variety in my practice

After thousands and thousands of extractions, fillings, root canals, dentures, cleanings etc etc, work in the clinic gets monotonous. The queries, fears, expectations and reactions are almost identical in all patients. It is the variety in personalities and idiosyncrasies of individuals that makes my work interesting.

The short, slender and frail looking lady with her palm covering a mildly swollen jaw reluctantly entered the clinic. I am sure that she must have been suffering at least for the past three or four days and that it had taken her that long to make up her mind and build up the courage to visit my clinic. I showed her the chair. She went near the chair and stood there hesitating. I assured her that sitting in the chair is not painful and asked her to sit. She sat down gingerly on the edge. I took the mirror in my hand.
“No, no doctor. please don’t touch the tooth. It hurts”.
It took time to convince her that I just intended to look into her mouth. She did not believe me. I kept the mirror aside and held my hands back. I asked my assistant to focus the light. She opened her mouth half. That was enough. I knew what the trouble was and what was to be done. I told her the bad news. She had to have her tooth or whatever remained of it, out. There was no other way. She almost fainted. She took a few minutes to recover and digest the news. Now it was time for queries.

“Can’t it be cured with medicines?”
“Can the tooth be removed when there is pain and swelling?”
“Will it affect the eyes?”
“Will the swelling increase?”
“How many days does it pain afterwards?”
“My sister is getting married next month. Will I be alright by then?”
“Will it bleed a lot?”
“How long will it bleed?”
“I get scared if I see blood”
“As it is she is weak doctor, will bleeding cause anemia?” (Husband)
“Will it hurt too much?”
Here I had to mention that I will be giving an injection to make the jaws numb.
“Will you be giving an injection?”
“ I am more scared of injection than removing my tooth”
“Can’t it be done with out injection?”
“Where will you give injection?”
“Inside the mouth? Oh, god, can’t you give it on the Hand?”
“Last time when she took an injection she fainted doctor. It took half an hour for the doctor to make her OK” her husband gave her the cue to faint.
Now, I answer all the queries according to the mental condition of the party, mixing elements of sincerity, honesty, compassion, indifference, and humour where possible. I answered the lady with patience and tried to calm her down. But the statement regarding the tendency to faint made me apprehensive. Even after witnessing hundreds of faintings in the chair, and uneventful recoveries, my hands start shaking when a patient faints. Apart from my own nervousness, I need to deal with the patient who has fainted, my assistant who gets agitated, patient’s attendants who are anxiously hovering around, and the people in the waiting room who are trying to peep in and are fearing about their fate. It is something which I can do without.

When I heard the husband mentioning that she fainted on taking an injection, my thoughts were on finding a way of postponing the case, and hoping that they find some other dentist. But I was sure that the removing the tooth at the earliest was the best thing for her and braced myself for the work, with a prayer on my lips. I made sure that the emergency drugs were ready, assured the lady repeatedly that I will manage with minimum of pain and prepared the syringe. She closed her eyes tight, asked her husband to hold her hand, requested my assistant to hold the other hand and hesitatingly opened her mouth. The lips were quivering. I touched the gum with a cotton swab to apply some numbing paste before the injection. She gave out a shout. Two or three heads from the waiting room peeped in. I injected a few drops in the gums. Her body was shaking. I adjusted the chair to a reclining position expecting her to faint any moment. She did not. Slowly I injected the local. Once the tooth was numb, there was no more trouble.
I finished the extraction in minutes and the lady was unable to believe that the tooth had been removed. She thanked me and asked me to give her another appointment for the removal of one more tooth which was troubling her now and then!

The captain (he had retired from the army after his short service) was a contrast to this lady. Boisterous, fearless and confident. He was a regular in my clinic for the past five years. I had done a few simple fillings for him and he insisted on getting his teeth cleaned every year.
He entered the clinic as jauntily as ever. Well built, fit, confident and smart as always in his jeans and shirt. (I wonder how some people get the clothes to fit them perfectly. If the trouser waist fits me, the length is too much. If the sleeves of the shirt are OK, the chest is tight. I try to get the cloths tailored, but results are worse. All in all I end up looking like -to borrow the expression from Wodehouse- like something that the cat has brought in.) I look at the captain with awe.

He sank in the chair with his usual remark.
“ I like this chair doc. It is so comfortable. I think I should buy one.”
He adjusted the head rest to suit him and stretched his legs. I wished all my cases were as easy going as the captain. He said that he had a little pain near the last tooth while chewing. I was surprised to find a wisdom tooth erupting. It is rare to see a wisdom tooth erupting at the age of forty. But sometimes it does. A part of the gum that was covering the erupting tooth was coming between the upper and lower teeth and causing him pain. I told him that all I need to do was to snip off that part of the gum.
“ Why can’t you pull out that bloody tooth and be done with it? I can do with one tooth less.”
I said that there is no need. Just snipping the gum would do. I asked him when does he wants me to do it.
“When? Right now. Finish it. Take your scissors and cut it out”
I told him that I will inject a few drops of local.
“Why bother with all that doctor. I can easily bear a bit of pain”
His words were music to my ears. Still, I said that though he may be able to bear a bit of pain, it is difficult for me and I would be more comfortable with a few drops of local if he had no objection.
“Objection for the injection! Doctor saab we are used to bullets. Do as you please”

He opened the mouth wide. I loaded the syringe and was about to inject when he closed the mouth shut. I told him that I was yet to inject and asked him to open the mouth. No response from the captain. His hands fell off the handle and his head rolled. The captain had fainted.

It took me twenty minutes to revive him. Since he did not recover in the reclining position of the chair, I had to lift him with the help of my assistant- who was not of much use, and put him flat on the ground. He opened his eyes only after slapping him hard and splashing water on his face. His pulse and pressure remained low for more than ten minutes. I was about to call for my physician friend when he opened his eyes and wondered where he was.

He said that it never happened earlier and felt that it was probably because he had skipped dinner the previous night. He told me to go ahead and try again. But I had had enough. I knew he was frightened. I was sweating and had sprained my back while lifting him. I told him that we will do it after a day or two and prescribed him a tranquiliser to take before the procedure. We scheduled it a week later.
It is now two years. The thin bit of gum covering the last tooth is still there and troubles him now and then. He says that it does not bother him much and manages with pain killers, antibiotics and mouth washes. I accept his words with relief.

merry christmas

Went for a walk as usual this morning. I had got up earlier than usual and it was still dark. Passed the Ponda church on my way. Church was looking good with Christmas lighting. The parish boys had taken pains to create the scene of birth of Jesus in the compound, which was also very good. A little away from the church, I could hear loud music, laughter and shouts. Obviously a party, celebrating the festival after the mid night mass. When I went near, I found a group of men in a joyous mood. Music was blaring from their cars. Some of them were in their senses and were still capable of holding their bottles in their hands. There were a few who were known to me. I went near to wish them and shook their shaking hands further. By then one stout fellow who had more of Christmas spirit in his stomach than in his mind, came from the back, put his hands around my waist, lifted me up and started dancing. I took it in good humour for the first few seconds. When he did not put me down, I got worried. My back was strained and I was afraid that he may fall holding me. I had no intentions of spending the Christmas and new year time with my body in plaster. Luckily others noticed my distress and got me released me from the Christmas mood.

Since the church was looking good, I could not resist the urge to go back and take a picture. Went back with my camera from a different route and clicked the pictures.
Merry Christmas!

popular waiting room!

My clinic can boast of a waiting room which can be labeled as ‘comfortable’. It is well ventilated and cool, has comfortable cane chairs, a clean toilet, and latest English and marathi magazines. Not year old issues. If I remember to switch on the CD player, there is some music too. Some of my patients have expressed their appreciation about the toilet and the availability of fresh magazines. Occasionally I find some one sitting in the waiting room AFTER the treatment to finish reading whatever they had left when called in. But till recently I did not know how popular it was.

The waiting room and the treatment area are separated only by a half door. The legs seen below the half door tell me that there is a person attached and he/she is waiting. I rarely find more than two legs waiting.

It was nearing closing time and I was treating the last case. A casual glance towards the waiting room showed four legs. I was half way through the last case and had some urgent work outside, to attend to, after that. Even if I had to just check the two people waiting out and fix appointments, it would take ten to fifteen minutes. But two patients waiting was quite good and I did not want to miss them. With reluctance I decided to stop at whatever stage I was and continue the treatment at the next appointment. I explained the situation to the person in the chair and requested him to bear with the inconvenience. He was good enough to accept. I sent him off and called the next person in.

“Oh, no, doctor. There is nothing wrong with my teeth. I had given my scooter for servicing in the Honda showroom next door and have to wait for it. One of my friends Mr.Varma is your patient. He told me that your waiting room is a nice place if I need to wait and so I am sitting here. This is my friend who has come with me. I hope it is not inconvenient to you”

I learnt that the waiting room had become more popular than the dentist.

old is gold

There is lot of bonhomie between the brothers when it comes to watching their favourite videos on the computer. I did not take the picture to record that. I wanted to appreciate the chair which has endured many such bonhomie during it’s life of more than forty five years. If I remember right, we paid about twenty rupees per chair and bought four chairs which we transported to our house on a horse cart. The picture shows the usual way the chairs have been used. Old is gold.

