A Strange Meeting

“Salaam, saab!” came the address like a banshee out of the blue. Dr. Gadkar was jerked up from his pensive state with a start.
Actually he was ruing his decision to venture this far on his bicycle. At fifty-nine, bicycle is not taken kindly as a means of transport, especially when he has access to a number of four wheeled automobiles. And why not? He is, after all, the chief medical officer of Burhar Central Hospital. The hospital may be a small colliery hospital in MP, but has a reputation to go by.
Dr. Gadkar has helped the reputation to grow over the last three years following his transfer from Chandrapur in Maharashtra. Be it administration or be it his expertise as an ENT surgeon, the hospital has kept blooming.
Despite his efficiency Dr. Gadkar can be weird at times, especially when his wife remains away from him; like now. She is in Mumbai since last fortnight to take care of their pregnant daughter, both as a mother and as a gynecologist. That has catapulted his zest to pedal on a borrowed bicycle to a remote village on a Sunday afternoon.
He had covered a distance of about ten kilomtres through the serpentine path along woods and meadows feeling like a Magellan discovering newer horizons.
At this point he felt a mild headache and decided to have some rest. No one was at sight. He looked at his watch that announced only 4.15 pm. By December standards it’ll start getting darker in an hour or so. He decided go back homeward following a short rest.
A structure drew his attention. It was a circular ramshackle cement platform with a dome shaped canopy supported by three pillars. ‘Why on earth was it built?’ he wondered. Nevertheless, he rested his cycle on one of the pillars and took the canvas bag hanging on its handle to fish out an used newspaper from it. He spread the newspaper on the platform and sat there to munch a few biscuits from a packet followed by some gulps of water. When he was cursing himself for his foolhardy decision to cycle all this distance, this banshee-like voice emanated in his front.
The doctor had a close look at the person. The middle aged man with a skull cap looked kind of wasted. A pair of sly eyes on his oblong poke-marked face called for caution. Yet the man fashioned a friendly smile baring a set of uneven teeth. He wore a shabby pajama-kurta with a conductor-like strapped leather bag hanging on his left shoulder.
“Who are you?” he asked cautiously.
“Salim, the ear cleaner.” the man spread his hands with the air of a celebrity. “Don’t say you haven’t heard the name.”
Gadkar, as an ENT specialist, was vaguely acquainted with this clan of ear cleaners. As a rule, they trick the ignorant people by digging out fictitious wax lumps from their ears. In addition, they’re known to treat other ear ailments with some herbs. The tricks of the trade are transmitted to generations and a breed of quacks are produced thus. They thrive on a clientele of poor uneducated mass in villages and slums. Known as ‘kaan safaiwalla’, their charges vary according the pocket of the customers and their ability to bargain.
Gadkar was garbed in his customary loose fittings with a sandal on. His unassuming stature combined with a huge bald and an archaic glass dangling over his crooked nose defied the important doctor he was. Probably Salim took him to be a prospective catch.
However, Gadkar was relieved to find the man an innocuous ear cleaner rather than a burglar. Anxiety gave way to curiosity. “Sorry, dear,” he said rather amicably, I’m yet to come across your name. You seem to be quite popular.”
“And with due reasons.” Salim happily squatted beside the doctor in a chatty mood. “Though I belong to nearby Dhobidand village I keep visiting towns like Amlai, Burhar and Shahdol. I’m on high demand during the weekly market days. They affectionately call me ‘Salim- the Ear Doctor’ rather than a derogatory ‘kaan safaiwalla’. I even have a motorbike to cover the distances.” The last part of his statement went with a pitiful look at Gadkar’s bicycle.
Gadkar was amused despite his external poise. “I thought many go to consult the ENT specialist at colliery hospital in Burhar.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of him,” Salim sounded important, “that Gavaskar or something as funny as that. I’ve treated many of his follies.
“Then, while on the topic,” he advanced craftily, “allow me to clean your ears while you’re resting.”
