The Bangalore Bacteria and Virus Association shifted base last month. They are now headquartered somewhere near my house. Word must have spread in their community that I had relocated and for the first time in my life, there was one living creature that took an instant liking towards me, quite like love at first sight. The Big V is in love with me and V is faithful till date. He is always with me in some form or the other - fever, cough, cold, upset stomach, headache... most times all of them together.
With my standard 'To Hell With You' demeanor, I turned and left. Just two buildings away there was another clinic just as promising in size, shape and looks as the earlier one, with an upmarket pharmacy right next to it. This had to be it. But this one didn't open on Sunday AT ALL! Exasperated I decided to try my luck in another block.
I found another 'sister concern/clinic' there, with a guard at the gate busy on his mobile phone. With a lot of hope I looked at him and finally, the Gods smiled at me. He ushered me in with a wave and I happily walked in. The ground floor had a small red light on top of the entrance gate. Uh... they don't watch bollywood movies at all I guess otherwise they would know that these hideous lights always get installed outside Operation Theatres. This is basic stuff, from Nirupa Roy's umpteen surgeries in films (I love the lady!).
As I went past the gate I was a little surprised to see another gate quite similar to the first one. Well.. what kind of architect did they hire? Any way! As I went past this gate, a voice called out to me saying, "No shoes allowed beyond this point madam."
"What?" I certainly didn't get that. Why do I have to take off my shoes to see a General Physician? I turned around to see a harassed looking couple standing there. Apparently the gentleman had made that 'no shoes' statement. I looked at him puzzled. And then I turned around to see that I was actually right outside an Operation Theatre! I looked at the man again (who, as I had guessed by now, was waiting anxiously outside the OT while a relative/friend was undergoing an operation somewhere inside that very door) and asked him quite sheepishly, where could I meet a doc for a mere sore throat and fever. The man duly informed me that OPD was on the second floor, accessible by a lift at the back.
This is where I lost all hope of finding sense that evening. Why on earth would a clinic have its Operation Theatres on the ground floor as you enter and it's reception and Out Patient Department on the second floor? As you have already guessed, OPD was closed on Sunday. They would gladly operate upon me on Sunday and remove my tonsils if I wished to go ahead but there was no doc to check my temperature and prescribe an antibiotic.
I tried three more clinics in this block with the same result.
When V made his presence felt for the first time, my reaction was to ignore him. I am not the kind to give any 'bhav' during initial days of courtship. Not even simple home remedies (not that he would have been deterred by it!). No adrak ki chai, more so because there is never any adrak or milk at home when I need adrak-wali chai; no steam inhalation, no piling on warm clothes (I had left all of it in Delhi - who thought I would need them here!). For more effective home remedies I tried reaching out to some key members of my F&F community. Family and Friends, I mean. As luck would have it, Mom was holidaying in South East Asia and the 'relevant' friend was in Dubai. So there we were, me and V, with just a fictitious cup of adrak ki chai between us. V doesn't like being ignored. So he decided to turn on his charm and then things got serious between us. I gave in. The fever was unrelenting and V finally had me all to himself.
After a week of trying self medication (antibiotic, anti-allergic, paracetamol, B-complex and cough syrup - standard stuff that any doc would prescribe under normal circumstances), I realized that this Virus was not going anywhere. It was time to take a hit on my ego and accept that all my friends, who were insisting I go meet a doc, were right. Not that I actually accepted it. I merely gave in to their demand.
With a heavy heart (because there was no hope of meeting a good looking doc in these southern provinces), I set out one evening, about half an hour after popping a paracetamol, to finally meet a doc.
My first stop was at the nearby clinic that looks (and feels) almost like a shopping mall. I swear I had even got an insert in TOI last month promising great service, discounts and stuff like that. Walk in and walk out surgery kind of service! The paper on which this pamphlet was printed was top class glossy stuff with a nice pic of a happy healthy family on top. This was my kinda place - my safest bet. I mean, I have the distinction of fainting in every hospital I have visited - during visiting hours to meet ailing relatives. I have never made an attempt to go these ghastly places for any tests, except the time one of the banks I worked for insisted on a full check up during the hiring process. Naturally the job meant a lot to me and I went through the drill without any mishap but I had already fainted in that particular hospital on an earlier visit. So we were square! There is a nice path lab near my place in Delhi and they send a nice old man home to take blood whenever required. And naturally I keep my eyes tightly shut throughout the procedure. That takes care of most situations.
