Why are we so selfish in life?
Why are we so hard-wired to be this way? We chase after things to satiate our
wants, go to any extent to seize it and when we are unable to consume it we
call life unfair. And yes life is hell not fair. Even if you run behind it
really hard, try to make things right, try your best, life will never assure
you that it will pay you back or that it will reward you back. There is no
right or wrong. There is nothing fair and unfair in reality. Its all in your
head. It exists so that it can fool you into doing things that are assumed
right or fair. But there exists none. Life and its nature are just raw. It will
stab you whenever it feels like, with or without any reason without owing you
any explanation. I believed in things like Karma…do the right thing and the one
day you’ll reap your reward. All wrong. It is just registering my head as I
exercise upon this lesson learning it the hard way. Well. There are no such
things. Its crude and will hit you the way it wants. You have to be a sponge ball.
Accept it all as its come your way even if you have done none wrong. Facts only
have a small place in your life. Its all your perception that drives you, They
are your best friend, your mentor in life that stands to defend your rationale,
your decision and rides your actions and they become your enemy when they
belong to someone else; perhaps of a loved one or not, that stand in your way
to challenge your own and stall you “protocol” of life. Such funny is the way
of life.
The best is when nature would
slyly smile at you when it sees you fall, Particularly when you surrender to
your emotions. Heh. Emotions. Yet another evil in disguise. It is like a toxic
shot of neat vodka. Takes you high upon a cloud and the next minute pushes you off
it and you land with a thump. A really hard thump. And there are some fools
who pay a heavy price for it. Emotional attachments are wicked and are
really expensive to afford. Another life lesson being learnt the hard way. Don’t
keep them if you can’t afford to hold them. Leaves you bankrupt of
cheerfulness. And these are just emotion to say, not facts. No certification of
‘a statement of truth’ on them. Such is their control on us. We let them happen
to us. And the never-ending internal conflict that how could we let it happen
to us. Heh. Such are the realities of our lives. Our own emotions become our
enemies. They rule us and consume us. Bad things happen. But what should I fear
more? Those bad things or what I become into when I confront those bad things?
Coffee...as one might look at it, it is just a daily beverage for many, but for me its quite close to an obsession. The very sip that I swoop in, in about 10 minutes after I wake up fuels me for the day. There is no particular reason why am I writing this down. Its just because I wanted to write something (consider it a part of my useless tasks I keep throwing on myself). But the best one can talk/write endlessly is about what you are obsessed with. And I find that in my mug every morning and evening - my daily coffee. Many ask me what is there after all to obsess about this brown beverage. Ummm...the answer lies in an interesting fellow, weighing about 250mg happily floating inside my mug and we call him - Caffeine. In spite of many sources accusing our pal to having stirred up the ‘world’s greatest addiction’, my nepotism drives me to use the word ‘obsession’ instead of ‘addiction’(I find this word so derogatory). Family and friends keep asking me to stay off the alkaloid listing a hundred reasons for how it would be a potential causative for a malaise. However, my research on this still maintains an undiscerning status on the well being of the human body, therefore I shall continue to surrender my senses to its charms.
