My first motorcycle ride!

When I was growing up owning a bicycle was a big thing let alone a motorcycle. Now that was a pipe dream! Those were simpler times and a plain vanilla bicycle was an object of envy.There was a wide variety of bicycles brands to choose from, Raleigh, Atlas, Humber, Norton, Avon, Hercules, BSA and of course Hero. Most of these brands have gone the dinosaur way or consumed by their competitor. Though there was not a lot to choose from one bicycle or the other. They were all solidly built and came in varying shades of black! A few were in olive green and all had the solid hand brakes dating back to th British Raj. Only BSA manufactured what they called a ‘sport’s bike’, which had caliper brakes, some variations in colour and a more sporty look. Boy’s would ‘pimp up’ their ride by adding additional reflectors, some tassles to the handle grip. One of my friends made his seat higher by extending the rod which connects the seat and cycle. He also had to raise the handle bar by not only increasing the length of the bar but by giving the handle an inverted Omega shape’ a la chopper like handles made popular by the 1969 movie ‘Easy Rider’. He also changed the colour and got it painted a shimmering orange. There was a unique problem those days associated with the fashion of the times. Those were the days of bell bottom trousers. No self respecting boy would be caught without a 32“ bells. Yes the cuff of the pant measured a whopping 32″ and worn along with 3″ block heels. The problem is that the cuff would get caught in the sprocket of the pedal shaft while pedalling, resulting in tears in the cuff. Bicycle clips, also called trouser clips, which were small C-shaped pieces of thin flexible metal worn around the ankle when cycling in trousers. They were designed to prevent the bottom of the trousers from becoming caught in the chain or crank mechanism, and from being covered in oil and dirt.
Motorcycles were another thing altogether, in those days the reigning king was the Bullet 350cc manufactured by Royal Enfield. the company originally British started out as a weapons manufacturer.The legacy of weapons manufactureris reflected in the logo, a cannon, and their motto “Made like a gun, goes like a bullet”. It is still available in varying avatars now and hold the all time record of the oldest motorcycle brand in the world still in production.The engine gave a deep throated dhug! dhug! Of a four stroke engine. Very heavy so handling it required a certain amount of skill, otherwise you tilt it to one side and unless you had strong legs, it ended up falling on one side and the entire weight of the bike on your leg. Anticipating such mishaps the motorcycle was fitted with an engine guard in front and an optional leg guards in the middle. In case the bike did fall those two tubular projections prevented the entire weight of the bike falling on your legs. A good insurance policy especially for a spindly legged teenager like me. Then there was the Jawa or it’s later avatar the Yedzi. This was made with Czechoslovakian collaboration by the Ideal Jawa company in Mysore.The catchphrase for the bikes sold by the firm was “Forever bike forever value”.It was a 250cc motorcycle and much lighter than the Bullet and the engine gave a puny phut! phut! sound. In a Royal Enfield the gears were on the right side and the brakes on the left whereas in a Yedzi the gears on the left and the brakes on the right. This could cause confusion if you are used to one bike and by chance drove the other. You would be reflexively be pressing the gear thinking it’s the brakes and land up in a catastrophe.
After finishing my 12th examination and writing competitive examinations I had been called for the interview for Christian Medical College, Vellore. I had gone to celebrate in the evening at C.P. Club and there met my friend Bobby. He had borrowed a Bullet from one of his friends and driven it down to the Club. We both went down to the parking lot and admired the motorcycle and after which followed the most natural thing. I asked him whether I could drive it, to which he readily agreed. I drove it out of the Club Compound, the feeling was great with the wind raking through my body and the power of the motorcycle under me. A slight raise of acceleration and you could feel the motorcycle surge forwards. Sharp turns could be negotiated by shifting the body weight to one side and the motorcycle would bank to that side. By the time we were returning to the Club it had become dark. I had turned on the headlights only to discover that the headlights were not working and we were going on a lonely stretch at a fairly brisk speed. In the middle of the road there were sitting and ruminating a white cow and a black cow or maybe a buffalo, now I am not sure. Because of the fading lights the white Cow was visible but the black one was invisible. I shifted my weight to one side to avoid the white cow, then suddenly the handle bar along with the speedometer rose to become almost parallel to my nose and next equally suddenly it dropped to below my waist level. I was catapulted off my seat over the handle and face first to the ground, luckily self preservation instincts kicked in and my hands came forwards in front of my face preventing me from landing flat on it. I looked up and saw my friend sailing above me and landing unceremoniously on his bum just a little ahead of me. Then I looked behind and saw the cow casually get up and walk away. We had driven right over the cow which explained the suddenly rise and fall of the motorcycle. Both of us not seriously injured we examined the damage to the motorcycle. The front fork was bent so badly that the wheel of the motorcycle was perpetually turned to the left. We somehow managed to get it back to C.P. Club and left it in the parking lot. The next day we got a mechanic and managed to get it fixed. The fork had to be straightened by a hydraulic press and we had to pool our resources to pay for the damages. The motorcycle was returned to it’s rightful owner who I am not sure was the wiser and both of us laughed it off as another episode of our lives.

