In case you are not able to view the image(s) below completely, click on it so that it opens in a new window/tab. Duh.
We were attending a microbiology practical class and a rather mean lecturer was describing certain parasitology slides. There was this particular slide, which was supposed to harbour eggs of a certain disgusting nematode. I was told to identify the eggs in the slide. I looked desperately but did not find any product of conception in the slide. All I could see was magnified faecal matter.
The lecturer was furious. She was confident that the slide contained more than a million eggs. She shoved us to one side with her pointed elbow; muttering something, she proceeded towards the microscope. “You people know nothing. I’ll only have to adjust.”
Haughtily, she adjusted the light and fine power. She searched. And searched. She was so lost in the slide that she didn’t realise it had been more than 20 minutes. We stood behind her, waiting eagerly for the Eureka moment. But, nothing happened. I’ve heard an average Indian sex lasts for about 20 minutes. And here we were standing looking for some eggs smeared with shit which probably were, nonexistent.
Frustrated, we decided to teach her a lesson. One of my batch mates took a step ahead so as to stand right behind her. Meanwhile, rest of us huddled in another corner, waited with bated breath, like what cows do in a storm. All of a sudden, he uttered a loud ‘boo’!
The lecturer was shell-shocked. We couldn’t control our laughter. We were thrown out of the lab – but at least we were no longer hunting for some promiscuous worm’s progeny.
(If you haven’t noticed, today is a Friday and this is the thirteenth strip. What luck.)
For some odd reason, coffee sells less than
nimbu paani in our canteen. So much so, that by around 3 in the afternoon, Shetty actually runs out of
nimbus. But not coffee powder. Or milk. And this is not funny.
I miss the French Vanilla at Starbucks. But I don’t want to risk my life by trying out Shetty’s coffee.
(If you haven’t noticed, in addition to the ‘usual’ characters, almost every strip has a flower and a piece of grass drawn next to it. I don’t know how, but I just realised that they are seeing each other. Love is not only in the air, but also in the soil.)
I was dying to watch Ice Age 3 since the day I saw its advertisements in the newspaper. Intern’s strike was the perfect time to catch the movie. Ice Age 2 was amazing, and 3 is probably better.
By the way, I don’t know why people love flavoured popcorn. I know a few people who buy caramel popcorn to just lick them clean. Yuck. The good old half-burnt, half-raw, yellow, small popcorn worth ten bucks are much better.
This Sunday was my co-intern, Nirali’s birthday. Both of us had emergency duty in ward 12 on Saturday which was supposed to go on till Sunday morning 7. Ward side-room is as sidey as it sounds; it’s certainly not the best place to celebrate one’s birthday.
But we had a nice time. Some friends got a huge cake at around 11:45pm Saturday night and quietly slinked into the side-room without her knowledge. The cake was amazing! Vishaal and Mansi had meticulously planned every detail to surprise Nirali. Nitya was armed with her camera.
Coming back to the topic – Rujul cut a huge piece of cake and stuffed it in my mouth. I think I was talking too much. That was a ploy to keep my mouth shut. It worked real well; but the cake was heavenly and my mouf managed to gulp it down in no time.
Did I say mouf? Sorry. It’s difficult to talk when your mouf is full.
This cartoon, unfortunately, reflects my current state. Gastroenteritis is not a good thing to have, especially when you have a 24-hour duty the next day.
Hopefully, things will settle down soon. No more food in RMO’s/canteen/Milan. That’s my ten thousandth declaration.
There are days when you are really hungry. Especially when it rains; you feel like lazing around, doing nothing at all.
Saturday - a treat at McDonald's, Phoenix. Sunday - dinner at a nice place, Juhu. Monday - movie at PVR, Phoenix. Life is good.
(This comic strip features Hog, the hungry commode.)
Commodes and toilets always remind me of PSM. As an intern, you don’t want to talk about PSM. How I wish I could kill a few people from that sick department.
Sirvix and Dr. Serclage point out how some people are blissfully unaware of the dimensions of their appendages. Once, when I was in second year, our gymkhana had put up college T-shirts on sale. They were available in three sizes; S, M and L. The T-shirts were well designed and were selling like hot cakes. A female, probably a year or two senior to me, also came to the gymkhana for buying one.
Now this female wasn’t fat or obese, but was otherwise quite healthy, with decent sized body parts. She demanded an extra-small size T-shirt. The guy selling T-shirts, also an MBBS student, informed her that only three sizes were available and extra-small wasn’t ordered.
It was pretty obvious that even a small-sized T-shirt wouldn’t fit her, leave alone extra-small. But she continued to haggle and argue. Our gymkhana is not a professional store with changing rooms and stuff. This made the situation even more awkward.
Finally, after around 15 minutes, she was enlightened. She reluctantly purchased a large-sized T-shirt and quietly left the place. The guy heaved a huge sigh of relief. Life was back to normal.
