
Manthan: September 2005 www.nihindia.org Medley of maladies My mom was the culprit. No really! If she did not force-introduce me to Mrs. Anjali Ghosal in her permanent hunt for prospective brides in the Bengali community for her elder son (that’s me incidentally); all this would not have had happened. But I am sure you have no clue of what I am going talking about. I am not refractory to narration (again a maternal trait-Who says life generated spontaneously? Its all about genes and passing them off faithfully). It was during one of those social gatherings during Bengali new year, we call it poila boishak. The day and the occasion is merely an excuse for us folks, to come together and indulge in unhealthy and disgusting gluttony. It normally involves coming together of 50-odd families followed by bunch of cultural activities wherein some of the talented ones sing aloud, recite aloud and narrate aloud things from Rabindra Nath’s compositions. Yes, loudness is our trade-mark and the people in the adjoining complexes have on instances been very verbose with their complaints. The chairman of our community thinks that they are been just unsocial and jealous. But then I am digressing. It was last year that I got introduced to Anjali Ghosal with the hope and faith of my mom that I might finally be ensnared by one her daughters. The lord almighty has been kind with that family in matter of female kids. They are totally 4 siblings. The eldest one is Reena, the second Shreya, the third Mita and the youngest and the sanest one Bonna. After the preliminaries of introduction, I was left with four of the daughters on the pretext of the “young people should be left together” and “we do not want to interfere”. I was quite sure that I would have to undergo complete and thorough interrogation later by my mom wherein everything that passed on would have to be revealed in most embarrassing detail. Except Bonna, rest demonstrated a good propensity to discuss their health issues and problems and it left me a bit puzzled that why someone so young should be so concerned with what kind of viruses are going around. At the onset of conversation when the multitudinous of them started discussing multiple bugs and viruses, I mistook it to be some recent Melissa virus that has been scourging the net. But when words such as side-effects, constipation and purgation started popping up during the talk, I guessed I was off-track till Bonna took the pains to illuminate me about her sisters myriad maladies. The end of the whole dreary affair was I found myself invited in Mrs. Anjali Ghosal’s house for tea and snacks. I then found out where did the daughters learnt to discuss their health in such aggravating details. The mom was the cause. Mr. Goshal had been hen-pecked inside out many moons back and the vestige of his personality that still clung to him was his passion for alcoholic beverages. Mrs. Ghosal apparently seemed a rather healthy species of human being if I am to judge, not all over but mostly in spots. But you are reassured firmly by Mrs.Ghosal that appearances can be deceptive and she is not one bit well. She had been visited and revisited by all viruses and bacteria known to womankind and those that she missed out she borrowed from domesticated pets and her husband. Measles when she was born, gastroenteritis when her first tooth came out, whooping cough when she went to kindergarten, typhoid when she was in her 4^th grade, malaria when she was in her tenth grade, amnesia when she got married, conjunctivitis when her first kid was born, so on. I nervously asked her whether any of them are contagious or inheritable (me been a prospective bridegroom). She replied not really; they are merely debilitating. Subsequent to first visits there were some more visits. The agenda however remained invariant, health and more health related discussions. In the meantime, the prospects of been a groom increased for me because I met Trisha my present love in life. My mom didn’t know of my new love-life and never ceased nudging and pushing me to the Ghosal villa. I forged a good friendship with Bonna (the youngest one) to whom I confided with my new love-interest. Almost a year flew by and it was the eve of March 23^rd. Trisha had been harping past two days about neat tricks that she had devised to fool a bunch of her relatives who kept nagging her about her marriage. I too felt that I should be enterprising. It occurred to me why not the ghosal family with the XX species been the primary target. All I had to do was think of a neat trick. I conveyed my thoughts to Trisha who seemed rather enthused with the targets. Bonna was made accessory to the crime. We called her and explained. We could hear her suppressed giggles and realised that Mrs.Ghosal might be standing within earshot of her. So on the eve of March 26^th, Mrs. Ghosal got a letter from All India Doctor and Surgeon’s association (AIDS). The contents of the letter were: “Dear Mrs. Ghosal, A heart felt thanks from our association for being the ideal patient. Its because of patients like you that we survive. Our association have been mooting the idea of selecting “The model patient”. For years together we have been honouring