Adieu

Such an irony, this life

For what, we strive

Spend day and night

To get it right

Reap what we sow

Celebrate the show

Our dreams don't lie

We hope to fly

Eyes wide open

Enjoying the ride

Till...

A sudden U-turn

Starts the slow burn

Dreams die, hopes crash

Over in a flash

The tide turns

The ocean churns

Till...

A battle fought

Life's lessons taught

We rise, we fall

But never stall

A tear, a smile

Both stay awhile

Why me, you fret

You take what you get

Stomp on the pain

Master your brain

You, the chosen one

To face the sun

Courage and faith, the battle cry

Adieu sorrow, despair goodbye

SEASONS OF LIFE

This is my favourite time of the year. Its raining and i can see Mother nature, like all mothers everywhere, hard at work. Mountaintops to be bathed, trees to be showered, buildings and roads to be washed clean, fields to be watered, lakes and rivers to be filled, people to be drenched.......... So much to do till the whole world is sparkling clean! A time for fresh starts and new beginnings.........

 If only life was so simple! If only we could have a personalised monsoon service to rejuvenate our minds and souls! A sort of thorough bathing of every cerebral sulci and gyri to rid our mind of unwanted debris, unwelcome thoughts, depressing ideas, pessimism, past sorrows, future worries, exaggerated fears, anger,jealousy,hatred and every negative emotion till all is sparkling clean and pure as God must have envisioned the human mind to be. All we need for some shine in our lives are such passing showers to wash out the old and bring in the new. A fresh season, a clean slate and that great feeling which proclaims.......' God's in his heaven and all's right with the world'

And so, bathe and cleanse your mind and souls to celebrate the seasons of life in all its glory. A fresh start and new beginnings.........

HOW I MET YOUR FATHER...

Kids, it was the summer of '85 when we first met. Yeah, yeah i know that u have heard all about our' girl meets boy, boy proposes, girl disposes so on and so forth natak ' so often that now it has become ur favourite bedtime story! (read may 2010 POST ) You fall asleep even before it starts!

So, today i am telling u a story about 2 kids who never met their father.

It was a routine antenatal consultation. Lata, a sweet, simple 21 year old, newly married, came with her husband, 12 weeks pregnant. Both were shy, eager to follow advice and were sent off with instructions to eat well,put on weight and follow up after a month. 3 months later, Lata walks in, now 6 months pregnant along with her mother. Gone was that sweet, quietly content look. In law troubles,i guessed, having been witness to many such stories in the past. Was i wrong! 2 months earlier, her husband was crossing the road near Sion hospital when a truck knocked him down. He died instantaneously. The next two months were a nightmare as Lata was blamed for her husband's bad luck and she was forced to go to her mother's house. No time for grief, sorrow is a luxury for girls like her who have to carry on with the business of living. Her old,frail mother and she almost appeared uncaaring but for the catch in her voice and arms protectively clutched around her tummy.

Amita was 7 months pregnant when a weekend trip to Lonavla changed her life forever. Their car met with an accident, she broke her leg but her husband was seriously injured and put on the ventilator. Her every visit to my clinic thereafter was chaotic since she was accompanied by both sets of parents, her brother and sister ln law. Her husband succumbed to his injuries almost a month later and every time i checked the baby's heartbeat, there was a fresh wave of sorrow.

Both mothers delivered with me. Lata had a baby boy and she held him with tears streaming down her face. Amita had a baby girl, the spitting image of her father. One could sense that both sets of grandparents were going to fight for her.

And so were born two kids who will never meet their father!

(all names changed)

HAVE BBM, WILL TRAVEL

I often wonder what my life would be without my kids. So boring and monotonous. Just recently my son went on a road trip to the north with his friends. I had prepared myself for 2 weeks of silence from his side, quite sure that he would make his customary 'reached safely' phone call and that would have to last me till he returned. Boy, was I wrong! He took me along with him, metaphorically speaking! The first sms arrived on day 2 of the trip.....

“Repaired a broken bag, discovered lanes n shops, made friends, ate at dingy joints, wandered thru the city with a guy found at the mandir, saw a wedding, bargained successfully n in English, wore a gamcha FINALLY, missed stuff, saw new things instead, got mistaken for a foreigner everywhere!! Wasn't initially allowed to enter a temple, now on the way to a village to a dhaba, blowing wind in the dark, possibility of hukka in the moonlight... tired?? NAH !!”

