Thursday, December 31, 2009

Appreciating Classical Music

The Samrat club international, a cultural organization, organizes a classical music festival in Ponda every year. It was their thirtieth festival this year. It is usually spread over three days, having three sessions every day. I remember reading the names of maestros like Sri Bhimsen joshi, Sri Hariprasad chourasia, Sri Jitendra abhisheki, Smt kishori amonkar, Sri Amjad ali khan and many other equally eminent personalities, in the list of concerts during these festivals. Surely a feast for music lovers.

I have been in Ponda for the past twenty three years, living at a distance of three kilometers from the venue where these concerts are held. I have had nothing worth mentioning about to engage me otherwise at the time of these concerts and still, have been foolish enough to miss all of them (seventy one – to be exact) but one. The one which I attended last Sunday. It is not that I am averse to classical music. (I do like it when they play/sing according to my liking) It is just indifference.
This year I made a firm decision that I would attend at least one of the concerts, and chose the middle session on the Sunday evening. And I made it to the concert. A beginning and better late than never. Even though twenty three years late is as good or as bad as ‘never’.

I reached the venue at 7.30 PM when the first session had just ended and people were walking out of the hall for a cup of tea or just for a small stroll in the compound to loosen their limbs. I met many people known to me, who said “hello doctor, Free evening today? How did you like it? ‘Raag’ ******** was great. Don’t you think so?” etc and I simply nodded my head vaguely.

I went into the hall and occupied a chair near the exit so that I could clear out unnoticed if I felt so. The second session, a ‘Jugalbandhi’ was about to start and the artistes were already on the stage. I knew that two musicians perform together in a ‘Jugalbandhi’ and there were indeed two smart, young artistes on the stage dressed alike in green ‘kurta’s, facing the audience, lovingly holding their stringed instruments. The third gentleman sat confidently with his hands poised on the ‘Tabla’.

I look at all musicians with a mixture of appreciation, admiration, awe, wonder and many more such words. I do not know how they manage to produce those wonderful sounds. Some people are endowed with super human skills which elude me. I have tentatively tried teasing the strings of a ‘veena’, pressing the keys of a ‘harmonium’ and beating on the ‘Tabla’ and have noted the effect with great regret. Since I felt that producing the sounds with one’s own throat is much easier, I have tried my throat too and it has never failed to bring my children out of their rooms with folded hands, begging me to stop. So much so, my singing is in great demand when children remain stubbornly stuck to their laptops and refuse to come out of their room in spite of my wife repeatedly calling out to them.

The compe’re introduced the artistes, and I think she spoke highly about their training, practice, achievements etc and mentioned the name of the ‘raag’ (which I do not recollect) with which the concert would begin. She spoke in Marathi and I only got the names of the artistes and the name of the raag.

They began tuning their instruments and matching one with the other. I could very well recognize the ‘tabla’ and was sure that one of the stringed instruments was a ‘Sitar’. I could not recognize the second instrument. From a distance (near the exit) and without my glasses (I had thought that since only my ears are involved, there was no need for the glasses) it looked flat and trapezoidal in shape and I thought it might be a ‘Santoor’ or similar instrument. The process of tuning and matching went on for sometime. Then the artiste with the unknown instrument started humming in a low tone so that the sitar artiste could tune his sitar, better. The ‘tabla’ artiste was sitting quietly. The gentleman with the unknown instrument kept humming without playing his instrument audibly. Whenever he stopped, the sitar artiste produced some low sounds. It sounded alright for me but they were not satisfied. They went on humming and playing softly. I waited for the three of them to perk up and start the performance so that I could enjoy it but they never did. The humming, tuning and matching went on for nearly forty minutes and then even the humming stopped. Everyone in the hall woke up and clapped! I was flabbergasted. The musicians did not even begin in full earnest and these people were clapping!

I know when to clap in a concert. I have been out of touch but not new to classical concerts. During our childhood, we used to attend almost all the concerts that were organized at the time of Ramanavami celebrations in Bangalore. We went there and sat through the performance waiting for it to end and the ‘prasad’ (delicacies that had been offered to the lord) to be distributed. We dozed through when the music was slow and woke up when the notes went high. The artiste with the stringed instrument would be playing wildly with his hands moving up and down fast, (like my voltage stabilizer needle, during erratic supply) the vocalist would be hitting his thighs hard with his palm and his folded leg in turn would be rhythmically hitting the floor, the percussionist would be beating the hell out of his ‘tabla’, ‘mridangam’ or the‘ghatam’(which, during the heat of playing, he sometimes threw into the air and caught it back – he never missed, to our utter disappointment. All of them would be intently looking into each other’s faces, making appreciative gestures and nodding their heads in tandem and they would stop abruptly just in time to avoid the percussionist breaking his instrument.

That’s when everyone clapped. Not when the musicians had just about begun.

I wanted to share my feelings and noticed an elderly gentleman who was known to me, sitting in the next row. I went and sat next to him, talked about the performance and casually mentioned about audience without taste, clapping at inappropriate moments. I told him that it spoilt the atmosphere and the artiste’s moods. Then I wondered why the concert had not yet started and why only the sitar artiste was playing his instrument in spite of the concert being a ‘Jugalbandhi’?

He turned towards me and gave me a look which would have made me wilt had I not put in extra efforts during the morning ‘yoga’ and ‘praanaayam’. He said that it was a ‘Jugalbandhi’ of VOCAL AND SITAR and that they had just done the ‘aalaap’ of the ‘raag’ splendidly. The unknown stringed instrument was a ‘swarmandal’ which the vocalist used to maintain his ‘raag’ and pitch!

I retreated quietly, went far from the elderly gentleman and in spite of the set back in enjoying classical music, sat through the remaining performance. Since the artistes have to cater to all tastes, they did play my type of music near the end and I was gratified to see them coming up to my expectations and exhaust themselves. I did enjoy the concert and even clapped, perfectly timing it with all others when the ‘tabla’ artiste was about to beat his ‘tabla’ into smithereens. That was the end of the concert.

I am waiting for the next year’s music festival to continue my learning.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Letter to Editor

Usually I tend to gloss over (what I consider to be) the idiocies that are exhibited by our political class that are published in the papers. The picture of our Hon CM on a two wheeler rally pricked a bit deeper. I hate all these rallies and processions which disrupt normal life, irrespective of the cause for which they are purported to have been held. I could not help sending a letter to the editor which is likely to go into the recycle bin. But I can bug my friends through my blog. Here it is if you wish to read.

This is in response to the front page news/photograph published in Navhind Times dt 29th Dec. It was very sad to see our chief minister taking part in the two wheeler rally organized by the congress workers. There has been a lot of concern all over the world regarding the emission levels and the harmful effects. The Copenhagen summit has been in the front page of all news papers during the last month. Developing countries are being asked to cut down on emissions even at the cost of their development. We cannot prevent emissions and vehicles have to move on the roads. But what was the need to add to it by taking out a rally involving hundreds of two wheelers and giving a gift of additional dose of carbon monoxide to the citizens of Panaji on the occasion of the congress party entering 125th year of its existence? Every little bit adds, every little gesture counts. If they needed to make a show, they could have walked, creating only nuisance and avoiding additional pollution. I can understand some irresponsible party workers indulging in such exhibitions. But the Chief Minister of the state? He needs to be sensitive to all issues concerning the society and set an example.
Making the world more livable is only possible if it is inculcated in the mindset and all our actions are in keeping with the thought.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Merry Christmas!

Whether you are inclined or not, the Christmas spirit envelopes you in Goa. The streets are dotted with decorated grottos, small, large and extra large, and an occasional one as large as a tennis court. The youngsters who have toiled over their grottos during the past week or two, have finished admiring the effect and have climbed on to the mini trucks with their guitars and are roaming the city singing carols. Every catholic house has at least one star and a garland of serial lights. My enthusiastic neighbour’s Christmas decoration makes a pretty picture from my balcony.




I have kept the packet of Christmas gift and the sweets from the sisters of St. Mary’s convent, un opened and visible in our living room so that I do not forget to go over there and wish them tomorrow.




Happy Christmas.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Death - difficult subject.

Few days back, there was an article in the Times Of India about the acceptance of a petition in the supreme court. The petition was on behalf of Ms Aruna shanbaug, filed by a friend, requesting the court to allow Ms Shanbaug to end her life peacefully. Ms Shanbaug is in Coma for the last thirty six years. Her family has deserted her and she is being cared for by the nurses of KEM hospital Mumbai, where she was a staff nurse herself.

