Health Care System: Money Making Machine?

As a child, I did not choose to arrive in the world. I was rather planned because a child is one who completes a family, who is a bliss for the household and whose arrival marks the transformation of two partners into parents. It took about nine months for nature to convert me from a zygote into a fetus. Womb of my mother was embarked as a nurturing platform for me where I was entitled to receive all the basic necessities and ‘infrastructure’ for my construction into a human being. I was getting oxygen, blood, fluids and nutrients for the development of vital organs, flesh and bones, all by a complex and mind-boggling mechanism, without any cost at all – or may be just at the cost of my mother being sick and in pain for a few months. But as soon as I was exposed out of the beautiful, bountiful and magnanimous territory of mother’s womb, I was baffled to know that my father is out there at the admission office of this private hospital and paying fifty thousand rupees just to get me out from a place where I have been getting all the luxuries for free. I cried immediately after I was delivered and handled by an obstetrician.

They say a child is normal if he/she cries right after the birth, true that, but why does the child cry at birth is a question that needs to be answered. Even Adam and Eve kept on crying for good forty days when they were expelled from heavens to earth because that had put a full stop on the uncountable luxuries they were getting for absolutely nothing, and now they had to make an effort to earn the basic necessities, let alone the luxuries. I, too was expelled from my heaven into a place they call the ‘world’, even the first sight of which was so scary that it made me close my eyes and cry inconsolably.

On one hand my father was getting his wallet shrunken over my pampers, clothes, cradle and all the other things that were necessary for me to survive in an alien world, while on the other hand he also had to pay whenever my blood samples were taken, he had to pay every time my fragile skin was pricked with a needle, he had to pay for knowing what my blood group is. The only two constituents that were available for free were air and mother’s milk, thank heavens both of these were not under the control of hospitalists, although I could hear out one newborn in the neonatal ward who was born with premature lungs and had to be intubated – the price of each molecule of oxygen being delivered to the baby was being charged. As I was growing, I was being frequently called to get vaccinated against some of the deadliest diseases, of course in exchange of some bucks. By this time I started to realize that staying healthy was a business deal, invest with money and you get your license to health. This, however, was one side of the coin, being unhealthy was also charged, and for a lot more.

Seasons passed by year after year, different phases of life elapsed, from an infant to boy to adolescent to man, from circumcision to routine fall from the stairs, from wasp bite to falling from bicycle, from seasonal flu to acute gastroenteritis, frequent visits to the hospitals were made in order to repurchase health. People around me developed comorbidities like diabetes, hypertension, heart issues and a few other technical entities, and were put on lifelong medications, sometimes expensive, that had to be taken regularly with frequent follow up visits. I developed atherosclerosis, (narrowing of blood vessels due to accumulation of lipids) thanks to the fatty content of food in my part of the world. I belonged to a middle class, hand to mouth family. After the demise of my father who himself was a self-made person, I carried on with my government job until the age of retirement which is 60 years. In the meantime, I fulfilled my responsibilities as a father by providing my children with all the comforts, sending them to top universities and getting them married in the most lavishing manner. Such was the weight of paternal obligations that I even forgot to worry about my own health insurance.

Hospital charges were multiplying day by day. It was the 3^rd week of hospitalization after an attack of stroke which lead to massive brain hemorrhage. I was in a deep state of coma. All different sorts of machines were at least keeping my breaths alive. Prognosis at the age of 75 is not too reassuring but many people recover with the advancement of science and technology. If the charges of 3 weeks were not daunting enough for my children and the little savings that I had, the neurosurgical intervention as a final life-saving option was definitely out of reach for us. How conveniently my children were asked to take me to some other hospital as they were not able to bear the expenses anymore. To be precise, if you can’t afford to live, you will not be seen and saved by the doctor.

Why one should pay if he gets sick? Has he done it on purpose? Is he getting gratification by being in pain? Is the doctor doing any favor by treating a patient? Does is not come under his professional duty? Isn’t humanity mightier than some pieces of paper? Should those who cannot afford to bear the expenses of surgical procedures of life threatening conditions be allowed to die? Where goes the Hippocratic Oath when a patient is in emergency, dying of abdominal trauma leading to internal bleed and you are not starting emergency laparotomy just because the patient is non-affording? How merciless can you get? Doctors were once known as the Messiah’s, who would bear and relieve the pain of those in pain, but now with the commercialization of health and development of private set ups, the whole system of health care providing has become no less than a devil’s workshop, where everyone involved is making merry with the money of those in pain.

