Annals of Indian Academy of Neurology
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Year : 2021  |  Volume : 24  |  Issue : 2  |  Page : 255

Nature's call and DLBD phantasm

Department of Neurology, Sree Chitra Tirunal Institute for Medical Sciences and Technology, Trivandrum, Kerala, India

Date of Submission05-Feb-2021
Date of Acceptance21-Feb-2021
Date of Web Publication23-Apr-2021

Correspondence Address:
Dr. Ajith Cherian
Associate Professor, Department of Neurology, Sree Chitra Tirunal Institute for Medical Sciences and Technology, Trivandrum - 695 011, Kerala
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Source of Support: None, Conflict of Interest: None

DOI: 10.4103/aian.AIAN_113_21

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How to cite this article:
Cherian A. Nature's call and DLBD phantasm. Ann Indian Acad Neurol 2021;24:255

How to cite this URL:
Cherian A. Nature's call and DLBD phantasm. Ann Indian Acad Neurol [serial online] 2021 [cited 2021 Jun 19];24:255. Available from:

My ancestral home was built in pre-independence era. Excluding the kitchen, it had just two rooms of which one was held hostage by recently dug tubers (yam and tapioca), plantains in various stages of ripening, paddy in sacks and pepper in gunny bags; as keeping these outside was tantamount to gifting it to nocturnal intruders. So when we visited our grandparents we were all emperors of that single room mansion, sans furniture.

Toilets within the house were not in vogue and ours was no different. We had to trek about 200 yards to relieve ourselves. The worst part was that we had to fetch water from the well, carry it with us on this trek, for it was just a 5 × 5 feet covered space to guard our modesty [Figure 1]. To top it all, our loo visits had as much secrecy as a Twitter tweet. One can imagine the Kafkaesque predicament, if afflicted by a sudden gastro-colic reflex; worse still if one had irritable bowel syndrome. Our bovine companions had it better. Byre had inbuilt “latrines” and the only trekking cattle had to do was to our paddy fields after harvest or to the fodder grasslands as hunger beckoned. The entire universe was one big loo land for them.
Figure 1: Gateway to ephemeral pleasure

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Come monsoon and this mud path to our relieving spot becomes slushy with rotten leaves. If the ascetic lifestyle of a Buddhist monk is described as “the dry path,” this slippery ground we trod could easily be called the “the wet path.” For this was the path in pursuit of happiness, an indulgence. I would call it the gateway to ephemeral pleasure.

Our toilet had its share of habitants of the creepy, crawly type. Mostly spiders (not the black widow type), genuinely harmless, who would disappear as soon as you open the creaky door. But when you visit the loo at odd nocturnal hours, vivid visual hallucinations of the Diffuse Lewy Body kind, come into play. You suddenly see a tail here, a hood there and in your fright, you forget what you had come there for. Worse still the fright paralyses the parasympathetics and activates your sympathetics and you are out in a hurry only to have your colic activated all over again in a few minutes.

Fast forward to present times. The old house has been replaced by a brand new one with all modern amenities and I am cud chewing these bygone memories in the comfort of my new jacuzzi.

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  [Figure 1]


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