NO DILEMMA FOR THIS DOCTOR

Year 1984. I was in Agra on leave from CMS college for my M.Phil at the Agra University. My M.Sc class mate Mukesh Gupta was already married and had a son, the cute little Aditya. His extremely beautiful wife Madhu was a wonderful lady. Later she completed her PhD in painting. During my year long stay in Agra, I was a frequent visitor to Mukesh's house. Earlier during my M.Sc days I was almost always there. I remember his little sister Usha learning English - S...I...T, SIT, "mane baithna", R...U...N , RUN, "mane daudna" etc. Mukesh's mother used to prepare excellent tea for me. Now at M Phil the responsibility shifted to Madhu. She was a wonderful sister to me in Agra. She never asked me or requested me. She would just say "Rajan Bhayya, today you will have dinner here". I was always left with no option but to oblige.

One day I fell ill and Mukesh took me to Dr Kuntae's dispensary near New Agra chaurai.Chaurai is the slang for Chauraha meaning junction.

 This was the junction were Krishnan had his Madrasi hotel. Wonderful Masala Dosa and matchless Vada. I still have the taste on my tongue. Sardarjis used to flock there for Krishnan's special Vada. For them one vada was an unending source of sambar !  And Krishnan was only too happy to serve them with as much sambar as they wanted.

Again, this was the junction from where I used to buy those copies of " The Illustrated Weekly Of India". I was addicted to this wonderful stuff from the Times of India stable.

And the Bhagwan theater was just opposite to Krishnan's hotel. I remember watching Amitab Bachan's DON here. The cinema hall was on fire with the lambooji dancing to the tune of "Khaike Paan Banaraswallah".Today the chaurai is not there. The six lane Delhi-Kolkotta highway swallowed it.

Back to Dr Kuntae. The one room dispensary was about 20 X 20 feet. There were some 50 to 60 patients packed inside the room, all sitting on the floor. The doctor was at the far end of the room (not on the floor). Mukesh asked me to just walk up to him."Walk up to whom", I exclaimed ! Mukesh pushed me into the crowd and I started "drifting" towards the doctor. Finally when I was some 5 or 6 patients away from the doctor, he asked me in English, "what is your problem?" So he has recognized my "Madrasi" look. I said quietly to myself, " my only problem now is to reach you doctor". He waved to me to tell him my problem without wasting time. I could not open my mouth as I found that his stethoscope was moving busily over a patient's chest even as his left hand was sensing another man's pulse. Simultaneously he was telling the ill-literate village lady to increase the medicine dose if her child's dysentery has not subsided. Now hold your breath. Behind him sat an old man on the floor, with a thermometer in his mouth !!!

Parallel Processing ?

Multitasking ??

I am still in a dilemma.

Note:

While hundreds of ordinary people got relief from that 20x20 room, on the opposite side of the road Dr(Mrs) Vasanthi Kuntae ran a hospital for women. A reasonably big one.

Baptism by Fire

During 1984-85 I was an MPhil student of the Agra University. I was there on a one year leave from CMS college, Kottayam as a teacher fellow under the Faculty Improvement Programme (FIP) of the UGC. Our teachers were Dr S.P Goel, Professor and Head of the department and Dr Jaishanker then a reader. Both were good teachers but I got very close to Dr Goel. He spoke beautiful English and I felt delighted discussing various issues with him. I became a regular visitor of his residence inside the University campus. I still cherish those long evening hours I spent with him talking to him, hearing from him and violently reacting whenever there were conflict of ideas. I should say that these talks were very enlightening. We talked politics, religion, spirituality, art, literature and of course education. Those days I was very much impressed by Hindu philosophy and Marxist ideology. I read a lot of books on both. My faith was so strong that I was not prepared to listen to any argument against these. One evening I was in a combative mood while talking to Dr Goel and the issue was Hindu philosophy. Then an ardent follower of the philosophy, I was arguing vociferously and relentlessly. I felt that Dr Goel disagreed with my views. On that evening Prof Goel was unusually silent as if he wanted me to talk all that I have to. Even as I was very adamant and agitated and was trying to stick to my guns, I could see a disarming smile on Dr Goel's face. This added to my rage but Dr Goel remained unfazed. One can remain like that only when one is very clear in one's mind and thoughts. I continued for some more time but I could feel my arguments becoming less lethal. Finally I stopped. There was silence for some time. And in a very soft voice Dr Goel asked "Mr Rajan, let me ask you this. Forget the God or the Son of God Jesus Christ. Can you cite one instance in the entire history of mankind where an innocent person willingly opted to die for the sins of others? Why are you not moved by this supreme sacrifice by Jesus Christ? Tell me, what greater philosophy than this sacrifice? For a moment think of the humiliation and cruelty He suffered on the cross before dying for the sins of mankind?"
Oh GOd! I was terribly shaken by these devastating questions. I hung my head in shame and grief for not realizing this philosophy of love, tolerance and unparalleled sacrifice. I could not talk. I felt like all my strength drained off. I felt numb. I felt frozen in time. Yet I could feel the hot tears rolling down my cheeks. I sat like that. I dont know how much time elapsed. Finally I could say this much in a very feeble voice, but with the strength of faith:
"Sir, you my Hindu Professor has baptized me into Christianity".

