Heal Thyself

MEENA KANDASWAMY

Illustration: Sudeep Chaudhuri

When I met my distant aunt at a wedding (where else), she asked me what I did. While I fumbled for a decent answer, she announced, “All my children are the doctors in London.” The maternal pride in her voice and the extra definite article in her statement made me believe that she was seriously into some long-term contract of supplying doctors to London hospitals.

I also got to meet a filthy-rich chartered accountant the same day. He audits for infamous politicians and a famous diamond company. “I am a commercial man,” he said by way of an introduction. He then went on to explain why he was a success in life: “I cut off all connections with my village. I never turned back to look at it. There are people in my village who have died for want of a paracetamol. I let them die. If I had maintained ties, I would have been just another villager. I wouldn’t have developed.” Cutting his village roots ensured that he got class. Mr Commercial Man hailed from a dominant land-owing caste; his six daughters (the son never materialised) had all pursued careers in medicine — the elder three were doctors (and married to doctors) and the next three were dentists (and married to doctors). I am willing to bet all the black money he turned into white that his daughters followed his philosophy and deprived a lot of rural folks of paracetamol. It was the protest by medicos in Tamil Nadu against a year’s compulsory rural service that got me thinking about my haughty aunt and the even haughtier auditor. Why are these young doctors so averse to spending just one year in a village — perhaps they want to earn in pounds and flaunt a clientele of white patients; or perhaps they harbour some kind of deep-seated resentment against villages. The medicos in my state argue that they are not against rural service per se — they don’t mind rural postings if they get permanent government jobs.

Of late, strikes have become synonymous with medicos; as has the absence of social awareness. Why else would they oppose rural postings and reservation for those who are disadvantaged? Why else would Dalit students be discriminated at AIIMS? And why do otherwise bright women medicos lend themselves to being used as eye candy for such protests?

Perhaps our young doctors need to be reminded that our society too is diseased. But then it is so old-fashioned to talk about changing the society. I guess instead we should put on our positive thinking, Brand- India hats and think of tomorrow’s doctors. Would they have mastered half-a-dozen American accents? Will they fly out or make their firangi patients fly in? Where will boutique hospitals bloom? What will be the new slogan that sells our doctors to new markets? Keep guessing.