The other side of the day

Mornings.

OPD is mostly filled with old, frail people. Sitting on old hospital benches, tightly clutching thick files in their thin hands. Their eyes are worn and scared, looking around from door to door afraid of missing their turn. Some come with their children. Some come alone. They never complain much. Some list symptoms the way one lists groceries. Ankles swollen, backs bent, tired eyes (that you cannot fix with sleep). They rehearse what they will say to the doctor, afraid they’ll forget something important. For most of them, pain has become their old companion. 

Evenings.

In the park, I see people of same age group moving, stretching. Trying. There is a little more colour on their cheek. It looks like some of them have knees that still hurt; backs that still ache (maybe an old person I saw in the park had just finished with his morning appointment for diabetes, who knows). But they look less afraid. They talk about sugar levels, blood pressure, grandchildren and weather. Pain and disease is till there. But not alone. There is hope, there is laughter. 

After mornings spent prescribing them medicines, watching old people exercise in the park feels unbearably adorable. 

I think about how the body remembers what we do for it, and what we don’t.

-Dhruvi Joshi