Ballad of an Easy Ride

After a heart-blip I faced some time back, this is a therapeutic period for me, and an attempt for a self imposed convenient rehab. Heart-attack is a world-wide disease and event, phenomenon only to be underestimated in most parts of the world; with so called developed ‘west’ being the worst biggest victim, and emerging economies like India walking into the same booby trap. So, here I am thinking it might not be a bad idea to share some words while I undertake this little journey of ‘taking-it-easy’ times. Also, to fore-warn that my coming blogs, for next few months to some years, will try to focus on so called ‘matters related to Heart’, and I sincerely hope for these advisories to fade with time, if and as I recover better. Following couple of paragraphs is some reminisces on how my bike and me, we together have been pulling this journey.

Only a few days back, when dusk smelling of tar had given way to the darkness, I sat on my bike, pulled the choke knob under my seat, and pushed the self button. Before starting off I would let the engine run idle for mandatory two minutes. I pulled up my jacket’s zipper unto my neck, for it had been unusually colder for a semi arid city like Ahmedabad. Unusual quietness had surrounded me, not only because of my helmet but the fall of the day had also announced an end of a combination of holidays and weekends thoroughly enjoyed by a collective mass of people. In other words, it was just in the air. The air felt full of oxygen, uneasy calm, and it felt good. ‘Ballad of easy rider’ tune started to take shape in the back of my head, unseen thoughts of a new road trip started getting clearer.

I thanked my bike too, for it was this same machine, which a couple of months back took me to the doorsteps of the emergency doors of a hospital at 3:00AM in the morning. I took the bike only because I wasn’t sure about the severity of the event. It could have been a mere muscle pain, and having never called 108 in my life before, I really wasn’t sure of availing the service. Anyhow, the bike was comfortable, and undoubtedly faster. At Sterling hospital emergency door, the chowkidaar was taking it easy on a plastic chair next to the sliding doors, also staring at some bunch of people. Must have been some reason for a loved one critical they were there and my bullet’s rattle wasn’t amusing either, but I couldn’t help it until I found a parkable corner next to a compound wall. And then I scrambled to the doorstep, asking chowkidaar I need attention, which he, I think – half understood, half-suggested I make my way inside. He then rushed inside, probably on second thoughts, and an attendant came from inside too. They told me to wait until a wheel chair came, which I felt unnecessary and I frog-leapt to the bed. The other attendants inside the emergency ward were busy, for there were others in other beds too. One by one, different attendants would calmly and warmly come to me, do their job which for them was their routine. Then came - doctors, family, more attendants, specialized people... People - who for that moment were only warm, started to get warmer, until I went in for that peaceful post-angioplasty sleep.

Heart is like Ass

Most people are often bewildered when they hear of a close known one surviving a heart attack. And especially when one is in his early thirty’s. Surrendering their wisdom or judgment of ‘why-such-a-thing-happened-to-him?’ to a knowledge mostly acquired from cinema, theatre, books or some other emotional source. A while back, I used to think the same too.

Rather it could be useful to look at the factors which go into making of such an event. Incessant smoking, sleeping alternate nights, and that too for few hours, moving from a low fat diet country to a society where food control department is perhaps the most corrupt –in other words bad oil, bad traffic, shouting and picking up fights on the road, pollution too maybe among similar other things - not good for a typical machine to work healthily.

The second link in the chain is, good and timely medical care. Statistics say that, 75% of the people die of heart attack because in spite of the strange-pain they get, and which cannot be sleeped away, they still choose to ignore it. In other words, underestimate it, thereby burdening the argument on a person’s lifestyle as the main cause. And, of factors not easily discernable - of which ‘emotions’ is one.

Well, there is nothing emotional about it. ‘Heart-break’ is different from ‘Heart-attack’.

Perhaps for an easy comparison, - one’s ‘Heart’ is like one’s ‘Ass’. Body organs either, they are only yours you know, and it is up to you to keep em safe.

To reprise a Quote

Sometime back, a man was so determined in collecting hay that it finally became a heap. Taller than he, he wanted to burn it fast. Hardly realizing that in the process, he had already done all the donkey work for someone else to take the honors. He could put out the fires , thereby saving most his hay -but in the mayhem getting his fingers burnt.

Maha-Sankrant (Yesterday and Today)

Yesterday and Today were kind-of clairvoyant, otherwise known as Makar-Sankrant (pronounced Muckker - Sun-cra-ant). Most of the India peninsula is entangled in a kind of frenzy. Start of a new year and start of festivals, of which the spree and quantum will now end with Santa Claus’s B’dday. Every possible region or caste or group have to celebrate these two days in their own special way - ranging in from the mellow palm-joining-puja to the weirdest antics of kite-flying festival in Amdavad (colloquially – Uttar-raa-yun).

