On mentioning Proshyan street,one usually grasps barbeque and kebab street. Poor Armenian writer Proshyan would never ever in his worst nightmares figure out that his name would be associated with barbeques and feast, especially while he was writing his famous “Bread Problem ”. Long narrow street with restaurants and “korovatsanot”s on the both sides. But it is not only luxurious and expensive restaurants of oligarchs that find their place on that street. Right behind those restaurants parallel to the main street Hospital N3 is situated. I think the image is distinct: row of restaurants and a hospital standing lonely among them. I hope you guess what I’m hinting to. No, It is not about the medical system that I’m going to discuss now, which is as lousy as any other sphere in
Armenia, though it considers more thorough observation.
Recently I went to that hospital to visit a relative. She was taken to the hospital after she was all but made to sign a paper at the hospital in Nork stating that the doctors were not responsible for her life, though it was just an appendicitis operation, but her state was aggravated when she called an ambulance and they gave an enema thinking that she had nothing but stomach ache, thus making the situation worse.
Anyways. When I got off the car I heard loud noise of low quality rabiz music coming from the restaurants. Hoping to escape that tasteless mess caused by the blend of incomprehensible ear-cutting inhuman voice modulations coming from random restaurants, I made a rush to get into the hospital building. Went upstairs to the third floor and opened the cubicle where our relative was moved after the operation. Leaving the door ajar, I refused to believe my ears hearing the same crap coming from the window of the room. If I hadn’t heard that sound outdoors, I would think that probably my relative is celebrating her well-passed operation. But the scene was quite different.
She was moaning in anguish and complaining that she couldn’t get a wink of an eye all because of that crappy music. The windows were not hermetic as not to let the sound in, besides they were open, of course they would when there’s such a heat in
Yerevan and there’s no ventilation or air-conditioners in the hospital. After spending 30 minutes there I felt a sharp headache and making apologies for not being able to stay long, I left.
And thus, every day starting from 6 or 7 pm the hospital patients become the unwilling audience of that free concerts. Then why do they complain, who will give them free concerts every day? Just the fact is that they are fed up with those free concerts which get on their nerves and are accompanied by sleepless nights and days. No wonder then that they want to escape from the hospital as soon as possible, if they manage though, if not, the music will kill them sooner or later.
And it is not only the patients who are annoyed by that. The residents of that area also fret about the situation to the point that they had brought their grievances and called experts to measure the loudness of the sound, to make sure that it causes discomfort. I saw it on news. But all efforts were futile. The moment they took to work all the music in the surrounding restaurants was abruptly shut off unless the experts went away saying that the noise there didn’t exceed the allowed level. After which the happy feast started again. As if the residents didn’t know that the owners of those restaurants define themselves the upper and lower levels of things, and it usually goes to their own benefit.
Well, the music there will be playing thousand years hence if even the hospital owners don’t care for their patients situation. If the government allows the construction of restaurants right next to the hospital, then what to say about government thinking about its people. Or perhaps it really does think considering that “music” may have positive influence on their health. And so, patients are having their “parties” every day just to the point of not being able to sleep because of excitation .
Poor Proshyan, lie calmly in your grave, you’ve better not know what’s going on on the street named after you, lie calmly.