This happened last early last year.
This is our own episode of ER.
Six pm:- I'm in office, in a meeting
Six five:- Sheela calls. "Please go to the school IMMEDIATELY" and hangs up
Six eight:- It takes me all of three minutes to figure out that disobeying that order carries a decapitation sentence.
Six ten:- I'm at the school. En route, I have rung up Sheela and determined that the cause of the panic is that Gautham has dislocated his knee.
Six Eleven: - I call up my cousin Sandeep who is a surgeon and ask him what to do. He expresses great astonishment at the diagnosis - apparently its virtually impossible to dislocate a knee. He asks me to get a couple of x-rays and meet the orthopedic surgeon.
Six fifteen:- I'm finally with my son. Seven teachers are clustered around him, convinced that an ambulance would be in order. The injured party is lying on a couch and reveling in the attention. Some of the teachers are holding his hand. One of them is fanning him with a textbook. Gautham has the martyr look. My suspicion is that there's nothing wrong with him.
Six sixteen:- Sheela arrives and confirms my diagnosis.
Six eighteen:- We're in the car. I'm driving and Sheela's checking Gautham out, who is doing his level best to look in pain.
Six nineteen:- He confesses.
We haul him off and get the required x-rays, nevertheless. He has already gathered from our tone and demeanor that his injury is not being perceived as life threatening, but he has a last try with the orthopedic surgeon, who also has a good laugh. A grim profession like his welcomes comedians, he tells me. We get back home. Resigned to the fact that his fifteen seconds of fame is over, Gautham is busy playing with Vyaas.
Nine thirty:- My dad, who is a doctor, gets back from his clinic. Gautham suddenly develops a limp and is walking around with a walking stick. Sheela and I are rolling on the floor with laughter. That's because he's limping on the other foot.
And the day wears on.