Lately, I have been thinking that I am stuck. Stuck in a rut. On a hamster wheel that obviously isn’t going anywhere.

It’s odd though. If you asked me three years ago, where I’d like to be three years on- the current state of affairs would seem to be a great place to be in.

There have been tremendous changes in all walks of life. And recently, huge life events have occurred.

My only sibling is now married.

I’m soon to welcome Progeny No. 2 into my life.

Home and work ships are on calm waters.

And generally, life has been decent. No unyeilding problems, no insurmountable crap-hills, no unplayable curveballs.

Yet, the inertia is like an itch I cannot scratch. The sort of itch which is exactly at a point on yourself that no limb of yours can reach, and one that another person can never locate exactly. Therefore, the itch remains. It lies low when you are occupied with more pressing concerns, but it always rears it’s annoying head and begs to be dealt with at every moment of joblessness, however minute the time span may be.

Damn you, boredom.

Damn you, inertia.

Till next time.




“My head aches, my eyes burn, my arms and legs have given up, and my face in the mirror has a grayish cast. The bed, across the room, calls in its unmistakable lover’s croon, Come to me, come, only I can make you truly happy, oh, how happy I’ll make you, don’t resist, remember how you moan with pleasure the instant we touch…..

Laura Acosta”
Lynne Sharon Schwartz, Fatigue Artist

And so my dearest beloved, my friend forever and my closest confidant (as I often murmur unspeakable secrets into the non-so-fluffy-anymore cushions) calls out to me. Unkempt and chaotic, my bed seems to purposefully mimic my life and circumstance; so as to say-

I am just as you, like you.

And therefore shall not judge you.

I shall welcome you to my soiled but loving sheets with nothing but comfort and understanding.

I shall not croon words of advice or sing songs of fake commiseration.

I shall offer you the biggest gift of all.


And a gentle place to rest your tired limbs and jaded mind.

Come to me, my love.

And we shall together dream dreams of a brighter, better day.

I realize now, that exhaustion, like everything else in life is relative. And incomparable. At 23 I thought being on-call for 30 hours was exhaustion. Little did I know, there are levels of exhaustion that are far, far beyond the limits of my then young, juvenile mind.

There are also several kinds of exhaustion. Metaphorical, physiological, philosophical, physical, mental, notional, fruitful and utterly unproductive. And then there is a type that cripples you. A dark, demonic concoction of all of the above.

There is price to pay for everything, folks. But it is thoroughly unfortunate and oddly ironic, if the price for material contentment is arrant exhaustion. For the latter shall never let you savor the former.


Till next time,

Dr J.

Rotten days.

It was a rotten, rotten day today.

It is the weekend. I woke up grumpy, for no particular reason. And by mid-day I was utterly pissed at myself for being pissed. I was angry because I was grouchy and me being angry at myself made me more grumpy and well, it’s a viscous cycle.

I somehow managed to get some lunch on the table and had a fed, clothed and bathed baby too by noon. I then spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing, scouring, scratching and cleaning every available surface and item in my kitchen. All the cleansing rituals proved cathartic and slowly my mood improved.

Just when things were looking up, my uber- adventurous little one does a four-feet high, face- plant from the bed. There is a awful moment of silence and then a shrill, siren like wail. The wail that signifies true hurt. The wail that literally rips my heart (the metaphorical, romantic notion not the organ) and tears my soul into shreds. The worst part- The Mister and I were both in the room when it happened.

I tear her away from the floor, and engulf her in the “it’s alright” hug. There’s blood on my shirt and hands. And on her face. There is a ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach as well.

A meticulous examination and palpation ensues. It’s a facial injury, right up my alley. But it’s so much harder to restrain and examine when the hollering “patient” is your flesh and blood.

At the end of the exam, the diagnosis is a lip laceration and blunt injury to the upper gums and lips with a consequent hematoma (blood in the tissues basically). The lips are notorious for their vascularity (blood supply) and their propensity to swell. We stem the bleeding but there is no way she will let me ice the injured part. So, now I have a 14 month old with a huge lip which makes her entire angelic face look wonky. The wonky face will therefore be a constant reminder of the fall (and a reliving of the whole ‘heart-ripping-soul- tearing’ routine) every time I see her, for the next couple of days at least.

Some further unpleasant things happen thereafter as well (not related to the baby- falling).

