Gin and Tonic

Gin and Tonic

My father is now 90 years old. He has been drinking a gin and tonic every evening as far back as I can remember (probably 60 years). He has one drink alone (never more) at 6 PM exactly. After my mother died I think he is bored, so sometimes I see him craning his neck to look at the clock to check  if it is exactly 6PM (Apparently this is a sure fire way to prevent alcoholism even if you are a solitary drinker)!

He said he did not want to become like his uncle. His aunt died several years ago. The house was large and isolated. The servants left in the evening and he was left to his own solitary drinking devices. One drink became two and then three. One day he noticed a large toad that crept out from under the cupboard. He looked at it with interest and then poured a little rum for it in a saucer. The toad enjoyed it. Every evening he and the toad drank till he passed out. (Perhaps the toad did too?). It was, according to my father

“ a futile and degenerative waste of a life and god given brain cells.”

My father kept his gin locked in a cupboard and the key on a shelf in full public view. (He did not keep money or valuables around so it seemed all right.) One day he said, “The level of the gin is going down. I only have a large a day. It also tastes different.”

At first I did not take him seriously. Could it be due to absentmindedness? Poor eyesight?  Altered taste buds? He still played a good competitive game of bridge so it could not be dementia or Alzheimer’s.

My father has a “man Friday “whose sole job was to follow him around all day until I got home from work. He was not very bright, but if he had been, I am pretty sure he would have tried for a more challenging job. Apparently he had a  few weaknesses.

“He drinks my gin,” said my father “ and then he pours water in it to prevent the level from going down. The water in Vellore is hard. That is why the gin tastes awful.”

“Did you actually see him?” I asked. “No,” said my father.

I was in a quandary. Domestic help is hard to find. We had no proof. I could not really accuse him of being a alcohol thief without proof.

“Besides you cannot leave the key lying around on shelves. ” I told my father. “It is clearly visible.”

“I cannot hang it around my neck” announced my father tartly.

Since I come home late, I could not take the key with me either.

My father took matters into his own hands. He took an empty gin bottle and half filled it with concentrated salt solution and added a teaspoon of gin.  Next to that he placed a bottle of Black label scotch into which he poured tea decoction. (To make it the  right colour). He left both bottles on the dining table and lay down for a siesta.

The sound of retching woke him up. Man Friday was puking his heart out in the garden.

The cleaning lady said, ”He drank from the white bottle and then he drank from the other bottle. Then he ran to the garden.”

He must have taken neat swigs. First of salt water and then of tea.

My father pretended he didn’t notice anything.

The liquor levels do not drop any more.

Conclusion: Brain cells improve with age if you play bridge!

Mexico here we come

My son got married to an American , and the wedding was to be held in the USA. This meant that many friends and relatives could not attend. It also meant we (husband, daughter, son in law, grandson) could not just “attend” the wedding and then leave. After spending nearly 85000 on the tickets we wanted to get our money’s worth. We were planning to stay for another two weeks afterwards.

It seemed  a bit hard on the newly weds to just “pile on” and stay with them, so we decided to go somewhere for a few days then return to Iowa and fly back to India.

“We will come too,” said my son. (His idea not ours). So, in typical desi fashion we  planned to go on a “family  honeymoon” . (I understand that many Indians actually do this, so it was not just us). We all decided on Mexico. The plus points were that there was no visa required and   and there was something for everyone to do.

A day after the wedding   we left for Mexico. All of us were tired and with seven people travelling it was a nightmare. . Then there was the problem of holding on to my grandson. He thinks he is training under Usain Bolt and the airport is a practice arena.

We left the bride and groom alone. We did not hover around interfering in their well deserved time of rest. Actually, they went scuba diving and after a couple of exciting dives , they were exhausted.

The rest of us  went on “tours”. Cancun, where we stayed, has only one industry, tourism. They are very organized and polite about it. We can learn a great deal from them.

·      The toilets are scrupulously clean and well maintained.

·      Their meat dishes, the grilled fish are out of this world.

·      Their tortillas are like chappatis

·      They accept dollars and pesos and give the correct change in whatever currency we ask for.

·      They politely but blatantly ask for tips, telling us to express as much gratitude as we wish to  “from our hearts”.

We were taken to a “sink hole” a cenote 250 feet deep. There were primitive steps from which you could leap off into the water. (Needless to say my grandson established a record. He leapt off 26 times and was loudly cheered when we re-entered the tour bus).

