CHAPTER 1
It was his first time on a plane: Air India flight,Calicut to Riyadh. Emotions are always mixed,Rakesh realised, and now he felt the pain of parting,the fear of the unknown and the tension of beingairborne for the first time. Which one dominated wasdifficult for him to identify. Maybe they took turns.The only emotion he didn't feel was happiness. Mostof the books on success Rakesh had read mentionedthat we need to control our minds and never let ourminds control us. Neuro-linguistic program gurussaid that identifying the causes and intentions ofworries will help eliminate them. But here he was in awindow seat trying in vain to apply all these tips. Theonly scene that consistently appeared in his mind wasthe one in which he kissed his little angel goodbye acouple of hours ago at the airport. She was seventeendays short of her first birthday. Anakitha must havebeen confused at the shower of kisses and hugs in thedeparture lounge, a very strange and crowded place.Rakesh wondered why we do this. Will this sort ofover-expression of love help dilute the pain, or will itexaggerate it? All he knew was that tears were slowlywelling up in his eyes as the aircrew presented thesafety instructions.
His lachrymal gland was working. It wanted toshow its presence, whilst he did not want it to. Heknew every single tiny part of the body had somepurpose. To say that this part was an architecturalmarvel of our creator's would be an understatement,but what was the purpose of irrigating the cheekswhen one was in pain? And so the tears spilled over.For some women and children, tears add beauty, butthey definitely do not for a middle-aged man. Themore he tried to control himself, the more the glandsrebelled like revolutionaries of the sixties. He did notwant the passenger in the next seat to see this psycho-physiologiceffect. Rakesh stole a glance at him throughthe corner of his flooded eye. He had the look of aspy, as if his purpose was to catch others' emotions.Rakesh wanted to ignore him, but the man met his eyeand said, "Hello." Very untimely, Rakesh thought. Hemade an attempt to respond, unsure of the result. Theman didn't speak again for the entire four-and-a-half-hourjourney, not even to apologise when he spilt Cokeon Rakesh's trousers. The air hostess in the front wentabout her business. As this was Rakesh's first flight, heknew he should attend to the aircrew carefully, but hismind had a different agenda, and he thought only ofwhat and whom he had left behind. The seat belt at hislap appeared symbolic of having lost the freedom to goback, of his imprisonment by his own decision.
The show must go on, as they say in the circus.Here he sat with a heavy heart, but the show in thefront went on. But the show was not bad. The airhostess was quite tall and slim, her skin an earthycolour. A mischievous smile crossed her lips at irregularintervals, as if to challenge anyone who would havefaintly thought she was not attractive. The only thingRakesh could hold against her was that when she said,"In the unlikely event of a water landing", his mindheard, "In the likely event of a water crash."
This was a new challenge, added fear, like an icingon the cake of his worries. The picture of Kanishka, AirIndia flight 182, which was bombed and crashed intothe sea, killing all on board, came to his mind. Thathappened some time before TV came to his state. Howcould he remember that disaster in such minute detail?Maybe some virtual memory fed his imagination. Ifthat hypothesis were true, he was overfed. The merevisualisation of it suffocated him. A few monthsbefore, Rakesh had learnt to swim, and rememberingthis gave him a sense of comfort. I know how to swim,he confirmed. `If you know how to swim, the depthdoes't matter'. He recollected the quote. Suddenly atwenty meter swimming pool and the Arabian seaappeared the same to him. Positive thinking built onabsolute insanity was a newly emerging solution outof distressed compulsion. Rakesh was thankful for allthe positive –thinking books he had read.
Next thing he heard was, "Do not inflate the lifejacket inside the plane." He had no doubt that hewould do exactly the opposite of every instructionat the crucial time and multiply the disaster. Being asurgeon and having attended many training sessionsand workshops on managing medical emergencies,Rakesh frequently saw panic in real-life situations.And now here, with zero experience and very casualattendance to the instructions ... No, it just would notwork. Best to leave it to God, he felt.
His visual focus again landed on the tall airhostess, who was now showing how to blow a whistlewhilst on the sea. Rakesh imagined two hundred otherpeople floating along on the Arabian Sea in colourfullife jackets having fun with their red whistles.Meanwhile, he was probably still stuck in the planefor having inflated the jacket before getting out. Thewoman continued her presentation, and he tuned herout but continued watching. This was one of the raresituations in which he could fix his gaze on a beautifulwoman without feeling any sense of guilt or fear orembarrassment, he thought. She went on as if thedemonstration were a ritual, a pleasant punishment.Element of fun still lingering on, element of purposecompletely evaporated. After a few more minutes,the oxygen mask demonstration over, she concludedwith a smile. Rakesh remembered the feeling he hadat the end of tenth-grade chemistry class. He neverunderstood organic chemistry, apart from the fact thatit was well organised to ruin his school days. But theteacher was a charming young lady.
