HOW I MET YOUR FATHER...

Kids, it was the summer of '85 when we first met. Yeah, yeah i know that u have heard all about our' girl meets boy, boy proposes, girl disposes so on and so forth natak ' so often that now it has become ur favourite bedtime story! (read may 2010 POST ) You fall asleep even before it starts!

So, today i am telling u a story about 2 kids who never met their father.

It was a routine antenatal consultation. Lata, a sweet, simple 21 year old, newly married, came with her husband, 12 weeks pregnant. Both were shy, eager to follow advice and were sent off with instructions to eat well,put on weight and follow up after a month. 3 months later, Lata walks in, now 6 months pregnant along with her mother. Gone was that sweet, quietly content look. In law troubles,i guessed, having been witness to many such stories in the past. Was i wrong! 2 months earlier, her husband was crossing the road near Sion hospital when a truck knocked him down. He died instantaneously. The next two months were a nightmare as Lata was blamed for her husband's bad luck and she was forced to go to her mother's house. No time for grief, sorrow is a luxury for girls like her who have to carry on with the business of living. Her old,frail mother and she almost appeared uncaaring but for the catch in her voice and arms protectively clutched around her tummy.

Amita was 7 months pregnant when a weekend trip to Lonavla changed her life forever. Their car met with an accident, she broke her leg but her husband was seriously injured and put on the ventilator. Her every visit to my clinic thereafter was chaotic since she was accompanied by both sets of parents, her brother and sister ln law. Her husband succumbed to his injuries almost a month later and every time i checked the baby's heartbeat, there was a fresh wave of sorrow.

Both mothers delivered with me. Lata had a baby boy and she held him with tears streaming down her face. Amita had a baby girl, the spitting image of her father. One could sense that both sets of grandparents were going to fight for her.

And so were born two kids who will never meet their father!

(all names changed)

OF BARKING DOGS AND FLYING PHONES

Lost my fourth cell phone today and spent the entire day without one (for a good cause and not my fault, really). This brought back memories of my early years in medical practice when we were wholly dependent on the landline. A list of all possible landline numbers was given to the on-duty sister who would diligently call on each till she could locate me. For movies, there was a friendly panwallah, with a phone, just outside our local theatre, who would be given our seat numbers, so that, in an emergency, he could notify us. Thus, in blissful oblivion, passed many years till pagers came into our lives.

Pagers became instant status symbols and we wore them clipped to our jeans/kurtas like a fashion accessory. However, the umbilical cord binding us to the landline could not be severed as yet, since, we had to rush to the nearest phone when the pager blipped.

Finally, the cell phone arrived. With freedom in our hands, our lives changed drastically and today, I wonder, how we ever managed to survive without one which brings me back to my saga of lost phones.

The first one was left behind in an auto, when I must have kept in on the seat, while paying the fare. How the second got lost remains a mystery! One minute it was in my hand as I am rushing to the hospital for a delivery and the next minute it has disappeared! Must have dropped it, I presume. The third phone was left behind at Datta’s [a famous batatawada stopover enroute Alibaug, a seaside getaway ].We had almost reached, when the hospital nurse called on my husband’s cell to inform us that my cell number is no longer available, which in lost cell phone parlance means stolen/never to be seen again. We had become quite the experts by then!

Till, finally, today’s story. I am, as usual, rushing for a delivery at five a.m. All is quiet except for the pounding of my feet. A stray dog suddenly emerges barking from beneath a parked car. I freeze, hit the panic button and throw my phone at him. We stare at each other in shock, he retreats unhurt beneath the car and I sheepishly retrieve my phone from a puddle of rain water, knowing, that once again I will have to make the trip to the now familiar store with a demand for an instrument which is easy to use and inexpensive so that there is no heartburn when it gets lost, as it will, eventually………

P.S.  New APP for cell phones:-

   Only compatible with cheap instruments!

   Can be used as a missile against barking stray dogs.  YEAH!!!!