A few hours later, the next text arrives, “Noo hukka! Peeing under the stars n pitch black.” I slept that night with a smile on my face. The next morning I read, “Currently on the oldest road in India... THE GRAND TRUNK ROAD!!”  There was silence for 2 days when suddenly comes this info.....

''The Ambedkar park here in Lucknow is mindblowingly awesome... So big!! N so beautiful. U can almost forgive her for wasting so much money on it! The ‘elephant capital’ of the world!! The details on Mayawati's statue... A purse with a chain and zip, the bag strap firmly squeezed within her palm along with her hanky, a ring, a watch, a bracelet. The chappals and feet wid each n every toenail perfectly manicured... perfect wrinkles, windblown creases on her clothes... MONEY! MONEY! MONEY!!!!”

Late night comes this missive…

“Day four was almost a bore. But not for long. Aimless wanderings lead to food and... what food it was! Kachodis wid chole and what not, kebabs n parathas, sprouts bhel.. Yumm... then the greatest discovery of the day. The Ambedkar Park...... Magnificent! Over the top! Fun! Battery rickshaw, cycle rickshaw, green n yellow rickshaw and now, a bus to Delhi. Bumpy sessions. Dhaba food sessions. Music sesions. Maybe some sleep..” 

Radio silence for 3 days except for a brief sms stating- “ Wearing the kurta I bought in Benaras. So comfy.... I have a surprise for u!”

Finally after 2 days comes a big one.....

“Sorry for the break. Battery conserving spree... A bus ride from Delhi to Rishikesh... dhaba food, great music, AC bliss, Ghats, forest fires, a walk down the mountain to the campsite... at 10 p.m., Rafting for 30 kms, super cold water, swimming in d river, strong flow, big rapids, fallin into mini rapids..yumm breakfast... crappy lunch n zabardast dinner, late nights… talkin n laughin… cold drinks chilled in d ganga... in d light of lamps… tents, lizards, beach, sand, photographs…  and then the bungee !! The punyness u feel when d cord swings u all around… the madness, screamin.. aaaaahhhhh! So now, here again, sittin in d sand in front of the tents, overlooking the Ganga. This is life!!!”  

After this there was a deluge of msgs as the adrenaline rush peaked...

“Black moonless skies.. n here goes a shooting star.. Another!! And still more?? Sleepin outside the tents... Witnessin the sunrise... and Rush, rush, rush!! A bath under the waterfall, cold, tasty water... Rappeling, long sandy beaches wid dunes... jumpin off a 30 ft cliff into d cold, green Ganga waters... Rafting.. Mindblowing..  Almost vertical.. currents carrying you far away from d boat.... A night in a free ashram in Haridwar”

“U know I am not religious and stuff.... But since I was at Tungnath, the highest shrine of Shiva at 11000 ft...I prayed for u and dad... N now have a tikka which no amount of washin can remove...”

“The things that happen at 13000ft above sea level..... U are on the peak of a mountain, surrounded only by air and nothin else on all sides... At the place where Raavan meditated for 100 yrs... Snow clad Himalayan peaks visible in the distance thru the fog looming over us... Vultures flying over ur head in the freezing wind. Suddenly Vodafone ka network catches and u start gettin BBMs and msgs of the past day... N d sun burns d hair on ur hands... So in short, Vodafone is very surprising....”

This was the last sms before he returned, 3 days later, to Mumbai. Wow, what a trip! The next time I want to travel, I am definitely sending him. I am sure I will enjoy myself more, seeing the world thru his eyes! Armchair travel at its best..

As for the surprise.... It was a bunch of post cards he had posted to all at home. Not surprisingly, all have been lost in transit, thanks to the Indian postal system!

HAZARON HAZARE HAZIR HO

“A field full of swaying crop tells us that a grain has buried itself into the ground to give birth to thousands of grain. The grains which do not bury themselves are taken to the flourmill and ground into flour. The grains which sacrifice by burying themselves in the soil give birth to a swaying field of crop.” (courtesy www.annahazare.org/ralegan-siddhi.html)

As I walked home wearily at the end of a long, tedious day after a packed schedule of consultations, hospital rounds and two particularly complicated deliveries, I could hear the rumbling in my stomach. Now I knew why I felt so lightheaded. No breakfast or lunch, just two cups of tea and a few biscuits had come my way since morning! I quickened my pace, eager to reach home and the hot meal which awaited me.

With plate in hand, I switched on the television…….

“Anna Hazare given permission to fast for 15 days at Ramleela ground.” “Anna says he won’t give up fast till Jan Lokpal Bill is passed in Parliament.”