There is a lot of sobbing, moaning and hiccough ridden breathing for the rest of the evening. Thankfully though, by bedtime there was some gingerly smiling as well.

In short, it was a rotten day.

I wish this blog could always be sunshine and peonies, and not so sour and rotten. But life is my muse, and therefore I can only manifest what my muse inspires.

And oh! Did I mention- it’s my birthday today.

We, as a couple/ family don’t do birthdays and anniversaries, so nothing special. We sometimes remember these days after they are long past (if our parents and close friends forget to wish us that is). There is usually no special plans made, no gifts exchanged. We are odd, we are told.

So no big deal. Just another day, a typical crummy day.

Does it matter that it’s my 30th?

To myself.
To myself.
Till next time..

Dr J.

Feeling chatty.

Hella folks!

Another weekend post. I know, it’s been a flurry of posts. I am in compulsive blogging mode 🙂 And it is only on weekends such as these that I can sit back and chat up.

So, what makes for a beautiful Sunday?

A laid back, late start. Check.

Getting all dolled up in traditional garb and putting on blingy, uncomfortably high heels. Check.

A sumptuous, elaborate lunch at an old buddy’s wedding. Check.

A food induced nap with a book resting open in your hands. Check.

A drooly, well rested baby, Check.

Family coffee chatter, visiting relatives and associated bedlam. Check.

Trying out and tinkering about with newly purchased creams, lotions, make-up and goodies. Check.

Home breaking- in of shiny, new boots. Check.

Planning and bickering over the next family vacation with the Mister. Check.

Prepping for a long, work- week ahead. Check.

‘Twas a day of petty accomplishments and immense relaxation folks.

Oh no, this isn't it. There was so much more, just couldn't wait around!
Oh no, this isn’t it. There was so much more, just couldn’t wait around!





What were you folks up to this weekend?

Till next time..

Dr J.



The news and magazine junkie!

Hello folks!

‘Twas a dull day at work today. With her consultant off on vacation, there was just some ho- hum post- op and follow-up drills for J to do. Nothing more.

She had time to kill, which she did admirably by reading news and magazines ad nauseam.

Random words, phrases and paragraphs stood out. And they stuck with her the entire day. To mull over. To ponder about.



“Storming the Army Public School (APS) and Degree College premises in a hail of gunfire and explosives-laden suicide vests, the militants did not enter to take hostages and negotiate with power brokers and members of the government; they came to kill and strike a fatal blow to the last remaining vestiges of humanity left in this Pakistan, and they succeeded. Every passing minute, with the death toll rising and red tickers on television screens changing their statistics, left onlookers gasping for air, parents wailing for their trapped angels, newscasters fighting back tears and Special Services Group (SSG) commandos at the ready wondering how things could have gone so horribly, bloodily wrong.

Brave teachers evacuated panicked students and were pumped full of bullets and the principal was burned alive in front of the children to instil maximum terror. Dressed as paramilitary personnel, the militants duped the children to reveal who among them were from army families; they naively shot up their little hands, thinking they were going to be rescued, but were instead shot between the eyes. Others played dead and cowered under desks and behind chairs only to be dragged out and gunned down. More than a dozen explosives rang out during the eight- hour-long siege — say that to yourself again: eight hours of defenceless children ambushed without the protective cover of a mother or father’s undying love, shielding their darlings from any and all harm. There is no greater human tragedy.”

-Reem Wasay, Op-ed Editor of Daily Times, Pakistan. Published in THE HINDU, Dec 18, 2014. (Read the full article)

“The best description of the Cold War was given by Henry Kissinger, himself a protagonist: “The superpowers often behave like two heavily armed blind men feeling their way around a room, each believing himself in mortal peril from the other, whom he assumes to have perfect vision…. Of course, over time, even two blind men can do enormous harm to each other, not to speak of the room.”

-FRONTLINE, Print edition : December 12, 2014 (Read the full article)

The above description stands true even today. Only now it applies to all countries. All seem to be blind and in mortal fear of the other who he assumes to have perfect vision.

This might be interesting to all the science lovers. Especially those in awe of the human brain…

How a movie changed one man’s vision forever

Bruce Bridgeman lived with a flat view of the world, until a trip to the cinema unexpectedly rewired his brain to see the world in 3D. The question is how it happened. (BBC Future- Read)


And her favorite for the day….

Capture 22

-Womansday magazine, Jan 2015.

Ponder away folks! Do tell us what words struck you today.