Coming back to Clinic No. 1 - I was pleasantly surprised when I reached there cause there was ample parking space available. Now you wouldn't possibly understand the joy of finding a parking spot in Bangalore unless you actually live here. For Delhities, it's like finding a spot in Chandni Chowk and for Bombayites... ummm... just imagine the worst case scenario please. Feeling like the 'Queen of All I Survey' I parked my car using more space than my modest hatch back needs. As I entered the main hall I was even more pleasantly surprised to see that the place was not swarming with the sick. Aha! They must be expensive.. No wonder there aren't too many people around. Good!
Wait a minute. There wasn't ANYONE around! What was happening here? After a few agonizing minutes of waiting in an empty hall, a guard walked in from the main entrance, coming through the same parking lot I had parked my car in. "What are you doing here madam?", he said. Excuse me! Who did he think he was and what the hell was he saying? Why would any one visit a clinic? Naturally to see a doc. I told him just as much. He said what every cab-wala, auto-wala, shopkeeper and guard says in Bangalore when he doesn't understand a word of what I have said, "Yes madam!".
"Don't Yes Madam me. I said I want to see a doc. A General Physician."
"Doctor comes only on appointment no madam."
"OK. Then give me an appointment now."
"Appointment can be given only by the receptionist no madam."
"OK. Then take me to the receptionist."
"Receptionist has left no madam."
Losing my temper a bit as I usually do when faced with ridiculous situations, I screamed at him,"So that's not my problem! I wanna meet a doctor. NOW!"
"Oh! But today is Sunday no madam. Clinic closes at 1pm madam."
By now I was ready to murder the chap but I have a soft spot for security guards. Most of them in Delhi hail from Bihar. And Bihar & Biharis are sacred! That saved him - the soft spot. He was in no way related to my state.
"So what do I do now? I am extremely unwell and need to see a doctor right away!"
He looked at me - up and down, thinking if you look this gorgeous, you are not that unwell!
I mean I would in all my distorted sense of vanity like to BELIEVE that this is what he thought. In reality he must have cursed bloody unruly North Indians under his breath because I was almost screaming at him by then, but let's not go there. My version is better you see. The gorgeous one.
"Come tomorrow madam."
"I shall go to another clinic. This locality is full of them."
With a heavy heart (because there was no hope of meeting a good looking doc in these southern provinces), I set out one evening, about half an hour after popping a paracetamol, to finally meet a doc.
My first stop was at the nearby clinic that looks (and feels) almost like a shopping mall. I swear I had even got an insert in TOI last month promising great service, discounts and stuff like that. Walk in and walk out surgery kind of service! The paper on which this pamphlet was printed was top class glossy stuff with a nice pic of a happy healthy family on top. This was my kinda place - my safest bet. I mean, I have the distinction of fainting in every hospital I have visited - during visiting hours to meet ailing relatives. I have never made an attempt to go these ghastly places for any tests, except the time one of the banks I worked for insisted on a full check up during the hiring process. Naturally the job meant a lot to me and I went through the drill without any mishap but I had already fainted in that particular hospital on an earlier visit. So we were square! There is a nice path lab near my place in Delhi and they send a nice old man home to take blood whenever required. And naturally I keep my eyes tightly shut throughout the procedure. That takes care of most situations.
Coming back to Clinic No. 1 - I was pleasantly surprised when I reached there cause there was ample parking space available. Now you wouldn't possibly understand the joy of finding a parking spot in Bangalore unless you actually live here. For Delhities, it's like finding a spot in Chandni Chowk and for Bombayites... ummm... just imagine the worst case scenario please. Feeling like the 'Queen of All I Survey' I parked my car using more space than my modest hatch back needs. As I entered the main hall I was even more pleasantly surprised to see that the place was not swarming with the sick. Aha! They must be expensive.. No wonder there aren't too many people around. Good!
Wait a minute. There wasn't ANYONE around! What was happening here? After a few agonizing minutes of waiting in an empty hall, a guard walked in from the main entrance, coming through the same parking lot I had parked my car in. "What are you doing here madam?", he said. Excuse me! Who did he think he was and what the hell was he saying? Why would any one visit a clinic? Naturally to see a doc. I told him just as much. He said what every cab-wala, auto-wala, shopkeeper and guard says in Bangalore when he doesn't understand a word of what I have said, "Yes madam!".
