A matter that has intrigued me for long has been the food habits of doctors.
They are so passionate and anxious about the food habits of their patients. I met a doctor recently whose concern about the food I ate was so touching that I cannot help but record my admiration.
“What about eggs, doctor?” I had asked him tentatively.
“What about them!” he shot back.
“May I, kind of, partake of them?”
“Ha, ha, ha, HA,” he said.
The joyful cadence of the final ‘HA’ ruled out any further discussion. But I persisted.
“May I have them at least twice a week?” I begged.
“Yes you may,” he surprised me. “But only quarter of an egg which must be boiled or poached. No omelettes or fried eggs. Only whites, no yolk.”
Thankful for the oriental repast he had permitted, I pressed my luck.
“I rather like chocolate cake,” I murmured
I don’t know if anyone has had a heart attack at the mention of chocolate cake. But the doctor came pretty close.
He just couldn’t reconcile himself to the outrageous remark I had made.
“Okay, okay,” I said quickly, “I’ll never mention chocolate cake again. I won’t even think of them.”
Normalcy was restored. His quivering lips settled. He began to breathe easily and leaned back in his chair.
He called his assistant for a glass of water and gulped it down.
I felt guilty that I had been the cause of so much inconvenience to this great man of medicine and did not wish to precipitate matters further. I would just ask him what foods I could eat and the ones I should avoid and quickly leave.
“No oil,” he began delightfully. “No meat. No milk. No sugar. No salt. No butter. No chocolate. No cake. No pastries. No soft drink. No hot drink. No coffee. No tea. No fat. No spices.”
“What can I eat, doctor?”
“Wheat bran, white of egg, boiled vegetables, sour curds, hot water, steamed iddlies, boiled whole wheat. Everything without salt, sugar spices, or oil”
Astounded by this surfeit of magnanimity, I thanked him profusely, prostrated before him and turned around to depart.
As I turned around, I saw an object, about seven feet high rapidly moving towards me. It had two distinct parts. The lower portion, measuring about four feet turned out to be a young boy. The upper portion was food basket, about three feet high. As it slid past, the delightful aromas of the many masalas, with which tvc daughters-in-law so effortlessly win over their mothers-in-law, assailed my senses and took me into another world.
Another boy carrying a basket containing an assortment of plates and spoons followed the carrier-laden boy. This lively little procession entered a room behind the doctor’s consulting room, marked ‘Private.’
“Please close your mouth,” said the doctor.
I realized that I had opened my mouth to almost Jurrasic dimensions. I closed my mouth.
“Excuse me,” said the doctor, and entered his ‘private’ room.
My eyes followed him in wonder and after a respectable interval, I walked towards the private room and had a peep through the square of glass on the door.
What I saw there was the great doctor, sitting in front of the huge table spread out with plates and bowls of various sizes. One of the boys started serving him mounds of cholesterol and generous helpings of diabetes. Wheat bran and boiled whole wheat were nowhere to be seen.
I slumped down by the door in shock and was revived only when the good doctor opened the door to let himself out after his frugal meal.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
It's been a PLEASURE
There’s a gentleman called Karan Thapar who plays Devil’s Advocate in CNBC TV 18 giving celebrities a real tough time interviewing them. He also does or used to do the Hard Talk program.
At the end of one interview, his closing comments were, “Mr. Pranab Mukherji, it was a PLEASURE having you on Hard Talk.”
Pranab Mukerji, in faltering tones replied, “Yes. And . . . it was really. . hard.”
And former Tamilnadu Chief Minister Jayalalitha’s icy response, spurning the hand that was stretched forth to be shaken, was, “It was NOT a pleasure talking to you, Mr. Thapar.”
That shows how tough Karan Thapar can be.
I don’t know if he has interviewed the Prime Minister. If he did, the interview would perhaps go like this:
Q: Welcome to the show Mr. Prime Minister!
A: Thank you.
Q: Let me begin by asking you about your government’s policy on child marriage
A: Child marriage . . .
Q: Are you saying that it is not the government’s . . .
A: I did not say anything!