Ratnana PadagaLu contd.

It was not possible to write about Ratnana padagaLu the way I intended. I can not give it up too. I will restrict myself to few PadagaLu in English script and a bit of my blabber.
Two verses from the poem Kudukar maatva (mahatva) meaning the greatness of a drunkard.

Arth illaant negabEDaaNNa
Naa kuDadaaDO maTTu (song)
kuDakar padagoL okk (hokku) nODidre
mastaag (plenty) ave guTTu.

Ravvi (sun) kaaNad kavvi (poet) kanDa
andre kavigoL tatva
kavvi kaaNad kuDuka kanda
annOd kuDukar maatva

any explanation from me would spoil the beauty.

Compliments

One of my patients went to sleep while I was working today. No. He had not fainted. He was asleep and snoring peacefully. I consider someone going to sleep on the chair, a compliment. It is nice to witness someone who is comfortable in the chair and relaxing. The usual stock in the chair have apprehension writ on their faces, their body taut and toes curling. Even though the sleep was causing difficulties for my work- his mouth would get closed involuntarily- I managed to finish my work and woke him up. Fortunately the cavity was in the front tooth and visible. If it were at the back in some invisible area, and had I done a filling using a tooth coloured filling material, he might have refused to believe that I actually did some work while he was asleep.

Sleeping customers is not new to my profession. I believe one of my predecessors, the barber to the king Krishnadevaraya, arrived at the palace one morning and found the king fast asleep. It seems he performed his job with such great skill that the king was astonished to find himself already shaved on waking up. The story says that the barber was richly rewarded with gold, lands and what not! I wish the monarchy remained and I had a chance to do a filling for a king.

G P Rajaratnam - my ramblings on ratnana padagaLu

It was some months back that Shruti had mentioned in one of her postings that this is the centenary year of one of the legends of kannada literature Sri G P Rajaratnam. Being one of the confirmed fans of Sri Rajaratnam, I thought that I would write about the great man to the extent possible from me but I was at a loss as to what I would write?
My only contact with Sri Rajaratnam was when he visited our college as a speaker in one of the functions. I have read and enjoyed his poems but have no knowledge or authority to write about them in an informative way. Since there is no other way that I can commemorate his centenary, I decided to write what ever I have felt about his very popular collection. Ratnana PadagaLu is a collection of poems in a style which was new to the kannada literature at the time of it’s publication. I believe that it came under a lot of flak from the traditionalists. It was not just new, it was unacceptable. The language is raw, rural kannada with no polish whatsoever, written just as an illiterate would speak And the poet claims himself to be one! The poems have a liberal sprinkling of slangs in kannada and urdu which are commonly found in the language of a very very common man. When the collection was ready, I believe there were no publishers to take up the task of publishing it. Rajaratnam decided to publish it himself but lacked the finances. He was so sure and firm about his style, that he pawned the gold medal that was awarded to him for academic excellency and published the book. It became an instant hit.

I tried to write down the poem verse by verse and add my explanations. The transliteration tool in the composing menu does not co operate. I type something and see something else. Where as, whatever I type comes out perfectly in Baraha. On top of it, as I started writing more and more I started getting more and more doubtful about my ability to write about Ratnana PadagaLu. Hence I have just photographed the poem and added it as an image to whatever I had managed to put together. the language used in the collection is raw but very appealing. the meaning is fully cooked and full of wisdom. i will put out the parts that have appealed to me most, along with my ramblings.

In the very first verse, the poet ( a teetotaller) notifies his fondness for the spirits, and informs that he talks a lot when he is under it’s influence. He calls himself “Ratna” and declares that whatever he spurts out is the effort of his drink. The first stanza is a simple statement.
(The important point here is the disclaimer. The words are not mine, they are the efforts of the drink. I did not say them.)

“Vyasa, the author of Mahabharata found Vinayaka to write down his epic and I met this vagabond who joined my words and made a poem out of it. Who knows what was his compulsion to do so?”

Writing it? Go ahead, you half wit. And I will render whatever help I can. “thinking thus, I have got it printed. Don’t blame me.”


“I do not know any letters. One needs to learn if one wants a big job!. If the verses are appealing, credit goes to my drink. If they are bad blame the vagabond!”

The real poet turns himself in to a mere spectator. He creates the ‘drunkard’ Ratna and the vagabond. The drunkard in turn attributes all his words to the drink absolving himself from the ownership of the words. And as far as writing it down is concerned, the culprit is the vagabond. And Ratnana PadagaLu gets along splendidly.

terror in Mumbai - stray thoughts

As I type this post, the latest episode of terror in Mumbai appears to be over. Just as most other citizens of our country, I too felt sad, frustrated and helpless. I also felt guilty watching the happenings from the comfort of our drawing room with out missing my food or sleep and alternatively tuning into NDTV and my favourite serial.

I am usually cynical about the media coverage of events, but this time I felt that most of the anchors were really feeling what they were talking and I was glad that there were no commercial breaks.

There was lot of talk and suggestions about all political parties and leaders coming together to find a solution but I agree with Pranoy roy’s statement. He said that when the PM and Mr. Advani, both of whom had decided to travel together to Mumbai could not even co ordinate their travel plans and had to travel separately, what unity can we expect?

I appreciate the person who thought of a SMS “where is Raj Thackeray and his brave sena? tell him that 200 NSG commandos, (all south and north Indians) have been sent to Mumbai to fight the terrorists so that he can sleep peacefully in shivaji park”

I look at the NSGs with great respect and have lot of regards towards them. If there is a minor bundh call by a stray group of people, we try to remain indoors lest we may be hurt. These great men know that they should consider themselves lucky if they are back with only a few organs missing, and get into action bravely. What are the emotions of their family? What do these men feel when they wave at or kiss the infant as they go out? I never forget to tell my son to send me a SMS as soon as he reaches college, if he is going on the bike. I feel so small and silly.

I saw a shot of the smart young commandos seated in their bus, after the encounter at the Taj was almost over. There they were, calm and quiet. No euphoria, no smiles and no victory signs. ‘Karmanyeva adhikaaraste naa phaleshu kadaachana” they had done their job, not bothered about the results and now were sitting like “sthitapragnyas” with out showing any emotions. True karmayogis, following the teachings of Bhagavdgita. I fold my hands.

terrorism all pervading

This blogging is turning out to be an obsession. I try to make a writing out of whatever I see, experience or hear. I saw this crow’s nest on top of the tree next to my house and took a photograph. I did not know what to do with it.
I also saw this nest of a sun bird on the same tree. My wife pointed it out to me and said that this bird is a stupid bird because it has built the nest hanging on the stalk of a single leaf. She felt that if the leaf is shed, the nest is gone. I told her that the bird knows what it is doing and she need not label it as stupid. But apparently this bird is really stupid. This morning the nest is not there any more. It has fallen along with the leaf. And the bird is frantically searching for it’s nest. Since it had seen me near the window quite often, it might have felt that I may be the culprit and is trying to look in my window too. The result is more words for me to eat. One of the comments for one of my previous posts said that the rate at which I am eating words, I should be quite large. Appears to be true. My weight has gone up by three kilos. Now my wife takes a dig at me and says that I am the one who will need a new weighing machine.
The picture of the flowers mercifully has no stories attached. I saw this blast of flowers in a low swampy area near my house and took the pictures for the heck of it.

As I am typing all this, there is the disturbing news of terrorist attacks in Mumbai making it difficult to go on with my usual narration. Even though it does not directly affect me and I have no active role to play in controlling it, I feel very much disturbed. Any break in the peaceful routine troubles me. Whether it is a bundh some where, a bus strike, train accident or even a traffic jam.(which can be easily avoided if only people retain some sense while driving) I just can not imagine the plight of people directly affected by it. If my son were to be in Bombay now, on his way back from Durgapur would it have been possible for me to keep typing this piece calmly? So much loss of property, funds and human resources. And what a frantic situation for lakhs of people. I feel we as a country are losing inch by inch. What can we do to put an end to all these? And I wish the TV channels stop calling it a STORY. Burkha dutt of all people, whose speech usually is OK. But then, unfortunately that is the truth. unless we are involved, these are only stories for us.

innovative birthday gift

I saw this weighing machine on the open platform of a non descript station ( I have forgotten the name) on the Hubli- Bangalore route. Our train had stopped there for a crossing and I was out as I feel fidgety sitting in a stationary train. On such occasions I aimlessly stroll up and down the platform, stretching and bending every few steps. I Walk up to the tea stall or cigarette shop and observe people smoking, eating and drinking. I try the taps to see if water is running, look if sand is filled in the red FIRE buckets, (which give a lot of information on the pan eating habits of the local populace) peep into the station master’s room, TTE’s room and waiting room etc etc. If there is further delay I read the notices on the notice board, read the posters and pamphlets of the railway worker’s union which are pasted all over the stations, go through the shift list of the staff, and such other things which nobody ever reads. My wife sits in the carriage observing my imbecile activities, fuming alone and rehearsing the words to be delivered on my reentry into the carriage.

