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‘I told him about your ailment, my child, and he is very curious about your sporadic deafness. He has offered to examine you next week! Who knows, if all goes well, you will be perfectly fine before the wedding!’
What? WHAT?
‘Kasturi Beta…’ prodded Mr Vijaywada, no doubt a little concerned by my lack of enthusiasm.
‘Sir … umm … thank you. I cannot thank you enough, but I won’t be here next week. I was just about to book my holiday dates.’
‘Beta,’ said Mr Vijaywada, ‘don’t worry. Look at the worry lines on your face! Don’t worry, beta, don’t worry!’
Don’t worry? Was he kidding me?
‘Just let me call Bhaiyya and I will see what I can do.’ And with that, Mr Vijaywada pulled out his phone, dialled a number and spoke briefly.
‘Now!’ he said triumphantly.
WHAT?
‘Let’s go,’ he said with a wide, victorious smile.
‘Oh my god!’
‘God, my child, is with you. In the form of my world-famous ENT-surgeon brother.’
I am so losing my job today.
4.00 p.m.
I sat on the cold steel stool, allowing one of the best ENT surgeons in the world to peer into my fully-functioning ear. On the outside, I was sure I looked confident, but on the inside, I was trembling with unadulterated fear.
Whatever would Mr Vijaywada do when my lie was exposed? Fire me? Shout and scream at me? Hand me over to the police? Oh, the number of sickies I have applied for because of my ‘ear problem’.
‘So you can’t hear sometimes?’ Dr Vijaywada asked.
‘Yes Sir,’ I mumbled, looking at my hands. I will stick to my story for the longest time possible, I promised myself.
‘Can you hear now?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Is there a pattern to this illness?’ he asked.
My Vijaywada butted in with, ‘Yes, yes, I think it is more on Mondays and Fridays … what do you think, Kasturi?’
I gulped. I hate working on Mondays and Fridays.
‘Emmm … possibly,’ I said, feeling remarkably weak. I toyed with the idea of pretending to faint.
‘Let me look again,’ said Dr Vijaywada, a kind, distinguished-looking man, a little older than Mr Vijaywada. ‘Which medicines have you tried?’ he asked me after a minute.
‘Erm … Calcical … err… 500 and … and … Avomine 200,’ I said helplessly.
‘I see,’ said Dr Vijaywada, his face expressionless.
‘Poor girl, she has been to so many doctors,’ said Mr Vijaywada. ‘Bhaiyya, you have to do something for her. Please do something!’
For a few minutes, no one spoke as Dr Vijaywada investigated the matter.
‘I am done,’ he declared.
