It's 10:55 again
Since I was as young as 12, I had come to believe that my life is intimately interwoven with this juxtaposition of this minute and hour hand at 10:55. Oh my Allah, it simply never escaped my eye. I would always surmise about what this time had in store for me. My imaginings would never relinquish to wander into causes of consequences. That's how day dreaming became an important part of my life. I never knew 10:55 would be the ignis fatuus for me.
I finally came to my high school. Though I was "interested" in biology on my parents insistence, it didn't take my gullibility more than a split second to get seduced to choose mathematics as well. So, while my class fellows saw a refuge in Mathematics if Biology ditched them in the entrance examination or vice versa, I thought of it as a sage who would guide me unto the mystery of 10:55 which, by now, I had come to believe is like the invisible door through the wall to Hogwarts special express in Harry Porter series.
Well, oddly enough all I found was mendacity in mathematics that carried me from one hypothesis to other, from axioms to theorems, from induction to deduction and finally to the whirlpool of calculus. In the meantime, I was lost at the place without realising that my purpose to study mathematics was not to 'actually' study it. I had to unlock the mystery of 10:55 and no formula seemed promising enough to help me achieve my goal with it, much less with the clock.
Things didn't quite unfold until I landed in a medical school. By then my curiosity had got prodigiously sucking and I had started to relate to this time as an omen of an unfathomable virtue as my selection was announced to me by the internet at 10:55. However,all it turned out to be was much more than an omen in itself.
Unlike my previous classes, I couldn't pluck a special niche in the class room. Somehow I was intuitive that one day, 10:55 will strike with a lightening in the broad day light and I'll surprise and shock all my class fellows with my answer to the toughest question ever asked in the toughest department which happened to be Pharmacology, that year.
I contemplated this heroism in our college library. Instead of scrounging on the"useful" tidbits of Pharmacology book, I was mollified to retire to my day dreaming as had been my want. All the while I was there, I had built an entire castle on 10:55.
Poor me. My foresight was not inaccurate. A lightening struck the next day and that too with a boisterous thunderbolt. In the classroom, as thought earlier, I was asked a question in midst of the lecture by the frail and delicate professor of Pharmacology department. To my misfortune, I thought the question was not tough enough to fetch me the acclaim I anticipated but nonethess, something was better than nothing. As I lifted myself from the seat confidently, it took me sometime to stand properly because of my fatty love handles flanked along the girth of my waist which never stop to impinge others to the extent of being annoying.
I was myself surprised at the confidence that swelled in my chest. As I tried to impress the professor with an answer fraught with medical jargon, the otherwise had already happened. The class was rumbling was a huge laughter. What followed next was never expected. I was humbled in humiliation in front of the entire classroom and why wouldn't it be.
After all who would prescribe a drug of heart attack for headache. I blushed crimson red in embarrassment. For the rest of the lecture which ended shortly afterwards, I was lost in repeating every moment of my folly of daydreaming. Had I studied at the library, the results wouldn't have been that merciless.
The class ended at 11, not far from 10:55.
I cursed the moment. Later in the evening, I beseeched my lord with tearful eyes to strike 10:55 the next time in all its glory and help me restore my lost place though I had ended at a new place in classroom, lately.
Many scandals in the name of 10:55 followed me in the subsequent years of medical school, that too in OPD when once I presented the readings of blood pressure in degree Celsius. I feel ashamed to confess, it was exactly the 10:55 on the clock. I didn't despair. I thought, maybe this omen is meant to be more blessed, who knows maybe I get married at this hour. I have always loved the idea of marriage. It will wipe all its misgivings if it happened, I always thought to myself. Any idea of my future life would always rock my spine with excitement and emotions.
Till I was done with my MD from the same college which is starved of patient flow, I was left with scarcely enough hair to be a candidate for a wedlock. I started to put on a wig.
"Dr" prefix was the only saviour to help me find a suitable match. However, I never knew that my fate could strip me of this privilege too. On the day of wedding, it was propitiously concealed by the turban, but nothing could stop it from knocking with her bare hands in the altercation with my wife, when my tightly held wig ditched me at the eleventh hour. I had envisaged benevolence to shower me at 10:55, the very first day of marriage, but all that blessed me was kicks and divorce the next morning.
It was 10:55, when she left my home fuming with anger and contempt for me.
I didn't loose hope. It takes a lot of patience to wait.
I was nearing 55 with 10 junior doctors working under me. One day, as I walked along the corridor of the government hospital convinced that I was being noticed with reverence and awe by the attendants, I bumped into a group of men. I started enquiring in a condescending tone and people amenably gave me a passage to the heart of the crowd. I found a tall stout man shouting near a dead body in the jam packed corner.
I knew I'm in a for a big surprise.
My Littman's stethoscope dangled across my neck, so did the fury which was about to embrace me in a crushing hug. Before I could even say anything, one among them spitted an abuse and caught hold of my Littman's, strangulated me with it and knocked me straight to the ground.
I opened my eyes in a stinking bed,surrounded by few policemen. One among them proceeded as soon they found me open my eyes."So Dr Sahib, you were struck at 10:55 in the morning. Can you describe to us the person who assaulted you?", he continued... All I could see was a big wall clock in front of my eyes which showed 10:55, and a big monstrous laughter on it's dial. I remember, I wept bitterly at that sight.
Today, I have grown 59. It's with this roll number I started my medical school. I'm the only doctor patient diagnosed of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) admitted here at the mental hospital but I believe my good luck has a bad luck or my bad luck has very good luck.
They say I've been behaving violently for quite a while now.
I break everything which seems like a clock to me.
Muhammad Obaid Bin Rashid.
(II year MBBS, ASCOMS Jammu)