Crazy Abdullah in a Stranger's Wedding

It all starts with the mutual agreement of two families, irrespective of any of the two possible triggers leading to the auspicious occasion of a marriage. Arrange marriage, more common of the two, is still the orthodox way of tying the knot between those two ‘innocent’ people who are offered as sacrificial lambs in a collaborative ‘business deal’; lambs that are not to be slaughtered straight away, but to die a slow painful death of bearing rest of their lives in a compromise and having to share a bed with a complete alien person as a result of some lucrative treaty being signed by the third and fourth party. Love marriage, the second trigger, although having lower incidence than the arranged one, is still considered a taboo in our society and is also more complicated out of the two. The pattern usually takes a script straight out of the typical Bollywood movies; the girl’s rich father doesn’t let his ego approve a hand to mouth son-in-law; the girl’s having overly protective brothers who want to exhibit their effort of vigorous work outs in gym by taking down the heat on some soft target; Or the boy’s mother, who has already fixed the marriage of his son with his ‘khala ki beti’ and be like ‘main tou shehnaz ko zubaan dey chuki hoon tere paida honay se pehle’. The hurdles, however, are overcome if the couple remain steadfast and stubborn, ultimately the families agree and succumb to the ‘dheet-ness’ of their children, ending up in an outcome similar to the arranged marriages; ‘Lijiyie, Moo meetha kijiyie’.  

The next phase subdivides the family members into different zones according to their respective state of minds. There is a beginning of unsurmountable competitiveness when it comes to the ladies and their long list and complexities of dresses for rest of the long wedding season among themselves. The struggle begins for searching diverse set of clothes, shoes, jewelry and all other accessories for each day of the never ending functions. There has to be a different hairstyle for each event, making sure it’s from a different saloon. Dresses should not be from the same outlet as it would be too mainstream. Sandals should not be from the same brand to avoid the label of being ‘cheap and outdated’. Everything has to complement each other in terms of shades, color and texture. Above all, special care needs to be taken for maintaining uniqueness while choosing the desired products to avoid the much familiar complaint ‘meri kameeni behan hamesha meri copy karti hai :@’

The boys, mostly brothers of the demanding sisters and sons of the insisting mothers, are amongst the inevitable sufferers. Their social life takes a back seat for good few weeks as they take on the job of unfortunate driver who are being instructed to take the ladies to various/every shopping mall in the city. First few visits are merely meant to get an idea of the prices and quality – basically a comparative survey. The real shopping starts after a vulture-istic inspection and cent percent satisfaction. The boys will be ordered to drive 5 miles extra if that shopkeeper is selling a dress with a discount of 100 bucks – because the car runs on water according to their logic and saving 100 bucks on a dress is a bigger achievement, doesn’t matter if the shop falls out of the way, a discount is a discount! The sisters prepare a playlist of their own and hand it over to brothers telling them to copy all the songs in a USB after browsing through their music playlist, internet and taking feedbacks from their wide social circle. The playlist consist of latest ‘latka-jhatka’ songs which they think will be most appropriate to exhibit their moves, and so the dance-practice-cum-slimming-exercises sessions start. While the race of acing the dance steps and fitting into the new outfits is initiated for girls, the boys are handed over with another list – the ‘chosen’ relatives and friends to be invited, and asked to order the wedding cards to get printed according to the number of expected invitees. Boys ultimately get their reward at the brink of wedding when almost all the ladies issues have resolved. They are taken to the gents outfit, only to get the clothes after approval from the ‘bossy’ ladies, ‘ye color nai suit karta tumhare sath, hamesha black kyu?, gray mai buddhay lagtay ho, iss mai kalay lagtay ho, uss mai charsi lagtay ho, aisa stuff pehle bhi pehntay rehtay ho, ye wala le lo tumhari apni shaadi pe bhi kaam ajayega, aur khabardaar jo jaw-line banaai, clean shave karna!’

The father, who has played a role no different to an ATM machine up till now, gets the privilege to choose the design of wedding card (after the choice has to be narrowed down to two by the ladies in the house and they can’t decide between the final two). He is like that principal of the college who is the center of attention before an approval of a trip but is sidelined once the green signal is given. He is busy quarreling with his wife over those relatives who must and who must not show up in the wedding. The wife doesn’t approve the presence of his hubby’s ‘phupho ki beti’ who once in a lifetime was a candidate to be the wife of his existing husband and is now a grandmother herself, but the wife still sees her as a potential threat because women of all ages are insecure, and secondly the star plus effect should be instilled in a wedding because ‘wo shaadi hy kya jis mai khaandaan waalon ka drama na ho’.

The much awaited day finally arrives (the first of the few to follow). Two concerned fathers are even more concerned. The mothers are conscious of each other even though both of them are heavily studded with all the required (and not so required) accessories. The girls are exhibiting their beautiful clothes to their friends and to the professional cameraman because having a ‘DP material’ by the end of the event is like a religious obligation that has to be performed. The boys are multitasking – managing the tasks given to them by the parents and also keeping their eyes cool by ‘taarhofying’ chicks. The ‘Larkay Walay’ have their necks an inch or two longer and stiffer than their counterparts for some strange reasons. It is the time of entry of integral part of the wedding; no you guessed it wrong, it’s not the bride or groom, it’s the guests, the honorable guests, without the presence of whom the event is next to impossible. All the fuss that has been described earlier was to impress these people as they are not the simple guests, they in fact are the analyzers and have come not to congratulate or eat (well of course that’s one of the major incentive), but the main goal is to scrutinize the whole event with their critical eyes.