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Initiation entertainment

Our 35 year class reunion was a refreshing affair, met many old friends from 35 years ago. The batch who were celebrating their 40th year reunion was also there. We have a special affiliation for this batch because these were our ‘Lords and Masters, Senior Doctor Sirs, Fagmasters’. It was great to see them still sprightly and spirited. I spotted My Lord and Master doing a Salsa on the stage with his beautiful wife. Then there was another Senior Doctor Sir doing an energetic belly dance. This took me 30 years back to Men’s Hostel, 17th of July 1978 to be precise when we took our first tentative steps into the ‘Mansion of the Gods’ and the resident ‘Gods’ took it upon themselves to convert us into Godlike material through acts of initiation which were anything but Godly.
Evening entertainment provided by the ‘Pseudo Priapistic Catmites’ was a well awaited affair and preparation and planning were of the essence. The planning went on in the Lords and Masters rooms with us sitting on the floor as mute spectators, listening to our seniors planning our fate. There were of course immediate seniors who would also join in the machinations and contribute their mite. I was along with another class mate of mine, our Lords and Masters were neighbours hence we were initiated together. No ideas for anything entertaining was forthcoming, one of the immediate seniors asked my classmate which school he studied? He proudly replied “St. Peters, Panchgani, Senior Doctor Sir!” What was your school song? Was the next question. He sang it out for them,
“Bells are ringing!
Bells are ringing!
We must hasten to their call….”
Somewhere in the song the word ‘penetrate’ came, and that was like a Eureka moment for the seniors. The song was then rewritten and now went like this,
“Balls are clanging!
Balls are clanging!
Right upto the bogs and shagging,
We must hasten to their call,
render arses when in need,
penetrate the art of laying……. “
The choreography was also planned, my classmate had to wear a tie and school blazer, hold two cricket balls tied with a string. And before beginning the song allow the balls to clang together accompanied by his own Tanndd! Tanndd!
Then it was my turn. The night before was the interclass music competition and a certain girl from the batch of 73 had sung the Hindi number “Aaj ki raat, yeh kaise raat, ki humko neend nahin aati….”. The girl was very attractive and had a characteristic way of swaying her hips while singing, I spotted her in the reunion this and she looks the same. This became the basis for my entertainment. I had to fashion a saree with two of my bed sheets pinned together length wise, for lipstick red marker pen was used! Yuck! Those were simpler times and who thought about toxicity. I was supposed to go on the stage sing the song while swaying my hips ‘___ madari’. Then at end of the song I am to announce, “I am ___ with a difference” and then dramatically lift the saree. Under the saree would be a bamboo and two cricket balls suspended from the waist.
So with the preparations completed we gathered outside the lower common room where a make shift stage had been made awaiting our turn. Our other class mates were also assembled there with varying attire varying from bra and panties, trophies from the raids of Women’s Hostel to a pink bow tied on the hair.
While awaiting our turn we could witness some of the other entertainment.
In those days there used to be a popular animated ad for red ‘lal’ eveready battery. It featured an animated radio walking and singing “kabhi kabhi mere dil aata…” then suddenly his voice would stop. Another radio would come and advice him to use ‘lal eveready’. Inspired on that theme one of my classmates enters the stage singing the same song and he stops. Then enters another classmate and says “Sir your voice is a eff up!” to which the first one replies, “yes I think I got the wrong thing stuck up.” To which the second one reaches to his back orifice and produces a ‘lal eveready’ and says “use lal eveready.” The first one takes it from him and pretends to use it as a suppository also giving a satisfied aaah exclamation. Then both of them leave the stage singing with arms around each other.
Next came three, one stood tall and thin covered by a sheet and wearing a helmet. The other two crouched on either side also covered by sheets. “I am ___ ‘s dick and this is my right ball and this is my left ball” declared the tall and thin one. “And we are going to show you how it’s done” declared the dick. Then all three of them began jumping in unison. “How is the weather up there?” asked the right ball. “Hot and humid replied the dick.”
As you can imagine there was a riot of laughter making our acts insipid in comparison.

