Renewing a friendship

Imad (name changed) pushed open the door to my room and walked in with a broad smile on his face. I did not recognize him at first because he had grown into a young man of 15. The last I saw him was when he was a little boy, when his mother used to bring him for childhood asthma. Imad and his mother used to be frequent visitors to the clinic and so we had a friendly bond. I recognized Imad only after I saw his mother walking in quietly behind him. 

 

“Good morning doctor. How are you?” Imad beamed at me. By now, I was grinning back at him ear to ear, having recognized him and feeling so happy to see him again. I welcomed his mother and asked them both to have their seat. There was a bruise on Imad’s face just above his right eye and adjacent to the bruise was a swelling which looked quite painful. I saw it and asked, “What happened? Sports injury?” Imad laughed when I asked this, but his mother was quite upset and she said, “No doctor, he got into a fight with some hooligans outside his school last evening. He came home like this and keeps smiling and telling me proudly about the fight.” Her voice was filled with concern. Even as his mother was narrating all this, Imad was smiling widely and was so happy and jumping about in his chair. His excitement was palpable. I examined the wound and there was a bruise and small abrasion with a swelling. It looked like he had been hit by some blunt object. “How did this happen Imad?” I asked. 

 

It felt like Imad was waiting for this question. Imad blushed and with a gentle smile on his face said, “I got into a thing with some bullies in the class.” His mother got agitated when she heard this and started shouting at him. “What is there to be so proud about getting into a fight. You should be ashamed of yourself. I never brought you up to be a rowdy like this. When did you start fighting?” But the smile on Imad’s face did not disappear. I know Imad as a gentle child. When his mother used to bring him to clinic as a child, he used to bring me little gifts like a little bit of a used eraser from school, pieces of colour paper cut out into beautiful shapes, a piece of small candy and such little precious gifts. He used to insist that I have them. I knew him as a smart and soft spoken child. Nothing seemed to have changed. The ruggedness and machismo that usually has an onset around this age of 15-16 years had not yet set in him. He smiled at me just like the little boy that I knew. There was no awkwardness or embarrassment between us. So it was difficult for me to believe that Imad had gotten himself into a rage or an unnecessary fight. 

 

As I was cleaning the wound and examining it, Imad continued to remain cheerful. He did not even wince with pain. “Do you want to talk about it?” I whispered. “Yes doctor, there is a boy in my class who met with a fire accident a few months ago. He has a very ugly looking scar on his face. He refused to come to school because he did not want anyone to see it. After several months, he joined school last week. There are some boys in my class who kept calling him “theenja moonji” (it is Tamil for burnt face). How much it must hurt him to hear that. I told the boys not to say that and to call him by his actual name Ravi. But they kept saying it again and again and I saw him crying one time after hearing that name.” As he was saying this Imad’s face turned red with anger. I could sense the strong emotional shift. 

 

“Was that the reason why you got into the fight?” I asked. All the while his mother was standing by the sink with her hands folded and with the same worried expression on her face. 

 

“Do you think I will get into a fight doctor? I never got into the fight. A fight is when two angry people beat each other, right? I was not angry. I did not start the punching. I was just walking back from school, and just outside the petty shop, the bullies surrounded me and asked me to stop defending Ravi. I said I cannot stop defending him, they must only stop bullying him. So they pushed me and hit me with a cricket bat.” As Imad started narrating this, I could feel anger building up in me against those boys. “When they are pushing and beating me like that, should I lie down and take all that. So I hit back just to save myself and I ran away from there.” Imad had defended himself and more importantly done this whole thing to support and give voice to a child who was being bullied. 

 

“Doctor, the story doesn’t stop there. The Head master called his father and me to school and they made us write an apology letter apologizing for getting into the fight. He also suspended Imad from school for one week. He is not at all ashamed for insulting both of us by doing this” his mother was almost in tears as she said this. Here is an amazing young boy, who has stood up against injustice, and raised his voice to support someone who is being bullied and the school system punishes him without considering the context. The school system only saw a brawl among boisterous adolescent boys. If we keep silencing him every time he raises his voice against injustice, we will only be desensitizing a wonderful human being. I patted Imad on his back and smiled at him. Imad immediately understood that I am on his side. I could see tears welling up in his eyes because his act of bravery was being understood and acknowledged for what it was. 

 

“Amma, you should be very proud for bringing up such a wonderful young boy like Imad. It takes immense courage to stand up against injustice and bullying. The bullies are the ones who must have been punished. Imad only defended himself and his friend. He must be encouraged and appreciated. You have nothing to worry about.” I said facing the worried mother. Even as I said this she choked and started crying. It was a cry of relief. I could see that deep inside she knew that her son was right. But the society would call her a bad mother if she did not ‘discipline’ her ‘rowdy’ son. So she was just saying things that were the ‘right things to say’ at that time. When she heard me tell her that she brought up her son as a fine gentleman, she broke down with happiness. By now Imad was also having tears. There were tears from his eyes, but a broad smile on his face. The next few seconds were priceless. The entire clinic had transformed into this magical emotional space with so much warmth and happiness all around. Within seconds both Imad and his mom became cheerful and they got up and left the room. 

 

As I was traveling back from clinic, I vividly recollected the encounter. It is moments like this that make primary care clinic a magical experience. I understood the depth of meaning that the reassuring words of a doctor has on patients and their family. It was reassurance for Imad’s mother that her son was only misunderstood, but not a bad boy. As Imad left the clinic, he peeped in and asked me, “Doctor can we exchange phone numbers?” I gave him my phone number. I knew I had earned his trust and renewed the strong friendship!