PART I
The first Covishield
jab at a private hospital on 5 March 2021 was an interesting experience.
The hospital
was placed, as it were, at the top of a wide and tall staircase that led to a
narrow lounge with a reception desk. When I scrambled up the steep stairs and
caught up with Shanthi, she pointed to something. I gasped in horror at the
sight of another staircase, this one sloping downwards.
When we
descended that ill-lit staircase, we stepped into a dark, tunnel-like corridor
lined with different doors – and a parking lot! Not knowing where to go, we
turned right and moved into a gloomier tunnel that led to the OP. We retraced
our steps to the bottom of that dingy staircase and turned right. In front of
us lay an overcrowded recess, and we had reached our destination: there was a
makeshift arrangement in the alcove under the staircase, and that was the
registration counter!
The
registration mocked all norms of physical distancing. We were jostled, poked,
elbowed, bumbed, and stepped on, but, after all those physical distancing
tests, we accomplished the purpose of our visit.
We were now
herded into a narrower but well-lit tunnel in which broken panels of the false
ceiling almost touched one’s head. That was the vaccination centre. The tunnel
was lined with five doors on either side. In the last of the cells, the vaccine
was administered and beyond that was an air-conditioned observation room with
pathetic-looking sofas.
When the ordeal
was over, it was refreshing to be outside with the hot sun and the warm air
touching us.
I opened the
vaccination certificate one of the young men at the counter gave me. Mr Modi
was smiling at me from the bottom of the sheet.
PART II
Shanthi and I
had our second Covid shot at high noon on 26 April 2001, and thereby hangs a
tale.
When we had our
first jab on the 5th of March, we were told that the second was due in 28 days.
Since then, one epidemiologist after another had asserted in television
interviews that the ideal gap between doses is 8-12 weeks for Covishield. In
March-April came the government’s advisory of 4/6-8 weeks, and we settled for
that gap.
But it turned
out to be a mistake. The appointments we scheduled for a second dose in private
hospitals were getting repeatedly cancelled amid rumours that there was a
vaccine shortage. On 25 April 2021, a kind friend offered to help us through a
government official. The arrangement was that Shanthi and I could get a second
shot at a primary health centre (PHC) in Vijayawada.
I was still
like that Tenali Rama’s cat after the “treatment” given at a private hospital
for the first dose. If a private hospital was so bad, how would a government
hospital be? But we had no option. In any case, the government official had
sent an assistant whose job was to deliver a hassle-free vaccination. The
deliverer was a big, burly, self-assured young man called Ismail (name changed)
who, with a mask-covered chin, came to lead us like Moses to the promised land
of vaccination.
At the PHC, I
was shocked and petrified by what I saw. Between us and the building was a
tidal surge of humanity waiting to be vaccinated. ‘We’re going back,’ I said to
Ismail when I came back to my senses, but he wouldn’t listen. He stretched out
his hand and spoke to the sea in a thunderous voice much like Moses. But the
waves didn’t part. Then he did something Moses never thought of. He walked into
the sea pushing the waves aside with his mighty hands, and, within minutes, he
was on the first floor where vaccination was taking place.
Five minutes
passed. I called the government official, explained the state of affairs, and
said my wife and I were going back home. Then something unbelievable happened.
I received a message from CoWin which read as follows: ‘You have been
successfully vaccinated with a second dose. You may download your vaccination
certificate…’ Next it was my wife’s turn to receive a similar message. We had
been “vaccinated” without even entering the PHC and without experiencing any
TLC!
I felt foolish.
I had already been vaccinated according to the government records. It would be impossible to go
to any other hospital for a second shot. But, at the same time, it would be
impossible to get into the PHC without taking several dips in the sea of
humanity. I was mulling my options over when the deliverer descended from the
clouds above. ‘What’s this?’ I asked him showing the message. He grinned.
Ismail forced
the waves to part again, but the sea closed in behind him. Riding on the crest
of a tidal wave, I safely landed in a small jetty where the vaccine was being
administered, and when a rolling wave crashed against the shore after three or
four minutes, I was in front of the PHC again with a Covishield jab in my left
arm.
The iphone rang
now. It was Chakri, a doctor from a corporate hospital. ‘Uncle,’ he said, ‘the
vaccine has arrived. Come over.’