Death, the inevitable, is a subject on which my mind spends considerable time (and ends up with nothing worthwhile to show for it) and euthanasia or ‘mercy killing’ figures prominently. I have many suggestions to offer to the Hon Supreme court if it decides to give a verdict in favour of euthanasia and seeks my help to thrash out details! I am happy to note that our supreme court which had brushed aside many petitions earlier has decided to consider the matter.

I do not have enough knowledge or capability to think about all the intricacies - legal, social, emotional, practical - that are involved in the process of mercy killing and take a stand. I should leave it to the more knowledgeable amongst us to decide about it. But, if nobody can make up their minds and if all of us are asked to vote yes or no, (using our guts, keeping the brain aside) my vote would be a YES in capitals.

Till date, I have been lucky enough neither having to face a sudden death at close quarters nor to be in a situation where I am required to pray for death. We have no control over the first part but are trying to achieve some control over the second.

Sri DVG who has thought about almost every aspect of life and has put his wisdom in very appealing verses for our benefit, has the following to say about death.

ಒಂದಗುಳು ಹೆಚ್ಚಿರದು, ಒಂದಗುಳು ಕೊರೆಯಿರದು
ತಿಂದು ನಿನ್ನನ್ನಋಣ ತೀರುತಲೆ ಪಯಣ.
ಒಂದುಚಣ ಹಿಂದಿರದು, ಕಾದಿರದು ಮುಂದಕುಂ
ಸಂದಲೆಕ್ಕವದೆಲ್ಲ ಮಂಕುತಿಮ್ಮ.

Not a grain more nor a grain less,
Eat your due and depart.
Not a second before, nor a second later,
It is all an account already settled.

Can we amend Mankutimma?

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Cricket Match

Yesterday I observed a rare phenomenon. Many of my patients remained in the waiting room, watching the TV, even after their treatment was over. Usually people are eager to get out of the clinic as early as possible, forgetting to collect the prescription and more often, forgetting to pay me. I was intrigued. It was only this morning that I learnt (through the news paper) that it was raining runs over the cricket field yesterday and India won in a nail biting finish.

There was a time when we played cricket all evenings and sat with our ears glued to the borrowed transistor radio (our neighbour’s) to hear the running commentary of Ranaji trophy matches. We did not have a radio in our house.

Seeing the Australians in person during the Southzone V/S Australia match in Bangalore was literally (as it turned out)once in a life time chance for me. There used to be a huge rush for tickets and we had to reach the ground well before six in the morning to be sure of getting one. Since the buses did not start so early, we got up at 4 AM and walked all the way to the Central college grounds in Bangalore, got the ticket and after fighting our way to be as close to the boundary line as possible, had to remain seated on the ground and hold to our places. We remained seated on the hot ground throughout the day in the hot sun but immensely enjoyed the match. Since there was no possibility of beating the crowd and getting into the bus after the match, we walked back home, dusty, hungry, thirsty, sun tanned and happy. E A S Prasanna got four Wickets (if I remember right) in the post tea session and that thrill compensated everything.

Now, there are two TV sets in front of me, one international match almost everyday but I have lost the skill of getting thrilled. "ಹಲ್ಲಿದ್ದಾಗ ಕಡಲೆ ಇಲ್ಲ, ಕಡಲೆ ಇದ್ದಾಗ ಹಲ್ಲಿಲ್ಲ" (when the teeth are there, no nuts and when there are nuts, no teeth) as the saying goes.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Sunday evening - contd...

Since I reached dinner time yesterday and since I did not intend disturbing the peaceful atmosphere at home(rare) by delaying my appearance at the table after dinner was served, I posted my piece in a hurry and left. I am adding the left over bit today.

While writing about these music and dance shows I wanted to mention about one such show hosted by Sri S P Balasubramaniam which has Sri Jayant kaykini as co host. There is nothing new in the show but SPB’s words make a difference here. He puts the children at ease, points out very gently if they go wrong, sings himself to demonstrate how it should be and sometimes, relates the songs to the classical ragas on which they are based by singing the ragas. He never lets down any one.

If I sing there, his comment would be, “That was great, doctor Raghunandan. God has given you the gift of singing and soothing the mind, apart from healing the body. Very good. You were out of tune, the notes were wrong and rhythm did not exist. But for these minor defects your singing was perfect. If you can sing so well without training and practice, I don’t know where you could have reached, had you learnt to sing and practiced well. I feel small in front of you.” And you will feel it is straight out of his heart.

Sri Kaykini is another sensible host. After hearing a seductive song sung by a seven year old, he said “Your singing is good. But you would have been much better if you had understood the meaning. We cannot expect that from you. This song is not for your age. Your parents and teacher should have thought about it. You did your job well.”

(the words of sri Kaykini are very much similar to those of Sri Shivaram karanth which Brinda has quoted in her comment)

Some sanity is still there.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Sunday Evening

This Sunday evening was hanging on me. One of the music organizations of which I happen to be a member, had announced a classical singing programme by members in a temple near Ponda. The programme was to begin at 4 pm and I was there on the dot at 4.30. A carpet had been spread before the deity and a mike set was in attendance along with a harmonium on which two small girls were trying their hand. I did not see any other member. (Please note that I was NOT on the ‘singing’ list. I went there only to listen.) Usually, one of the pillars of the society, (the only pillar, rather) a knowledgeable and pious old man is always present. Today even he was missing. I waited for fifteen minutes, offered my pranams to the lord and returned.

We went for a walk and since my wife is recovering from a sprain, it was over in half an hour. I had 3 hrs and 30 minutes before dinner. Nothing else to do. I mean, there were many things like calculating income tax, clearing my desk, removing the cobwebs from the corners, cleaning the fan blades etc etc which I could have attended to, but they are not classified under ‘something to do’ category. They are in ‘to post pone for ever’ category.

My wife decided to exercise her fingers by surfing the channels and I decided to exercise my eyes. They caught a programme of ‘grooming’ the Femina miss India contestants. Today it was a dentist and her associate giving the contestants instructions on oral hygiene and ‘smiling from the heart’.(actually a cardiologist should also have been there because it was 'smiling' from the 'heart') I HAD to see that. The dentist wore a ‘designer’ apron and spoke at a much lower level than what I used to, when I spoke in front of 3rd standard students during my ‘school dental health programme’. It was followed by demonstration of cleaning and whitening teeth. During this, the dentist gave a heavily worded talk on ‘bacteria’ in the mouth and how careful one should be with them. While she was ‘cleaning,’ there was a cloud of spray of saliva+water swirling around her head and she had a mask on, which only covered the mouth and left the nose open. Evidently, the bacteria she was dealing with, did not know the way through the nose. They (dentists, not bacteria) have clinics in Bomaby, Pune and Goa and must be earning lakhs ‘designing’ smiles for foolish future miss Indias while I keep making useless comments and work ten times more to earn twenty times less.

Another programme on the TV was a singing and dance contest. One boy of about 8-10 years sang a song “I am in love truly with you. You are my dream girl forever. Come dear, more near” and some more nonsense. Another boy and a girl of the same age danced for the song. The judge said “excellent performance. The energy level was very good. Body language was fantastic. You need to put a little more feeling” and the parents clapped beaming. The song said “I am in love with you, come dear more near”, innocent children of 8-10 years age performed, the idiotic judge appreciated and asked for “more feeling” and the stupid parents beamed and clapped. Instant fame is making everyone mad. There are dozens of such programmes and millions of us watching and clapping. God save us.

I decided to spend the remaining part of the evening typing this and now,have reached the dinner time. Bye,

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Tiger In My Thoughts

Day 1 : Tiger Woods crashes his car onto a tree near his house. Car damaged. Tiger intact. Photograph of Tiger and his crashed car.
Day 2 : Tiger Woods confesses that he cheated his wife. Photographs of Tiger, wife and ‘Woh’.
Day 3 : Tiger Woods offers five million to his wife as compensation. (for what?)
Day 4 : Details of Tiger’s SMSs to his girlfriends. (There are two now)
Day 5 : Tiger Woods is worried that photographs of his activities may become public.
Day 6 : Tabloids make ‘quote your price’ offer to anyone who can provide photographs and proof of ‘sexploits’.
Day 7: Long list of Tiger wood’s ‘Woh’s and their photographs. Tiger offers 80 million to his wife for remaining ‘married’ to him. (Ten million per girl friend?)
Day 8 : Ten girl friends and a mother-in- law who is ill. Details of m-in-law’s illness etc etc. Associated rumours.

