs and slept till we finally reached the city at 1 am.

I don't remember much of what happened after that, but I remember waking up finally realizing the incongruity of the previous day with the life I've lived for the past 6 years. And realizing that despite the pain everywhere in my body and my near total inability to speak or move, I was more myself in that past day than I am on a daily basis. I went to work that day with more confidence and a realization - that yes, i love what i do for a living.

Tonight, as I prepare to make the painful journey across my room to my bed, I bear the pain as a reminder that it came from a day that was intense, pure and a reminder that life can be lived with an integrity that should not be tainted.

Ouch.

But I loved it.

Living Life and Loving It

This past month - since I came back to Chennai on Jan 4th has been absolutely phenomenal. I've had so many new experiences - met so many people - seen a side of Chennai I never new existed - been called Doctor, repeatedly - seen friends get married - a total high.

I intended this to be a more complete entry - but I'm so steeped in excitement for the life I am living that I don't think I can wrangle it into words at the moment.

But more is coming.

:)

High Brow Ranting and BBQ Fun

There are 7 odd billion people in this world (Yea, just write off a couple million as odd that seems about right). Each of us (unless you’re scarred in some irreparable way) with a need to seek connection with the people and the environment around us. Untested, unscarred people are pretty easy going; we crave love and connection to the extent that we have no limits to what we will do for things that make us feel secure. Accordingly, it’s hardly rational that there is one person out there waiting around through all the other people who surround him just for you to show up and enlighten his life. Forget about soul mates and high flying romance; I deal in facts – not flights of fancy. And that is why I say with rare conviction that we, without a doubt, need each other. These are some of the realities of being human that no matter what we do, say or pretend, are incontrovertible. They are the original Jeffersonian self-evident truths.

But these days, are they at all evident?

People have obviated in themselves the need for others. The things that make us ‘secure’ take us further and further away from what makes us human. In the past, religion was supposed to have been the opiate of the people. Today, we don’t even seem to need God. It’s all about how far you can go to be ‘independent’ and ‘successful’, how far you can go to build a ‘secure’ life. The Renaissance was a great thing for sure, and I’m all for humanism, but when it puts people in little bubbles with laptops, overdeveloped egos and no ability to look out the window, I start looking at the Puritans and almost thinking that they had the right idea.

Take me for instance; my ability to express myself to the void of cyberspace is so much better than my ability to talk to people I care about, about the things that matter. And in this world where bloggers attain celebrity status – where we write at each other – why should I even bother with something like talking? After all, what place do old fashioned things like that have in this fast-paced, industrialized, ‘globalized’ world. [Yes Thomas Friedman was right in calling the world flat. That’s exactly what it’s become. There are no hills anymore in interacting with people. You can see everything; you’ve got all the information, and they’re there at the press of a button]. My inability, my weakness in standing up for what’s important, is celebrated because now – I can say things with ease and convenience. Desktop publishing has revolutionized the alacrity with which us monkeys through the bullshit around. After all, who wants the drama of a real conversation when you can update the world about how you ran into someone at the corner shop named P. Epsi instead.

Now that I’ve built my credibility by blogging about the bullshit world of the blogosphere, I shall continue.

Furthering the paradigm of me as a modern human being – lets talk about the other things that makes my life complete.

Music. Duh!

But what has it become really? There’s push button publishing, and type a little, technically illegal downloading. Possession baby. I’ve got 30 GB! How many people really remember how to create music? I’m talking the real stuff here – no hip hop, no I’ve-got-a-great-body-and-can-gyrate-like-uninhibited-jello-whats-music-again? teeny boppers. Downloading, as much as I love and worship it as a source for music I would otherwise never hear of, utterly dissociates us from the fact that music is created by people. Everyone knows Limewire wrote and performed Stairway to Heaven. After all, that’s the real majesty of music – the fact that someone, just like you and me, but eminently more talented, created this just by compressing airwaves the right way. WhoosH! After all, don’t audiophiles go after speakers that reproduce original sound as closely as possible? So there is no difference between a live performance and the ‘comfort of your own living room.’ Ah! There’s the rub.

As Mufasa from The Lion King would say, “Remember….”

Don’t worry; I’m not a crusading, fine dust spraying, anti-techie. My own father is the king of techies, working as we speak to create a techie –er world – and I adore him for it. I spent weekends as a small myopic, astigmatic child with a halo of black curls and questions holding the flashlight while he set up various avatars of our music equipment. So you could say it’s in my blood.

What concerns me though, is that despite the fact that technology, humanism and globalization have changed utterly the way we live our lives, so that we are faster, more informed, better educated and definitely infinitely cooler looking when communicating by silently running our fingers over a keyboard then moving the hole in our faces up and down, we always forget truths that are supposed to be self-evident.

We forget that yes, though we need the new Apple product, the promotion at work, the things that make our life interesting and unclichéd, it’s the clichés that actually matter. That stupid Barney song that we all used to sing to mock touchy feely people – I love you/you love me/We’re a big happy family (I may throw up if I continue) – actually is important (who would have thought the purple dinosaur would get the better of us from the grave?). The people around you, your friends, family, if you’re a rising doctor – your patients – they matter, no matter how hard you try and ignore it. Sadly, though people are becoming more and more stupid as we speak – even they matter. For the simple fact, that we are all simply floating around in our bubbles, craving the same thing.

Connection.

All the technology, religion and Star Wars movies in the world cannot change how you feel when a stranger goes out of his way to be nice. Priceless, I believe is the sentiment.

We must beware of the ability of the things that make our life secure to take away from what makes us who we are.

If we’re pro-active about security, why not be pro-active about people?

On that note, excuse me while I go tell my friends I love them, visit my parents, stroll through a forest, go to a live music performance and live like it really matters.

Right.

BBQ Fun