Three
Vikrant
I walked through the pristine white corridors of the place I haunted like a goddamn ghost when I worked here. The hours were long and brutal, the pay did not match, and the competition was fierce. Not to mention all the fucking bureaucracy and jumping through hoops. Because we were an internationally accredited organization, thus, paperwork was our second job.
I loved it. Every adrenaline and norepinephrine-filled second of it. Norepinephrine, by the way, is the chemical that’s released in our brain when we are overwhelmed and unable to take a breath. It usually ends with us throwing a punch or running away to another place.
I had done both here. Thrown a punch at a male desk clerk who went on an hour-long tea break while a poor family needed emergency approval for their son’s knife wound treatment. And I ran away when I couldn’t fight anymore.
Not the system. Not my wife. Not the ambition that consumed her and left me hollow.
I remembered all the times Anika brought me piping hot coffee from the nearby fancy coffee place, because I preferred it. Even though we could not afford it, and she had to pull in an extra shift to cover our expenses. I remembered the massages she gave me when I was bone tired from working a double shift in the ICU, making sure the patient lived with a full quality of life.
I remembered her bright smile and then the confused line that started appearing whenever I interrupted her study time in the on-call room.
I also remembered my own hopelessness at forgetting the basic facts I needed to remember for the MD exam. Maybe my heart was not in it, had never been in it, but I needed that degree to justify the years of sacrifice my Aai-Baba had made for me, their golden son. Their good boy.
Their Viku.
Guilt was my constant companion when I was studying for the exam. Because I was affected by the simple hope in my mother’s voice every time we chatted, and she asked me how I was doing. Or the gruff happiness in my father’s tone when he asked me if I needed more money.
I had no enthusiasm for the next step of my specialization, and I should have. Like Anika did, with her single-minded focus and determination. She had parental pressure too, and issues with them. But she didn’t let them impact her.
She just let them define her.
I was impacted by everything happening in my life. The realization that I was suffocating at a job that brought me little joy. The horror of understanding how modern medicine really worked. The hopelessness of seeing the person I loved the most relish the challenges I could not even bear.
Yes, I needed that degree to prove to everyone I was a good doctor. That I was a doctor at all.
Except, it didn’t matter in the end.
I failed the MD exam. Anika passed with flying colors. And everything went to ash between us.
That was part of the reason I hadn’t picked up the phone and called Anika to tell her I was coming. I just had too much to say, even more to feel and not enough air to breathe. It was a dick move.
I made it anyway.
***
Shaking off my melancholic memories I waved at Dr. Tiwari, the Head of Internal Medicine. He was coming out of a consult with a, no-doubt, VIP patient. Department heads don’t do the rounds for ordinary patients.
‘Dr. Pandit, what a surpriseji.’ Dr. Tiwari enthusiastically pumped my hand and pulled me in for a bro-hug. I held on keeping the wince inside at his pounding of my back. ‘We did not expect to see you again in these corridors.’
Neither did I.
And it’s true, the last time I was down here, I felt defeated. Destroyed. The only sure thing I knew was the idea I did not belong here. It was such a sad ending to a promising career; I spent months mourning it. The idea of Hotshot Dr. Pandit, saving lives in the city of dreams that never sleeps.
I never slept and the city crushed all my dreams.
‘Never say never, sir.’ I stepped back from the man’s embrace, smelling of tobacco and cigarette smoke and Banarsi paan (desi betel leaf with sugar, spices and nuts). I didn’t mean it, but it was a polite thing to say.
‘So, how is the local hospital treating you? Do you like being your own boss?’ The man walked with me to my destination. The NICU floor. I was taking the stairs instead of the elevator, prolonging my moment of reckoning. And longing.
‘It’s a lot of work, sir. I don’t have a moment to myself. Constantly on-call.’
‘And no pay either, right?’ The doctor guffawed and stuffed his stethoscope in his lab coat. No one carried the scope anymore unless they needed to check for sounds, but some of the old-timers who’d grown up in the time of nineties TV.
