Wednesday, September 14, 2011

A Yemmay Yepisode

The Beeyay trilogy was all about getting back at people who assumed I must've done a BA because:
a) Beeyay I - I failed miserably in my bored exams, which would, in essence, mean I failed miserably in Life.

b) Beeyay II - I am a girl. It doesn't matter what I do anyway.

c) Beeyay III- I want to become famous, so I can go around giving interviews about having risen above the sheep and chosen 'the road not taken'. (Okay, so *maybe* I can hope for this one to actually come true.)

Anyway, I spent three years of my life running away from any social situation that reeked of subliminal career inquisitions. And then I cleared the Yemmay program. To a mere ignorant, a Yemmay is just another degree. But to me, it is a key to gain entry into a socially approved educational level. Simply put, a Yemmay comes somewhat *close* to that much revered BeeYee or YemBeeBeeYess. Because a Beeyay was, of course, just something we all did to pass time. This is the *real* degree.

A Yemmay makes me all sound post-graduate-y and the gives me the infinite license to unleash my psychoanalytical powers on the poor unsuspecting relative-aunties who had made the mistake of asking me if I could "Read Minds". (Actually, it's a trick I've followed for quite a while now. I give them this intense intellectual look and they actually do get flustered thinking I'm overanalyzing them...when in fact, I'm wondering what's for dinner. At their place.)

A Yemmay qualifies me to talk about issues of Child and Adolescent Mental Health, and not be considered as part of that age-bracket. Gone are the days of 'What would you know? You are just a child'.

A Yemmay is a Yemmay. Just that. A Master. And not just of Disaster (as I like to call myself. I mean, on one single day, I managed to collide into three wheelchairs and startle the living daylights of the people in them, just because I was concentrating on the cobble-stoned paths of Germany.) Being called a Master of something is one hell of an ego-massage. (And I don't mean pets.)

To me, the Yemmay opened a whole new world (and I say this with the *exact* sentiment Alladin used while cavorting on a magic carpet with Jasmine.) I re-discovered the city I considered myself an eternal part of, when I was seven. I made a group of friends who are as inseparable as the fingers of a Glove. I interned in the country's best hospital and met some of the most interesting people ever. I learnt to live independently and work towards something I actually believed in, and not something I had to do because others *approved*.

So Yemmay I am. In Clinical Psychology, no less. And when I started writing this post, it started off as an 'Open Letter to all aunties and uncles who think a Beeyay is worthless and a Yemmay is worthless-and-a-half' (Because Open letters are, apparently, the key to getting a lot of hits on your blog.) But halfway through, I ended up realizing how much the Yemmay means to me, and I don't want to deride it by defending it so vehemently anymore.

My Yemmay has effectively placed the proverbial speed breaker* on all comments and retorts about my choice of education now.

Although, I kind of wish it could make me look a little older and wiser. While attending an interview at this huge hospital recently, the lady managing the appointments looked at me (and I was carrying my marks cards and sporting a rather unnecessarily wide smile. Which was obviously odd, given that I was in a psychiatric ward.) and called the psychiatrist to tell her, 'Doctor. Patient for the 3.30 appointment has arrived.'

And I had gone to a Child Psychiatrist. Sigh.

* For all the non-kannada-non-tamil speaking people: A Yemmay not just an accented MA. It is actually, a buffalo. Hence the proverbial speed-breaker. If you want an actual demonstration of the fact, I suggest you drive down any residential road in Bangalore. They'll be there to greet you.