HOW TO SURVIVE PHYSIOTHERAPY

You can’t- mentally I mean. Physically, our bodies can take the battering and come out none the worse but mentally it reduces you to a nervous wreck. You just need to tune out while you physically get a fine tuning. Easy? You bet! Just follow the Ten Commandments.....

THOU SHALL NOT WILT...

The first put off is the physiotherapy table. You lie there like a gutted fish while your therapist pummels you- painfully. All your ooh, oww, ouches fall on deaf ears because not only has he heard it all before(yawn) but he has got his mind on other important things- like how to get a high paying job where he doesn’t have to stand on his feet all day, never mind that he has to get you back on yours...

AND THIS TOO SHALL PASS

The question uppermost in your mind is-will I ever get normal again? There is no point pestering your therapist about the range of your joint or rather the lack of it. Chances of your jumping off the table and running the hundred meters are so remote as to be non-existent. The body takes its time and both you and he know that you will not climb Mt. Everest once you are fully fit. So just grit your teeth and bear it. Be happy with your snail’s progress- eventually you will reach that goal....

DO NOT COVET YOUR NEIGHBOR'S MOBILITY...

All around you other patients seem to mobilize their joints with consummate ease. You grunt and groan but your joint is as stiff as a leg of mutton in the deep freeze. You watch sick with envy as the old crone in the next table laughs and jokes with his physiotherapist as he bends his leg with the ease of a circus acrobat. Your therapist has a face like Thor ready to swing his hammer at the unyielding joint. No doubt he is totally zapped by your lack of progress and every time he pushes, your leg reluctantly yields one zillionth of a centimeter. Don’t give up- just don’t look at anybody else. They might be better in their physical range but your IQ is way out of their range-Score!

SLOTH IS A SIN...

Your idea of physio is lying on the table while the poor sod of a therapist massages you gently with something aromatic and ever so carefully gets the joint back to full working order. Unfortunately, that scenario exists only in Spas. The joint is a stubborn thing which requires military tactics- no scented candle approach will cut it. So your therapist pushes with all his might and bellows at you to ‘RELAX’. This is war and to win it you cannot sit on your butt. You go home like a tightly coiled spring and instead of unwinding in front of the T.V. you hop onto your exercise bike and pedal through the pain. Who knows? Once this is over Tour de France beckons...

THOU SHALL NOT KILL (YOUR PHYSIOTHERAPIST)

God knows you thought about it often enough- in fact, let’s be honest, there is nothing else you think about. He is the equivalent of a one man torture chamber and as he pulls, pushes and pummels, all you think about is clonking him one on the noggin. Better sense prevails and you lie there stoically enduring the pain. . Murdering him will only land you in jail and there you will be subject to far worse than physiotherapy....

THOU SHALL NOT SWEAR...

There is no point- of even muttering under your breath. Physiotherapists need to pass only two main criteria to qualify in their profession. They must have strong upper bodies with which they can wrestle stubborn joints into mobility and they must be hearing impaired so that the patients curses can literally fall on deaf ears. Otherwise, surrounded by scenes from Dante’s Inferno they would not last long in this profession. A simple “How are you” elicits an endless outpouring of unbearable agony from long suffering patients. Every push brings out a colorful epithet or a groan which falls on deaf ears. So save your breath or vent at pretty Polly at home- your physio just isn’t listening...

GLUTTONY IS A SIN...

Since your appetite remains unbridled by the calamity that befell your limb; this is the time to do some serious reigning in. No, not of the leg – that’s not going anywhere in a hurry but your gargantuan appetite that increases as rapidly as your mental anxiety. As a kid your P.T teacher dinned into your head-input should be less than or equal to output. You did a physio on him (turned a deaf ear!)and guzzled coke and munched on those chips and in spite of never lifting a finger, you still never put on an ounce blowing his input=output theory to bits. But now it comes back to haunt you. Whatever you eat snakes its way into your hips and thighs making the therapists job that much harder. Most therapists are thin since they are doing all the hard work. You lie there contorting your face while emitting high pitched squeals and though you might writhe in pain it just doesn’t burn calories.

