(This is part of a phone conversation, and yes, I have a photographic audio memory, except for lectures at college)

‘So how is college?’
‘You know. The usual. How are things in the medical line?’
‘I’ll tell you how things are after I find out if I’ve passed.’
‘Sudhra nahin. Why must you always be so irritatingly modest?’
‘Hey! I’m not modest. I get antsy around exams.’
‘Thought of a career yet? What, Gynaecology? Paediatrics?’
‘Oh, no. No, no. Not gyno.’
‘Why?’
‘Because people who work in coffee shops hate coffee.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Think about it.’
‘And why not paediatrics? I thought you liked kids.’
‘I do. And that is why I won’t do paediatrics. Apart from the fact you have to be clairvoyant to be either a paediatrician or a vet.’
‘So, what?’
‘I don’t know. I won’t be an ophthalmologist. Or do ENT. Or biochemistry, or pathology. I have figured out what I do not want, but not what I actually do want. Story of my life. Maybe medicine, or surgery. Most probably omphalology.’
‘What on earth is that?’
‘“Omphalos” is Greek for “the umbilicus”. An omphalologist is a specialist in diseases of the navel.’
‘I didn’t know you had diseases of the navel.’
‘You don’t. That’s the point.’
‘Ha! Do surgery. There’s a lot of money in it.’
‘Mon cher!’ (In heavy fake French accent) ‘I find you fort amusant. Ze money, she does not mean anyzing to me!’
‘Oh, Please. You’d be selling your soul to rake in the moolah, once your trophy wife starts asking you to buy her stuff!’
‘Good God! You think a trophy wife would divert me from my lifelong dream of being absolutely idle? Almost you persuade me not to seek a trophy wife!’
‘Yeah. Right.’
‘Well, I did say almost!’