I remember when I was a kid and had an attack of the common cold along with that ubiquitous cough, my mother applied pounds and pounds of Vicks Vaporub on my chest, back and the nostrils making my eyes as watery as the Thames, and 5ml of Waterbury’s compound was sent down my throat, scorching it in the process!
But then times were simple and mother’s TLC (tender loving care), Vicks, Waterbury’s compound and litres of pepper rasam did the trick about 20 years ago and I was back to climbing the guava trees in the orchard in about 2 days.
If the relentless cough did not cease or if I developed a fever, it was the responsibility of my dad to take me to Dr. Shivalingam MBBS, my family doctor. While on the way to the doc’s clinic I would ask my dad to promise me that there wouldn’t be any oosi (injections). My dad did not hesitate at all and he promised me the moment I hurtled this at him!
The doc was a chubby faced veteran, with a playground of a face, humongous ears, nostrils that would permit a bee to enter one way and leave the other without him noticing, and a macrognathic jaw. I sat shivering in the waiting room partly due to the fever and more because of fright. The dingy tiny place felt spooky, reeked of medicines, and was an assault on the olfactory system. When poor me turn came, he ushered me in and asked dad the details.
He then shoved a huge glass thermometer in my gob and felt my pulse, his huge hand almost crushing my radial bone. The thermometer kept falling down as I couldn’t hold it in place with my tongue, and a petit femme nurse attendant came to hold it for me. He yanked out the thermometer after what seemed an eternity and rolled it and read it as 101 deg F.
He took a huge stethoscope the diaphragm of which was the size of my teeny weeny palm and had a tube about 5 feet in length and auscultated my chest. Each time as he banged the instrument rudely onto my chest I would jerk back in my seat. He was listening to something inside and it definitely wasn’t music to his elephantine ears. He then removes the steth from my battered chest and places it on the table and looks menacingly towards me.
Hmmm, oosi pottukiraya? (You have to take an injection). I look at my dad bewildered, and shake my head pitifully and on the verge of tears. My dad has other plans and convinces me that only then the fever will subside, but I agree to it very very reluctantly.
The doc withdraws a mysterious solution from a vial in a glass syringe which was floating in boiling water and jabbed its contents into my butt which was by now bared up to my popliteal fossa and kept ready for the shot, courtesy--the femme nurse attendant.
The needle went through my tender skin, into the gluteus maximus(?) was there for a few eons and then at his whim (or so I thought) he pulled it out and told my dad: Nalla theychi vidunga (kindly rub the area well).By now I am yelling myself hoarse bringing the roof down and my dad is rubbing my gluteal region with all his might! The reason—to prevent a swelling in my "post-e-rear".
My butt was already a sizeable swelling and I guess dad did not want to see an ugly asymmetric behind for the next few days. Next, a prescription was written out as if the doc suffered from dysgraphia and handed over to my dad.
Doc’s fee of rupees 10 being paid, I was instructed to say “Thank You” to the doc, which was the hardest part, as I was still sobbing. Oh yea! Now who would want to thank a man who just outraged your modesty in front of a femme by stripping you and plunged a huge wide bore needle into your back? In between the sobs I manage to mutter a lengthened, “Thaan…huhuh…K…huhuhh..Y..huhuhh..Ou…
Sadistic doc never left me at that, he tormented me further by saying that he couldn’t hear it well. I cling to my dad’s leg and look upwards at his face, my own countenance seemed to say: “Is the doc deaf or what?” Anyway, I repeat it once again, this time in a stubborn voice.
Father and son then trudged out of his clinic diligently with the prescription in my hand towards the chemist, who was 2 buildings away. The medicines mostly consisted of a cough syrup and a few capsules. Medicines bought, and then dad carries me home. One of the few privileges of being sick is to be ferried by dad on his arms up and down the doc’s place.
My mom would be sitting on the verandah eagerly awaiting us. “Doctor enna sonnaru", she would ask my dad. (What did the doc say). “Onnum illa chumma saadhaarana chali dhaan”,my dad replies. (nothing to worry just the common cold).
My mom would then turn to me, arms akimbo and say, “ Naan un kitta ethanai thadava sollirukken, andha koyya marathula yeraadheynnu”. (How many times did I tell you not to climb those guava trees). Holy cow!!! Was this the start of another lecture? But my mom decides to spare me, as I was a patient then.
Then I would lament the whole of the next few hours to my mom about how dad went back on his promise and the injection story. My dad kept smiling all the time. For the beleaguered me, I thought that was an evil smile and he wanted to take revenge on me for my pranks!!! Meanwhile my brother is having a ball of a time seeing me cry. How he loved it!
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