TECHNOLOGICAL BLINDNESS

My grandmother used to spend her entire afternoon sitting at the doorstep and staring outside. Most of the time, even a word did not spill out of her mouth. Yet, sometimes she would get up suddenly from her perch and declare that it was going to rain. This, when there wasn’t a speck in the sky that could be construed as a cloud. But rain it did, most of the time.

I asked her once the basis of her prediction. “The ants,” she said. “When the ants come out by the scores, carrying their eggs in their mouths, it is sure to rain.” On another occasion she told me, “When birds wallow in the dust, it rains.” I know it doesn’t make any meteorological sense, but she sure was more successful than the city meteorologists.

She also did not need a watch to tell what time of the day it was. Our family got together at five in the evening for tea. Without ever seeing a clock, without ever asking anyone what time it was, she kept the tea ready at the appointed hour. “The length of the shadows.” She said by way of explanation of her ability to tell time. In the night, it were the stars and their position which told her how far insomnia had caught up with her.

Towards the fag end of my stay in the USA, I fell ill. While the illness did not incapacitate me, it was excruciating enough to consume all my rational interest during the daytime and leave me with irrational fears once the night fell.

The learned doctor, after giving me a clinical check, asked me to present myself again for further checks. “On the surface everything looks okay,” he said. “Yet more sophisticated checks might reveal something else. I advise we do a bit of endoscopy and another test to check the status of the biliary tree as well as the health of your colon.” I felt scared enough to not to show him my face again.

Back in India, I went to our family doctor, who patted my stomach, prodded my viscera with his fingers, told me to take deep breaths while this was going on. Then, examining my fingernails, he passed the verdict, “Acid peptic disease. Not to worry, though this disease might itself be a symptom of your worrying disposition. Just take these tablets, laugh a bit more often, and you should be alright.”

I asked him how he could reach a diagnosis while his counterpart in US required a bevy of tests. His answer I will never forget.

“As technology progresses, my two eyes and ten fingers become progressively blind. Even I don’t observe as much as I used to when I practiced in the rural area. My son is bestowed with practically blind fingers.”

Compared to my grandmother, I am a pygmy in the matters of observation. But the chances are bright that my grandson will write a piece eulogizing my observational prowess.