What do doctors eat?

A matter that has intrigued me for long has been the food habits of doctors.

They are so passionate and anxious about the food habits of their patients. I met a doctor recently whose concern about the food I ate was so touching that I cannot help but record my admiration.

“What about eggs, doctor?” I had asked him tentatively.

“What about them!” he shot back.

“May I, kind of, partake of them?”

“Ha, ha, ha, HA,” he said.

The joyful cadence of the final ‘HA’ ruled out any further discussion. But I persisted.

“May I have them at least twice a week?” I begged.

“Yes you may,” he surprised me. “But only quarter of an egg which must be boiled or poached. No omelettes or fried eggs. Only whites, no yolk.”

Thankful for the oriental repast he had permitted, I pressed my luck.

“I rather like chocolate cake,” I murmured

I don’t know if anyone has had a heart attack at the mention of chocolate cake. But the doctor came pretty close.

He just couldn’t reconcile himself to the outrageous remark I had made.

“Okay, okay,” I said quickly, “I’ll never mention chocolate cake again. I won’t even think of them.”

Normalcy was restored. His quivering lips settled. He began to breathe easily and leaned back in his chair.

He called his assistant for a glass of water and gulped it down.
I felt guilty that I had been the cause of so much inconvenience to this great man of medicine and did not wish to precipitate matters further. I would just ask him what foods I could eat and the ones I should avoid and quickly leave.

“No oil,” he began delightfully. “No meat. No milk. No sugar. No salt. No butter. No chocolate. No cake. No pastries. No soft drink. No hot drink. No coffee. No tea. No fat. No spices.”

“What can I eat, doctor?”

“Wheat bran, white of egg, boiled vegetables, sour curds, hot water, steamed iddlies, boiled whole wheat. Everything without salt, sugar spices, or oil”

Astounded by this surfeit of magnanimity, I thanked him profusely, prostrated before him and turned around to depart.

As I turned around, I saw an object, about seven feet high rapidly moving towards me. It had two distinct parts. The lower portion, measuring about four feet turned out to be a young boy. The upper portion was food basket, about three feet high. As it slid past, the delightful aromas of the many masalas, with which tvc daughters-in-law so effortlessly win over their mothers-in-law, assailed my senses and took me into another world.

Another boy carrying a basket containing an assortment of plates and spoons followed the carrier-laden boy. This lively little procession entered a room behind the doctor’s consulting room, marked ‘Private.’

“Please close your mouth,” said the doctor.

I realized that I had opened my mouth to almost Jurrasic dimensions. I closed my mouth.

“Excuse me,” said the doctor, and entered his ‘private’ room.

My eyes followed him in wonder and after a respectable interval, I walked towards the private room and had a peep through the square of glass on the door.

What I saw there was the great doctor, sitting in front of the huge table spread out with plates and bowls of various sizes. One of the boys started serving him mounds of cholesterol and generous helpings of diabetes. Wheat bran and boiled whole wheat were nowhere to be seen.

I slumped down by the door in shock and was revived only when the good doctor opened the door to let himself out after his frugal meal.