The compounder

He always took a long time in giving medicines. A friendly smile, a little chit chat, enquiring after the health of mister so and so and how is the little baby today? Does the new AC work well?...Till the other patients would come out and one by one queue up outside his counter waiting to take their medicines…and still he wouldn’t be done with the first one.

There was always a list of regulars whom he remembered…Mr. Patel, Mrs.Jhariwala, the dhobi from across the street, the little girl who would wander in for a digene to suck on…he always spoke and spoke a lot. Many people complained to the doctor about the compounder’s incessant talking habit, he would spill the medicines while talking, scratch himself in weird places, pick his nose and generally take ages in dispensing them even when he knew there were many patients waiting in the line.

The doctor would duly scold him and he would be quiet, for a day and then his self imposed punishment would break through and he would be back again the next day. But still people came to the doctor, because he was a good one with a nice manner...probably his compounder should have been in PR or events or a talk show host, his extensive talking talents seemed to have been wasted sitting in a cubicle shut up all day long amongst the Cetrzines and Metafloxes and B Compounds. But he had a knack, even if you didn’t want to talk or were too ill he would end up making you chat with him for 5 minutes atleast till you woke yourself up and managed to escape…Fat ladies with irritating children and thin ladies with listless children and aging uncles with hernia problems and young people with their aching problems all of them would be talked to by him and would talk back.

And so the years passed, and the hair on the compounder’s head turned grey, but his tongue grew no moss, it kept on rolling as ever.

This is the first part..I don't know what to write next...