In Good Faith

Vivek

VivekAt about the time that daylight was filtering into Rahul’s bedroom, a light flicked on in the bathroom of an apartment some miles away. Vivek stood in front of the huge mirror that covered one wall, and looked at himself. The young man staring back at him had black hair flopping over his forehead, mischievous dark brown eyes below eyebrows that met in the centre, and long sideburns. Shaking the hair off his forehead, he broke into a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they almost vanished completely. He rinsed his mouth, patting down his moustache neatly with his fingers. He was proud of that moustache and had been cultivating it carefully for the past three months, coaxing it into a semblance of respectability just in time to coincide with the start of the college term. He then darted over to the bathing area, grabbed the hand shower and struck a rockstar pose with his legs apart and fist wrapped around the ‘mike’. He swept back his hair with the flat of his hand for a slightly raffish look, and was pleased with the effect, notwithstanding the smear of toothpaste down the front of his pajama top.

The blue pajamas soon found themselves on the bathroom floor as Vivek pulled on a pair of Y-fronts and jeans, then buckled his belt and looked in the mirror again. Flexing his pecs, he thought he didn’t look bad, but could do with a bit more muscle. He pulled on a long-sleeved denim shirt, picked up his helmet and left the house. He had planned to go on a long motorcycle ride this Sunday morning, just him and his machine. There it was, a spanking new bright red piece of solid metal, the chrome gleaming from the polish he had lavished upon it the previous afternoon after college. All he had to do was give it a quick rub with a soft cloth and he could see his reflection in its shining surface. He’d had it for just a few months, and it had become his most prized possession. He had badly wanted it right from the day he had seen it in the showroom window, and had managed to prevail on his mother, who had convinced his father. Vivek usually accomplished his objective if he went to his mother when he wanted something, although his dad often reproached her for indulging him. Still, this time at least, no doubt she was vindicated when he had got into medical college, soon after the motorbike had been bought.

Vivek straddled the machine, gunned its engine to life and zoomed off, leaving a faint blue plume of smoke trailing in his wake. The city still had not woken up from its slumber and the roads were deserted. He chose a particularly broad and straight section of the main road, a distance of well over five kilometres that he called his ‘racing track’. Crouching low, his helmet fitting snugly over his head, he roared down the road at breakneck speed. The ear-splitting whine of the revved engine pierced the early morning stillness, scattering the crows which were scavenging off the sidewalks. Luckily, hardly any people were about to be bothered. And if an old man out for an early morning stroll had his solitude disturbed and shook a fist at Vivek’s retreating back, well, that was only to be expected. These things had been happening since time immemorial, and would continue to happen as long as boys grew up and developed a sense of rebellion, matched by the need for speed. They gradually progressed to indifference once their appetites were satiated, and still later on to indignation and annoyance at the self-absorption and thoughtlessness of callow youth. And so the cycle would continue. Like many young people, Vivek thought that treading on a few toes didn’t matter as long as one got what one wanted. He reasoned that it was pointless being unduly concerned about a few crotchety old men who had forgotten what it was like to be young and optimistic.

Easing off the throttle, he turned off the main road and nudged the bike into a narrow winding lane, a path he knew well. He had been riding along it since he was a kid, maybe nine or ten years old, on a bicycle. The lane wound its way alongside a low wall which was all that separated it from the sea beyond. There wasn’t much of a current in these parts, but further on there was a place called Land’s End, where the breakers smashed themselves into spumes of white foam on the rocks. Vivek had loved this place for as long as he could remember, not only because it was peaceful, but because on the other side the road sloped gently downwards so that the momentum of the bicycle would take him all the way down, right to the entrance of a quaint little marketplace at the bottom. It was quite a long way, and he would often let the bicycle carry him down slowly all on its own, but sometimes he stood ‘in the saddle’ and pumped the pedals furiously, then let them go so that they spun crazily while he sat back and sailed down the hill. He wasn’t sure which was more fun, for it just depended on the mood he was in.

Land’s End was just ahead and he braked gently, cutting off the engine so that the motorbike sputtered to a stop. Without the least trace of selfconsciousness, he pulled off his helmet and lifted both his arms in exhilaration. Then he exhaled deeply and sat down on the rocky parapet to savour the crisp morning air. He sat there motionless for a long time, staring out at the shimmering blue-green waters of the sea extending endlessly beyond.

