Nicked in Mumbai (Mumbai Hearts Club #3)

A Tale of NiP and Doctor

— NiP —

He hated hospitals. But then, looking around at the luxe beige velvet interiors, the buttery walnut couch and a collection of tan lotus Picchwai paintings bringing the wall in front of him alive — Nilay wondered what was there to hate about this place?

Dr. Shravan’s clinic. Not a hospital. But still used for those same things.

His eyes landed on the paper bag beside him — ECGs, dopplers, lipids, stress tests…

Nilay stopped thinking. The last two days had been a whirlwind and he had gone with the flow, without giving himself time to think.

Now, as he sat in the waiting lounge, with only one other couple occupying the smaller couch opposite him, the man old enough to be his grandfather, looking like he was breathing his last with his wife playing Candy Crush on silent, Nilay wondered where life was taking him.

Moreover, where his body was taking him.

“Mr. Patel?”

He glanced up. The lady… she wasn't a nurse, was she? He gleaned her from top to bottom. She appeared polished in a brown silk blouse with ruffles down her neck. Last season. Her pantsuit was just as glossy, but as black as her thick onyx hair. Not enough contrast. A creamy white pair of bottoms would have done the deed, Nilay opined. His expertise was focused on women’s luxury Indian wear but he understood bodies and cuts with any kind of clothing.

Especially a woman’s. Her curvy pear-shaped body was not doing justice to this outfit.

The loose fit of her blouse might be to hide her broader lower half and scream professional doctor’s assistant but it did not flatter her shape. At all.

“…do you have your ECG?” Her loud question snapped him out. Nilay was doused in the reality of this moment. His heart beat hard, reminding him why he was here. And he trailed his eyes up to hers. She was looking at him with ill-concealed disdain.

“When will Dr. Shravan be here?” He hardened his voice.

Her wing-shaped eyebrows narrowed. They stood out on the spotless creamy skin of her face. But they weren’t microbladed. A shame. Thicker brows would have made the roundness in her cheeks settle, brought out the light brown rims in her eyes.

“There’s a PVR right opposite where they are running multiple shows at,” she glanced at the clock above him, “9 am. You may step out and stare. Return when you are ready.”

The sneer from her bow-shaped lips was fair, but the way she looked at him then — like she was sorry for him, made him sit back. Disdain, he did. Pity, he did not.

Nilay folded his arms across his chest, feeling the buttons of his silk shirt strain.

They were designed to withstand the range of motion of his arms, the fabric stretching snugly but not indecently.

He knew how well they could take the strain.

His heart, though… he wasn’t sure anymore.

He gave it an ear. It was not thudding now.

Neither was it skipping beats. In fact, it was running on a smooth, even pace.

If they took an ECG now, everything would come out normal.

The woman in front of him cocked her head, pitying him even more. And he crossed one leg across the other knee, staring up at her with his flirtiest expression — “Which shows are on?”

She blinked.

“If you have a preference, we can go together.”

To make it worse, he pulled out his phone and opened his BookMyShow app. Why he had it in the first place was a puzzle in itself because all his appointments and events were booked by one of his five assistants.

“Anu Madam?” The woman called out softly behind her back. No reaction, no anger, no disdain. The pity was even stronger now, her eyes still on him.

“Yes?”

“Please send in Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal first.”

Nilay stared unaffected as the assistant turned gracefully on her heels and walked through the doors leading into the inner sanctum of Dr. Shravan’s office.

He followed her exit with his eyes, the glossy dark waves not even bouncing with her walk.

Her ample hips did not even move like a woman’s when she walked. A robot.

Nilay got to his feet and walked to the reception desk.

“Madam?”

The woman was young, much younger than him, and her name tag read Anu S.

“How can I help you, Mr. Patel?” She smiled at him, a little tightly than she had when he had come in.

“When will Dr. Shravan be here? I have been waiting for the last,” he checked his watch, “Hour and a half.”

“I am sorry to inform you that Dr. Shravan had to fly out to Pune for an emergency. His fellow, Dr. Kapadia will be seeing you.”

“Then where is Dr. Kapadia?” He asked, outraged, but keeping it in check. Not good for the heart. Not good for the heart.

“Dr. Kapadia is in.”

A soft buzzer sounded in the silent cool space and Anu Madam took her eyes from his to the older couple on the couch. “Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal, Dr. Kapadia is ready to see you.”

