I can let this emotion by may be I should. This happens to every one at least once in their lifetime. It is no big deal I guess. But it is a milestone in our lives.Mostly my dad’s. But also profound in ours.

He retires from his company after 35 years of service. The company that has fed us, brought us up, given me a school, good friends,given us family vacations throughout the world, paid for our education,  and always assured us, home was just a flight away.

Which brings me back to my own little milestone of 200 posts. Please go back to congratulating me on my previous post.

When I started blogging, I didn’t know how to add links to my blog.So I would go from blog to blog to blog in search of another blog.It got more tedious when I would leave a comment, because then I would be blog hopping hours on end.

I use my blogroll to browse over interesting blogs. When they stop updating I feel inclined to delete their links. Only recently did a good friend point out that it is bad etiquettes and a very rude thing to do.

I have written some very long posts.I am always humbled by the people who make the effort to read until the end and add their two bits to it.

I don’t enjoy reproduction of another person’s work. News/sports updated/Video links don’t catch my fancy on blogs. I know where to get that information .Why would I want to be on a blog for it. I would rather read the bloggers’ interpretation of the same.

I make a conscious effort to hide the context in some of my posts.Differing reactions that ensue, help me see my context in a different light.

Bloggers that use big/large /twisted meaning words, confusing language, and only talk in abstract intimidate me. Reminds me of those debate competitions where I would have no clue what the opponent was saying and yet felt compelled to give an intelligent response back( read write comments).

I hope that no one uses their blog as a communicating tool to me. I refuse to take anything personally, acknowledge the effort or take any action relevant to the issue mentioned in their blog.

I miss some of my blogging buddies at Blogspot.I don’t miss blogspot.

WordPress is fun.So is their stat counter.Clean minimal and has helped me get over my obsession of IP addresses.

I have 200 posts published with this one. It feels great.

To all you people having fun at my expense over this post.

Scene 1 Act 1: EU is in the kitchen happily making her adrak ki chai and getting food ready for the day. You can hear her putting away the dishes. Happy morning one can tell.

Candy approaches EU in the kitchen.She does so each morning for friendly chatter and some girl talk.

Candy: What is cooking today.

EU: I am making kadhi.*matter of fact answer*

Candy: What did you make yesterday * happy smile and very grateful look, EU can’t tell if is genuine* It was awesome. Very chewy. So burgerish for meat eaters.

EU: Oh, waddy? That is made from daal.Not at all burgerish, but I like it too. Do you not eat meat.

Candy: Oh no, not for the last 30 years. Do you?

EU: Oh yeah, sure I do *matter of fact answer*

Candy: You do?? *heavy Oprah expression of disbelief and horror* But you are Indian?

EU: haaaaaaaaaaaaa? So? Indians eat meat. We make some really good dishes.

Candy: But your parents are vegetarian. *Heavy expressions continuing*

EU: But my neighbours weren’t. They are to be blamed * cheeky grin*

Candy: Do you know what they do to the animals before you eat them.* a little angry*

EU: Kill them *innocence personified*

Candy: Why don’t you go to a slaughter house to get your meat*irritating disbelief filled Americanised expression*

EU: I don’t  go picking my tomatoes either.*matter of fact answer*

Candy: So that justifies the killing of animals.

EU: Man has been hunting to find the best resources for himself and meat just happens to be one of them. I don’t see the big deal.

Candy: Doesn’t it pain you. Have you ever held a lamb.

EU: Nope, why are you so horrified.People actually like eating meat. It is a preference. And I have held a lamb in my arms.

Candy: That means I have been disillusioned about Indians, and how they always eat fresh fruit and vegetables.

EU: Yeah we eat all that but we don’t live in the forrest. We have a civilization in place. We are as materialistic and commercialised as the Americans if not more.You have to come back to India and see what it is like now.Not in some yoga Ashram but in the city.Get down and dirty there. * determined expression, EU is not going to let this go*

Candy: I still can’t believe you would eat meat.

EU: OK lets drop it.

Candy: I love my animals so much, I can’t even think of it. I even feed them organic food.

EU: Oh don’t even get me started on organic food.*expression of irritation and confidence mixed together with a slight wave of the hand*

Candy: WHAT?

EU: Have you ever considered, that may be just for a second may be organic food is just a huge sham and money making feat.

Candy: For the mighty doctor that you are you just don’t know how to live your life. You think organic food is a sham. Do you know it is 3 times more expensive, and I pay through all that I have just so we can all eat better food. * extremely agitated Candy*

EU: Well I certainly don’t want to live worrying what I eat, what I drink. I’d like to believe I have a good immune system intact and live my life in moderation.Not having to worry about my basic requirements in life. I am not saying it is a complete sham.But take my word for it, in another 10 years you wont be eating organic food as some smart ass researcher will prove why it is the worst thing that happened to mankind.

Candy: Oh c’mmon. I always provide the best for me and my animals. I have been doing this for 40 years.One would think I would know.* angry, just angry*

EU: Of course you do.What is your source of information, that organic food is the safest best bet? What if you couldn’t afford it.