doctors and surgeons for their excellence in their respective fields but have neglected the patient without whom our excellence would be unseen by the world. Out new motto is “behind every successful doctor is a live patient” and to put this precept into practice we have promulgated a cash award of Rs. 20,000 for the 5 most ideal patients. We are glad to announce that 4 members from your family which includes yourself and Mita Ghosal have been selected. We request you to collect the award in person. Separate letters has been sent to other members of your family. Please consider this letter as an official invitation and bring it along with you for claiming the award on coming Thursday. P.N. There are additional benefits associated with this award that entails you free medical service for five visits at specialists of your choice and medical supplies at 50% subsidised rates from AIDS affiliated medical shops for drugs of your choice.“ the award ceremony is going to be held at Sanmukhanand Hall, Dadar TT circle, Bombay-440033." March 26^th night my mother got a call and from what I could make out there was an excited voice squeaking at the other end of the phone. As the conversation progressed, I could see my mother’s eyes growing bulbous in wonderment and envy. The moment she kept it down, I was assaulted with what is AIDS. I knowledgeably replied it means Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. Mom curtly said, "I know that one. Do you know any other expansion? That call was from Mumpy (Mrs. Ghosal was “fondly” called so)”. I nodded absent-mindedly. She vociferated, "don’t you want to know what she talked about?” My dad quipped in, "Estimating by the volume of your voice it should be something rather urgent or important”. She brushed aside his remarks by brusquely remarking, “it seems Anjali has won this 20,000 prize from this association called AIDS for being the ideal patient. They are going to get free medicines and doctor visits for next 6 months.” Since none of us made active comment she said exasperatedly, "don’t you two have anything at all to say? It is this kind of sheer lethargy that we are forever struggling for money." Seeing that she did not have sympathetic audience she retreated to her circle of friends and believe me, a wild fire would have been put to shame considering the rapidity with which the news spread. Phone to phone there were gasps of surprise, admiration tinged envy and why not us? outrages. And ad hoc meeting was organised to congratulate the lucky sick-family and ironically the vociferous community assembled at our house. It was only-women affair. I was asked to excuse myself for the day. Incidentally we (me and Trisha) booked a ticket for a drama on the same day at same time. Bonna opted out; she wanted to be the actress in the aisle and remarked that she will have to spend a good many of her years with her mom in the same house; “never make enemies with crocodile if you intend to live in water”, she sagely noted. We saw her point. I bought some white flowers as a peace offering. At around 5:30 pm we waited outside the gates of Shanmukanand hall in state of suppressed excitement. The “Phantom Ceremony” was scheduled at 6:00 pm. Soon enough I saw four of my bejewelled healthy victims marching purposefully across the road. No patient had ever looked rosier than Mrs. Ghosal. I sucked in a lot air and put a nonchalant look and met the battalion with a straight face. Each of them had dozens of question marks on their faces and Mrs. Ghosal suspiciously eyed Trisha . I asked,” so you have come for the drama?”. Mrs. Ghosal answered,” we actually have come for a ceremony, why you might be knowing all about it?!? In fact we had a meeting at your place itself.” “how could I know”, I remarked in a hurtful tone "I was asked to keep myself out of the way”. Mrs. Ghosal explained, “ you see we have won this competition and today is the award distribution”. I innocently asked, “what is the day today? ”Why? its Thursday”, replied Mrs. Ghosal. “No, no, I mean which day of the month?”. I persisted. “what is it Reena?" Mr. Ghosal got his pay. "It must be 1^st of April”. I could hear a sudden silence and a look of dismay and consternation spreading on their faces. All of them started exchanging glances rapidly and an unison of voices asked, “Do you mean to say, we have been fooled?” I answered in a crestfallen way, "yes, and I am the culprit.” Mrs. Ghosal turned from her rosy self to scarlet and viciously asked, "you mean you played a prank on us? Dragged us all the way down? Made us a fool in front of entire community?” "the community meeting was not my idea”, I tried to correct but in a self-absorbed way she went on ranting for next three minutes in a language that will make pious ladies blush. In between I tried to mention that I have brought tickets for them for the drama. Mrs. Ghosal nearly exploded, "BOY, the real drama is yet to begin”. With this ominous declaration she and her herd made a round turn and marched straight across the road amid screeching tyres and bevy of obscenities from flurried drivers. And now my mom won’t talk to me. I suppose it’s the spirit of April 1^st. Moloy Goswami goswamim@mail.nih.gov

