My encounter with Prejudice - the truth inhibitor

Recently I stumbled upon this pretty interesting tv series 'The Last Resort'. Right from the start I liked it a lot. Almost as much as I liked 'Jericho', another similar TV series, which has become one of my favourites. Its gripping. It has an interesting plot. And most of all, just like 'Jericho' it raises some very important questions about morality, truth, deception, and military policies of the corporate-influenced profit and power hungry US government officials. Its a very brave stance for a program to take especially post 9-11...

There are only two things I did not like about it. It shows Pakistan as an innocent victim of a staged US attack. Even a kid in India knows that there is nothing 'innocent' about this country of religious zealots and terrorists. And the second thing is, it somehow portrays India as an opportunistic state, when it shows a rogue Indian General lead the Indian army towards a defenceless Pakistan... How can such an act be anything but the sanest thing in the world? For wont the world be a better place without the constant threat of a nuclear powered brat in our neighbourhood?

When I watched this episode today where they portray the Indian rogue army general trying to be opportunistic by leading the army towards Pakistan, I was so taken aback that decided to stop it right there and delete the remaining episodes. But then I remembered a conversation I had today itself, with a friend. He claims that he is a seeker of truth. ( and for the most part he really is ) But sometimes, I feel his ideas and views are not entirely true, but are his assumptions and conclusions drawn based on his ingrained prejudice against Muslims. So, today I told him that he was not really a seeker of truth, as he claimed. For one cant seek the truth if blinded by prejudice...

So I have decided to swallow the bitter pill. And watch the serial till the end. And if it is as good till the end, as it was in the start, then I will keep it in my collection of memorable TV serials. Even if I find the serial's pro-Pakistani tone pretty abhorrent. Yet, I will not allow my prejudice to rule me. Not after what I told to my friend... Isn't it said by the wise that one should practice what one preaches? I hope I will be able to do that...

Being Aggressive (unnecessarily)

18th August, Sunday.

Empty-stomach, gingerly holding a urine sample in one hand, I stood outside the pathology lab.

It had rained early in the morning. The ground outside the lab door was wet. While I fumbled with the straps of my floaters, trying not to step on the wet ground, a man and a kid stepped past me, slipped off their slippers and went in. Damn. Now I would be behind them in the queue. A waste of at least 10-15 mins.

A true metropolitan, I am always in haste. In spite of years of daily forced practice, waiting just doesn't come easy to me. So it was with some resentment that I sat there besides them on the bench lining the corridor. There was no one else in queue. So Man and Child were #1 and yours truly was #2. 'Good', I thought. 'Less time to wait'.

As we sat there waiting, another guy came and sat besides me. This was #3. As I gave him a once-over scan, the lab technician ushered Man and Child inside.

I should have shifted to occupy their vacated place. But lazybones that I am, I continued to warm my current patch of bench.

After a while, Mr #3 got up and occupied the recently vacated place near the door. I was suddenly very alert. What was this guy trying to pull on me? Was he planning to grab my #2 position? No way was I gonna allow him to one-up me.

So when the Man and Child left, and the lab technician opened the lab door, I perceived Mr #3 get up to grab an opportunity which was rightfully mine... I quickly moved past him, making no effort to hide the fact that I was blocking his way on purpose to get in before he did. It was a sudden move, effective and shamelessly ruthless. When it comes to my rightful piece of cheese, this city-bred lab-rat can be pretty ruthless, thank you.

As I went in and sat down, I saw Mr #3 looking in at me through the glass door, an incredulous expression still plastered ob his face. I looked him in the eye and gave him my best triumphant "finger" look. I must have been certainly pissed off that morning, to be so aggressive.

The lab technician asked me to hold out my right hand - balled fist, arm straight. He strapped the tourniquet above my elbow. Then took out a really giant syringe, and attached a very long needle to it...

I am ashamed to say this. But for a grown up guy in his thirties, I am still scared like hell of needle pricks. I avoid injections like a cat avoiding getting wet. The few times I had to give blood have been an ordeal. Not to me, to the lab technicians who have to run helter-skelter when I start sweating and break the news on them that I feel like fainting...

I asked a physician once what was wrong with me? He told me there was nothing physically wrong with me. My fear manifested all these symptoms. It was all in my mind.

So, as the lab technician rubbed some sweet-sour-pungent smelling spirit and then brought that needle near the fold of arm, I turned away, shut my eyes and began telling myself - 'Its all in the mind, buddy. Its all in the mind'...