“Doctors pronounce Anna fit and healthy.”

I look down at my half eaten dinner. 12 hours of food deprivation had my mind and body protesting! Here was this man willing to forgo food for 15 days to fight a battle not truly his own. To quote the great man himself,” When a seed buries itself, it leads to a better yield. In order to get a better yield of grains, one single seed needs to bury itself.”  Simple farming philosophy from a simple man.

THE MUMBAI RAINDANCE

Two hours of incessant rains on Thursday evening flooded Mumbai city. The reception area of my consulting room was packed with patients who, fooled by the balmy afternoon weather, were caught unawares and waiting for the rain to stop. Soon, all realized that, this was no passing shower but a fullblown storm with thunder and lightning and all! One by one, all trundled out, reluctantly leaving the shelter of the hospital in search of an autorickshaw to take them home.

I still had to take rounds at my nursing home situated one kilometer away and decided to walk since there was kneedeep water all around. It was a route fraught with danger but I was well prepared for a day like this. From the start of the monsoons, I had done my homework. I had been studying this stretch of road between the Milan subway signal and Podar school signal at Santacruz. Every pothole and open gutter had been mentally mapped! I started walking. Straight till the bus stop, a swerve to the right, step off the pavement till the corner, a swerve to the left, get back on the footpath, keep straight till the signal, now cross the road, walk straight till the next bus stop, now recross the road and completely avoid the pavement till the next signal, now step onto the pavement and walk in an absolutely straight line till the building gate, take a sharp 90 degree turn and….voila, I was home safe and sound. WOW, five open gutters and three huge potholes, all nimbly avoided. I waltzed into the building in my new “Gene Kelly meets James Bond” avatar. I had perfected my raindance!

 However, the next morning, I did a quick recon after the waters had receded. I will have to add a few more steps to my routine. The topography had changed! Well, that’s life in Mumbai! Never a dull moment……. 

HEY YOU, MR. FACELESS TERRORIST....

13/7, 7.30 p.m. I was in my consulting room when news of the bomb blasts trickled in. Within minutes, the reception area wore a  deserted look as all the patients rushed home. However, I had to wait it out. A patient was in labour and it made no sense to go home till she had delivered. I switched on the television only to turn it off minutes later. Burning cars, injured bystanders, the screaming and shouting……… it was just too depressing.

I walked into the labour room. Here, once again, shouts and screams filled the air. The soon to be mother was in the final stage of labour and bearing down. This, I could handle! Within minutes, the lusty cries of a healthy 8 pounder could be heard. On a day filled with death, it felt good to celebrate life. Joy erupted in the labour room.

As I walked home in the light drizzle, I thought to myself, “This is courage! Nine hours of intense labour pains to bring life into this world. Hey you, Mr. faceless terrorist, planting bombs to kill innocent people is an act of cowardice. If you have the guts and truly believe in your 'cause', be a man. Come crawling out of whichever hole you have hidden in and face the families of the dead victims. Till then, you are a coward and not to be feared."

Life can and will go on.

THE LONE RANGER

“Only one mosquito counted in Mumbai during a mosquito census conducted by the municipal corporation”, screamed newspaper headlines last week! This census was conducted in the wake of an epidemic of Malaria in the city which, in the monsoon, is the norm. So, what’s the fuss? I wonder what was done with that pesky, insatiable, one-man army mosquito. Surely it should have been captured alive and inducted in a hall of Fame [or is it Shame?]. Perhaps Mme Tussauds would consider making its wax replica for display. It definitely deserves a mention in the Guinness Book of world records as the world’s most bloodthirsty mosquito! Maybe, just maybe, the Indian Army has borrowed it for a secret mission involving chemical warfare, Mumbai ishtyle.

Somehow, the article brought to mind an anecdote involving a 70 year old man and his 24 year old wife. They had come for consultation since the wife had not conceived even after 3 months of marriage, which, in the gentleman’s eyes, was an adequate period of time for the job to get done. He disclosed that his 2 former wives had become pregnant in the first month of marriage itself and had provided him with a dozen kids. I don’t think even he was sure of the exact number! Unfortunately, both had died at an early age, hence the remarriage so that there was a woman in the house to care for the large brood.

On seeing my shock, the wife smiled sweetly and said, “I am very happy. He treats me with respect.” On being told that, at his age, it may be some months before his wife conceives, he stormed out of my clinic muttering under his breath something about dumb doctors especially of the female kind! I watched their departure with a disturbed mind.