Q: But how can your government remain silent on such a vital issue, Mr. Prime Minister?
A: Our government has not remained silent!
Q: Can you spell out the statements you have made on this subject during the past month?
A: ?
Q: The Indian Express dated 25th January 1980 says that there were 7600 child marriages in India in a YEAR. What do you have to say to that Mr. Prime Minister?
A: In 1980?
Q: I shall ask the questions Mr. Prime Minister. Your job is to just answer them?
A: What is the question?
Q: Again you are questioning me. Doesn’t matter. What do you think about it? That was my question!
A: I didn’t think about it …
Q: “Business India” in its issue of 20th August writes and I quote, “ Villagers have reported two armed men entering the outer boundary of the Kakrapur Atomic Reactor.” Mr. Prime Minister, how could you allow these two armed men to enter into such a high security area?
A: The villagers …
Q: Please do not avoid the question Mr. Prime Minister. We’ll talk about villagers later. First tell me why you allowed these two persons to enter.
A: Arey, I was here in Delhi baba . .
Q: The “Hindustan Times” which I even now hold in my hand says, and I quote, “The Prime Minister was attending parliament when the news came to him.” Mr. Prime Minister, how could you be attending parliament at the time of such a national crisis?
A: I heard about it . . .
Q: Of course you heard about it! That’s the least one would expect of a Prime Minister! Let us talk about the nuclear deal with Bush. Correct me if I’m wrong. But haven’t you surrendered our sovereignty to the United States?
A: Of-course …
Q: Mr. Prime Minister!
A: Please let me complete! I was going to say, “Of-course not!”
Q: The “Miami Herald” says in unequivocal terms, without any ambiguity whatsoever that President Bush has called you a good friend of the United States. How do you explain that?
A: What should I explain?
Q: Again you are asking questions Mr. Prime Minister! Please tell me how you can be the friend of a country that is trying to poison our people with their Pepsi Cola and Coca Cola?
A: America is co-operating with India in many areas. Our young people are employed by American companies. We have received a lot of technology from the US . . .
Q: Are you saying, Mr. Prime Minister, that in return for all this they can poison the people of our country?
A: I did not say that.
Q: You might not have said that Mr. Prime Minister, but clearly the inference is that you are willing for our people to be poisoned. And just have a look at this photograph Mr. Prime Minister. This picture was taken at a party that was hosted by you for President Bush. While all the participants are having glasses filled with black colored liquid, you are drinking something transparent . . . . water, possibly. Doesn’t that clearly indicate that the Bush had already informed you that the colas are poisoned?
A: These are really wild allegations. Do you . . .
Q: Let’s turn to another subject, Mr. Prime Minister. … your equation with the Congress President, Mrs. Sonia Gandhi . . .
A: Shrimati Sonia Gandhiji is . . .
Q: The “New York Times” of July 23rd, quotes you as saying that Sonia Gandhi is an MP just like any other MP and that you are the Prime Minister and that you know how to keep her in her place! Mr. Prime Minister, WHAT HAPPENED, WHY ARE YOU LEANING SIDEWAYS, YOUR EYES ARE GOING UPWARDS! OPEN YOUR EYES! O MY GOD! THE PRIME MINISTER IS FAINTING! SOMEONE BRING SOME WATER!
At the end of one interview, his closing comments were, “Mr. Pranab Mukherji, it was a PLEASURE having you on Hard Talk.”
Pranab Mukerji, in faltering tones replied, “Yes. And . . . it was really. . hard.”
And former Tamilnadu Chief Minister Jayalalitha’s icy response, spurning the hand that was stretched forth to be shaken, was, “It was NOT a pleasure talking to you, Mr. Thapar.”
That shows how tough Karan Thapar can be.
I don’t know if he has interviewed the Prime Minister. If he did, the interview would perhaps go like this:
Q: Welcome to the show Mr. Prime Minister!
A: Thank you.
Q: Let me begin by asking you about your government’s policy on child marriage
A: Child marriage . . .
Q: Are you saying that it is not the government’s . . .
A: I did not say anything!
Q: But how can your government remain silent on such a vital issue, Mr. Prime Minister?
