Yes, finally, I have discovered the wonder that is Facebook. This thing is amazing!! I can spend hours on it, and not realise it. And I thought Orkut was cool….

Lately, I have found myself sneakily logging on to Facebook when I am supposed to be doing discharge summaries. Just for a quick peak. My favourite application? Scrabulous. My only problem is, people dont play fast enough….However, this is closely followed by Zombies. I love that application. I never really had an army before. But now, I have an army of 4 zombies. Makes me feel, Oh! So powerful. And get this, Facebook tells me that I make a hot zombie. Hot and powerful, thats one heady combination!

Needless to say, I am addicted to it….

I had decided a long time ago that I had no desire whatsoever to live to be of a ripe old age. Ever since I first did a rotation in a geriatric ward, my mind was made up. That whole ward was full of people, who once used to be persons, but not anymore. Now they were degraded, deprived, and diminished versions of their former self. These were people who had led such full and amazing lives, who were now reduced to something so terrible. They had no dignity left, they had to depend on someone else to feed them, bathe them, everything. They had no free will left. No thank you, I never want to be like them. I would rather shoot myself in the head than be like that.

But today, I met the exception to the rule. I guess there are a fair few people like the lady I met today. Call her Mrs O. 96 years old. Came in to hospital coz she couldnt walk anymore. Reason? The most horribly arthritic looking hip every seen on x-ray. A few other complicating factors thrown in like an abdominal aneurysm, couple of other previous operations with complications afterwards, previous polio affecting her right leg, bilateral severe carpal tunnel preventing her from using her hands too much. In other words a fairly typical, crumbly 96 year old.

That was Mrs O on paper. Mrs O in person was someone completely different. Abandoned by her parents when she was one year old, she somehow survived by begging from pillar to post, doing whatever she could to stay alive. One day, when she was 6, she chanced upon the doorstep of a great aunt, who had no children of her own, who took her in and treated her like her own daughter. Then came the end of the first world war, and with it the black plague. She almost died with that, but I guess it wasnt her time. Got married when she was 17, and went to live on this 2000 acre farm that was 20 km from the nearest town. There, as a young bride, she cooked daily for the 15 people who worked on the farm, and never saw another woman until two years later. Had three children, and has already buried two of them. Her son died 3 weeks shy of his 19th birthday, daughter died at age 56 with cancer. Mrs O got polio in 1973, and it damn near crippled her right leg.

That was Mrs O the person. Mrs O the personality was yet another surprise. Sitting in bed, putting make-up on with her carpal-tunnelled hands. She looked about 70, maybe. Then, wig in place, she proceeds to show me the letter the Queen of England wrote her. Turns out Mrs O is quite a poet, and wrote a poem for the Queen on her birthday. As articulate with words as she is dextrous with her make-up. Then she got up to walk, because I needed to assess her mobility. And I have to confess, I have never been so impressed with anyone else’s walk like I was impressed with hers. Having seen her hip, and knowing her crippling polio, its a wonder she could even stand up. But that wasnt the end of it. She walks as fast as her leg will allow her, with her little walking frame. Gets to the end of the corridor, turns around and walks back towards me, and says, Can I tell you a joke to entertain you while ur watching me walk? And then proceeds to tell me a joke about a man who is dying. Despite the morbid subject, I gotta admit it was funny.

96. With a body that has passed its “use by” date. But a mind that came with a lifelong warranty. And it has been a long life. A long feisty life. I still dont think I would ever want to live that long, but if by some misfortune, I had to, I wish I can be half of what she is.

So on my way in to work this morning, I was listening to the radio, and they were talking about the controversy around Guy Fawkes’ Day. Apparently some bright spark had the idea of banning fireworks altogether, coz apparently they are not safe. Now, speaking as someone who has grown up in India, with fireworks a yearly attraction at every Diwali, I cannot understand the logic behind this hair-brained idea. Seriously! Yes, I know, fireworks can be dangerous if not handled properly. But to ban them and deprive everyone of this wonderful joy?? Isnt that a bit overboard?

I remember when I was a kid, and used to look forward to Diwali every year. The thrill of going shopping for fireworks with mum, bobbing up and down excitedly on my toes while checking out the fireworks in the store, making plans of when and how I was going to light those firecrackers, wondering which ones my friends would be getting, Oh! It was so much fun! Then would come the actual Diwali, and we would all go outside the house. Everybody would be lighting up fireworks all around us, and so would we. Lighting up a really big bomb, that would make a loud blast, and stuffing our fingers in our ears just in time for the blast, and then giggling loudly as we realised that we did not get scared of the loud noise. The thing that I used to be most scared about was the tiny hand-held “bombettes” (for want of a better word, in Gujarati, they are called “teta”). These had to be lit while being held in the hand, and then tossed in the air just in time for them to burst with a bang. Hold them long enough, and they burst in your hand. Hold them for too short, and they havent been properly lit yet, and they fizzle out. I never mastered that art, unfortunately.

A few years later, my family decided that too many fireworks were not good for the environment, and so from then on, every year on Diwali, we would have a family trip somewhere. One year we went to Mt Abu, another year we went to the North of India. Those trips were fun too, but nothing ever replaced the joy of the fireworks. The light, the colour, the noise, it was all so wonderful! I honestly cannot believe that some people would want to ban fireworks because of a few stupid people.