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After the reports arrived in ten minutes saying that my BP, sugar, ECG etc were all normal and I was fit for the phaco-surgery, another dame took over and put some drops in my eye and asked me to wait for 45 minutes...I guess these are the atropine equivalents that enlarge my pupil for the benefit of the surgeon.
And after an hour I was called to the outer sanctum where another dame would 'dress' me up for the surgery.
I then debated what to do with my priceless possessions like my wallet, cell phone and chappals.
At my age one doesn't trust others for safekeeping his valuables.
My wallet is always so thick that no pickpocket can retrieve it from its jammed back pocket. It has no fat cash but lots of documents like past couple of years' milk bills, newspaper bills, maintenance bills, gas bills, and several old and outdated business cards of forgotten folks...and an odd ancient photo or two.
Youngsters' wallets these days are as thin as slices of bread and just have half a dozen cards, credit and debit, and a few currency notes.
But there is this rider of Bernard Levin's Theorem:
"The poorer a man is, the more he is attached to his wealth"
And then I was ushered into a waiting room which had 2 beds. And I was asked to occupy one for the nonce.
The other was already filled by a mature lady all dressed up for the event. And her husband was sitting by her side on the chair meant for her attendant.
As I was trying to recline on my couch, the husband shot his prelims:
"Are you also due for cataract?"
"Ahem...yes"
"Which package?"
"40,000"
"Ah, good! goooood!...my wife is also of the 40,000 package"
And he was as warm as an old buddy and meanwhile my attendant, viz. my son, arrived and the two had a feast of reason and flow of soul.
And I was wondering what his reaction would have been if I were in the 8,000 package meant for the poorest of the poor.
Perhaps his warmth would have been chiller by about 10 deg C.
This led me to reminisce my trips to the corporate cancer center for my wife's first radiation therapy lasting 64 days, weekends off.
There were two separate waiting lounges...
One was fully air-conditioned and had sumptuous sofas. This was meant for folks who could afford to pay their own hefty bills either in cash or corporate insurance (to which my wife belonged).
The other was for the hoi polloi dependent on government dole for their radiation doses. Their verandah was hot and humid and had hard benches.
But the radiation was the same...the same machine and the same technicians.
I guess we haven't yet grown to be a classless society...we will...soon.
But everyone is equal, so far as I know, in our open crematoria. I had attended cremations at KGP as well as Hyderabad. The KGP one was primitive but everyone was treated equally...the only difference was that one had to send word in advance about the rough weight of the departed soul so that estimates could be made as to how many tons of firewood would do...Lord Shiva would scowl at wastage of precious timber.
Not so in Hyderabad which is posher. Here too everybody gets the same red-hot treatment...and the money charged under firewood seems also the same for all adults...apparently they have a standard package meant for a 100 kg soul...I don't know.
And I happened to recall the stanza I had read in my school years:
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After the reports arrived in ten minutes saying that my BP, sugar, ECG etc were all normal and I was fit for the phaco-surgery, another dame took over and put some drops in my eye and asked me to wait for 45 minutes...I guess these are the atropine equivalents that enlarge my pupil for the benefit of the surgeon.
And after an hour I was called to the outer sanctum where another dame would 'dress' me up for the surgery.
I then debated what to do with my priceless possessions like my wallet, cell phone and chappals.
At my age one doesn't trust others for safekeeping his valuables.
My wallet is always so thick that no pickpocket can retrieve it from its jammed back pocket. It has no fat cash but lots of documents like past couple of years' milk bills, newspaper bills, maintenance bills, gas bills, and several old and outdated business cards of forgotten folks...and an odd ancient photo or two.
Youngsters' wallets these days are as thin as slices of bread and just have half a dozen cards, credit and debit, and a few currency notes.
But there is this rider of Bernard Levin's Theorem:
"The poorer a man is, the more he is attached to his wealth"
And then I was ushered into a waiting room which had 2 beds. And I was asked to occupy one for the nonce.
The other was already filled by a mature lady all dressed up for the event. And her husband was sitting by her side on the chair meant for her attendant.
As I was trying to recline on my couch, the husband shot his prelims:
"Are you also due for cataract?"
"Ahem...yes"
"Which package?"
"40,000"
"Ah, good! goooood!...my wife is also of the 40,000 package"
And he was as warm as an old buddy and meanwhile my attendant, viz. my son, arrived and the two had a feast of reason and flow of soul.
And I was wondering what his reaction would have been if I were in the 8,000 package meant for the poorest of the poor.
Perhaps his warmth would have been chiller by about 10 deg C.
This led me to reminisce my trips to the corporate cancer center for my wife's first radiation therapy lasting 64 days, weekends off.
There were two separate waiting lounges...
One was fully air-conditioned and had sumptuous sofas. This was meant for folks who could afford to pay their own hefty bills either in cash or corporate insurance (to which my wife belonged).
The other was for the hoi polloi dependent on government dole for their radiation doses. Their verandah was hot and humid and had hard benches.
But the radiation was the same...the same machine and the same technicians.
I guess we haven't yet grown to be a classless society...we will...soon.
But everyone is equal, so far as I know, in our open crematoria. I had attended cremations at KGP as well as Hyderabad. The KGP one was primitive but everyone was treated equally...the only difference was that one had to send word in advance about the rough weight of the departed soul so that estimates could be made as to how many tons of firewood would do...Lord Shiva would scowl at wastage of precious timber.
Not so in Hyderabad which is posher. Here too everybody gets the same red-hot treatment...and the money charged under firewood seems also the same for all adults...apparently they have a standard package meant for a 100 kg soul...I don't know.
And I happened to recall the stanza I had read in my school years:
THE glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
...James Shirley (1596-1666)
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