 

The dholkee’s and mehndi’s are the best stage to show the hidden ‘Nargis’ in all. Every one moves their feet to the tunes and shake their hips depending on the level of excitement. Most people, however, do intense bhangraas, thumkaas and luddi’s ‘jese unki apni phuphi ka viyaah ho’. The next day on baraat is when most of them are licking their lips. The Larkay Walay are eager to check out the entire family and links of the Larki and vice versa. Baraati’s are ravishingly dressed up, not any different from the groom and his immediate family members. Larki walay are ten times more eye-catching in their appearance and beautiful girls are lined up in parallel rows with flower petals in their hands, anxiously awaiting as if Prince Williams is about to enter riding a unicorn. The girls seem more eager than the bride herself to see how the ‘dulha BHAI’ looks like. Finally the groom along with his battalion arrives in an attitude comparable to Sultan Rahi when a 90 kilogram heroine used to dance around him in good old maula jutt type movies and he used to be as stiff as a rock, and all the ways of seduction by Anjuman used to go in vain.  Initial assessment of groom and his family starts and their evaluation gets underway by the welcoming girls. They are all then given a seat to be gossiping stock for the guests of larki wala’s till the bride is in the makeup room. The Larkay walay, however, keeps on checking out girls, and the elderly kill their time by keeping a close eye on the family of bride.  So the party doesn’t start till the dulhan walks in.

 Entry of the bride triggers the meta-analysis. A string of comments are initiated such as ‘Wese dulhan zada pyaari hai’ by those who are Pro-Bride, while the Anti-Bride group is like ‘Dulhay ki maa lag rahi hai, itni barri hai’. Other common comments include ‘Bilkul bhi acha make up nahi kiya hua’, ‘kitna dark shade use kiya hua hai’, ‘dress bohat pyaara hai, konsay boutique ka lag raha hai?’, ‘suite nai kar rahay dono, hoor k saath langoor betha hua hai’, ‘larki barri chalaak lag rahi hai, baich k khaa jayegi larkay waalon ko’, and khala’s phupho’s are like ‘iss churrail se tou achi meri beti thi’. The next couple of hours are spend in the photo session where dulha and dulhan k maa baap, behn bhai, behn ka susraal, khala phupho khalu phupha with their kids and kids ke kids, maamu mumaani and their kids, chacha chachi and their kids, taaya taayi and their kids, nana nani, dada dadi, cousins and their friends and susraal walay, neighbours, collegues, friends, acquaintances, kaam waali maasi and their family, driver and their family, and all the other possible relations take turns to have a picture on stage with the couple. By the end of this extended session, the couple who has been faking up with their constipated smiles, develop risus sardonicus. The Valima is also an extension of the similar comments, although in a much calm and composed way as most of the discussion has been done overnight. The focus this time is on the public display of affection of bride and groom, ‘dekho kitna chippak kar bethay hain, kesay hans hans kar baatain kar rahay hain, larki mai zaraa bhi sharam nahi hai, kese ganday poses mai tasveerain khichwa rahay hain, lagta hai pehle se dono ka chakkar tha’. It is followed by a comparison between baraat ka khaana and valeemay ka khaana and ends at the final comments on the music, dances, interior designing, marriage hall, food, appearances of Bride, her father and mother, her sisters and brothers; Groom, his father and mother, his sisters and brothers, and the relatives in general of the counterparts. Ultimately, all the pre-wedding khuwaari’s make sense. Those were all done for a reason; to silence the critics in disguise of guests.

Wedding abroad is a beautiful and simple occasion where two soul-mates vow to remain in a bond of love, trust, care and loyalty for the rest of their lives. It’s a special occasion in the lives of two people who are starting a new journey together and they are the center of attention in a small yet a meaningful and a genuinely well-wishing crowd. People hardly discuss how the bride and groom are appearing, how the respective families are dressed, what is being served at food and where the event is taking place. Everyone is out there to make it the most memorable day of the lives of two people, and every other person will be saying ‘it’s the best couple ever’. No one will ever be judgmental and keep their worthy notions to themselves. That’s the reason why the weddings abroad are much simpler, economical and have less hustles and bustles.

The reason why our weddings are more complicated is because of these ‘baygaani shaadi mai Abdullah dewaanay’, who will first dance like it’s their ‘maasi da viyaah’, and then gossip around. It’s because of the fear of these people and anticipation of their critical gossips that the concerned families go out of the way in making efforts to silence the crowd with awe and don’t give them a reason to open their mouth which is next to impossible, no matter how perfect the event turns out to be. People need to understand that two people are beginning a new journey and they need to be well wished with sincerity. Being bitchy is not going to do any good to anyone. The focus of attention should remain with the wedding couple in all the positives ways and the people should not stick their nose in a special life event of two people. After all, it’s not your own wedding and you don’t have to act crazy.