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Thursday, Jul 11, 2002

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Night duty

D. Murali

AS THE night watchman in a local hospital, I have been having a tough time, trying to keep patients from running away ever since the drug giant, the big-M, disclosed that what it had said earlier was not what was true. "They recorded more than $12 billion in revenue over the past three years," an old man grumbles impatiently, holding his saline bottle, "but they never collected the money."

"Don't tell the duty doc," I plead with him, "that I didn't give you the ration I ticked off in your diet sheet."

"But did the surgeon account for... " gaspingly asks a freshly-operated-upon lady, "... all the towels he used after I passed out?"

"They were complaining of two missing scalpels," I said, recalling, but hastened to add before she swooned, "that makes no impact on the total stock of knives because they excavated two daggers from another patient last week."

"No different from what we do," sighed an ailing cook from the neighbourhood caterer. "We offset bland with salt, salt with chillies, chillies with sugar, and sugar with Daonil."

"Hey," somebody called from another ward, hearing all the fireside tips, "weren't you the one who came with the auditor for finalisation?"

"Let me hide myself," an accountant called from under a corner bed, "I thought I would be safe at least here."

"Let me go," protested a meek-looking patient, "I came here only to show enough proof to get medical reimbursement."

"Well but hospitalised!" I exclaimed, "Let me tell the superintendent."

But he shrugged off: "If we can book expense without having to spend, spend without having to earn, earn without having to work, work without having to be on the payroll, what's the big deal?"

I push him out before I go mad, and then go on to check on an inmate of the prisoners' ward. "When I showed Taj Mahal as my asset in the balance-sheet," he was reminiscing, "they put me in Tihar."

"You could have explained to them," the duty cop argued, "that you had Qutab Minar on the liabilities side."

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