I felt the needle prick. (Ouch)... And after a second or two, I felt another prick. And then another. And another... I thought, what the heck, how many litres of my blood were they gonna take? But I still had my eyes shut... Then I felt the tourniquet loosen and I looked...

The syringe was empty. The lab technician had, a worried look on his face. "I did not get any blood. Its not coming out..." he tells me. I know some of my colleagues call me an alien, but deep down I am pretty sure I am human (well, almost)... So where had all my blood gone?

I did not get more time to worry about my missing blood. For suddenly there were ants in front of my eyes. A buzzing in my ears. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I couldn't see clearly. It was like the receiving antenna of my brainevision was not receiving a strong enough signal from the eyes.

I told them I was feeling faint. So they asked me to keep seated. One guy handed me a glass of water. As I sat there trying in vain to convince my brain that 'Aal is well, aal is well, its all in the mind, dude', through the haze of ant-infested vision, I perceived the door open and Mr #3 step in. Damn, the gut would get his opportunity after all while I waited to get back to normal...

"What is it?", asked the lab technician.

"I just want my report", says Mr #3.

And he took his report and left...

So that was it. That's why he was in such a rush. It was a matter of a few seconds, nothing more. And I had been so unnecessarily aggressive and rude... All out of my haste...

I was finally able to give blood ( they took it out of the other hand), and as I stepped out of the lab, I decided to remember this lesson in humility and patience, as a I hastened and hurried my way home, dodging all the damn slow-moving idiots on the road...

Monotony is underrated

Sometimes life can become pretty monotonous. We get up. Go to office. Work. Come back. Watch TV. Have dinner. Go to sleep. Repeat that 5 times a day. First half of the weekend finds us taking care of personal life. And the second half, the blessed Sunday, for unwinding from the daily grind and getting ready for the week ahead. Repeat that 52 weeks a year.

Yup. Life can be very monotonous. We always complain about the same old daily routine. Sometimes, if lady luck may smile upon us, then we find the time and the opportunity to go out, unwind, have a vacation, take a break... Break the monotony...

But the fact is, monotony makes up the major chunk of life. If life is a meal, then monotony is the bread, or the rice. The breaks and vacations are the spices and vegetables and meat we eat along with the bread or the rice.

When was the last you had a filling meal made up solely of vegetables or meat? It is the bread, or the rice, that makes the meal complete. Gives us the carbs necessary for supplying energy to our body.

So however unsavoury monotony might be, it still forms the major chunk of the meal of life.

From Faith to Superstition

Your boat upended and sank. You are alone. In the middle of a roiling sea. No shore in sight. The waves are a meter high. The storm is raging around you. You have been swimming for hours and hours. Your limbs are tired. Your body is heavy. You just want to give up. And let fate take you to the sea-bed.

And that's when you see it. Its a very thin stick of wood. All the logic in the world says, the stick will not hold your weight. Its too thin. Too small. No way is it gonna help you afloat. But its a support nevertheless. Something to hold on to. For a while at least. So you struggle to reach it. Wading through the shifting sea-scape, and the howling winds... You finally lay your hands upon it. You are too tired to swim any more. But the feel of that stick in your hand gives you hope. A support. This is "Faith"... Blind, illogical but hope-filled.

With the stick supporting you, you keep kicking, swimming to God know where... For God knows how long.

And finally, even to your own surprise, from between the high waves, you see the shore... Right there in front of you... This is "Hope". A promise of salvation. Who knows, you may never reach the shore? You might get caught in a rip-current which will drag you deep and drown you to death... Yet, you start kicking. Thinking of nothing else but the shore...

Suddenly there is a renewed vigour in your limbs. A new light in your heart. You kick faster than you ever kicked in your life. Cutting through the water, you finally reach the Shore... This is "Efforts". Pure result-bearing perseverance, will-power, sweat and blood.

So you reach the shore. and lie there for the longest time. Feeling the sand below you. A hard concrete reminder of the fact that you survived. And the waves intermittently touching your feet, a wet silent reminder of the ordeal you have just gone through.

And then you feel the stick in your hand. The stick that gave you, not support, but hope. To keep swimming, against all odds. Without even expecting to survive it all.

You carry the stick with you as you make your way inland. Holding on to it. For you now firmly believe that it was the stick that saved you. You make it your lucky talisman. You start believing that as long as the stick is with you, nothing will happen to you. This is "Superstition"... Blind, illogical and nothing more...