We saw the Chichen itza ruins in  the Mayan city.  They were a scholarly people with religion intertwined with studies. Their professors and religious leaders were the same. They had a fixation on human sacrifice. For prosperity, rain or health.  It was considered an honour to be decapitated and have your heart torn out and fed to the jaguars and eagles. (The priests seem to have convinced the population about this). Perhaps this is part of human psyche. Two thousand years later we have jehadis!

Physical fitness was a mantra with them. Every four months they had a sort of Olympics where the best teams from the villages and cities (chauvinistically men only) competed in a game rather like hockey. The ball had to be hit through a loop 12 feet high using the body and a primitive hockey stick. The game ended when a team scored 13 goals. Sometimes it went on at night as well. Then they used burning rubber balls. They held a demo and it was certainly a sight to see!

The down side? The loosing team was decapitated. Apparently they considered it an honour. The winning team was presented the heads of their adversaries!

They constructed  an observatory similar to the ones we have today. Small wonder that it is one of  the seven new wonders of the world. They studied astronomy. Using primitive equipment, the deduced the presence of all the planets except  earth and Pluto. That is because the stood on earth and Pluto has been recently kicked out of the solar system anyway! They watched the reflection of the son through large vats of water since the could not observe it directly.

It reminded me of the Jantar Mandar, the Stonehenge constructions and the Peruvian constructions of the Incas. There are several theories that these areas were populated by aliens who then all died out, intermarried with humans or returned to their original universe.  After seeing these constructions I am beginning to think there are aliens or at least hybrids among us.  It is difficult to imagine these engineering feats without some outside help! Their uniform fixation on astronomy may have something to do with attempts to return to their homes in the solar system.

Physically, Mayans are short and squat. The women have big breasts, hips, stomachs and thighs.

“Don’t worry about your figure” our Mayan guide said, “these skinny ladies very ugly. Must have some meat on body to be healthy. You correct size!”

One of their kings was tall, blonde and blue eyed. He arrived in a “boat”, (perhaps a alien craft) and after ruling them for some time, enigmatically announced “ I will return wait for me” and sailed away into the sunset. He never did come back!

There is a great deal to be learnt from the Mayans.

Their unfailing  politeness, , preservation of their natural resources, pride in their country and heritage and last of all their perception of “beautiful women.”.

Changing India

Changing India

India is changing. It was obvious in the polling booths filled with enthusiastic 19-20 something first time voters. A few were confused—“Is the AAP (Aam Adhmi Pasarty) symbol a mango?”

“No” said her friend, “it is a Gandhi cap!”

“Look said another “there is no Gandhi cap on the list pasted here, there is only a sports cap!”

“Look, said the first girl, its under broom.”

I am really glad they sorted that out!

The turn out was more than 70%. For the first time (I have voted in all the elections) I stood in line for an hour and fifteen minutes!

Things have changed in other ways also. As we came out of a “hypercity supermarket” I Hyderabad, I saw a gentleman loading his young wife and daughter with their purchases into an auto. As soon as they got inside, he whipped out his smart phone and photographed the driver with his badge clearly visible and the auto license plate!

I saw the same thing in the airport. The flight was delayed by an hour and a half. By the time we got into Hyderabad it was 10:30 pm. Most of us were negotiating at the prepaid taxi counter. As soon as the taxi pulled up the PYT  in front of me whipped out her phone and started messaging her father, time and license plate!

My daughter was jogging on the road when a road side Romeo pulled up alongside on his motorbike. “Kadalai” (lover) he sang  and then proceeded to finish the first  stanza of this romantic movie song.

My daughter’s not that well versed with Tamil movie songs. She does know the Hindi ones though.

“Mere Pyare,” she started smiling at him. She whipped out her phone to take a photograph.

Needless to say he fled for his life.

Smart phones are God’s  gift to women. Despite all government warnings many autos try to get by without putting their meter. Tired and hot as I left Central station Chennai an auto driver approached me.

“Rs 250” he said when he heard where I wanted to go.

“No,” I said “Meter.”

“No ,” he said.  

I took out my phone to call my daughter and ask her what a reasonable rate was.

“Arre” said the auto driver, ”why do you want to report me? I will put on the meter!”

The bribing of voters in this election is incredible. Though as Kejiriwal said openly, “take the money. I am not asking you not to. But after that remember your ballot is secret. Vote with your conscience.”