All this is front page news in all our national dailies and ‘breaking news’ on our channels.
Disgusting.
No, I am not disgusted with Tiger Woods’ activities. It is his personal matter. I am disgusted with our interest in his activities. What is Tiger Woods? Accepted that he is great with his golf clubs and made billions so as to be able to pay millions in compensation when caught. But, of what consequence is he to our life?
Nil.

If he is of no consequence and if the whole thing is his personal business, why did I read all the details, see all the clips and maintain a log? Well, that is what I am unable to understand. There is no doubt about my feeling towards the importance that is being accorded to this affair. It IS disgusting. Then? Do I read all this because the papers publish it and channels keep breaking it? or is it the other way round? I have no answer.

I read somewhere that we addictively watch soaps and movies because in our subconscious we yearn to do things that the characters in movies and serials do. Since we can’t behave like them in our real life, we gain satisfaction by watching them on the screen.

Is it the same here?

I don’t like the inference.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

The Good Doctor

Note: Please do not get a wrong impression of my practice and clinical skills after reading this piece. It is not ALWAYS THAT bad.

The nature of my work involves giving relief from pain and restoring wrecked teeth to their original. As far as the first objective is concerned, I manage to achieve that (almost always) without inflicting additional pain. When it comes to restoring teeth to their original, well, if it is somewhat close to original, I should be very happy. Usually I reach, if not very close, with in visible distance of original. Since the expectations of my patients is not very high, most of them are satisfied with what they get. As a result, I am used to receiving bouquets than brickbats. If not a bouquet, a flower or at least a petal.

When a succession of cases turn out right, I tend to take it as routine and start thinking of myself as something exceptional in the field. I start reveling in the imaginary glory and will need a well aimed brick to bring me back to my senses. I get it once in a way but usually the throwers do not intend hitting me hard. Very rarely I get someone who can express their feelings clearly and forcefully, in no uncertain terms. They tear out the crown that I will have built on my head and put me back in my place.

This gentleman was a native of UP, amply expressive in his hindi and spoke the words as they formed in his mind. No polishing. Most of its flavor is lost when translated to English but I have no other way of communicating his words to my friends. We have to make do with my translation. Still, I think it provides a fairly good idea. For the benefit of those who can understand hindi, I have tried to put his words as I heard them, though I have a feeling that I only make matters worse by writing ‘HIS’ hindi as ‘I’ remember. If you can gloss over grammatical blunders and concentrate on the gist, you will be fine.

He rang the bell at nine one night.
“Aap doctor saab hai?” (Are you the doctor?)
“Haan, kya taklif hai?” (Yes, what is the trouble?)
“Yeh dat bahut dard kar raha hai, isko nikal ke fek do” (This tooth is paining very much. Remove it and throw it away)
I looked in his mouth. It was an impacted wisdom tooth, very badly decayed and in a very crooked position. I told him that it would be a very difficult extraction and that it will have to be extracted by an oral surgeon.
“Woh kahan milega”? (Where can I get him?)
I told him that we cannot get him as and when we want but he will come over if we consult him and request him to do the needful.
“Toh, bulao na unko” (Then, call him.)
I explained to him the process of surgical extraction, need for X Rays, surgeon’s appointments etc etc. and told him that I can arrange to have his tooth removed in about three to four days.
“Teen char din! Yeh dard leke mai kaisa rahoon? Abhi kuch karo. Mera dost ne bola aap phataaphat dat nikaal dete. Aap kuch nahi kar rahe hai.”
(Three four days! How will I live with this pain? Do something now. My friend told me that you will remove the tooth immediately. You are not doing anything.)
He settled on the sofa in my waiting room holding his head in his hands.

There was little that I could do. When the tooth decides to trouble you, and gets stubborn about it, it is not easy to make it change its mind. None of our analgesics and antibiotics exercise influence over it. We either need to kill it by drilling through it and removing its blood and nerve supply (we call it RCT) or pull it out of its base (we call it an extraction). With this fellow’s tooth there was no chance of me attempting any of these. I took a chance and injected a dose of local anaesthetic which we use for numbing the tooth and jaws before removing teeth. Half of his jaw lost its sensation and the pain vanished immediately. He literally fell at my feet.
“Aap daktar nahi hai saab aap bhagavan hai” (You are not a doctor sir, you are god)

I took an X Ray, consulted our surgeon and scheduled surgery. The tooth was anaesthetized and the surgeon began working. He made a cut in the gums, exposed the jaw bone and started to drill around the tooth to release it from the bone. In between we chiselled out fragments of jaw bone from places where the drill could not reach. (Note: These are standard procedures and not our attempts to pull out the tooth by hook or crook) As the surgeon reached deeper the patient started feeling pain.
“Are saab, aap log kya kar raha hai? Mera poora haddi tukda tukda karke nikal rahe hai kya? Bahut dukh raha hai. Woh dant kaa dard is se achcha tha. Aap jo kar raha hai sambhaal ke karo.”
(Oh sir, what are you doing? Are you breaking my jaw into pieces and taking out the tooth? It is paining badly. That toothache was better than this. Whatever you are doing, do it carefully)

I had to inject some more anaesthetic around the area where the surgeon was working and he went in deeper.

Another few minutes and the fellow was squirming again. I injected some more. We had to finish what we started.

“Aapne chaar injection diya, lekin jyaada farak nahi hai. Aadha ghante se aap log mera haddi tod rahe hai. Aap se nahi hoga to chod do. Mai jaa rahaa hoon.”
(You have given four injections but I do not feel much difference. Since half an hour you people are breaking my bone. If you can’t remove the tooth, leave it. I will go.)

I convinced him that we cannot just stop at that stage and leave things as they were. By then the tooth was almost free. It only needed the final push. The root was bent and had stuck in one corner of the jaw bone. That was not unusual. What was baffling me was the pain. Once a nerve is blocked we never have any trouble. Here, I could make out that the nerve was blocked because there was no sensation in half of his tongue, lips or jaws. All other teeth were numb. Yet he was complaining of pain when this tooth was being sectioned and moved. I forced a little more of the drug directly into the tooth and it seemed to work. The surgeon gave the final push, the patient jumped and the tooth was out. The wound was sutured, I offered a prayer to the gods, prescribed strong painkillers and sent him away, instructing him to come over after a week to have the stitches removed.

He rang the bell at eleven the next night.

“Ye saab. Aapne kya kiya muje pata nahin. Daat to nikal gaya. Lekin pehle se ab jyaada dard hai. Mera dost ne bola aap achchaa daktar hai. Isiliye mai aap ke paas aaya tha. Ab dheko mooh bhi khulta nahin. Kal se barah goli khaayi mai. Dard kam nahin hota. Lagta hai aap ke paas aake maine galti kiya.”
(Sir, I do not know what you did. The tooth is out. But the pain is more than what it was before. My friend said that you are a good doctor. That is why I came to you. See, I can’t even open my mouth properly. Since yesterday I have swallowed twelve tablets. Pain is not coming down. I think I made a mistake coming to you.)

I explained to him that sometimes there is a little more pain after the extraction because the wound gets infected. And that happens if the blood does not clot inside the socket from where the tooth was removed and the wound remains open. I advised him to take antibiotics, prescribed some antiseptic rinses and told him that I would give him an injection to reduce the pain. At the mention of the injection he flared up.
“Aap mujhe maar ne ke liye itnaa saaraa injection kyun de rahe hai. Aap ke pass bandook nahi hai ? Ek baar goli maardo aur bas, sab kuch khatam”
(Why do you need to prick me so many times to kill me. Don’t you have a gun? Put a bullet in and everything will be over.)

I managed to calm him down and convince him to take the injection and fortunately it acted. Within minutes he was better. I sent him off telling him to repeat the injections for two or three days till the pain was less.

I was worried. I wanted to call him the next day and enquire about his condition. But if he said that he still had pain I had nothing more left to do. So, I kept quite. After another day the suspense was unbearable. More over I was worried that he may again wake me up late at night and ask me to do something for his pain. I called one of his friends who had accompanied him and enquired about him. The fellow was ok. I was told that he was able to eat ‘roti bhaji’ and was sleeping. I was relieved.

