To ER is Human

The first rains bring out all sorts of things from the woodwork. The first of them being the local football team. No field with turf. No open ground . Just the road. With two strategically parked cars forming one goal post and a stone and the watchmans chair forming the other. The game gets under way and in a sliding kick that's supposed to send the ball shooting into the goal, you hit the lamp post instead of the ball. 85 kgs of muscle fat and bone drives your ankle into a shape that God never intended it to be when it connects with lamp post steel. Even though the lampost base has been slightly corroded by Blackie, Bonzo, Champ and all their canine visitors. Does the game stop for you ? Ha ! The youngest player on the field [ i.e. most expendable ] is bundled with you into a rickshaw and you head to Holy Family Hospital . Up the ramp hobbling on one foot into the ER [ as it's known on TV ] or Emergency as it's known in very hospital in India from Breach Candy to Baba . By now your ankle could give the Bandra Fair baloonwallas a run for their money. But there's a line for treatment. An old man who has'nt crapped for four days and a little boy who's only been crapping for four days. A young girl who used a kitchen knife on her wrists intead of the potatoes. An old lady who also as a broken ankle.
Pathetic attempt at humor by the Doctor on duty.
" What Aunty you're also playing football "
Ha Ha.

So they examine your foot, collectively gasping ,these hardened residents of emergency. Damn that lamp post. You're now put into a wheel chair. Wheeled off to the Xray department. Where they have Kodak moments with your foot. By now Mummy Daddy and Nana are all in the hospital. Some kind soul deigned to go and inform them after the football game was adjourned for a lack of light.

Pain killers have sent you into a haze reminiscent of Saturday Bandra Gym nights post 10.00 p.m. A Doctor twists your foot back. Causing you much more pain than the lamp post caused. he looks happy. Either a sadist or the satisfaction of a job well done. Only time will tell. He plasters your foot from toe to thigh. Three weeks of bed rest. Single room, double room ? Just for two days.Ward says Dad. Single room says Nana. Dad wins. He's paying.

You think you've died and gone to heaven when you hear hymns at 6.00 a.m. the next morning. Over the PA system that you can't turn off.It's a catholic hospital. And this is what they do. The hymns soon lead into mass. And at the communion there's a prolonged silence. Until the door to the ward swings open to reveal priest with communion chalice in hand and Sister / Altar girl in tow. Breakfast in bed has nothing on this.
You hop into your wheel chair for the long ride home. You go past emergency where the line today seems even longer.The old man is back. Down the ramp. into a rickshaw. Back home. Where you sit at the window and watch the football game every evening and hope your ankle will heal soon.
And wafting up to you you hear those magical words
' Putru men Savio '