Ironic as it may sounds, American Hospital of Paris is one of the best hospital in Paris. Apart from that it is the only one where ‘most’ of the staffs speak English –or to put it more aptly –‘don’t hesitate to use English’! It seems the butch of Americans who started the hospital a century ago were much more desperate than me when it comes to the language barrier!
It is not the average hospital where every sick man/woman who are conscious enough to think of ‘bills and payments’ wants the ambulance to take them to. But I suppose at least a few of them are there to make maximum use of their insurance –like I do!
It was in the waiting room of the MRI Section where I met the two well-dressed ‘Frenchmen’. They were engaged in an animated talk when one of the turned toward me and asked me in English, ‘Filipinos?’ ‘Cambodian?’
I shook my head and said, ‘Indian’. They looked surprised but not as surprised as the British couple sitting across me who were visibly surprised. Then as if some sort of realization dawned on him, the younger of the Frenchmen raised his index finger and said, ‘Nepali?’
God! I wanted to cry out. With due respect to our Himalayan brethrens, I don’t usually respond to that ‘name’ very well.
I shook my head and told him that I was a tribal from the north-east of India. He barely let me finish my sentence when he started spilling-out ‘the amazing time’ he had in India when his Nepali guide ‘duped’ him and left him ‘bare’ in his hotel room.
He was speaking so furiously and rather loudly –of everything he saw or heard, from the people, the place, the food, the film –he seemed to have one thing or the other for everyone as I noticed everyone from the old American couple to the heavily accented Scandinavian to the nurses in the counter were totally mesmerized while I tried to recall if I had ever heard of anyone dying from frothing but had to conclude that whatever was his problem, his mouth definitely was not the one!
And, of course, he finished with saying that his experience was one of a kind and he wished to visit the northeast when he came round the next time. I nodded my head rapidly to look agreeable and managed a wry ghastly grimace when I actually intended it to be a beatific saintly smile!
Just then a nurse called-out for a certain ‘Monsieur el-Bashir.’ I looked around the room looking for any Arab but I saw none. The plump British couple were as surprised as me to see the young Frenchman stood-up and follow the nurse to one of the rooms.
Shortly after, another nurse called-out my name, or rather, something that vaguely sounded like my name. I noticed all eyes turned on me, as it was pretty obvious I could be the only one with a name that sounded like that. I stood-up and followed the nurse to one of the room. Just as I entered the room, I heard the Scandinavian said, ‘seems like these Chinese are everywhere!’
Tags: identity, relationship
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