...........or atleast that's what I thought it was. It was again a dull Tuesday Morning and I was waiting to get X-rayed, I was getting a few tests done and one of the tests included this one. Just a few minutes ago I just had my blood samples collected in three different tubes at which time I asked the lady "Will it hurt a lot?" and I am very sure she laughed behind her surgical mask. After the blood samples, she pushed a small plastic container on the wooden desk towards me and asked me to get it filled with my watery waste and I promise there is nothing more humiliating than carrying the filled container all the way towards the end of hallway with people on either side.
As I sat waiting to be called inside the X-ray Room, I heard a low dry cough and when I looked to my left there was an old man about 70 years or more, his skin was drooping, especially his cheeks. The drooping and the skin of his colour reminded me of a South Indian sweet dish. He was of average height, about 5 and half feet tall and had jet black hair and there were very few evenly placed white hair just above his forehead which stretched till his left earlobe which looked like the strings of a guitar. He was wearing a silver coloured watch dial with the same coloured metal belt which didn't look heavy. He kept adjusting the sliding watch every now and then.by pulling it up his right hand. He wore a light ash coloured shirt which was neatly pressed and a black cotton pant.
I was waiting for the X-ray to get over and rush to my Office since it was already getting late. Someone had already occupied the X-Ray room and was undergoing a series of tests, I restlessly glanced to the right at the room every now and then and the time stood still and ceased to go any further. As I looked to my left, the old man's head was down, I assumed he dozed off but he was trying and concentrating to read the words "X-Ray Report" and "Vijaya Diagnostic Centre". He then pulled out his X-ray report and was looking at it with his bare eyes. I think he was trying to figure out what the report said but the dim orange light in the hallway was making it difficult for him to see anything except the blacks all over. Suddenly his wife called him from a distance pointing at the lift and asking him to come up. As the old man was trying to get up, the nurse beside his wife asked him stay since it was only the wife who needed to be diagnosed. He sat back and started looking back at his reports. All this time the clock ticked from 9:15 am to 9:20 am.
I was looking at my war scar, the injection prick to my right arm with so much delight that would remind of a general in a battlefield who sacrificed 5000 of his men and won the battle and had bloody scars all over his body. The receptionist at the desk called out Shyamal A , I thanked the gods for just mispronouncing my initials and not my name, which by this time became less of a mispronunciation and more of a joke among my friends. I stood up presuming my name had been called. The old man towards my left stood up as well but slowly. By this time, I already approached the desk and stretched my hand asking for the report. The lady looked at me and asked "Is your age 73?" in Telugu. The old man went ahead and collected the report from the lady. It took some time for me to realize that the old man's name and my name were the same. We both retired back to our seats, we then looked at each other and smiled. The smile on old man's face was completely genuine and I smiled because of the embarrassment.
Soon after, I was called into the X-Ray Room. When I came out, The old man and his wife were also walking out. I went out and then remembered that I forgot my bag. As I went back inside the old man was still walking down the stairs slowly but cautiously. When I finally came outside the old man already left.
If that was a glimpse into my future, by the long of list of tests he underwent, I would be a diabetic, with a weak heart and every disease known to man at that age and popping pills everytime I eat something. But on the positive side, I would have an awesome hairdo with no glasses. What more could I ask at 72?
As I sat waiting to be called inside the X-ray Room, I heard a low dry cough and when I looked to my left there was an old man about 70 years or more, his skin was drooping, especially his cheeks. The drooping and the skin of his colour reminded me of a South Indian sweet dish. He was of average height, about 5 and half feet tall and had jet black hair and there were very few evenly placed white hair just above his forehead which stretched till his left earlobe which looked like the strings of a guitar. He was wearing a silver coloured watch dial with the same coloured metal belt which didn't look heavy. He kept adjusting the sliding watch every now and then.by pulling it up his right hand. He wore a light ash coloured shirt which was neatly pressed and a black cotton pant.
I was waiting for the X-ray to get over and rush to my Office since it was already getting late. Someone had already occupied the X-Ray room and was undergoing a series of tests, I restlessly glanced to the right at the room every now and then and the time stood still and ceased to go any further. As I looked to my left, the old man's head was down, I assumed he dozed off but he was trying and concentrating to read the words "X-Ray Report" and "Vijaya Diagnostic Centre". He then pulled out his X-ray report and was looking at it with his bare eyes. I think he was trying to figure out what the report said but the dim orange light in the hallway was making it difficult for him to see anything except the blacks all over. Suddenly his wife called him from a distance pointing at the lift and asking him to come up. As the old man was trying to get up, the nurse beside his wife asked him stay since it was only the wife who needed to be diagnosed. He sat back and started looking back at his reports. All this time the clock ticked from 9:15 am to 9:20 am.
I was looking at my war scar, the injection prick to my right arm with so much delight that would remind of a general in a battlefield who sacrificed 5000 of his men and won the battle and had bloody scars all over his body. The receptionist at the desk called out Shyamal A , I thanked the gods for just mispronouncing my initials and not my name, which by this time became less of a mispronunciation and more of a joke among my friends. I stood up presuming my name had been called. The old man towards my left stood up as well but slowly. By this time, I already approached the desk and stretched my hand asking for the report. The lady looked at me and asked "Is your age 73?" in Telugu. The old man went ahead and collected the report from the lady. It took some time for me to realize that the old man's name and my name were the same. We both retired back to our seats, we then looked at each other and smiled. The smile on old man's face was completely genuine and I smiled because of the embarrassment.
Soon after, I was called into the X-Ray Room. When I came out, The old man and his wife were also walking out. I went out and then remembered that I forgot my bag. As I went back inside the old man was still walking down the stairs slowly but cautiously. When I finally came outside the old man already left.
If that was a glimpse into my future, by the long of list of tests he underwent, I would be a diabetic, with a weak heart and every disease known to man at that age and popping pills everytime I eat something. But on the positive side, I would have an awesome hairdo with no glasses. What more could I ask at 72?
Good Blog Bro !
ReplyDeleteThanks madhu
Deletehahahhaa...You could have gone to the nearby cafe to see the old man sipping tea with VICTORY in hands.
ReplyDelete