It's a Doggy-dog World

I had always figured myself to be a cat person. I'd always liked kittens more than pups and figured that the first pet I'd have would always be a cat. Especially a Persian. So, it took a considerable effort by a furry, drooling, "slightly" overweight bundle of crazy to change all that.

I've been harping about life, especially mine, imitating art. So, if my "professional" experiences are straight out of a Scrubs episode, I feel Marley and Me was probably written keeping me and Dollar in mind. I'd always been around dogs ever since I could remember. A lot of my relatives had dogs, and to me, they seemed nothing short of the best behaved dogs on the planet. So, Marshall and Tenny and Chimu were disciplined to the core, no doubt the effects of a strict military upbringing. And Goldie was Saint Goldie. Legend has it that Goldie's bark had magical healing properties, but I wouldn't know - considering he never did when I was around. Not barking aside, he was the most lovable thing on four legs that ever lived, and besides leaving behind some great memories, he left me with a problem. Because Goldie was now the benchmark by which i would judge all future dogs, I was setting myself up for a world of trouble.

It was a cold December day when we got Dollar home. I haven't told him this ( and I hope you guys won't too) but in a Sunny days- Gavaskar-esque freak of nature, Dollar might not have been the guy we would've brought home. But the trainer said he was the better looking one -and the one voted "most-likely to have a great personality" and the rest as they say is history. Of course, when we did choose him, I hadn't had the fortune of finishing "Marley and Me". And we didn't sample both the parents before we got him. So, I suppose all future vases cracked, sofas chewed and peed on are our fault, really!

I guess deciding to don a "parents role" for Dollar was a momentary stray thought. After all, with Aai-Baba being Aai-Baba for Dollar too, I could,honestly, have my cake and eat it. I'd have all the endless pleasure of playing with a pup with never-ending energy without having to worry about the peeing all over and pooping in the middle of the night. Of course, dollar did all of us a big favour and got toilet trained real quick ( 3 months or so, although Dad would like everyone to know it was 3 weeks). After that, it was pretty much smooth sailing.

Till we got to the chewing bit. Like all dogs do, Dollar had this phase around 5 months or so when every thing in our house became his own personal chew toy. The sofas started it off. And then he moved on to the walls. It didn't matter that we actually got chew-toys for him. I suppose the paint on the wall gave him flavours a chew toy never could. The next three months was spent on trying every known remedy. Smearing chilli powder didn't help at all. If anything, it spurred him on even more. And so it went on. Considering the sofas were right in our living room - that was probably the topic of discussion. And a whole lot of embarrassed/sheepish smiles for us. The growing up continued, and save for the stray visitor humped beyond compare, I don't think we had too much to complain.

Life with Dollar, is probably, all ha ha hee hee. If you get past the few quirks in the road that is. For starters, he's got the biggest appetite in the world. I know Labs love to eat, rather, live to eat - but, Dollar is in a league of his own. We started him on Pedigree like all pet owners do when they're green. After all, go with the tried and tested. But, somehow he never took a liking to it. I mean, when you live in a house where you are going to get every single delicacy the rest of the family eats, Pedigree really has no chance. I remember getting a customer survey guy from Pedigree over to check up on Dollar - poor guy should've realized what was clearly a losing battle - and he probably must've lost it when Dad started naming the things Dollar actually likes to eat. Saying that he has a sweet tooth is the understatement of the millennium. The thing he likes most in the world, and I'm not kidding here, is Kharvas. So much so that we are now forbidden to utter the word at home -the mere mention of it sets him drooling. So we started spelling it, but I'm sure he's caught on to that too.
The funny thing is, the sweet tooth thing evolved into a liking of everything that Dad gives him. So he eats all sorts of vegetables, even he ones I hate - Gawar and Bhendi to name a few. So, the foodie thing's worked out for me big time. Mum's happy - I'm now finishing first servings in record time.

