I occasionally come across this statement on social
media sites that goes something like this:
I have
reached that level of awesomeness where I don't give a damn about anything anymore.
I think I have become the epitome of that statement.
A few days ago, I went to the dermatologist to have a
sebaceous cyst removed. Since the little ball of fat was inconveniently located
in the middle of my chest, all the male doctors turned away their heads, while
a junior female one examined the cyst by looking at it through a magnifying
glass the size of a dessert plate. She verbally communicated the size, shape and
other particulars of the lump to her male seniors, who then proceeded to issue
instructions on how to cut, scoop out the fat and then stitch up the wound. The seniors then left me in the room with a bunch of girls who looked like they were
barely out of med school. Now, I confess, for a case such as this, I would normally
prefer a female doctor to a male one, but since all the female doctors present
were those who had to be orally instructed on how to perform the incision, I
was beginning to have second thoughts about it.
“You know, I am
nearly fifty-one years old. I really don’t see genders anymore.” I said to one
of the young females, trying to pass a hint that I would be ok if one of the
male doctors came back inside.
(What I was originally going to say was that I have
always considered doctors to be genderless, but thinking that my statement
might be misinterpreted, I changed it to the one mentioned above).
“It’s better this way.” Said the female doctor shooing out the
male assistant who was preparing the ointments and bandages for the procedure.
To be fair to her, I suppose she was doing it all to
save me from an embarrassing situation. Little did she know, there is not much
that can embarrass a woman who has undergone a C section surgery, while fully conscious. When compared with, lying totally exposed waist under in clear view of both male and female OT staff, the uncovering of a fraction of my boob to a male doctor doesn’t even make it past the
preliminary rounds.
The problem wasn’t with the girls who were just being
careful. The problem was me. I am the anomaly. Even in my youth, I always had
an abundance of “who cares anyway” attitude but now that I have reached a
certain age, the attitude has reached its peak. I think ending up as being the
oldest person in the room makes a big difference. You can’t be made to feel
awkward by people who are younger than you.
Speaking of awkward situations, I am reminded of an
incident from a few years ago that took place in the shower room of a club that
I used to frequent. For my post swim shower, I always preferred the last room,
simply because it was the most spacious one. It did have one drawback. The latch
on the door was faulty and didn’t lock the door as securely as a door ought to
be locked. But that had never given me a problem, since the latch did work enough
to let anyone turning the handle know that the room was occupied. One day as I
was taking a shower, I heard two preteen girls approach the other
side of my door. I had seen the girls frolicking about in the pool a few
minutes earlier. The two girls came giggling down the corridor, the way kids do,
till they reached my door and tried to open it. The door offered resistance;
the girls pushed harder. The door, unable to take the pressure, gave in and the
two girls tumbled into the shower room where yours truly stood in a magnificent
soap studded glory.
The girls shrieked in fright and backed out,
apologizing profusely. When I went to
relock the door, I could hear mortification mingled with horror in the wet
patter of their footsteps as they were running away.
There are times when life makes us encounter
situations that we are totally unprepared for. This was probably one of those
occasions. I doubt if anything could have prepared those poor girls to open a harmless
door and come face to face with an overweight Aunty, naked as the day
she was born, vigorously shampooing her hair. That is not a sight either of
those girls were likely to unsee for a very long time. In fact, I fear they may
even be scarred for life.
Now the question is, why after all these years am I
reminded of this particular memory. Well, the visit to the dermatology department,
along with a somewhat similar incident I recently read in Twinkle Khanna’s Mrs.
Funnybones brought it to mind. According to Ms. Khanna, she and her young Sikh
cousin were taking a shower after their swim when the cousin slipped and slid
under the gap of the cubicle. He emerged three cubicles away next to a Parsi lady who was in a similar state
of… ahem……. undress as myself. But unlike me, the Parsi lady failed to see the humor in
the situation and created such a hullabaloo that young Khanna and the little sardar jee were banned from the club for a month.
In the end, all I have to say is that eventually everyone
grows old.
But not everyone can be Awesome 😉
