A Day with Arvind is a Day Well Spent

In every family there will be a happy-go-lucky person who is a star attraction among the members. Arvind takes the cake in Samikutty Anna – nay, Meenakka; nay, both - family. I would leave to someone else to name the Mr Serious or stickler guy. I won’t; I wish to be hailed a nice guy.

Arvind spreads around a feel of happiness, joy and gaiety wherever he goes. If there is someone who can make the likes of Rasas and Manis laugh their lungs out, it is Arvind. A visit to a near or distant relative in any city that he happens to be in, is given. More than these, the mainstay of any of his visits is to capture the moments in snaps and share. Yes, one and only in the family. Kudos.

And so, when he telephoned from Ayodhya, “Chittappa Chitti, all of us are coming to your place on 30th for lunch, or dinner, as is convenient,” we were thrilled. “Any special dish you would prefer,” I quipped. “No, just leave it to Chitti. Make it simple. I know she is still on drops after cataract operation of both eyes.” 

“Chittappa,” he added, “just possible we might bring Sreelatha’s parents also; they are likely to come to Bangalore to see us off to US”. “Most welcome,” I reassured. Yes, it was quite some time since I got a first-hand account from Ganapathy (Sreelatha’s father) the ‘treatment miracles’ of his touch-therapist in Coimbatore. According to him, the beneficiaries include one who got rid of his diabetes (read Ganapathy himself), another patient was able to move up and down in twenty minutes while still in his clinic, his right-foot thumb which had come to grinding halt since a few days. In another case... Well, any more of this would turn this piece into a narrative on Ganapathy rather than our protagonist Arvind.

“Chittappa, on way to Sobha Forestview shall I pick up something from Natraj Chole Bhature (of Pahar Ganj fame) from their JP Nagar outlet?” he quipped, never tired of trying out Chole Bhature from various sources (and rating them) – Evergreen, and Bengali Sweets in Delhi, from Sangam and Anands in Bangalore, and from Lucknow and Ayodhya during his recent trip to North. (No doubt, he spent some time with Kichanna Manni, Kannan and others) 

“Arvind, I thought you were coming to our place to have lunch prepared by Chitti. Just drive straight to Sobha Forestview. Okay?”  Yes, sometimes only sentences with a touch of command works with him.

We were delighted to see Sreelatha having near-fully recovered, and back with her infectious smile, Manni stayed above ground with joy having returned to India after months/years of stay in US for green-card processing. Both Darsh and Avyay, with their continued paavam looks, continued with their fulltime warfare – sometimes aiming pillow cushions, sometimes for supremacy for the remote control, sometimes trying to climb the balcony railing giving anxious moments to Sreelatha whom we thought was fully busy in the ladies’ group conversation. Yes, a mother’s eyes.

Manni took charge of Bhagavatam and Narayaneeyam for discussions - with Lalitha making unsuccessful bids to interrupt with her forays into them. Bhanu (Sreelatha’s mother) picked the thread from where Ganapathy had left (now on a short nap after an early morning train journey from Coimbatore) with the touch-therapist story. She herself was undergoing treatment for leg pain – with neither positive nor negative results. “But,” she added, “good, considering that in allopathy we end up paying for both doctor and medicine, here we don’t have to buy medicines.” A silver lining indeed.

It was time for snacks. Lalitha ordered online samosas and bread-pakodas (king size, a la Delhi style) which Zepto delivered even before she had switched off the mobile. She had opted for Cash on Delivery. Noted for future.

Oh, it was past 5.30, and it was drizzling as well. Fear engulfed that they should reach Brigade Gardenia before it turns into a downpour. Arvind ordered for an Innova which could accommodate all. As is wont, the allotted vehicle was different. Arvind and Sreelatha stayed back, sent the others, making sure Ganapathy has his purse to make payment. Arvind ordered another cab and the two left after a few minutes. 

A little disappointed after a day of merriment, we returned to 3195 from Gate No. 3 – to be back to the usual grind. 

