A Tale of NiP and Doctor
— NiP —
He hated hospitals. But then, looking around at the luxe beige velvet interiors, the buttery walnut couch and a collection of tan lotus Picchwai paintings bringing the wall in front of him alive — Nilay wondered what was there to hate about this place?
Dr. Shravan’s clinic. Not a hospital. But still used for those same things. His eyes landed on the paper bag beside him — ECGs, dopplers, lipids, stress tests… Nilay stopped thinking. The last two days had been a whirlwind and he had gone with the flow, without giving himself time to think. Now, as he sat in the waiting lounge, with only one other couple occupying the smaller couch opposite him, the man old enough to be his grandfather, looking like he was breathing his last with his wife playing Candy Crush on silent, Nilay wondered where life was taking him. Moreover, where his body was taking him.
He quietened his thoughts and concentrated on the tick of his heart. He had done this every hour since the mini angina. Tried to identify what was so wrong about it at 41 years old that it had given him a world of pains with these tests, scares and a looming sword of a CABG. He huffed. In two days, he knew the full form of CABG and a host of other heart-related procedures. Coronary Artery Bypass Graft. An open-heart surgery where they pulled an artery from your leg or arm and connected it across your heart. A shudder rolled down his back. He had never been one to shudder, or even twitch at the sight of a crisis.
At 16, he had stepped out of Baroda Express and onto Bombay Central Terminus, the city just waking up to a cold winter morning. He had walked out of the station with a canvas bag of his clothes and a box of his mother’s only memory, and kept going. Never looked back.
“Mr. Patel?”
He glanced up. The lady… she wasn't a nurse, was she? He gleaned her from top to bottom. She appeared polished in a brown silk blouse with ruffles down her neck. Last season. Her pantsuit was just as glossy, but as black as her thick onyx hair. Not enough contrast. A creamy white pair of bottoms would have done the deed, Nilay opined. His expertise was focused on women’s luxury Indian wear but he understood bodies and cuts with any kind of clothing. Especially a woman’s. Her curvy pear-shaped body was not doing justice to this outfit. The loose fit of her blouse might be to hide her broader lower half and scream professional doctor’s assistant but it did not flatter her shape. At all.
“…do you have your ECG?” Her loud question snapped him out. Nilay was doused in the reality of this moment. His heart beat hard, reminding him why he was here. And he trailed his eyes up to hers. She was looking at him with ill-concealed disdain.
“When will Dr. Shravan be here?” He hardened his voice.
Her wing-shaped eyebrows narrowed. They stood out on the spotless creamy skin of her face. But they weren’t microbladed. A shame. Thicker brows would have made the roundness in her cheeks settle, brought out the light brown rims in her eyes.
“There’s a PVR right opposite where they are running multiple shows at,” she glanced at the clock above him, “9 am. You may step out and stare. Return when you are ready.”
The sneer from her bow-shaped lips was fair, but the way she looked at him then — like she was sorry for him, made him sit back. Disdain, he did. Pity, he did not.
Nilay folded his arms across his chest, feeling the buttons of his silk shirt strain. They were designed to withstand the range of motion of his arms, the fabric stretching snugly but not indecently. He knew how well they could take the strain. His heart, though… he wasn’t sure anymore. He gave it an ear. It was not thudding now. Neither was it skipping beats. In fact, it was running on a smooth, even pace. If they took an ECG now, everything would come out normal.
The woman in front of him cocked her head, pitying him even more. And he crossed one leg across the other knee, staring up at her with his flirtiest expression — “Which shows are on?”
She blinked.
“If you have a preference, we can go together.”
To make it worse, he pulled out his phone and opened his BookMyShow app. Why he had it in the first place was a puzzle in itself because all his appointments and events were booked by one of his five assistants.
“Anu Madam?” The woman called out softly behind her back. No reaction, no anger, no disdain. The pity was even stronger now, her eyes still on him.
“Yes?”
“Please send in Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal first.”
Nilay stared unaffected as the assistant turned gracefully on her heels and walked through the doors leading into the inner sanctum of Dr. Shravan’s office. He followed her exit with his eyes, the glossy dark waves not even bouncing with her walk. Her ample hips did not even move like a woman’s when she walked. A robot.
Nilay got to his feet and walked to the reception desk.
“Madam?”
The woman was young, much younger than him, and her name tag read Anu S.
“How can I help you, Mr. Patel?” She smiled at him, a little tightly than she had when he had come in.
“When will Dr. Shravan be here? I have been waiting for the last,” he checked his watch, “Hour and a half.”
“I am sorry to inform you that Dr. Shravan had to fly out to Pune for an emergency. His fellow, Dr. Kapadia will be seeing you.”
“Then where is Dr. Kapadia?” He asked, outraged, but keeping it in check.Not good for the heart. Not good for the heart.
“Dr. Kapadia is in.”
