The Naevus

I met Pramila- let's call her that- during my early days of homeopathy. A patient who had been cured of BIID by my Master brought the young couple, and he asked me to see them.

She was a beautiful young lady, tall, fair- fair in what we describe tomatoish-red sense- and stately, with a well-defined nose and a prominent adam's apple on her throat. She had an air of sadness about her, and she stooped slightly, wrapping herself in a sari round her shoulders that curved inwards like she had made herself a cocoon, and that, to me made her intriguing.

But then she opened up and I could see it- a birthmark on her right arm which marred her and made her life terrible- it looked more like a scar, an unsightly messed-up brownish map that petered out in several direction. She had to wear long sleeves to cover it, and she naturally felt quite conscious of it and most of the time she hated herself for having it. She wanted to rid of it immediately.

Taking note of her mental symptoms, I prescribed a medicine for her in high potency, and gave her an oinment to be applied externally. I have no confidence in the potency of homeopathic oinments, but people with skin problems won't be satisfied without something of the sort.

It did not cure her for the six months she was under my treatment, but it made her husband happy. I came to know of that when he confided in me on one of his visits for the oinments after his wife stopped coming.

I had told him, "My medicines, they don't seem to work. You might as well try Siddha or Ayurveda."

He looked faintly sheepish, and then said, "Doctor, we have tried them. They smell quite strongly and they are oily. But this oinment that you give, it is fragrant, and to tell you the truth, it is I who apply it on her birthmark late in the evening, and this has become something of a ritual between us".

I understood what he meant- I told him where he could get the oinment, and he stopped coming.

Sometime after that, I got married and my study of homeopathy got me into trouble with my wife. There was always someone or two who would drop in on me in the evening after I had come home from office, and a hour or two everyday would be spent that way. And then, I would sit up late into the night studying up the repertories and the materia medica- my wife did not appreciate the effort I was putting into this.

Homeopathy was my passion those days, I enjoyed listening to the stories that my patients told me and I would go round thinking how it would feel to be in their skin, with their life-histories, and think their thoughts: Homeopathy was my window to alternate universes.

Anyway, it got between me and my wife, and I had to put it away after a bitter struggle. what decided the issue was the birth of my son, and actually, taking care of him, the late hours, the disturbed sleep- it put my life out of joint, and then I got a new job with more responsibilities. I had to move on.

I don't regret that I don't do Homeopathy nowadays, but the stories I miss. And when something like what happened yesterday happens- which is what brings this post to you-, then it is as if I was in a gateway and the gate closed on me.

I saw Pramila, the girl with the birthmark, yesterday when I was coming home with Siva. We were returning from Tiruttani, and since it was late at night, we decided to eat out in a hotel, and went into Sangeetha near Koyambedu Bus Stand.

It was quite a shock to me when I saw her. She was as beautiful as ever, but she looked more happy- and she was wearing sleeveless, her scald-scar birthmark on her arm blazing away in its full glory. I could not take my eyes off it.

But luckily for me, she recognised me, and came over and we had a chat, during which I chanced to ask her (I couldn't resist it), "That birthmark. Aren't you sensitive about it anymore?"

She laughed at that and replied, "Oh, no doctor. I hardly ever feel it there. Sometimes, when people stare at it, I am conscious of it, but then, I don't know why, I get a kick out of that".

She looked at her husband and he smiled in response.

I controlled my smile, because that would have let them know that I was in on what went between them, and doctors, even phony ones like me, we maintain strict confidentiality.

So I bid them good night, and returned to address the half-cooked, dried-out Fried Rice on my plate.