He did not come to my clinic again. I do not know what happened to the sutures. He might have decided to pull them out himself rather than pay me for more pain. I met him in the market nearly after two months.
“Ab sab kuch theek hai saab. Kuch bhi dard nahi hai. Aur woh dhaaga apne aap nikal gaya. Lekin jeeb ab bhi thoda sundh hai. Kya karoon?”
(Now everything is OK sir. No pain at all. And that thread came out on its own. But one thing, my tongue is still numb. What shall I do?)

I gave a vague reply and escaped before he came out with more complaints. It was possible that some part of the nerve was traumatized while removing the tooth and his tongue was still numb. Again there was nothing I could do to rectify it and it would take its own time to get back to normal.

I could not make the tooth numb when we badly wanted it. The tongue was still numb after two months when it should have been back to normal after two hours. I was responsible for both. “The good doctor.”

Monday, November 23, 2009

I SELECT A SAREE!

The envelope looked harmless. It was addressed to Dr. Raghunandan. I brought it in, along with other mail and placed it on the table. My wife opened it.

“SALE !! Garden Sarees and dress materials at 40%-60% discount. Every day 10am to 7 pm. No lunch break. 4th Nov to 24th Nov at Keni’s hotel, 18th June Road, Panaji Goa. Sundays open. Do not miss this golden opportunity!!”

I cursed myself for writing my name and address in the book that was kept next to the cash counter during their last year’s sale. I was under the impression that it was for some lucky draw. But the realization was too late and I could not do anything but drive my wife to the sale.

The hall was full of excited ladies moving along the rows and rows of tempting sarees. They were enjoying themselves, picking up their choices, draping the folded material on their shoulders and seeking opinions of friends, mothers and daughters. There were a few very fortunate ones with enthusiastic and eager husbands (obviously newly married, first timers) helping them in choosing the right dress and a few unfortunate ones trying to force an opinion from bored husbands who whiled away the time looking at other ladies.

We began with the first row. Me and my wife. I am an important adjunct in the process of my wife’s saree selection. Lot of value is attached to my views and opinions and my wife does not buy without my concurrence. She picked up one.
“How is this colour?”
“Very nice”
“Like the design?”
“Very much”
“What about the border?”
“Excellent”
“And the pallu?”
“Can’t be better.”
“If you are under the impression that you can fool me into buying this one and be done with today’s shopping, you are mistaken.”
“I know. Just tried my luck.”
“So, now tell me what you really think of this.”
“Horrible.”
“Thanks for confirming. I had liked this a lot and so, was sure of your opinion.”

She moved along the row slowly, taking out and examining every piece minutely and I followed. Half an hour passed. We had covered half a row.
“Why don’t you take an active part and select some good ones instead of dumbly following me?”
I took an active part and selected one.
“I can rely up on you to pick up the worst amongst the thousands that are here”I put it back and chose another one.
“Look at the colour combination. Will anyone in their senses wear it?”
I proffered up the third.
“This border is exactly like the one I have purchased for my birthday. You never remember any of my sarees.”
I told her not to bother about my opinion and buy whatever she likes.
“Impossible. I can’t buy the saree if you don’t like it.”
I suggested that she continue with her selection while I went out for a breath of fresh air. I asked her to short list three and call me for final selection. I said that it would make things easier for both. This was agreed up on and I went out.

I spent the next one and a half hours amusing myself walking up and down the street looking at people out for an evening.
Crowds in front of the eateries gorging on all sorts of sweets and fried stuff, just looking at which, my cholesterol shoots up.
Foreigners being heckled by hawkers and swindled by shop keepers.
Traffic police locking the wheels of wrongly parked vehicles and the faces of the owners on seeing the wheels locked.
Domestic tourists in their “I love Goa “ T shirts.
So on and so forth.

I was in the middle of the fifth round when I received my wife’s call.

She had selected three as I had suggested. One was cream with orange coloured flower patterns. The second was greenish with geometrical patterns in grey and red, and the third was light yellow and black.
I was supposed to pick one and that was final.
I picked the green one with geometrical patterns.
“Don’t you like the cream with orange flowers? “
“I will. If you promise to buy it this moment and leave this place”
“Then I will buy this cream one and since your first choice was green, I will buy that too!”

Next morning she took them out into the balcony to appreciate their beauty in natural light.
“This green looks different in natural light"
"If you don’t like it. exchange it for the yellow one”
She returned the green and brought yellow.

Her friends came over to look at the sarees. One of them said that both the sarees were indeed very nice but she had heard that there were plenty of new colours in the sale.

“Left to myself, my choice might have been different. These were my husband’s selection!”

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Happiness is ..............

One of my cases yesterday was a small girl of six years. I had done a bit of minor work on her teeth two weeks back and had asked her mother to bring the child for a checkup. They speak a variety of hindi and do not know any other language. I had tried my best to explain the treatment to the mother in a language which I thought was hindi, and hoped that it was understood. It was not. The mother thought that I would be continuing the treatment and had tried to boost up the child’s morale and prepare her for treatment. The child was very apprehensive nevertheless, walked in dejectedly and sat in the chair with her eyes shut, resigned to her fate.

I switched the light on and the child hesitatingly opened her mouth grippig the handle tight. I just looked into the mouth, found whatever I had done previously was in order (by god’s grace) and told the child that she can go. The mother was surprised.

“Doctor, are you not going to do anything”?
“No, I called you only for a checkup today”

There was a happy shout from the chair.
“Hurrah! No treatment today ! I told mummy so. But she wouldn’t listen. No filling! No filling!” and the child ran out dancing all the way.

Colgate had run a Dental health campaign few years back and had coined a slogan for it. “Happiness is healthy teeth”.

“Happiness” as I witness, is “postponed treatment.”

Friday, November 13, 2009

Being mean?

A lady visited my clinic last week. She wanted a tooth removed. She told her name and while doing so, stressed on her husband’s name and surname. It sounded familiar but nothing flashed in my mind. She waited till I was free, had her tooth removed, paid my fee and left.

She came after two days for another extraction. Again she told her name, stressing on her husband’s name. I did not give it a thought. I asked her to wait till I finished the case on hand and extracted her tooth. Before she paid me, she asked “doctor, you must be knowing my husband, Mr.So&So, don’t you? He was MLA and ex minister.” Flash! I knew why her name sounded familiar.

Her husband had been elected to the assembly three times. To his bad luck, all the three times he happened to be in the wrong party and remained just an MLA. However, during one of the dramas that our elected representatives play for our benefit, his wrong party played the role of a right party and he found himself taking oath as a cabinet minister! Whether his heart got burst with joy or cholesterol, I don’t know, but immediately afterwards he felt a pain in the chest and was flown out of Goa for surgery. Surgery was successful but even as he was regaining consciousness, the next act of the drama was played in the assembly, and his right party was back in its old role as the wrong party. He went into the hospital as a cabinet minister and came out of it just an MLA once again. He was one minister who did not have any scandal against his name while he held office. He was unconscious all the time.

Other than the citizen – representative relation, I did not have anything to do with him and he was not aware that I existed. However I had a very minor grudge against him. I used to travel to my hospital everyday by bus. It was a distance of about thirty kilometers. The road used to be in perfect condition for the first twelve kilometers, up to the point where our MLA had a small industrial unit. The remaining part was in shambles. The inference was obvious. I am not sure whether to say how mean of him to leave the remaining part of the road to its fate or express my gratitude for keeping at least the first part in order. I had forgotten all about it after I retired and stopped travelling on that road. I recollected it when she mentioned her husband’s name.

The lady obviously wanted to be recognized and expected something MORE than what is usually accorded to other patients. These politicians (and their wives) get used to the god like status and the pedestal that we put them up on. I told her that it was an honour to have had the opportunity to treat her, spoke a few flowery words about her husband and charged her MORE than what I usually do.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Winter Strip Tease

Last year, winter went away without entering Goa. After the rains, it was summer and summer. There may be a winter this year. The hill sides near my house are covered with mist, indicating that winter is on its way.





The weather changes overnight. I noticed the change two days back. The morning was suddenly chilly. I hesitated before stepping out for my walk, dressed in shorts and T shirt. I felt like wearing my jacket and cap but had no idea where I had kept them. I made a noiseless search of the probable places but no luck. I had to try the metal cupboard in the bedroom. However gentle I try to be, the latch does make a noise. My wife mumbled half awake “can’t you go for a walk without waking up the whole house?” I retreated quietly, forgot my walk and spent an hour doing yogic exercises and ‘kapalbhati’, taking care not to make too much noise while exhaling.

