leggings and more

Leggings and More

My clinic is on one of the widest roads in Vellore, though you would not realize that if you come there in the mornings. There is a HUGE crowd lining both sides of the road. No, they are not waiting for me---- there is a market lining the road where you can buy everything from meat and fish to vegetables T shirts underclothes and a variety of “fancy items” (bangles, clips, hair accessories.)

One day the crowd was larger than usual and I was not able to proceed further. A lot of women seemed to be running around yelling and screaming. I honked a few times. It was a futile exercise. I don’t even think the horn could be heard above the cacophony. Finally I got out of the car. I decided to abandon the car, walk the rest of the way and pick up the car in the evening.

As I neared the crowd, I realized what was going on. Two men were selling 10 pairs of printed cotton –lycra leggings for the princely um of Rs. 500. There was no choice, you just had to accept whatever was given to you , pay the money and leave. Women were borrowing money from each other, they were sharing the leggings, they were asking the market vendors for a loan

I did not think you could go far wrong with Rs. 500 so I also bought a collection. I then went back to the car to put the leggings inside.

Suddenly there was a lot of noise and chaos. I locked myself in the car. Two men had arrived with the police in a official van. The men abandoned the leggings and ran. The women dispersed helter-skelter. I pushed the leggings under the seat.

A police man came to the car.

“Why are you parked here?”

I looked pathetically at him, ‘’I cannot proceed further. My clinic is that blue building. See there. What is happening?”

Apparently the leggings were being transported in a truck in cartons from the factory. The driver decided to sleep for a while in the night on the side of the road. Thieves ran away with half the  cartons. That was what they were selling on the road. The irate owners of the factory had located them and brought the police. (the police had not deduced this themselves or found the thieves). The women ran away with whatever they had. A few managed to escape without paying.

The leggings were of really good quality. I wore them when I travelled the following week.

“Be careful,” said my daughter, “ they might catch at the security in the airport and say take them  off! ----after all they are  stolen leggings!

masala flights

Masala Flights

I have to fly back from Hyderabad (where my husband lives) every Monday after spending the weekend there. This makes for a stressful life, as I have to reach work in Vellore three hours from the  airport  by 10 Am when my first appointment for the day is scheduled.

Spice Jet has practically ALL the early morning slots. The departure to Chennai is at 5:50 AM. Followed by departures to Thirupathy, Bangalore, Coimbatore – you name it.  I reached the airport at the ungodly hour of 4:15 Am only to find that the queue for check in was about 50 people long.

“What happened?” I asked the man in front of me “Why are the counters all closed?”

“They sent a SMS saying the flight is an hour late. I didn’t see it” said the man sighing in resignation, “I will  ever reach Chennai, I have a meeting with a client—“

I pulled out my cell phone. Sure enough in the night they had sent a message announcing a one hour delay. I must have been asleep. After all to make it  “an hour before departure” I have to get up at 3 AM.

“So they are not opening the  counters?”

“There is one counter open” said the man.

Sure enough the “web check in and special needs” counter was open. There was a long line there too. Two pregnant ladies, a family with two children and two “aged” on wheel chairs. (That is another scam. You are allowed a wheel chair if you are a “senior citizen”. It helps you cut lines and reach and board the plane fast. I have seen a few of them bounding up the plane stairs after reaching the tarmac at a speed that would put non wheel chair bound passengers to shame. The accompanying family gets to cut the line too. My children once actually suggested that I am now old enough to opt for the wheelchair)!

After about 10 minutes everyone started shouting at the man manning the counter. After a few minutes three more arrived and the queue moved briskly.

While waiting in the airport lounge , I discovered that all the flights were taking off except the one to Chennai. It was still “delayed.” The spice Jet staff were talking and laughing. They all seemed in a “touchy feely flirty” unprofessional party mode, which added to everyone’s irritation.

The passengers started to vociferously agitate, so we were taken to the plane and loaded. The aircraft inspired no confidence at all. It was small with propellers outside and peeling paint. It looked like it could do with a good wash.

 Once they had managed to confine us on board there was no sign of further activity.

“The pilot has not come “ said the person next to me.

I craned my neck and realized he was right. The empty cockpit was partially visible.

Suddenly a young man with a large bag in pilot’s uniform and aviator glasses entered. He sat in a seat (obviously an  off duty pilot) and started arguing about his large bag. It had not been checked in, it was “oversized” and possibly heavy. If he hauled it up it looked like the overhead bin would come crashing down.

Airhostess started flirting with him. He removed his glasses, his eyes were bleary and blood shot. She took the bag to the hold  and the overhead bins were safe. Any way, we were safe too, he was not going to fly us.

Everyone was jabbering loudly on cell phones informing offices pickups, friends, family about uncertain arrival times. (Waiting in airport parking is prohibitively expensive)!

Twenty minutes after the scheduled “late “ departure time the portly senior pilot arrived and entered the cockpit.

We were ready to take off.

Haven’t pilots heard of alarm clocks?

If we passengers come late to the airport we are not allowed to board the flight!

On the other hand since none of the passengers (except aviator glasses ) is licensed to fly, the pilot (monarch of all he surveys) can hold a planeload of irate passengers to ransom!

the God-Man

The God –Man

I started my first clinic in the center of town, the down town if you will.  (I am not there anymore). It was an area populated by daily wage earners, small (very small) businessmen and drunkards. I could not stay there after 6 pm as that was when the drinking and debauchery started. The friendly pharmacist down the road turned his shop into a video parlour  after 6 pm and showed movies. He also sold some marijuana on the side. To add to my woes, the two main political parties were evenly represented there. They got into drunken brawls and flung aerated pop bottles at each other. The police did not come even if you called.

During the day the area was peaceful and quiet. It was only at dusk that its character changed

 A fourteen year old boy was brought one day. His drunken father had flung a brick at him. There was a large gash on his head and blood was spurting everywhere. The boys eyes were rolling up and he made strange guttural sounds.

“You need to go to a big hospital. He needs a CT scan. I don’t tackle emergencies like this.“

The leaders of the two political parties were milling around.

“Do something,” they said, “otherwise why are you here?”

Perhaps because I do a 9-5 consultation practice and give immunizations?

I did not dare to say this though.

 “I will stich up the wound and give you a letter.”

The bleeding stopped after seven sutures. I wrote out an elaborate and detailed letter, mainly absolving myself from further responsibility.

When I went home that evening I found the letter in a ditch. I did not see the boy again, not even to remove the sutures. Perhaps they are still in his head?

Ten years passed, I shifted to my own premises in a better and safer area. The town was agog with the news of a new God Man. Apparently he sat under a tree on the outskirts of town and prophesied. He saw visions which he described in lucid detail. He was beginning to make a name for himself. People came from far and wide to see him. Foreigners flocked to n him. The village road was full of traffic as vans taxis and buses plied people to him.

My neighbor (her house was next to the clinic) went to see him.

“Yo” she said, “I waited an hour to see the God. What a waste. He is the son of that drunken fool who lived here. He was actually my daughter’s classmate.”

Foreign money started to pour in. He built an edifice for himself. It became a tourist attraction. He employed accountants and mangers. The entire area he used to live in prospered. He employed relatives and neighbours as gardeners, cleaners and the educated ones in the offices, restaurants  and shops for the tourists visiting him .

He gave darshans and people threw money at him.

I wonder if his visions  are temporal lobe seizures.

On the other hand, a prophet is never recognized in his own country!