It looks good, It tastes good, it smells good...yeah we all know its a goody bag. But I’m totally hung over it. And why is it so? What is after all so special about it? It keeps me up all night and helps me pass my exams. So, what exactly is it doing inside the body, is precisely what this blog entry is about. To understand this we need to have a little insight on how our giant natural machinery – the human body works. Remember the game Chinese whispers you used to play when you were young? In which a single message is to be passed without any ambiguity along a battery of people? A lot of fellows in the body seem to be actively playing around the very same game. Interestingly they do it all the time and are pretty good at it, as in they aren’t lousy like us to screw the message and most importantly, when they finish a round, they cause a change (favourable/unfavourable) to happen. Biologically we term it signalling. This game is extensively played among members of the same cell or neighbouring cells or between cells lying no where in each other’s vicinity...as in, even cells can go international! So I can say, signalling can be either intracellular or intercellular. There is a signalling involved behind almost anything your body wants to do. They play a game, you feel hungry; they play the game, you feel like singing a song; they play a game, you get frustrated; they play a game, you are dying to use the loo. So you know, these molecules inside our body are pretty playful and there is literally a network of Chinese whispers woven inside us. Some play it quick, some are lazy; there are all kinds of players playing in all kinds of tempo. And what are we concerned with? The Chinese whispers of sleep. When our body is tired and wants to rest, a veteran player named Adenosine from the proud family of the great Purines begins the round of whispers. What he does is, fix is butt on his comfortable customised chair called the A2a receptors fixed on the smooth tiled flooring of the Nuclear accumbems (NA) in the brain. Once his hinds are fixed on this chair, and he shakes the chair with his hands, the legs of which (penetrated across the floor, projecting on to the other side) become restless and kick some other molecule inside NA and the whispers go on from one molecule to another, who all by the way have their own customised chairs with legs that can go restless, until the message finally reaches your mommy-like molecule named melatonin who sings the lullaby to our brain. These players in the game are biologically addressed as signalling molecules or ligands and their respective chairs are called receptors. And the reason why I keep mentioning about the customization of these chairs is because it has a profound relevance in the sound functioning of these signalling series (as in every round of the game). It makes sure that, only one kind of player is able to sit and get the legs of his customized chair restless and no other. Technically phrasing it, ligand-receptor binding is highly specific. The restlessness of the chair is technically known as ligand-activation of the receptor, which is triggered by altering its structure. So you see, millions of players inside you are playing this game simultaneously, still you breathe soundly, behave normally, function flawlessly coz they have absolutely no confusion where to pass the message. Thanks to the customization. So let’s see how is the game disturbed when you drain off a coffee mug. Caffeine here you see, is a cousin of adenosine. They look pretty alike owing to the fact that they are the descendants of the same great purine family. These cousins share the same butt size. So caffeine comfortably goes and buries his butt on the A2a receptors. (Curious cats reading this can google on antagonistic inhibition). Poor adenosine is seatless. But is caffeine able to shake the chair enough to get its legs restless? Nope. After all they are cousin, not twins. The structural features these two molecules share enable them to take a common seat but the differences in the same disable them to perform the same function. That is where this round of game is blocked. No further messaging, no melatonin mommy, and you are wide awake. Once these occupied chairs are recycled and caffeine is flushed out of your system (for which you can thank the liver) you let yourself over-work and conjure the adenosine, you’re body is back to playing another round of sleep whispers.
That’s me.....caffeine driven nocturnal zombie. But there are quite many who fail to keep themselves up even after a strong shot of espresso. How is that? There are three reasons for that: One: Too much of caffeine causes something that is called desensitization, wherein these A2a receptors lose the sensitivity to any sort of blockade. In other words they get so used to the adenosine-caffeine altercation, that to get themselves restless, (as in turn on the signalling) all they need is a hind resting on them and no requisite shake. This happens only if you are on insane levels of caffeine over a long, long time. Two: One need to note here is that when I say one adenosine sitting over one A2a-receptor, you might get the wrong perception. If you want to picture it right, then amplify the players, the chairs and the message signals. They always take place in bulk. If I stay up after a cup of coffee and my friend doesn’t, its probably because I might have more A2a receptors on my NA floor than him. Or it may also be because it takes about 250mg of caffeine to keep me up, while about 400mg of it for him pull an all nighter. Three: Genes, that decide every single pico-detail of your body, are like geminines. They're unique, unpredictable and can go crazy any time any place.
It was day 8 after Peter and I had made love. It was the right time and I knew we would make it. I was bubbling with happiness and excitement when I realised that I was expectant. It gave me an inexplicable sense of pleasure to see myself bloat up and count my days nearing motherhood. Suzie, my roomy was gravid too. She looked a little more blown up than me in spite of both of us getting knocked up on the same day. However, sharing a synchronised venture of gestation with your own roommate is one of the best things that can happen to you. From day one, Suzie and I were preoccupied with baby talks...brainstorming on hoarding the blue and pink stuff for the newcomers, suggesting each other names. I knew I would be mothering quadruplets, But Suzie? She felt a whole football team growing inside her!! Audacious woman I must say!! The two of us made sure we ate in time the Kellogg's Honey loops falling from the skies, worked out our prenatal exercises and slept adequately.
