Anywhere At All.

(10 Jul ’11)

            We were in a rattling, overcrowded bus winding our way on some ghats. A couple of villagers were sick, and throwing up out of the windows with abandon. Undigested rotis and daal splattered the walls of the vehicle. The smell choked us. At the next stop, my classmate, Dr Girish, dug some anti-nausea medicines out of his haversack and offered them to all who felt queasy so that we could have some comfort for next couple of hours. When the bus started its journey again, the middle-aged, pock-cheeked man with the city-tailored shirt-pant asked him what he did for a living. “Doctor?” he confirmed. From then on, Girish fielded questions about dyspepsia, drop foot, infertility, wax coming out of the ears, falling hair, backaches… not just of the fellow-passenger himself, but about his brothers, his sister’s children, wife’s family, everyone. When he ran out of relatives, he graciously permitted another passenger to take his seat and place so he could make full use of the dear Daakter whilst the bus continued to snake its way to its destination. Everybody took their turn. By the end of the journey, without examination, without even being present, several ‘patients’, mostly in proxy, had been diagnosed and the prognosis cheerfully given. One or two were declared ‘back from Yama’ and everyone in the bus was happy at the thought. At the end of the ride, a grateful sample of rural India’s population offered the good doctor a hen, some potatoes, a bagful of peanuts, firewood, and a used but warm scarf.

            Where do you practice, I once asked my doctor friend. “Anywhere at all,” had been the prompt reply. The moment someone finds out a person is a doctor, symptoms come tumbling out. Headaches that have not been cured for years, heartaches that have lingered for months, near-death experiences, even boils in unmentionable areas. Add to that opinions on ancient traditional methods of treatment versus these toxic capsules that one consumes these days and you have a veritable university set up in someone’s dining room at a late night party. Or beside a waterfall at an away from the city picnic spot.

            What’s more, a doctor’s a doctor, no matter what his or her specialization. At dinners and parties, pediatricians are asked questions about skin problems, dermatologists are asked for their opinions on heart ailments. I guess gynaecologists are the only ones spared. Nothing like a free consultation in these days of inflation. And ‘friendly’ advice somehow seems more genuine than ‘professional’ stuff (this is a misquote from someone who actually expressed the view).

            There are advantages. In a car-rally where a couple hadn’t qualified, they managed entry because “we’re doctors, you know, might be useful”. Another time, someone wanted her child babysat for an evening. She cooked up the every useful ‘emergency’ to have her neighbour take care of it for a couple of hours. Policemen at signal seldom fine doctor-drivers because of the life-saving rush they’re in.

            If a doctor is young, then much interest is generated wherever s/he goes. Prime catch. “My niece/nephew is of marriageable age” is the thought that crosses every middle-aged mind when a young doctor’s introduction happens. The thought is often translated into direct questions, too, and sometimes carried forth to visits home, exchange of biodata, etc. There have been cases of people who have actually made formal appointments with doctors, paid the fees, presented themselves as patients just so they could check out the bride(groom)-to-be. The latter didn’t have the tiniest clue of what was happening.

            Doctors are also supposed to have cures for all ills, even social and financial ones. “Please tell my son to study.” “Please tell my mother to stay out of our married life.” “Please tell my husband to change his job.” “Please tell me how to handle my quarrelsome neighbour.” Or “Do you think such and such bonds are a good buy?” “Do you think so and so mutual funds are doing well?” As well as “is this car better than that?” Over a period of time, can’t blame the medics for believing that they really are the experts on defence, finance, foreign affairs, education, sports, arts and culture. For the perks of their practice is to get invitations to events, discussions, conferences, plays, dances, forums, inaugurations, all sorts of functions. It is assumed that they attend them and assimilate every nugget of information received. All intelligence and smartness is incorporated in that word ‘doctor’.

            The flip side is that they cannot, dare not, fall ill. “How can YOU get fever/diarrhea/toothache/nausea?” is a common question, followed by the rider: ‘you’re a doctor’. Or ‘X is a doctor’s daughter, and still she got typhoid/jaundice/pimples/whatever .’

            It isn’t easy for any human being to live up to such expectations. No wonder then, they lived in cocooned worlds quite often, not easily mingling with self-confessed lesser mortals. For if they didn’t, they’d be constantly at work, answering questions about others’ health-issues real or imagined, with no boundaries of time or location, anytime, anywhere.

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