The Accidental Eye Surgeon eyes a hit
Model, humorist, fashionista, architect, innovator, anchor, designer, counsellor, fashion designer, car connoisseur, style icon, aesthete, interior designer, cyclist, scholar, perfectionist, intellectual, cricket maniac, orator, editor, columnist, writer and the Accidental Eye Surgeon. Well that’s how my langotia yaar (childhood buddy), who knows me like the back of his hand, described me on Twitter on a lazy Sunday morning. I started smiling, giggling and then had a hearty laugh after reading the description.
My wife, who is also a doctor, wanted to know what was going on. To err is human so I showed her the text. There on, Sunday was go, went, gone. “Didn’t I warn you? What is this? I had heard people making fun by calling you the Humour Bomb, Bond Doctor, Doctor Debonair, Master Humorist, Little Dynamo and Poet of Humour but this is too much. He’s saying this publicly and in writing! You don’t understand. Anyone can say anything about you and you’ll laugh? You might not have any self respect, but we do. I don’t agree that humour is best when it is upon oneself or selfinflicted? I don’t buy your theory that Indians lack a sense of humour; it may be less because we are a developing country. Why didn’t your friend say how good a husband you are?”
Phew! She stopped short of saying, “You are good for nothing/Jack of all trades” may be because her English is not as good as her better half’s. But nobody can stop her when on a roll, much like the Rajdhani Express (till the bullet train takes over) though I noticed the effect of good company in developing a sense of humour, which she’ll never acknowledge obviously.
“Honey, just relax,” I said. “I’m not a neem hakim khatraye jaan. Ask my patients about yours truly, the doctor. They swear by me and that is all what matters. You cannot fault them by saying that they see the world my way after getting their vision back. My exploits in eye operations, lasers, innovations and instrumentation are known. Remember Dr Chugh’s one eye test?”
“Barring the Padma Shri, I have received all awards in my profession,” I said, clearly inspired by politicians in an election year.
“Just recall what actor Anil Kapoor did when Slumdog Millionaire bagged the Oscar; everyone noticed and appreciated his child-like energy and happiness. Agreed, I wear many hats, but I am not Ravan. Skipper Virat Kohli needs all-rounders for the world cup, you know,” I said before evaporating from the site.
My architect daughter gave me a sheepish grin and a spontaneous wink, reminding me of Priya Prakash Varrier as if to convey, “I get your humour every time paa and I’ll handle it now.”
God knows what will happen to me when my wife reads this piece. It’ll start all over again. But I think I’ll manage. I’ve been doing so for a good 28 years, like an opening batsman with a helmet, a solid technique and temperament. You may clap for me. I am boss in the house and I have my wife’s permission to say this.
In an era of remakes, biopics and sequels, I am giving Bollywood an idea. If they do make one, I am going to charge a lot of money as royalty for sure because the prime minister (the non-accidental one) and every Tom, Dick and Harry don’t want doctors to make money. So that more accidents don’t occur, I have made sure that none of my children or innocent ones in my known circle become doctors.
The Accidental Prime Minister flopped (the movie, I mean); the jury on The Accidental Eye Surgeon is not yet out.
HE’S SAYING THIS PUBLICLY AND IN WRITING! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. ANYONE CAN SAY ANYTHING TO YOU AND YOU’LL LAUGH?