Whatever else Vivek might have been thinking about as he gazed into the horizon, it certainly wasn’t medical college or the fact of his having gotten into it. That had been a foregone conclusion, although he and his parents had never discussed what they would have done had he failed to get admission on his own merit. He fully expected, however, that his father would have paid the required fee to get him into one of the capitation medical colleges, even in another city if necessary. So he had not been unduly stressed by the fear that he had only this one chance and if he blew it, there was no alternative plan for his medical career. In this sense, he was at an advantage compared to his other classmates, who were either not knowledgeable about or familiar with the world of medicine, or whose parents didn’t have the money to buy them a seat in a medical college. It all boiled down to having hard cash, and Vivek had no illusions about its importance. Money gave one opportunity and comfort, both of which were clearly important. Beyond that, Vivek did not know or care. He had his whole life ahead of him to find out.

A sudden burst of ocean spray half-drenched him as he turned to leave. Feeling calm and relaxed, he cruised slowly homewards. There was still no-one about for most of the way back, and he made the bike weave dangerously from one side of the road to the other, enjoying the motion. He parked the bike in his own special slot, with the number proudly painted on the wall. Getting off, he beckoned to a young lad standing in the driveway, and handed him a piece of flannel, indicating that he should clean the machine. The boy, who was their driver’s son, was equally entranced by the bike, and enthusiastically kept it in immaculate condition. Not only did he get to touch it, but he also got a small sum of money for his efforts from Vivek every month. Vivek suspected that the major part of it went on buying cigarettes and gutka, but he told himself that it was none of his business. He didn’t smoke, but he didn’t care if other people chose to. And the kid was old enough to know what he should or should not be doing.

Vivek and his parents lived in a new apartment block where they had moved just the previous year. Formerly, they had lived in the same neighbourhood but in an old and dilapidated building, like many of the old buildings in the vicinity. Housing societies had neither the inclination nor apparently the funds for the upkeep of their properties, and it seemed that the only time they got around to repairing the buildings was when there was actually a safety hazard. Committee meetings were often a slugfest, or what was worse, a stamping-ground for aspirants keen to be elected to the committee. Vivek’s parents, as prospering doctors, were upwardly mobile or at least they wished to be, which was why they had moved into a newer, better and hopefully more cooperative Housing Society.

Vivek whistled as he ran up the steps to the marbled entrance of the building and walked into the elevator, pressed the sixth floor button and waited for the doors to close. He took a deep breath. When he was alone in the elevator, he always felt a slight sense of unease as the doors closed. He preferred the old-fashioned kind of lifts where there was a cage with a grille, which didn’t bring on an attack of claustrophobia and one could always yell for help if one got stuck. He wondered whether he had ever got stuck in an elevator when he was a little kid and his parents had hidden that fact from him. Otherwise how could he explain why he felt the way he did?

The door opened and he bounded out. His parents were at the breakfast table having their morning cups of tea. The covered balcony where they were sitting was full of potted plants. His mother loved plants, and this was the nearest that she could get to a garden in an apartment building in the crowded city. Vivek slid into a chair.

“Did you—” his mother began, but Vivek shot her a warning glance. His father couldn’t see him from where he sat engrossed in his newspaper, and Vivek had chosen his seat by design rather than by accident. He sipped from the steaming cup of tea that the cook had just placed in front of him, and tried to read the cricketing news on the back page of his father’s newspaper.

“I hope you were studying,” his father said, looking briefly over the top of the paper.

“Studying? Yes, I was—” said Vivek, adding under his breath, “—just going to.”

His father nodded, for he had heard only the first part of the sentence, as Vivek had intended that he should. No harm done, he was going to get down to it.

“Studying for something in particular?” his father went on genially.

“Yes, we have an Anatomy tutorial tomorrow.”

“Who’s your Anatomy tutorial teacher?” asked his dad.

“Thankfully not Old Countryface. You asked me that before.”

“He’s a terror, you tell me? Can’t believe it. He was such a quiet chap in college. He wasn’t in my batch, couple of years senior to me. But I knew him.”

Vivek, who had heard all this before, nodded, and rolled his eyes at his mother. She frowned at him but just then the cook brought in idlis and chutney for their breakfast, and she began to serve everyone.

“Idlis again?” said Vivek in surprise.

“Why, what’s wrong? Don’t you like idlis?” asked his mother, ladling sambar into bowls.

