This had to be done... There aren't enough cynics around


Compl(i/e)menting the compl(e/i)ment
As the week meandered to an end with the routine Monday Duty looming large, I had the perfect prophylaxis for the Monday Blues... It was the day I realized Landmark had closed for good (Sathiya Sodhanai...) and met a few fellow bloggers for the first time. Actually, it wasn’t punctuated by awkward silences or any uncomfortable moments, instead meeting the cheerful BP and ML, who could find spelling mistakes over the phone (boss, nan pesitu thana irunthen?!) and VD, who had committed the sin of omission by not watching the Nolan-Bale-Batrilogy, seriously was quite the remedy for the Delhi Agony, although my credentials as a surgeon to be took a serious beating (Neenga plumbera, surgeonaa?).

I also had the honour of going through a page of book that involves a dominatrix with hard metal between her legs (no, no, I meant her bike, ya) who solves a murder in 7 G Rainbow Colony by confusing the accused with an ‘eye’ in the place of an ‘E’. Aye.  No offense/offence meant.

Here’s looking forward for the next meeting.

The Delhi Agony
After double and triple checking the participants, the men(and woman) of CISF were satisfied and the interview started. Now that I am certain that I have blown away my chance to be a govt job mappillai, I can comment on what happened as soon as i got inside the chamber with the surgeon, the OGcian and the IAS officer. The team leader was the most pleasant of them all... Discussions on the Emperor of all Maladies and my passion (?) for writing were the second best thing in the interview. The Surgeon (as are the rest of the fraternity) was a pleasant man and after a deep, thoughtful discussion on Hernia, handed me to the OGcian. And there my friends, the agony started.

After Saturn took control of my tongue for a fraction of a second when I blurted out that OGcians usually tend to the injure bowel (and the bladder, the ureters, the kidneys, the liver, the heart and the lung), she was taken aback and started questioning me about Cancer of the uterus. Given how the last time I had anything to do with that organ was 26 years ago, I stood there, looking like Lingusamy facing the trollers. As she basked in glory of having shamed a surgery resident, the surgeon rescued some pride (?) for me.

“So, when called over, how do you repair the damage done?”

Thank you, Sir.

Sitting next to 18/F
After stitching up a dude stabbed by a friend, it was time to board the 6E whogivesadamn to Delhi. The sad thing is until you see the person staring at the over-head space. But not this time... I knew I would be sitting right next to an eighteen, F. Yes folks, the prayers of millions of guys were finally answered as I was allotted seat E in row eighteen. Before you come to kick me, let me remind you the story is just half over.

During the return, An actual eighteen (or 19, 20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27) year old female actually occupied the seat next to me... Before I could even think of a conversation starter, the seat near the aisle was occupied by a middle aged female, who was my co passenger’s teacher (apparently). She wasted no time in exchanging seats with the girl and showed abundant courtesy in rudely taking the in-flight magazine Hello 6E from the seat in front of me.

Thanks, Ma'am
PS: Not everything is entirely the truth or falsehood. 

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