So just zip those lips and keep the input=output theory of your P.T master live and kicking, at least till your legs take over- the kicking bit anyway...

And finally,

DO NOT QUESTION THE LORD’S WILL...

There is no point turning your face heavenward and asking God in an anguished tone-“Why me?” If you listen closely you might hear a deep rumble along with the words “Why not?” and if you are lucky a bolt of lightening will illuminate every brain cell and help you understand the futility of such questions. Your knee is blown; you are a dumb patient to that smart ass surgeon, a pain in your therapists butt and a pathetic sight to all around you. But, as the Good Book says “And this too shall pass...” Till then, just groan and bear it!

Nimmou Nilakantan

TO NILA, MY HUSBAND

TO NILA, MY HUSBAND ON HIS 60^th BIRTHDAY, 2^nd APRIL 2010

Whenever I think of you my love

One thought springs to mind

Among the million lives that abound

You truly are, one of a kind….

When I have oft struggled to see the path

You showed me the way to be

You opened my eyes to hidden sights

And filled it with a simple beauty….

You brought into our relationship

A richness beyond measure

The honesty of your emotions

Was a wealth, which I could treasure….

I cannot count all you have given me

But what I consider prime

Of all the gifts bestowed on me

I value the gift of your time…

A man is but the sum of parts

One word will suffice to be

The hallmark of your entire life

Has been marked by Integrity….

Until you came into my life

I never thought I’d find

Such a perfect harmony of

A loving heart and a pure mind….

Your wife, Nimmou

THE MARRIAGE RING

Why do most marriages become deadly bouts in a boxing ring with the gloves off and the children the reluctant referees? What happened to the halcyon days when the biggest threat made by your mother was “wait till I tell your father”? Now she is so busy telling on him, when she is not knocking him senseless on the floor, the poor man has been stripped off his halo leave alone his authority. My parents are like Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield and like Tyson; my mother believes in chewing ears off especially if it’s my Dads...

ROUND 1- “Your Dad never listens to me”. Naturally, he has no ears Ma, remember you chewed them off with your senseless drivel about servants, your endless rambling about the pain in each nerve, ligament and sinew, your not so insidious barbs against each and every relative on his side to name a few reasons why he won’t and can’t listen to you...

ROUND 2- “We never do anything together”. The last time you did do something together, we were the unfortunate result and look how that turned out...

ROUND 3- “He’s wedded to his computer”. Well, at least the computer did not call him names or demand to be taken to every 31^st cousin’s wedding, birthday or funeral or subject him to ridicule at every opportunity. Threatening to pull the computer plug was Ma’s weapon of ultimate destruction and in a fit of pique at not being taken for a walk she went ahead and did it... “Until death do us part” was strongly tested that day. However, both are still alive and kicking (at each other)...

ROUND 4- “He always turns the children against me and pretends to be a martyr”. Considering the “children” range in age from 45 to 53 surely they are capable of making up their own minds Ma! Not that you left us with half a brain to decide. By making all our decisions for us, no matter how trivial, you shrunk our brain to the size of a peanut...

ROUND 5- “I am going to leave him and live in an ashram in Pondicherry”. No nuclear threat has hung so promisingly over Dad’s head. All his prayers waiting for this dream to be realized evaporated each time like clouds over the Gobi desert.....

Well, the day the boxing gloves come off, one of them will be knocked out cold on the floor. Till then the sparring continues and we “kids” ineffectively count backwards into a zero we never reach...before that both are up and jabbing at each other again....

Nimmou Nilakantan

Child No.3

Age 51 years

NATURE’S GUIDE TO GROWING OLD

We have instruction manuals to operate technology, we have driving schools to teach us how to drive a car, we have parents who show us how to walk, talk and eat but why is there no learning manual to teach us how to cope with old age? As usual, when we cannot find answers within or without, we need to turn to the oldest and wisest teacher that God has provided- Nature...