During our recent journey I was once again inspecting the railway station and my son who is ‘like father like son’, had joined me. He covered the luggage room which I had overlooked and spotted this machine. He was excited with the fact that it had been manufactured a hundred years before he was born. I made a detailed study of it from all angles and since there was no porter nearby to shoo me away, pressed the weighing bed with my toe and confirmed that it is working well. I was enamoured with the machine which had been manufactured in 1881 in England- more than 125 years ago- and which is still in use. It is an antique piece doing it’s job with out any pretence or fuss! Since I was interested in it, my son took a photograph with his mobile phone- which has no use other than assisting such ‘time pass’ activities.

Since I had the photograph I decided to post it on the blog with a small caption and the additional useless information gleaned from the history of the railways. I wanted to know how long has the station been there and found that the Gubbi-Birur section came into existence in 1889. Sri Chamaraja Wodeyar was ruling the Mysore state then. Small caption ended up two paragraphs long.

My wife looked over my shoulder at the photograph and asked me what am I up to? I thought that I will have a joke at her expense and said that I am thinking of a birthday gift for her as I am worried about the health of our present bathroom scale.

The result of the joke is that I am unable to type any further and my son is typing the last paragraph as I dictate. He already has a dozen SMSs waiting to be replied and has refused to oblige further. Bye for now.

Ashwin: Cheap joke which turned out to be costly for appa. Some Garfield cartoons which I had seen him reading recently might have influenced him and since it was near midnight he must have been half asleep and had lost the power of discretion.
He has asked me to post this. If you do not see any more posts for the next fifteen days you may send him a ‘get well soon’ message. Another point, it is true that I was there on the platform and took the photograph of the weighing machine with my mobile. But I strongly object to the ‘like father- like son’ tag.

words for breakfast

She : I intend planting a banana plant in our garden.
Me : I do not intend planting any more plants. As it is, we are not able to take care of what we have planted already.
She : I do water the plants.
Me : Once a week. And that is all they get.
She : What else do they need?
Me : If you want to maintain a garden you need to weed, spray the plants, add manure and water them EVERY DAY.
She : We are not professional gardeners. We only have a home garden. Yesterday evening I went to the market, the day before I had to visit Parkar’s house for pooja. Otherwise I water the plants daily.
Me : That apart, there is no space for any more plants. You have filled all the space with whatever rubbish your friends have offered. Any way, we will see when we get a sapling of good variety.
She: Mrs. Joshi called. She said that we can take the one that they have in their house.
Me : Mrs Joshi stays in the third floor. I am sure she is not growing banana in her flat.
She : She is not growing any. They had brought two saplings for decoration during Ganapati pooja.
Me : But Ganapati pooja was last week.
She : She said that she has retained the saplings after dismantling the mantap.
Me : You intend bringing the saplings which have been uprooted five days back? Don’t you have any sense? Mrs Joshi does not want to climb down three floors and walk to the garbage bin and she wants you to do it. Don’t be a fool. Forget about it.

We visited the Joshi’s a day after the above dialogue for some other reason. I did not see any banana plant.

The next day my son opened the boot of the car.

Son : (shouting from the parking) Appa, what is it in the boot?
Me : What is there?
He : There is something which looks like a limb of a person murdered sometime back.
Me : Throw it out.
He : I have had my bath and am on the way to the college. I will not touch it. You please take it out.

It was the stem of the banana sapling. Mrs Joshi had chopped off the top to make it easy to carry and my wife had managed to smuggle it into the boot.

Me : (shouting aloud) What is this nonsense in the car.
She : (shouting back louder) Throw it out if you don’t want it.
Me : You are the one who brought it. You please do it.

I took it out and placed it next to the gate where it remained for the next five days.

Me : (after five days) It was idiotic of you to have brought that rotting banana stem. Having been stupid enough to bring it, you should have carried on your stupidity and planted it. Now Mrs Joshi feels that she has favoured us by parting with her rotting banana stem and you have to carry it to the garbage bin.

The next day the rotting stem was not near the gate. I had won the banana plant round at last. I gave a winning TOLD YOU SO look and smiled. She pointed to a corner in our garden. The banana stem had really been planted there fifteen days after having been uprooted and after having it’s head chopped off! I sighed and threw down my hands. There was no end to this lady’s stupidity.
When I watered the plants I ignored it. My wife kept watering it.

Last week I was astonished to find a thin rolled plantain leaf sprouting at the top. And this is what it is today. I ate all my words for breakfast this morning. I hope to eat the banana fruit one day.

cleaning time and Kailasam

Once a year or so, I make an attempt to clean and re arrange the small book case that we have. The intention would be to dispose off the books that have been lying un touched for years along with the redundant pamphlets and booklets which will have found a place there, clear the dust accumulated on the books, segregate the kannada and English books,
arrange the ‘favourites’ in a separate row, etc etc.
I start the work, take out and dust the books from the first shelf and the next, segregate some books prior to ‘proper arrangement’ and find myself at the centre, with piles of books, dusting cloth, discarded pamphlets and booklets surrounding me, and the dust settling around, along with ‘dustwool’ gently swirling in the breeze from the fan.
Then I open some book which I will have enjoyed reading dozens of times and randomly turn pages. I will invariably find some interesting passage or situation and start reading it again. When the phone or the doorbell rings or when a shout is heard enquiring if I have finished with the cleaning, I realise that I am yet to finish the second shelf and six more are pending. I put back all the books in the shelf in a hurry - minus the dust, and make it a point to start and finish the work at the earliest opportunity. I start the same exercise nearly after a year – with similar results.
I just repeated the exercise today. The book I opened was the complete works of Sri T P Kailasam. Born 1885. Sri. Kailasam was the son of Justice Paramashiva aiyyar. He was a geologist by training. He studied geology and graduated in England. Learnt as much, if not more, of English literature and foot ball. Was a fan of the Victorian body builder, Eugen Sandow and became an expert body builder. Retuned to India, spent some time(very little in fact) in mining, and spent all his remaining life in a room behind his father’s bungalow always surrounded by fans, eager to hear his witty words or just be with him. I gather that he had a magical personality.
His works include seventeen kannada plays, four English plays based on characters in Mahabharata, Seven kannada poems, five kannada stories, and about fifteen English poems. I have enjoyed his writings in kannada immensely but most of his english goes over my head. He did not actually 'write' any! All his works were recited by him through the night, himself lying on the bed and were written down by his close friends who knew his worth and gave up their sleep for the pleasure of listening to him and preserving his thoughts. The following is one that is with in my reach and which I have liked.

The Recipe

Into a bare handful of bones and skin
Pour just an ounce or so of flesh and blood
Put in a heart love-full as SEA in flood
Likewise a mind sea-deep and free from sin
Fix on two jumbo ears….two goo goo eyes
Paint on a smile of babe at mothers’ breast
Inclose a soul that caps Himavats’ crest
And speaks with tongue which honeys’ sweet defies!

“The stuffing?”: Goat’s milk, soya beans and dates
Now, cover to brim with suff’ring human’s tears
And bake this dish in gaol for one score years
Take out and “garnish” it with pariah mates
Wrap up in a rag, prop up with lithe bamboo
And serve: the world Redeemer : Our Bapoo!

centre of attraction?

I started practicing yoga, I mean my own version of yoga - which does not follow any school of training and in which the extent to which I can flex my body and limbs determine the positions – nearly forty years ago. By nature, my body was quite flexible and I could easily manage to bend this way and that way. A casual onlooker might have felt that I have been wrestling with myself, or have been searching for a foot hold in the space, but a person who had some knowledge of yogic positions and had seen some, could find a resemblance, though distant, between my positions and some in the book. One of my cousins, who once saw me torturing myself, decided to help me torture myself in a systematic way and presented me with a book on yoga. It did not make me perform better, but I learnt all the names and could call my positions by some name or the other in the book. I could impress few of my uninitiated friends and relatives with my expertise in yoga.

Our house had a roof which of course every house has, but no facility to climb on to it. Climbing on to the roof was by itself a challenge and I had mastered the art of jumping on to the compound wall, then on to the ‘chajja’ or the sun shade ( a projection of a concrete slab from the top of the window as a barrier from sun and rain- I do not know the English equivalent for the word) and from there on to the roof. This, I performed many times a day just out of amusement and sometimes out of compulsion. There was no way that my younger brother, whose wrong emotions I sometimes kindled, connect his stick to my body once I jumped on to the roof. In due course, his limbs grew and he learnt to climb on to the roof and was as good as myself in the art. When I realized this the first time, I was stuck on the roof. The only way out for me was to jump down from that height, which I did and still managed to keep my limbs attached to my body. In due course I mastered the art of jumping down also and could impress or shock people by the display of my skills.

