Another senior physician of Dehradun was Dr Om Prakash, father to DR Manoj Kumar, the celebrated surgeon. He was practicing opposite St. Thomas school at Cross Road and commanded a large clientele always very busy, always surrounded by patients right left and Centre in his busy OPD, he was almost brusque with his patients.

Setting: Dr. Om Prakash’s Clinic, a cramped office in a bustling Indian town, with a flickering tube light, a creaky fan, and a desk buried under stacks of patient files. A faded portrait of pioneer Hippocrates hangs crookedly on the wall.

Dr. Om Prakash, a 68-year-old doctor with a perpetually furrowed brow, a booming voice, and a temper that could curdle lassi, is a legend in his community. His patients—local shopkeepers, aunties, and mischievous kids—know he’s a genius with a stethoscope but a terror with a tongue-lashing. The clinic is a daily circus of quirky complaints and Dr. Om’s fiery retorts, laced with unintentional hilarity. Here’s a typical day:

Incident 1: The Overzealous Aunty

Patient: Shanti Devi, 55, a hypochondriac who believes every ache is a cosmic warning.

Shanti Devi waddles in, clutching a plastic bag full of homemade remedies and a dog-eared copy of “Desi Nuskhe.” Dr. Om Prakash is already muttering about the heat and late patients.

Shanti Devi: “Doctor Sahab, my knees are creaking like my old almirah, and I feel a jhatka in my chest. Google says it’s a heart attack, ya maybe black magic!”

Dr. Om Prakash: slamming his pen down “Arre, Shanti, your knees creak because you’re carrying 10 kilos of ladoos in your saree! And Ram Prakash? He is not a doctor, it’s a dukaan for nonsense! Your chest is fine—it’s just gas from your fifth plate of chole bhature!”

Shanti Devi: unfazed, pulling out a jar of haldi paste “But Doctor, I applied this turmeric mix from WhatsApp, and now my skin’s orange!”

Dr. Om Prakash: eyes bulging “Orange?! You’re not a patient, you’re a traffic cone! Stop this WhatsApp university nonsense!” He scribbles a prescription for antacids, grumbling, “Next, you’ll say your cow diagnosed you with jaundice!”

As Shanti protests, she accidentally knocks over a tray of cotton swabs, which scatter like Holi powder. Dr. Om roars, but his nurse, Geeta, stifles a giggle as Shanti tries to sweep them up with her dupatta.

Dr. Om Prakash: “Shanti, out! And tell your cow to get a medical degree before giving advice!”

Shanti scurries off, muttering about consulting her panditji, leaving Dr. Om rubbing his temples.

Incident 2: The Naughty Schoolboy

Patient: Chintu Sharma, 10, a notorious prankster with a knack for trouble.

Chintu’s mother, Sunita, drags him in, his face scrunched in pain. Dr. Om Prakash, still recovering from Shanti’s visit, glares at the boy.

Dr. Om Prakash: “Kya kiya, Chintu? Another firecracker in your pocket? Or did you eat your diya’s wick this time?”

Chintu: grinning despite the pain “Nahi, Doctor Uncle, it’s not a firecracker. It’s… um… something else.”

Dr. Om Prakash: leaning forward, suspicious “Something else? Bol, ladke, or I’ll make you drink karela juice! What’s stuck where?”

Sunita: “He won’t tell me, Doctor Sahab, but he’s been hopping like a langur since morning.”

Dr. Om checks Chintu’s ears (clear), nose (clear), then pauses, noticing the boy’s awkward squirming. After a heated interrogation, Chintu confesses.

Chintu: “It’s… a tamarind seed. In my… backside.”

Dr. Om Prakash: throwing his hands up “Tamarind seed?! Arre, Chintu, is your backside a pickle jar now?! Why, in the name of Lord Hanuman, would you do this?!” He turns to Sunita. “This is your fault for letting him near the imli!”

Geeta, the nurse, barely contains her laughter as she preps the exam room. Dr. Om mutters about “modern kids and their tamarind tragedies” while Chintu waddles off, plotting his next misadventure with a golgappa.

Incident 3: The Hard-of-Hearing Uncle

Patient: Brijesh Yadav, 78, a retired postmaster who refuses to admit he’s deaf.

Brijesh stomps in, his kurta stained with paan, complaining about a “whistling” in his stomach. Dr. Om Prakash, already frazzled, braces for a shouting match.

Dr. Om Prakash: “Brijesh Ji, it’s your acidity again! Stop eating roadside panipuri and chewing that paan like it’s your job!”

Brijesh: cupping his ear “Eh? Panipuri’s fine! Been eating it since Nehru’s time!”

