In Contrast
Nimi Kurian
23 April 2008, 09:17Kamala’s pain came unexpectedly. She knew she still had a month to go. And then she felt it again. A long, agonising pain that left her perspiring and clinging to kitchen tap where she was washing up after dinner.
The next one came almost half-an-hour later. This one was worse. She screamed. Shanmugam came running into the kitchen.
“Must you make such a big noise?” he asked, irritated. “You know Amma is watching the serial and doesn’t like to be disturbed.
Kamala looked up and nodded. She could barely speak. Then Shanmugam saw her face – flushed and perspiring. “Kamala! Kamala!” he shouted. “What is the matter? Talk to me.”
“It’s the pain. Its come,” she breathed heavily.
“But…but…” spluttered Shanmugam. “It’s not supposed to be till next month. How can you get pain now?”
“AMMA! AMMA!” he shouted. “Come here quick. Kamala is having pains.”
The old lady waddled into the kitchen.
“How can it be the pain? It’s not time as yet. It must be gas. I warned you not to eat all that dhal and potato. But would you listen? No? And now you have pain…” said the old lady nastily.
Tears filled Kamala’s eyes.
“No Ma. It is that pain. I know. This is different…” her voice faded as she was in the grip of yet another spasm.
“I need to get to the hospital. Please, listen to me,” she pleaded with Shanmugam. “Please, please…”
“No. Don’t over react,” said the old coon, with no sympathy for her daughter-in-law. “What an unholy fuss. And all for nothing. She should have thought of all this at dinner.”
The old lady wandered off, back to the serial, which had resumed after the commercial.
“Thank God I didn’t miss anything,” she mumbled as she sat down. “Shanmugam! Bring me some of the roasted groundnuts,” she shouted towards the kitchen.
Shanmugam scurried out with the groundnuts.
“Ma, she is in pain. What do I do? The doctor is so far from here. And by the time we get there he would have gone home.”
“Oh ho! What a fuss you make! You think she is going to die?”
“Ma!” screamed Shanmugam. “Don’t talk like that. You know its bad luck to talk about death at a time like this. Tell me what to do.”
“Appapah pah! What a lot of fuss. In my time, we just lay down and gave birth and then got up and continued with our work. No noise, no fuss…but now…”
“Ma, tell me what to do?” cried a hysterical Shanmugam.
“Ok! Ok! Stop shouting. Let me think.” After a time, she said, “Take her to that hospital on the other street. They might be able to help.”
“That hospital! Oh No! I can’t. You know its a horrible place. No hygiene, no proper doctors or nurses.” Just then Kamala screamed again. A strangled, hoarse cry.
Shanmugam had no choice. He ran into the kitchen and holding Kamala gently he steered her to the door and out on the street. He had to walk to the hospital as auto rickshaws would not take them such a short distance. Slowly, painfully they made their way through the now darkened lane into the next street. The lights of the hospital showed gloomily in the evening light. It was a dull, unwelcoming place. In daylight you could see the dirt and the squalor. Shanmugam had never set foot in that place before. But now he was left with no choice.
A sour-faced woman met them at the door. Her white uniform was stained with her lunch and all the previous lunches she had eaten.
“Yes, what is the matter?” she barked.
“My wife is in labour.”
“Oh, is that all?” she said. She caught hold of Kamala’s arm and propelled her forward. Shanmugam shuddered when he saw her dark, dirty hands with chipped finger nails. But there was no time for all that, Kamala needed care.
Soon she was in a darkened hall. There were several more beds there. In the light of the 20 watt bulb that swung in the centre of the room, they could discern the shapes of people lying on a couple of beds. Someone groaned. Shanmugam shivered. Kamala was beyond caring. She stared ahead blankly.
The nurse shoved her onto the bed. In the dim light they could not see the dirt or stains on the sheets.
The nurse shouted instructions to a dirty boy who sat in the corner of the room. Shanmugam was shocked to see his long, uncombed hair, his grubby face, his filthy hands and slipperless feet. The boy dragged some apparatus along.
“Not that you idiot!” shouted the nurse. “The drip!”
“Do you need to give her drip?” asked Shanmugam.
“Are you going to give her treatment or should I give her treatment?” she asked churlishly.
Chastised, Shanmugam shrivelled into the background.
When the boy had brought the drip, the nurse shouted out to him to get the doctor.
The doctor when he arrived was but a mere boy.
“Wonder if he is qualified?” thought Shanmugam.
But the doctor seemed confident. He shouted orders the nurse and the boy tried to act efficient. He made Kamala swallow some tablets, he injected her with something else and then he wiped his hand on the bed sheet and walked off.
All night Shanmugam sat on the floor near Kamala’s bed. She seemed to be asleep. He could not hear her breathing, so he assumed she must be fine.
It was close to dawn. He must have dozed off, for he woke up to hear Kamala whimpering.
He peered closely and found that the already dirty sheets were now bloody. Kamala’s saree was soaked in blood. He cried out in alarm and ran for the nurse. She was fast asleep in the reception area. He shook her awake.
“She is bleeding. She is bleeding. Come quickly.”
The nurse rubbed her eyes and said, “Give her coffee…”
Shanmugam lost his temper. He slapped her hard. The nurse was now awake.
“She is bleeding. Do something now!” he screamed.
The boy was despatched to bring the doctor. When he arrived and saw the scene, he was flustered. He had no clue what to do.
“She has to be taken to a bigger hospital,” he said finally.
“Get the ambulance,” said Shanmugam.
“We don’t have one!” said the doctor.
“Then how will I take her?”
The boy was once again sent out to find a suitable vehicle. After almost one agonising hour he returned.
“The vehicle is at the door. Come quickly.”
Shanmugam and the nurse carried Kamala to the door.
Only a garbage van stood there.
“Where is the vehicle?” shouted Shanmugam.
“There! There,” said the imbecile boy, gesturing towards the three-wheel garbage van. “That’s all I could find.”
Left with no choice and with so little time at hand Shanmugam put Kamala into the back of the garbage van and climbed in with her.
By the time they reached the big hospital, Kamala had reached a stage where she would never, ever feel pain or discomfort or love or longing.
Shanmugam screamed aloud into the morning air. His anguish and sorrow unknown to all but himself.
He sat on the steps of the big hospital, his chin on his knees. He moaned softly to himself and crooned.
He was shaken out of his hysterical stupor with the thud of the newspapers as they were thrown onto the porch. He glanced at the screaming headlines:
MEDICAL TOURISM CATCHES UP IN INDIA
Patients from the U.K., U.S., Middle East and many more nations flock to India for medical attention.
A reality well exposed.
An extream view of the state of the art hospitals to the rotten ram shack’s that exists in our towns and cities.Well thought of and written.
— jude · Apr 24, 08:19 · #