1: It was just a few months back. Some young boys and girls with a stethoscope around their neck and a white apron over their dress sat on indefinite protest. What were they protesting against? I had forgotten. But after deep thinking I kind of remembered. Better security. Better infrastructure. Better supply of essential medicines. At hospitals. When the Government did not hear their pleas and demands they went on a lock down. Lockdown of routine services. Emergency services open. I and you were furious at these men and women. Boys and Girls. Frivolous. Bahanas of a bunch of kam-chors. We called them three names. Criminals. Rowdies. Anti-Nationals.

2: The last time I had met a jan-pratinidhi in a closed door meeting. Before the National elections. In our Society premises. He had asked us ‘What would you like me to focus on once you elect me?’. I asked for a nice park for my morning walk. Claps followed. My neighbour asked for a good school in neighbourhood. Clap. Clap. Her neighbour asked for a speed breaker in front of the society. A roar of applause. His neighbour asked for better security. And his neighbour asked meekly ‘Can we have a police Chowki close by, Sir.’ Daru peeke bahut bawal korte haiN gaoNwale. None. None. None of us asked for a hospital with good infrastructure. None of us said that we do not have good ambulance services. We just did not talk of matters related to health. Health is not my demand. Therefore, health is not an issue of the politician. Health is not an electoral agenda for the local politician. Because you and I do not demand Health from our politicians.

3: Our soldiers are fighting in Siachen. They are protecting our land. And we pray for them. And we should pray for them. Everyday. Prayer is strength. When I think of a soldier I think of a man with a gun lying on snow by a fenced border. Alert. Gun ready to response. And my hand automatically rises to salute. But who feeds the soldier? A cook. I do not salute. Who built the barrack where the soldier rests the few hours he has. An engineer. I do not salute. Who treats the frostbite of the soldier? A doctor. A nurse. Salute? Huh!! You must be joking my fellow citizen. Professionals are professionals doing their bloody work for money. Professionals do not do a service to the Nation. They do a service to themselves. They earn while others work.

All of the above are fine. In normal times. In times of our daily life when we pray for our daily bread. To the Lord.

In times of Covid-19 we think. What were those young boys and girls in white aprons shouting hoarse for? Better infrastructure? Better supply of medicines? Better security? Hmm.

In times of Covid-19 we think. What did I ask Mr Pankaj Singh. My MLA? A Park? A speedbreaker? Hmm.

Did I remember to salute that engineer who built that bridge in Ladakh on which I merrily hummed a Rajesh Khanna tune holding Mousumi’s hand? Did I say ‘Thank you’ to the nurse and the pharmacist who I met in the forlorn PHC many miles away from Leh? They stay there to serve around five patients a day. Hmm.

Please read. And forget. For the Lord is kind shall forgive ‘all our trespasses.’

(Photo courtesy: Self. Location: A PHC miles and miles and miles away from Leh)

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