The Great Goel Sahib & the Canine Catastrophe

Goel Sahib was in a rather peculiar predicament. As he sat awkwardly on two chairs, one supporting his well-fed torso and the other his bandaged leg, he mused over his recent mishap. You see, Goel Sahib was a retired chief manager of a large bank, and a man with a great fondness for tikki, samosas, and beer. These culinary delights had contributed to his impressive girth, which in turn made his ill-fated scooter ride even more disastrous.

One fine morning, while navigating his trusty scooter through the bustling streets, a black dog decided to play a game of chicken with Goel Sahib. Unsurprisingly, the dog won, and Goel Sahib ended up sprawled on the pavement with a fractured leg. The doctor had insisted on a plaster cast to aid the healing process, but even with the cast removed, the leg needed to be elevated to prevent swelling. Hence, the two-chair setup.

As Goel Sahib sat on his makeshift throne, visitors streamed in to offer their sympathy, share their own tales of woe, and, most importantly, dispense unsolicited medical advice. This, of course, provided Goel Sahib with endless entertainment.

First came Agarwalji, an expert in everything under the sun, except perhaps for tact.

“Sir, it’s been forty days and you’re still bandaged? Incredible! Don’t trust these doctors. You should’ve gone to Dhani Ram Pehlwan. He sets bones in a jiffy. He lives in Ghopla village. I’ll take you there, and in half an hour, you’ll be running marathons!”

Then, there was Khannaji, who had a culinary approach to medicine.

“Mr. Goel, you need strong bones at your age. Forget those capsules. Here’s a recipe: goat’s hooves. Boil four of them in a cooker until they’re super soft. Strain it, add salt and pepper, and drink it like soup. It’s not non-veg, think of it as medicine!”

Old friend Agarwal Sahib had a more philosophical question.

“Besides the black-and-yellow dog, tell me honestly, where were your eyes?”

Retired Inspector Balwant Singh had a folksy remedy to share.

“The same thing happened to me, Mr. Goel. I slipped on a wet floor. The constable brought sheep’s milk. Massaged it in, added turmeric, and drank the rest. No harm in trying. I can find a sheep for you if you like!”

And then there was Bansaljee, who suggested a more supernatural solution.

“Mr. Goel, this is the third bone injury I’ve seen you with. Elbow, knee, now foot. It’s a bad sign. And a black dog? Very bad omen. You need to go to the crematorium for ten minutes at seven in the evening. I’ll come with you. This will reverse your bad luck. Trust me.”

Poor Mr. Goel was thoroughly bewildered by the array of advice. Was he to boil hooves, drink sheep’s milk, or sit in a crematorium? Each visitor left him more confused than the last.

Ultimately, Goel Sahib decided to stick with his doctor’s orders and leave the goats, sheep, and crematoriums out of it. He figured that if he healed well and quickly, he could return to his beloved tikki and samosa sooner rather than later. And as for the black dog, well, Goel Sahib now had a firm policy: avoid all dogs while riding a scooter.

After all, being safe is better than sitting on two chairs!