The good samaritans

"I am a Carmelite and Mother Teresa had been to our school a lot of times. I had a different picture in mind about Missionaries of Charity", I said in a dry tone to the "missionary" on the phone and hung up. I was standing in front of Asoka apartments in Southern Avenue in Kolkata. "Is she dead?", asked Soma, my friend. We were on our usual trip back home from our evening stroll at the lake. The line of beggars on that particular stretch had never bothered me before. You are usually inclined to dismiss them as "professional road side actors." This time it was different. The really old lady draped in an almost transparent white cloth was lying still on the pavement. Very still. She was literally bones and skin. She reminded me of the picture of the hunger striken woman in Somalia that Puneet had mailed me after I had wasted food in the soft skills party in college. I thought I could see her breathing. It could have been my skewed imagination too. We knelt down and felt her pulse. She was alive. Somehow the people around seemed to be quite unperturbed by the whole thing. " The municipality people will come and pick her up. Don't dirty your hands", said a nearby grocer. In response to his words, some people crowded around us, unnecessarily close. I was already sweating and God knows why I was slightly tensed. Soma was on the phone trying to get the number of KMC. My heart skipped a beat when I lost the lady's pulse for a moment. It was like "watching" death. The process. "Enough of calling", I snapped at Soma. "I am getting the car. We'll take her to the hospital. You stay here with her." I ran. I never ran faster in my life. The five minute stretch seemed endless. After banging into a lamp post ( I am a sloppy driver) I finally managed to push brakes in front of Asoka apartments.(I know, I know we could have taken her in a cab...it was taxi strike that day). "The show's over friends. How about helping us lift the lady into the car?", I barked at the "audience" still surrounding Soma and the lady. I was surprised at no repurcussions. We drove her to Shishumangal hospital...meant for children ideally...but that was the nearest government hospital. The procedure to get her admitted looked repulsive. We paid the peon hundred bucks, the first ( and so far the last) bribe in my life....the deal was to get her treatment started first and then the formalities. I wished Munnabhai was around."Aadmi agar mar raha ho to form bharna zaroori hai kya?"After seeing her off at the general ward with a glucose bottle suspended over her and a medical trainee looming over her, we filled up three forms, promised to get a police certificate, called up my dad, got blasted and subsequently persuaded him into getting a certificate from the police station. "Case of starvation. She'll be fine", said the doctor. Soma and I were sipping coffee at Cafe Coffee Day at 9 o clock in the night. "Cheers to the good samaritans!"...we clashed our coffee mugs...the nearby couple stared at us...as if we were drunk or something.....in a way we did feel "elevated".....a more sophisticated synonym for "drunk"...... "Wake me up at six, will you?", I asked Soma. I had my NCFM exam next day.