Impressions of Mumbai
Arriving (very) early on a cool Tuesday morning, I’d been expecting the usual vague sensation of drowning in air that I was accustomed to in Asian humidity, yet was met with a pleasant welcoming breeze. Dawn had yet to break and I’d fought my way, mostly intact, through the throngs and found a driver to take me into the city to Dr. Natarajan’s home (the geographical centre, I gathered). Traffic was suspiciously calm, and the traditional jostling for the 6th lane in a space for 2 was nowhere in sight. I soon found out this was purely down to the time of day and not some miraculous ability of Bombay-ites to transcend the worn-out cliché.
I was driven to the block of apartments where Dr. Natarajan lived and led up to his flat by a security guard. As I entered, I was warmly welcomed by 5 more people than I had anticipated, and within seconds my complete inability with Hindi was revealed. Having little choice, I resorted to desperately comic animated gesturing. Thankfully, this was soon alleviated by the realization that everyone spoke Tamil, a language with which I was very rusty but could bring to bear in times of emergency. Like this one. With that embarrassment out of the way, I was able to find out that Dr Natarajan’s father, Dr Sundaram, had also been a prolific Ophthalmologist in his day and currently helped at the charitable branch of the Aditya Jyot Eye hospital, ‘Twinkling Little Eyes’.
It turned out Dr Natarajan was at the gym, an impressive daily routine, and when he returned I got a quick rundown of how the hospital had been set up and what could be in store for my attachment there. The excitement built. So when I was offered to start immediately, I braved the creeping jetlag to grab the opportunity.
The drive to the hospital fully unveiled the odd dichotomy that I had glimpsed earlier. A beautiful area of parkland was ambushed by a large collection of dilapidated housing. Residential skyscrapers melted into vast swathes of slum. I was constantly made acutely aware of the frightening difference in equality this city brought about in its residents. The hospital itself was an unassuming building and Dr Sundaram showed me the in-house classroom for optometrists, and explained their importance in supporting the work of ophthalmologists at the hospital, before guiding me in.
My first impressions, to say the least, were ones of surprise and concern. Surprise, because everything seemed to be made of clean and shiny – not something I had come to associate with buildings in India that were not five-star hotels. The walls were a reassuring white and the floor was almost reflective. From the waiting room chairs to the equipment in the consulting rooms everything looked pristine and well maintained. I did mention concern, though, and this is why. There were patients waiting everywhere. The well-sized waiting rooms were full and still more were showing up at reception. Where were they to be seen? Surely a hospital this size could not reasonably handle a workload of this magnitude.
The conversation went something like this: “So there seem to be quite a few patients waiting here, how many is he going to see in his OPD?”
“100”
“No, sorry, I meant just for Dr Natarajan”
“100”
“I mean just for today”
“100”
“Oh.”
The rest of my morning was spent with one of the junior doctors, being introduced to the staff at the hospital, who were almost friendly to a fault. English was once again at large and I felt remarkably welcome for a hospital this busy. From the other doctors to the admin staff and even the inundated theatre workers, everyone took time out of their jobs to say hello and introduce themselves.
After a quick look at how patients were scanned and investigated in one of the rooms, I went up to theatres. Here another revelation lay in store. The organization and efficiency with which the theatre staff and surgeons worked meant that patients could be operated on with no frustrating gap between surgeries and still receive the best of care. At one point, almost 5 simple procedures were done within 30 minutes, bringing to mind a system of conveyor belts. The patients were transported, cleaned, dressed, and anaesthetised all within the short window allowed between the moving surgeons. The intricate and awkward maneuvering needed to operate on the eye looked magically, and unfairly, simple to them.
Again I was impressed with the workload that they could handle, and in all was pleasantly surprised that healthcare delivery in India could easily match the workings of hospitals in London or Singapore.
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