TATTOO

In a state of excitement and misplaced enthusiasm, I entered the tattoo parlour. It belonged to a friend of mine who had repeatedly requested me to visit his place. I saw a couple of girls boldly tattooing a design on their lower neck and ankles. These girls would yell if a mosquito bit them but now were somehow tolerant to pain. Fashion makes for a bearable suffering. The parlour was covered with photographs of my friend with famous tattooists from LA Ink and Miami Ink. He had indeed made a name for himself within a short span of time. His doodling skills had paid him off now. His appointments were most sought after by the teens in our small town. I had secretly thought of getting a small tattoo on my forearm and surprising my folks at home. It would be a small one and be hidden under my formal long shirt sleeves. I did not want to make a statement but I just felt like getting a tattoo done. I selected the names of my wife and kids with graphics and set up a session the next day.

Mrs Joshi was a sad patient of mine who had suffered from Diabetes and Hypertension as a result of stress and depression. Her face was wrinkled with worries despite her relative young age. Otherwise she came from a loving family and a caring polite middle aged husband. One day I probed her and tried to reach her sorrow. She said that I would come to know the reason on next follow up. She was accompanied by her son who immediately giggled on entering my consulting room. He was well built for his age. His eyes did all the talking. He was retarded since birth and could not articulate words properly. He was gazing at me with kind eyes. He looked like an innocent baby. I told her to accept her fate and move on in life. She cried and told me that she had no problem in raising the now grown up child as she had before. Her plane of dreams of a career, social and personal life never left the runway.
She was exceedingly worried about the frequent disappearing spells of her son from the house over the last few months. The child in him had grown up and tired of a bonded existence, he used to just run away from the house, escaping reality.Trains and Buses were plenty in our town. Sometimes, he would disappear for days much to the consternation and anguish of parents. Somehow, he would be escorted home and his parents would heave a sigh of relief.

I was curious to know the reason as to how her kid would return home despite having no communication skills. I was really perplexed.

She took her son's hand and showed me his forearm.
A 8 digit phone number was tattooed over there. This tattoo had somehow always saved him from getting lost in our cruel world.
The tattoo on his forearm etched my heart.
I had a very difficult night that day.
I tried hard to fight my tears.
I cancelled my tattoo appointment the next day.