A winter-night adventure

Agra. One December night, 1985. I just got typed the last page of my MPhil dissertation at the type writing centre owned by Mr Das. Das was a civilian employee of the Indian Air Force. He used to open his shabby one room shop at 6 in the evening after a day's work at the IAF office at Kheria. We used to sit all through the night and it was a treat watching Dass's fingers flying over the key board at tremendous speed, but with grace. It will be far too an exaggeration if I say that Das resembled Zakhir Hussian over the tabla. But still Das was a phenomenon. After that last page typed, I left Das and it was two hours past mid night. With no hope of getting a cycle rickshaw I was standing there alone at the St: John's college junction. It was so cold that I started shivering in the freezing winter. I wondered how I will survive the night. I even thought of jumping the gate of St: John's college and finding a refuge on the veranda of the Physics department. After all St: John's college belongs to me!!! It was almost an hour since I was standing at the St: John's "Chourah". Then suddenly there appeared a glimmer of hope. I could see the head light of an approaching scooter from the Raja Mandi side. I decided to ask for a lift. But alas, it all happened in a flash. The scooter reached the junction with great speed , went over the unmarked road divider and I saw a Sardarji thrown off. I ran up to him and he was crying aloud. He said that he has broken his back. I offered to take him to some hospital. He requested me to take him to his house. Surprisingly, his house was very close to the University old boy's hostel where I was staying. (The hostel was not for the old. Nearby there was another newly constructed hostel and the old one came to be known as the old hostel). The scooter was still in good running condition with just the handle "looking" slightly sideways. The Sardarji managed to sit on the back seat and I started off. I changed gears 1,2,3 and when all my efforts for the 4th gear failed, the Sarderji murmured, "it has only 3 gears". The VIjay Super had only 3 gears which I never knew. We rode through the Palliwal park near the University, which bore a frightening ghostly look in the chilling moon light. On reaching home the Sardarji alighted with great difficulty and limped to the front door and pressed the bell. In no time all the lights were on and the ladies who came out started screaming seeing the man with blood all over his body. I stood at the gate not knowing what to do. Suddenly the man turned to me and came almost running to me. I was surprised to hear him saying "Bhayya, I am sorry, I forgot to thank you". That was like a Sardarji.
I was about to leave but he wont allow. He awoke a sleeping rickshawalla on the street and instructed him to take me to the hostel. It was also instructed that not a penny shall be taken from me. I could not believe. For him then, the greatest concern was to take care of me and not of. Only a Sardarji can behave like that in such a situation. I told him that the next day I was leaving for Kerala. And pat came the proclamation, "whenever you are in Agra, come here. Ask for Bhutto. I will take care of you".
The next day I narrated this story to my friends in the hostel but many of them refused to believe that I have not just seen Bhutto but even rescued him. They told me that he was a big shot and that he owned a large fleet of trucks plying all over India.
After that incident I had been to Agra many times but could not visit Bhutto though I always wanted to meet him.
In November 2008 I was again in Agra to attend the alumni meet of the Physics PG students of St: John's college. I and my family stayed with my friend Anandakuttan. His flat is near the Hariparwat junction. Kuttan is a gentleman par excellence. He teaches Zoology at the St: Peter's college, Agra. And amazingly, he can teach Physics and Chemistry with equal ease. His wife Lekha is a wonderful host. She teaches Mathemaics at the St: Paul's college, Agra. Their son Achal Anand walks away with whatever he aims at! Yes, a student of St: Peter's, Agra, he is a national level winner in long distance walking. In the 10th board examination he was the topper among all the students of Agra city. I told Kuttan of my desire to meet Bhutto. I had only a faint idea of the location of his house. It was almost 25 years since the mid night incident. I, Kuttan and Achal went searching for Bhutto's residence near the Agra University. None knew of him. Finally seeing a Sardarji name board we went in. The person staying there was a retired army officer. The moment we told him of our purpose he started shouting at us and threatened to call the police - for what reason, I still do not know. He kept talking like a possessed. Kuttan felt insulted and started explaining. But I felt it prudent to leave the place as quickly as possible as the sardarji was at his abusive best.Even as this drama was in progress I had a call on my mobile. It was Lekha,
She asked "GOT?"
I replied "WE ALMOST GOT!"
And here ends the Bhutto saga

