Treadmill, Coffee, Books and OT

Treadmill, Coffee, Books and OT

OT starts late here but I wake up at the usual hour. I have time for more workout in the morning. It’s still dark outside as I pound the treadmill. Initially with trepidation lest I wake up the family members who sleep in adjoining rooms. Then a little more confidently, as heart beats faster and its rhythm mingles with the music. After the run, I have more than an hour on my hands. I read the stuff I wrote last night or type it out. I brew coffee to take to work. I can’t resist pouring a little, to sip now, though I have had tea a few minutes back. I gather my books, lunch box and coffee flask. I stuff the pannier bag of my cycle with these. Bag balloons enormously, on either side of the carrier. Cycle resembles a slim woman in a corset with ballooning middle. I check again if I have kept the book I am presently reading. I can’t survive without it for 8 hours in OT.

City is waking up as I cycle the short distance to the hospital. There are a few students cycling to their schools.  There are only a few cars, but they honk menacingly if they feel I’m in their way. A stray municipality worker sweeps the road. Few pillions on bikes stare back as they pass me by. Who is this alien, middle-aged junkie in a helmet, on a rickety cycle that has an absurdly swollen behind? Their mildly amused and faintly miffed glance seems to suggest. Patients leaning on the arms of their attendants, weak and downcast, walk in and out of the Government Hospital. I pant as I cycle up the Medical College flyover, but enjoy the ride down.

Parking lot of the hospital teems with bicycles. I look for a derelict corner to park my cycle.

Ekdam angrez cycle hai sir, farrate se chalti hai ye. Hum jaante hain. Tees, chalis par to aise hi bhagtee hai. A hospital staff informs me as he parks his cycle besides mine.

I am late. It’s past nine. I walk through the labyrinthine corridor leading to the changing room. It’s cold and stark like a morgue. It smells of odonil sticks. 

A few more doors and I am in the main OT.

Sorry, I'm late. 

A group of technicians are gathered in the preoperative area.

No sir. No one’s come yet. 

I read the newspaper I’ve brought. I begin anaesthetising the first patient as my surgical colleague walks in. I read the book. Occasionally I read a medical journal online, to break the monotony and to fake an atmosphere of academics. I am restless. I think this is my body craving for coffee. Coffee is strong. I drink it in solitude and silence. There is more in the flask. I drink it all. Coffee accentuates the vague feeling of loss, I feel in a new environment.

I am yet to know my colleagues well. There are no compliant students to listen, helplessly perhaps, to my blabber on astronomy, physics, evolution, psychology, religion and theism, Evidence Based Medicine, Maugham, Orwell and such trifles. I have more time to read. I finish books faster.

Do you read two books simultaneously? You had a different one, a little while ago. Asks a colleague.

I finished that. I brought two today.

She smiles, a little bemused.

City roads are at their chaotic best as I cycle back home. I disembark often. I am overcautious. I have broken a clavicle a few months back, as I cycled on a highway and was hit by a car. I take a side lane now, which was not accessible to me in the morning. It passes through a lush residential area. There is hardly any traffic here. On either side of the road, huge impressive bungalows rear up their massive torsos proudly. Arrogant in their isolation and magnificence. 

Sky is darkening when I reach home. I have run treadmill in morning. I do a little exercise, listening to music. I prepare a strong cup of coffee. The small Bluetooth speaker sits on the kitchen shelf as coffee hisses out of the filter, spreading an alluring aroma in the house. I have discovered a new song by Abida Parveen. Instinctively, I navigate to the share option. But then think better of it. 

I read for long hours at home too. As night deepens and noise around stills, I return to Faiz. I discover, rather rediscover Nazms I had not read for years. I attempt a review of the book I have been postponing for long. I hit the bed early, and sleep fast for hours. An experience that has eluded me for some months. 

I wake up fresh. It’s cold as I mount the treadmill. But soon I will be sweating like a pig. 

As I cycle to hospital, I look forward to a relaxed day in the OT. There are no free lunches in life. The blessing of an uncluttered working day comes at a cost.  A mind deprived of company to share cascade of thoughts new books spawn, is an ineluctable gift of this very atmosphere.