Kalita & more.......
Working at a place where interaction with various people from all walks of life is inevitable has indeed its own unique charm. If today I am appalled at the naivety of a man, then the moment next boomerangs a barrage of characters laden with deceit and lies. Some simpleton gives in to the thugs with an easy touch, whereas at times the smart ones (but wet behind the ears) are left stranded.
Not meaning to unfurl the regionalism flag, and much to the chagrin of the non North-Eastern Indians of my workplace, I believe that most of the people from the smaller towns and villages of Assam who especially come to New Delhi for treatment purpose see things in black and white. Though I have to confess I’m a bit of a sucker for sob stories, but the way some of my fellow Assamese people tell their sad saga to anyone who is willing to listen out and then get deceived by the unscrupulous thieves lurking around really amazes me.
Some thought sharing without taking names, of course, will not be the breach of professional conduct. I remember this family from Roha, Nagaon, whose eldest son was referred to AIIMS for a brain surgery. The patient was admitted and the date for surgery was fixed. The family was required to make a demand draft of about INR 75,ooo in favour of the Cardio-Neuro Centre account. The wife, i.e, the patient’s mother came to me and told me, “Baideo, we do not know how to make a draft. Can you help us?” I told her that I will send a staff member with them to the bank and he will help them out. The lady then took out 75,000 rupees from her old purse and tried to hand over the money to me. “Baideo, I will take the money from you when I will go to the bank”. I refused to keep the money with me. I reprimanded her for carrying so much cash in a crowded place in such a careless manner. The lady said, “A very helpful man was standing near the OPD. He asked me to hand him over the money when he got to know that I did not know how to make a bank draft. But my younger son refused and then we thought of coming over and meet you.” My surname proudly declares where I belong, and based on the strength of a name only they had come to give me the money that they had brought with them after selling a portion of their agricultural land! I did send one of my staff members who helped them with the draft making process, but not before giving the entire family a long lecture to be careful in the future.
Another person, let’s call him Kalita, is a name-thrower. Uff!! He is to be heard to be believed. One fine day, he came over and introduced himself as “xyz Kalita – the one who works for the Prime Minister”. I was too stunned to react immediately, though it takes more than a surprise to shut me up. He smiled a tamul-tinted charming smile, as if he has digested all the worldly knowledge, sat (without my offer of course) in the empty chair in my room and started talking about “Deka khura”. I was picking up all the signals, past and present, searching for the identity of this mysterious “Deka khura”, when I suddenly realized that he was referring to Prof. R.C. Deka, the Director of AIIMS! After going on for a good 45 minutes about his father’s uncle’s neighbour’s relation with “Deka khura”, he moved on to his own sprawling bunglows (mind you, he has three bunglows) on the banks of the Brahmaputra in Guwahati. Kalita looked at me, smiled his all-knowing smile, and asked, “So Doctorni, how many houses you have in Assam?” I replied I owned none. He looked sad, tched tched a bit, and said, “Why do not you buy 3 kothas of land at VIP road and make a bunglow? Flats are pigeon holes, not meant for humans. I will help you find a nice piece of land in Guwahati. Ask Doctor Dada to come and meet me. Here’s my card and phone number. I am usually there on weekends.” Looking at the red and green card and wondering at the generous working schedule of the great man who is none other than the PM’s right hand, I was again left with nothing more to say for the second time that day. Nowadays, I make a point to make myself invisible (with the help to the security guard in my department) whenever Kalita the Great comes.
With some patients I developed a personal bond. Some got cured; some succumbed while some just drifted away. A special mention here of a loving father from Jorhat, who lost his youngest daughter, all of eleven years, to cancer, but nevertheless carries a very positive attitude towards life. He still comes to meet me whenever he comes to Delhi, not to shed tears for the young angel he lost, but to shower his blessings on my kids and pray with his eyes closed that no child should suffer till the parents are alive. Then there is this young mother from Dimou, this educated girl married off to a drunkard of a man by her poor parents, who stays alone in a rented place in Delhi and works at a boutique to meet the expenses for her only daughter’s treatment.