Manthan: September 2005 www.nihindia.org

Medley of maladies

My mom was the culprit. No really! If she did not force-introduce me to Mrs. Anjali Ghosal in her permanent hunt for prospective brides in the Bengali community for her elder son (that’s me incidentally); all this would not have had happened. But I am sure you have no clue of what I am going talking about. I am not refractory to narration (again a maternal trait-Who says life generated spontaneously? Its all about genes and passing them off faithfully). It was during one of those social gatherings during Bengali new year, we call it poila boishak. The day and the occasion is merely an excuse for us folks, to come together and indulge in unhealthy and disgusting gluttony. It normally involves coming together of 50-odd families followed by bunch of cultural activities wherein some of the talented ones sing aloud, recite aloud and narrate aloud things from Rabindra Nath’s compositions. Yes, loudness is our trade-mark and the people in the adjoining complexes have on instances been very verbose with their complaints. The chairman of our community thinks that they are been just unsocial and jealous. But then I am digressing.

It was last year that I got introduced to Anjali Ghosal with the hope and faith of my mom that I might finally be ensnared by one her daughters. The lord almighty has been kind with that family in matter of female kids. They are totally 4 siblings. The eldest one is Reena, the second Shreya, the third Mita and the youngest and the sanest one Bonna. After the preliminaries of introduction, I was left with four of the daughters on the pretext of the “young people should be left together” and “we do not want to interfere”. I was quite sure that I would have to undergo complete and thorough interrogation later by my mom wherein everything that passed on would have to be revealed in most embarrassing detail. Except Bonna, rest demonstrated a good propensity to discuss their health issues and problems and it left me a bit puzzled that why someone so young should be so concerned with what kind of viruses are going around. At the onset of conversation when the multitudinous of them started discussing multiple bugs and viruses, I mistook it to be some recent Melissa virus that has been scourging the net. But when words such as side-effects, constipation and purgation started popping up during the talk, I guessed I was off-track till Bonna took the pains to illuminate me about her sisters myriad maladies. The end of the whole dreary affair was I found myself invited in Mrs. Anjali Ghosal’s house for tea and snacks.

I then found out where did the daughters learnt to discuss their health in such aggravating details. The mom was the cause. Mr. Goshal had been hen-pecked inside out many moons back and the vestige of his personality that still clung to him was his passion for alcoholic beverages. Mrs. Ghosal apparently seemed a rather healthy species of human being if I am to judge, not all over but mostly in spots. But you are reassured firmly by Mrs.Ghosal that appearances can be deceptive and she is not one bit well. She had been visited and revisited by all viruses and bacteria known to womankind and those that she missed out she borrowed from domesticated pets and her husband. Measles when she was born, gastroenteritis when her first tooth came out, whooping cough when she went to kindergarten, typhoid when she was in her 4^th grade, malaria when she was in her tenth grade, amnesia when she got married, conjunctivitis when her first kid was born, so on. I nervously asked her whether any of them are contagious or inheritable (me been a prospective bridegroom). She replied not really; they are merely debilitating.

Subsequent to first visits there were some more visits. The agenda however remained invariant, health and more health related discussions. In the meantime, the prospects of been a groom increased for me because I met Trisha my present love in life. My mom didn’t know of my new love-life and never ceased nudging and pushing me to the Ghosal villa. I forged a good friendship with Bonna (the youngest one) to whom I confided with my new love-interest. Almost a year flew by and it was the eve of March 23^rd. Trisha had been harping past two days about neat tricks that she had devised to fool a bunch of her relatives who kept nagging her about her marriage. I too felt that I should be enterprising. It occurred to me why not the ghosal family with the XX species been the primary target. All I had to do was think of a neat trick. I conveyed my thoughts to Trisha who seemed rather enthused with the targets. Bonna was made accessory to the crime. We called her and explained. We could hear her suppressed giggles and realised that Mrs.Ghosal might be standing within earshot of her. So on the eve of March 26^th, Mrs. Ghosal got a letter from All India Doctor and Surgeon’s association (AIDS). The contents of the letter were:

“Dear Mrs. Ghosal,

A heart felt thanks from our association for being the ideal patient. Its because of patients like you that we survive. Our association have been mooting the idea of selecting “The model patient”. For years together we have been honouring doctors and surgeons for their excellence in their respective fields but have neglected the patient without whom our excellence would be unseen by the world. Out new motto is “behind every successful doctor is a live patient” and to put this precept into practice we have promulgated a cash award of Rs. 20,000 for the 5 most ideal patients. We are glad to announce that 4 members from your family which includes yourself and Mita Ghosal have been selected.

