The great karela escape

I stared lovingly at the paratha on the tawa – tiny bubbles of ghee jumping in glee, on dusky, crisp edges. My elation was short lived – karela curry again! I stared at the vegetable in disdain, and its beady green eyes stared back with equal scorn and defiance. As I swirled the thick gravy with a spoon indignantly, hoping to push my bête noire down to murky depths, I reminisced about Gayatri– a patient who had shared my culinary dislike.

My MBBS internship started in the Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology. I was given the responsibility of taking care of patients under the supervision of a post graduate student. I started off with unconcealed fervour and spent a few minutes daily chatting with each of them. Gayatri was a quiet 40-something old patient. I was checking her vitals when the lunch cart arrived. Her face scrunched in disgust, and she angrily exclaimed– “karela!” With newfound grounds of friendship, we engaged in conversation. 

I had entered my internship with a tenuous grasp of Kannada. This invited constant ridicule and bullying from nurses, who refused to speak to me in English. So naturally, I was shocked when I returned that evening to have the nurse worriedly grab my arm and whisper,  “Ma’am, Gayatri absconded!” Not a commonly spoken English word, I had vaguely associated it with criminals escaping from custody. From nurses to interns and doctors, as this word reverberated across the ward, I wondered about the double life Gayatri led!

Security guards, nurses, PGs, and interns were all scrambling about, trying to fabricate alibis, and avoid being held responsible for the hospital charges Gayatri had left behind! I found myself replaying the conversation with Gayatri in my mind. What had led to this daring venture – was it her hatred for karela, or was it the last straw on the camel’s back? Had I unknowingly become an accomplice to the offence?

I revisited the crime scene. The infamous culprit was no longer camouflaged in thick tomato base; instead, Mr Karela languidly leaned against the plate’s rim. When our senior professor, an intimidating elderly gentleman, demanded to know who had last spoken to the patient, there was a sinking feeling in my stomach when he began ranting: “How did the security guards allow patients to leave the ward without permission? How did the PG neglect a patient and allow such an incident?! Interns as usual are lazy, making merry in the cafeteria instead of taking care of patients!” 

As accusations and insults were incessantly hurled at us, a male attender who was observing the mayhem unfold, contributed a vital piece of evidence – that afternoon, he had noticed Gayatri not in the usual drab hospital gown, but in a grand green kurti, sneaking out. We never saw her again.

Luckily, I escaped blameless in Gayatri’s case. Not this time, though! As I was trying to abscond from the dining table, I saw my mother grimly pointing at the untouched karela.