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The rectum as a repository

      The rectum as a repository
I read in the newspapers a few days ago about a man caught smuggling gold into the country by placing it in his rectum. The Police were at a quandary on how to retrieve it. Their only option was to given him a megadose of laxatives and make sure he defecates in their presence and in a bedpan! This method of smuggling is far from ingenious I have read the South American drug cartels used this method for smuggling cocaine into the USA. The processed cocaine was packed in cylindrical plastic bags and after adequate lubrication pushed up retrograde into the rectum of the couriers. These couriers had the uncomplimentary sobriquet of ‘mule’. Though it did accurately described their job of physically transporting goods from one point to the other.
In the 1970s book ‘Papillon’, by Henri Charriere, an autobiography. He describes how he was wrongly accused of murder in France and sentenced to life imprisonment in the French Penal Colony of French Guiana. He further goes on to describe that the only way they could keep their money safe from the other prisoners and the guards was to roll it up tightly into a metal cylinder, called charger. This cylinder was inserted into the rectum and the author confesses he got so used to this method that even after he escaped he continued using a charger to keep his money safe. He never elaborated how he removed the charger!
Though now this method would not be of much use as  a digital examination of the rectum is included in the protocol of  frisking of prisoners.
A glance into Bailey & Love’s ‘Short Practice of Surgery’, has a section on the foreign bodies in the rectum. I quote “The variety of foreign bodies which have found their way into the rectum is hardly less remarkable than the ingenuity displayed in their removal. A turnip has been delivered per anum by the use of an obstetric forceps. A stick firmly impacted has been withdrawn by inserting a gimlet into its lower end. A tumbler, mouth looking downwards, has been extracted by filling the interior with wet plaster of Paris bandage, leaving the end of the bandage protruding, and allowing the plaster to set. A pepper pot which when removed had the inscription, ‘a gift from Marsgate’. A screwdriver and a live shell which had to be handled carefully.“
In my surgical practice I have encountered my fair share of ‘foreign objects’ in the rectum. More ingenious than the objects themselves is the explanation of how they came to reside there albeit temporarily. When I was doing my MS, I was called to the casualty to attend on a patient. The patient was an elderly man in his 60s. He told me that he suffers from piles and was using an Ayurvedic medicine which had to be applied locally. The Ayurvedic medicine was dispensed in an old Benedryl bottle (cough syrup). He apparently was sitting on his haunches on the floor, applying the medicine with his finger to the area. The bottle was also placed next to him and then he shifted a bit and accidentally sat on the bottle! And up went the bottle! This explanation caused sniggers amongst the junior staff and incredulous look on the face of the seniors. For retrieving this bottle we used the obstetrics forceps which is used to deliver the head of babies in prolonged labour.
Then there was the case of the middle aged man who was brought with severe abdominal pain. He admitted to being gay, though he was the AC/DC type. He had a wife and two children. He was accustomed to inserting a stick into his anus for the purportedly pleasure it gave him. That day he pushed it up a little too much and it perforated the intestine. This caused a serious condition called ‘fecal peritonitis’, stool contaminating the abdomen. The patient had to be operated and the perforation closed. A temporarily colostomy or an ‘artificial anus’ also had to be constructed.
I was working in a Mission Hospital in rural Madhya Pradesh. A young male patient had been admitted a day earlier with abdominal pain. Since he did not give any other significant history the medicine people admitted him. The next day he passed large quantity of blood in his stools. I was given a call and I ordered an X-ray abdomen standing. To my surprise there was massive air in the peritoneal cavity, which indicates perforation of an intestine. I took him for surgery and was amazed to find not just a simple perforation but complete transection of the intestine! Not only a foreign object was pushed up but it was done with a considerable amount of force. When the patient recovered from anaesthesia I asked him how did it happen? He told me a different story every time. One of the stories was that he was sitting on a tree and fell off. An upright twig went up the wrong end. This was possible but not plausible, the main hole in this story was how did the twig reach the opening so accurately without causing any collateral damages?
The patient never told me the truth!
The most recent incident is just 4 days ago, an 18 year old male was brought to the hospital with a history of having fallen on a construction rod from a height. Again they appeared to be no collateral damages, the rod had accurately entered the anal opening. He also had perforation of the intestine. I have not even bothered to ask the patient for any further details and taken his story at face value.

