Celebrity haemorrhage has led to a stroke of good luck for the rest of us. The frequency of VIP illnesses means that schools may no longer need to impart anatomy lessons, and even medical colleges could become as disposable as a needle. The media has stepped into the role of the conventional classroom, teaching us everything we never wanted to learn about every current hiccup in the VIP body.
The latest case is that of Shah Rukh Khan. While lesser mortals make do with a simple pulled tendon, he gets some posh supraspinatus tendonistis. But, ordinary folks still score because the ensuing mass of information in print, on TV, and the crosssection of Net dissections, enables all of us to bone up on every disgusting detail about this muscular affliction. Surgeon ne bana di joint, and we receive a hotshoulder lesson ek dum free of cost — no tendons attached. Actually, SRK is a mobile classroom whether immobilised on an operating table, or merely hamstrung by an armsling or the neck-brace he has long needed for his hard-pressed back. Neosix-packers and the Akshay breed of DIY action-heroes must pay the price of push-upping their body too far.
Of course, Amitabh Bachchan towers over the star classroom as much as he does on screen; in fact, he first triggered these media medical lessons, way back in 1982, after the near-fatal accident on the sets of Coolie. Thank Bhagwan, he emerged alive and still-kicking off the competition from that illness, but not before he had given the whole world a crash course in myasthenia gravis. It wasn’t some ‘Munnabhai MBBS’ sham. Within days of hearing about it for the very first time, newspapers had taught us enough to max a medical-school paper on it.
Then, in 2005, our AB was back in the OT and our prayers, this time for diverticulitis. So now everyone knows the intestinal twists and turns of the intestine, which cause this painful condition. I owe him a Big B-size thank you. After those media lessons, my own attacks of the dreaded D are no longer rudely laughed off with, “Rubbish! Diverticulitis sounds like one of those words you make up in your column.”
It is not only in our stars that we are understudy surgeons. Sachin Tendulkar’s elbow, for instance, made us experts in that field in orthospeedic time. However, the greatest gurus remain our politicians. The range and frequency of their ailments could provide the layperson with not just post-graduate degrees, but the whole doctorate. No surprise here. Gray’s Anatomy is best studied via our grey-haired netas who continue to be at a premium despite all the lip-service to youth. In fact, power/elections inject them with a personal stimulus package, as can be clearly seen in the case of NDA PMs, past and promotee.
We had just about recovered from our intensive study of the cardio-pulmonary system prompted by the present PM’s sudden bypass surgery, when a new-old political patient arrived on the media syllabus. In recent weeks we have been provided regular respiratory tract lessons via Mr Vajpayee’s precarious condition, but in 2001, his less-critical foster knees merited more space and time because he was then the sitting prime minister.
Next we will have to gird our loins to master the intricacies of electile dysfunction. Theoretical lessons will emphasise the importance of a fit constitution, but field malpractices will throw up contra-indications. Politics has already begun to look like an OPD, with wannabe candidates lining up at party offices, feverishly clutching their files and nursing hopes/grievances. Indeed, the media classroom has already begun to teach us about the internal workings of the body politic. Investigative procedures such as Soniagraphy are par for the course. But the EC-ji may no longer be a reliable tool. It’s suffering from arhythmic abnormalities of its own.
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