The one thing that probably defines my day with Dollar is the walk in the evening. And people who've come along with us will vouch for the fact that it is an experience. Every single time. It starts with getting the leash - which is a 10 minute ritual consisting of Dollar generally going haywire - and freaking out all over. Once he's ready and leashed up - it begins. Considering that re-enforcing his territory is THE purpose of the trip, Dollar doesn't let a single spot go dry. It's been 5 years of walking him, and I'm still surprised at the amount of pee he has stored up. I mean his bladder would put a Humvee to shame.
The shortest distance between two points might be a line, but try telling him that. What usually ensues is the most convoluted path you can ever think of, with numerous de-tours and re-runs, with him dragging me along - stopping only to relieve himself for the gazzillionth time, or to stop and smell someone else's calling cards.
The best part about is that, considering most Indians are still petrified of dogs - a walk with Dollar through a crowd is usually like Moses parting the waters - or Jim Carrey and the cars in Bruce Almighty - if you didn't get that. Dollar probably loves a little tormenting and he heads straight at them - which ends up with the best shrieks people can manage - guys and girls. And if there might happen to be a cat around...

But what Dollar means to me is something that I'll always struggle to put into words. He never was just a pet. Always family. And three months without him early next year is a thought I don't want to entertain.

I read an article a few months back in Time magazine, where the author suggested that animals, even dogs, might be incapable of emotions in the truest sense. I have never disagreed with any other written word more. 5 minutes with my guy is enough to shatter that claim. It's not just excitement and joy that he exudes. Dad or Mum go out, the separation pangs show. Bring another pet close, and jealousy rears her ever ugly head. But,he is, and has been, there for me, when I needed it the most. I remember, and this is one story I have never shared with anyone - it had been a year since Aajoba passed away. Dollar was a year old. And we were alone at home. There was a guy calling, who simply asked me to put him on the phone. The question was straight forward, probably an old acquaintance who hadn't been in touch. But, somehow I couldn't say a word. I couldn't get myself to tell him that I couldn't put him on the phone. I thought that I had gotten over his passing, but everything came flooding back, and I was reduced to a quivering mess. The only thing I remember is that I was huddled up in a corner, and Dollar coming and sitting beside me and putting his face in my lap, just to let me know he was there. And he never left for a second.

And so, to Dollar, the biggest, craziest softie I've seen, the only guy I've ever laid a big wet one on, and quite possibly, my soulmate, it's a hell of a journey we're on. And i can't believe you're turning 5. Middle aged now, eh? Here's to wishing you some brilliant times ahead ( do try and give me a pup with some girl, will you? - and preferably, another lab - not the strays you only have eyes for) and a very happy 5th birthday!! You are barking mad, and I wouldn't change you for the world!

Leap of Faith!

I got to watching Scrubs again, right from the very start. When it originally aired, I hadn't even started out in Med School. So, back then, it was just another hilarious sitcom. But, watching it again, after so many years and now,being in the exact same situation myself, I can't help but feel as if it's me they're talking about. Every moment of the Pilot has been everything that I've gone through over the past 6 months - it's been a hell of an experience - at times, exhilarating and bitterly disappointing at others.

Life as an intern, as Madhura/Vineet/Varun n co. will attest to ( after having to sit through yet another session of what seems like a never-ending round of me bitching about stuff), isn't always all that great. It's like the 1st day of secondary school all over again. One moment you were top dogs, the next you're knocked down to size. In the hospital scheme of things, we're right at the bottom of the pile, below patients, obviously and maybe, just maybe, above the "obnoxious relatives". In simpler words, Ego.Balloon.Big pin.You get my point.

The one thing that I'll vouch for, and I'm drawing huge parallels with the Pilot here, is that all 4 years of Med School/endless lectures/whatever it is that's supposed to get you "ready" isn't going to help you much. Once you're dropped into the endless stream of patients, as J.D puts it bluntly, you realize "I don't know jack". It's basic instincts then. Fight or flight all over again.

The only way you're sure you'll learn is by practice. And that was a, how shall I put it, somewhat difficult situation for me. Because, right at the very start, I was scared stiff. The truth is, everyone's scared. Most will never admit it. It's not something like litigation that I'm worried about. For me, it's, as it has been for a long time, a great fear of failure. And, by failure, I'm not talking about exams or passing; but to a significant extent, a failure to live up to expectations. Considering that I do well academically, I expect myself to be just as good at the nitty-gritty "manual labour part. And, when I don't get it right the 1st time, or sometimes, even the 2nd or the 3rd, I start to feel it's a pattern/ or that I'm "doomed to fail" at this. Or, at worst, I might give up before I start.And blame everything, from my phenomenally poor motor skills, in part due to the misshapen stubs that I have for fingers. Therein lies the problem. If you don't do, you'll never be good at it. But, if you never try, then you stand no chance of ever doing it and doing it well.