Doctor’s Day – Down the Memory Lane

 (Names changed)

Now it is Doctor’s Day in India. That rekindles childhood memories when I dreaded two objects. First, the police, with his untouched-by-body uniform, burly hair all over the body, and the baton. Second, the doctor whom, as a child, I visualized charging towards me with a needle in hand.

Strictly speaking, in my case it should be Grandma’s Day. She was my healer, caregiver and doctor till adolescence. She would ask my mother to pluck from our backyard 2 pieces of leaf-1 (sorry I am not sure of the names), 4 pcs of leaf 2, and 1 of leaf 3. She would crush them, add pepper, jeera, etc., from the kitchen shelf and boil them in say 5 glasses of water till it was reduced to 1 glass. Not always a cooperative patient, she would adopt Kautilya’s method – sama, dana, bheda, danda. This was till I was 10 years. To compensate for having prevailed upon me to drink it, she would give me a teaspoon of honey. And starts the fight between the bitter decoction and honey for supremacy in lingering taste.  

On the rare occasions when Grandma’s prescription did not work she would wait at the front-yard for Manikkam Pillay for his round between 2.30 and 3.30 pm. He was the de facto village Apothecary with an unkempt hair, humming Lord Muruga’s hymns, as he carried the antique leather-bag passed down the generation that now bulges from all directions refusing to buckle all the home-made medicines and bottles into its fold.  

Slowly but steadily from home remedies and Ayurveda villagers migrated to modern medicine. Emerges Compounder Krishna Iyer of our village, hitherto attached to a doctor. He went independent and did well.  One seldom visited a doctor for headache, fever, or stomach pain. He was very good at his job, but temperamentally he had a knack of rubbing the wrong shoulder with almost everybody. Thus, we children felt remedy was worse than the disease. 

At the same time, we were equally hesitant to go to the LMP doctor (Licentiate Medical Practitioner) - also in my village. No sugary syrup or chocolaty Brooklax tablet. For anything and everything he would prescribe a glass of sour buttermilk twice a day. No wonder he came to be known as ‘sour buttermilk doctor’. But I am told, it is very effective.

The epidemic of plague or cholera surfaced. Dr Ramabhadran, MBBS, who enjoyed a better patronage, was summoned. Children would get inoculated first. But no child came forward for fear of the pain. Ten minutes of infructuous wait, and the doctor pulled me gently and said, “See Sundaram here. I know he is a brave boy (he hardly knew me, except as Samikutty’s son). You will watch him take the inoculation without any fuss.”  I succumbed to his flattery and found it difficult not to live up to it. The inoculation was painful but I managed to pretend otherwise. The doc patted on my back, and asked others to line up. What everybody feared would end up a flop turned a total success.

My grandfather, an advocate by profession, befriended Dr Pisharody, a homeopathic physician. Sabarimala trips was the bonding factor. Soon he switched over to homeopathy. One afternoon, with still two hours to go for the evening tiffin, I was frantic to grab something. Couldn’t lay my hands on anything. My mother knew me too well and was equal to the occasion. I spotted the homeopathy pills. Tasted one or two. Sugary. Gulped more. Result? Uninterrupted purging. My Aunt, 8 or 10 years older and more a friend, interrogated me left and right and had me cough up the truth. Once bitten, twice shy. So much for my tryst with homeopathy.

I joined WHO. It was doctors, nay, international experts all the way - on leprosy, tuberculosis, malaria, polio, smallpox - from the 193 member countries, on visits or appointments. Luckily, I was part of the team that managed, inter alia, publication of the in-house journal, I had thus the privilege to interview many of them, including a Nobel Laureate, and publish them. 

No less, my own extended family houses far more than a mere handful of doctors – paediatrics, gastroenterology, urology, anaesthesia, dentistry, plastic surgery – and a few others whose disciplines I am yet to know. Kala, Shoba, Anju and others, please update me on your children.

Yes, service to the suffering humanity is the real worship of God. Long live doctors and their spirit of service.