Ever since a bewildered Sridevi decoded ‘judgemental’ in English Vinglish, I’m wary of the word. My daughter tags all my compliments with it, prefixes all my remarks with it and even splutters them in my umms and aahs.
So much so I scream, ‘Learn to respect another’s opinion,’ and I am reminded that I am opinionated. As Well.
I could do with a basket to collect the rest as well!
Well, I love to be neither at all times, but since I love my individuality, I love to exercise a wee bit of both sometimes. But again because I’m conscious of my personality at all times, I love to be one of the two at times and, therefore, I love to be dumb and pretend to be numb when I cannot.
Now, the reason I’m writing this is because I can’t help being numb any more these days. How can I, when I’m lifted off my feet and laid on a slippery dhroni, chin down, my wobbly tummy squeezed like a jelly with two iron-strong palms that first pour hot concoctions [which I cannot pronounce nor know the spelling to express] over my naked back and then rub it into my skin to lubricate my spine.
[Does the spine stiffen standing upright against As Wells. Need to check with the doc!]
Anyways, here’s why I’m writing this post…“How can a doctor, a DOCTOR, of all people be so regressive!”
Okay, so getting to the point…. I still need to beat around one last bush. Ever since I gave a series of medical entrance exams two decades ago and flunked each one worse than the previous attempt, I’ve had this thing about doctors.
Years later, when I landed in Dubai and saw them in sparkling white coats and butter-like gloves gliding on shining-leather chairs inside more sparkling cubicles that smell at all times of air fresheners, my THING for the breed only awed stronger.
So, when my doc heard me speak to the husband, and asked me astonished forgetting to pull up his jaw in place, “You call yourhusband by his name!” I had to look away and fiddle with my phone to construct a modest reply and control my nerves.
“Won’t I forget who the world is referring to when they address me, if I stop calling him by his name, doc?” I cracked.
“Are you always like this only?” asked the simpleton doc unable to hide his shock now.
“Nothing absolutely like this, but something similar.” I replied leaving the doc to decipher the rest. He didn’t get too far analyzing the statement, I learnt, when he commented: “You are a happy woman.”
Well, the reason I’m sharing this here is because the THING I had about doctors was they were a progressive lot. You know, like their science and knowledge and reason and patience and status and even those chips on their shoulders…
It’s only recently, while lying on that slippery dhroni, swearing through my sticky nostrils unable to find anyone to blame for my THING about doctors that I thought of Sridevi.
What the heck! [This is not me saying. It’s my girl’s fav line these days]