And so, the first few months of the Internship passed away, without significant loss of life or limb, but without me having "achieved" a great deal. There were numerous incidents along the way, including one where I got my fingers stuck in a forceps while performing a venesection -thereby reinforcing my great fear of my own short, stubby digits. Surgery at the start was great, but playing it safe. So, when you consider - an amateurish attempt at assisting an Appy and another time having my fingers up a humongously fat guy's arse trying to what could only be described by an observer as "tearing the bloody thing apart" - as my only "crowning" achievements, you could understand the state I was in going into what was described as the posting that was certain to make us regret every single waking second spent in the hospital.
Obstetrics and Gynaecology as a subject isn't anywhere near the things that I like. And the posting was obviously going to be much, much worse. Going into it, I was just about as confident as a foot soldier in the battle of Helm's Deep, facing an entire army without knowing if there was to be a Gandalf to the rescue...


The first day of Ob-Gyn was something that I don't think I'll be forgetting in a while. It was three of us interns, with all the experience that 2 months of a Surgery posting could ever give, thrown head first into what was clearly a battlefield. It seemed as though every single woman in the place had long since decided that she was going to achieve a lifelong dream of motherhood in those 6 hours in the morning. Now, 8-10 deliveries in 6 hours might not seem a lot at first glance, but trust me, it is, even for a place like Sassoon. So, that was honestly it. Sink or swim. With no time to think, not even to see if you could actually swim. I can't ever be sure how we did get through that, but we did. And when the dust settled, and the cords were cut, and the placentas disposed off, we were still there. Tired as hell, but there all the same.

Why is it so indelibly etched, then? Not just because the stream of oncoming babies literally kicked our collective asses. But, I did realise that I could just about hang on, when it mattered.

Does this seem like the archetypal moment in every single person's life, when you finally break that one barrier holding you back and realize that you are finally on the path that was always meant to be? This wasn't one of them. Not really. Honestly, that happens only in very cliched, cheesy books/ films, or as they say, anything that Chetan Bhagat pens down.

If this was supposed to be one of them , I guess it would've played out with us being instant heroes, saving lives and what not, riding off into the sunset with the rest of the posting merely a blur on our paths to eternal glory.

The posting didn't get any better, and with Pediatrics to follow, that made for the most frustrating three months of my life. The first day wasn't an all-conquering experience, but I guess it geared me up to face the rest of it.

To end this, since I have made numerous references to Scrubs and talked about my hatred for cliches, I guess I'll just be a hypocrite and end with one. A voiceover, then, if you please...

"I guess life isn't really about one single defining moment. You don't really have a flash of enlightenment. What life is lucky enough to do for us is provide a hell of a lot of tests along the way, most of which you don't realize are tests till you've gone through them. When you are faced with what seems like one though, I suppose the best you can do is know you can, rather than think you might not. And take a leap.You might just surprise yourself.
When did I realize I was cut out to be a doctor? Honestly, I'm still not sure. But, with every passing day, I hope I get closer to convincing myself." No, seriously.

Women's Tennis: Holding out for a Hero(ine).

It's barely been 3 days of the start of the final Grand Slam of the year, but the goings-on in the Ladies' singles draw make for some seriously unhealthy reading ( much like the daily musings of a certain Ms.Mirza; after you've spent the better part of the last few years injured or married or injured again; durable is probably not the best word to describe yourself). This might just have been the only Slam in history where the defending champs from the last two Slams haven't lasted 2 days - let alone a week; and with Kim Clijsters not defending her crown, we have none of the current Slam holders in the 2nd round. Adding to the chaos is the fact the Caroline Wozniacki seems more interested in following the illustrious footsteps of Dinara Safina. Which is why, when Serena at the age of 30, barely back from a year's absence, is considered to be the favorite for the crown, it isn't a surprise at all. Seriously, the only question I dare ask is how much worse is it going to get for the Ladies' game.

