What is it, doctor? A BOY?

The mother musters up all the courage that is left in her after a gruelling six hours and asks, "What is it, doctor? A boy?" As she senses the reality hidden in her doctor's rebuke, "Why does it worry you so much? It's a healthy baby... You can already hear it crying", she pretends to fall asleep while her doctor is busy suturing her episiotomy wound.

The doctor goes back home and remembers she has a phone call to make. "What is it, Uncle?", she asks with all her vivacity. "It's a girl", she hears from the other end. The lukewarm voice clearly tells her why it was she who had to place a call, having to squeeze out time from her busy schedule.

And something inside her died, bit by bit that day. The fact that the fact is still so grim. The fact that a stetho around her neck and a round-body catgut in her hand are still not enough to evoke happiness over the birth of a baby girl. The fact that a girl who can grow up to be a guy's silent smile fails to bring a smile to her mother's lips when she articulates her first cry! The fact that a girl who can hold the Universe together fails to be a world to her father as she takes her first breath. The fact that the fact is still so grim. And something inside her died, bit by bit that day. Yet again. And she thanked her parents for the books...the bag...the pen...the stetho...and their smiles. Once again.