The next day, I was prepared. I had searched out my cap and jacket and had put them out in the sun to remove the mouldy smell. They felt fresh. I had even located my son’s riding gloves (it was in one of the shoe boxes) and cleaned it. I set out in the chill, covered well, looking like an Eskimo. I knew that I would be feeling uncomfortably warm after walking for some time, but did not have the will power to go into the chilly weather without covering myself.

As expected, I started feeling hot and uncomfortable after a brisk walk and removed the gloves. I walked a little more and my head felt sweaty and started itching inside the cap. I removed the cap. The jacket was out even before I had covered another fifty meters. Now I was burdened with a pair of gloves, a cap and a jacket in my hands apart from the inevitable bamboo stick which is my weapon against stray dogs.

I do not know why they (stray dogs) are hostile towards me. I never threw stones at them. (At least, not after I crossed twelve. The last stone I threw, must have been forty years back. And it did not hit the dog. None of my stones did. They only hit the neighbour’s flowerpots, scooters and children. There is no scope for animosity on that ground.) I notice the dog at a distance, sleeping under the street lamp. I see many walkers - frail ladies, tottering old men, fat people, moving with difficulty – none of them can run for their life and none of them armed - bravely walking past the dog as if it does not exist. I feel that there was no need for the stick. But, just as I pass in front of it (I do not like to wake it up and actually try to glide past) the dog comes alive and pounces on me barking madly. I start a sort of dance shouting and waving the stick frantically. (The stick, again, has never hit a dog. It is only a psychological weapon.) Once I start dancing and looking silly, the dog thinks that I am not worth fighting with, retreats, and goes back to sleep. Canine psychologists say that the dog feels threatened with my stick and so, attacks me. But I haven’t had the guts to experiment facing dogs without my stick. Anyway, that is apart from the winter story.

Now, walking with the bundle of cap, jacket, gloves and the stick in hand was cumbersome. But there was no other go. The weather was good and so, I ignored my load and moved on. The morning was so pleasant and I was feeling so energetic, I felt an urge to jog. Holding the cumbersome bundle and walking is OK, but you can’t jog with that luggage in your hands. It feels and looks awkward. I felt like throwing away the bundle but I would need it again next morning. So, I decided to keep it someplace by the road side and collect it on my way back. I do so, many times during winter walks. Sometimes I find a convenient rock by the side of the road and sometimes a willing branch of a small tree. That day, it was the tree. I hung my things on the branch and started jogging. I felt light and nice. I felt free. Atmosphere was cooI and exhilarating. There was no body within hearing distance and I even sang two songs as I jogged. After a while some thought got in to my mind and I lost myself in my thought and jogged along.

The blaring horn and the accusing hand of a tempo driver made me find myself once again and I noticed that I had gone farther than I intended. My son had given me strict instructions to wake him up exactly at 6.00. Giving ME strict instruction to wake HIM up. Right thing to do would have been to tick him off and tell him to set his mobile for a wakeup call or remain in bed till evening. But I can’t do that. I hurry up to wake him up on time. It is called ‘maaya’ (attachment). Wise people advise us to kick it out. I hope to, one day. But right then,I turned back and returned home running.

It was the same weather the following morning. I was eager to go out. Just as I started getting ready for the walk, I realized that I had left my jacket, cap and gloves hanging on the tree and the stick, resting on its trunk. I kicked myself for forgetting them and hurt my shin. I hoped nobody had noticed them. I had to get to the tree as early as possible and collect them. Assuming, that they were still there. Then it dawned on me that I will have to walk into the chill without my jacket and face the dog without my stick. I felt miserable. But I had to act. I braced myself up and got out. I hoped that the dog would not be there. I started running to keep myself warm but stopped the moment I saw the dog. Even with the stick in my hand I feel inadequate in front of that dog. I just could not risk facing it without the stick. I thought of returning home and taking my car. It was a shame but safe. I turned back and saw the frail lady and the old man coming at a distance. I waited by the road side, joined them and silently walked with them taking care to keep them between me and the dog. Shamefully but successfully I passed the hurdle. I thanked my protectors in my mind, went to the tree and was relieved and happy that my things were still hanging on the branch. I collected them and returned.



This strip tease on the road is a daily affair during winter. Usually I manage to carry my things with me, but once in a way they do remain by the road side. I do not want to lose my cap and jacket. Apart from being very useful, they have sentimental value. My brother-in-law had brought them from Germany twenty years back. I use them every winter and they have been with me on every journey that I have made. (Every train and bus in our country is built with at least one window that does not close properly and all booking clerks and computers have been instructed/programmed to allot the seat/ berth by the side of that window, to me. While all my co-passengers sleep and snore, I spend the night pulling the window closed as it keeps opening up again,on its own. My jacket and cap help reduce my distress.)

My wife suggests that I carry a shoulder bag on my walks to put my things in, but my children say that I will find the bag even more convenient and handy for hanging them on the branch! I do not know what to do. I believe Anil Ambani’s Mercedes follows him when he goes on his daily marathon run. Is it sensible to engage someone to follow me in my Maruti?

Monday, October 26, 2009

May his tribe increase - 2

When I was in second standard, I had read the story of a buffalo. I believe it was wallowing in the muddy water in a state of bliss. The owner thought it had enjoyed enough and was trying to get it out. He called out but the calls were ignored. He took a thick stick and hit the buffalo hard on its back. It made a big sound.

The buffalo felt it heard something and thought, “I hear some noise close by”
Second blow “I think someone is hitting something”
Third blow “Am I feeling anything on my back?”
Fourth blow “I feel a stick!”
Fifth blow “Someone hitting me, must be the master” and it slowly got out of water.

We were just like this buffalo in realising that there was something wrong with our new sofa set.

My wife had ordered the set after a search spreading over, believe it or not, twenty years! If I explain the process, it would be a novel on its own and I have no intentions of keeping you occupied for a week.

We were very happy that at last someone in this world had been able to produce something to suit our living room and installed it with due ceremony. The arm chair, a cane chair, a metal folding chair and two very old stools which had served in our living room over the years were considered unworthy companions for the new sofa set and were sent to spend their remaining life in the back room. We repositioned the TV and the telephone to suit the sofa and changed the window curtains to match the cushions. At last we had comfortable seating in our living room and we spent almost all our time at home on the new sofa and repeatedly exclaimed how comfortable we felt. Once I got carried away and slept on it putting my feet up and was severely admonished for my lack of sensitivity.

It was about two months later that my son first mentioned that though the sofa was very very comfortable he needed to re adjust his position every now and then to enjoy the comfort. But we believed that our sofa was next only to the mother’s womb and asked him to shut up and practice proper sitting posture.
Mr James Herriot, the veterinarian - author, writing about the inconveniences that he had to face in the cold barns of Yorkshire while calving, writes that if you need to know the most comfortable place in a barn, look where the cat is. Our son is our house cat. When he shifted to the swing, we should have known that the sofa is doomed. But we were not sharp enough. It was just the first blow.




Another two months went by before I discovered that if I sat on the sofa for long I started sliding down gradually and ultimately found myself in a very awkward position with my back on the seat and only the head on the backrest. I had started pulling a small foot stool closer, to rest my legs which were hanging without support. With lot of hesitation I expressed some doubts about the sofa but it was rubbished by my wife. She said that I am unable to remain stationary in a place for long and need to blame my fidgety limbs for that. I was not sure of myself and thought maybe she is right.

Some more months later I found my wife sitting on the sofa, sideways, with her back resting on the arm rest and her feet stretched out on the cushions. She said that she had better view of the TV screen that way and that she might have shifted to that position without her knowledge while she was preoccupied with the programme!

So, it was more than a year by the time we started getting serious doubts about the comfort level of our sofa and tried to find out what was wrong. After measuring the legs, seats, backrest and arms and experimenting by stuffing newspapers behind the backrest, below the cushions and elevating the front legs by placing magazines beneath them, we pin pointed the trouble. The seat of the sofa was higher at the back than in the front instead of being the other way and the inclination given to the back rest was more than normal. One and a half years had passed by the time we decided that our proud possession was defective.

We were very much upset. My wife cursed the carpenter and the friend who had recommended him. She cursed herself for buying the sofa and blamed me for agreeing with her decision without argument and fight, thereby eliminating chances of change of mind.

