Outposts in your Head

Like every other middle class kid of the 60s and 70s, I was socialized and normalized at par for the time. There were some broad rules : Children were to be seen, not heard. Unfailing politeness, discipline and above all obedience, were the greatest virtues of a child. An obedient moron who routinely failed class, was preferable to a rebellious genius.  With age, sons were allowed some liberties because they would soon be men and fathers themselves. Daughters were required to be maintained in situ condition - pure, virginal and foolish - till the next family took over their burden.  But India is vast country with a ridiculously wide spectrum of cultures and priveleges. Within these broad parameters, experiences varied depending on the region or state you were born in, the caste one belonged to, the food we ate, the profession and status of our parents and the languages or even dialects you spoke. This was the age before the internet, when you couldn't get by merely through memes an

I hate doctors. Almost as much as I hate Sushi. They tell me you can get used to Sushi in time. But in my 20 year long and unfortunately regular interaction with doctors, I haven’t learnt to stomach them. Believe me, it isn't for the lack of trying. When you're in the hospital as much as I've been - you want  them to be on your side.  The list of litanies is long but my chief complaint is their ignorance.  Ever met a neurologist with epilepsy? Or a psychiatrist with bipolar disorder? Or a surgeon who’s had a hand and leg removed?  I haven’t. I'm sure there are some out there. (Gynaecologists who've had kids would qualify) But not many. So they can make the diagnosis, they can prescribe the pills but do they know what it really feels like?  No sir. So it’s – “You have a stomach ache? Take a pain killer and bugger off home.” Often followed by, “Your appendix ruptured after you got home? Oops, sorry. I didn't know you had an appendix. N