"Don't Yes Madam me. I said I want to see a doc. A General Physician."
"Doctor comes only on appointment no madam."
"OK. Then give me an appointment now."
"Appointment can be given only by the receptionist no madam."
"OK. Then take me to the receptionist."
"Receptionist has left no madam."
Losing my temper a bit as I usually do when faced with ridiculous situations, I screamed at him,"So that's not my problem! I wanna meet a doctor. NOW!"
"Oh! But today is Sunday no madam. Clinic closes at 1pm madam."
By now I was ready to murder the chap but I have a soft spot for security guards. Most of them in Delhi hail from Bihar. And Bihar & Biharis are sacred! That saved him - the soft spot. He was in no way related to my state.
"So what do I do now? I am extremely unwell and need to see a doctor right away!"
He looked at me - up and down, thinking if you look this gorgeous, you are not that unwell!
I mean I would in all my distorted sense of vanity like to BELIEVE that this is what he thought. In reality he must have cursed bloody unruly North Indians under his breath because I was almost screaming at him by then, but let's not go there. My version is better you see. The gorgeous one.
"Come tomorrow madam."
"I shall go to another clinic. This locality is full of them."
With my standard 'To Hell With You' demeanor, I turned and left. Just two buildings away there was another clinic just as promising in size, shape and looks as the earlier one, with an upmarket pharmacy right next to it. This had to be it. But this one didn't open on Sunday AT ALL! Exasperated I decided to try my luck in another block.
I found another 'sister concern/clinic' there, with a guard at the gate busy on his mobile phone. With a lot of hope I looked at him and finally, the Gods smiled at me. He ushered me in with a wave and I happily walked in. The ground floor had a small red light on top of the entrance gate. Uh... they don't watch bollywood movies at all I guess otherwise they would know that these hideous lights always get installed outside Operation Theatres. This is basic stuff, from Nirupa Roy's umpteen surgeries in films (I love the lady!).
As I went past the gate I was a little surprised to see another gate quite similar to the first one. Well.. what kind of architect did they hire? Any way! As I went past this gate, a voice called out to me saying, "No shoes allowed beyond this point madam."
"What?" I certainly didn't get that. Why do I have to take off my shoes to see a General Physician? I turned around to see a harassed looking couple standing there. Apparently the gentleman had made that 'no shoes' statement. I looked at him puzzled. And then I turned around to see that I was actually right outside an Operation Theatre! I looked at the man again (who, as I had guessed by now, was waiting anxiously outside the OT while a relative/friend was undergoing an operation somewhere inside that very door) and asked him quite sheepishly, where could I meet a doc for a mere sore throat and fever. The man duly informed me that OPD was on the second floor, accessible by a lift at the back.
This is where I lost all hope of finding sense that evening. Why on earth would a clinic have its Operation Theatres on the ground floor as you enter and it's reception and Out Patient Department on the second floor? As you have already guessed, OPD was closed on Sunday. They would gladly operate upon me on Sunday and remove my tonsils if I wished to go ahead but there was no doc to check my temperature and prescribe an antibiotic.
I tried three more clinics in this block with the same result.
By now the poor paracetamol I had taken gave up and Big V's magic was working again. I decided to give up my quest there, came back home and crawled into bed.
I did manage to meet a doc three days after this fateful Sunday and there is nothing dramatic that happened. The doc was nothing like my uber cool dentist in Delhi with an upmarket Khan Market address. And all he did was give me a different antibiotic, a different anti-allergic and a different cough syrup. I knew Big V had won. There was nothing one could do but wait for V to have mercy on me, which slowly after another week, he did, leaving me with a new 'Bangalorean' lesson - This is no place to fall ill. Next time, I am taking the first flight to Delhi. That's it!
I did manage to meet a doc three days after this fateful Sunday and there is nothing dramatic that happened. The doc was nothing like my uber cool dentist in Delhi with an upmarket Khan Market address. And all he did was give me a different antibiotic, a different anti-allergic and a different cough syrup. I knew Big V had won. There was nothing one could do but wait for V to have mercy on me, which slowly after another week, he did, leaving me with a new 'Bangalorean' lesson - This is no place to fall ill. Next time, I am taking the first flight to Delhi. That's it!
No comments:
Post a Comment