Many colours I have seen, many others are yet to drench me. And yes, in spite of all, as someone said, life is beautiful, Kalita or no Kalita!!!
Not meaning to unfurl the regionalism flag, and much to the chagrin of the non North-Eastern Indians of my workplace, I believe that most of the people from the smaller towns and villages of Assam who especially come to New Delhi for treatment purpose see things in black and white. Though I have to confess I’m a bit of a sucker for sob stories, but the way some of my fellow Assamese people tell their sad saga to anyone who is willing to listen out and then get deceived by the unscrupulous thieves lurking around really amazes me.
Some thought sharing without taking names, of course, will not be the breach of professional conduct. I remember this family from Roha, Nagaon, whose eldest son was referred to AIIMS for a brain surgery. The patient was admitted and the date for surgery was fixed. The family was required to make a demand draft of about INR 75,ooo in favour of the Cardio-Neuro Centre account. The wife, i.e, the patient’s mother came to me and told me, “Baideo, we do not know how to make a draft. Can you help us?” I told her that I will send a staff member with them to the bank and he will help them out. The lady then took out 75,000 rupees from her old purse and tried to hand over the money to me. “Baideo, I will take the money from you when I will go to the bank”. I refused to keep the money with me. I reprimanded her for carrying so much cash in a crowded place in such a careless manner. The lady said, “A very helpful man was standing near the OPD. He asked me to hand him over the money when he got to know that I did not know how to make a bank draft. But my younger son refused and then we thought of coming over and meet you.” My surname proudly declares where I belong, and based on the strength of a name only they had come to give me the money that they had brought with them after selling a portion of their agricultural land! I did send one of my staff members who helped them with the draft making process, but not before giving the entire family a long lecture to be careful in the future.
Another person, let’s call him Kalita, is a name-thrower. Uff!! He is to be heard to be believed. One fine day, he came over and introduced himself as “xyz Kalita – the one who works for the Prime Minister”. I was too stunned to react immediately, though it takes more than a surprise to shut me up. He smiled a tamul-tinted charming smile, as if he has digested all the worldly knowledge, sat (without my offer of course) in the empty chair in my room and started talking about “Deka khura”. I was picking up all the signals, past and present, searching for the identity of this mysterious “Deka khura”, when I suddenly realized that he was referring to Prof. R.C. Deka, the Director of AIIMS! After going on for a good 45 minutes about his father’s uncle’s neighbour’s relation with “Deka khura”, he moved on to his own sprawling bunglows (mind you, he has three bunglows) on the banks of the Brahmaputra in Guwahati. Kalita looked at me, smiled his all-knowing smile, and asked, “So Doctorni, how many houses you have in Assam?” I replied I owned none. He looked sad, tched tched a bit, and said, “Why do not you buy 3 kothas of land at VIP road and make a bunglow? Flats are pigeon holes, not meant for humans. I will help you find a nice piece of land in Guwahati. Ask Doctor Dada to come and meet me. Here’s my card and phone number. I am usually there on weekends.” Looking at the red and green card and wondering at the generous working schedule of the great man who is none other than the PM’s right hand, I was again left with nothing more to say for the second time that day. Nowadays, I make a point to make myself invisible (with the help to the security guard in my department) whenever Kalita the Great comes.
With some patients I developed a personal bond. Some got cured; some succumbed while some just drifted away. A special mention here of a loving father from Jorhat, who lost his youngest daughter, all of eleven years, to cancer, but nevertheless carries a very positive attitude towards life. He still comes to meet me whenever he comes to Delhi, not to shed tears for the young angel he lost, but to shower his blessings on my kids and pray with his eyes closed that no child should suffer till the parents are alive. Then there is this young mother from Dimou, this educated girl married off to a drunkard of a man by her poor parents, who stays alone in a rented place in Delhi and works at a boutique to meet the expenses for her only daughter’s treatment.
Many colours I have seen, many others are yet to drench me. And yes, in spite of all, as someone said, life is beautiful, Kalita or no Kalita!!!
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