Look around you. Everything ages. Leaves dry, curl up and fall. Flowers wither and fade, the puppy that gambols no longer bounds but lies still on the floor. Yet it wags its tail. Then why do we act as if old age is a punishment wreaked on us by a malevolent God? And why oh why do we vent our ire on the people who least deserve it- our adult “children”?

The first reaction to our growing weakness and inability to cope is anger. We get angry that our body has slowed while our mind races, that our shape has changed but our desires are constant, our appetite is strong but digestion is weak and then we turn upon our children. We see them enjoying the stage that is long gone for us and the joy that we felt when we watched them achieve milestones has now turned to resentment. They have it and we have lost it and they are a daily reminder of our heydays. This is the time to turn to nature...

When a bird shoves its fledging from the nest after teaching it to fly she does not keep track of how high it flies or for how long. Nor does she sit in her empty nest scanning the skies for her progeny who now flies higher, longer and stronger than she does. Her job done, she lets go and looks after herself. Be the eagle...

After anger and resentment, the other scourge of old age is the burning desire to arouse guilt. And heap it liberally on the only people who truly care- your children. When everything fades with old age, the one thing that remains fixed and strong is our opinion and the vehicle to voice it. So, we berate our “children” for being too busy (earning livelihoods) to care and keep pointing out how they “owe” it to us to take care of them in their old age as they did when we were young.

Seeing young puppies suckle their mother while she lies calmly is a common enough sight. When did you last see a dog carry food in its mouth and search for its mother to feed her? Only restaurants give doggie bag! Nature’s law is non-negotiable- the mother feeds the baby who eats, grows and goes. And the mother does not hound her offspring, bark at them or demand attention. She forms new attachments and goes about the business of taking care of herself. Be the dog, not the underdog.....

Knowledge especially self-knowledge is important. Know that your body will grow old and what was easy to do physically might be impossible to do later on. But the mind can always be youthful. If you accept that you will walk slower, eat less, need more sleep but get less, you won’t feel so resentful towards the youth who seem to have it all...

The lion teaches it’s young to hunt ensuring it will eat for the rest of its life. And sure enough the cub leaves the pride and strikes off on its own. As the lion ages its claws become blunter, its mane sparser till it can no longer hunt its prey. Does the lion like its human counter part pick up a phone and track its progeny to give a daily lowdown on how its life has gone down the toilet? Be the lion...

Ok man is not a beast and what separates us from animals is our power of reasoning. So why does old age rob us of our reason? If we had a set of rules or pointers maybe we will not see old age as a cross but a tick mark affirming that you lived life as humanly as possible.....

SIGNPOSTS TO AGING BADLY

1) When your son talks about his achievements instead of pride you have the urge to knock that smile off his smug face and remind him that what he is doing now you have already done before and much better than he did...

2) You speak to your daughters but never hear what they have to say. You gave birth to them so you own not just their bodies, mind and soul but the conversation as well...

3) The whole world is against you. Servants cheat you (who cares that they cheat everybody), your children don’t care (selfish ba###ds, your grandchildren don’t make time for you (sons of selfish bi####s) and after you spent your entire youth taking care of others, who is there to take care of you?

4) “I am alone, I am so lonely”- Seriously? In today’s world where there are opportunities galore to do good. Look around you, in this “evil” world there is always someone who is worse off than you. Go help rather than crying “HELP”!

5) What do I have to live for? If you have asked yourself that, the diagnosis is clear. It is not old age that you are suffering from- you have no soul. And when we become vegetative and don’t feel for anybody but ourselves why then it is time for us, like tubers, to be buried underground...

Nimmou Nilakantan

PHONY GAFFES

Here is a list of questions never to ask people on the phone unless you want to put them on a spot. In which case, go right ahead and fire away....