The eighth day, our little white hut was relocated from the barn to a weird place. I could feel my babies getting jittery inside. Over there, giant beings eclipsed the sun over the grilled ceiling of our hut. I was already beginning to abhor the new ambiance. Suzie was furious. She squeaked at the top of her voice, but these giant fellows... I guess they are all deaf and that those huge flabby out-hangings off their face, is just for decoration. Suzie got exhausted screaming. I pacified her and asked her to concentrate on her diet for the sake of her babies. We fed on the husked rice heaped inside our hut. In sometime, a giant reappeared. Like a phantom in a nightmare, he ripped off the grilled ceiling, horrendously descended his hands inside and scooped Suzie out of the hut. Suzie cried for help, “Lucy!!! Save me!” I was impuissantly running along all over the place. They took away Suzie...The giants took her away. I was stuck with horror and solitude. The other day, a fortnight back, they had relocated Marcy the same way they did us. And what they did to her, I had heard, was abominable. And since then, we never heard from Marcy again. She was beautiful and enceinte like us. We girls had a bet that her daughters (if she would ever have) would be an absolute charm with Joe’s eyes and her hair. But she never returned. Neither did her babies.
I was broken from within. I could feel the little hearts of my babies within me, beating every second, pleading for life. I was still in the hut, wherein I cornered myself, awaiting my baleful destiny. The giants came, the giants left. Every time they came, I held my breath back to step into my disastrous fate. What else could I do? I was puny and they were DEAF. My babies... I felt them shaping up inside me, clinging on to me tight to stay alive every moment when I can feed them with my blood, But the very next thought paralysed my mind that I wouldn’t be able to see them breath, feed them, nurture them....just give them a life. There I was, paying a heavy price of my existence, of what I am to the giants, of my life as a LAB RAT.
Within an hour, the giant was back like a ghostly apparition. Non-rebelliously, I surrendered to his claws of doom. They took me to a tiny chamber and locked me inside. Instantly, obnoxious fumes gushed into every inch of my body. I could hear my babies groan in pain. For them, I made my ultimate attempt to escape out, but the giants were just too strong for me. And then, I was.... my eyes...closed....my babies...it was..all....Ov..e...r
My friend Rohan’s blog got entitled as above kept me pondering… He put forward this very interesting argument indeed, which me made me think, why am I “proud to be an Indian” which has an equally interesting justification carved out in my head.
Referring to www.rohubhai.blogspot.com where Rohan mentions that being born in India is a matter of chance and not of choice, which needs the least effort. Henceforth, is far off from what we call an ‘achievement’ and so its nothing to be proud of. Undifferentially, I accept his view. But, the choice you make is not about which place you are born but whether you’re proud of it or not. Now, let me elucidate my opinion for which I’ve to start from the start…
What is a country? Just an agrarian domain on earth that has a defined, though variable population. You find people all around the whole world, so what’s so special about a particular population of a country? Or rather let me rephrase it as what is so unique about Indians, Americans, Chinese, Germans or Zulus? The answer is pretty simple… they are the people who are headed by or pay taxes to the same government, follow the same national rules, follow the same time (like the IST for Indians), sing the same national anthem and foremost, are born and brought up in a common ambience…yet again defined by their country itself. So what makes them proud of the country to which they belong? You may not have a rational reply for this question if you believe in this sense of pride if you’re in 6th std and say this because the Indian cricket team calls for your cheering.
Now let’s look at it this way... You’ve the right to vote. Your opinion, though by a least fraction, does matter for the party that presides on the ruling throne. In fact this very opinion of yours becomes a question of chronic criticality for parties at the edge of victory or loss, when competition is fierce. And that is where you can say you’ve an indispensable role to play in portraying the rules and regulations of your nation. Likely, your role is not just restricted to such indirect means. Annually crores of money piles up at the government treasury, which is employed to craft the infrastructure of the country. All this money is pinched off from your dad’s or perhaps your own pockets as what you call as tax. So you see…that’s the way you are also architecting your country in a more than least direct way… politically and economically. Grooming one’s own country directly or indirectly is no less than an achievement. And where you’ve an achievement, no one can question you if you impose pride over it. That’s what makes an Indian proud or an American proud or a Zulu proud of his or her country.
If Abraham Lincoln is one of the greatest presidents that the U.S has ever had, then I believe, it is the people who deserve the credit, for voting him in. Hadn’t it been their consummate judgment regarding this man, Lincoln would never have had this opportunity bestowed upon him.
Coming down to my country, the pride of being an Indian still remains a choice. U.S is certainly not the best nation in the world according to me, even though the index to rate a country as the best is to scale its economic growth. But I guess, the attitude of people plays an equally important role to render a country happy and at the least worthy enough to dwell.
