Hyper-connectivity. Amen.

Adjusting the on-the-go playlist on my ipod, checking email on the blackberry, finishing a presentation on my laptop and not to forget occasionally staring at the novel in my Damier check tote waiting to be "held". I found myself trapped in the car breathing "devices"; scared to the bone by my ability to coordinate using all of them at the same time without a glitch.

Instantly, my conscious came into play and I grasped "100 Dollar Start Ups" lying ignored in my bag. Almost immediately, I convinced myself that listening to some music couldn't do any harm and plugged in my pod. I barely finished couple pages when my hands started itching to touch the qwerty keypad of my Blackberry! I resisted the temptation; almost meditated (concentrated on my breathing and all that jazz). No luck! I held my phone and it felt like 'Pi' after being trapped 277 days reached ashore and touched the warm sand! An email about some deadline and there it was; back to my laptop.  Back to square one.

Blame hyper-connectivity! It is almost like the device doesn't require our touch to function but our touch requires the device to function! Why is that knowing everything has become so vital? I know there were times when an entire village knew what was going on in one tiny hut at the other end(especially if it was gossip). But that was the fun bit I suppose - the finding out and the manipulation of news as it traveled. Now what we have are: brief sentences, no punctuation and minimum emotion!

We, the baby manufacturing machines!

Running around in the unknown territory of a government hospital for someone I am not remotely related to has given me a sense of relief like no other.
I was out having high tea on a particularly idle Sunday when I decided to go back home early. My driver, V who has been working with us for over a year called in the most disturbed voice saying -  "hume nikaal diya" (They turned us out)! I didn't really understand why his wife who was in full-time labour be turned out of a private hospital at such a crucial time. I tried to ask him why, but fancy words dropped by the doctor about a certain complication were far from being comprehended by this man who drove a rickshaw since he was 15!

I asked him - "paisa ka problem hain kya?" (Did you not enough money?). He said he assured them that money wouldn't be a problem but still they asked him to take his wife to a government hospital.
He rushed her to a nearby government hospital and called me from there saying they were not accepting her admission too.

I was appalled! Do government hospitals not cater to complications or people like him don't have complications at all! That's when my aunt and I decided that sitting at home and trying to help him over the phone wouldn't help. We went to same hospital where he was being denied admission. It was a dead place with casualty cases all over the compound. Never in my life had I thought that I would have strength to walk through such a place. It also cleared a massive delusion in my head that one day I could be a doctor!

He was there outside the OPD trying to get his wife admitted for medical attention! They failed to make him understand that it was the emergency room he was looking for.  We guided him to the emergency room where they readily took her in and asked us to take her to the labour room.

This room was one floor up so for obvious reasons I requested for a wheel chair service for the girl in labour. That was considered an absolute impossibility as I got stares from people screaming - "don't you know women are baby manufacturing machines? She will be okay to walk". We had no time to argue and hence, slow and steady we got her to what they called the "labour room". It was more like a untidy dorm room where no one had a clue about what's going on.

The gynaecologist incharge was nowhere in the vicinity and this 10-12 bed place full of women absolutely ready to shoot out babies was being attended by tiny interns who were manually dividing the number of days by 8 to see how many weeks has it been for everyone.  When their multiple choice ticking ordeal to decide the number of weeks was over, we showed one of them her latest ultrasound report. The lady leisurely looked at it and started copying it word by word in what looked like her bible. It was getting too much to handle, so my aunt just followed her to the reporting doctor who of course was not slightly perturbed by the piling cases that needed her attention.

We had to drop a few names as my grandmother used to be a known gynaecologist in the area to get her to move her butt. First thing she looks at the patient and says - "kya problem hai? (What's the problem?). Seriously? If we/the girl knew what the problem was, why would we need her at all! My driver, V tried to come into the room several times but apparently men weren't allowed inside. Well, I thought to myself it is only in India that a man who is equally responsible for getting the girl into a situation like that is not expected to share the pain with her.

Finally, the doc ran a few regular checks and told us that it was a little late and she would have to operate on her and the chances of survival of the baby were slim. That's when I went out and stood with V. He was scared. The good part was he was less scared about the baby but more tensed about his wife in pain. I told him it wasn't going to be easy and he just kept trying to peep into the tiny opening to catch a glimpse of his wife.

I realised the feeling one gets being a parent has nothing to do with how rich or poor you are. At that moment, everything just becomes the same. The pain of watching someone close to you suffer dilutes all differences that we as humas have created.
Nevertheless, we left them there at midnight and couldn't sleep all night thinking about what the outcome of the operation would be. Finally, we gave up on waiting to hear from him and called him expecting bad news. To our surprise, we heard - "ladki hua, abhi hua" (It's a girl). I don't think I have felt that sense of relief ever before. And I kept repeating It in my head - "it's a girl! , it's a girl!". Phew.