This was a shocker. Letting his ears in the hands of a quack was nothing short of a disaster. He could land up in anything from an infection to a perforation. Gadkar preferred to play safe. “Thanks, but my ears are pretty clean.”
“There, there lies the myth,” Salim had an enterprise in his voice, “dirt keeps depositing in our ears, but we ignore it till it’s too irksome. Don’t we brush our teeth everyday? But who cares for poor ears! My abbujaan says they need a cleaning once a fortnight. I learned craft from him.”
Gadkar couldn’t help being amazed at the innovative idea. What a way to fleece the innocents! Aloud, however, he ejaculated an exclamatory “Is it?”
Salim realised that he was nearing his goal. “It won’t take more than ten minutes. Should I get on with it, sir?”
Despite the risks the doctor was curious to know exactly how do they cheat, albeit the fact that this inquisitiveness has led him to trouble earlier on. But then, he could ask him to stop at any given time. “Alright,” he said, but how do you do it?”
“Depends on how much the subject can afford,” he smiled benevolently, “dry, wet and sea-foam; but the end result is same in every case.”
“Sea-foam!” Gadkar wondered aloud.
“That’s the most luxurious of all, and most expensive.”
“How much?”
A kindly smile flashed on Salim’s lips. “The usual charge is Rs. 40, but you’re a nice man. I’ll do it for 20, only for you.”
“Okay,” Gadkar whimpered. “But make it real quick. I’ve to leave shortly.” He still was amazed at his own misdemeanour.
The ear cleaner spread a plastic sheet taken out of his leather bag and arranged items like a small aluminum bowl, few metal scoops, hooks and sticks, a wad of cotton wool, a few bottles, and a plastic syringe on it. Then he placed a coral like substance in the bowl and stirred a mix of hydrogen peroxide and water with it.
‘So, this is the secret of sea-foam,’ Gadkar mused.
What followed was fast and deft movements of cotton wisps twirled at the end of metal sticks followed by gentle insertion of other instruments. Thankfully, Salim’s tools never went anywhere near the ear drums. A sizable blackish lump was ‘extracted’ from each ear by sheer trick of hand. He looked triumphantly at Gadkar and shrugged meaningfully. “Where are you from?” he asked finally.
Gadkar could’ve caught the man red handed. But he didn’t. Rather he liked Salim for his wily eloquence. Gadkar is like that. He quietly produced a twenty-rupee note and said, “I’m from Burhar.”
“Take care of your ears,” Salim put the note briskly in his kurta pocket, “I’m available at Burhar Bazaar every Wednesday afternoon.” With these words he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
Dr. Gadkar never discussed a thing about this rendezvous with anyone. Some things are better untold. Monday morning was work as usual. After passing a few administrative instructions from his office he reached the ENT OPD. A huge pile of medical cards were deposited on his table. He put on his head mirror and apron to appear a perfect ENT man. He concentrated on the pile of cards. After disposing two patients off it was an outdoor slip rather than medical card. It meant the patient was not from a colliery family. He read the name to his attendant: “Baby Sehnaz Hussain.”
A skinny girl of eight or nine entered the room followed by the unmistakable figure of Salim- the Ear Doctor, with his poke marks! A faint smile appeared at the corner of Gadkar’s lips only to vanish instantly. The girl’s jaw had swollen on both corners thereby lifting her ears a bit. It was an easy diagnosis in his experienced eyes: mumps.
Salim stood a perfect spectacle in front of the doctor. A flurry of expressions ran through his elongated countenance; bewilderment, shame, repentance, apprehension- all within seconds- with widening of eyes and flaring of nostrils. “Sir, actually ,,,” he started apologetically, but was stopped by a gesture from Gadkar.
Dr. Gadkar was an epitome of cool professionalism. He caressed the girl’s head fondly and asked Salim, “Is she having fever or cough as well?” Then went on to add, “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine soon.”