And yes, embrace the day as well!

Till next time…

J and Dr J.

P.S. All folks from Qatar, hope you had a grand and festive National Day!

Thursday Troubles! What’s your Roadavataar?

Every evening, I come home bone- tired.

With a pulsing headache.

With ringing ears.

With teary, irritated eyes.

With a sore bum and achy arms.

No, it’s not my work that does that to me.

My work only gives me a creaky neck, a wonky back, dry, flaky hands and sore calves. Thanks to odd posture, endless scrubbing and perennial standing- in that order.

Everything else, is thanks to the inescapable, horrid, nausea- inducing traffic and having the ultimate misfortune of having to steer a motor vehicle in that madness.

My work is something I enjoy, it never gives me headaches. The ride back home always does.

I am a blubbering, swearing, irritated mess by the time I reach home. My joy killed. My life- force wasted. My energy drained. My sensory receptors overwhelmed.

The crazy zig- zagging of bikers, the compulsive honking, the bronchial death inducing smog, the signal- squabbles and the complete and total disregard for rules. The traffic situation in Bangalore is in dire straits.

My Roadavatar is one of feigned indifference. I pretend to not notice the pandemonium. I try and focus on the music and not swear at the guy who just cut across. I try to think happy thoughts. Of beaches. And French pastries. Of bilateral mandibular sagittal split osteotomies and facial bi-partitions. Of lacy Jimmy Choos and the limited edition Cartiers. I try.

Then there are days like today.

When I become a crazy, car chasing, honking, gesticulating mad-woman.

It all started at a traffic signal.

It was still red. With 5 seconds to go (yeah, we have timers here!), before it would turn green.

Mr. My Arse- is-on-fire-so-I-need-to-get-Home (AIOFSINTGH) starts honking at me to move along even before the signal turns green.

Well, that is almost the norm here. So I ignore him, and start to sing “we all go round the mulberry bush” in my head. Loud.

And once we all get moving, in the crazy impossible formations that happen right after a signal, Mr.  AIOFSINTGH continues his mindless honking. It almost has a tune to it. The most vile, brain- numbing tune there ever was.

I veer away from his path. He veers too.

He continues to honk. At me. At everybody.

I peek a look at my rear- view mirror.

He seems to be unperturbed. He does not seem to be particularly interested in me either.

I speed up. He is some distance away.

Yet, he continues to honk away.

It’s a disease I realize.

The sound does weird things to me.

I slow down and let him pass. I then speed up and get right behind him.

And almost unconsciously I start to honk. Persistently.

Almost magically, the tune is exactly the same.

I never knew I had it in me.

I honk and honk and honk. Exactly like he did!

I notice the man looking at his rear view mirror. Finally! Hallelujah!

He gestures with his hand. Asking what my problem was.

I smile.

It seems to irritate him.

I smile some more.

Then I overtake the irritated creature and drive away.

I can still hear him honking at the guy in front of him. Maybe he’s just honking at the universe. Maybe he’s pissed with his God and is venting his frustration. Or maybe he has “Honking Tourette’s”!

I come home in a decent mood.

I may have discovered the secret to staying sane in Bangalore traffic.

Give what you get. Be as mental as the others are.

Maybe it’s time to upgrade my Roadavataar. I guess the more time I spend irritating others, the less time I shall spend irritated.

And considering my “other home” is no better when it comes to bedlam on the roads (DOHA!), I guess it’s time I started working on some coping mechanisms.

What say folks?



Tailgating Land Cruisers (we know where they come from!), callous BMTC (Bangalore Metropolitan Transport Corporation) buses and mental, bikers- there is no respite in sight!


Till next time…

Dr J.


Recap Thursday- Que Será, Será.

Whatever will be, will be. This has been J’s motto for the week.

Be it Lil’ Z’s schedule, work, exercise, food, traffic, family, LIFE…. sometimes it’s best to let things be.

Not to waste valuable life- force, fighting.

You may not get what you desire.

You  may not be in the state to fight for what you desire.

Or it may entail untenable sacrifices.

What you desire may not be what is best for you.

What does one do then?

Give up?

Forsake long cherished dreams?

Make excuses for life?


And NO.

You let time win a round.

Or two.

You let Him believe that you have acceded defeat.

You lay low.

For a while.

Bide your time.

Wait for your turn.

Or for a better time.

You let the tide carry you, wherever it may wish to.

