One Sunday evening in February 1970 our street boys were playing the bat and ball version of gulli danda on the road. "Ready?" called I before striking the ball. The pickled gooseberry slipped from my cheek and nicely settled in my gullet. I rushed to the nearest tap hoping water would force it down. No. Discomfort. Panic.
The doctor at the nearest clinic showed helplessness to the condition. "Liver House", a family of doctors, was opposite ours. The Head Lady there tried banging my back, but the pickle would not budge. She summoned her son Dr. Eswer to rush me to KR Hospital where he worked. My mother took me in an autorickshaw [one of few those days]. Shivaram [Eswer's nephew] and Eswer followed us on their Vespa scooter. Being a Sunday, the OT was locked. Eswer and Shivaram went on a man-hunt for the person who had the key. By the time they could return with the key, it was close to 9p.m. and my fingernails were turning blue indicating that the wind-pipe was luckily only partly blocked. The long wait was as uncomfortable as it was worrisome.
At the OT, a brass tube was inserted into my mouth. The obstructing gooseberry, gave a slip to the tweezer. I could not feel it slipping into the belly, but could feel the arrival of a new lease of life. Shivaram took me home after getting me a banana. My grandmother who prepared the pickle was more relieved than anybody. There were still a few more of those washed pickles in my 'chaddi' pocket!
Things were fine till a few days after. Fever and fetid smell from the mouth caused me to miss school. My appearing for the 7th std. public exams were in jeopardy. Eswer diagnosed an infection [cause was that brass pipe]. The antibiotic injections that followed made me to vomit huge amounts of pus. Health was soon restored but I was too weak to study. The sickness period helped revert my 'enemy' Rajagopal into a friend and bonded Zakir Hussain's friendship [classmates both].
Everyone stood by me and I passed with a 'first class'. My gratitude ever remains to Eswer [no more now], Shivaram [now an orthopaedician in the US] my teachers at CKC and others who helped me wade through the crisis successfully. My grandmother made that gooseberry tree in our backyard to be chopped down. Yet, it still survives, like me.
The doctor at the nearest clinic showed helplessness to the condition. "Liver House", a family of doctors, was opposite ours. The Head Lady there tried banging my back, but the pickle would not budge. She summoned her son Dr. Eswer to rush me to KR Hospital where he worked. My mother took me in an autorickshaw [one of few those days]. Shivaram [Eswer's nephew] and Eswer followed us on their Vespa scooter. Being a Sunday, the OT was locked. Eswer and Shivaram went on a man-hunt for the person who had the key. By the time they could return with the key, it was close to 9p.m. and my fingernails were turning blue indicating that the wind-pipe was luckily only partly blocked. The long wait was as uncomfortable as it was worrisome.
At the OT, a brass tube was inserted into my mouth. The obstructing gooseberry, gave a slip to the tweezer. I could not feel it slipping into the belly, but could feel the arrival of a new lease of life. Shivaram took me home after getting me a banana. My grandmother who prepared the pickle was more relieved than anybody. There were still a few more of those washed pickles in my 'chaddi' pocket!
Things were fine till a few days after. Fever and fetid smell from the mouth caused me to miss school. My appearing for the 7th std. public exams were in jeopardy. Eswer diagnosed an infection [cause was that brass pipe]. The antibiotic injections that followed made me to vomit huge amounts of pus. Health was soon restored but I was too weak to study. The sickness period helped revert my 'enemy' Rajagopal into a friend and bonded Zakir Hussain's friendship [classmates both].
Everyone stood by me and I passed with a 'first class'. My gratitude ever remains to Eswer [no more now], Shivaram [now an orthopaedician in the US] my teachers at CKC and others who helped me wade through the crisis successfully. My grandmother made that gooseberry tree in our backyard to be chopped down. Yet, it still survives, like me.
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