Gout and gratitude for Rushdie
As I read about the assault on Salman Rushdie, my mind went back to my connect with the famous, though controversial writer. It was 1981, and I had bought a $599 ‘Discover America’ ticket. This enabled me to fly to 12 destinations in the US within a month. Devised to bolster tourism, it was a steal, especially when you consider that the exchange rate then for a dollar was just Rs 9. During my criss-crossing of the country, I landed up in Tucson, Arizona, where my friend, Yasmin, invited me to stay with her. She was doing a course in creative writing at a local university. As it so happened, a century ago, on October 26, 1881, a famous incident between law-upholders and outlaws had taken place at the nearby town of Tombstone, which was later made into the classic movie, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. So, she drove me down to Tombstone to witness the enactment of that gunfight. But I had been troubled by a painful left foot. Even the pressure of a bedsheet hurt.
‘American doctors charge the earth, and won’t give you an appointment for days,’ she warned. Unable to bear the pain, I looked up her directory, and rang the first doctor I could find. He heard me out patiently and asked me to come straightaway. I got into a taxi and was at his clinic within an hour. He took an X-ray and asked me to come back the next day, which I did. He asked me three questions: ‘Mr Singh, have you been eating beef steaks?’ I nodded. ‘Have you been drinking our Californian red wine?’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ I replied. ‘Have you been doing a lot of travelling by plane lately?’ ‘I have been flying all over your country,’ I said, surprised that he knew so much of what I had eaten and drunk, and my plane rides.
‘Well, you have an acute case of gout. If you check with your parents, one of them has probably had the same ailment, since it is often genetic.’ He explained that gout was due to excess of uric acid, aggravated by red meat, shell-fish, and wine. He prescribed a painkiller and some tablets.
‘And how much do I owe you?’ I asked, dreading what he would say next. To my utter astonishment, he produced a bill for just $20. ‘But I thought you would charge me much more!’ I blurted out. ‘When you first spoke to me on the phone, I realised from your accent that you probably were a tourist on a limited budget,’ he explained with a smile. ‘And, what’s more, I have just finished reading Midnight’s Children.’
Coincidentally, on my return to Delhi, Salman Rushdie was in town, and Doordarshan asked me to interview him. Before I started asking him questions, I related this story, how a doctor in faraway Tucson had been so touched by his book that he virtually treated me free.
Thank you, Mr Rushdie, and if that doctor is still around, I am sure he, along with me, hopes for a speedy recovery.