The empty shoebox!

Anatomy dissections got over at 1 pm. We left the hall frustrated and dejected because we had been ‘muddied’ (Tamlish word for ‘bajaoed’) by Madhavi or Marja (they were the iconic lecturer and professor of anatomy) or some other sadistic soul doing his or her bond as an anatomy tutor. We were also extremely hungry and rushed towards Mens Hostel. The sweltering heat and the sun which did not help in elevating our moods. When we reached the mess we would check the pockets of our lab-coats before divesting them. This inspection would invariably reveal whole lot of body parts surreptitiously slipped into our pockets by our ‘so called’ friends. This would normally consist of skin, fat and fascia. The discarded bye products of dissection however once in a while the entire penis sans the scrotum and the testis was also found (these ‘choice cuts’ were normally reserved for the girls however when a ‘friend’ could not find a convenient female pocket he disposed it in the most easily available pocket). Those were simpler times when we never thought twice about the reverence or more specifically lack of it in our pranks. Then you enter the mess and wash your hands in the sink. It’s almost impossible to get rid of smell of the cadavers from your hand especially since you have just disposed of a ‘pickled phallus’. Then we stand in line for a Thambi to dish out a plate of limited vegetables and unlimited serving of rice, rasam, sambar and mor (buttermilk) on your table. After an unsatisfying meal we relax for sometime in our rooms and maybe smoke a cigarette (statutory warning :cigarette smoking is injurious to health. I no longer indulge in this unhealthy activity). The ash of the cigarette is flicked into a cranium turned over to form an ashtray. This had an amazing capacity and could hold more ash than any conventional ash trays (a smaller version consisting only of the frontal bone and the orbits was also available). Then maybe mug up for the physiology practical in the afternoon, to avoid getting ‘Zapped by Zach’ (our Physiology professor) followed by a snooze and then get up cursing and walk along the corridors of Men’s Hostel (to avoid the sweltering sun) towards the Physiology department. Along the way in the Appendix (we had a block in the hostel called that) lies an old discarded shoe box right on your path. By this time frustration has built up. How dare someone discard a shoebox on your path. You bring up all the force you can muster backed by all the pent up frustrations and kick it out of the way with your foot most probably shod with ubequitious ‘MCR Slippers’ or plain old bathroom slippers. The moment your foot makes contact with the shoebox an excruciating pain rushes up your foot from the point of contact and the box hardly moves an inch! You scream in pain and hold your toe and meanwhile the door of the appendix room in front burst open and your seniors having a good laugh at your predicament emerge. You realize that the shoebox was not discarded but deliberately planted and it was not empty but contained two bricks. Just another typical day in the life of a resident of MHU!

The Ghost who walks wearing Tantex Jocks!

