Skip to main content

Austin Dairy

Ward 9A, Room No 12 has an amazing view of Melbourne's scenic northern suburbs. I look out of the window. A thousand thoughts cross my mind, interspersed by a prayer every now and again. The chain is broken by the creaking of the door and the bright smile of a nurse, who comes to check the blood pressure, body temperature and fluid flow from the high tech machine that is connected to the wafer thin pipes inserted from the arm to near the heart. The pipe is called a Picc. That, I am told, is the safest intravenous injection into the body.

Modern medical sciences amaze me. Imagine what the world was like when none of these were invented. Sometimes all these science fiction movies come to the mind too and I think all those creative imaginations have a base somewhere in reality.

The floor I am in bustles with activity. It is almost an isolation ward. But the irony of the situation is that those in isolation are the ones who need the utmost care and loads of  tender loving care. And they have a family lounge too where people can snack and have their tea and coffee.

You debug before you get anywhere - into the room, on to the lift and on on your way out. Well, you just swish a lotion on to your hands and make sure you dont carry any germs. I did not know about this concept of debugging and it's surprising how people do it religiously and conscientously. In this country, things like basic manners are so ingrained in people. So you don't walk into a lift and not hold the door for someone. Or, you just don't jump the queue anywhere even if you are in a tearing hurry. You wait. You thank. You apologise when you brush past someone even when walking.

Inside the room, stream of doctors pour in assessing the patient. Every now and again, the nurse pops her head into the room. "Are you alright?" is her ready question. Ten minutes later, another one pops in. "Just checking," she says, adding, "I am hanging around like a bad smell." You smile and warm up instantly.

It is a slow path to recovery. So slow that with each hour you light a hope in the heart that another day has gone by. Outside the window, the sun is setting and covers the landscape in all hues of grey. But my heart is not grey and the light of hope burns. Always.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Mad Man Or A Boor

What does one do when one encounters a mad dog? Or what does one do when one encounters a man with pre-fixed notions about everything in life, most specifically of women who live alone and give him some importance? The two are equivalent to me and basic intelligence says avoid the paths they tread like plague. But I chose to tackle them head on. I almost got rabbies.

The mad man said [sic] "You sound like a very desperate person. A single and frustrated woman who is looking for anyone to leave a comment on your blog so much so that you wouldn't even spare a spammer." Spammer being, the first comment on the previous post is apparently a spam, an advert for T-shirts. Bummer! I thought it was a handsome Spaniard or Latino, so I had replied "Hi Rodrigo", hoping to take the conversation forward offline. Anyway! All this the mad man found out. I didnt. Sure, I dig comments because I love the spontaneity and intelligence of my friends. And I didn't invite the mad m…

Them Versus Us

Taking off from the Shilpa 'Shitty' issue (I love the surname and that comes from my ever so humorous and intellectual friend Latha or Lotty with love and Angel No. 1 to some :)), here are some reflections on being a north easterner in the capital of the world's largest democracy. Also, Lotty, on a serious note, says I should have a NE angle to what I write. She has a point. I have enough material there, enough to give vent to.

I begin with 'oye Chinky'. When I came to Delhi in the mid 1990s to do a professional course, I wasn't sure what the word meant. Maybe I was too busy paying heed to my new found independence and the certain sense of security -- the fact that I could go to the market even at 10 pm without the peering eyes of the army or the CRPF personnel patrolling the streets and stiffling our existence. It wasn't until my course was over and I got myself a break as a sub editor with the country's premier news agency, that I had my first hand exp…

The Churn

11 am: There I was bang on time at work, perhaps, in a long time. The occasion: a meeting called by the top boss and compulsory attendance required. I am, as always, out of the loop. Reason being there is always so much happening in my life that I am always behind everything. That does not mean I fail to deliver! And unlike some people who are truly into perception management (will delve on it later) and are such repository for all 'inside news', office gossip and politics least interest me. I mean, who cares if someone is quitting for some place else or is having an affair with so and so, or is being transferred unless that person happens to be someone I am generally fond of. Maybe then I would have been privy to some of the classified information ahem... So, was I in for shock today?

The meeting was sombre and had a full house attendance. And then our top boss spilled the beans. Three of the men at the helm were either quitting or were assuming other responsibilities and a ne…