In theory, the manuals say sharp objects go in yellow, infected dressings in red, plastic waste in blue, and glass in white. But in my bins, everything finds its way into the red bag if a sister-nurse is in a hurry—colour theory is for the training room, not the monsoon shift. I know this from separating them again each evening, my knees protesting as I bend, the smell of antiseptic and discarded flowers mixing in the corridor. It is a messy prayer, this sorting, done to the tune of an old Chiranjeevi song from my radio.
#fitness#health
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