As I grew, I mean bodily - many of those who know me insist that I have never grown mentally – I learnt to work out, on the parallel bars, horizontal bars and slings in the nearby park. I could swing with my arms skillfully on the parallel bars, do dozens of pull ups on the horizontal bars, hang by my legs etc and used to get exclamations of appreciation from the group of youth who were around trying out similar acts.

These are all old stories, and now, even though I try to fool myself that I can still manage to do some of the antics, my body does not agree. There is an ongoing fight between me and my limbs. I coax them to act as they once used to and they protest. If forced, they damage themselves and oppose my efforts. And my profession is very helpful in damaging the back and neck. As a result, at least one of my limbs or a part of my back and neck, is always strained and sore, limiting my gymnastic and yogic adventures.

Right now, I am on a holiday and am in Chennai. My sister resides close to the beach and very early in the morning yesterday, I went for a walk on the beach road. There were hundreds of people, most of them as old as or older than me, goading their limbs to move, trying to match the pace of ‘Vishnu sahasranama’ or the ‘suprabhata’ on their MP3 players, and I joined the crowd. I walked along the road for some time and then even managed to jog the length of the road twice. I was happy to note that my limbs were not protesting. Then I noticed that some parallel bars and horizontal bars were installed on the beach and next to them some facilities to do weight lifting and associated exercises.
There were a group of young people who were trying out these facilities. I could see that though they were doing weight lifting and associated exercises quite well, they were not able to bend and stretch to the full or work the bars. On an impulse I decided to exhibit my expertise in the field and establish an aura of awe around my grey head. I walked over to the arena, did some good stretching and bending followed by some yoga exercises. I was expecting at least one or two to stop their work and look. No body cared about the old man with white hair, trying to look young with the help of matching white shoes, and contrast black shorts and T shirt. Then I decided to do some pull ups which many of them were attempting with out success. I was sure to get the appreciation my decades of practice deserved. When I went near the horizontal bar, those who were close by made way for me, wondering what this old man was up to. I stood below the bar, did some stretching and swung my arms wide ready to jump and hold the bar. Now many pairs of eyes were on me. I jumped, had just caught the bar, but my fingers slipped and I fell on my back on to the sand with a thud. It must have been a very good show. People all round had stopped their exercises and walks and were looking at me with amusement. One or two boys came running to assist me get up. Those who had missed the action were curious to know what the fuss was about and the witnesses to the spectacle were eager to explain, pointing at me. I did get the attention I was hoping to get and was reminded of the Sanskrit verse, which – if I am right- goes
“Ghatam bindyaat, patam chindyaat kuryaat raasabharohaNam
EnakEnaprakaarEna prasiddha purushObhava.”

Break the pot, tear the cloth and (if necessary) ride on a donkey. Somehow or the other, Be famous.

PS: my understanding of Sanskrit is as good as my performance of yoga. If you do not know Sanskrit, I insist that the verse and my translation are correct.

if i were a scooter salesman

There is a scooter showroom next to my clinic. Everyday dozens of scooters are bought by beaming customers. Every customer is accompanied by happy friends or family. I see them talking excitedly, moving around and checking various models, comparing and exchanging views. When their gleaming new scooter is brought out of the store and parked in the front yard, it is appreciated from various angles, minor dust particles are gently wiped with the hand kerchief, the younger son who is trying to clamber on to the vehicle is admonished and pushed aside, a coconut is broken in front of the vehicle, it is lovingly garlanded and an incense stick is lighted. Packet of sweets is opened and offered to the manager, mechanic, other customers and everyone in sight. The manager and the mechanic’s hands are shook warmly and the proud owners ride the scooter off. Even the representative of the bank who arranges for the loan and charges astronomical interest is offered sweets and a hand shake. I am sure they were beaming even when they made the payment. Doesn’t matter if they are required to repay the loan through the nose for years. I am sure the euphoria lasts many many days.

Change of scene to my clinic. At least half a dozen ‘customers’ (we insist they are ‘patients’) visit my clinic too. Every person is accompanied by a friend or relative who is as apprehensive, if not more, than the patient. I am sure they are either bribed or blackmailed and brought along. All of them walk in silently, sporting a mournful look. Most of them stay near the door, ready to run if required. The ‘patient’ is goaded on to the chair like a sacrificial animal and others form a scared half circle at a distance. Exclamations of pain and anguish are uttered at the sight of the needle or the whine of the drill, by the patient as well as the onlookers. When the person is out of the chair and is still alive( unbelievable!) sighs of relief are given out and prayers are offered. When the fees are quoted, sharp breaths are taken in, faces registering disbelief and feelings of being cheated. Money is taken out slowly and handed over, all the time expecting me to accept that I made a mistake asking for the fees and not to bother. The group moves out without a second look at the chair or the dentist, forget about warm handshakes. Occasional second looks are given only to make sure that the dentist is not following.

I was destined to be a dentist and I have no grouse about it. I accept the ugly sights and smells of the job and also the strained neck and back as part of the profession. I can bear the expressions of anguish and horror on the faces of my cases all through the day. It is difficult to bear the expression of shock and disbelief on hearing the fees and the painful process of separation from the beloved bucks. But it is my livelihood and I have learned to endure it. I don’t mind continuing as a dentist. But at times I feel I were a scooter salesman.

GENEROUS reservations.

We made a railway reservation for one of our friends using my IRCTC account. It was a very simple matter. My friend thanked me for being GENEROUS and booking the ticket. Nice of her. But we really have been generous in our reservations and cancellations during the past two months.
My son and his classmate at NIT Durgapur– whose father was known to me much before the children became classmates- were to visit Goa during Durgapuja holidays. Our children, though eager to come home for the holidays, are very complacent in the matter of getting the reservations for the journey. It is a journey of nearly 40 hours. We have to persuade them repeatedly to decide about the dates of journey and reserve tickets well in advance. We can leave them to their fate – they are adults now and are expected to look after themselves -but our hearts do not listen. I can’t understand it. Why am I still ‘looking after’ my children? When will I give up?

For once our children listened to us and booked their tickets Howra to Goa for 29th Sept.(1) Amaravati express.
They intended finishing their test on 29th and catch the 10.30 PM train.
The railways had cancelled that train during mansoons and it was expected to start again by Septemebr. It did not. Till the end of July. What will our children do if the train remains cancelled?
I talked to my friend about it and he made another reservation via Bombay. Bombay mail 29th Sept. (2)
Due to delayed mansoons there were floods in Bihar. Half of Bihar was under water. The news channels showed railway tracks inundated and stations with chest height water. Bombay mail passes through Bihar. What if THIS train is cancelled?
I booked tickets for the children via Pune. Azad Hind exp Howra-pune. Tickets available for 30th. Fine. Bypass Bihar. Booking (3)
Later we learnt that the floods did not affect the route of Bomnay mail and it was running. I casually looked at the time of departure. We had booked for 29th alright, but the train was scheduled to leave at 00.07 on 29th- that is the intervening night of 28th and 29th!
Children would miss the test on 29th! Booking should have been for 30th.
So, I booked another two tickets for Bombay mail for the 30th September.(4) four reservations for one journey.
Ultimately the test was preponed by a day and the children travelled on 29th with the booking that was made by mistake!

After the holidays they need to go back. My friend with his far sight had booked tickets for return journey well in advance. 17th October. Friday. Amaravati express.(1)
When the railways re started their Amaravati express service, they changed the days of service. Now it was on Thursday 16th Oct. By the time we learnt about it all the tickets for 16th were booked.
Again we booked tickets for the travel Via Pune 17th oct.(2)
Later I thought that I could try for ‘Tatkal’ facility – Amaravati express -Goa- Howra, and tried it. I got waitlisted tickets number 1&2. (3) should get confirmed.
Since neither travel via Pune nor waiting for confirmation of waitlisted tickets were appealing, my friend tried all his contacts and found a helpful railways soul, who could arrange release of an emergency quota. Two tickets were obtained (4) and used for travel. So, four reservations for the return journey.
If the majority who travel by railways are like us, the railways will never go under loss. The cancellation charges will keep them afloat.

nice feeling

My son, who had come to Goa for a short holiday, left for NIT Durgapur, by train, yesterday. We received a call from Hubli this morning. It was a lady who had travelled in the same compartment along with her aged parents. She said that she called us to convey her praise about our son’s behaviour and thank us for the help he had rendered to them during the journey!
While it was nice to hear good words about our son, what appealed to me more was the effort by the lady to note down our number and call us from Hubli. Occasionally we do come across praiseworthy behaviour from unknown persons. But do we acknowledge? Courtesy still exists. That is a nice feeling.

