by P.R.Viswanathan
[box]Set in Bombay, ‘The Doctor’s Word’, is the story of Dr. Ramaswamy, a big man with a big heart – a doctor whose golden words meant so much to many people. Whatever the problem – he would say ‘nothing wrong, man’ – words that had the magical power of healing. P.R.Viswanathan tells you the doctor’s story through Vishnu. Read on. [/box]“Nothing can be done about it man”, he said. Parvati and Vishnu had come to see him. They knew the worst; that cancer had eaten into his vitals and it was only a matter of days. And now they had the word of the doctor himself. “Nothing can be done about it man”, he had said as he lay dying. That simple statement followed by a deep- throated laughter, like the neighing of a horse, was so characteristic of the man. Dr. Ramaswamy lay with his face to the wall. Every few minutes, he would turn around and speak briefly to Vishnu and Parvati. In the intervals of silence, Vishnu’s mind wandered; the years rolled back and once again he was in white shirt and blue shorts, off to school with his younger brother Sisu in that battered Bedford bus. Dr. Ramaswamy was such an inseparable part of that era.
The doctor was a tall, burly, good-looking man with outsize features – eyes, nose, and ears. His laughter and the sudden pronounced squint when concentrating, only added to his charm. He was always dressed in starched white – baggy trousers of drill cloth with an equally baggy half bush shirt. Vishnu remembered his mother saying that the doctor’s shirt sleeves flapped like the ears of an elephant. Both shirt and trousers were invariably frayed at the edges with threads hanging. Vishnu remembered the doctor’s reply to his uncle, who was persuading him to open a clinic in Malabar Hill. “No, no; you guys will never allow me to dress like this, man.” “There is nothing the matter with you, man.” How many people had been reassured by those words! Rendered in Palghat Tamil! And the characteristic laugh that followed! Vishnu remembered his own epileptic attacks; his mother would take him along to the clinic. Mother was always in full control; she had about her, a majestic calm and yet Vishnu could sense her anxiety, whenever he had those attacks. But as soon as the doctor uttered those words – “there is nothing the matter with you, man” – her face would visibly relax. He rarely placed any diet restrictions on his patients. And if you asked whether you could have milk or curd or spicy food, his standard reply was “nothing wrong man.” His two-room dispensary revealed the man’s character every inch. Large old-fashioned, straight-backed Chippendale chairs. The doctor sat on one of these and presided over a huge table with stacks of paper. Shelves ran along one wall with several bottles of medicine. Nothing was younger than 1935 vintage. Nothing was ever thrown out or disposed.
All things were repaired to destruction. Vishnu remembered the slow disintegration of the doctor’s cane foot-rest – over some ten years. Vishnu’s father, a close friend of the doctor, was generally regarded as a medical miracle. He weighed all of 100 pounds and his later life from age 40-60 was marked by a major illness every fourth year. Quite often he was at death’s door but his humour remained intact. On one occasion, when the doctor was examining him, he asked “Ramu, auricle, ventricle, whatever you medicos say, are all these things present in my body?” Not to be outdone, the doctor shot back “must be there, man.” No story of Dr. Ramaswamy can ever be complete without mention of Joseph Pullan, the trusted compounder. If the doctor was pleasant and nonchalant, his compounder was dour and indifferent. The doctor would mutter his prescription en route from examining room to his seat without once looking in Joseph’s direction. Joseph received the instructions in total silence and occasionally grunted in acknowledgment. Then, as he proceeded to prepare the powder or mixture and affix the dosage label, his eyes were always trained into vacant space in the direction of King’s Circle. The expression, as ever, was bitter like that of one performing an unpleasant duty and, thought Vishnu, certainly more bitter than any medicine he dished out.
As the flashback progressed in his mind, Vishnu attempted to evaluate. What did the doctor mean in our lives? The squint, the laughter, the frayed collars? It was his generally carefree easygoing manner, Vishnu concluded, his extraordinary sense sense of humour and above all his dismissive approach to most illnesses that appealed to his patients. That was the secret of the doctor’s success and that was his contribution to their lives. Vishnu and Parvati were in Lonavla with their daughters a few days later, when they got the news. The end was peaceful. On the morning of December 29, 1997, the doctor’s wife heard him call out to her. She was at his bedside and asked him what he wanted but there was no reply. Dr. Ramaswamy had passed on. In a few days, thought Vishnu, a new year will dawn in our lives, but this jovial physician will no longer be around. It was the eve of the all-important 13th day. Vishnu and Parvati were to attend the last part of the ceremonies at the doctor’s residence. Vishnu’s telephone rang; it was his aunt from Sion. Vishnu’s uncle was deeply affected by the doctor’s passing away. Uncle was very sick. Vishnu asked her to call the GP next door. But no! Uncle insisted on seeing Sridhar, his friend Ramaswamy’s doctor-son. “I am unable to go over and console Sridhar and the other boys; tell Sridhar to come home here. Let him examine me. Let me see him before I die.” Vishnu telephoned Dr. Sridhar and in a few minutes, they were driving in the latter’s car. Uncle looked very weak and exhausted. He apologised profusely to Sridhar for calling him over, while he was in mourning. “Not at all” said Sridhar warmly “forget about it, uncle. Tell me, what is the matter with you?” Uncle complained of vague aches and pains and extreme weakness. Dr. Sridhar went to work with his stethescope and his hands and finally pronounced: “There is nothing the matter with you……..uncle.” Uncle closed his eyes and smiled, contentedly. “You will live on, Ramu”, he seemed to be saying to his departed friend.
Pic : graham – http://www.flickr.com/photos/schnappi/
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