When my babies were born, I can imagine God said something like this,

‘As a reward for being an overall nice person, I give you two healthy and beautiful babies. They will bring many joys in your life. However, for those wicked things you did now and then, like stealing flowers from Gamlaghar (Yes, Anu, this one is for you 🙂 ), I have to put a catch somewhere….

Ummmm, what can I do? Ok, here is what – your kids will fall ill only on Sundays.’

(accompanying roll of thunder…)

At this point, St Peter, I presume, would have burrowed his face in his spotless white robe, laughing as he wiped a tear, giving God an A+ in the Annual Heavenly 360 Review, ‘Quite inventive, God…ha ha, pardon my laughing…’

So, here we are, on a Sunday, as on several other Sundays looking for a doctor for Prithvi who has fever. It can be quite an annoying thing. We make calls to hospitals, listen to ‘hold’ music, and are turned down.

Some hospitals offer we can meet a ‘Register Paediatrician’ not a regular one. We don’t know what that means. So, we ask.

The receptionist, sounding irritated, repeats herself, with exaggerated effort at patience, ‘That means he is a Register Paediatrician’, repeating each word slowly and angrily. We still don’t know what it means, so we give up.

Often, we just drive down, looking hopefully down the empty Sunday afternoon roads aimlessly. It is as if we will stop at a signal and, suddenly, a guy in a white coat and stethoscope will knock at the car window. But, that also does not happen.

The guys who knock are the regular knockers who ask Alok for money ‘Darling De na…’ and swish past, sashaying in their fancy sarees.

I must go now. I can see Alok wearing a white coat and roaming around in the house…sigh…what all stress can do…

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