Read Online Hillstation by Robin Mukherjee - Free Book Online Page A

runs.’
    â€˜And how long have you had these “Runs”?’ I asked, making a note.
    â€˜About a week now,’ she said. ‘Well, it’s got worse the last couple of days.’
    â€˜And where does it hurt?’ I asked.
    â€˜It doesn’t hurt. It’s the runs.’
    â€˜Right,’ I said, reaching for the medical dictionary with a calm professionalism that never failed to put my patients at their ease. A deft flick of my fingers opened it to the section marked ‘R’. I nodded knowingly and began to wend my way through Rabies, Rickets and Rhinitis.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ she said.
    â€˜Rubber Allergy,’ I said. ‘We’re almost there. Oh.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜We’ve got to “S” without any mention of “The Runs”, or even “Runs, The”. Still,’ I smiled at her, ‘let us spare a thought for the good Doctor Rubinstein-Taybi and pray that the disorder to which he lends his name is not too unsightly.’
    â€˜What are you talking about?’ she said.
    Reading the dictionary had long been my favourite part of the consultation, the patients visibly relaxing as I intoned, ‘Club Foot, Coccidioidomycosis, Coenuriasis’ and finally, ‘aha, it seems to me that what you have described is the Common Cold.’ If, on this occasion, it only seemed to agitate her, I reminded myself that a little bewilderment in the presence of one’s beloved is perfectly natural.
    â€˜Perhaps it’s a new disease,’ I smiled. ‘If you like we could name it after you.’
    â€˜It’s not new,’ she said. ‘I’ve had it before. Everyone’s had it. Mike was laid up for three days in Bombay with it.’
    â€˜Right,’ I said, my pencil poised. ‘And would you say that your neck is unusually stiff at the moment?’
    She stared at me. I made a note of the fact that it might be. ‘When in doubt,’ Dev had said to me once, ‘make a note and gaze into space as if you’re thinking of something far away.’
    â€˜You know,’ she said insistently. ‘The Squits.’
    I was there in a flash. ‘You have a squint?’ I said.
    â€˜Do I look as if I’ve got a squint?’ she said.
    â€˜You have been attacked by a squid?’ I said, in a moment of clinical inspiration.
    She shook her head.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but that is the nearest I can find to what you describe, and to be frank there is nothing in here about squids, that was just a guess. But I suggest that you try focusing your eyes on something in front of you until both of them are pointing in the same direction. Did your parents have a squint?’
    â€˜My Dad wore glasses,’ she said.
    â€˜Then it’s more than likely to do with the particularities of your Deoxyribonucleic Acid,’ I said. Another thing Dev had impressed upon me was the use of long words that meant nothing to the patient but nevertheless made their condition sound important. ‘It is nothing to worry about,’ I said. ‘We all have some Deoxyribonucleic Acid in us. Though too much of it can sometimes lead to an upset stomach.’
    â€˜That’s it,’ she said. ‘It’s an upset stomach.’
    I leaned back in my chair and smiled. ‘You see,’ I said. ‘Meticulous analysis leads invariably to the correct diagnosis.’
    â€˜So what can you give me?’ she said.
    â€˜How bad is it?’ I asked.
    â€˜Well, I can’t keep anything down, diarrhoea, the usual. Probably ate something, or drank something. I don’t know. I think Cindy’s getting it, she was looking a bit off this morning.’
    â€˜Cindy?’
    â€˜Oh, sorry, one of the other dancers.’
    â€˜Pol’s wife?’ I said.
    â€˜No. She’s not married.’
    â€˜Not yet,’ I chuckled, ‘but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.