FC 186 had “Destiny” as its masthead. I was destined to get quite a few nice comments.
Tarun Kunzru says: “Another take—In the old days one decided to go to a Fate to meet that special person!! If it was successful—it's Fateful Destiny!! Nice one Pras!!”
Lakshmi Raman says: “I enjoyed your FC as usual. This time it was a mix of sweet and salty. But the reflections it set off made me think again about some of the imponderable questions about life and death. This quote by John Schaar inspires me: "The future is not some place we are going to, but one we are creating. The paths to it are not found but made. The future is not some place we are going to, but one we are creating. The paths are not to be found but made, and the activity of making them changes both the maker and the destination.”
Amar comments: “Well written, Prasanna. There is also the phrase ‘Man proposes God disposes’ which could be true for both ‘Fate’ and ‘Destiny’—you choose a path, and you end up somewhere else”
Samuel Mani writes: “Well written Pras. One additional point to consider is what is the role of karma in what is fated or what happens to a person in the course of their life. Does the karma one accumulates during one's life journey determine one's fate and if yes, then is fate/destiny a continuum rather than an end state? Just as an aside — Serendipity is derived from ‘Serendip’, which is an ancient Persian name for Sri Lanka.”
[Sam, put succinctly, destiny is an end state and fate ends a state]Shereyar Vakil says: “Dear Pras, you have an uncanny knack for choosing invigorating themes for your articles. Kudos to you. The legendary Omar Khayyam once questioned God ‘Is there anyone who can question you as to why you make us and destroy us (birth/death)?’. The story goes that he responds to his question and writes, ‘What right does the clay have to question the potter as to why he makes a pot and breaks it too?.’ Keep the pot boiling, brother!”
Ashvini Ranjan writes: “Fate is an external element that takes away something unexpectedly. The choices shape destiny and the moves one makes. I have made a choice. To live happily without worrying about what the maker has in store for me, I read jokes, see fun movies and don’t read morbid stuff. If I were to die, let me die laughing, even if my maker thinks I am joking!!”
International Women's Day was celebrated on the 8th of March. On March 14th 2021, I posted FC 37 in which I elaborated on this event and also wrote about the women in my life. I rededicate that post to all the women, particularly the women readers of FC. I urge you all to please take time out to read that post: 🔗https://mrprasanna.substack.com/p/filter-coffee-037
🩺 Ubi es Family Doctor?
When I think of family doctors, my mind travels back in time to Gururaja Pharmacy, which was run by a very amiable cherubic doctor, named Shamachar. Body-shaming was unheard of in the '60s, so people used to refer to his shining bald pate, not to make fun of it but to convert it into an endearment in Kannada which roughly translates to Baldy.
Dr. Shamachar belonged to the ancient (older than old) school of medical practitioners and had perfect bedside manners. He opened the clinic at 8.30 am, took a break between 2 pm and 4 pm. He would then keep his clinic open until 8.30 pm but would not shut the doors in the face of those waiting to be seen by him. Some days he ended up staying until 9.30 pm.
He was a lovable guy, short and plump, with a smile that immediately calmed the nervous patients. He would make the patient sit, feel the pulse, and use the stethoscope to check if there is any wheezing. He would then, in an unhurried fashion, check the blood pressure, hold a torch to look down the throat to check if the tonsils are behaving themselves, and make the patient put out the tongue to see if it is coated, indicating digestive issues.
In those days, dispensing chemists & druggists weren't many. So, the doctors in ‘private practice’ (not sure why they call it private when those treated are the general public) had a small dispensary manned by a man whose main qualification was being able to read the prescription. On the shelves stood many bottles of coloured liquids and a box full of a variety of tablets. Depending on the nature of the illness, Dr S would charge Rs.2 to Rs.3 and if it involved a prick in the arm or hip he would charge Rs.4 or Rs.5. Of course, there were many cases which he treated free of cost, and he would write FOC in a corner of the prescription just so the dispenser wouldn’t ask for money.
In those days, liquid medicines came in a variety of colours similar to the colours of today’s crushed ice lollies but nowhere near in taste. Small green bottles with a cork cap were used to dispense the liquids with instruction label stuck on it to take the medicine twice or thrice a day. If tablets were prescribed, the dispenser, also referred to as the compounder, would say “Take for three days, the white one before lunch, the blue one in the evening and the pink one at night.” None of us knew the real qualification to be a compounder. Later on, we came to know that he needed to possess practical knowledge of dispensing drugs, having studied the science of pharmacy. So, in reality, our ‘dispenser’ was nowhere near a compounder.