The sofa did not come with any guarantee/ warrantee, and I had not even kept the hand written receipt. More over we had no face to go to the manufacturer and point out the defect one and a half year after it was purchased. We had to live with it. But every time we sat on the sofa, we were reminded of our misfortune and so, it was shifted out of sight to my waiting room. My wife said that since my patients are very much pre occupied with their tooth ache and were prepared for bigger discomforts like my treatment, it did not matter if the seat was also a bit irksome. But I noticed that even when the waiting room was crowded, this sofa was empty and people preferred to stand outside in the compound rather than sit on it.
I knew that there was no point in complaining about it , two years after buying it, but could not resist the urge to tell the makers that they had bungled up our sofa and that we fools had failed to notice their blunder in time . There was nothing to lose anyway.
When I visited Margao the next time, I went across to M/s Keni enterprises and casually informed the clerk that we were not at all happy with our purchase. He said that he would inform the owner and get back to me. I did not expect anything more from him.

I was very much surprised to find an elderly gentleman at our door after two days who introduced himself as Mr. Keni, the proprietor of Keni enterprises. He said that he had come to see the sofa about which he had received a complaint and had brought his chief carpenter with him. He sat on the sofa for some time, asked the carpenter to take measurements, agreed that it was defective and apologised for having delivered a defective piece! He said that correcting the defect would mean almost redoing it but assured me that it would be done at the earliest.

The next week he sent a vehicle to collect the sofa, and fifteen days later we received our sofa back in brand new condition perfectly done. It had been dismantled, repaired and re polished. In the bargain, all the minor chippings and major scratches caused by my hammer, my son’s dumbbell and younger son’s cricket bat had also been eliminated. I am sure that Mr. Keni had incurred considerable trouble and expenses but he never mentioned anything and only called to enquire whether we were happy with the outcome.



I thanked him from the bottom of my heart and he brushed it off saying “This is how we maintain our reputation and relations.”

My car is still awaiting a new motor for the ‘power window,’ eight months after I was assured that it would be done in a week. My son’s lap top is with the service centre for the last two months awaiting arrival of a mother board or father board or whatever that was defective. I have paid a considerable sum for ‘additional warranty’ on both these and am yet to derive any benefit out of it. When this is the state of the world I am living in, I just can’t help expressing my heartfelt gratitude for Mr Keni and wishing “may his tribe increase.”

PS: I have no particular interest in trying to increase the population of our already over populated country by my wishes. When I was in high school, we had a poem which began “Abu Ben Adam, may his tribe increase! Awoke one night from a dream of peace!.” It was one of the very few that I have been able understand till date. I liked the phrase for no particular reason and have tried using it when I got a chance.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Going Bananas!


“Oh god, this banana and the bird story once again”

Please don’t clutch your head, curse your destiny and the day you started looking at my blog. I am not saying anything about the banana and the bulbul. I posted this picture only to share the pleasure of looking at home grown bananas. Mind you, the pleasure will be only of LOOKING AT and not eating.

We cut this bunch and hung it five days back and it is ripening now.

About a dozen is reserved for the almighty as our offering. (Gratitude for what he has given and inducement to give more).
A dozen for the lady who gave us the sapling. (You need a plant to get bananas. Right?)
A dozen for the neighbour who never talks with us but let the plant lean on to his compound. (Actually the bunch was hanging in his space on a flowering plant and spoilt it)
A dozen for a friend of mine whom we consulted about the right time to cut the bunch from the plant. (He made three visits and is our consultant)
A dozen for the other neighbour who was looking at the bunch hungrily every day. (If we eat it with out sharing with him we will get stomach ache – so the saying says)
A dozen for the family who gave us a dozen out of THEIR first bunch. (Good will. Return the courtesy)
A dozen for my in-laws who are leaving today. (very orthodox. 70+. Don’t eat anything prepared out side the house. They have a 18hr travel ahead. Both diabetics. Will eat only plantains which their physician has warned them never to touch)

People who know about bananas say that if a bunch is of good quality it will not contain more than 60-70 fruits. i have not counted the fruits. If our bunch contains fruits worth eating, I am not likely to get any. If I get any it is not likely to be worth eating. So, I am trying to be happy LOOKING AT it.

Friday, October 16, 2009

CHEAP THRILL

One of my friends is an elderly gentleman in his sixties but filled with the energy, enthusiasm and abilities of thirties. Confident. Always right. Knowing everything and no doubts about anything.

When I reversed my car into the roadside ditch and managed to push it deeper with my efforts to get it out all by myself, was looking foolish and helplessly wringing my hands - he came, he saw, got into the driver’s seat, moved and kicked all the levers and pedals simultaneously and brought it out in a minute. He also gave me a lecture about reversing and retrieving cars but I was not in a condition to absorb the knowledge.

When my neighbour’s toddler pushed a pea up his nose and started wailing, all of us were running helter skelter clue less as to the course of action, expecting the child to choke and die any minute. We were searching for the doctor’s number (which was nowhere around) and were attempting to remove the pea by hook or crook using pins, chisels and screwdrivers. Our man heard the commotion, strode in confidently, assured the parents that there will be no harm as the child can breathe through the mouth if only other helpful neighbours allowed it to do so, held the child upside down by it’s legs, patted it on the head and got the pea out. A lecture on safe parenthood and first aid followed.

Another friend bought something in the supermarket and the clerk swiped his card for Rs 20,000 instead of Rs 200. The owner of the shop brushed off the incident, quoted nonexistent rules and regulations and packed my friend off with an assurance that once the money is realized, the excess will be returned. Friend returned home meekly and spent a sleepless night. Our dynamite heard about it, pumped courage into the man, dragged him to the store by his collar, twisted the ears of the owner and made him cough up Rs 19,800 on the spot. A lecture on proper care and cautious use of credit cards followed, Along with an advice not to bow down to ‘dadagiri’.

I always wished I had at least a fraction of his dynamism, foresight, knowledge and confidence.

He and his wife were going abroad by an early morning flight and he had planned to drive to the air port and leave the car with a friend living close by. They had finished their packing and kept all the necessary things together so that there will be no confusion or rush in the morning. He had checked the car the previous day and was satisfied that everything was in order.
He opened the car door in the morning and called for a piece of cloth to wipe the mist from the windshield. His wife came out with the cloth and just then a gust of wind pushed the main door shut with the keys inside.
All the luggage, the documents, the tickets and the keys were neatly placed on the table. All the windows and doors were latched securely.

When I answered the doorbell at 4.00 in the morning, I found an entirely different person whom I did not recognize at all. His shoulders were stooping, face had shrunk, he was sweating even in the early morning cold and cursing himself repeatedly for his stupidity. He had the phone numbers of all the help – the carpenter, the fabricator, the lock smith and so on but everything was inside the house. The whole world was peacefully asleep, It was getting late and he did not know what to do!
As we usually do at such times we started going round and round the house hoping for a miracle. There was another gust of wind and somewhere a window shutter banged. We ran there and found one shutter open but there was the grill. I remembered that I had treated a man for tooth ache recently who had said that he was a carpenter. I managed to retrieve his telephone number from the haphazard entries of my day book. (I note the telephone numbers of all my patients but it never goes into their records). Just a few days back he had woken me up at three in the morning and so I knew he would not refuse my request. He arrived in ten minutes, removed the grill, entered the house and opened the door. The couple reached the airport on time and I was happy that I was of some help for them.

My friend was happy that everything ended Ok but was cursing himself for being careless and leaving a window unsecure!

I always longed to be like him but had a cheap thrill seeing him looking stupid and silly like me for once!

Saturday, October 10, 2009

No Thoughts

It is nearly two weeks since my last post. Once the final draft is done and the piece posted, the mind is free. It remains so, for three to four days. Then some sort of mental itch starts. It is time to start the next post. A bit of mental scratching keeps the itching at bay for another three or four days. But as days progress the itching gets stronger. I try to get relief by physically scratching the head and expect my action to produce some thoughts but it only produces dandruff and takes away some more hairs from the already thinning head. Now I really need to put in efforts to find something for the blog. I have noticed that I do get some ideas for a post when I am walking. There is some sort of a connection between my legs and brain. No, please do not conclude that my brain is below the knee caps like some sardarji’s brain. I am almost sure that it is in my head but somehow connected to the legs. So I walked nearly twenty five kilometres in three days. In fact, once I went so far during my morning walk, that I had to take an auto and come back home. The walking only wore out my sandals and worsened my knee pain. No thoughts.

Then suddenly out of the blue some idea got into the head and something started brewing. But some personal matter got into the gas pipe obstructing it and the burner went off. I haven’t had time to see what happened to the ingredients. They might have turned cold but I have not emptied the pot and am sure they are still there. Once the obstruction is cleared I should be able to cook up something. Till then, bye.