As the engine roared in the ascent, his thoughtswere drowned by prayers. Rakesh wondered howatheists would react in a similar situation. Would theytake time out of their disbelief, or would they hold onto it till they had to blow the whistle? Rakesh felt thatthere were no staunch, complete atheists. He tried toread the in-flight magazine, but his brain disobeyedhim. He thought of his earlier tears. Why is it that Ido not have any powers over my own body parts? hewondered.
When they reached cruising altitude, the airhostess strode along the aisle, reminding Rakesh of atrainee model on a catwalk. When her pace quickened,Rakesh had to will himself not to inflate his own "lifejacket". During his first year in medical school, helearnt that each and every activity is controlled bya representative centre in the brain. Watching thiswoman, he wondered if there was a centre responsiblefor appreciating feminine beauty. He never readabout one in any popular physiology book. Anyway,now was not the time to contemplate any medicalbreakthrough, both in attitude and altitude.
He looked out the window and saw no trees orvalleys moving beneath him. All he could see wasa canvas of dull, stationary cotton wool. Even theengine noise had been silenced by its familiarity. Herecollected the excitement he and his mates felt as smallkids when they spotted a plane. Even they knew thatlight travelled faster than sound, and the escalatingthunder brought all the kids in the vicinity out of theirhomes to spot the plane. Everyone claimed to be thefirst to see it, pointing up in every direction. The planealways played hide-and-seek amongst the clouds. Allthe children stood watching the sky till the vapourtrail completely disappeared. They went inside, theirhappiness abruptly ended, like spectators who, afterwatching a breathtaking Olympics opening ceremony,are told that the games have been cancelled.
Rakesh attempted to sense any movement. No,the plane felt as though it stood still at six hundredkilometres per hour. He sped at six hundred kilometresper hour away from everything dear to him. Where amI going, and what for? Introspection set in. It all starteda few weeks before. Rakesh had taught orthopaedics forfinal-year medical students at Mangalore University,and he received a call from a student friend, Dr SamuelMathew.
"Sir, would you be interested in taking up a jobin a Riyadh hospital? There is an immediate vacancy.They are looking for someone with your educationand experience. I know the chief medical officer overthere."
Rakesh's antenna for a job in the Middle East,specifically in Saudi Arabia, was very active. He almostinvoluntarily said, "Yes, if the terms are good."
Samuel said that the chief medical officer wouldcontact him in a couple of days and that he would getmore information. At that time, Rakesh was almostone year into his newly opened private practise. He hadconsultations at his residential clinic and was attachedto a leading hospital in the city. He also visited otherhospitals in nearby towns for trauma management.Not many specialists in his town stuck exclusivelyto their specialty, and this gave Rakesh an edge: itencouraged general practitioners and other medicalspecialists to refer patients to him. His earnings werenot too good, but initial indicators were promising.Why did I give all this up for a job in Riyadh? He hadnot had any difficulty making that decision.
Rakesh grew up in an atmosphere that did not fallinto the category of rich, or even comfortable middleclass. His father, a retired Army officer, had to worklong hours to support the family. Even as a small kidRakesh had sensed the struggle in spite of his parents'efforts to mask it. It surfaced regularly. Moving fromone rented house to another was a regular event in hislife. Every Vishu, the main festival in north Kerala,his mother said that by the following Vishu the familywould have its own house. That never happened. Bothhis parents came from not-too-wealthy backgroundsand therefore had no financial inheritance. Theydrained every bit of parenting energy to bring upthe kids. Rakesh never had a bicycle whilst he was inthe school, although most of his classmates had one.However, his father always provided the best healthyfood and taught rich values. His motto was, "Eat well,play well, and pray well". He ensured that these threehappened abundantly. Rakesh's mother was a typicalhomemaker, and her life revolved around her kids andhusband. The house would become gloomy and emptyif she went out even for few hours. She and Rakesh'sfather undoubtedly made the best pair of parentsanyone could dream of. As years passed and Rakeshgrew from the bicycle-less schoolboy to a doctor witha master's in orthopaedic surgery, he learnt that it wasthe purse that made many decisions for him, and hedid not want that to happen anymore. He was awareof this as much as he was aware of himself.
"Would you like to have something to drink,Sir?" A voice interrupted his nostalgia. "Orange orpineapple juice?"
Why had she given him only these two choiceswhen other tall coloured bottles rattled on her trolley?He reluctantly asked if beer was being served.