If you have your reservations, then ask yourself; when was the last time you truly saw a great Ladies' Singles match - one which was evenly contested and had more winners than errors. The last I go back to is Venus Williams vs Kimiko Date at SW19 this year. Which is all the more remarkable considering that it took a 31 yr old and a 40 yr old to show them how it's done. The Ladies' seedings and draws don't paint a pretty picture - players like Roberta Vinci and Julia Goerges in the top 20! And a total of 6 grand slam winners - which is a decent number no doubt, but when you have luminaries like Ana Ivanovic amongst them...you get my drift. Contrast this to 10 years ago, when the top 20 were heavyweights in a much truer sense - I get that my contrast is flawed in that a lot of the women then hadn't won anything but went on to later; but, honestly, Henin/Clijsters/the Williamses in 2001 seemed far brighter prospects than Wozniacki/Zvonareva/Petkovic today.

I'm trying to explain the apparent decline in quality in tennis, and there are a few "contenders" that come to mind. The more I think about it, the more I feel that "sexing-up" Women's tennis has been one of the worst ideas in a long time. Most of the players today are glammed-up-pretty faces, who seem more concerned about "Who're you wearing today" than their actual game. And it's not just Sharapova I'm talking about. Lets have a test, then. Tell me the first thing that pops into your head when I say...Daniela Hantuchova..."The best pair of legs in tennis"? Or, Nicole Vaidisova ...."someone who looked amazing on court - and it's not her game I'm talking about - who cares that she reached a few semis here and there"....Simona Halep? Ok, I had to get that or those out of the way.
But, though the glamming-up might make sense from a purely "selling tickets" point of view, but how can it be good for the players? I mean, what credibility do you have left when the only thing people can remember about you is some little black dress you wore on court? And if it's the "skin-show" that people pay to see, what does that say about the game and the level it is played at? I get that the game is , and has been, very error-ridden - and the winner is more often the person making the fewer errors, but, personally, the glamour doesn't take away the attention from those error, it highlights them.

Another thing which has always bothered me is the great lack of determination - both, to get to the top and also, to stay there. The careers of a lot of players today follow a very familiar trend: Get noticed early - be dubbed the "next big thing" , win a few games and a minor title on the side, rise up the rankings, lose to Serena in the semis/finals, slide down the rankings, vanish into obscurity.Waves upon waves of Russian "sensations" have threatened to blow us away but the resulting impact has been hardly more than a pebble. Which is probably why we've had some of the most undeserving world no.1s the past few years. Ana Ivanovic started it all, Wozniacki looks slightly better, but not by much - but the one that takes the cake is Dinara Safina. It takes a lot for someone to make Marat look the cooler head in the family. Whether it's a lack of determination or just simply burnout from too much exposure I don't know, but that might be why players like Li Na, Schiavone and Stosur have "peaked" so late in their careers.

One area the Women's game has always trumped the Men is where a lot of the top Singles' players were also equally proficient at doubles. This resulted in a lot more net-play, drop shots and volleys - which made the game a lot more pleasing to the eye. Of today's lot, hardly any of the top players are known for a doubles game, which makes baseline play the only way to go about things. True, the Williams sisters got the power game into Women's tennis, but Venus is terrific at the net and no one can say that Serena wins by her power alone, without having any other skill to back it up.

Which brings me back to Serena. When the Sisters came onto the scene, I hated them with a fury that I reserve only for the likes of annoying, butt-scratching Spaniards. I felt, and I'm not completely wrong here, they outmuscled rather than outplayed poor little Hingis out of the game. I felt that power over skill wasn't the way to go. Anyone who could knock them off their perches would get my support. Growing up has changed this, however. I still don't have to like them on the court, but there is a level of respect that I have for the both of them. You know Serena's right when she says "she's the rightful No.1". Serena's pushing 30, and at an age where most others retire - even on the Men's side, she's still the favourite going into most tournaments - irrespective of what the rest of the field is. She's close to a lock for the USO title, unless there's a big surprise, and might just dominate the scene for a few years more, provided she's fit.

So, looking ahead means looking at the post-Williams era. Honestly, of the current crop of players doesn't inspire much, but a man can still dream, can't he?

Changes I would suggest - 1. More emphasis on the game, and not on everything else. 2.Stop the era of the pretty princesses and get down and dirty. 3. More doubles, better for the game. 4. Better scheduling, so that there are fewer injuries, and longer careers.

So, here's to a better Women's game and a better Women's champion! I really hope I'm surprised.