places? I have been asked this question so many times.
Let me see: I like taking risks. Within limits, of course. When we
were in Bihar, I have sat across my clinic table and discussed the
condition patients with members of criminal gangs; But outside, I
kept my distance. Vijay, my husband, was foolhardy enough to attend an
all-night wedding in a nearby town once; if there were any criminals
among the guests, he wasn't aware and luckily, nothing untoward
happened. I've pillion-ridden a dozen times from Mathura to Agra, and
a few times to Delhi, when it wasn't very safe to do it; watched
movies (B-Grade Hindi or the latest Bhojpuri) in a theatre where the
owner would warn habitual trouble-makers by firing shots in the air;
and fought off a severe attack of Malaria with a Quinine drip
administered by a nurse.
The second reason for my choosing to work outside the cities must be
the unpredictable newness of cases that pour into the clinic every
day. Unlike the set-pieces that one sees in large, multi-speciality
hospitals of the metros, far-flung areas offer fascinating cases that
challenge, educate and teach something very precious: humility. I thus
got to remove a malarial spleen weighing 4.8 kg, a massive hydrocele
of the vulva in a woman, a calcified deposit the size and shape of a
cup from a scrotum, operated on penile cancers and coaxed half a kilo
of stones from the gut of a six-year old, mistaken a thermometer
inside the urinary bladder of an adolescent schoolgirl for a tumour…
Working without the help of other surgeons, I learnt to use my own
knowledge, common sense and a wide range of surgical books and
journals. I understood that surgery itself is quite simple if you
tackle problems with a clear mind.
For the last three years since we moved to Lonavla in Maharashtra, I
have worked as a general practitioner. I always wanted to try my hand
at it, partly out of curiosity but mainly because I needed more time
for my writing and my other interests. I have varied clients who have
come to this state from various parts of the country in search of
work. So I get to hear Marathi, Kannada, Urdu, the singsong Bihari
type of Hindi and Oriya. Most of my patients can just about afford the
price of medicines at wholesale rates. Some charm me out of that too.
The other day I treated a man for a nasty infection of the skin. He
paid me half the amount that the medicines cost and promised to pay up
the rest 'as soon as he could'. Then he proceeded to advise me: "I see
that you're working alone, without any help. I'll put you in touch
with a very good doctor (he was trained in Bombay, you know) at the
government hospital. He will guide you."
In what way would this doctor guide me? "He's in charge of the medical
stores. He can get you a lot of medicines for free."
I explained why I would not accept the 'guidance' from this good
doctor willing to help me with medicines siphoned off from a hospital
and my patient left, disappointed at my stupidity. I hope he comes
back with the thirty rupees he owes me.
One learns something every day!
