While on the subject of the "menacing MRIs," one thing I wanted to add is that a mortal fear of MRIs is almost universal. Many patients have apprehensions about the process rather than the results the MRI may reveal. I met a young girl during one of my "trysts with terror" at the MRI Centre. She had some spinal issues and was so jittery even before entering the Eskimo Chambers that her mother was allowed to be beside her during the process, enduring the noise, spine-chilling cold, and the drama of the MRI. The girl had her eyes blindfolded before entering the room with the black hole.

Moving on—or rather, backward—my nomadic thoughts and gypsy mind drifted and dithered almost three-quarters of a century back. Nostalgia has the uncanny ability to make even unpleasant things and events seem pleasant now. What was it in the golden soil of those days, watered with simplicity and honesty, that brought forth blossoms of multicolored flowers and fruits of the always-elusive happiness and contentment? Maybe this is a separate topic for a dull, dreary piece some other time. But this is what catapulted me into the comfort clinics.

The clinics many doctors practiced in were cute, small, comfortable, and welcoming. Crowds were rarely seen. No appointments were needed with a robotic voice asking us to press 1 to 0 and then, half an hour later, to speak to an actual person to get an appointment on a date that was never available. Doctors would leisurely talk to patients, asking more about their family and background before coming to the issue. It was an inborn psychological approach to get to the root of the problem. The doctors became family physicians to most of their patients. Apart from a thermometer, stethoscope, and oral examination, nothing else was needed. Where have these basic instruments gone? Even a BP instrument was a rare sight. No mechanical monsters to scan you. One prescription, and the ailment was gone. Meeting and seeing the doctor itself was a cure.

Some doctors had small and easily manageable nursing homes with a theater for surgeries and a few rooms for in-patients. Personal attention, care, comfort, treatment, and cure were assured.

My family physician was also a surgeon, and his wife was a gynecologist and obstetrician. My wife, my two sons, and I were almost part of their family. Whenever we visited, my sons would wander around the clinic, sometimes sitting on the doctor's lap or using the swing door to go to the room where his wife practiced and sit on her lap. Once, he even took me around his operation theater and explained the various instruments there. And the consultation fee? Peanuts by modern standards.

And now? Corporate-run huge hospitals boast about the number of beds, multi-specialty services, hundreds of doctors, and thousands of patients. Just entering a hospital can make you feel sicker.

What I am about to say is anecdotal. Reportedly, there was a doctor in Delhi who, just by looking at a patient entering, could say what their illness was! I remember his name, but I dare not mention it.

To be continued... 8. Simplicity of Childhood