Candy: Well I can. I would rather pay money for the food than pay a doctor. Medicine is only for the rich. * Snickering smothering expression*

EU: That is not true, even in the American system there is what is called Medicaid. You can walk into an emergency and you will be treated for free. Again what if you couldn’t afford the organic food. What about the poor.Do they not have the right to the “only good food” * making hand gestures to quote unquote* instead of what they can actually afford.* feeling a sense of victory*

Candy: This is not a socialist society *defeatist tone and posture*

EU: Exactly my point. So can it be possible the organic food thing is just a way to fleece the rich. Don’t the poor have rights. You complain that doctors are for rich people only, how about the *only right food* available in the market.

Disappointed, disgusted Candy moves away to open a can of organic turkey delights and throws around some bones for her 4 dogs to chew on.

EU, * rolls eyes* Rests her case. Adrak Chai seems to be good this morning.

I just found it amusing that the dogs can get turkey out of a can but I have to go to a slaughter house to pick mine. Hence the previous post.

Which brings me to the argument that, it isn’t the other that disrespects us to emotionally abuse us. It is we who decide how others are allowed to treat us.

Whatever the need be,  need to be needed, need to be validated  or need to be loved. What we perceive is our worth is what we allow our  selves to accept from others.What are we ready to settle for?

The age long advice; love your self before you can expect some one else to do so is now beginning to make more sense.

On a lighter note, how do stable educated, independent, smart, confident, young, healthy individuals fall prey to emotional abuse? No gender biases here. I have seen all and mighty fall prey to this evil. Where does the self-respect go when it decides to take the long twisty walk down the misery lane. I wonder.

I’ve caught myself referring to the 2 Labradors that I take care of as ‘my boys’.

Letting them emotionally bully me is taking that relationship to a whole new level methinks.

Boys will be boys, and the girl stubbornly refuses to learn. Sigh!

Some times you ascertain your own measure of success. For most people it is the tangible. Rightly so.

The last exam I took was all about the patient. 12 random people getting paid 10 dollars an hour or so to pretend to be patients were going to objectively mark on a piece of paper my clinical skills.History taking, examination, communication, ethics and manners ( read mannerisms really).

It didn’t matter what I know, what my experience has taught me how well I can run a code blue. What mattered was what impression I had created in the 15 minutes that I faced this ‘patient’.

Ask any doctor who has attempted the Clinical Skills Assessment. They will tell you this exam means nothing. If you have had any experience with patients you are good to pass. The result is declared a pass or fail at that.

For me this exam was an endorsement of my ability to be a physician. I haven’t been half as anxious about the result of any of the gazillion exams that I have taken like I have been for this one.

For me it really matters that I am accepted as a physician no matter what, who, where and how. And I passed.

I am always right. Period!

There will always be my side to the story. The one no one can contest. Even in the court of law.

You see truth has three side. Yours mine and the truth of course.

I will always have the right excuse.

I will always have an argument to prove I am correct.

There will always be a justification that would make sense; if you let it.

I will always have the right to make my own decisions.

I will live my life the way I want and there is nothing any one can do about it.

Hence I shall always be right.

Oh well, so will you.

Then do you think, we could agree to disagree and be a little more mature about the choices we chose to make?

First time.First meeting.First impressions. The firsts are always a beautiful experience. If not beautiful definitely an experience.

It gets a little unnerving when you have some idea but not a whole idea.So you have been to each other’s blogs.Read, commented and commented over the comments. Indulged in hour long chatting over the internet.Flirting and even discussing some itsy-bitsy details of your life. You have ranted and listened to them rant. Cussed and hear them cuss. Discuss future plans and what not.

Not once contemplating that you might actually meet this person in person. You hope and dream about the day you will but it is a distant possibility. A possibility none the less.

Then comes one day, you do meet.

I get a lot of first expressed impressions.Most common are cute. I actually have come to believe that when people don’t know what to say to you they call you cute. Anyway cute is what I have heard for all of my life.Very few pretty’s too. Smart, confident, diva.. yeah now I am only wishing.

No one has called me chirpy.It is my first. I am doing chirpy very well. I am so thrilled it isn’t fat or thin, small or tall, OK or otherwise.It was chirpy. I like the dimension to me.Tells me it was real for once.

First meetings can be unnerving because you really don’t know what to expect. Gets awkward especially when one has been so close on the internet or the phone.And yet you know you are not close at all. Heck, you don’t even know if this person is for real or not.People are most scared of disappointing the other rather than getting disappointed.Having done this meeting-for-the-first time game several times I know not expecting anything works the best.

But hey I can do with chirpy any time. I did not see that coming and I haven’t been able to stop grinning.Thank-you! 

Rant this post! You have been warned.

I am a little tired…

Tired of propriety.

Tired of polite behaviour.

Tired of struggling with books.

Tired of being patient.

Tired of understanding.

Tired of dealing insecurities.

Tired of doing the right thing.

Tired of saying the right thing.

Tired of forcing humour.

Tired of being disappointed with the scales.

Tired of flirting.

Tired of keeping in touch with people.

Tired of understanding the concept of fair weather friends.

Tired of dating.

Tired of walking the dogs.

Tired of cooking.

Tired of being the support.

Tired of knowing I need support.

I am tired of being a 28 year old single woman, struggling in a foreign land.