A: Our government has not remained silent!
Q: Can you spell out the statements you have made on this subject during the past month?
A: ?
Q: The Indian Express dated 25th January 1980 says that there were 7600 child marriages in India in a YEAR. What do you have to say to that Mr. Prime Minister?
A: In 1980?
Q: I shall ask the questions Mr. Prime Minister. Your job is to just answer them?
A: What is the question?
Q: Again you are questioning me. Doesn’t matter. What do you think about it? That was my question!
A: I didn’t think about it …
Q: “Business India” in its issue of 20th August writes and I quote, “ Villagers have reported two armed men entering the outer boundary of the Kakrapur Atomic Reactor.” Mr. Prime Minister, how could you allow these two armed men to enter into such a high security area?
A: The villagers …
Q: Please do not avoid the question Mr. Prime Minister. We’ll talk about villagers later. First tell me why you allowed these two persons to enter.
A: Arey, I was here in Delhi baba . .
Q: The “Hindustan Times” which I even now hold in my hand says, and I quote, “The Prime Minister was attending parliament when the news came to him.” Mr. Prime Minister, how could you be attending parliament at the time of such a national crisis?
A: I heard about it . . .
Q: Of course you heard about it! That’s the least one would expect of a Prime Minister! Let us talk about the nuclear deal with Bush. Correct me if I’m wrong. But haven’t you surrendered our sovereignty to the United States?
A: Of-course …
Q: Mr. Prime Minister!
A: Please let me complete! I was going to say, “Of-course not!”
Q: The “Miami Herald” says in unequivocal terms, without any ambiguity whatsoever that President Bush has called you a good friend of the United States. How do you explain that?
A: What should I explain?
Q: Again you are asking questions Mr. Prime Minister! Please tell me how you can be the friend of a country that is trying to poison our people with their Pepsi Cola and Coca Cola?
A: America is co-operating with India in many areas. Our young people are employed by American companies. We have received a lot of technology from the US . . .
Q: Are you saying, Mr. Prime Minister, that in return for all this they can poison the people of our country?
A: I did not say that.
Q: You might not have said that Mr. Prime Minister, but clearly the inference is that you are willing for our people to be poisoned. And just have a look at this photograph Mr. Prime Minister. This picture was taken at a party that was hosted by you for President Bush. While all the participants are having glasses filled with black colored liquid, you are drinking something transparent . . . . water, possibly. Doesn’t that clearly indicate that the Bush had already informed you that the colas are poisoned?
A: These are really wild allegations. Do you . . .
Q: Let’s turn to another subject, Mr. Prime Minister. … your equation with the Congress President, Mrs. Sonia Gandhi . . .
A: Shrimati Sonia Gandhiji is . . .
Q: The “New York Times” of July 23rd, quotes you as saying that Sonia Gandhi is an MP just like any other MP and that you are the Prime Minister and that you know how to keep her in her place! Mr. Prime Minister, WHAT HAPPENED, WHY ARE YOU LEANING SIDEWAYS, YOUR EYES ARE GOING UPWARDS! OPEN YOUR EYES! O MY GOD! THE PRIME MINISTER IS FAINTING! SOMEONE BRING SOME WATER!
Where is the MG of MG Road?
Some time back I heard an indignant observation from a citizen that it was not right to call MG Road MG Road. He felt scandalised that the name of the father of the nation should be so abbreviated. While appreciating his sentiments, I thought it would be rather impractical to pronounce the full names of all the leaders of the nation in whose memory roads, hospitals, lanes, by-lanes and beauty parlours have been named.
A recent encounter, however, has changed my opinion. I was walking along the shaded path from the Governor's little home towards the gate of Cubbon Park, when a group of tourists accosted the person walking before me, wanting to know how they could get to MG Road.
"It's easy," he said. "Just keep walking in this road, and at the end of it you will see a statue of MG. And all that you see in front of MG is MG Road."
As he was himself going in that direction, he offered to accompany them. Having paused to enjoy this happy little interlude, I followed the group. As we approached the end of the road, our guide (if we may so call him), with an expansive motion of his hand declared,
"Here is the statue of MG."
