The Birthday Summoning

Dedicated to the baby boy born today at 10:55 am, 11-10-13

'Which term students?' The burly nurse asked us as we stood outside the operation theater. We gave him an almost sulky answer 'third term'. Now he'll tell us to wait outside, I though. Only 9th term students are allowed to.. 'Alright, change to hospital gown along with cap and step in' The nurse said and returned to his register. We all turned to each other in barely disguised surprise. We're going in? Is this for real? But we wasted no time and rushed quietly in, like a S.W.A.T team creeping up on an unsuspecting terrorist group.

Wearing the operating gown was a bit hard for us.( us referring to me and 3 of my other unit mates) This was the first time for any of us. I felt like a nervous lover, fumbling as he unwraps his beloved on the first act of consummation of their love. 'you need help, there?' I nearly jumped as my train of thought collided onto a million ton brick wall. I turned to a junior surgeon, who smiled politely at my bumbled efforts with the strings of the loose gown. He tied me like a kid firing a rocket into a diwali night. I thanked him, and glanced at the mirror. The gown had the color of the sick vomit. I moved out. The girls slowly drew out of their dressing rooms. We all looked like a bunch of monks in a monastery, serving a cruel and mysterious God. We all were.

We entered the operating complex. Over here, it felt a ballroom. Over here, death and life danced slowly and intimately, as the surgeons played out a grim and gruesome tune. The sound of the ECG adding to their symphony. A nurse told us that a caesarean section was about to begin. The girls were thrilled, Me? I wont lie, friends. I was eager to see this as well.

The patient entered the operating room nervous, like a high school girl about to sing in front of a large audience.  She was heavily pregnant. The doctor whispered some words into her ear. Whatever was spoken I did not hear, but it seemed to calm her down and take away her fear. Good man. The instruments were brought. A spinal anesthesia was administered and she slowly sank into a sea unknown to the conscious mind.

It was like a summoning ritual. The priest yearning to recieve a servant from his master below. And as in all rituals, it had to be paid in blood. The scalpel sang as it sailed through her skin. First white. Then thick blood began to flow. It seemed to boil in anger, at the sight of these intruders who were about to invade this woman and steal her most precious possession within. Her child.

Muscles were sliced through. Fascia were ripped apart. The surgeons dug through like a child digging into the edge of a sofa, searching for the precious 50 paise he needs with which he can buy the ice-cream he desires. And lo! It was then exposed. The organ which sheltered a tiny pulsating heart. The organ which contained a tiny thing capable of loving, laughing, hurting. the organ containing a part of the key to understand the mysteries of the universe. The scalpel sliced through the uterus like a plump fish ready to be gutted.

The amnion cavity (cavity containing fluid in which the baby is suspended) broke, and a transparent liquid spewed out, like champagne commemorating this great beginning. The surgeon dug his hand in, and wedged it in, working his way through, finally freeing the baby from its 9 month prison.  Cloaked in slime and mucus, the little creature gave a weak cry. Louder. And finally a bawling. It reminded me of the time when I used to switch on the light in the room when my Rajasthan roommate was sleeping, and he used to awake cursing me, my Mother and her vagina and what not. The baby seems to curse just like old Shaleindra ,I smiled. But for the baby, I hoped the lights would  remain  switched On for a whole while longer. We watched as the placenta was slowly removed and the umbilical cord cut.  A nurse took the baby into the next room. The summoning was successful. Another arrival!

The uterus was then stitched back, the muscles along  with the skin took its original position. It was like watching a movie being played backward. In the entire room, only the four of us watched in fascination. The surgeons worked like Duracell powered robots, efficiently but with cold interest. When you do something for such a long time, it tends to become mundane. Nothing is an exception. The whole surgery lasted less than 20 minutes.

We then went to the next room and saw the baby lying on the table, cleaned and asleep. Its skin was supple, its hair delicate and I could not help but adore it. While we were mooning over the baby, the nurse filled in the form containing details about the baby. He then wrapped the baby in a blanket like a shawarma and nearly tossed it to his colleague along with the above said form. The colleague took the baby out of the room and out of our sight and life.

Happy birthday, kid.