"Of course, Sir," she said. Her words were verypolite, but her body language was not. He asked herwhich brands of beer were available, though the onlyone he knew was King Fisher. He nodded when sheoffered him an option as if that was exactly the one hewas looking for. The tall woman with the mischievoussmile was serving another row, which was a milddisappointment. As he took a slow sip of the beer,Rakesh slipped back into introspection. The pursemade a lot of his decisions, and unpleasant ones atthat.
What began as a casual desire for a Saudi job grewintense over the years. It was so strong that he nevershared it with anyone for fear of getting talked out ofit. So he was not in the least surprised when he saidyes to Samuel without thinking. He had done all thethinking long before.
Dr Govardhan rang him within a week. Hesounded like he owned the hospital, but he did not.It was a polyclinic with most medical specialties.The orthopaedic clinic was yet to open, but theorthopaedic surgeon who was to serve there had visaproblems, so this offer came Rakesh's way. He filteredall the information; the equivalent of fifty thousandrupees a month and a single accommodation is all thatregistered. Not a brilliant job, but not too bad either.Rakesh heard himself saying, "Yes, okay, yes." Andso the job was his. One step closer to achieving hisdream!
By now he had had two beers, and they createdphysiological problems in his bladder. He did not wantto move from his seat, partly because the idea of peeingin mid-air was not exciting and partly because thespy beside him had spread out to occupy every incharound his seat. But again a body part seemed to havea brain of its own, and all he could was take ordersand rush to the toilet at the tail. Rakesh did not likethe idea of the tail. It said to him that it was not partof the main body of the plane, and he thought againof the life jacket and whistle. The slight swaying at therear gave company to his apprehensions. However, allwent well till he flushed the toilet. The noise of theflush had all the elements of the sound of a midaircrash. Why had no one invented a silent flusher? hethought. His list of potential scientific breakthroughswas lengthening. Never again will I have a beer on afirst flight, he decided.
When lunch was served, he discovered that theeconomic manoeuvres of his upper limbs necessary forin-flight eating were a talent that he had yet to develop.This was obviously not the first flight for Rakesh'sspy neighbour. He appeared to have a passion forfood. Or was it vengeance? Either way, there was lotof water works from his circum oral region. Earplugsand a helmet would be useful additions to the jacketand whistle. Rakesh had never understood why somechewed with such facial acrobatics and energy. Thespy's jaw muscles had a personality that stood apart,and he probably would have come close to earning amedal if chewing was an Olympic sport. He emptiedhis entire tray long before Rakesh touched his maindish. Rakesh was thankful for these distractions. Hewanted to sleep for a while, but that was impossible.Now finished with his meal, the chewing championsnored like a trekker with engine trouble. Rakeshenvied him.
"Please fasten your seat belts. We shall belanding at King Khaled International Airport inRiyadh in a few minutes." Rakesh had a peculiarfeeling. It wasn't excitement, but it had a tinge ofhappiness, it wasn't fear, although it contained slightapprehension.
"Riyadh," he murmured to himself. The place hewanted to be. To achieve his secretely held ambition,to obtain a fellowship in orthopaedic surgery. Riyadhwas the only center apart from Singapore where theRoyal College conducted this examination outside ofthe United Kingdom. Obtaining this fellowship meantthe world to Rakesh. It would open up opportunitiesfor higher surgical training in the UK and a muchbetter quality of life. Not many people he knew hadobtained this position, and it had an aura of difficulty.All this enhanced its value and his greed to achieve it.And in another few minutes, he would be touching theground, in Riyadh. This job was only a ticket to theshow if the exam was a show.
The tall air hostess stood at the exit door biddingpassengers goodbye with a fixed, impersonal smile.Rakesh had not had to use the jacket or whistle.He tried to return her smile, but his facial musclesweren't co-operating, like the labour force of hishome state.
As he entered the airport, a sign displayed theoutside temperature: 49nC. Riyadh in June is hot,Rakesh knew, but he hadn't known that the air wouldbe this hot. Walking out there, Rakesh thought, wouldbe like getting barbecued. The airport building was amassive structure, but something that he could notidentify seemed to be missing. The streets were empty,he saw through the huge tinted windows. The spy whohad sat in the next seat seemed to be very comfortablehere, and once outside, he disappeared in an overloadedpickup van.
Rakesh spotted two men holding a placardon which was written, "Welcome, Dr Rakesh".Their doubtful smiles gradually grew until Rakeshapproached them and shook their hands. One wasMoideen Puthiyaveetil, the manager of the hospital.The other was Purushothaman, the driver. He wentby Purushu. The manager fired question after questionat Rakesh, leaving him no space to answer. The shortpauses that accidentally cropped up were filled byPurushu's attempt at welcoming the new recruit. Asthey got in the hospital's car, a picture of the globesprang to Rakesh's mind. The blue between India andthe Middle East magnified on his screen, increasinghis ache.
(Continues...)