How often do you pick up the phone and are confronted with that dreaded question- “Are you busy?” Say no and immediately admit by default that you are a pitifully underworked sod not doing enough for society. Say yes and you are the tyrant who has crushed that ooh- so - needy friend for whom you could not spare that spare minute. This is a no brainer- just hum a few bars of your favourite song in response to the query and your interlocutor will plunge right ahead with whatever they needed to get off their chest and spare you the guilt of the Yes or No. Now you are singing- to their tune....

“What are you doing?” is another dynamite question ready to blow your fragile ego to bits or your carefully constructed smokescreen. You could be lying on the sofa picking your nose- you just don’t want anybody else sticking theirs in. Unless you are splitting atoms there is really no worthy answer to this question. You can stick to the safe, middle-of-the path “working” or really stick it into them and answer brightly “working out”. Since that is the aspirational fitness mantra for most people, you just unloaded the guilt meant for you right back at them.....

“Got a minute?” is a question that tops the dreaded list. Here you are hopping on one leg trying to finish tasks due yesterday and you know you barely have .004 hundredth of a second to breast your personal to-do-list. And you know that behind that innocuous query is the Venus Fly Trap of an half an hour session which only benefits the questioner. As you hum and haw while the clock ticks away and your brain scrambles for an authentic exit clause, the countdown has begun and the rocket has launched. To all those who ask “Got a minute?” just say “NO”....

The one question designed to raise your blood pressure is that unwanted phone call at that ungodly hour which begins with that saccharine sweet voice asking you “Am I disturbing you?” Ok, unlike Archimedes you are not in your bath about to have a Eureka moment, but there are so many magical moments that are destroyed forever by that one phone call. It could be the anticipation of a delectable spoonful of sinful food about to be put into your maw, or the grand finale of a keenly followed T.V show or God forbid a rare moment when you feel mellow enough not to slap your partner’s hand away as he reaches for you and with that one bell you are knocked out cold. The person who calls knows that it is an inconvenient hour, hence the question. In such cases an answer is unnecessary. Slams dunk the phone, put it off the hook and just get back to what you were doing.

Some questions just have to remain unanswered. Many require a simple Yes or No, like an objective questionnaire. Life would be so much simpler if we stop justifying ourselves and answer truthfully with one word.

So, did you like my article? Just tick your response- Yes or No.......

Nimmou Nilakantan

MY MOTHER

I searched for the perfect mother everywhere. I saw her in the dignified woman who walked past me everyday and I would wonder-"why can't my mother be like her?".

I would see her in the kind old lady who lent a helping hand whenever and wherever needed and I would think-"That's how my mother should be..."

I would see her in the dynamic woman who took charge and initiated the difference all of us want to make, but do not make the effort to do so. And I would reflect bitterly- "my mother only talks, she never does..."

And then one day I met this friend who had embarked on a similar quest for the perfect parent. "Have you found her?" I asked. "Yes" she replied. "Where?" I eagerly questioned.

" I found her in your mother...."

Nimmou Nilakantan

THE WORLD REFLECTS YOUR ATTITUDE-WEAR YOUR ATTITUDE....

If you are fearful, the world seems threatening. If you are angry, the world seems harsh. If you are hurting, the world seems unforgiving. If you are unhappy, the world seems sad.

How can we change the world? We cannot- we change ourselves. And when we do, our perception of the world changes. A miracle occurs. We feel happy and the world becomes a better place. We feel fulfilled and the world is a giving place. We feel brave and the world presents so many opportunities. We are joyous and the world sings with us.

All it takes is a small change within and the we see the change outside. We are the catalyst that changes the world....

