WITHOUT A FINGER

(Originally written on my Notes page on Facebook, March 16th, 2009).

The taxi stopped for her. She was most likely in her late twenties, held a crutch on one hand and bore all things girlish on the other. Her crutch came in first, then she slid into the seat beside me, leaving the crutch to lean on me, right across my face. Before I could let out a whiff, she was already engrossed in a conversation with the cab driver.


“Sorry, could this be yours?” I said with a smirk on my face, my voice a little lowered. My wry sense of humor did the trick as she suddenly looked towards me giggling; “Aw, sorry, I almost forgot about my ‘third leg’” came her innocent reply. Later, I learnt that she had been using her “third leg” from when she was 4 years old following an “accident”. I also deduced from our engaging verbal congress that her attitude and style of expression was that of someone content with life in spite of her obvious inconvenience. It left an impression on me. Could I ever get used to a personal nuisance, especially when it inconveniences others? How would life be for me if I have to complement myself with anything artificial, even if it's a well-fitted denture?

Earlier that morning, I had slammed the car door on my right index finger while alighting from the cab I took to work. If the travails of a woman in childbirth was rated 10, I was somewhere around 9 for the 30 mins that ensued. Bearing in mind that the thumb and the index finger are said to be the most important fingers, here are a few things about me: I am right-handed (they say it’s because the left side of my brain is dominant); my job is graded as highly skilled labour; I have to examine people and perform many a procedure using my hands; I have to type all my notes into a computer at work; now and then give a hand-written script or a referral.

Beyond the professional use of my right hand, the turnover in the personal use of my hand is far exceeding; all of it done almost unconsciously. At work that morning, I attempted to maximize the use of my left hand; it was clumsy, slow, inconvenient and almost impossible for some of my routines. (Well,I did enjoy the mischief of my illegible prescriptions!).

Within a few days, my finger felt better and did return to its pre-injury wellness.

 All these happened about a year ago, but I remember that the days following this incident, I became more aware of my many unconscious routines and my sense of “physical completeness” was very re-assuring. My heart has not ceased to be full of gratitude.

If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change - Buddha