We request you to collect the award in person. Separate letters has been sent to other members of your family. Please consider this letter as an official invitation and bring it along with you for claiming the award on coming Thursday.

P.N. There are additional benefits associated with this award that entails you free medical service for five visits at specialists of your choice and medical supplies at 50% subsidised rates from AIDS affiliated medical shops for drugs of your choice.“ the award ceremony is going to be held at Sanmukhanand Hall, Dadar TT circle, Bombay-440033."

March 26^th night my mother got a call and from what I could make out there was an excited voice squeaking at the other end of the phone. As the conversation progressed, I could see my mother’s eyes growing bulbous in wonderment and envy. The moment she kept it down, I was assaulted with what is AIDS. I knowledgeably replied it means Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome.

Mom curtly said, "I know that one. Do you know any other expansion? That call was from Mumpy (Mrs. Ghosal was “fondly” called so)”. I nodded absent-mindedly.

She vociferated, "don’t you want to know what she talked about?” My dad quipped in, "Estimating by the volume of your voice it should be something rather urgent or important”.

She brushed aside his remarks by brusquely remarking, “it seems Anjali has won this 20,000 prize from this association called AIDS for being the ideal patient. They are going to get free medicines and doctor visits for next 6 months.” Since none of us made active comment she said exasperatedly, "don’t you two have anything at all to say? It is this kind of sheer lethargy that we are forever struggling for money." Seeing that she did not have sympathetic audience she retreated to her circle of friends and believe me, a wild fire would have been put to shame considering the rapidity with which the news spread. Phone to phone there were gasps of surprise, admiration tinged envy and why not us? outrages. And ad hoc meeting was organised to congratulate the lucky sick-family and ironically the vociferous community assembled at our house. It was only-women affair. I was asked to excuse myself for the day.

Incidentally we (me and Trisha) booked a ticket for a drama on the same day at same time. Bonna opted out; she wanted to be the actress in the aisle and remarked that she will have to spend a good many of her years with her mom in the same house; “never make enemies with crocodile if you intend to live in water”, she sagely noted. We saw her point. I bought some white flowers as a peace offering. At around 5:30 pm we waited outside the gates of Shanmukanand hall in state of suppressed excitement. The “Phantom Ceremony” was scheduled at 6:00 pm. Soon enough I saw four of my bejewelled healthy victims marching purposefully across the road. No patient had ever looked rosier than Mrs. Ghosal. I sucked in a lot air and put a nonchalant look and met the battalion with a straight face. Each of them had dozens of question marks on their faces and Mrs. Ghosal suspiciously eyed Trisha .

I asked,” so you have come for the drama?”. Mrs. Ghosal answered,” we actually have come for a ceremony, why you might be knowing all about it?!? In fact we had a meeting at your place itself.” “how could I know”, I remarked in a hurtful tone "I was asked to keep myself out of the way”. Mrs. Ghosal explained, “ you see we have won this competition and today is the award distribution”. I innocently asked, “what is the day today? ”Why? its Thursday”, replied Mrs. Ghosal. “No, no, I mean which day of the month?”. I persisted. “what is it Reena?" Mr. Ghosal got his pay. "It must be 1^st of April”. I could hear a sudden silence and a look of dismay and consternation spreading on their faces. All of them started exchanging glances rapidly and an unison of voices asked, “Do you mean to say, we have been fooled?” I answered in a crestfallen way, "yes, and I am the culprit.” Mrs. Ghosal turned from her rosy self to scarlet and viciously asked, "you mean you played a prank on us? Dragged us all the way down? Made us a fool in front of entire community?” "the community meeting was not my idea”, I tried to correct but in a self-absorbed way she went on ranting for next three minutes in a language that will make pious ladies blush. In between I tried to mention that I have brought tickets for them for the drama. Mrs. Ghosal nearly exploded, "BOY, the real drama is yet to begin”. With this ominous declaration she and her herd made a round turn and marched straight across the road amid screeching tyres and bevy of obscenities from flurried drivers.

And now my mom won’t talk to me. I suppose it’s the spirit of April 1^st.

Moloy Goswami

goswamim@mail.nih.gov