RESIGNATION

7.00 p.m. – Gi. His heart lurched at the sight of this name in his appointment book. The heart of a paediatrician-respiratory specialist with a successful yet mundane practice in an upmarket area, doesn’t lurch too often. But it never failed to, when this particular name came up in his appointment book, which was about once in three months. He didn’t even look beyond the 7 p.m. slot. He shut the book, and returned it to his middle aged, mother hen secretary, who bustled off. And he waited. 

The hours ticked away like ages as he waited. Food and drink tossed down without interest, appointments passed in a blur. All that was looked forward to was the 7 p.m. appointment. 

Finally, at 7, he rang the bell, to usher the patient in. The child usually walked in half bent, wheezing heavily, face twisted in agony. But today she hopped in, smiling brightly and plonked herself on the patient’s seat. He greeted the child, and waited. From the corner of his eye, he could see that she had just walked in. He smiled at the child for a full 3 seconds, before he turned to greet her. 

His heart lurched again. She looked the same, the way he remembered her from three months ago, the way he always remembered her during the months between Gi’s falling sick. The huge slanting black eyes lined with kajal, the elegantly hooked nose, the tiny diamond nose stud, the thick wide mouth, the round bindi in the middle of her wide forehead, her slender form… She was even wearing the same sari as the first time he saw her walk into his clinic. 

Deva. That was how she had introduced herself, three years ago, when she had first brought her child for consultation. Since then, he was hooked. He had been utterly charmed by her slightly apologetic manner, as she told him about her daughter’s asthma history, perhaps blaming herself for her child’s sickness in some way. But the proud lift of her chin suggested that perhaps she was a fighter, fiercely independent and rebellious. He had noticed that she had never mentioned her husband in any of her visits. And he hadn’t asked, even though it was a perfectly natural thing for a paediatrician to ask, in the child’s interest. Besides, Gi never needed more than a nebulizer session and some antibiotics to set her right. 

The child was a splitting image of her mother, minus the nose stud, and plus the inevitable chubby cheeks of an average seven year old and plastic frames. He knew for a fact that Gi had a mind of her own. On her first visit to the doctor, when he was writing out her prescription after the nebulizer session, she had asked him, without consulting her mother and without any embarrassment, why he wouldn’t give her those animal-shaped biscuits that he kept in a jar on the side shelf. Her forthright manner had startled him. His grown-up children still sought his permission to do anything. They were brought up in the strictest discipline, and taught never to speak out of turn. But Gi knew exactly what she wanted. She always explained her sickness with clarity even most grown ups were not capable of. And he knew from Deva’s indulgent smiles that she found her daughter’s demeanour satisfying. 

For a man whose wife spent more time scolding the children than letting them be, Deva as a mother was fascinating. For a man whose wife never looked at another man in the eye and wore high necked blouses with long sleeves, Deva as a woman, with her cool gaze, low cut blouses and short sleeves was fascinating. He had soon begun to spend hours, wondering what kind of a companion she would make; fantasizing what life with her would be like. But he was too afraid to do anything about these feelings; for fear that one wrong step might stop her from coming to his clinic, even if only in the capacity of his patient’s mother. She didn’t give him a chance either. She was never less than polite, never more either. Moments of desperation had even led him to perversely wishing Gi would suffer a mild attack, only very mild, just so he could at least see Deva.  

“We don’t need a nebulizer this time, Doctor,” she said with a heart-stopping smile, sitting on the other chair. 

That brought him back to earth. He smiled back, and turned his attentions on to the child, asking her how she was doing. The child responded with the enthusiasm brought about by meeting someone she liked. A tiny bit of silence followed. 

“We are moving to London in three weeks, Doctor. Gi’s father has found a job there. I am a little concerned about her health, and how she might react to the cold weather. So we came to ask if you could refer her to a respiratory specialist in London. And perhaps brief the doctor about Gi’s history…” 

He stared blankly for a couple of seconds, and then nodded numbly. In auto-pilot mode, he looked for, and found the business card of his friend who had an established practice in the wretched city. He scribbled the details on his notepad, tore it out and handed it over to Deva. He recovered soon enough, to wish the family good luck, and asked Gi to take care of herself. Just as he said that, he looked up tellingly at her mother. She was smiling down at her daughter. 

He stared at the door for a few minutes after it closed behind them. Then, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and resigned himself to his nondescript life, cloaked wife and disciplined children. It was a while before he rang the bell again to usher in the next patient.