Exactly a year later, the couple walks into the clinic with a baby. The wife was a picture of radiant motherhood. The old husband had a triumphant smile on his face and had come to gloat. That night I had a terrible dream of a heavy downpour where on closer look, each raindrop was actually a newborn baby wearing a wrinkled, grinning face. YUCK!!!  I woke up in the morning determined to erase this episode from my mind. A movie, I thought, would do the trick. No prizes for guessing which one I saw……..

…………“Buddah Hoga Terra Baap” [a recent Bollywood flick which literally means “Your dad may be old but not me” a colloquial slang used in a mildly abusive vein]

Oh God! No more nightmares, I hope!

OF BARKING DOGS AND FLYING PHONES

Lost my fourth cell phone today and spent the entire day without one (for a good cause and not my fault, really). This brought back memories of my early years in medical practice when we were wholly dependent on the landline. A list of all possible landline numbers was given to the on-duty sister who would diligently call on each till she could locate me. For movies, there was a friendly panwallah, with a phone, just outside our local theatre, who would be given our seat numbers, so that, in an emergency, he could notify us. Thus, in blissful oblivion, passed many years till pagers came into our lives.

Pagers became instant status symbols and we wore them clipped to our jeans/kurtas like a fashion accessory. However, the umbilical cord binding us to the landline could not be severed as yet, since, we had to rush to the nearest phone when the pager blipped.

Finally, the cell phone arrived. With freedom in our hands, our lives changed drastically and today, I wonder, how we ever managed to survive without one which brings me back to my saga of lost phones.

The first one was left behind in an auto, when I must have kept in on the seat, while paying the fare. How the second got lost remains a mystery! One minute it was in my hand as I am rushing to the hospital for a delivery and the next minute it has disappeared! Must have dropped it, I presume. The third phone was left behind at Datta’s [a famous batatawada stopover enroute Alibaug, a seaside getaway ].We had almost reached, when the hospital nurse called on my husband’s cell to inform us that my cell number is no longer available, which in lost cell phone parlance means stolen/never to be seen again. We had become quite the experts by then!

Till, finally, today’s story. I am, as usual, rushing for a delivery at five a.m. All is quiet except for the pounding of my feet. A stray dog suddenly emerges barking from beneath a parked car. I freeze, hit the panic button and throw my phone at him. We stare at each other in shock, he retreats unhurt beneath the car and I sheepishly retrieve my phone from a puddle of rain water, knowing, that once again I will have to make the trip to the now familiar store with a demand for an instrument which is easy to use and inexpensive so that there is no heartburn when it gets lost, as it will, eventually………

P.S.  New APP for cell phones:-

   Only compatible with cheap instruments!

   Can be used as a missile against barking stray dogs.  YEAH!!!!

CONFESSIONS OF A WORKAHOLIC DOCTOR-MOM

“Oh no,not again,”

My daughter cried in vain.

Another cancelled movie date

“Your work,  I really hate”.

I sat her close,wiped those tears

Some partly mine,some partly hers.

“A doctor’s job’s not nine to five

’tis a reality show,24/7,live.”

Making plans is just a token

When duty calls,they’re soon forsaken.

Dinner,movies,romantic flings

Take a backseat when the phone rings.

“So,why not quit,” my daughter says,

When only work fills nights and days.

Is it money, Is it fame

What pushes you to play the game?”

I paused to take a closer look,

At the writing in my Life’s book.

The answer lay there,a trifle odd

“In my work, I see God.”

A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF LIFE

It is my policy, as a busy obstetrician, never to carry work home. But could I help it if a pair of crows decided to set up their bedroom/labour suite/nursery just outside my bedroom window!

We had been observing them painstakingly carrying twigs, twine and leaves to build a nest. It was an architectural marvel; strong, with high walls, a cushioned floor, well protected from rain, wind and sun by the branches of a nearby tree. One fine day, we saw 4 spotted eggs in the nest, with Mama Crow perched on them for hours on end.

Papa Crow, the anxious dad- to- be, kept watch on a nearby branch, fiercely protective, warding of curious, unwelcome visitors [including yours truly] with raucous cries.

Finally, D-Day arrived on 22/06/2010 and one of the eggs hatched to reveal a pink blob of flesh, barely alive. We christened it ‘Crowlet’. The proud parents kept even stricter watch with Mama Crow warming it all day long.

Day 2 dawned with Crowlet showing some signs of life, actually opening its mouth for food.

