I am part of a karaoke group, and even saying this makes me retch, but what to do? It’s raining outside.
If you know, you know, and for those who don’t, this is a dialog of a famous yesteryear Tamizh movie where a couple is making out in a car in the middle of a downpour when a kill-joy, moral policeman, knocks on the car window.
Our protagonist, not to be outdone, says, ” It’s raining outside; what to do?”
In Tamizh, of course.
Man is a social animal, and woman is even more so; I have no choice but to be part of this group for some friendship and camaraderie.
So sticking to the same note*, this group has some very eminent physicians who have so many tales about their patients; of course, no names or other identifying markers except that the patients are post-graduates of What’s App and/or Google University.
So here’s a third-person scenario that comes to mind as portrayed by my physician friends. I have broken this down into four case studies covering most of our poor doctors’ situations.
Setting the scene
Donned in pristine white coats, as white as the flawless idly, these medical magicians tirelessly combat a sea of diseases with the precision of a Bharatanatyam adavu.
But lo and behold, an adversary more potent than the most virulent of pathogens rises. It is neither a microscopic marauder nor a physical impairment but a ceaseless cyclone of questions whipped up by the patient fraternity, a riddle as perplexing as cracking the code of a Jallikattu bull’s maneuvers.
Have you ever perceived the transformation of your usually unflappable physician, calm as the tranquil waters of Marina Beach, into a bewildered, nerve-taut, an almost explosive image at the prospect of an inquiry? Let’s unravel this mystery, as twisty and tangy as a plateful of tangy Puliyodharai.
The Google Graduate or Paati’s Kashyam
Case Study 1: The Google Graduate vs. The Paati’s Kashayam
In the patient populace, Dr. Google and our dear Paati’s Kashayam are revered as much as the sacred Thirukkural. The mention of a Google-based diagnosis or a traditional home remedy can send a doctor’s blood pressure skyrocketing faster than a Vallam Kali boat during Onam. It is no wonder the physician’s fuse shortens when patients equate the cryptic insights from the ‘Natures Cures’ blog to the doctor’s informed diagnosis.
The quizzer
Case Study 2: The Prashnamani
Next, we encounter patients resembling the relentless Sage Naradhamuni, turning each consultation into a philosophical debate. “Why this manjal colored marundhu, doctor? Why not the pachai one? What is in this marundhu? Does it contain the divine Thulasi?” Such relentless interrogations leave our physician as annoyed as a Chennai bus conductor during peak hours.
Self-diagnoser vs. the sensationalist
Case Study 3: The Puthir Solver
Some patients envision their diagnosis as a suspenseful ‘who-dunnit’ worthy of a Mysskin film plot. “Doctor, my maaman’s maamiyar’s brother had a similar kashaayam in 1982. Could it be the paniharam? Or maybe it’s the Marina Beach sundal I consumed?” By the time the mystery is solved, it’s not just the doctor’s patience running thin but also the Marina sands.
Case Study 4: The Self-diagnosing Siddhar
Finally, we encounter the patient who has mastered the art of self-diagnosis, reducing the doctor to a mere spectator in their medical drama. “Doctor, I need this marundhu,” they assert, leaving the doctor as dazed as a non-Tamil speaker trying to decipher the rapid-fire lyrics of a Tamil gaana song.
Next time the doctor’s face turns as red as a ripe Sevvazhai at the relentless onslaught of questions, bear in mind their struggle is not just against diseases but also this veritable tsunami of interrogations. Give them a break from the queries once in a while. Sometimes, the best medicine is a moment of silence, as peaceful as a moonlit night by the serene Kanyakumari coast.
*what a bad pun, but I couldn’t help it
Nalla Madras 