makes me think

October 13, 2008Poor little Sonu! He did not fall into an open borewell when playing, as is generally being made out by the news media, in Leharkapura village in Uttar Pradesh's [Images] Shamshabad district, near Agra [Images].
His fall was facilitated, yes, facilitated, by an uncaring society including, of course, the UP Jal Nigam which was digging the well. It is as if we just willed him to fall into it.
Please don't look at it as one of those one-off events on which the visual media feasts. Perhaps one has to realise that had the media not feasted on these incidents, no efforts may have ever been made to save them using everything at the disposal of the authorities. Yes, there is a positive side to this as well.
Look at it this way: suppose a person dies at work in a factory, who is held responsible under law? The owner of the factory, in this case the managing director of the company owning the factory.
The worker would have been trained, the minimum being safety even if unskilled, but the onus is on the MD.
Likewise, the onus here is on UP Jal Nigam and the society, including all residents of the Leharkapura along with the panchayat. Heads have to roll, maybe one for every hour the child has been in there -- scared, scarred, not even knowing what has happened.
Simple precautions like a fence, a watchman who is alert, would have been adequate to avoid these so-called accidents which they are not. It would have been cheaper too, compared to the manpower and machinery deployed.
To say anything to the contrary, to say that the boy was playing and accidentally fell in when playing, would be to shift the onus on to the innocent boy. He was, after all, just two-and-a-half-year old innocent.
Of course, then there is the question. Were the parents stupid enough to let a child wander off and play near an open bore well that was 150 feet deep? Yes, Karan Singh and his family have a lot of explaining to do but that does not let off the panchayat and the Jal Nigam from their complicity by neglect. You can't let a child wander off like that, unattended.
This, however, is not the first time that we have had such cases. There was this case recently of Vandana, a girl of the same age, slipping into a well that needed a 26-hour rescue operation including the final move by the army.
Much before that, in July 2006, we had seen Prince spending two days in a borewell in Kurukshektra, Haryana.
In July 2007, a six-year-old boy, Suraj, fell into a 180 ft deep borewell at Mudia Ramsar near Jaipur [Images].
I bet they were not the only children who paid a big price. Before the TV cameras found these by now routine incidents a big eye-ball catcher, several may have suffered worse. We just don't know.
Forty years ago in Hyderabad, my cousin, playing near his home, next to which was a construction site, fell into an open sump. He died of fright even before he hit the water. He was some four years old then.
Now, why do such events come to pass? Because, we are plain stupid and careless. For us, the anxiety, the rush and the prayers come after the incident and not before. Earlier in October I had listed here the ills that plague our society.
It is because we think a tragedy would not befall us and life would be as usual till it strikes.
Here are a few more examples of carelessness. Don't we all allow our children to play in the drive of the buildings we live in, the other residents just rolling in to park their cars without realising that their own children are at grave risk? This, in cities. You can imagine what it would be like in villages.
I have seen polythene bags being handled by infants because after unpacking the groceries, the parent has left it around. Toy-makers make items which have jagged edges and pointed protrusions which just invite the child to get injured.
How many toys have been pulled off the shelves in India because they have high lead content injurious to the child? Even after Americans recalled them and stopped buying from Chinese manufacturers, we Indians did not bat an eyelid. We find them in homes.
Don't we all have switches and plug points just two feet above the ground in homes where children too live and the infants, in their first bout of curiosity, poke anything, including their own fingers into the plug points? Parents keep a watch but how many even bother to at least tape them over?
Haven't we seen children dart across the road to pick up a tennis ball hit far too hard by a boy from a building's drive when playing cricket? That's also because we live in societies which do not provide for proper playgrounds.
Haven't we seen children running along recklessly chasing kites that float down after being cut from its string?
Or, packing school children, ten or more to an auto rickshaw, to be delivered in school and then brought back? Some of them precariously hang on to the sides, some poke their heads out of the window at the rear.
Just look around and we see potential disasters. We can't blame Sonu, Vandana and Prince for this. It is we who say we love children -- don't we produce them by the millions every year? -- are to blame, utterly lacking in safety consciousness.
TV cables and electric wires in towns and villages hang any which way, ready to snap and hurt a person but do we care?
We know wearing seat belts helps save lives in accidents but we ride cars without doing so. Using a mobile phone while driving can endanger our lives but we continue to do so, notwithstanding the fines by the traffic police. The police have to tell us to wear helmets and yet we don't.
At least a thousand people die every year, run over by suburban trains in Mumbai and its suburbs because people cross the tracks and not use the foot over-bridges at stations.
Would we change? I expect not. Because, sab chalega, kya karenge, koi sunta hi nahi.
But we should. Don't you think so?

article by Mahesh vijapurkar- saw this on rediff news. makes me think. ashamed to accept it is just that. dosn't make me act. let us think atleast. one day we may act.

drilled the wrong tooth?

Dental treatment and pain are two things that can not be separated from one another. They always go hand in hand just like the other infamous couples such as power -corruption, politics-criminals and of course bomb blasts and terrorists. I have tried my best to convince people, through word and deed, that the first two entities need not always co exist, but have failed miserably.

One of my patients is a young man, well educated and well employed. His job takes him around the world and his teeth make him see dentists all over the world. He was born and brought up in Ponda and consequently majority of the art works in his mouth carry my signature. However, as a result of his globe trotting, and associated compulsions, art works of dentists from other parts of the world are also displayed. One such is an expensive filling done in London. He had paid a fabulous price and naturally expected fantastic results. But dentists are dentists, be it London or Ponda, and a blunder is never far away from a dentist. Some decay remained in the tooth, flourished with nourishment from all over the world, progressed into a robust infection and ended up in an abscess ( A pus filled cavity). After being away from home for months together, he was longing for his fish curry and rice, but leave alone chewing the food lovingly prepared by his mother, the fellow could not even dare closing the mouth. Just the contact of the infected tooth with it’s counterpart in the other jaw caused distress. So he presented himself at my door-mouth half open and hungry. He said he had not eaten anything for the past two days.

He pointed to the tooth and the small swelling on his jaw, and my diagnosis was made. To his luck, I even knew the treatment! The pus around the root of the infected tooth, deep inside his jaw had to be drained out and the best way to achieve it was to drill right through the tooth, up to the root and allow the pus to flow out through the drilled hole.
Unbelievable though it may seem, it is true that, this process which sounds like a fourth degree torture, is ABSOLUTELY PAINLESS – if it is done the way it should be. It is only the tooth with the nerves alive that succeeds in making it’s owner do somersaults in the confined space of a dental chair when a drill is applied. Once the nerves are dead and degenerated, the tooth does make the owner jump on application of pressure but if the tooth is drilled with out applying ANY pressure, there is absolutely no pain.

In any case, had I explained my course of action to him I was sure that,( with his experience in traveling around the world) he would only need a fraction of a second to locate the place farthest from my clinic and make arrangements to reach there at the earliest. He was my only patient for the day and my son had been pestering me to have his mobile recharged. Further delay in recharging the mobile would endanger his (my son’s) life as his SMS supply – more important than oxygen- would be cut off. I had to retain my patient and make him pay for the recharge. I decided to act.

I ordered the young man to the chair, started examining him, stretched my arm in stealth to get hold of the drill and applied it to his tooth. Even though his eyes widened, toes curled and body tensed on hearing the whine of the drill, he remained in the chair. I had treated him earlier and he was sure that I would not kill him in any case. It took me only a few minutes to drill through the tooth, most of which was rotten any way, and reach the root. I could see the pus trickling out through the hole, stopped my work, washed the tooth and placed a small pellet of cotton in the hole that I had drilled. He had not felt any pain all through the procedure.

When he was out of the chair, he was able to close the mouth and the tooth was not hurting as much as it was, earlier. He said that he was feeling much better and paid for my son’s mobile recharge with pleasure. He was about to leave, looking forward for a hearty meal, but before that he wanted to know what I did to his tooth. Now that I was home safely, I explained to him what I had done but he refused to believe me. He said “Doctor, do you say that you drilled through the tooth that was hurting so badly and I did not feel anything? Sure that I have some relief after your treatment and I am sorry to doubt your work. But I think that you have drilled a different tooth that was normal.”

Ramzaan- and associated memories.

My Ramzan celebrations started with me washing the utensils this morning. It may go on for another two days and may get more and more enjoyable with washing the clothes, wiping the floor and other Ramzan dhamakas. We were eagerly awaiting the appearance of Id ka chaand yesterday. Chaand disappointed us. Our maid Razia had said that starting yesterday, she would remain on leave till two days AFTER sighting of the moon.

After I left Bangalore I have been missing the excitement of ramzan. When I was in service I would at least look forward for the holiday. We have a standing invitation from Razia to visit her house on id day and sometimes we do. Other than that, Ramzan here is just another day.

