094 It’s all in the mind : The Doctor’s waiting room

The Doctor’s waiting room

It was a new place,
It was raining heavily,
With the winds blowing crazily,
We took shelter in front of the steps of a big church at Worli,
Filled with unfamiliar faces,
Drenched and shivering,
You couldn’t breathe,
Your wheezing increased,
And we tried to shield you with the umbrella,
As you inhaled your puffs from the inhaler,
The umbrella curling upward with the strong winds,
Then we shielded you with our body,
I was scared and cold,
But my sister stood strong and collected,
The rains stopped and we headed back to the Guest room.

You stayed indoors feeling unwell,
Time was running short,
With lots to be done,
My sister bought my bucket and the mug,
She shopped and got all the little things I might need staying in a hostel,
I could see your temper flaring with the helplessness in being unwell,
With too many unknowns,
My sister was at the receiving end of your temper,
Picking up heavy responsibilities.

She was just a teenager herself,
She was new to the place too,
But she didn’t loose her cool even once,
She made me ride the local bus,
From Worli to Peddar Road in Bombay,
Then back from Peddar Road to Worli,
Coaching me the landmarks of Haji Ali, the circle and Jaslok Hospital,
Teaching me the exact spot where I should get down for my college,
We rode back and forth many times,
Until she was confident that I could go on my own.

Then we went to a doctor’s place,
In a big building,
And a posh clean office,
We wrote your name in their registration sheet,
We saw the sign of consultancy fee as we waited,
A nominal fee but huge for us,
And you said it isn’t like you are sick sick,
You are already feeling better and we don’t have much time,
And we walked off the Doctor’s waiting room,
We all knew why you wanted to leave,
I didn’t see many patients in front of us,
We could have waited,
But we didn’t.

You left me in the midst of unknows,
With the strength that I have to study, no matter what,
Bidding your goodbye from the chugging train,
With very few words but a look that said more,
Crossing the mountains in the swaying bus,
Taking you back home,
And I started my journey to make myself.

~The End~

An Experimental attempt to put thoughts in writing by Monica Ingudam.