I went to the hospital today, on one of the customary trips I make every time weather changes in thepristine SOx/NOx/COx-storehouse that we like to call Delhi. Without getting into details of what was transpiring in my ENT canals, let me share what transpired inside the hospital.
Even in hospitals (in fact especially there), we Indians lack any sense of private space. But that’s probably because very little of that is usually available at our disposal.
1) I was standing in front of the doc's room. Suddenly, three random chaps wanted to cut the queue. I really don't know why they wanted to do that since the doc was not in yet.
Anywho. They started breathing down each other's neck. And everyone was sick! Obviously.
It was like an orgy of people with VD. So, I moved away.
2) I move to a spot that was close to the billing counter. This guy with a thick Bihari accent squeezed himself in the space between me and the counter. Which was fine. (The Bihari accent is immaterial to the line of events. But his loud conversations on the phone ensured that his accent got etched in my memory of this encounter).
By then he started bending. With his butt dangerously close to my crotch. He was bending to place his documents in his bag. Of course, he could not do it anywhere else.
Anywho. My tryst with close sexual encounters in the hospital did not end just yet.
3) I moved away from the billing counter and stood in front of another doc's room. The room was empty. There was no queue. So I thought no one would trouble me. I was excruciatingly mistaken.
A young MR from a random pharmacy company wanted to leave a memento on the doc's table. He looked like a young sterile virgin. He, too, bent. But this time with his face precariously close to my crotch.