Do you have Suresh syndrome?
There is (as far as I know) no specific syndrome named after me and for some reason I find that depressing. I mean, to go through life without having anything named after you except your son is disheartening. I once brought it up at a convention of psychiatrists, the folk who identify more syndromes (and name them) than either scientists or economists. I was subjected to the Psychiatrists’ Syndrome, which is where a group of them suddenly laughs out loud for no apparent reason at all when they hear something I say.
Syndromes have been named after such distinguished people as Messrs Barrett and Conn, Ulysses and Froin. Mr Carpal Tunnel has one all to himself. Those suffering from the Dr Strangelove Syndrome believe that their hands have a life of their own and do things independently without their knowledge. Now that might have been a good syndrome to affix my name to, except that I have the reverse condition – my hands seem to have no life at all as a deadline approaches. Sometimes I have to use my nose to work the keyboard.
Still, for the benefit of the community, I offer the following strains of behaviour unique to myself for the syndrome-naming committee:
The habit of keeping important papers in a safe place and then forgetting where that safe place is, or losing the safe place altogether.
The irritating manner in which someone addresses a person he meets at a party by the name of the person he was introduced to a minute earlier.
A medical condition where you drag your protesting family to the airport five hours before a flight in the belief that roads might be closed, it might snow in areas that have seen no snow in a millennium or that the president of the US might make a secret visit to your city, thus making it impossible to get past the security in time for the flight.
The uncontrollable urge to correct other people’s grammar and thus ruin jokes that have unexpected punchlines.
The irrational belief that if you stare at a newspaper long enough, the news will rearrange itself so that any story beginning with the words ‘Kardashian’ or ‘Paris Hilton’ will disappear to be replaced by genuine news.
A condition peculiar to columnists who want to say, ‘I told you so’, but search for a variety of different ways of saying it so readers will not accuse them of patting their own backs.
A rare condition characterised by the need to tell people that you have met Nelson Mandela.
If nothing works, there is always this possibility: The psychological condition that urges the afflicted to write about wanting to name a syndrome after himself.