A day out at the hospital

April 13th last year, I thought, would be a birthday I would not easily forget. I wouldn't be remembering it for the happy times I had, rather for the spur-of-the-moment tantrum which was a build up of the happenings in the preceding days. The final nail in the coffin came in the guise of a horrendous bakkhu cloth piece my mother gifted four hours before it struck midnight. When people called me up that night, they were greeted by a mechanical tone that repeated "The number you are calling has been switched off".

April 13th this year proved me wrong. At 6:30 am, a family of three walked hand in hand to the rickshaw stand. One of them was sleep deprived, for the football hangover was visible in her heavy eye-bags that had formed overnight. An early morning appointment at a hospital in the southern part of the city was the main agenda for the day. Birthday or no birthday. 

An hour and a half later, we were at the venue. As we stood in a queue, waiting for the receptionist to arrive, the old man in front of me calmly filled out his registration form. As curious as I was to know his background, I glanced at his name and silently questioned myself, could he be the Ramachandra Guha? The famous historian that I knew of? A second peek, much later, revealed that he was but Mr. Ramakant Gupta. The minutes that passed between confirming his identity, I was in awe of his every move, his calm personality. I guess this is what stereotyping does to you. Back to my parents, fifteen minutes later they were handed a uniform each and this is where I say this birthday shall forever be etched in my mind.

A conscious Mrs. Bhutia

You see, if you've been brought up in a small society and the only time you've see your mother in pants is in the black and white pictures of a family album that has silver fish written all over it, you will understand how I must have felt today. Dad was the first to pop out of the changing room. Compared to Mr. Gupta's petite stature, dad looked rather heavy. Although a height and weight check minutes later confirmed that 73 kilograms for a 171 cm frame wasn't bad after all. As Mrs. Bhutia stepped inside the waiting lounge, I could see how conscious she was, therefore, I chose to behave in a matter-of-fact manner. My mother in pants was something I would have hoped to see during family vacations like the one to Thailand. Not in a hospital, and definitely not in a track suit. It also made me realize that she is but a tiny woman. Her frame being at par with Mr. Gupta. I wondered how could she have ever been the shotput champion back in school? And then imagined her carrying one. "Impossible", I thought. Mrs. Gupta on the other hand seemed rather confident in her new set of clothes.

The next few hours I dozed on and off. Every two minutes I saw my dad and mum take turns in making guest appearances in the lounge. After a point, I completely phased out. There was this one moment though when I woke up for a split second to find an African family surrounding me, and then it was pitch black again. I managed to take some pictures of this historic moment while catching up on breakfast. The hospital staff must have labelled me a weirdo for finding a photographic moment in something as mundane as a medical check up. This picture was going to make up for the absence of my sister, brother, cousins and those who would have loved to be a part of it but couldn't. I may not have had an adventurous day (by definition) but it still was a memorable one. Cheers.