Indians, by default, are acutely adaptable, unlike the rest of the world. As I had mentioned earlier, ambience influences one’s growth and grooming. Indians share this “Desi” attitude that is driven by the “chalega” funda that makes them flexible in any circumstance : P Its like, traveling in British airways or the bullet train or the Caribbean cruise is an effortless task unlike commuting in ST buses and local trains of India…A country that furnishes your acumen to sqeeze yourself in anywhere…any situation.
Your country provides you the soil where you build your house. It is the salt of its seas that you taste, the vegetation of which feeds you, your daily bread. If your heart is vulnerable to the slightest of emotions, I bet, it’ll behold the loyalty towards your own motherland. That’s what I call “proud of being an Indian”.
I’m a Malayalee, born and grown up in Surat. I’m pursuing my graduation in Tamil Nadu and aspire to set my career in Bangalore. That’s four states in one paragraph. A country cradling in a wide stretch of cultural incongruity has never restricted me to dream beyond state boundaries but has designed me to pave my way towards my destiny all by myself. This imbibes in me the feeling…that yes…being an Indian certainly makes me proud. Thought, it’s not a house that’s doored with a tag saying “The Ashokans”; it’s still some place I’d call ‘home’…coz I love being here…its hell of a feeling that never makes me sad.
“Amma, how are u gonna get that baby outta ur tummy? Do u have a zip anywhere around there?” a very amusing question that my baby cousin asked innocently to her pregnant mother. No idea for what my aunt replied to that, but the possible answer is just what I bumped into as serendipity.
All we friends were on a holiday in Kerala at Andy’s (Anand) place. The final day… a lazy Sunday… I was blissfully floating in my dreamland till Anna (Purush) and KY (Satish) came into the room and started creating a racket to get me off the bed. I tried to drive them away, but like bees swarming around a sweet flower, they kept buzzing me. Finally I decided to get my ass off the bed and marched toward
s the wash with my toothbrush and paste to kick start my day.
Downstairs, I’d auntie’s homemade idly sambhar waiting for me. Under the control of my right brain (left brain’s still sound asleep), I started munching my breakfast…Sharan was sitting beside, bickering about the so called “inappropriate” proportion of sambhar & idly that I was grinding together…. Boy!! This boy’s got some ideal ways of going about things else, it’s all “FISH!!” Anyways, no offence my buddy :P
It was pretty silent in the dining hall. All I could hear someone turning pages, noises of munching, Sharan grumbling, auntie offering people tea…. Just then the hero of my story walked into the dining hall and announced that he was heading for a Caesarean for which he can afford to take not more than THREE VISITORS.
CAESAREAN??!! In big bold letters flashed in my head. Something in my mind claimed that it’s my birthright more than anyone else sitting here to see this. An uproar of cacophony of the interested candidates filled the room, but my screech preceded all… I can shut up for 2 whole minutes, not laugh for a silly joke, avoid coffee for a month, share my chocolates with someone… but CANNOT let this chance pass by….No way!! His proclamation succeeded mine that I’m definitely going. I was still mid way breakfast, the caesarean call woke my left brain too. I finished off the idlis in a flash of light, got changed and jumped into the car. Inside, were the other two candidates accompanying me - Anna and Deepak anna. I was really glad that anna came along with me for he’s my walking biology encyclopedia. But, best of all, uncle was there with us. So I can imagine….everyone back home would be praying that we (anna & me) don’t kill him with our questions. (That’s the only thing I expertise;)).