These days doctors give prescriptions and against a syrup or tablet they write OD meaning once a day, BD meaning twice a day, TDS meaning thrice a day (it reminds you of tax deduction at source), SOS meaning as needed and HS meaning at bedtime. (HS is the abbreviation of the Latin expression ‘hora somni’, meaning at the hour of sleeping). Shamachar’s dispenser perhaps knew none of these. He would give instructions orally, not trusting the patients to understand the other dosage administration signs 1-0-0, 1-0-1 0, 0-0-1 and 1-1-1.
Dr. S made house calls to attend to patients who were old and otherwise unable to walk up to the clinic. He usually did those calls when there was a lull in the clinic or either before or closing the clinic. He had a square leather box which contained all the miraculous cures that the patients hoped for. When he called to treat someone in our house, we had to wait outside the clinic and when he was ready to go, we would carry the ‘magic box’ and walk behind him. Ah! Yes, I forgot to mention that he wore a hard hat called the ‘Bombay Bowler’s Hat’. He was never seen on the road without the hat.
There were not many lady doctors in those days, but female patients were very comfortable with the paternal touch of Dr. S and were happy to be examined by him. It was customary to offer the doctor coffee (tea was not very popular in the 60s in Mysore) and snacks (usually there were none). Dr S would decline the coffee offer not for fear of a caffeine high but because he was very orthodox and did not eat or drink anything outside of his house.
Ubi es family doctor? Where are you, family doctor? For as long as I can remember, I have not had a family doctor like the one that Dr Shamachar was. We go regularly to a doctor and refer to him or her as a family physician, but that’s not the same as a family doctor that Dr S was. I have consulted physicians, but I have not had the same experience that I had with Dr S. The gentle touch, the stethoscope on my chest and talking to me all the time about what I do, where I study only to calm me down and make sure there is no anxiety spike in my BP.
We no longer have ‘family doctors’ who make house calls, even if they are in the neighbourhood where you live. ‘Home health care’ is a new concept where a team of trained medical professionals will visit and attend to you if you are not mobile or too sick. Portea, Apollo and other outfits offer you home treatment services. Still, it is not the same as being treated by your ‘family physician’ who knows the patient’s medical history, allergies and other stuff.
The healing touch is missing. Scan, blood tests and various other invasive and non-invasive procedures have taken over and the treatment process is dehumanised. Spiralling insurance and medical treatment costs make affordable healthcare a mere political statement.
There are many medical systems. They range from Homeopathy, Allopathy, Ayurveda, Siddha and Unani. Added to this is telemedicine -the remote diagnosis and treatment of patients using technology. But none of them can substitute the healing touch of the good old family doctor who visited your house and treated everyone in the family with a sense of belonging, care and compassion. Ubi es family doctor?
To end this in a lighter vein, here’s a cute one:
A little boy had a crush on his teacher, but she was dating a doctor. So, the boy brought his teacher an apple every day.
Hope you guys liked this post. If you have any anecdotes to share about your family doctor, please share. Thank you! Until next week, take care & be safe. Ciao!
I too remember Dr S very vividly. He would greet you with a broad smile . His crown reminded us of the billiard ball. He very tactfully would ensure that the patient had bought money by looking at his palm while checking the pulse.
Another Doctor who had the ability to cure the patient just by his smile. His name is Dr Somashekar Kadle. A very handsome, tall person resembling Rock Hudson.Very affable person,would greet the patient with a broad smile, sit next to him and put the patient totally at ease He had elephantine memory , would remember the medicines that the patient was allergic to.,even after many days. His charges were nominal Unfortunately he passed away at a very young age,may be around 45 years. He worked in St Marha's hospital, but would practice in the evenings at Rajajinagar.
Present doctors are are no where near those endearing doctors.
A funny saying in sanskrit says thus
Vaidya rajo namasthubhayam
Yemaraja sahodaraha
Yeman haranti pranani
Vaidyo haranti pranani dhananicha,
There are many doctors on whom this cap fits.
I still remember the doctor coming to the house when I had a fever but those days are long gone! They now rely on blood tests and technology for treatment and not even sure they use a stethoscope! It is very difficult to even find an internist in the US without subscribing to a concierge practice. Most practices are closed and not taking on new patients. To make it more difficult, if one is admitted to the hospital, your primary doctor does not come to treat you but rather you are under the treatment of a hospital doctor.
Are we getting better care than we did with the doctor who came to the house? Perhaps not, but at least the doctor knew us and formed a relationship to add comfort and caring.