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Our Hostel in Christian Medical College, Vellore was called by the residents as ‘The Mansion of the God’ (sometimes derogatorily referred to as ‘Se-Men’s Hostel). It was a great place to have spent the formative years of our lives.
The Hostel was described as a ‘Five Star Hotel’, it had all the amenities of a Five Star Hotel. It had a swimming pool (a pond in the centre of the driveway) in which on hot summer days we used to laze around in or sometimes some unwary passing soul invariably a pisser bugger (referring to the juniors) would get thrown into it. It had a Health Club (Men’s Hostel Gym) where you would find lots of muscle men and wannabe muscle men training for the title of Mr. Men’s Hostel. It was a tradition to choose the most emaciated of the freshers to compete. Just to make the true body builders look good and provide laughs. In our first year our own ‘Arnold Shwarzenegger’ incarnate Sunil Agarwal (Bugaroo) took part in Mr. Men’s Hostel competition. He posed in all his hirsute glory, flexing his biceps, triceps and then turning around and showing his ‘Paulie-ceps’). It had a Men’s only Saloon (Nathan’s) where we could get suitably ‘shaven and shorn’ for the benefit of the residents of the ‘other side of the road’ all forlorn. It had an all night coffee shop (Swamidoss who was also reputed to be a drug pusher on the side). A well stocked library (though it was rumoured that the best pornographic literature could be found tucked away under the mattresses of the residents). A recreational area with TV, Carroms, chess and cards (the dumb ones played ‘28’ and the smart ones played Bridge). You would find card players with card sticking behind their ears as a penalty called ‘kunooks’ (whatever that meant, my Malayalee readers please translate). Finally we had the shopping arcade, the Co-operative Store. A bell ringing would herald the opening of this store and the residents would line up to purchases their essentials. One of the essentials included ‘Tantex Jocks’ manufactured by the TTK conglomerate (for the uninitiated the store kept a supply of ‘Chaddis’, ‘Jattis’, innerwear or lingerie, whatever you wish to call them) and in various colours. You could get them in orange, green, red and even in purple. This was one article of dress which you had to keep a good supply of as you needed to change them everyday (though one resident came up with the good idea of wearing them inside out the next day and prolonging their wash life by a day). Normally these ‘unmentionables’ was not given to the dhobi for washing unless you were interested in fungal infections of your balls. These were carefully washed and hung for drying on a line strung in front of your room. It made an interesting sight especially when the bus would come around the drive of Men’s Hostel you would see a rainbow of jocks.Remember we had a programme called ‘Impact’ in which class wise we presented skits which made an Impact. I think it was during our first year our skit was planned by S.T.C. The skit began with a darkened stage and a prop on stage, then suddenly out jumped a figure from behind the prop. He was a masked man, wearing purple tights and over the tights he wore ‘purple Tantex Jocks’ and he was none other than the ‘Ghost who Walks’ Phantom being acted out by our own ‘Director Elect’, S.T.C., Sunil Thomas Chandy. He danced a jig singing “Devil O’ my Devil, where the Hell are you oh my Devil” (Devil is Phantom’s Dog sorry wolf, by the way). He really made and impact as Chandy always manages to do. We suddenly realized that only in comics do Superheroes look dashing wearing their underwear outside their tights! The piece de resistance was that the Jocks were not his own but borrowed from Priyo Sada who did not give a second thought about loaning his jocks and not enquire about the use.

Checks or Sex?

Checks or Sex?

The first language I learnt was my mother tongue Hindi, then my family
relocated to the USA when I was 4 and I forgot Hindi and learnt English. We came back to India when I was 7 and settled in Nagpur. I had to relearn Hindi and had Marathi as a third language. Then 17th July 1978 I joined Christian Medical College, Vellore to study MBBS. The South of the Vindhyas is almost like a different country with a totally different languages. If you had to survive you had to pick up some functional Tamil. We had some Tamil classes where we were taught bookish Tamil. But as all of you know the man on the street rarely speaks the bookish version of a language. It is always the street version.
So the major learning of the language was by the interaction with the Hostel watchmen, mess boys who were euphemistically called ‘thambis’,which in Tamil means younger brother. This is similar to the Chottus, Munnas & Pintus we have in the North. Learning expletives is very useful because as we are all aware on the street the language is heavily coated with curses.
The next step of my journey took me to Ludhiana Punjab where Punjabi was the language. Of all the languages Punjabi is the easiest to pick up if you know Hindi!
Finally I was back in my hometown and I am placed in an environment where it is taken for granted you speak Marathi so I really had to brush up on the language and I am still in the process of perfecting it.
And how can I forget! Being married to a Malayalee, visits to the in-laws forced me to try to understand a smattering of the language or forever be relegated to the status of an out-law!
I became a polyglot, though not fluent in any of the languages except for ‘the Queen’s English’.
This constant endevour to learn new languages gave me a Prof. Higgin-eque approach to languages.
All of you must be thinking, “When will he cut to the chase and talk about sex!” Well I am coming to that just be patient.
In our Hostel the Thambis had typical Tamil names like Anbarasu, Appavoo, Pichamuthu, Vadivelu, Paneerselvam and so on. Being a cosmopolitan crowd in the hostel not all were familiar with these Dravidian names and the younger generation tends to give people monikers. So a Selvaraj became ‘Silverass’, one Thambi who had a strong resemblance to the runner Carl Lewis was christened Carl Lewis. Then there was also a Kapil Dev and a ‘Creep’. Creep was the most interesting and a mean moniker. His actual name was T. G. S. Munnusamy Gounder but when asked his name he would say “Nan per Greep (that is not a typo) ” or my name is Creep. Since he predated me in the Hostel I asked my seniors the origin of his moniker. The short and sweet answer given was “because he looks like a Creep!” Creep unfortunately suffered from congenital syphilis and now though no active disease he had the deformities of the nose, teeth and eyes associated with the disease.
But coming to the deliberate misspelling of Creep to Greep, well he was Christened Creep by the then resident of Mens Hostel but because of the influence of his native tongue he used to pronounce his Moniker as Greep.
Our native tongues influences the way we speak a foreign language to a large extent and I have made some observations in Tamil speakers.
They normally have difficulty in differentiating from ‘ka’ (as in crow), ‘kh’ (as in Khan),  ‘ga’ (as in grow). I remember trying to teach a Tamilian classmate the difference between ‘Khana’ (food) and ‘Kana’, for him both were the same. For the same reason Creep substitutes the ‘ka’ for a ‘ga’ pronouncing his name as ‘Greep’. Similarly the name Padma is also pronounced by some people as Badma or even Fadma because again ‘pa’ (as in Party), ‘ba’ (as in Bakery), ‘fa’ (as in Food) are all represented by one alphabet. I remember a classmate telling me that the letter for ‘ha’ (as in Hare Ram) was adopted from Sanskrit so you find a lot of Tamil purist don’t use it and Mahalakshmi will be pronounced as ‘Maggalakshmi’ and Bahadur Singh will be ‘Baggadur Singh’. Then we have the example of ‘t’ (as in Total), ‘th’ (as in Thought), ‘d’ (as in Dumb). Those who have lived in the south know that a Sangeeta will become a Sangeetha, an Anita will become an Anitha and so on. But the ‘th’ at the end will be pronounced more like ‘d’ so will sound like Sangeeda. Similarly is it Murlitharan as the cricketer likes to spell it or Murlidharan or Senthilkumar or Sendhilkumar .
Finally we come to the ‘sex’ part, two of our female classmates went shopping. They went to a clothes store and asked the shopkeeper to show them ‘checks’. They were horrified when the shopkeeper shouted to his assistant, “thambi sex kunduva” (thambi bring some sex). They were further aghast when the shopkeeper asked them, “Enna madari sex vanom, chinna? Persaa?” (What type of sex do you want small or big?) Well our classmates did not know whether to be indignant of to laugh out loud. Checks and sex could also be confused by a native Tamil speaker for the same reason Charles is pronounced as ‘Sarless’.
I hope I have not hurt the sentiments of any Tamil speaker I could have given similar examples for Marathi, Punjabi, Hindi or Bengali but would not have been relevant to the story!