Dr. Om Prakash: voice rising to a bellow “Nehru’s gone, and so will your stomach if you don’t listen! Take these tablets and stop acting like you’re auditioning for a yakking contest!”

Brijesh, mishearing, grabs the prescription and stuffs it into his pocket, muttering about “fancy pills for young people.” As he leaves, he trips over a loose floor tile, sending a stack of old Ayurveda Today magazines flying. Dr. Om explodes.

Dr. Om Prakash: “Brijesh Ji, you’re a one-man demolition team! Get a hearing aid before you wreck my clinic!”

Brijesh: grinning “What’s that, Doctor? You selling magazines now?”

Dr. Om chucks a rolled-up prescription pad at Brijesh’s back, missing spectacularly. Geeta hands him a glass of nimbu pani to cool off, but he spits it out.

Dr. Om Prakash: “Nimbu pani?! Who’s trying to poison me with this sugary swill?!”

Incident 4. Diahorea

Here’s a dialogue based on the scenario you described, capturing the humorous exchange between Dr. Om Prakash and patient Shyam Lal Ganguli:

Dr. Om Prakash: Mr. Shyam Lal, how many times did you have diarrhea today?

Shyam Lal Ganguli: Oh, Doctor Sahib, a very large amount!

Dr. Om Prakash: Okay, but how many times? Once, twice, ten times? Can you be specific?

Shyam Lal Ganguli: Arre, Doctor, I told you! A very large amount!

Dr. Om Prakash: (frowning) Large amount doesn’t help me, Shyam Lal ji. I need a number. How many times did you go to the bathroom?

Shyam Lal Ganguli: (waving hands dramatically) So much, Doctor! A very, very large amount!

Dr. Om Prakash: (visibly irritated) Large amount, my foot! So much large amount that it filled the room, you suffocated, died, and now you don’t even exist! So get lost!

Shyam Lal Ganguli: (blinking, then chuckling) Arre, Doctor Sahib, if I’m dead, how am I still sitting here?

(The surrounding patients, nurses, and attendants burst into laughter, some clapping, others wiping tears of mirth.)

Dr. Om Prakash: (grinning despite himself) Alright, alright, you win, Shyam Lal. Now, seriously, tell me—how many times?

Shyam Lal Ganguli: (still laughing) Okay, okay, Doctor… maybe five or six times since morning.

Dr. Om Prakash: (sighs, shaking his head) Was that so hard? Now let’s get you sorted. Next time, no “large amount” nonsense, okay?

Shyam Lal Ganguli: (grinning) Promise, Doctor Sahib. No more room-filling diarrhea!

(The room erupts in laughter again as Dr. Om Prakash scribbles on his notepad, muttering “large amount” under his breath.)

Incident 5.

Dr. Om Prakash’s cramped clinic, cluttered with ancient medical charts and a creaky fan. The grumpy Dr. Om Prakash, a wiry man in his late 60s with a permanent scowl, sits behind a desk piled with papers. Enter Mrs. Ghosh, a stern yet slightly frazzled school principal in her 50s, clutching her purse and rubbing her temples.

Dr. Om Prakash (grumbling, barely looking up from his newspaper): So, what’s the problem now, Mrs. Ghosh? Don’t tell me it’s another one of your “end-of-the-world” headaches. I’ve got enough patients who think they’re dying of a sneeze.

Mrs. Ghosh (adjusting her glasses, indignant): Dr. Om Prakash, I’ll have you know I’m not one to fuss over nothing! I’ve got a school to run, 500 children who think discipline is optional, and now this blasted acidity and headaches are ruining my days! Hmph! It’s like my stomach’s staging a mutiny.

Dr. Om Prakash (sighing, tossing the newspaper aside): Mutiny, eh? Sounds like your stomach’s been taking lessons from those rowdy students of yours. Alright, describe this “mutiny.” Burning sensation? Sour taste? Or are you just eating too many of those spicy pakoras at the school canteen?

Mrs. Ghosh (offended, sitting straighter): Pakoras? Dr. Om Prakash, I’m a respectable principal, not some street food enthusiast! It’s a burning right here (pats her chest), and it’s worse after lunch. And these headaches—oh, they throb like my Class 10 boys drumming on desks during lunch break!

Dr. Om Prakash (smirking, leaning back): Lunch, eh? Let me guess—your famous “light lunch” of aloo paratha with extra ghee, followed by a gallon of chai? No wonder your stomach’s writing protest letters. And the headaches? Probably from yelling at those kids all day.

