Oldies shmoldies

A miniature clinic, probably older than its oldest patient, cemented, with the paint coming off in layers, showing how year after year a fresh coat comes on near Diwali and comes off like snake skin around Holi. From morning 7 till noon, this place is bustling with people - coming in, going out, going round and round. Its like getting in queue for ration, early in the morning, because you know what they say "the early bird catches the worm", though in this case if you have the worm, you probably would not be the happiest person around! ;)

As soon as you enter a C.G.H.S. dispensary, the smell of medicine and lurking scent of inoculations and blood tests smacks you right in the face. Your mind automatically switches gears and tells you, know matter what, you are sick - even if its just a bloody sneeze! Don't be so quick to judge these government employed doctors though. Experience tells me that those private shmucks out there are equally incompetent - no offense to the medical profession! ;) I remember the visits I used to make either with mom, dad or my bro, when just getting into the building and waiting for my turn to see the doctor used to be no less a nightmare than the boogie man himself. Don't remember why, but the feeling still gives me goosebumps, could probably have been the indifference I saw in their eyes when the referred me for an inoculation :( I know, I was being a baby, but come on, I was one too!

The feeling of my tummy squirming and knotting up inside is long gone, and the qualms of having a needle poked into my arm are long gone, yet entering that dull facade still invokes nostalgia. The same wrinkled oldies, the troubled moms, the naughty brats - nothing has changed over the past 20 years. What has changed though, is that now I can tell a lot from the kind of people who turn up, and it is this wisdom that I intend to share with you now ;)

The most interesting of the lot are the ladies, the variety, the nags, the stereotypes, all so vivid!

The don't-sit-within-20-cms-of-me-or-else kind - Picture a middle aged lady, slightly plump, greasy oiled hair, tied into a single abundant choti, dark red lipstick slapped on to the lips, golden earrings, and kolhapuri chappals to go with the yellow or brown she's wearing. These kind of behenjis prefer to have their space on the seating bench, with 20 cms. on either side, probably making up for the ego dent they suffered in the unsuccessful haggling with the vegetable vendor just before leaving for the dispensary. Stay away from them is all I say. They can burn your soul with a single stare.

The have-pity-on-me-am-just-a-sweet-old-witch kind - I know, I know, you're probably shaking your heads and judging me, but if you witness the kinds of tricks these slightly bent, frail, crooked, musty gray or shiny white haired Medusas pull off, you'd lose faith in humanity. They have mastered the art of frolicking around on your sentimental nerve and getting their way, breaking queues with tantrums, pleas for the sake of their being our granny's age. You realise their tricks, you know they'll come for you, you know you're going to end up in a soup, but you still put up a brave front standing right at the doctor's entrance waiting for number "28" to be called, but out of nowhere comes this puny shady figure, frisking past you entering into the chamber without permission and seating herself comfortably in a corner, nibbling away like a meek mouse. You enter the room as soon as number 27 gets up, and at that very moment, its like the old legs have had a shot of steroids and the joints have been freshly oiled, the shadow glides over to the patient's chair, with the greeting "namaste dactar saaab ghutno mein bada dard hota hai" (hello doctor, my knees hurt a lot) - are you KIDDING me ?! Didn't you just look at her TELEPORT ?! You just gnaw and grind your teeth together, resolving not to let it happen again. A week later, the same old story. When the scrawny old figure leaves, and you're about to enter, she passes on a smile, that makes you go "awwww" and you tend to pacify yourself saying, its okay, probably just this one time you'll let it pass, but the irony is, NEVER over the past 20 years, has the same old hag crossed my line TWICE !! NEVER !!

The I-am-a-working-woman-so-I-can-hit-you kind - Being a Central Government initiative, some of the female patients coming in are also government employees. Knowing Indian bureaucracy, it is evident that any woman working her way into the ranks knows her shit and cannot be taken lightly. These are the ones with a bob cut, smartly dressed, with hardly any makeup on, a fancy purse, an ever-ringing cellphone and definitely spectacled. There is no way in hell, that a lady working for the government does not have a pair of reading glasses through which she cannot peer and cut through your soul recognising the fear within that you know she could hit you. This variety is probably the only one that can take the previous ones head on. They have no obligation to be decent in speech, or considerate of old age, for them its business. If you break the queue, you're in for it. But here's the catch. If you happen to be the one denying any queue cuts, she will be the first to pounce on you, denouncing your generation as consisting of inconsiderate little rascals, probably blaming your upbringing for the lack of respect you happen to be "showing" to elders. Best defence, look the other way and start humming, and pray you do not have to visit again for a few days, so that your image fades away.

The constant-confusion-chronologically-lost kind - These poor oldies are possibly the ones I really want to help out. They keeping walking up to the entrance asking what number just entered, and usually their queries come 5-6 times while the same number is getting consultation. People silence them, make them go back to their seats and wait for their turn, signaling to each other how old age makes them cuckoo. I really feel sorry for these folks, for it isn't their fault that old age got the better of them.

The gimme-all-there-is kind - If there were ever hiring on for old age dacoits and pilferers, this category would stand the best chance in the current recession, even ahead of sturdy blokes. They know how to work their way around bureaucracy. Years of experience has taught them that a pat on the doctor's back, an appeal to their emotions with a damp sulking tone, or an enquiry into their son's or parents' health would win them a standard package of 2 analgesic ointments and a bottle of cough syrup - its like alcohol for them. Compliments of Dr. Manmohan Singh, this package is on the house! :P For maids, for grandsons, for bajuwale Ramesh babu, or for the sweeper, all supplies head out from here.

Despite what all goes on inside, and however frustrating it might get at times, I have always left the place smiling, either because of the absolutely pointless duel between two of the gangs, or a successful consultation, or the fact that I steered clear of any inoculation, these people form a part of a group that makes you feel associated with a place you hardly frequent - its like visiting grumpy grandparents at an old people's home after a couple of weeks, and spending some quality time with them! ;)