There is a flying squad ready to take action at a moments notice. One of the political parties brought an incredible 50 lakhs to  Vellore to bribe the voters. Information was leaked and the squad arrived. The people carrying the money abandoned it and fled. Only 30 lakhs was found so some one (no one seems to know who) made a killing for a day’s work!

Times are changing.  Though we still have colleges forbidding cell phones in college. They seem to consider them less of a utilitarian safety device and more of a mechanism for “love trysts!”

I hope more shackles are removed.

I hope the march forward continues.

Dr. Gita Mathai

The writer is a paediatrician with a family practice at Vellore.

If you have any questions on health issues please write to

yourhealthgm@yahoo.co.in

vodoo

Vodoo

There has always been something creepy about voodoo. Does it or doesn’t it exist? All the mumbo jumbo. Even reading about it gives me goose bumps. Does a person get psyched into doing the things the black magic wants him to do, does he fall ill out of fear  or is it a coincidence?

We had shifted into a new house in Madras ( what is now Chennai) as my father had a new job. He had been brought in from another company as managing director. He was appointed over several others who were already (apparently inefficiently and dishonestly ) working in the company. There was no love lost and they tried their best to oust him. They were not very successful, and he consolidated his position.

Then one day he developed fever. Due to his position a gamut of senior doctors came to attend on him. He was admitted into one of the most prestigious hospitals at that time.

No one could make a diagnosis. Antibiotics were frequently changed

. “It is typhoid, it is not typhoid.”

Opinions varied but the temperature continued to spike at 102-103`F.

I got fed up. I was a medical student  at the time and though  I could not make a diagnosis, I felt that my professors at the college could. For one, their approach was very professional and systematic. They were not swayed by the VIP status of the patient or by his poverty. They did not believe in flashes of brilliance but in a  proper history and a thorough head to toe examination.  If you proceed systematically and logically you will eventually slowly and pedantically make the correct diagnosis.

My father called it torture. First there was the lowly intern. He wrote reams of notes and insisted on examining everything from head to foot (every orifice as well). This included a rectal examination, which my father objected to with every ounce of strength he had.  It was to no avail. The intern was more scared of the senior registrar than of the ranting of a vulnerable patient.

As soon as I reached the room, my father vociferously protested.

“Consider yourself lucky,” I told my parents, “it could have been a female intern!”

My mother left for Chennai as there were some problems with the renovations to the house. I was in charge.

The intern felt that he had  pain over a particular spot in his abdomen the size of a fifty paisa coin.  The registrar concurred and so did the professor. A differential diagnosis of “liver abscess” was made and confirmatory tests were started.

My mother called.” Some one did voodoo on your father.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, “Why would they want to do that?”

“They want him to get sick and die. Maybe because he found out about the large scale fraud and theft that was going on!”

It transpired that she found a rag doll, a copper plate with some hieroglyphics and a lemon.

I was not too convinced, perhaps it had been left there by the previous owner.

“What are you doing with it?”

“ I pored kerosene on it, set it on fire and now I have collected the ashes put them in a plastic bag  and left it in the Catholic church.”

I pondered over this for a minute.

“Why the Catholic church?”

“They are experts in exorcism.” I had no answer for that one.

Meanwhile my father had been started on appropriate treatment. The temperature crashed and he went home two days later.

I still don’t know if the voodoo made diagnosis for the earlier medical professionals difficult so that they were, as my mother put it, “blinded to the truth.”

Years later, my parents aged, my husband retired and we shifted to a village in Tamil Nadu.

One day, while going for a run in the morning, I saw a black sack cloth on the road with some puffed rice and 3 vegetable dolls with grinning faces. There was also a headless chicken my dog wanted to eat. (I restrained him with difficulty.)

There was another old man  who walked in the morning. “Don’t walk this way, “ he told me “this is voodoo.”

“Why have they done this?”

“There is obviously a three member family. Some one wants them to either die or vacate their house.”

I felt sorry for whoever was involved. A hoaxer had obviously extracted a great of money from some one promising success with voodoo!

A couple of months later (obviously the original black magic did not work) a similar  set of figures was found at the entrance of the village.

The village headman was a DK . That group  staunchly believed in “no God.” He found out where the chicken had come from. He soundly thrashed the family involved and filed a police complaint against the voodoo priest! The man packed up his belongings and left in the dead of the night before the police reached.

Dr. Gita Mathai

The writer is a paediatrician with a family practice at Vellore.

If you have any questions on health issues please write to

yourhealthgm@yahoo.co.in