I Could Be Your Average Multi-Talented Anaesthesiologist. 

Many famous philosophers of the world have said that a person without a hobby and talent is like a Bollywood movie without song and dance (OK, so only Shah Rukh said it, but then I have never read good philosophy, and the only time I have read Oscar Wilde is while stalking women and their photos on social media). I’m doing MD in Anaesthesiology and Critical Care (and Hospital Politics, Android Gaming and art of General Gossiping), hence I do find some spare time both inside OT and away from it to hone my multiple talents. This post is dedicated to show of talent inside OT, because outside the OT the usual scheme of things involves getting drunk and sleeping in a nerve-damage inducing posture, which is just a rather pathetic lifestyle, not a talent. 

So, yours truly, an average multi-talented anaesthesiologist, can…

…remove gloves and slingshot them into the red bag (or an area within 2.5 meter radius around it) from any corner of the OT. When I succeed, I do the usual Cristiano Ronaldo celebration, but when I don’t, I make a severely apologetic Darsheel Safary-level utterly gareeb face when the nurses are shouting at me for littering around or my shot has ricocheted off somewhere and hit the surgeon.

2. …break the ampoulle in one clean stroke without hurting myself with a success rate of 68%. The rest 32% of times, the right hand thumb ends up looking like Robb Stark’s wife in the ‘The Red Wedding”, and me and the right hand have to practice abstinence for that day, because although may be mard ko dard nahi hota (hoga), but a sudden penetration of glass into your thumb can be more painful and tear-inducing than accidentally running into a 60-year old couple busy behind the bush at the Budhdha Garden. 

3. …hum the entire playlist of every FM channel on the radio in emergency OT. Of course it is unethical to subject the patient to my voice which, on best days, sounds like Himesh Reshammiya being given Heimlich’s manoeuvre. But trust me, if given a choice between hearing a surgeon’s “Oooh, what organ is this one?” or “Oh no! Not the artery again!” and my unintentional Anu Malik impersonation, you know what anyone would choose.  #AlwaysBlameTheOtherGuy

4. …can completely forget about exam dates and, at times, patient care too, to write blogs in grammatically incorrect English decorated with laughable vocabulary. If you think reading my jokes is tough, then count your blessings that you do not have to hear me in person. You think Bobby Deol as a DJ is bad? I’ll make you beg for something as good as DJ Bobby Deol.

Or as Dharmendra puts it, DJ ‘Condoms are, after all, only 97% effective’ Deol.

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Almost All About Undergraduate College Friends

People often say that high school days are the best days of your life. Most of my school time was spent trying to muster up courage and English sentences to talk to the opposite gender and getting thrown wet paper balls at for being an unpleasant-to-eyes nerd. So in my order of best time ever, that time would feature near the bottom, just above the time I fell in love in play school. She was so cute and fair and had chubby cheeks and a strict father, who was incidentally the first person outside my family to have beaten me up. 

My best time in life (till now, because I have great expectations from the concept of honeymoon and the reviews for Stay-On capsules) was my undergraduate college days. The ingredients to great undergrad memories are a good college with a good location (anywhere in the world except Pakistan and Eastern Delhi), better friends and a few embarrassing incidents of which you will get a reminder at every subsequent reunion, louder and spicier than the previous time.

Another thing I realise now is that had you set any particular criteria for choosing your friends, most of your group wouldn’t be there. Your friendships aren’t based on mutual likes and interests, they are based on mutual dislikes, hatred for one particular human being or sometimes the fact that you had a drink with someone and shared too much and can’t kill him now, so you got to keep him close. Just kidding (Of course I killed him)! Sometimes you form a symbiotic relationship for study purposes, which is based on the made-in-India concept of distribution of labour, called ‘sitting near each other, hence half course each’. The fact that both of you contributed 25% each in your quest to score 50% passing marks is something to cherish for life, or at least till the professor taking your viva makes you realise the demerits of that system.

They formed your support system, and were there for you in good as well as bad times. In hindsight, they had only one way of handling any situation:

In good times: Hey dude congrats! Party’s on you tonight. Blender’s Pride? Bhak Saala Baniya.

In bad times: Don’t worry bro. It will all be better soon. Daru Piyega? (Or “let’s go shopping” or “let’s have ice cream and do some bitching”, in case of fairer sex)

There will aways be that one friend who will get too drunk and make the “She was a slut anyway!” statement and you will know whom should you not offer another drink to, unless you want the get-together to proceed on the lines of Khap-Panchayat meetings.

