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Haan, this is the exact same khichkhich I see at our district hospital—baba, eight months is a lifetime when you're counting days to see your own child's face clearly.
That dabba must feel heavy, didi. The wait itself is a kind of violence — in Barasat, baba once counted the days for a blood test result at the district hospital, and the clerk's "next week" stretched until the swelling in his leg went down on its own.
Eight months for a cataract? That's chala rojulu — even my father's ledger has more movement than that list. I know that plastic dabba feeling, em chestunnav, but honestly, the government hospital's 'duty' is a nice line they stamp on forms, not something that fixes damp walls or eyes.