A HISTORIAN'S TRYST WITH HISTORY

It was the last day of my MSc final year examination at the St John's college ,Agra.Even as my friends started preparations for the next day's journey back to their homes, I suddenly and mysteriously fell into some sort of melancholy. I thought. I will not be attending the classes of Gosh Sir and Ram Sir any more. I will not be sprawling idle on the lush green lawns of Haileybury House (my hostel) enjoying the morning sun during another winter. I will miss the Burfy, Samosa and hot tea of Chaubeji's canteen. This Chuabeji smiled a lot but never talked a word as his mouth always contained loads of Pan. Then I thought. I won't anymore see R.K Lakshman's cartoons as The Times of India was not available in Kerala those days. This list of all that I was going to miss was endless. Then it suddenly occurred to me, I will go to the Taj Mahal. Who knows when I get another chance to see it. I went there alone. I hired a Tonga (horse cart) though it was a little expensive. When the Tonga reached the Raja-ki-Mandi junction, I had this funny yet romantic thought. Emperor Shahjahan might have ridden his chariot along this street in all majestic splendour, a chariot pulled by seven white horses. And here I am. A boy in his early twenties sitting as much majestically in the back seat of a Tonga eager to see Shahjahan's poetry in white marble for one last time. Finally when I reached there I heard some inner voice telling me, "This is a very divine place. This is the shrine of love. A place where one should not dare to tread". And finally when I was in, I could not believe. I was experiencing new things. The Taj was revealing to me all that I had missed during my earlier visits. It's beauty defied all description by the greatest poet. The Taj is not just a huge structure in white marble. It is the culmination of the visual expression of all the romantic beauty of the entire universe. I had this inexplicable feeling every time I was inside the Taj. I just see it and hear no sound. This is in contrast to my feelings when I am inside any other moghul wonder, for instance the nearby Agra Fort. While inside the Agra Fort, I go back in time through centuries and feel like being in Akbar's court. I hear the court musicians singing. Mostly I hear the flowing music of Sarod and Sarangi unaccompanied by Tabla. I cannot explain this that defies all reason. I went to the back of Taj and stood there looking into the Jamuna. Oh God, how much water might have flown since the Taj had "occured" on its banks? As always there were any number of visitors from India and abroad and some of them had hired tourist-guides. Even as the guides were waxing eloquent I stood there with my eyes glued to the Jamuna. And then a thunderous shout rocked me and brought me back to reality. I saw an old man standing on the banks of Jamuna down there. He had long hair and beard. He looked like a mad man. A weirdie. I could not believe when he spoke excellent fluent English. He was ridiculing the guides saying that they knew nothing about the Taj. He asked us to come down and promised us to "teach" the history of Taj. Most people laughed off the invitation and turned away. But I was struck by the sincerity and authority of his words. I remained there listening to his uninterrupted discourse on Taj. I felt like sitting in a history class. On any other day I would have gone down to "Jamuna Kinare", talked to him and quenched my curiosity.
Back in Kerala, one day I was casually going through the pages of "Manorajyam" weekly and a photograph caught my attention. Yes, it was that of the very same man I saw on the banks of Jamuna. I was taken aback reading the description of the man. Hold your breath. He was the history professor of a reputed university in India. One day he came to Taj with his wife and daughters. They spent a day joyfully there. But at the end of the day the professor gave his family members the greatest shock of their lives. He told them that they should go back and that he has decided to stay back and spend the rest of his life at the Taj. Unbelievable? I have narrated this story to so many people who heard it in disbelief. But Hari (and only Hari)told me;
"Quite possible Sir".