the waiting room

Untitled Part 1

Today I complete my 40 years as a receptionist at the "We Care hospital". It was not

an easy ride however, I still cherish my journey. I connected with so many lives and

families and became a part of their sad or happy times. But above all what I'm

thankful for, is the lessons I have learned from the experiences and stories of the

souls I came across in these past years at my job.

This one day, 22nd June, 1982 I still remember. It not just changed me as a person but

enlightened me with the true meaning of life. Even today, every second of that day is

crystal clear in my memory. It was a bright sunny day and the hospital was as busy as

usual. My table was placed right in front of the main door on the 3 rd floor, which was

the dermatology department. There were chairs placed right in front of my table in a

semi-circle making it a small waiting room for the patients. The words 'we care for

you' were painted on the back wall with red paint in fine cursive letters. A table was

placed in front of the chairs that had a few old and new magazines and newspapers

for the patients to read while they waited.

It was not a very good morning for me that day owing to the fact that my landlord

had called and asked me to vacate my flat for my inability to pay the rent on time. I

only had 3 more days to find a new home. This was not the only reason for my

constant vexed mood. It was just a rotten cherry on top of my already burnt cake

considering that my fiance had also recently broken up with me. I could feel the

distance growing between us in the past few weeks and that he probably had

someone else he liked better but what he said while leaving was the most

nincompoop thing I had ever heard. He said that he was tired of me because I always

smell like hospitals. I couldn't believe it or in fact anything that was happening with

me at that time. I used to be agitated all the time and as I was sulking away my days

at work, perpetual self-hate took over my life.

I was busy doing my work angrily while the waiting room started filling up with

patients. My day was comparatively less busy when I received a call from Dr. Shah

who was contrite to inform me that he had an emergency at home and would take

almost an hour to reach the hospital. I put the phone down and passed on Dr. Shah's

message to everybody in the waiting room. To which Aryan started whining as

always. Aryan? Well, let me tell you about him. He was a skinny 17-year-old who was

suffering from an incurable eczema that gave him red and white patches all over his

body and an uncontrollable itch, he always had an irked and angry look on his face

which was perpetually covered by a huge textbook in his hand to hide and escape