Sunday, October 02, 2011

1640 : My blood is ....

Picture this.


I need to pick up a few special medicines from the warehouse of a Swiss pharma giant. Why ? Because these are not available at a shop (with a prescription or otherwise....let's say they are like tic 20 :-)...at least they smell like that :-) ).

I am in one of oft repeated collar tees (polos for you Americans out there ) and my stoned jeans.

I reach this office, a 15 km distance from my home. As I enter, so do pptwo other men. They visibly look from a lower strata, they look Muslim to me. How ? Living in india you develop a nose for these things...but them being Muslim is just a social demographic commentary for purposes of this post.

There is a swell looking lady and 3 coarse looking gents behind the glass wall. I lean into the peep hole and tell them - "Hi, I am here for the medicines. Can you help?"

The lady looks at me - smiles and then waves me to wait. I take a seat. The two men walk up and stand at the peep hole. They don't know what to say....so they just wait.

The lady rudely asks, "kya chahiye"....shuddering these folks respond tentatively "Dava Lena tha"

She throws them a form from where she is sitting, quite literally. At the same time she calls me politely, "sir" ... Walks unto the counter and hands me the form.

I ask her for a pen, she hands me one. They ask and she leers " bharna aata hain?" before throwing a pen towards them.

Finally when the time comes to hand over the medicine....she hands them two boxes and throws a receipt and says "sign karo "...while they are fumbling a bit, she says "jaldi time Nahin hain" with irritation....

While with me...she hands me the receipt, I sign it wordlessly....take the boxes...thank all four of the staff and walk.

On the way out I chip my finger against the door knob. It bleeds and something green and Vulcan oozes out. That's when I wonder am I mr. Spock ?

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