Nimmou Nilakantan

HOW TO SURVIVE YOUR SON'S "HOLIDAY"

Yours gets over the moment theirs start- no, not your life stupid, but your holiday. You have been dreaming of this moment for the past11 months,29 days,24 hours, 56 minutes and 30 seconds to be precise. In other words from the time you waved a teary farewell to your sons at the airport, you counted the seconds till they returned. When they did, your heart swelled with pride as you watched your US returned sons tread their hallowed home soil. And the next thing you know they are treading all over your precious freedom...

Its amazing how quickly the transformation takes place. From independent, responsible adults they digress to helpless teenage mutants the minute they walk through the door of their former abode. As you bustle along to the kitchen to make their favourite treats they collapse on the sofa and don't get up for the next 6 weeks.

Apart from a "How I missed your cooking Ma" which only serves to whip you into another cooking frenzy, conversation quickly returns to the one succinct question-"What's to eat?". You bravely battle in the kitchen, ignoring sullen help who have no tender feelings in their breast for your alien offspring but you begin to crumble when you see used coffee mugs lying around. You begin to do what you swore you would never- you swear at your overgrown progeny. You might as well save your breath. They refuse to move for a week citing jet lag, and after that they just lie inert -the laggards.

Your favorite sofa where you enjoyed a lazy afternoon snooze has been commandeered by son No.2 while son No.1 has taken over the whole house and the T.V to boot. You and your husband walk around like harassed immigrants either putting clothes in the machine or taking them out to dry. No longer can you watch T.V since the remote is firmly clenched in the offspring's hairy hands- not that you had a minute to sit and view anything anyway.

You decide to put your foot down after 2 weeks since your legs feel like lead and your heart is brimful of unmaternal thoughts. You decide to recourse to the lecture- the one where responsibilities are clearly outlined, the law is laid down and you establish kindly but firmly that you are the boss. Just save your breath. It never worked when they were kids( except then you could gain instant gratification with one backhand slap for minor infringements) and it won't work now.

The two outstanding Phd. students who run their homes in the US, drive cars, cook their own food, do their laundry and listen to orders from their boss have mysteriously meta morphed into the slobs you booted out years ago- its their inner slothful egg which has hatched out again. Get wise- the next time your "kids" come home to visit, take them to a holiday home- a place where you can holiday and they feel at home. Otherwise, those tears coursing down your cheeks as you bid farewell at the airport could be one of sheer relief. Be smart and book a place right now as you exit the airport. You have exactly 11 months, 29 days, 24 hours, 56 minutes and 30 seconds before they return......

Nimmou Nilakantan

A POEM FOR MAMI, WHO DIED AGED 84 YEARS(read at her memorial service)

We are gathered here to remember
A life that was well spent
A simple soul who showed us
That happiness lies in being content...

A smile always lit her face
As she met you during her walk
She never needed language or words
Her eyes or hands would talk

No occasion in Natasha was complete
Without Mami taking part
Her warmth and childish glee
Deeply touched all our hearts

There are many words to pay tribute
So many things to say
You touched all our lives
In some special way

Among the friends I hold dear
You will always be
That special person I cherish
Dear and sweet Janaki Mami...

Nimmou Nilakantan

MENOPAUSE-A MORTAL SIN

Menopause makes sexual deviants of us- instead of lusting for men, we lust for food. And that is why we put on weight and blame it on everything but our palates. If our men wore a block of cheese on their heads or put a piece of cake on a body part we would never reach for, we’d be all over them like a rash.

With menopause, a plate of food looks far more enticing than any man. And, along with the hunger for food the hunger for any kind of activity, mostly the sexual kind, reduces to zero. At least, performing in bed burns around 300 calories unless like the average Jane, you lie in bed like a cement block planning the day’s chores while your man does the grunt work. An occasional groan at the thought of pending work keeps him titillated and keeps you connected, well sort of...

So there you have it- Eureka! why women become whales at menopause. Instead of romancing the Stone (our husbands), we romance the plate. We might as well enjoy gluttony in our old age as we enjoyed lust in our youth.

As long as we are sinning, might as well go whole hog. Amen!

Nimmou Nilakantan