‘It’s the same story everywhere,’ I agreed.
And it was true, to an extent. I did not have enough funds to run the hospital and pay myself the salary I should be paying. I spent it on my staff and upgrading the facilities so I could treat more patients.
But there were so many upsides that money could not buy, so I did not mind. Besides, home was a lot cheaper than Mumbai. A cup of cutting chai cost like fifty rupees back home. It cost about seven times more here in the city.
‘Well, you are an excellent diagnostician, Vikrant.’ The doctor squeezed my shoulder. It was a sincere compliment, to my surprise. ‘You called that appendectomy heart attack on my operating table. I will never forget it.’
I remembered the case. Patient name: Jai Shah. Twenty-three years old. No prior history of heart problems. Brought in for an emergency appendectomy. Suddenly suffered jumps in his systolic and his vitals went haywire. Everyone was trying to figure out what went wrong, but I knew it was his heart. I watched the ECG jump almost out of the page erratically.
It was an easy call to make because I knew where to look.
I gave him a modest shrug. ‘Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you to remember.’
‘I’m just saying…’ Dr. Tiwari stopped me at the stairs entrance. ‘If you want to come back, I could make it work for you. I need someone like you on my team, anyway.’
And I felt that pang again. That pang of saving lives. Making a difference. And getting a star reputation while doing it. Feeding my God Complex. ‘That’s…thank you for the offer, sir.’
‘Think about it,’ he suggested. Then he winked. ‘I’m sure someone else will be happy to see your face around here.’
My smile faded at his suggestive words. I made my excuses and left the man to his rounds.
***
I thumbed my phone open. And stared at the message I’d drafted but not hit send on. I wasn’t sure she’d blocked me and maybe part of me didn’t want to know if she had …
But…
Hey. How are you holding up? Are you the star pediatrics surgeon already? (Winky face) I know it’s been a few months, but I am coming to the hospital this afternoon. And I was wondering if we could talk? I have something important to tell you.
The words were bland. Unthreatening. Unemotional. It was something I’d write to a friend. With a few curses and yaars ( Hindi for dudes) thrown in for added color.
It felt like the worst kind of insult to the most vibrant woman I’d ever met. I mean, just one emoji was blasphemy to Ani. I scrolled over our chat thread and found it full of emojis and exclamation marks. My responses were limited to smileys and full sentences with proper punctuation. We were such polar opposites, no wonder it didn’t work out between us.
I almost pressed send to the message. But my thumb hovered at the last second.
Did I really want to announce my presence in her life with a winky face emoji? Was that the right thing to do?
I sighed internally.
‘Vik!’ Dr. Anu exclaimed as she saw me. She hurried toward me, her shoes squeaking on the tiled floor. ‘I did not think you were coming today when you said you were thinking of coming.’
Oh yeah, I’d just casually DM’d Anu, Anika’s work bestie to find out her schedule this week, so I could low-key meet her. I could not go back to that apartment I’d called home for the best years of my life. Until it turned into the worst time ever.
‘Yeah, I had a free weekend, so I thought I’d drive up.’ It was kind of the truth.
‘Everyone misses you. I told them you were coming, and they want to meet you. Do you want to talk to Anika first?’
I opened my mouth to say yes. Yes. I was here to see Anika. Only Anika.
Then I recalled the scorn and bleak despair in her eyes the very last time I’d seen my wife. And my heart wore itself out again on a love that was not meant to be. I shook my head. ‘No, no. I’d love to catch up with everyone. Anika’s probably busy anyway.’
‘Yeah, she does have her post-op rounds scheduled for now,’ Anu murmured.
‘There you go.’ I waved at her. ‘I’ll talk to Anika when she’s free.’
Liar, my heart mocked. You wish to never talk to her because it’s all you wish for, don’t you, you idiot?
I followed Anu into the elevator, and we sped up toward the cafeteria. While Anu texted everyone and I could put off my moment of reckoning and longing for a little longer.