Swim against the current occasionally, just enough to keep you afloat.

And close enough to the shore that calls out to you.

Your time too shall come.

Save the energy.

And all your fight.

For Your Time.

Just live.


To fight another day.

For now, let things be.

Do no further harm, if at all you may.

For sometimes in life, you have no say.

Call it fate, or destiny, or chance, or luck or a higher power.

Sometimes you are compelled to tread on paths that are not of your choosing.

The destination can still be Your’s. 

Bide your time. friend.

Because sometimes in life….

Que Será, Será.

Whatever will be, will be!


Till next time…

Biding her time,

Dr J.


P.S. Ahem…this ain’t a poem folks. It’s a thought thread. And rhyming is not intentional. Please ignore it wherever it crops up!



The last supper..

Hours 1 to 12….

The “packing expert” fits everything but the kitchen sink, into three bags.

FullSizeRender (62)
Packed but not ready…


The Last Supper…Mister’s choice.

Flavoured rice cooked with a dash of clarified buter and spicy, aromatic lamb curry.
Flavoured rice cooked with a dash of clarified buter and spicy, aromatic lamb curry.


Will sorely miss the morning cuppa together and the gossip and ranting that goes along…

One's coffee and the other is tea...guess who is which?
One’s coffee and the other is tea…guess who is which?


A favoured breakfast at the H household!…

FullSizeRender (64)
French toast with cinnamon, cardamom and icing sugar to garnish


And finally…the last meal….

Chicken Chukka!
Chicken Chukka!


More to come…

Till next time.

Dr J.

Of festivities, sand dunes, beaches and barbeques!

Evening folks!

All the rich, indulgent, almost sinful food had left us all lethargic and tardy.

Getting out of bed this morning was an exercise in self- motivation.

We had plans of getting out and about today, but nothing has materialized thus far. Hence the flurry of blog posts.

The only reason I woke up at 8 AM this morning was to wish folks back home.

It is weird in a sense. We celebrated Eid yesterday.  For one set of parents (Mr H”s) and certain relatives, it’s Eid today while it’s tomorrow the other set of parents!

In short, we will be wishing “Eid Mubarak”- back and forth; for three days in a row! Brilliant!

For us, food wise- the Baturas and Mutton stew was almost perfect.

The desserts were up to the mark.

The Biriyani Gods weren’t so kind though. Arrogance and scatter- brain- ery; led to a slightly mushy rice. The taste wasn’t compromised though. If the cook may say so herself- IT WAS FINGER- LICKING GOOD!

A short, grub- induced siesta and half-a- movie later, off we went- to catch some moon, sea, sand- dunes and of course more GRUB!

SEALINE BEACH RESORT (about 70 km away)- The dessert on your right and the sea on the left.

Gentle waves, sparkling in the soft glow of the barely- there moonlight.

The air filled with a concoction of smells- sea, salt, smoke, barbeques…

The desert; dark and intimidating. Yet conquered by loud, roaring man- made machines. 

Watching the waves.

Sand dune bashing.

Grilling more food…

I could only do one of two things- either click wonderful night- time pictures (which is a painstaking task considering it was almost pitch dark) for you folks or just enjoy myself.

I’m sorry, I chose to do the latter!

I hope you all had a wonderful Eid and holiday!

Here are the few pictures that I DID CLICK…

Perfectly risen batura dough saying “Good Morning”




Mushy but tasty Biriyani!
Mushy but tasty Biriyani!




Off we go...
Off we go…


On our way to Mesaieed
On our way to Mesaieed


Race with the setting Sun
Race with the setting Sun


Almost there..
Almost there.. Notice the “smog”?? We are entering an “Oil District”


Oil town...
Oil town…


The fuel and factories that run this country...
The fuel and factories that run this country…


Twilight Desert View 1
Twilight Desert View 1


Twilight Desert View 2
Twilight Desert View 2


And 3- Sorry for the unimaginative captions!! It's all the sugar that has dulled my brain!
And 3- Sorry for the unimaginative captions!! It’s all the sugar that has dulled my brain!




Where to head to first?
Where to head to first?


Two men and a baby!
Two men and a baby!


Conquering the desert!
Conquering the desert!


Guess what we are up to?
Guess what we are up to?




Burning..Reminds me of The Matrix- odd!
Burning..Reminds me of The Matrix- odd!


Till next time…

Dr J.