Shanti nagar, where we had our house in Bangalore, also housed plenty of muslim families. We knew many of them by name and were on smiling and nodding terms with most of them. There, Ramzan was visible. Sitting in our veranda we could see groups of people dressed in pure white, with skull caps on their heads and mats or carpets in their hands, proceeding towards the prayer ground located behind our house. They would walk past our house exchanging greetings with each other and hugging the friends whom they met on the way. Even though we had nothing to do with their celebrations we used to feel the excitement and happiness around. Two of the muslim families were quite close to us. To our right was Mr.Jabbar khan and to our left was Dr. Sheriff. We used to get bowls of kheer, fruits and packets of sweets from both the houses. I have fond memories of both of them but will restrict myself to an anecdote involving each of the families which I always remember.

Mr Khan had a large family. His first wife was dead and he had re-married. There were his wife, two children from his first wife and four or five from his second. His house was already there when our house was built in 1962. He owned a timber shop in the market and was a very good friend of my father. He used to come to our place occasionally and spend quite a lot of time talking to my father. He was very affectionate towards us and always used to express his happiness about our advancement in studies. Unfortunately, none of his children did well in studies and the two, who were older than me, dropped out by the time they reached high school and he had to accommodate them in his business. When the results of my SSLC exam were declared, he was so overcome with joy that I had passed in first class, I believe he had purchased a big garland and a packet of sweets and come to our house to felicitate me! I was at my uncle’s place in Mysore that day and missed being a part of the genuine display of heartfelt joy and affection. I heard that he was very disappointed that I was not present to accept his felicitations. The garland and sweets were on my table when I returned the next day. I met him in his house immediately and he hugged me and wished me the best. I was very much touched by his gesture. Over the years we have lost contact. I hear that some members of his family, continue to live in the same house. I do not know if he is alive. I am ashamed by the fact that I did not even go into his house and enquire about them during my latest visit to Shantinagar.

The family as a whole, we had closer ties with the Sheriffs. Dr. Sheriff was a retired physician. His family consisted of his wife, a daughter who was a graduate and a son who was an electrical engineer. His house was built a few years after we had started staying in shantinagar and they came to reside there much later, after his retirement. Mrs Sheriff and her daughter used to come to our house very often and used to be the first invitees during the female gatherings in our house on various occasions like gauri pooja, tulasi pooja etc. Dr. Sheriffs daughter was married in the shamiana erected in the ground opposite our house for the purpose. Even after that, a visit to our house was a must when ever she visited her parents.
On the day of Krishna janmaashtami, my mother used to perform the pooja in the evening, and offer all the goodies prepared to the youngest child around, before we were allowed to lay our hands on them. One year, Dr. Sheriff’s grandson Arshad happened to be the youngest child around and his mother was asked to bring him. She brought him to our house after the pooja saying "ನೋಡಿ ಅಮ್ಮ , ಗೋಕುಲಾಷ್ಟಮಿಗೂ ಇಮಾಂ ಸಾಬಿಗೂ ಏನು ಸಂಭಂಧ ಅಂತಾರಲ್ಲಾ ಇಲ್ಲಿ ನೋಡಿ ಇಮಾಂ ಸಾಬಿ ಬಂದ ಗೊಕುಲಾಷ್ಟಮಿಗೆ." meaning, "look amma, imaam saabi has come to participate in gokulaashtami"
There is a very common proverb in kannada which is used while describing two absolutely un related incidents or two things which have nothing whatsoever in common. The literal meaning would be, what has Imaamsaabi (imaam is a very common muslim name and 'saabi' a colloquial suffix attached to the name of a muslim male denoting his relegion) got to do with Krishnajanmaashtami?
That year, in our house, Arshad ali khan was absolutely relevant during janmaashtami.

good idea!

German dentist ‘extracts’ payment from patient:

A German dentist overpowered a female patient in her home and yanked out two dental bridges from her mouth because she had failed to pay her bill. The dentist from the Bavarian town of neu-ulm is now under investigation for assault and theft after arriving at the woman’s home with his medical instruments to perform the unwanted surgery.

The Times Of India dated 27.9.08

Gives me ideas. I wish I can really do it. It may be worth a month or two in the lock up.

VASTU - do you beleive it?

I was following very keenly, the kannada tele-serial “Mukta” (E TV, First part) by T.N.Seetaram. The second part in my opinion, is not as interesting as the first but I do watch it now and then. I like the way in which the director’s views on vastu is portrayed through the role of CSP. This is a very tricky subject. I do not know who amongst my friends are the believers and who are the detractors. I will have to tread carefully. The believers may write to the director of the serial and correct him. The detractors may enjoy his views. As far as I am concerned, I try to keep safe, forming and altering my views and opinions to suit different people and occasions.

One of my patients is a very rich businessman. A rarity amongst my clientele. Unfortunately, till date, I have not been successful in diverting even a miniscule part of his riches to my pocket. He visits me now and then for consulting about a tooth that has been bothering him for the last five years. He makes it a point to fix an appointment, comes on time, gets himself examined, listens to all the possible treatment procedures, pockets the prescription (“give me some medicines for the time being, doctor”)and pays whatever I ask for. But he has not submitted himself for any of the treatment procedures that I have advised. You know why he has remained rich.

During his first visit to my new place, he congratulated me, appreciated the spacious rooms, lay out, colour combination, equipment (which he, like many others, thought were new) etc, and asked me if my “business” has been the same as it was in my old place. (“tell me doctor, if I am not over inquisitive, is your business the same as it was in the old place?) I answered in the affirmative though we professionals prefer the word ‘practice’ to ‘business’.
“I thought so” he exclaimed. “Don’t you think that with so much of investment, new equipment, large place and better getup it should have at least doubled? Everything in your clinic is fine. But you are facing west when you sit in front of your table. That is why you are stagnating. Vastu is very important. You change the position of your table so that you face east and tell me the difference when I visit next.” With these words he left. He has a forceful nature and probably is used to see that his suggestions are adhered to. I felt that his concern was genuine. Does one get such attitude because of success or get success because of that attitude? I have neither, and I do not know.
Since my table cum records shelf is a slab of marble fixed in to the wall and floor, there was no way that I could change the position, even if I wanted to, and I left it at that.

After about two months I saw his big car again through my window and suddenly remembered his suggestion. I was not sure if he did, but in any case did not want to hurt his feelings in case he remembered. Since I use light plastic chairs to sit, it was a moments job for me and I was facing east (though awkwardly positioned) when he entered the clinic.
On entering the clinic his face lit up. He was extremely pleased that I had taken his advice. “Very nice to see that you have changed the direction you are facing, doctor” he exclaimed. “The direction which we face while working is very important”. I brought to his notice that actually I face all directions including the sky and the ground while working, as I move around the chair trying to view the interiors of the mouth and reach those inaccessible corners. “That does not matter” he said. “When you are sitting for consultation and when your patients pay you, you face east. That will do”.

We went through the routine. He was in a happy mood explaining all the changes that he had made in his office and residence and the benefits accrued. Even though his continuos speech affected my examination and investigations, I managed to go through and finish them. When we were finished, he asked me about my fees. I was about to quote the usual hundred fifty but sensing his jubilant mood I took a chance by saying two hundred fifty. With the exultant mood of his new found amateur vastu consultant status, He did not even notice the upward revision of my charges. He paid the amount happily and walked out with buoyant steps, even forgetting about the tooth ache that he had come to ask me about.
I was dumbstruck. I had changed the direction that I was facing, and with in ten minutes my profit had doubled. And to top it, my vastu consultant had paid me instead of me paying him!
This was good.
I have immense belief in vastu and have ordered a circular table. Now I will be able to face any direction any time and if it paves my way towards becoming a millionaire why not?

are you interested in a loan from us sir?

Four years back I availed the offer from the Govt of Goa to pay me extra if I rid myself off their pay list (termed decently as voluntary retirement scheme),started a full time clinic to pretend that I am working, and had a more or less peaceful existence till the HDFC bank got hold of my telephone number.
The first call was quite innocuous.
Me: This is Dr. Raghunandan’s clinic. ( it was the morning hour and I was going through the news paper)
Bank: Sir, I am calling from HDFC bank. Are you interested in any loans from our bank sir?
Me: No thank you. I will get in touch with you if I need one. Thanks for calling. (these new banks are so very caring!)

The second call was two days later.
I was examining a patient who very innocently said that he had come to my clinic because all other dentists in Ponda were busy. (Your clinic is nice doctor. No need to wait!)
Bank: Sir I am calling from HDFC bank .I wanted to enquire if you are interested in any loans from us?
Me: some one called me from your bank recently .I have already told that I don’t need any for the present.
Bank: When will you need a loan sir?
Me: I hope that I will never need any loans from any bank. But by bad luck, if I need one I will contact you myself.
Bank: OK sir. Shall I call you next week? (she was hoping to pre-pone my bad luck)
Me: please do not call me again. I will call you if necessary.

