A Medical Romance

Chapter Three

9th February 2005
1:00 pm
Reaching, the cabin of doc Krish, she is wondering whether to enter or return without making an effort.

She looks back and finds the floor empty, devoid of any human presence, her mind orders her, Now….

She wonders what she is going to talk to him. She does not know him? Oh! Kavya, how bore, please leave, before you bring more humiliation to yourself.

You were irritated about his cold stares and now, you are trying to knock at his cabin door and say what?!! “Hi, this is Kavya, whom you have been staring at in the operation room, Huh! Very funny, leave stat.

She hears a voice from inside, “Anybody, there, please do come in.”

From outside, she really wants to flee, but her polite manners ask her to stop and she gently knocks on the swing doors.

Knock…Knock… [Politely, she knocks the door, the sound hardly audible to her own ears]

“Yeah, come in.”

She pushes open the door enough for her to pass through. She has a slender body that is efficiently maintained by the frequent runs to the hospitals at inappropriate time. Her face is a chiseled artistic venture with the vital organs at their places. Her eyes are the best feature of her face; they are huge and extra brown in color. Her long braid sways to her steps.

She too had some strong grazes with her eyes, during her college days. Till some years she used to wear any normal dress for her daily office but since a year she has restrained herself from draping with saris and there is so much of beauty along with intelligence, when you look at her.

She is an efficient anesthetic and has a reputation for it some years now. She was working in the other part of the country and has recently joined Glen Hospitals, in Bengaluru city.

She walks in, finds an elaborate room with lots of book shelves filled with all possible books on surgery, medicine, diseases, their cures and symptoms. The floor is white tiled, with huge windows on the either side of the wall, filling the room with adequate flow of fresh air.

The windows open into the other sides of the block, along with a panoramic view of the garden that is sparing the vacant spaces of the hospital. There is a table with a few books, a bottle of water, a lunch box, a chair in between the shelves, like a hid out for a fiesta.

The walls are painted with the same green and white combinations, the green occupying the first half of the wall from the ground. The ceiling is white, with a good old ceiling fan with a creaking noise and a huge tube light hanging above the head, the two best inseparable companions of the ceiling.

There is a huge table at the centre of the room, with a table cloth spread on it neatly. The name plate reads, “Dr. Krishnan Rangarajan”. There are two trays on the table, one has the amenities required for a doctor and the other has some papers and files of information about patients. There is a writing pad clipped with papers, a pen on it, a folded stethoscope lying beside, a half-read book on bone surgery, and a recent best seller that is folded and placed, with a bookmark.

The table is complemented with a chair, and the chair is occupied by Dr. Krishnan Rangarajan, a man of dedication and affection in an uncommon mix.

He has compassion for his patients and sees that they are taken care well. He relates with the pain his patients suffer and tries to bring them to a comfort level and also with the relatives who stand and wait for the doctor’s verdict on whatever the state of the patient is.

His face is marked by the signs of worry and his sharp eyes that could pass through a thin sheet of ice are cloudy and they are filled with water. He face shows the growth of two day old beard and his unkempt hair, tells us his negligence about himself. He is wearing a cream colored tees and a blue jean. His posture is deep-set on the chair and he is certainly in no mood for a conversation.

He wishes that whoever was at the door should leave within few minutes of conversation. His right arm is rested on the temple of his head and the left is rested on the arm of the chair.

She enters, he sees a crimson colored sari in midst of the white coat, a slender female. He recollects seeing this color somewhere and he looks up, behold, here is Kavya the lady of his dreams, the lady who set fire in him 10 years ago. She has come back again into his life, she was lost and there was no idea where she was all these days.

That was a little promise that was made on that very day. They would not be tracing each other for any details and let the fate decide what was good for them. Here, she is did fate bring them together as she said and left him standing on a cold morning. She is back, oh god, thank you. Oh, how I missed her.


Short Stories by Kavitha Kumaresan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License