A Writer's Predicament

I shall now relate three of my recent experiences to expand on the idea.

Episode - 1.

I was invited to a seminar meant for practicing electrical engineers (my primary profession). A speaker was describing the technical parameters related to swaged steel tubular poles used for street lighting. It was quite an interesting topic to me.

Some of the participants were taking down notes and others were simply listening, because, in any case, a hand out was circulated to the participants well in advance. I concentrated on the subject and did not notice that some one was gleefully observing me.

Incidentally, it was my habit (since college days) to take notes while listening. It was as much for remembering what was said by the lecturer as also in the belief that writing down helped in better assimilation of the subject being discussed.

All of a sudden I heard my superior officer, who was seated in the front row, by virtue of his official position, almost shouting at me:

"Mr., are you writing a story here? Why don't you listen attentively to what the speaker is saying?"

I shot back at my boss with blazing eyes but was at a loss to find words. My writing prowess failed me in the nick of the moment.

Episode - 2

I am a diabetic for over a decade. Luckily I am undergoing treatment under a reputed endocrinologist, a D.M. (Endocrinology), MRCP, Professor and Head of the department of Endocrinology and Metabolism of the premier teaching hospital of my city. Since it is a government hospital, the treatment at its outdoor clinic is free of charge. My doctor is a renowned teacher and a highly successful medical practitioner. He has been able to keep my blood sugar levels within tolerable limits.

One has to wait in a queue for at least a couple of hours to get a chance to meet the doctor at the outdoor clinic. Last time I visited him, I completed the formalities of several essential blood and urine tests and sent in my papers and reports inside his chamber.

I was pleasantly surprised to be called in immediately to the dismay of other waiting patients, who were waiting for longer periods than me. I didn't know why I was called earlier. Was there something awfully wrong in my pathological reports? I felt thirsty out of nervousness and entered his chamber with worry writ large on my face.

How did the doctor remember my name? I visited him once in three months or even more. There must be thousands like me who are treated by him and he can't remember each one of them by name.

As soon as I entered his chamber the doctor pointed his finger towards an empty chair for me. He did not even lift his head to glance at me. He was going through the reports instead. They indicated all sorts of pathological data regarding glucose, cholesteorol, microalbumin, creatinine etc. Without lifting his head, the busy doctor made a statement:

"Mr. (My name was on the report cards), I found your short story quite interesting in last Sunday's Daily..."

I was speechless.

Episode - 3

This is a short one. I was busy in my workplace scrutinizing technical specifications of a new project, with my chin dropping almost to my chest making my visibility beyond the book I was reading almost nil.

A friend of mine came and occupied the chair opposite me silently. It was my habit not to look beyond the paper that I was reading. My friend waited silently for some time and then got impatient.

He stood up noisily, pushed his chair back and left the place. Before that I heard him utter something like:

"What's the hurry Si...? How many times more you need to read that lousy novel of yours?"

I was at a loss to find words again.