Call Taxis

Call Taxis

All of a sudden we have a surfeit of call taxis. They are everywhere, even in our small town of Vellore. They have all kinds of names Leo, Friend, Maya etc. Uber has not condescended to grace us with its presence, nor has Ola. Two other “national” carriers have though, NTL and Fast Track.

Now going to the railway station or home (if your car is temporarily unavailable) has become quite easy. Just call the catchy numbers. Most of them end with repetitive digits, like 0000 0000 or 5555 5555. It makes life easy. No more dusty autos. Or even better, no haggling with the rude  tobacco chewing beedi smoking auto drivers. Or so I thought----

I needed to go to the railway station. Reluctant to leave my car there overnight, I called  for a taxi. The man arrived very late so I barely had enough time to make the train.

“Please put on the air-conditioning,” I said, “I specifically asked for an AC taxi when I booked”.

“You have to pay more per kilometer.”

“Okay” Is said “close the windows and turn it on.”

“I can’t “said the driver, “ the gas in the AC leaks when the engine runs.”

This did not seem very logical to me.

“Why did you come then? I asked for an AC vehicle.”

“You women are all the same, “ shouted the driver, abruptly stopping the taxi in the middle of the road. He suddenly got out and threw my luggage on the street. Luckily I got picked up by an auto and made it to the station. (Anyway the train was late.) I spent the entire journey calling up the company and complaining. Luckily I had the driver’s name and contact details. They were very apologetic and offered me a discount on my next ride. With so many options to choose from I decided that I wasn’t going to call them again.

A couple of months later I needed to go home after work. This time the polite driver took me home in an AC taxi. Just as we took the turning home, the power shut down.  My generator kicked in and my house was eerily lit up in the dark deserted street.

“Is that the house?,” asked the driver.

“Yes” I replied.

“Do you live in it all alone?’’ His question gave me the creeps.

“No,” I said firmly, “we are a joint family.”

The last driver was really loquacious. He looked at the beads around my neck.

“What religion are you?” he asked.

In theses days of terrorists,  religious intolerance and racism, I wasn’t going to answer. Finally after repeated queries, I said “I am a communist. We have no God.”

“Why then do you wear a religious necklace.”
I fingered the beads around my neck. “These are only coloured beads.” I was hoping that he did not think they were valuable. Perhaps the sheer boredom of the job makes the drivers curious about the people who hire taxis.

“Can you give me some water to drink?”

I entered the house locked the door behind me and gave him the water. Really creepy.

The taxis cost the  same and are sometimes cheaper than autos. This means the auto business is suffering. Perhaps there will a fight one day between the two unions!

The Vellore taxis are equipped with meters. So the rates are standard. I wish they also had GPS tracking devices. I would feel a lot safer and happier. Maybe a couple of years down the line---- . For the time being I just keep one of my juggling clubs in my voluminous hand bag. It is really a good weapon.

open house

Open House

My daughter recently wrote an article in the Times of India about a trusting woman who never locked her house. I was lost in admiration . For years I had been trying to get my parents to lock their independent house in Chennai (at least when they were actually in it). They never did so. We had all kinds of things stolen. Once my parents slept soundly on a hot summer day in the afternoon in their air-conditioned bedroom. They front door was wide open, apparently  for cross ventilation, to cool down the rest of the house. A thief came in took their music system and my daughter’s DVD player. For good measure, he sat at the dining table (which had not been cleared) and helped himself to a good lunch. 

Aghast at the thought of having to explain to my daughter where the DVD player was, they places a vase with flowers in its place, hoping she would not notice the empty table!

Recently a mother –in- law and daughter- in- law came in. They had bruises and injuries.

“What happened?” I asked.

“My son beat us both, “ said the mother sniffling.

I summoned  the  son and unleashed a tirade.

“Why do you hit women? Why do you beat your mother? Have you no shame?”

He was silent. “Do you know why I hit them?”

Apparently, he was at work all day and he carried a light pre-packed lunch. The two women ate “full meals” at home at lunch time. They then stretched out in the hall in front of the television and snored. Attracted by the sound, a thief seized the opportune moment and entered. He ran away with their LED television, set top box, cell phone, grinder, mixie , pressure cooker and silver puja items. He must have made several trips to carry all this out. He had to have passed very close to them as the space was limited.

I was silent. I understand the man losing his temper. After a hard days work he was balked of viewing his favorite serials. The kitchen appliances were important only to the two women.

“This is not the first time,” said the man, “I didn’t hit them last time.”

Apparently it was a repeat performance. A few months ago, the women were in a similar post-prandial comatose state. The thief managed to remove  their gold chains and silver waist chains from their person. Attracted by the diamond earrings in the old lady’s ears, he started to unscrew them. He removed one and then inadvertently pinched her ear as he tried to remove the other one. She groggily woke up, but her reaction time was slow, so he managed to make good his escape with one earring and the chains. The daughter-in law slept through it all.

I have read about heavy carbohydrate meals causing post prandial hypoglycaemia, but for once I agreed with the man, this was the limit!

The writer is a paediatrician with a family practice at Vellore and author of “Staying Healthy in Modern India”.

Dieting Blues

Dieting Blues

I have been trying to loose weight (rather unsuccessfully ) after the birth (37 years ago) of my second child. (He often says  I blame everything on him)!

My friend and classmate in medical college is an expert on weight loss. She set up a very successful clinic. She is in great demand and She motivates her dieters, and allows them  no excuses at all. The regimen does not require any exercise, so it is very popular. The diet is totally carbohydrate free with just protein and fat. There are raw green leafy vegetables too. After some time  you feel like a mutant herbivore. You also begin to chew the leaves you are allowed to eat in a desultory fashion. It keeps your mind off food. The diet works, and,  even though your dreams are full of biriyani, parottas and dal makhani, the weight just melts off.

Keeping the kilos  off is quite another matter. After a year or two, when chewing cud is not a viable option, and pongal vadai irresistible, it just creeps back on again. Also there is the unsightly sagging in the areas of weight loss, usually the arms, the face , the sundry other regions covered with skin. The areas from which the fat has disappeared leaves long streaks, ugly discoloured pink or white visible stretch marks.

Another classmate looked very slim and trim. At the alumni reunion she was a source of great envy. Her stomach was flat her arms toned.

“What exactly is your secret?” I asked. The rest of the women (many of whom had paunches that led from the front) listened with interest.

“I eat only every alternate day,” she replied. There was a shocked silence.

On the other days, “I only drink water. Since I work, I do not really notice the lack of food.”

She added , “ I also use the cross trainer for an hour on the days I don’t fast.”

 I decided to try it. To motivate myself further, I went to work without carrying any breakfast or lunch with me. I took black coffee and lime water (not lime juice). By 11:30 AM I started to see double. The patient’s face split into two halves sideways and then joined again. I once saw a movie about a schizophrenic lady. The credits had her face split into two halves which sporadically joined together. My stomach let out loud audible rumbles.   I send my staff out to buy curd rice.

That was the  end of the fasting!

After my Achilles tendon tear, this year, the orthopedic surgeon warned me.

“You are going to be in bed for three months. Even with a normal diet, you will gain weight. Your leg won’t be able to take it. You have a high chance of re-rupture.”

Visions of this purgatory (cast and bed rest) haunted  me.

I cut my food intake in half.

I lost 7 kilos in three months. The physicians were not happy.

“No one can diet like this. We need to do a whole body PET scan to rule out occult malignancy.”

My protests fell on deaf ears.

The good news? The scan was normal!