Monday, September 28, 2009

MAY HIS TRIBE INCREASE!


A swinging half door separates my waiting room from the treatment area. From my working position I can see half of any one standing behind those doors and when I notice two fidgeting legs in a pair of brown trousers and the collar of a striped shirt (held in the hand) hanging over them, I know it is Mr. Pillai. He always comes to the clinic on his way back from his work and always carries the shirt of his uniform in his hands in a crumpled bundle. He does not wear it to work as all his colleagues do, nor does he carry it folded in a bag. The crumpled bundle of shirt will be on the table in front of him in the library and next to his plate in the hotel. Visiting my clinic is a deviation from Mr Pillai’s twenty eight year old routine, necessitated because of tooth ache. Otherwise he would have got down from the factory bus near my clinic, walked to the library, spent an hour there reading magazines and news papers and moved on to the park for half an hour on the bench listening to the music from the public address system of the municipality. From there he would have proceeded to the hotel for dinner and walked back to his room.

Pillai is a peculiar person. Well, all of us are peculiar in our own ways. He is a little more peculiar than others. He is a bachelor and stays alone in a rented room not very far from my clinic. He is working in the same factory, staying in the same room and eating in the same hotel for the last twenty eight years. He has been a regular in my clinic for nearly ten years and what started as a purely patient-dentist relationship has now turned into friendship. Still, he is very formal as far as appointments, treatment and payments are concerned, but he can’t help adding a touch of his idiosyncrasies.

When he takes an appointment he makes me write it down using a pencil and insists that I cancel or change it if I come across any other urgent case. “I am not sure of keeping up the appointment doctor. I do not know what exigencies arise in the factory. I have to listen to my bosses. Private factory you see, we are slaves. Any way I am free all evenings and you can put me any other time. I give you absolute freedom to cancel or postpone my appointments.” But he never misses an appointment. He is always there five minutes before time. If he is called in on the dot he will be very happy. If I make the mistake of taking his words at face value and utilize the liberty to alter the appointment, he stands next to the half door scratching his beard and fidgeting. He neither sits in the waiting room nor stands outside and his presence behind the door upsets me. I hurriedly finish the case at hand and Pillai will rush in thanking his stars for not making him wait very long. But if anyone else is waiting, he will remain at the door and will ask the other person to get in first. “I am always your patient doctor. I can wait. Others may get fed up of waiting and go away. Attend to them first. You should not lose your customers.” I have to overrule his offers and pull him in. In case I take up any other case, he continues to stand at the door fidgeting, waiting for his chance and if I post pone the appointment for another day his spirits go down completely. But he will urge me again “write my name in pencil doctor. If there is any other urgent case………….”

Initially when he started visiting my clinic he was very apprehensive. After two extractions, three root canals and umpteen fillings he is somewhat relaxed but still sits gripping the handle of the chair tight. I tell him to take any position that is comfortable to him (I mean as comfortable as one can be while undergoing dental treatment) and retain it. He can’t. As I bend my head, strain my neck or shift my position to get a better view while working, he keeps shifting his head, neck and body in the opposite direction in what he thinks to be an effort to make it easy for me, but actually making my job much more difficult.
And then there is his handkerchief. It is normal for all my patients to spit out the water collected in the mouth from the water spray attached to the drill. And all of them keep a napkin or a tissue in their hands to wipe their mouth. Mr Pillai carries his hand kerchief with him but it is always kept neatly folded in the back pocket of his trousers. Every time he rinses his mouth, he slides down to reach his back, takes the kerchief out, uses it, folds it neatly and keeps it back in his pocket. Within a minute he needs to take it out again for use and I have to wait till the exercise is finished. I suggest that he keep it in his hands but he never does. I keep wishing that his shirt and handkerchief change their places, But they never do.
My biggest woe while treating him is his beard and mustache. Mr.Pillai hails from a small town in Kerala and visits his native place once a year to meet his family members and have a haircut and shave from a particular barber there. He never goes there in between and never visits any other barber in Ponda. Also, he does not trim his hair himself. For the most part of a year he sports an overgrown head and a flowing beard. I need an extra pair of hands to push aside his mustache and beard and since I do not possess them I suffer a lot while attending to his teeth. He tries to help me out by pushing aside his mustache with his fingers, causing additional obstruction.

I was doing a root canal for his wisdom tooth and it was impossible to get a proper view of the tooth which was behind the veil of his mustache. I suggested that he trim his mustache and he made a wry face and offered vague excuses for not being able to do so. I told him that barbers are our professional ancestors and we dentists sort of have it in our blood and offered my services to trim it but it was not accepted. I tried my hand at working by ‘feel’ without actually seeing the tooth and damaged the next tooth. So, I refused to attend to him unless he trimmed his mustache and how he does it was his business. He came for the next appointment cleanly shaven. I congratulated myself for being able to alter one of Mr Pillai’s habits without realizing that I was working against my own interest. I finished his treatment without speaking anything about his mustache. It was weeks later that I learnt from one of his neighbours that Mr Pillai had summoned his barber from his native place paying a hefty fee apart from providing for his travel and lodging!
Mr Pillai is extra careful with his health. “You see doctor, I am a bachelor. I need to look after myself. There is nobody to take care of me if I fall ill”. He needs to eat properly to be healthy and so has to care for his teeth. Hence he comes to the clinic many times with trivial complaints and fears. In the last two weeks he came to my clinic thrice and all the three times there were no other patients and I was spending time reading the news paper.
“What is this doctor? I see no patients in your clinic”
“It is nice once in a way. I enjoy the leisure and find time to indulge in other activities for which I usually do not find time”
“No doctor. You should not take it easy. It is your business. If there are no patients how do you run your home and clinic? Your children are still studying.”

He was worried.

I assured him that the situation was not so bad and attended to him on the spot. Since the procedures were very minor, I refused to accept any payment.

The third time he said “Doctor, You have to accept some money. There are no other patients and if you do not take anything from me how will you manage?"
I just joked saying that if I can not run my clinic, I will close it down and try to live on whatever pension I get.

"That is what I am worried about. And that is why I am forcing you to charge me.If you cannot earn enough, you may shut down your clinic and then what am I going to do for MY TEETH?”

Mr Pillai cannot change his dentist and if I close down what will he do?

That’s when I realized that by trying to change Mr Pillai’s habits I was working against my own interest.

Mr Pillai is a bachelor but I cannot help but wish MAY HIS TRIBE INCREASE.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

I am still here

The monitor of my computer and the TV tube in my clinic, both conked almost at the same time two weeks back. I was thinking of junking both, but did not know how to manage with out them. I am addicted to the computer and my patients to the TV in the waitng room. One of my friends recommonded a man who came with in an hour after calling him and he replaced some transisitors or capacitors or whatever and both my gadgets are functioning again. god bless the fellow.

By then my son came over from the hostel for holidays and he has left his laptop at his hostel. My 'Katari' desk top is occupied twenty four hours. when he sleeps he leaves instructions that I should not disturb the computer as some down loading will be going on.I got to type a few words today after pushing him out on some unwanted errand. This is just to say that I am stil there. I can hear the bike. bye.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Ganapati is taken.

I am following up on my last post. If any one of you are thinking of getting hold of Lord Ganapati, it is too late. I had misjudged the popularity of the lord.

One of my friends came to the clinic this morning. As he walked in, he had to pass the shelf on which I had placed the wallplate. He saw it and stopped in his tracks. “Arey, Dagadu Sheth Ganapati. How beautiful! Where did you get this?” he exclaimed.
I told him that one of my friends whose tooth I removed, had given it to me. (I did not mention it was in lieu of my fee.)
“You are lucky. This Ganapati is very powerful. Keep it in some nice place and put a red flower on it everyday.”
I asked him if he liked it?
“Yes. It is very nice.”
I told him that if he has no objections he can take it.
“No, No, who ever gave it to you, did so with the intention that you should have it. I can’t take it”
I told him that I have had it for few days and now I intend that he should take it. I also told him that I did not know the worth of it and did not even recognize it as Dagadu Sheth Ganapati. I added that since he reveres the lord and is very knowledgeable about him, he is the right person to have it.
He accepted it gratefully and said “Today is sankashti.(a day in the lunar calendar month specially suited for worshipping Lord Ganapati) On top of it, it is a Tuesday. A very rare and auspicious combination. We are having Ganapti pooja at home this evening. I am feeling as if the lord has come home for the purpose. I have an old Ganapati photo above my table in my office. After today’s pooja, I will place this there and remove the old one. It is a very good day today.” He thanked me profusely and left.