“I like them, but do we have to have them three times a week?” said Vivek. But he didn’t want to upset his mother, and he was hungry, so he took a generous helping anyway. If his father heard, he might start lecturing Vivek on the health benefits of steamed rice idlis. Better to gobble up his breakfast quickly and escape.

“I have to go to the clinic for a while this afternoon, to see some patients. Do you want to come?” Vivek’s dad would often consult on Sunday mornings, so this was not unusual. Sometimes it turned out to be an emergency, when the patient needed an operation urgently, but occasionally he had to see one of his large circle of friends and relations. The latter of course, didn’t consider it any kind of obligation even if it was a Sunday. Doctors were expected to be available for emergencies twenty-four hours a day, and how was a patient to know whether or not his condition was an emergency? He would have to see the doctor first in order to find out. So, from the patient’s point of view, it was always an emergency.

Vivek had agreed to go with his dad because he knew that this way his dad would be able to satisfy himself that Vivek was studying. To him, it was funny how they went shadow-boxing around each other, trying not to tread on each other’s toes, but he also had to make an effort not to show his irritation when he felt that his dad’s questions were an intrusion on his privacy. Vivek’s father could, and did at times, display no compunction about asking awkward questions of his son. He felt that he had every right to do so, being in a position to guide his son through his career. Moreover, he thought that he had done all right by his family, having been successful in providing a good life for them and he wanted Vivek in his turn to understand and fulfill his parents’ expectations from him. Generally though, father and son got on quite well and lived in peaceful coexistence without interfering too much in each other’s lives.

So, in order of priority, Vivek’s reasons for accompanying his dad were:

One: to get Dad off his back.

Two: to chat up the cute receptionist at the dentist’s clinic next door. She might not be there, as the dentist didn’t often see patients on Sundays, but maybe there was an emergency tooth extraction or something.

Three: to snoop around the clinic. Vivek was nothing if not inquisitive and loved poking around other people’s stuff. Even his parents’, although he was convinced that they were the most boring couple on earth and never did anything that was the least bit interesting.

He took with him Cunningham’s Dissection Manual, noting his dad’s glance of approval. Score one for Vivek. It was no trouble to carry, being a slim paperback volume, and he might actually get down to reading it if he didn’t find anything else to do.

Vivek’s dad was in the clinic examining a young girl who was there with her parents. Vivek had noticed her as they went into the consulting room. She was thin and nervous-looking, and seemed to be in pain. Vivek sat down in the waiting room after a quick check of the dentist’s clinic, which was locked. Sinking into the sofa, he decided he might as well start on Cunningham’s, which was a practical treatise on how to ‘cut up a human corpse’. That was the literal translation of ‘Dissection’, and every student, especially aspiring surgeons, carried a copy in the pocket of his white coat. But after a while, Vivek began to get bored. His dad seemed to be taking much longer than he’d expected. Maybe those people were friends of his father and were passing the time of day with him. Or maybe the kid was really sick. Vivek jumped up and went over to a glass-fronted cabinet which held an array of plaques and mementoes from conferences his father had attended. There were a few specimens preserved in formalin in Perspex cases—a gallbladder with stones spilling out of it, a turgid appendix like a swollen bean pod, a large knobbly tumour which he’d seen so many times, but still wasn’t able to identify. He never remembered to ask his dad what it was. He found some boxes of photographs on the bottom shelves of the cabinet, and began flipping through them. But they were all of patients or surgical specimens, and weren’t particularly interesting.

His father came out, talking to the kid’s parents. They were probably friends, or at least acquaintances. Vivek thought he had better prepare himself to be introduced, and here it came—“This is my son Vivek.” After the shaking of hands came the mandatory question and answer—“Going to be a doctor too?” “Yes, I’m in my first year of medical college,” and then they left. Vivek shot a glance at the young girl’s departing back. She seemed to be better now, no doubt about it. She had hardly been able to stand upright when she came in.

“What did she have? Appendicitis?” asked Vivek.

“I thought it might be, but after examining her, I don’t think so. Probably just period pains.”

“That’s called dysmenorrhea.” Vivek was anxious to show that he knew.

“Correct. Sometimes it can be quite painful, particularly in a young girl who’s just started menstruating. And if it’s mainly on the right side, it could be confused with appendicitis.”

“Did you give her an injection for the pain? I thought you must have. She looked a lot better when she came out.”

“Yes.”

Vivek thought his trip had served its purpose of deflecting his dad’s attention from his studies, now that he had said and done the right things. That should last for some time.