Blame it on amygdala

The smell of phenol floats in the morning fog. At the entrance, I slip my feet into oversized Bata chappals. There is an eerie silence inside. Most of them are dizzy under the spell of last night’s tranquillisers. I take rounds, filling their requisition forms. High Protein Diet – reads this one. I prescribe two eggs. As I sign the form, a warm, sweaty hand grabs my wrist. I feel the faint quiver of his hands. He looks into my eyes like a satiated toddler and yells, ‘thank you Teji Bachchan! You are my saviour’

the frostbites
of being alone
winter chill

I smile and walk towards the next bed. He is sitting on the bed erect (substitute with upright to avoid other connotations), facing me. I know he loves to wear a stethoscope around his neck, enacting a doctor. At times he even goes on rounds checking each inmate, scribbling a prescription in the air. He snatches my writing board, looks at me and says, ‘you must never become a doctor, no you must not, never!!! Medical colleges make you insane and you will land up beside me! Do you want this?’ I nod in affirmation and sit near him. The head nurse gives me stern look. I get up hesitantly. We aren’t allowed to mingle with patients of this ward; a thing I could never learn. I whisper to him, ‘eggs will make you sane, I am putting you on a HP diet’ He winks at me and bursts into laughter!

sepia tones
a child poses with
his tongue sticking out

By the end of the shift, these rounds generally wear you out. Today, surprisingly I feel refreshed. I know I have made them feel special. All it took was a couple of eggs. I slip back into my regular shoes. The board reads – Psychiatry Ward.

visitors lounge
empty chairs await
a call