Panjabis of North celebrate on a night previous – called Lodi (Low-uh-duh-e) -which basically means family and friends gathered around fire with supplies of popcorns, peanuts, and every kind of fatty preparations India can cook as sweet snacks. Everything is allowed - condition being that it is should be digestible, either by the tummy or the fire in the center. Larger the group larger is the circle, therefore, higher the bon-fire.

Within this frenzy, somewhere comes my village’s own custom too - in which, everyone is supposed to feed animals one lives around with. I would regularly see some peaceful cows, pitiable dogs, and birds and crows around. The preparation for these guys is a three layer arrangement - of puri as base, vada as next layer, and the uppermost of sweet-yogurt spread’d on top. Deadlicious it could have been but nobody came - because, them the dogs and cows were just well fed, and crows were too intelligent to get trapped by millions random kite strings of Uttar-raa-yun. They weren't around, for I noted the leftovers still on the roof top in the evening. Glad, the Good-Samaritans helpline bikes came within five minutes as promised, and took away the injured pigeon from my hands, earlier fallen onto my roofs top.

Leh Trip - The Weight

Heart patients are told to take it easy, and indulge in only recreational activities. So guess with plently of time in hands, following is my rendition of a song called 'The Weight' performed by 'The Band (1968)'; - used as a road song basically.

So, Sunandan, Pankaj and Chandra - three friends since teenhoods, took their bikes to Leh, i.e. upcountry north to explore a little bit of their India and themselves; and boy, it has been six months now and the trip is still sinking in - which all will agree. Following is the album dedicated to same.

Original by 'The Band' following is a youtube to the song. If you haven't read the lyrics, maybe you are missing something!

East versus West – Some Lessons from the heart

Look at the ‘east versus west’ debate, where one accuses the other. One refers to the other as ‘the third world’ and in return gets a name called ‘industrialized’ in the today’s times of global warming concern. The intellectual topic - ‘east versus west’ starts turning trite as - to quote famous Paul Friedman – the globe turns flatter.

Look at these examples from the author’s case of his heart attack – one from the emergency medication facility available at that instant, and second from the long term recovery. Make notice from the contrast.

Angioplasty invented in California and/or Switzerland saved my life because I was cautious enough to land up at the emergency doors of a hospital in India. And, I am not sure I would have used the emergency facilities if, for example, I was living in the foreign lands of Europe. I am an easterner, and in comparison almos a same age but a westerner and a celebrity, Brittany Murphy, unfortunately, wasn’t as lucky as me.

Plavix is one of the important few medicines the doctor prescribes. Plavix in India is available in two types- One ‘imported’, and other ‘desi’ (Made In India). Just like shampoos and hair conditioners. The apparent difference is in the prices of the both. While a leaf of fourteen tablets cost around 1500 Rupees, the Indian version is cheaper by ten times. Now, the prescription is for the imported one for a few initial months, and later I could shift to the desi type. Though people (of east or of west) would sight that this difference in prices is because of manufacturing cost, plain patent costs, or some other reason, I would only adduce that my doctor is only concerned about the quality of my medicine since I can afford it, unlike some.

Some fun I had here comparing ‘east and west’!

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Post.P.S. Merry X-mas

Slow down, read a book

One of the after effects of surviving a heart-stroke is that it slows one down. Doctors tell to do so - and no matter what, you don’t have a choice. And one of the results, positive, is that one would pick up books to read. Books which are slow, or books which are insightful, books which are shit, or books which heal, and so on so to let the time pass by.

‘Tortilla Flat’ by legendary Steinbeck became an unintentional efficacious companion. The period of recovery changed into gestation, for there were new things to learn. To me, more than the Arthurian connection or a beautiful community of Paisanos in the book, it was – to quote Thomas Fensch, the introducer to this edition (ed. year 1997)–

Above the bay, and in Caramel and elsewhere, the shacks and shanties of the paisanos are gone now too, bulldozed for tract houses, shopping centers, and roads. But through Steinbeck’s eyes, we see them still, talking and laughing under the golden warmth of the sun, in those idyllic days of the Great Depression, when friendship and wine meant more than money.

Thomas Fensch talks of the year 1935, when ‘Tortilla Flat’ was published. That is, in between the famous big wars of the west - evidently, bad economic and financial times.
And this fact apart, somewhere in chapter XIV in the book there is an important healing advice-

They did not awaken quickly, nor fling about nor shock their systems with any sudden movement. No, they arose from slumber as gently as a soap bubble floats out from its pipe. Down into the gulch they trudged, still only half awake. … Life took shape about them, the shape of yesterday, and of tomorrow.