Mrs. Ghosh (narrowing her eyes): Excuse me, Doctor, I’ll have you know I’m a beacon of calm at school! Well… mostly. But fine, yes, I had parathas once this week. And maybe some chai. But what’s that got to do with my head feeling like it’s hosting a Durga Puja band?

Dr. Om Prakash (scribbling on a pad, muttering): Everything, woman, everything. Your stomach’s screaming because you’re feeding it like a festival stall, and your head’s pounding because you’re stressed out bossing around those little terrors. Acidity’s probably GERD—gastroesophageal reflux, if you want the fancy term. Headaches? Tension, maybe migraines, or your body just begging for a vacation.

Mrs. Ghosh (clutching her purse tighter): GERD? Sounds like a villain from one of my students’ comic books. And I can’t take a vacation, Doctor! The school would collapse without me. Last week, I caught three boys trying to smuggle firecrackers into assembly! Firecrackers! Can you imagine?

Dr. Om Prakash (chuckling despite himself): Heh, sounds like my kind of school. Alright, here’s the deal: no spicy food, no oily parathas, no chai for two weeks. Stick to bland—think dal, rice, boiled veggies. I’m prescribing you some antacids and a PPI—omeprazole, to be precise. Take it before breakfast. For the headaches, I’ll give you paracetamol, but you need to relax. Try not shouting at those firecracker smugglers for a day.

Mrs. Ghosh (horrified): Bland food? No chai? Doctor, you might as well ask me to cancel the annual day function! And relax? With 500 children plotting chaos? You’re a doctor, not a miracle worker!

Dr. Om Prakash (grinning slyly): Oh, I’m a miracle worker, alright, but even I can’t fix a principal who thinks she’s invincible. Take the meds, cut the spice, and try some deep breathing. Or retire and let those kids run the school into the ground. Your choice.

Mrs. Ghosh (standing, smoothing her saree): Retire? Hah! I’ll outlast you and your creaky fan, Doctor. Fine, I’ll try your boring diet. But if I faint from lack of chai, I’m sending the PTA to your clinic.

Dr. Om Prakash (waving her off, picking up his newspaper): Send them. I’ll prescribe them earplugs for your lectures. Come back in a week, Mrs. Ghosh. And don’t sneak samosas behind my back!

Mrs. Ghosh (at the door, turning with a mock glare): Samosas? I’m a principal, not a criminal. Good day, Doctor!

Dr. Om Prakash (muttering as she leaves): Good day, indeed. That woman’s stomach’s tougher than her school’s rulebook.

Based on the information available up to September 15, 2024, there isn’t direct, current, or comprehensive data specifically about “Dr Om Prakash clinic cross road Dehradun” from the provided sources. However, here’s what can be inferred or related from the information given:

1. Historical Context: Dr. Om Prakash was mentioned in a historical context as a senior physician in Dehradun, practicing opposite St. Thomas School at Cross Road. He was noted for having a large clientele and being quite busy, which might suggest he had a well-known clinic or practice in that area, although this information pertains to his past activities rather than a current clinic status.
2. General Medical Services in Dehradun: The information provided includes details about medical services and doctors in Dehradun but doesn’t specifically mention Dr. Om Prakash’s clinic. There’s mention of other clinics and doctors, indicating a vibrant medical community in Dehradun, which could imply that Dr. Om Prakash’s clinic might be part of this landscape, though not directly confirmed.
3. Public Sentiment or Information on X: There aren’t direct posts about Dr. Om Prakash’s clinic on Cross Road, Dehradun, from the X posts provided. However, the presence of posts about medical services, doctors, and health issues in Dehradun suggests an active discussion around healthcare in the region, which might indirectly relate to how clinics like Dr. Om Prakash’s could be perceived or discussed in the community.

Given this:

• If Dr. Om Prakash’s clinic still exists, it might be known for its historical significance or the reputation of Dr. Om Prakash himself, as suggested by past references. However, without current data, its operational status, services offered, or exact location details beyond “Cross Road” aren’t confirmed.
• For Current Information: For the most up-to-date information on Dr. Om Prakash’s clinic, one might need to look into more recent local directories, health service listings, or directly contact local health authorities or known medical associations in Dehradun.
• Community Perception: If there were discussions or reviews on platforms like X or local forums, they might give insights into the clinic’s reputation, services, or any changes in its operations, but such specific posts weren’t provided in your query’s results.

In summary, while there’s historical mention of Dr. Om Prakash practicing in Dehradun at Cross Road, current detailed information about his clinic’s status, services, or exact location isn’t directly provided in your sources. For the most accurate and current details, further local inquiry or direct contact might be necessary.