The monkey menace,

Some lesser known facts about the these tourist spots. Shimla is a beautiful place but it suffers from the ‘monkey menace’. More specifically from the rhesus macaque monkey menace (the rhesus antigen or rh antigen by which our blood groups are classified into rh +ve and  -ve was first discovered in them and then in humans) . All over the city you find boards warning you about the ‘Bandaro ka Atank’. The warning says in a confrontation with a  monkey over the food in your hand, just hand over the food to the monkey. Don’t attempt to monkey with the monkey because you will end up at the receiving end. I used to take a morning with my children and what we observed is the locals either carried sticks or stones (not to break any bones) in their hands. At first we were a little puzzled at the utility of these objects. But it became adequately clear. During a  walk a group of monkeys surrounded us. Luckily for us a group of good samaritans locals were nearby, they began shouting at the monkeys and pelted them with stones. Rescuing us from a potentially dangerous situation. We discovered that the locals don’t share the pacifistic ideas of the authorities of turning the other cheek. For them its an eye for an eye. On our visit to Jakhu temple which is appropriately dedicated to Hanuman, the monkeys rule the roost. We were warned to remove our spectacles and not to carry any food. Well apparently the monkeys steal your spectacles and barter them with you for food. A friend of mine disregarded this warning and entered the temple wearing his glasses. They were stolen by the monkeys and he could only get them back when he offered them food. Along with the prasad items which you can buy at the entrance, you get a complimentary stick to prevent the monkeys getting to it before it is offered to the Monkey God. This monkey menace exists in a lot of cities even in our capital Delhi. They have taken over some government buildings and the government has hired monkey catchers. A bounty of Rs. 100/- per live monkey head is placed. They are caught and taken to a forest and released only to find their way back. The other solution was to have specially trained ‘kale muh ka bandar’ (black faced langurs) patrol the property. The rhesus monkeys are wary of these black faced commandos and will give them a wide berth. However it has had limited success. But why do these primates invade our cities? The same reason our cities are getting over crowded by people from the villages, a better life, easier pickings, shrinking habitat and an easy life of crime.