On  Day 3, a black fuzz appeared and constant demands for food kept Mom and Dad busy.

Day 4 was a windy, rainy day and we applauded the foresight of the crows in making the nest walls high enough so that Crowlet remained snug and dry. Such a glutton I had yet to encounter, mouth always open in readiness for doting Mama to drop in some food.

Day 5 was sunny in more ways than one. Crowlet appeared much stronger. Mama Crow and it appeared to be bonding and of course, it was still greedy! “There is not much difference between human babies and Crowlet” , I thought.

On Day 6, we ran to the window, half expecting to see Crowlet with sprouted wings ready to fly. The nest was empty! No Crowlet, no Mother Crow. Only Father crow perched on his branch,gazing at the empty nest,ready to bite our heads off if we even came near the window.

If only trees could speak! What happened to our 5 day old Crowlet, in the course of the night, we will never know. It has been 6 days since; Father Crow has disappeared. The nest still remains. Who knows, maybe some other crow will spot it and claim it as his own. After all, this is Mumbai city, a squatter’s paradise! And Life, even with ‘ Empty Nest Syndrome ‘ does go on……….

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST?!

The 3 most commonly asked questions immediately after the baby is born are:

A] Is it a boy or a girl?  

B] Is he/she ‘normal’?

C] Is he/she fair?

The first 2 are easy to answer but I cringe each time I have to reply to the third, often giving a stock answer,

“Looks just like your husband”; hearing which,

 some look happy while the rest appear a mite dejected! Some desperately ask whether the baby’s appearance is likely to change in the next few days!

Jokes apart, this oh-so-Indian obsession with skin colour and good looks is downright annoying. How boring would the world be if all were cast in the same mould of tall, slim and fair or tall, dark and handsome.

To find beauty in the mundane, the trick is to forget all stereotypes and look closely at the whole picture, with one’s heart as well as eyes.

To illustrate, look at these pics of a butterfly perched on my son’s finger and a moth on my living room floor.

Delicate, colourful, shimmering radiance

Versus

Earthy, dramatic, powerful flamboyance

Beauty or Beast??????

You decide. After all, it’s different strokes for different folk!  

LOOK UP! IT'S SHOWTIME, FOLKS

I walked out of the hospital bone tired, only to be greeted with thunder, lightning and gusts of wind. Dark clouds, pregnant with moisture, hung low in the sky. It was unnaturally dark and eerie. I looked at my watch to check the time; just 5-00 p.m.!!! 

The last time I had looked at the sky was at 7.00 a.m. when the day had dawned, bright and sunny. Thereafter, a difficult delivery, an emergency C-Section, a waiting room full of patients, inpatient rounds and a busy afternoon surgical list had kept me indoors for 10 long hours.

As I walked home, the skies opened. Within minutes, the road resembled a river and I was soaked to the bone. My spirits lifted and I had to restrain myself from dancing in the rain, my age and profession playing spoilsport! All around me, I could hear people cursing the vagaries of the Mumbai monsoons. By the time I reached home, it had stopped raining. Twilight had descended, bathing the sky and air with a translucent, pale pink hue. The world shimmered in its radiance.

Slowly the light dimmed and night fell.

I mentally applauded Nature’s theatrics and remembered a poem I had penned almost 30 years ago………

                               

KALEIDOSCOPE

The sky

                Like

A lover

                Shivering

With passion

                 Boiling

With rage

                 Spitting

Fire and hell

Wild, Wanton, Beautiful.

Her fury

                 Soon

All spent

                 She

Weeps softly

                 Tears

Each drop

                 Falls

Jewelled, Bright, Pure.

Through eyes

                 Wet

A smile

                 Peeps

Shyly pleading

                 Reconciliation

Sweet laughter

                 Breaks

Rainbow-hued, Joyous, Gay.

The sky

                 Like

A lover

                 Quivering

With joy

                 Unsurpassed

Of giving

                 Receiving

Hope and Life

Union, Bliss, Fulfillment

     

What a Drama Queen!!!!!

World Theatre at its best!

Of Babies and Baths

It's Baby Bath Time! All the newborn babies in the hospital have been lined up. Baby oil, soap, powder, fresh towels and baby clothes are kept in readiness. As the unsuspecting baby is plunged in the warm bath water, it wails in protest. However, once dried, powdered and warmly wrapped up, peace reigns. For the next two hours at least, the freshly bathed babies will nap, their shining faces scrubbed clean. The comforting smell of baby soap and powder fill the air.