The journey to the hospital lasted for some considerable time, the whole along which uncle answered to my 1st & only question (we dint’ve time for any other). “How did he know medicine was his call and why anesthesia?” Deepak anna continued interrogation further like a reporter…indeed he turned out to be an interesting doctor with an interesting story. You’ll find it in one of Andy’s posts in his blog…now that I’ve put forward the question....I expect him to post one on this…
(PS. Only for Andy: hehe!!….u jobless ass….u need this ;P)
Well, there we were, outside a small clinic in sometime. We hurried to the operation theatre, where the nurses and surgeons were all pumped up to kick start the anthropological process of parturition. The main surgeon was a well experienced lady. We switched over into greengowns which made me feel like a surgeon myself. The patient looked darn young….a bit nervous she was. Later I learnt that she was 26 which indeed, is a small number as an age for a second delivery. She sat upright on the bed. Uncle held a needle as long as my index finger. It all starts with a first prick, which took uncle 22 long years to perform this adroitly. Pheww!! That’s 6 life cycles for a mouse. A shot of hexane on her lower spine sedated her abdomen and she went on a ride of drowsiness…her next stop??....The feeling of being a mother of two… My heart beat exceeded its speed limit, for I heard something ringing in my head…”Arch…Fasten your seatbelt….your journey through the live insight on a human body in seconds away!!” seemed like a dream… the knife was ready. It made it first incision on the abdomen. Layer after layer the knife made its way to the uterus. “There is the epidermal…& then the epithelial…& wow! The adipose…” my brain started scanning for the appropriate medical nomenclatures. It was like turning the obstetrics’ pages of my biology textbook. Uncle continued deciphering each move of the surgeon, pointing every possible tissue for us to learn. Finally the surgeon hit the door and cut open the uterus. The amniotic fluid gushed out. She inserted her hand into the womb (just like I used to, into my backpack to look for my lunchbox in class 3) and she pulled out the most beautiful creation of nature…a life just few microseconds old. My heart skipped a beat when I laid my eyes upon “him”. He had a white creamy adipose layer smeared aroun
d his body and his head as tiny as a tennis ball. Within a second of its arrival from his tranquil ambience of fluid n cells to the big bad world, it burst into a huge hue-n-cry which sounded as one of the merriest jingle to my ears :P
My mom often used to narrate her pregnancy tales when my brother and I were born which always fascinated me. Now I feel blessed to actually have witnessed one…thanks to Dr. V Shankar.
The two big fellows with me were engulfed with an aura of chronic alacrity on the commencement of the new life. They followed the baby which was taken out of the operation theatre, while I was busy scrutinizing the biological venture in the theatre.
Hmmm… ok, so u’ve cut opened the bag…that’s alright… but hey! U gotta assemble the abdomen back…hmmmm….guess this calls for a tailor now…
TA DA! The surgeon was ready with her sewing kit… well, I wondered that even an ordinary tailor can fix this…looked like piece of cake… Meanwhile, I was so deeply engrossed in the biological details that my eyes were almost glued to every anatomical chunk in her body in sight. I suppose, the doctor feared that I may touch it out of excitement or may accidentally sneeze on it…well, she diplomatically restricted me to my periphery ;P Her every move was smooth which imposed her manual dexterity.
The guys joined in later after the baby was done with a series of examination regarding its weight, breathing etc. Meanwhile, the lady’s abdomen was stitched back and the surgery was successfully over.
After the show got over, while we were heading towards the car, we realized that all this medical adventure was just a 20 minute ride and Deepak anna remarked “Life is so simple.” For which I have gotta say “Tell this to the lady whose anatomy was just under exhibition!!”
It till now surprises me that, the entire paradox of the scenario hovered over the fact that admist the entire operation, the two Y chromosomes with me were floating in an emotional saga revolving the situation, while I was busy rationalizing the science behind it. Now after everything, I realized that, what I saw was something that can transform a girl’s life, complete her womanhood, something which I may likely experience years later and most importantly revived the portrait of the terrestrial angel in my mind whom we call MOM.
My mom used to tell me that, for a child, a dad has an extremely important role to play, whose love and affection is indispensable in its life but, its relationship with mom is invincible and nature explains it all. However, its beauty and chemistry is abstruse. She knows when you need what without you giving her a clue or rather even when you are clueless about it…..She knows it when you’re hungry…..she knows it when you’re feeling low (& also busts you if you’re on a high!!)….sits with you all night long to help you finish your science project…..cleans your comb even without letting you know…..you’re just mesmerized when the aroma of her kitchen projects hits your olfactory sensors that she prepares just ‘coz, once ages ago, u happened to mention that u suited your taste buds…..she smiles and teases you back even if you scream at her coz you had a bad day, and you finally end up smiling yourself. You find yourself in an uncanny connection with her when she reads you inside out…..And it never ends….in spite of which she never expects anything back except that you groom into a successful being with a beautiful mind.
She’s the one who teaches you the purpose of life….that is TOLIVE & TO LOVE…..
you can surrogate the alphonso‘s taste, the irish coffee’s aroma, the Taj Mahal’s beauty,
the Kohinoor’s brightness but never your mom’s hug….
