Page 113 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

He returned two days later. We chatted with me in the lobby. Soon we became close friends. We even shared
personal problems.
“Come, you are my guest,” he said, a week later. “We’ll have tea and snacks.”
“Treat or what?”
“Consider it a special treat.” He ordered two teas and some samosa at the tea stall. The tea man brought us tea in
the tiny earthen cups.
“Please have,” he said.
I loved the aroma of tea in the open street. “Oh, thanks.” The tea tasted even better than its aroma. So, I sipped
on it, bit by bit. “What’s your religion, sir?”
He nibbled on a samosa. “Well, I am Hindu. And you?”
“I am a Buddhist,” I said. “We have a similar philosophy, don’t we?”
His eyes were stern. “Do you take meat?”
I nodded. “Occasionally.”
“All?”
“Only pork and beef.” I fidgeted. “And sometimes, eggs. What about you?”
“I am a Brahmin. And Brahmins don’t even touch meat.”
“Oh, no!” I muttered. “What have I done? How come I never lied to him?”
The taste of tea and samosa disappeared. My ears turned red. “Oh, really?” I said.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, but this is a fact. Meat isn’t good for our health.”
“Oh, really? Maybe I should stop eating meat.”
“I am not dissuading you, but this is true.” He looked around. “People who take beef turn lepers.”
“Gosh, I didn’t know that. I won’t take meat from now on. Any meat.”
The tea conversation seemed to take forever, but my honest friend laid back on the bench.
I got up and said, “I will pay the bill.”
“I will pay. It’s my treat.” He looked at the tea man and said, “He won’t take it.”
“Hum nahi le sakta,” said the tea man. “Bari sahib nahi manega.”
“Chinta mat karo,” I said. “Kuch nahi hoga. Leji.”
The tea man glanced at my friend. “Nahi.”
My kind host grinned. “See, he won’t take it. It’s our culture.”
“Oh, thanks for the treat.”
“You are welcome. See you next time.”
Even after two weeks, Dr. S.K. Mitra didn’t talk to us. When our baby’s surgeon—who was supposed to console
us during such moments—ignored us, we lost faith in him. Nothing was worse than seeing his ghoulish face. When
he walked in, I sneaked out to avoid contretemps.
On the evening of the eleventh day, they shifted the baby to the pediatric ward. The baby blabbered and sat up
with each passing day. But he needed the intravenous drip. No feeding. It pained me to see him crying for food.
“We should ask the surgeon about the baby’s food,” I said.
“Please do,” said Choki. “He has taken nothing till now.”
“But how? He ignores us.”
“Why not? You must ask him. He can’t treat us like an enemy.”
“Fine. I’ll do”
In the afternoon, I waited in the lobby for Dr. S.K. Mitra. He came out of the ward, slumping his shoulder.
I shuffled after him. “Excuse me, doctor. Can I feed the baby with something? Like—”
In a tight, irritated voice, through his gritted teeth, he blurted, “No!”
I looked around. People were watching me. I blushed. “No? Why not?”
“Not yet time!”
The belligerent scowl on his face suppressed me from disputing. I scrunched my teeth, watching him wobble out
of the glass door. “Why is he always rude?” I went behind the building and leaned against the wall, trying to revive
my sour mood. It worsened.
Days later, Choki pouted as I walked into the ward during the visiting hour.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Dr. S.K. Mitra insulted me today.”
“How?”
“I told him Rinchen flinched, that his tummy rumbled, but you know what he said?” Her eyes scowled at the
door. “He said Rinchen said nothing to him, and I must not complain too much.”
“That fatso curmudgeon!” I said, gritting my teeth, “I must report this matter to our liaison officer.”
“Please don’t. He will ignore our baby.”

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