I look out of the window. Today is the first rainy day of the monsoons. Since morning, it has been threatening to pour. A grey light filters through the trees. As the wind blows, it litters the compound with bits of paper, leaves and dust. A light drizzle begins spraying my face with a fine mist. Very soon, the pouring rain works its magic. The building compound is cleared of debris and the trees have been washed clean of their summer dust. The air is filled with the rich fragrance of wet mud. I take deep, rejuvenating breaths and say to myself,"It's Earth Bath Time!"

Happy Birthday To Me ........................

26/5/10

Got up in the morning feeling happy and excited. Laughed aloud, looked at the beaming face in the mirror and wished myself,"Happy Birthday".

You may not believe it but even after 48 years of life, 22 years of medical practice and 18 years of motherhood, Birthdays still excite me! It's not as if some special celebration has been planned for the day, but still it feels like a celebration of life.

I look out of the window to see the sunrise and feel blessed with the gift of life, love, health and joy. My husband and kids will soon awaken to smother me with hugs and kisses. My Mom will definitely come to gift me a painstakingly chosen greeting card penned with words of wisdom, pride and love along with a carefully folded crisp Rs.100 note. My sisters will have bought me a gift and will be planning their day around mine. My mother-in-law will remember me in her prayers and my father-in-law will wish me in his booming voice, a trifle embarrassed because he had mistakenly wished me the day before! My little niece, Kiara, will soon arrive to cut my birthday cake for me as she is the self proclaimed cakecutter for all family birthdays! Friends will soon start calling and......

........The phone ring interrupts my thoughts and duty calls. I rush to the L.R.[read labour room]. My patient delivers a beautiful baby girl. As I hand over the newborn to her mother, she looks up at me with a smile on her exhausted face and says,"Happy Birthday, Doctor. I hope my daughter grows up to become just like you." I am overwhelmed! What could be a better gift than this? 

I told you- I just love birthdays!!!

Sometimes a look, is all it takes...

The first week of gynaec residency! I was in a mess. Somehow, the theoretical knowledge I had gained during medical school and internship did not suffice to cope with the rigorous demands made of a lowly first year resident.

A municipal hospital in a busy city like Mumbai is like a crowded railway station at rush hour. Patient admissions, discharges, paperwork, blood collections, dressings and a million other odd jobs vied for my attention. Day and night merged into one.

The busiest days were Mondays and Thursdays which were the O.T. (surgery) days. The O.T. in municipal hospitals works like a busy conveyor belt with patients being wheeled in and out. In the midst of this cacophony, I noticed the quiet efficiency with which a junior anaesthetist was doing his job. I looked up to see a pair of intelligent, warm, brown eyes meet mine over a surgical mask.

Thereafter, every O.T. day, our eyes would meet and exchange smiles before both of us got immersed in our work. I was fascinated by the precise movements of his hands, the look of intense concentration in those eyes and his confident body language when a difficult case was on. Very soon, Mondays and Thursdays became my favourite days of the week and that special pair of eyes my anchor in the mad,mad world of first year residency!

When it was my turn to operate independently, at the start of every surgery, I would look into those eyes and be filled with confidence.

Today, 25 years later, the story remains the same. My eyes meet my husband’s eyes, still an intense, warm brown; I pick up the scalpel and begin surgery.

I know, all’s well with my world…

Cry, Please........ It's a Kodak Moment

Every newspaper and magazine is flooded with adverts from various  beauty and slimming centres promising a better 'YOU'. The 'BEFORE' and 'AFTER' photographs are especially hilarious and I often wonder, whether they are for real.

A dowdy, grumpy housewife metamorphoses into a sexy siren! A 40 pound weakling who gets sand kicked on his face by a bully is now a brawny, handsome hunk! Come on!!! I have yet to meet anyone so transformed by a few visits to such centres and I wonder at the gullibility of people who flock there.

So, I decided to take a few 'BEFORE' and 'AFTER' pix of my own in the Labour Room. Here are the results:

BEFORE

Just born- 3.01pm

AFTER

 Just Cleaned- 3:03pm

 Just Bathed- 3:10pm

Just Dressed- 3:12pm

This is one instance where the 'BEFORE' pic wins hands down.

Just as a warrior emerges triumphant from a battle smeared in blood with a war cry on his lips, so does a newborn baby make its appearance in the world, anointed in its mother's body fluids, with a lusty cry.

Cry, please... I pray and the baby obliges.

What a Kodak Moment!