The tourists exchanged doubtful glances. I had a look at the statue.
What I saw was the antithesis of all that MG was. In the place of angles and bones we associate with the Mahatma, I saw an image made entirely of curves. A certain fullness of form, magnitude of size and imperiousness of manner declared to the world that this was no Mahatma. There was hardly the hint of a smile on the ample and chubby face. Dressed in elaborately embroidered finery it had enough clothing to keep a middling family warm through two winters. In the place of Gandhi's puckish smile was a particular haughtiness that is so unique to the beautiful sex. Its left hand held a finely worked globe and in the right hand was a sceptre. The entire aspect of the statue reminded one of Queen Victoria of happy memory, which indeed it was, for engraved at the bottom of the statue were the words, Queen Victoria, Queen of England, Wales and Ireland, Empress of India etc., etc
"Are you sure this is the statue of MG?" one of the tourists wanted to know.
"Of course I am. This is MG Road, and this is MG."
His line of thinking was beginning to become clear. Of MG road, he was sure. And if this was MG Road, this statue which looked upon the road with such grandeur must surely be MG.
By this time, the group was beginning to swell with curious onlookers ready with comments, suggestions and opinions, if any.
"This is MG road.. " someone suggested hesitantly, "but the MG statue is over there."
"That is Mahatma Gandhi's statue," exclaimed our guide "And this is the statue of MG.”
There was a rerun of exchanged glances not only among the tourists but also among the members of the small crowd.
The guide was silent for a moment, but suddenly understanding dawned. He realised that MG was Mahatma Gandhi and not this fat lady as he had imagined all these years. It was getting a little embarrassing for him and for the audience.
And they that were gathered disbursed, one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last, until the guide was left by himself, with just the Queen looking upon him.
A recent encounter, however, has changed my opinion. I was walking along the shaded path from the Governor's little home towards the gate of Cubbon Park, when a group of tourists accosted the person walking before me, wanting to know how they could get to MG Road.
"It's easy," he said. "Just keep walking in this road, and at the end of it you will see a statue of MG. And all that you see in front of MG is MG Road."
As he was himself going in that direction, he offered to accompany them. Having paused to enjoy this happy little interlude, I followed the group. As we approached the end of the road, our guide (if we may so call him), with an expansive motion of his hand declared,
"Here is the statue of MG."
The tourists exchanged doubtful glances. I had a look at the statue.
What I saw was the antithesis of all that MG was. In the place of angles and bones we associate with the Mahatma, I saw an image made entirely of curves. A certain fullness of form, magnitude of size and imperiousness of manner declared to the world that this was no Mahatma. There was hardly the hint of a smile on the ample and chubby face. Dressed in elaborately embroidered finery it had enough clothing to keep a middling family warm through two winters. In the place of Gandhi's puckish smile was a particular haughtiness that is so unique to the beautiful sex. Its left hand held a finely worked globe and in the right hand was a sceptre. The entire aspect of the statue reminded one of Queen Victoria of happy memory, which indeed it was, for engraved at the bottom of the statue were the words, Queen Victoria, Queen of England, Wales and Ireland, Empress of India etc., etc
"Are you sure this is the statue of MG?" one of the tourists wanted to know.
"Of course I am. This is MG Road, and this is MG."
His line of thinking was beginning to become clear. Of MG road, he was sure. And if this was MG Road, this statue which looked upon the road with such grandeur must surely be MG.
By this time, the group was beginning to swell with curious onlookers ready with comments, suggestions and opinions, if any.
"This is MG road.. " someone suggested hesitantly, "but the MG statue is over there."
"That is Mahatma Gandhi's statue," exclaimed our guide "And this is the statue of MG.”
There was a rerun of exchanged glances not only among the tourists but also among the members of the small crowd.
The guide was silent for a moment, but suddenly understanding dawned. He realised that MG was Mahatma Gandhi and not this fat lady as he had imagined all these years. It was getting a little embarrassing for him and for the audience.
And they that were gathered disbursed, one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last, until the guide was left by himself, with just the Queen looking upon him.
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