Your undergrad friends enjoy a high level of inclusion in your personal life, mostly because after college you feel mature enough not to share anything with everyone, and all the personal life you had in school was fashion TV and the ‘accidental’ act of touching yourself that made you realise what puberty was. Of course, your college friends handled your personal life in a very sensible way of “Bro you’re a Chutiya, only I know everything.” It also meant that they knew about your love life also. No matter how good or bad it was, they treated your girlfriend in one of the three ways:

1. Pleasant tolerable woman who has taken our friend away.
2. Stupid intolerable woman who has taken our friend away.
3. Vengeful bitch who will probably murder him and then will come for us and slowly take over the world as we know it.

My undergrad mates and I have come a long way, from hostel mess food to reunions at Connaught Place fine-dining restaurants, from Royal Challenger to Black Label, from “ladki pati ya nahi?” to “Get married and give us a bachelor’s party”, and from smacks at the back of the head to the bro-hugs now, which help us to say a thousand words without actually speaking. 

*Insert Summer of 69 guitar interlude here*

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The Honest SWOT Analysis – II: The End

*In a Balaji Telefilms Hindi serial voice-over* 

Ab tak aapne dekha… (Refer to Part-I of the series to know why and how I ended up doing first half of my SWOT analysis.) Kya Sharma ka SWOT analysis use sahi raah dikha paega? Ya uske sochte rehte hue kaddu jaisi body wala Najafgarh ka ladka BMW me bitha ke ladki le jaega? Jaanne ke liye padhte rahiye…


1. Dance: The DJ has put a good song. I used to be a part of my college dance team. So what if I used to arrange lights and costumes only? Without me, they would have been standing naked on a dimly-lit stage. I think I did learn some good moves back then, and being skinny as I am, if I shake myself vigorously, she might mistake it for some amazing Michael Jackson move. Good dancers are supposed to be good in bed. It’s time to prove that light-man and costume waale bhaiya are not far behind. 

2. Romantic: I believe I am a romantic at heart. Of course I prefer an old school approach to romance, like bringing gajras and jalebis in the evening and bolting windows to unleash Ranjeet mode, but still, it counts. I will shower gifts on her, with flowers every day of the year that I receive my salary on, and brand new dresses bought with Diwali bonus. I will also make evening tea for her which, going by my tea making skills, will help her to quit tea habit altogether. Win-Win.

3. Living Alone: I live alone, so I do have a chance to take her back at my place without getting her to meet my parents and sparing her from having to answer a thousand questions ranging from her career to character to extended family background. A personal place to retire at night also gives advantages in terms of a bed, air conditioning, and more booze in the refrigerator in case she is not yet complying to my demands.


1. My only concern while dancing is to avoid letting my inner Govinda fan out. Trust me, if the DJ plays ‘pak chik pak Raja Babu’, my pelvic thrusts shall follow automatically, and it is never a pleasing sight. Other artists/songs that should not be played are Chittiyan Kalaaiyyan (so that she does not get confused about my orientation), Daler Mehndi (I start singing along with hernia-inducing tone and spirit) and any song with Sunny Leone in the video (the only move I do worse than a pelvic thrust is a chest thrust).

2. My romantic streak has been inspired from ShahRukh Khan, hence from DDLJ to Darr, my feelings may be at any extreme. I may be singing love songs for her or torturing her male friends in a dungeon, and then offer my support when they suddenly go missing. I’ll help her in finding them. I know where not to find them. *evil laughter*

3. Getting a woman to my room will come with challenges, both for her and me. She should be able to survive the mixed stench of beer, left-over food and my loneliness, and I will that I remembered to keep water in fridge and something edible at home to offer to her. She should not faint at the thickness of the layer of dust on floor, and I will try to keep my chainsaw,  splatter-proof curtains and body-bags hidden from her till eventually needed. 

Finally I was ready to go and charm her with my looks, wit and smell of Axe deodorant that I used liberally (approximately half a can) before stepping out of my place. The DJ played Justin Beiber’s Sorry, and she and her friend, with whom she was clicking a duck-faced selfie,  exclaimed “OMG that’s our song!”

Almost dodged a bullet there. Another night of romance with my internet connection awaits me. Hopefully it won’t judge my performance after a few drinks.

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