The third was when I was exerting myself trying to locate the remaining pieces of a tooth (that I had broken while attempting to remove it) and dislodge it from the gums of an unfortunate patient who was more adventurous than the one mentioned above and had actually submitted himself for my treatment. My hands were gloved and my assistant held the receiver to my ear.
Bank: I am calling from HDFC bank sir.
Me: I do not understand why you people keep calling me again and again.
Bank: To enquire if you want a loan from us sir.
Me: I have already told you people half a dozen times that I do not need a loan and not to call me.
Bank: Sorry sir, but I never called you before sir.
Me: I don’t care who it was, but it was from your bank. I want you to take my number out of your calling list. I don’t want any more calls from HDFC bank.
Bank: I will do that sir. Sorry sir. We will not call you again.
Me: I will THANK YOU for that.

The fourth came in the afternoon at 2.45 PM. My prime siesta time. After falling asleep at 2.15, I had already woken twice, once to answer a perplexed man that I can’t help if he did not have power supply for the last two days (my number is 2312313, electricity dept 2312113) and second time to tell a person who kept the door bell pressed, (as politely as it was possible) that a fishbone lodged in between the teeth for the last FIFTEEN DAYS is NOT an emergency. I was trying to salvage what was left of my siesta.
Bank: I am calling from HDFC bank sir.
Me: why do you people keep pestering me?
Bank: Only to enquire about loan requirement sir.
Me: May I know your name?
Bank: HDFC bank sir.
Me: I said YOUR NAME?
BANK: Anita sir.
Me: Designation?
Bank: Sales executive sir.
Me: How many of you executives are there in your bank?
Bank: Six sir.
Me: I think that I have already answered SIXTY executives from HDFC bank and have very clearly told that I do not want to be called again. Do all of you understand English?
Bank: Ok sir I apologize for disturbing you sir. I will not call again.
Me: Not I. Say WE. Do you have a list from which you call numbers?
Bank: Yes sir.
Me: Do you have a red pen?
Bank: Yes sir.
Me: Take that pen and in very bold capital letters write-“not to call again” against my name. Ok?
Bank: But sir, I can’t write on the monitor screen.
Me: are you allowed to go out of the building?
Bank: yes sir. We are allowed.
Me: In that case please go out, find a big stone and BREAK your monitor screen. Do you understand what I mean?
Bank: Yes sir, sorry sir.

The most recent call was again when I was attending to a case, a child, whom we had to chase all over the clinic, waiting room and compound before getting him into the chair.
I had just managed to prise open his mouth keeping him pressed to the chair and he was trying to taste my fingers. I managed to get my fingers out with difficulty and answered the phone. The child ran out with relief. (reminding me of Vikram aur betal)
Bank: I am calling from HDFC bank sir.
Me: You have to be. I have not come across any other organization so adamant about harassing people.
Bank: I beg your pardon sir?
Me: I have already shouted at four of your colleagues and told them not to bother me.
Bank: Sorry sir. But we have to do our job sir.
Me: should I not do MY JOB at all?
Bank: I assure you sir. We will not call you again.
Me: I have already heard this dozens of times and do not have much breath left. Do you have any superiors?
Bank: Yes sir. My boss is there.
Me: I would like to talk to him.
Bank: Shall I give you his number sir?
Me: I do not intend calling your bank and paying for the call. I will speak to him now.
Bank: But sir, my boss is busy right now.
Me : If you can disturb others repeatedly when they are busy, I can disturb your boss when he is busy. I insist that I speak to him now.
(Gap of a minute.)
Bank: Sir my boss is with his superior. Can you call later?
Me: I don’t care if he is with finance minister. If you don’t connect to him now, I am coming there.
Bank: Please hold on sir.
(Another minute.)
Bank: Good morning sir. This is sales manager HDFC bank. Can I help you?
Me: I do not know even if god can help me. May I know what are your powers?
Bank: what is the amount sir? I am sure we can manage any amount sir. I will send one of our executives.
Me: Please don’t. I only want to know if you have the powers to take your sales executives off my back ?
Bank: well, what is the problem sir?
Me: The problem is that I am being pestered by your sales executives repeatedly and I am neither allowed to work nor allowed to sleep. I want to know if you can stop it?
Bank: Oh, you do not want the marketing calls. Have you de registered with *****?
Me: Since I never registered with whatever that***** is, why should I de register?
Bank: Once you deregister sir, you will not get any more calls.
Me: Since you are the one’s who have registered me, I demand that YOU deregister.
Bank: What is your number sir?
Me: For god’s sake, you have called me hundreds of times and again ask for my number?
Bank: Sorry sir, it is not there in MY system.
Me : (resigned to my fate) Take it down, drill it deep into all your systems but STOP THE BLOODY CALLS- 2312313. (I take a deep breath) I am sorry. I usually don’t speak like this.
Bank: Sorry for the inconvenience sir, you will not be troubled again. But, Are you sure that YOU DO NOT WANT ANY LOANS FROM US?

I am keeping my fingers crossed.
If you read “Goa police have detained a dentist from Ponda for throwing stones on a bank building and destroying property. Investigation is on” in the news papers, you know the dentist, the bank and the reason.

human nature at work

During my student days, I used a bicycle to commute to college and move around the city. The back wheel hub of my bicycle developed a crack and had to be replaced. It was a costly affair –considering my economy at that time- and a friend of mine suggested a “cycle repair” man who may be able to repair it. The mechanic was a devout old muslim, who lived in a small lane close to my college and ran a “cycle shop” assisted by his pretty daughter. A major portion of the lane in front of his house was his work place and he did a very good job on my cycle. The daughter was pretty all right, but what impressed me more was his work. There is truth in my wife’s observation that I neither have an aesthetic sense nor feelings. I developed an instant faith in him.

The cycle was being used extensively and did need repairs now and then. He did few more repair jobs competently and noticing that I used a battery operated lamp, suggested that I fit a dynamo to the bicycle and save on batteries. He offered to fit a very good, used dynamo for one fourth the cost of a new one. I readily agreed, dynamo was fitted and I cycled on at nights happily till a police constable stopped me one night for riding without light. I told him that he was mistaken and confidently pointed to the dynamo. He asked me to run the wheel. I put the bicycle on stand and pedalled furiously. The wheel moved, the dynamo whirred but there was no light. I put my confidence in my pocket and begged the policeman to let me go as I was not aware that the dynamo was faulty. May be he had earned his living for the day and was satisfied with it and had stopped me only out of force of habit. He let me go.
I took the cycle to my mechanic. He rubbed the dynamo cap, tugged at the connecting wire, tightened the nuts, changed the bulb and managed to produce a dim light. He assured me that the performance would only improve with time and I accepted his words with out any doubt.
My friend borrowed my cycle one evening and met a similar fate as me. He had tried to be a bit argumentative with the keepers of law and returned home pushing the cycle (as the air from both the wheels had been let out and the valves had been carried away by the policeman) all the way and cursing me.
During my next trip to the mechanic, he blamed the roads, the police, faulty parts and my friend and again tinkered with the dynamo. After half an hour he did manage to produce some light again. He said that the spring which held the dynamo pressed against the wheel was not very good and offered to get an imported one and fit it free of cost. The local springs were useless. I visited his shop every week for nearly six months and always returned after some more tinkering, with firm assurances and a persistently faulty dynamo. But never, with any doubts regarding the old man’s capabilities. Meanwhile, I learnt to keep a continuous check on the flickering light while riding and also learnt to ride holding the handle in one hand and pressing the dynamo to the back wheel by the other. By the end of six months I had realized that the dynamo is never going to function and was so distressed during the later visits to the shop, that I did not even notice if his daughter was present in the shop or not. When I got my first stipend after completing the course of dentistry I had a new dynamo fitted by another mechanic, ending the saga of the second hand dynamo and cursing myself for being stupidly persistent with the mechanic even when I was aware that the things were not going right.

Many of my patients have visited my clinic dozens of times for treatment and many a times for the treatment of the same tooth again and again. As far as they are concerned, they might not even have noticed that I am working on the same tooth on every visit. Most of the people do not even know how many teeth they have in the mouth and many times find it difficult to point out the offending tooth. But, I know there are many who continue to seek my services inspite of being aware that the treatment has not given expected results. I have a bad habit of maintaining accurate records of the treatment carried out and it accusingly points out my deficiencies and failings. It shows the fee collected for treatments that have gone wrong making me feel guilty, and also the unpaid fees due, when a patient has never turned up after successful treatment. It hurts both ways. That’s why I call it a bad habit. I wonder why people continue to come to me even after a treatment has gone wrong and then realize that the same human nature that took me repeatedly to the cycle mechanic is at work here too, and thank god for that.

return on investment

There was a bumper crop of hibiscus yesterday. I picked more than a dozen flowers. All red and large. I piled them up on the deities in our tiny shrine but there is a limit to it. Two more flowers and our shrine would have looked more like a wholesale hibiscus market. More over, I feel the gods were also fed up with those flowers. More hibiscus and I would be cursed instead of being blessed.
I was left with half a dozen flowers. Did not know what to do with them. I suggested that my wife could wear them in her hair (she IS fond of flowers) and received a contemptuous look laced with verbal remarks about my taste and feelings followed by a list of location-dates-day-and time when I had made equally idiotic suggestions.

