Steaming coffee lost to ‘Diet C’

Raj Kadyan

As a young officer, on rejoining from leave, I moved to my company post at 17,000 ft without acclimatisation. After three nights with severe breathing difficulty, I was placed on ‘dangerously ill’ list and was air-evacuated. I landed at the Military Hospital in Delhi, as a patient of pulmonary oedema. 

In the large ward, the general atmosphere was cheery. It was hard to guess that some inmates were terminally ill. Food was a problem. We had to take turns in the small dining hall. Late-comers got only cold food, or at times, just bread and eggs. Means had to be found for a superior feed. An elderly neighbour thought I deserved better and suggested that I approach the nurse for help. On seeing me hesitate, he told me reassuringly that women succumb as easily to bribe as they do to flattery. I decided to give it a try. 

Sister Thomas was a notable nurse. Built along large lines, her corpulence showed generously around the middle. With her fierce temper she made an intimidating presence, which possibly was why she was deputed to our unruly ward. When she walked through the ward, her infernal syringe in hand, she commanded total silence.  

One day I approached her at teatime. Painting a grim background of our ration conditions in Ladakh, I requested her to have me put on a ‘special diet’. Recalling what I had heard from older patients, I wondered whether she would be riled. Her silence made me nervous. As time ticked by, my pulse began racing. I had a sudden realisation of inadequacy of Army training. Though enough was taught about handling irate brother officers, there was not even a passing mention of sister officers. I attempted a smile but it did not come. The neighbour unexpectedly came to my rescue. ‘Sister, I am sure he will take you out for coffee on one of your evenings off.’ Though the prospect was unexciting, it seemed a fair sacrifice. I nodded meekly. She instantly thawed. Her upper lip slid back and accompanied by a deepening furrow in the vast expanse of her cheek, it indicated the hint of a smile. Then, without another word, she was gone.  

That night I dreamt of dressed poultry.  She, I presumed, would have dreamt of steaming espresso. 

The next day, I was in bed, neatly tucked under the regulation red blanket before the doctor came on his round. ‘Sir, this patient has been evacuated from Ladakh where food was scanty.’ She repeated my words to the doctor. ‘He has requested for better nutrition. Can we put him on ‘Diet C’, Sir?’

The doctor unhooked the stethoscope from his ears and looked down at me gravely. I tried to look famished. She readied her pen to take down instructions. She suddenly looked loveable. I mulled upgrading the coffee to dinner.  

‘Put him on multivitamin tablets,’ he said walking away.  Chivalry must be innate in men. The first thought that occurred after the shock had passed, was of sympathy for Sister Thomas. She had lost her coffee.