The waiting room was crowded. It was silent except for the hum of the air-conditioner, and the occasional beeping of the phone, followed by the hushed conversation of the nurses.
Then, a tremor. It was hardly perceptible. Only the alert few sensed it, but soon they let it pass. One or two looked around, and pondered a while on what they had felt, but they too dismissed it as another effect of the long and mindless wait.
Then it came. The whole row of seats shook, causing mild panic to those seated. And then it became clear. The middle aged chap sitting at the centre of the row. He was the cause. He sat with his head bowed, chin touching his chest. His body was in convulsions. Those seated nearby watched in horror. Then he looked up. The man was trying to suppress his mirth. Seeing that he had attracted so much attention, he somewhat sobered up. He looked around furtively. Looking a little sheepish, he bowed his head. Everything was tranquil once again.
Those seated near to him sensed the imminent danger from this obviously deranged person. He looked harmless enough, but who could tell what was going on in his mind? A few moved away, surreptitiously. A boy who had curiously moved closer to observe the man up close was jerked violently away by his mother.
The man sat silently. Several pairs of eyes watched him keenly, looking out for tell-tale signs of lunatic behaviour. And then he looked up, smiling and chuckling to himself.
Then he rose, abruptly, startling several of those seated nearby. He strode purposefully towards a woman, who had just emerged from one of the doctors’ rooms. Together, they walked out of the waiting room. And as they went, everyone could see the cover of the book the man held in his hand. “The lost continent: travels in small-town
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