Why?

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

We Now Do Fashion Blogging too

                It was an open challenge… A colleague of mine said that I had absolutely zero fashion sense and I had to agree. For a guy whose job description involves putting a finger inside the hindgut of patients and getting literally drenched in the produce of the aforementioned viscera and her proximal sisters (yup, the gut is a female, why? Gut feelings make as much sense as this post and by literal I mean “literal” literal and not high skewl kewl kids’ literal), I had never felt this uncomfortable before. That isn’t exactly true. There was another challenge where we had to name colors and I could only come up with exactly eleven and five of them were blue.  But this time,  decided it was time to shut all these self anointed fashionistas I mean who the heck are they to tell what is hip and what is trendy…?

                So how do we go ahead…? My wardrobe has nine shirts that are rotated until one of them gets irreplaceably decorated by blood and stuff. I remember mocking ads for trying to sell their cleansing agent by marketing as “It could clean blood stains” (Seriously… if you have blood all over your shirt, getting it back to its suave blue original is not your primary concern…) but when I experienced it first hand, the results were abysmal. All of the nine shirts were oversized and had some stain or another and the only shirt without a 4 cm blotch was a pink one that I had not worn for 13 months as a famous author said that doctors (especially short ones) that wore pink shirts were raving lunatics that were creepy as f*ck and murdered people.

                Then it hit me… Perfection sucks… I mean look at all these morons on the street that wear torn jeans and actually pay more for that frigging piece of clothing and how women equality is inversely proportional to the area covered by clothing, the outfit of the day would be a scrubs shirt (nope, we know no fancy terms) that was sponsored by the hospital. It had more holes than the plot of an M Night Shyamalan classic and despite the alleged sterilization procedures the shirt had gone through, I was sure it was crawling with the blood and sweat of the hundreds of people I had operated on in that raggedy old dress. The pants component of the same barely reached my ankle and had the tying u thingy come out a lot lateral than its intended midline position. Thankfully, the groin area was well covered.


#NoFilters, PC: Rudolf Modley



                The scrubs came with adhesive tapes plastering the torn areas which was ironic because it was a surgery OT and the adage “stitch in time…” was like literally made up for this situation especially when we wear these clothes while actually stitching people up. SO there is the outfit… As for the accessories, no Rolex watch (no money), no fancy belt (only paavada nada enthu) no earrings or piercings (scared of needles and seeing MY blood)… And with this the only action in latex I could expect was doing a celiotomy with double gloves, made of latex, of course. And the satisfaction of seeing that old bloke recover after an energy sapping surgery in the OOTD is where my unagi kicks in. And I find my inner peace inside pieces of other people’s bowel and glands because you know that all the risk is taken by the patient and all the responsibility is borne by your consultant…


                And that is spirituality for me. And nope, not a contest post.

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