Thirty Minutes with the Sankarans

It’s another mad day in my life
Don’t know if I can sustain this
Maniacal outpouring of energy
That each patient an each procedure
Requires of me…
I take a break and run for peace,
Not to the neighbourhood temple,
With its rush of warm childhood memories,
But to meet the Sankarans
And bask in their love for some time.
Their cosy little flat
Is so typical of their way of life.
No Ming vases or Hussain paintings here.
Instead, their pastel shaded walls
Have, punctuating them, photographs of
Their children and their little ones.
A joyous calm engulfs you as you walk in
Through their open door,
And their hearts, like their doors,
Are always open to help any of their neighbours too.
The tell-tale scrawls of a pencil loving grandchild
Compete for space on the dining table
With an assortment of medical journals,
Tamil magazines, and wedding invitations.

Not quite the Inside Outside interior, this,
But every time I go there,
I understand that a house in built with bricks,
But a home is built with hearts.
By the time I sit down at their table,
I am a hapless captive
In the bonds of their love.
Mrs. Sankaran swoops down on me,
And, magically, all that I like
Appears on the table in minutes, like in an Arabian Nights’ tale.
Here the efficiency is mind boggling,
As it is powered on by love.
Between my gobbling,
I enquire about their health.
But unlike all my patients,
Who often worry about the smallest
Changes in their gas patters
Like the world was falling painfully and surely
Right on their heads,
The Sankarans are always dismissive about their own health
And are always hassling me about mine!
I constantly think about his heart problem, but
He is absolutely unconcerned about any changes in his ECG,
More troubled about the IPL matches…..
When I check out his wife’s health,
It’s even worse,
As I get a barrage of queries about the bags under my eyes (Like a drunkard)
The hallows of my eyes (will hold a cupful of rice)
And my sagging voice (Too many mobile calls, young man)
And I retreat, bruised and battered from the assault…..
The minutes whiz by as I recount the past week’s events,
And they are so keen on my every word.
Before I know it, its time to go.
Bluff and cheery,
I promise to be back,
But my heart is heavy
And my tread slow,
As I walk away from the home of the world’s
Best parents.
Mine