————————————————————

Nilay seethed. For the next 45 minutes, he did nothing but fume.

Walking out was his first instinct but the reports in his hand and the memory of that cold night two days ago made his feet grow roots.

He ignored every call, every message, every work-related query that came in because he knew he would blast whoever he interacted with right now.

It wasn't unheard of, but today he wanted to save his rage for this doctor’s assistant. Who did she think she was?

The older couple walked out of the sanctum, speaking in hush-hush tones at the reception. A minute later, they were on their way out. Nilay collected his reports and began to rise, waiting for the buzzer. It did not sound. He waited a whole minute. It did not sound.

He glanced at the clock.

50 minutes. He had waited for 50 minutes after the entitled assistant had snubbed her way inside.

He took a deep breath, rose to his feet and walked up to the reception. Anu Madam was smiling at her screen.

“Madam.”

Her eyes rose to his.

“How may I help you, Mr. Patel?”

“Do you know who I am?”

She smiled. That’s it. No yes, no no.

“Do you have the slightest idea how important my time is?”

She kept smiling. Gentle, noncommittal, and incredibly frustrating.

“Dr. Rajiv Kashyap referred me to Dr. Shravan. I was told he would see me immediately. I have been here all morning, Dr. Shravan has bailed and now Dr. Kapadia has not been informed about who I am. I waited patiently as he saw the older couple thanks to his assistant. What’s your excuse now?

If you are unable to handle this,” he pulled his mobile out. “Let me have Rajiv handle it…”

The buzzer sounded.

“Dr. Kapadia is ready to see you now.”

Nilay stared at her. What kind of uber luxe place was this? All rich interiors and pathetic customer service. If he owned this place, he would fire every damn human resource, yesterday.

He glanced around the empty space. On a regular day, he would have taken an about turn, spread himself out on the couch, answered his calls and messages for another 50 minutes, and only then made his way inside — at his leisure.

Maybe after a cup of coffee. Sadly, today was not the day to pull his stunts.

Mere mortal it is.

Nilay tucked his reports under his arm and quietly turned towards the inner sanctum.

It was just as luxurious as the outside.

The rich alley led to an atrium with another round seating area, one door half open with Dr. Shravan written in bold across the top.

Nilay opened it and walked right in. Dr. Kapadia had invited him and was ‘ready.’ No point in knocking.

He stopped short.

The assistant was sitting on the doctor’s chair. Or she was the doctor…

“Take a seat, Mr. Patel.”

Nilay was rarely taken by surprise. Even rarely did he let that surprise show on his face. The momentary flicker of amused disdain on her face made him school his expression.

“Please call Dr. Kaapadia for me, Madam.” He pulled up a visitor’s chair and folded himself into it, crossing one leg over the other.

“You are looking at her.”

“You? Dr. Kaapadia?” He feigned surprise. “I don’t see any nameplates outside. How long have you been practising cardiology? Scratch that, how long have you been practising medicine?”

The reaction he had expected out of her was not coming.

Nilay knew that this appointment was washed away now.

He wasn’t going to get his diagnosis from her.

Not for the lack of his own will. Her little game of making him wait was the clearest sign that she didn’t want to do her job but play a round of revenge.

“What do you do, Mr. Patel?” She sat back, unaffected.

He noticed then that she did not wear a doctor’s coat.

Neither did she have a stethoscope around her neck.

Even her desk was clean. Empty. Could it be that she was playing with him?

That she was really not the doctor but his assistant… where was the doctor though?

Her eyebrows shot upwards — “Are you between jobs?”

“Huh?”

“Is that why you do not want to disclose your profession?” She sounded pitiful. Mildly. Did she not know him?

“I am a couturier.”

She nodded — “And how long have you been in the industry?”

“What does that have to do with this appointment?”

“Exactly what my tenure of practice has to do with it. Nothing,” she smiled.

Her teeth were straight, perfect, pearly white.

Her morose, roundish face stretched into the best contours he had ever seen on a woman’s face, the lines pushing her cheekbones high, her pointed chin making an appearance, and making her creamy skin shine bright.

Nilay forgot the burn of her jibe in that millisecond.

Then her smile vanished as soon as it had bloomed. And with it, his momentary truce vanished too.