When we were young, we used to get essay topics such as – ‘A visit to a zoo’, ‘A visit to a hospital’, ‘A visit to a museum’, and so on. As these were places I had never been to, extending my imagination beyond a certain limit wasn’t easy. 

But if I were to write an essay today on a visit to a hospital, it would be very different, of course. It would be more philosophical than sheer imagination. 

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When friends and relatives visit a hospital, they come with the ‘WH’ questions for the family members sitting there in the waiting area. Questions like — ‘What happened?’ ‘When did this happen?’ ‘How did this happen?’ ‘How and when did you come to know about this illness?’ ‘What did the doc say?’ ‘How long will it take to cure this disease?’ and so on.

And the family member(s) is left with no alternative but to tell his/her story. The patient’s father, mother, sister, brother, wife, husband, son, or daughter is expected to narrate the ordeal like a film script. The family member is made to relive the entire painful experience. It starts with the time, the day, and the date when a particular illness invades a body of the loved one. The irony is that the more they want to forget about distress and suffering, the more they are made to experience it by replaying the same account for every new visitor. It’s exhausting.

Sometimes, the visitor already knows the story, yet he/she will still ask questions seeking confirmation of the known details. It could also be a sincere attempt to connect to the family’s emotional burden.

Also you may come across some family members who seem to find comfort in verbalizing distressful episodes. Generally, they are well-versed with voice modulation. They know which words and phrases require emphasis, and when to pause. They seem to enjoy being the center of attraction, even if it’s momentarily or for the unfortunate circumstances. And with every new visitor, the narration slightly differs since one can’t remember the exact words and phrases. 

And when there are too many visitors at the same time, which generally happens in a big family, the same experience finds various narrators. Even the visitors become storytellers for the just-arrived visitor. They also seem to enjoy sharing their part of the story, with some improvization in the script. They like playing the cameo role of a comforter in the family’s tragedy because, after all, sharing is caring.

An observer and listener, sitting in a corner wonders — Aren’t people tired or bored relaying a story repeatedly? Do they find solace in retelling a tale of affliction? Are their actions out of love and care? Or is it to gain attention, acknowledgement, and sympathy? Or an attempt to make emotional connections?Are they waiting for some validation of their feelings and emotions? Or is it a cathartic moment for them? 

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I was waiting for my turn to meet the patient. This hospital was like any other hospital. For me, hospitals look somewhat like railway stations. The only difference is that at the station, we see people with baggage in a literal sense; in the hospital, they carry mental and emotional baggage. 

The hospital I visited also had hurried faces walking briskly towards the medicine counters, lifts, emergency wards, inquiry desks, or doctors on the move to have a quick word with them. The burdened faces of the relatives of patients sometimes appear oblivious to the world around them, like the people at the railway station. 

While waiting for the visitor pass so that I could cross the threshold guarded by security personnel, an unpleasant conversation hit my attentive ears. The man, who seemed to have lost a family member to death, got infuriated when he was asked to show his visitor pass. The fact that the security man hadn’t recognized him even after regular hospital visits seemed surprising to him. With intense displeasure and ire, he blurted, ‘There’s a death in the family and you wanna see my pass! Where will you end up after death!’ 

Once the angry middle-aged man left the scene, the agitated security guard vented his anger in front of his supervisor wearing a black safari uniform. His face and his uniform were uniformly creased. 

This incident made me wonder — Was the security guard at fault for following hospital protocols? Did he even know that there was death in that man’s family? Was the behaviour of the relative of the deceased acceptable? Would it have been difficult for him to follow a simple protocol despite whatever happened in his personal life?

I stood there thinking until the visitor pass was passed on to me and I went to meet the patient.

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Teacher: Raga, what’s your essay topic?
Raga: A visit to America.