We are only three in our house. Asked my son who was getting ready to go to college, if he would like to carry the flowers to college. I thought some of his friends who wear ear- rings, chains and bangles and bracelets may like to have a flower in the hair or may be he might impress his girlfriends by offering them one. I received another look which I could not recognize, but it was followed by a sportive offer to take me along with him and have my head examined at the pscychiatry department even though it meant a detour via medical college to reach dental college. I guess there was nothing flattering in the look he had given me.

I felt dejected that my offers with genuine affection were misread and walked to the balcony. Saw my neighbour’s wife and daughter coming out of the house. Was tempted to offer the flowers but something in me, told me that the result would be a deepening of dejection. .

Just stood there looking here and there when I noticed this old lady who stays closeby. I had often seen her collect flowers from a roadside plant. That day she was trying to reach the hibiscus flowers grown in my neighbour’s compound. The flowers were at a height and she was making futile attempts to reach them. I ran down with my hibiscus and offered them to her. She accepted them gratefully and said that she was trying to procure few extra flowers as she had some extra rituals to be performed.

That evening I received a news paper parcel from the lady which contained four pooran polis, some fried sweets and a few bhajjis along with lots of goodwill. My investment of hibiscus did yield very good returns.

flowers in our garden - betta taavare

The harvest of flowers today filled the plate. It is mainly because of the flower which we call “betta taavare” in kannada which when translated to English means “Lotus of the hills”. It is a large and heavy flower which blossoms in the morning and is white in colour. It turns pink by evening, either in the plant or out of it. The plant grows very tall and it is difficult to reach the flowers. I got four flowers today which almost filled the plate. The rest are hibiscus, rose, and some varieties of jasmine called moti mogre, mogre, and jayo (jaaji in kannada) in Konkani. We are happy that the “lotus of the hills” has started giving flowers.

I have the habit of collecting the flowers that I can lay my hands on, each morning and placing them on the idols of an assortment of deities we have in our house (who we believe reside with us in spite of the ill treatment that is meted out to them by us) and lighting a lamp. I may be thinking of an extraction or root canal due that day or the pending payment by a patient or the servicing due on my car or even Rakhi savant, during the process, which explains my sincerity and devotion but that is a different story altogether. What I want to convey is that I pick flowers every morning from my garden or from other’s.

When we were staying in the flat, before shifting here, there were three plants in the premises which yielded flowers, out of which only one type was considered worthy of placing on the gods. There were half a dozen families vying for the few flowers that blossomed everyday. It was immaterial that none of us tended to any of the plants in any way. Our gods were lucky if they were adorned with one or two flowers everyday.

Next to our apartment block, there was a building owned by a company. It housed the employees and enjoyed the services of an indifferent gardener cum caretaker. There were a considerable number of flowering plants which grew in spite of the gardener’s indifference and the flowers could be reached from the street, across the compound wall. Since we do not consider plucking flowers from other’s garden as theft, and believe all the flowers that one can reach from a public place is public property, those flowers were available to everyone in the area on first come first pick basis. Since a theft is a theft irrespective of the goods involved and since we wanted our façade to remain pious, those of us who were involved in it managed to carry it out when the care taker or any other neighbours were not around.
Since I am an early riser I usually got my share of flowers with my dignity and piety intact and since I had studied the surroundings and knew the places that gave a good foothold to reach the flowers, I accomplished my task every morning in minutes, stored the flowers away and was on my way for a walk scornfully looking at the other thieves whom I caught in the act of pulling the branches towards them, trying to reach the flowers.
Amongst us flower thieves, we have varieties. Some are like me who would not like to be caught on the act. Some are more brazen. They can call out “good morning” even as they are reaching for the flower across the wall. There are those of us who consider only the flowers with in arms reach as public property and the rest as the owner’s. Some are more generous to themselves. They consider whatever comes with in the reach of their walking stick as their own. There are some others who are much more sportive. They challenge the owners to grow flowers in such a way that can not be reached with their sticks further lengthened by additional pieces of hooked wire. They are out for a walk in the morning with their armament in full display like some of our politician criminals who wear their criminality as a hat and vote from the jails.
Well, as usual I went berserk with my story of “betta tavare”. Coming back to the story, My wife was very keen on those flowers which grew in the company compound and wanted me to emulate Bheemasena who brought soughandhika flower to Drowpadi, to fulfil her fancy. Since this Bheemasena is all of five feet two inches and the flowers grew at a height of eight feet and above, it was an impossible task. I had to either climb up the plant in semi darkness and risk breaking my limbs if I slipped or carry the above mentioned contraption of a stick with a wire and display my thief status. I did not fancy both. She kept the desire for betta tavare with in herself and after we shifted to this place she wanted to grow the plant. Since we did not know where to get a sapling the desire remained dormant. During the last mansoons she was passing by the side of the company compound and found that the workers of the electricity department had cut down a few branches of this plant that were interfering with their lines and had thrown them down. She carried one of the branches home and we stuck it in the ground with out any hope of it sprouting. To our surprise it took roots and grew. It started flowering this season and yielded four flowers today.

Now we are waiting for the other plant “paarijaata” about which we are equally interested, to give out flowers.
Since I am on the subject of flowers, I reproduce a verse from the collection “mankuthimmana kagga” by the revered DVG on flowers and end this post.

giDadi nagutiha hoo prakruti sakhanige chanda
maDadi muDidiha hoo yuvakange chanda
guDiyoLage koDuva hoo daivabhaktage chanda
biDigaasu hoovaLage mankuthimma

which I translate as

the nature lover likes the flower smiling on the plant
the young husband loves the flower in his wife’s hair
the devotee likes the one which was given in the temple
for the vendor woman it means only a coin- her livelihood.

Saree - network

On our way back from Badarinath, we stayed at Delhi for four days. Needless to say, one full day followed by parts of all the remaining days were meant for shopping. A group of ladies went shopping and Sarees, churidars, skirts, tops, pants, shirts and half pants were purchased for daughters, daughter- in-laws, sisters, sister-in-laws, grand children and so on and so forth.
My wife purchased a saree for her sister who had returned to Detroit few months back and whose next visit to India was not before another three years. I thought it was foolish to buy a saree and keep it for three years before presenting it to whoever it was meant for.
Better sense prevailed and I did not let the thought out.
That evening the saree travelled to Bangalore with my in-laws who left Delhi, two days before we did. Morning of day three the saree was in Bangalore. The same evening it was couriered through my brother-in-law to the house of my sister-in law’s friend’s (Chicago) neighbour who was visiting Bangalore. Early morning of day four it was on it’s way to Chicago. Day five, it was in Chicago. Sis-in-law’s friend’s safe custody. Day six it travelled to Detroit by road. Courtesy- a mutual acquaintance.
We left Delhi as planned and arrived in Goa six hours late. As I sat for breakfast the next morning, there was a call from Detroit. The saree was appreciated and the exchanges regarding the merits and demerits of design, colour combination, borders and pallu, began- forcing me to restrict my breakfast to bread and coffee if I did not intend postponing it for another two hours.

Ganesh chathurthi is coming to an end. Households which have a tradition of worshipping Ganapati for five days or have taken a vow to do so, will immerse the idol tomorrow night and head for the fish market the next morning. The arrival of Ganapati creates lot of excitement but since one has to live without fish when Ganapati is living with you, one day of excitement and devotion is enough.
My neighbours took lot of interest and pains to decorate the idol the traditional way and enjoyed the festival. Since they have to abstain from fish for five days they thought that they can as well perform the Satyanarayana pooja during these five days and avoid an additional fishfree day for satyanarayana pooja – if performed later.
The second photograph is the traditional “matoLi”, all the seasonal vegetables and fruits tied in bunches in front of the idol.
We will get over the hangover of chaturthi tomorrow, and get back to routine from Monday.

all of us have to live

I had a mild discomfort somewhere around the throat for a few days as if some very small food particle is stuck there. In fact I could not exactly point out the spot. After three days I went to the doctor. The doctor checked my blood pressure, pulled out my tongue to check the throat, pushed in my stomach to check the internals, turned me this way, that way trying to listen to the chest and ultimately said that it could be a mild form of throat infection. He wrote out a prescription, asked me to consume the medicines for four days and report back. I enquired if that could happen due to acidity? He said that it was possible too and wrote out some more tablets. He asked me to consume all.

I purchased a part of the prescribed medicines. I wanted to check if they work and then buy the lot. I planned to begin the next morning.

The next morning the discomfort was much less. I thought that I would wait another day. Then another and another. After four days I was fine with out swallowing even one tablet. It is a month now and the packet of tablets is lying somewhere in a corner of the shelf.

Reminds me of a kannanda joke by sri beechi. Its rough translation goes like this,

Had some disturbance in the stomach. Went and consulted the doctor and paid his fee. The doctor has to live.
Went to the pharmacy and bought the medicines. The pharmacist has to live.

On the way home, threw the packet of tablets in the garbage- I have to live too.