I could not help compare his reaction with mine “Oh god, one more Ganapati. What am I going to do with this. I will keep it out here and if somebody says it is nice, I will offer it to them. Why do people give these things and put me in trouble?”

I can never stop wondering about the variety in human nature.

Incidentally Dagadu Sheth Ganapati is the most famous and popular amongst all the ‘sarvajanik’ Ganapatis in Pune. Lakhs of people wait in mile long queue for his darshan and the jewellery that he is wearing is pure gold and diamonds worth crores.

Now the interesting part of the story is that this friend of mine had come to my clinic to fit the voltage stabiliser that he had repaired, and he usually does not charge me anything for his services. I had been feeling that I should pay him something and since you have already understood the interesting part, I will not waste anymore words.

Monday, September 7, 2009

A Ganesha as my fee.


Do you like this Ganapati wall plate? If yes, would you like to have it? No. It is not for sale and i am not trying to develop a side business, selling things. I will be giving it free of cost and will bear the postage too. To put it straight, I am just trying to get rid of this wall plate. No ill will or hard feelings between me and the lord of intelligence. It is not the lord’s fault that he happens to be a favourite of makers of artefacts and it is not my fault trying to get rid of unwanted artefacts. it is just that.

Wondering of what use could it be? You may use the plate for real godly purposes like lighting an incense stick in front of it and offering prayers, or for displaying it in the living room to show that you are god-fearing and also benefit from it’s ‘positive’ or ‘satvik’ vibrations. You may nail it on the wall of your bedroom and look at it the first thing in the morning, so on and so forth.
If you do not have inclinations towards divinity, you may use it for the more earthly purposes like giving it as your contribution to your child’s school ‘bazaar day’(where the teacher is pestering your child to bring something and you don’t intend giving anything), or as a gift for birthday, wedding, house warming or any such occasion (where you don’t really feel like giving a gift but are forced to, because of social obligations) and if you do not find any other use, you may use it in lieu of fees to any doctor friend who does not charge you but you feel obliged to pay. The options are many.

This is the fourth Ganapati artefact that I have received as payment for my treatment. Apart from these, I have two ‘Geetopadeshas’ , (I need not explain what ‘Geetopadesha’ is . You know it is Krishna-Arjuna-four horses and a chariot. Anjaneya on top for additional effect) one clock having a border and numbers made of shells and another clock placed between the beaks of two bright coloured birds (no batteries in them, I mean in the clocks, but I will put a ‘eveready heavy duty’- free), two pen stands containing pens that do not write (I will replace the refills for you), two glass vases (which cannot hold any flowers but are ‘showpieces’ in their own right) , one boat made of something like match sticks (please remember it is not meant to go in water),two table calendars (validity fifty years)and four books on Sri Saibaba. Proof enough that the last option I have mentioned in the third paragraph is very much in vogue.

I have given you a choice. If you want to look at the other objects, I don’t mind sending photographs. Please let me know your selection and it will reach you within a week. None of the objects have any inscriptions stating who gave them to whom and when. All those who have handled them have been very considerate. This is a once in a life time offer and will not be repeated under any circumstances. In fact after listing the possibilities of usage, I am tempted to keep everything for myself. But I have made an offer and I will stick to it. Mine is a gentleman’s(?!) word and not an election manifesto. Incidentally we have four marriages coming on and I can find use for some of these if I do not find “no presents or bouquets please” or “your blessings are our presents” in the cards. My wife insists that those words are meant to remind us about the presents, but I disagree. She is gifted with an ability to read what is not written and hear what is not spoken. My limited intelligence makes me stick to what is written and spoken. I am dwelling up on the objects and their utility and am straying from what I started with. Let me say what I actually had in mind.

My left thumb and the right middle finger, both have hardened and knotted skin at the sides and feel like plastic rope. It is because of the continuous friction with the handle of the mouth mirror held in the left hand and the dental drill which is held in the right hand. Apart from the skin irritation, my profession has also given me a perpetually sore back and neck. I punish my body so that I can nurture it (an irony) and to be able to do that I expect to be paid for my pains(literally) if not for my service.
I should say that most of my patients pay without a grudge or grumble. But there are a good number who make me work hard not only to fill their teeth but also to make them fill my pocket. The hardening skin on the tip of my right forefinger (which I have not mentioned above) is because of my efforts in ringing them again and again and requesting payment.

Even though I like to get paid for my efforts, there are certain cases where I am happy to offer my services free. As in the case of close relatives, friends and colleagues and such others. A majority of them accept the services and express their feelings with a simple smile, few words of gratitude or a heartfelt ‘thanks’. That is all that is expected. Few of them send some eatables or fruits which serve the above mentioned objective (of nurturing the body) and is OK. But there are some who cannot accept free treatment, do not insist on paying full charges and cannot just keep quiet. The personal relation is neither this way nor that way. They would like to make a token payment some way or the other and end up paying me with “Ganesha”, “Krishna” or a clock (incidentally costing much less than my usual fees), that I can neither keep nor throw out. After the gift is handed over they are free in mind and I am put in trouble. I wish I can recognize these cases and charge them well. Better have hard cash than hard feelings.

Now, any takers for my offer?

Sunday, August 30, 2009

My Assistant

My assistant is working with me for the past five years. She arranges the instruments, Hands me appropriate instruments and materials while working, and clears up after the case. I have taught her the use of dozens of different materials that we handle in our day to day work and she has mastered the techniques. She keeps stock of everything from washing soap and tissue paper to X ray films and anaesthetic solution. She develops and washes the exposed X ray films and will start root canal treatment if I allow her. But I do not want her to get complacent.

So, I keep saying
“You should have put little more zinc oxide powder while mixing the cement”
“Mercury is more in silver amalgam”
“The Xray is very light. You should have put it in the developer, little longer”
“Look at this air bubble in the plaster model. It will make it week. You should be careful while preparing models.”
“See that you place all instruments used for filling in one tray, don’t put them here and there”
“You take hell lot of time to thread the suture needle. You should be fast.”
“Don’t wait till the last syringe is used. Keep an eye on the stock and call the supplier in time” etc etc.

She was not well for about three days and after that her grandmother died. I am forced to do all the work that I had taught her five years ago. It is one week of self help now.

I mixed dental cement for a filling and it was hard by the time I took it near the patient’s mouth. I have not mixed cements for years and have lost touch. I mixed again and managed to load it into the cavity but the cement did not harden even after ten minutes. The patient could not wait any longer and spat out everything. I got the consistency perfect, the fourth time. I don’t think that the patient will keep up the next filling appointment.
I had sent a pair of plaster models (upper and lower jaw) to the lab for making false teeth and got them back with a note saying that the models are full air bubbles and probably belong to two different individuals.
I really do not understand how the extraction forceps always ends up in the in the filling instruments tray.
Since I could not get the suturing thread into the needle at all, I had to call my wife down. Lucky, that my house is just above my clinic.
I am also lucky that the pharmacy is very close. I could run and get hypochlorite in ten minutes for the next root canal. I had not noticed that I had exhausted the stock.

I am waiting for my assistant to return and have decided to keep my mouth shut and work.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Happy Ganesh

“Happy Ganesh” is a very common greeting that you will come across in Goa, at ‘Ganesha chaturti’ time. It is not ‘Happy Ganesh chaturti’ or ‘Happy Ganesha festival'or any such thing. Just ‘Happy Ganesh’, short and neat, whatever it means.

I do not know how ‘Happy’ lord Ganesh will be this time, finding himself the subject of a controversy between artistic expression and religious sentiments.
One of the well known artists of Goa Dr. Subodh Kerkar drew some pictures, ‘inspired’ by lord Ganesha ‘commemorating’ Ganesha chaturti. They were timed to be on exhibition for eleven days during ‘chaturti’ , but now, the duration is reduced to two days under police protection. Hindu Janajagruti Samiti and Sanatana saunstha are protesting the exhibition saying that the pictures hurt religious sentiments.
“I am as religious as any of you and a devotee of Lord Ganesha” Dr. Kerkar claimes, “and painting these pictures, for me, is like performing ‘Arati’ to Lord Ganesh.”
What you see below is one of the many “Aratis”, that was in the news papers today.
Lord Ganapati, in ‘talk no evil’, ‘hear no evil’, ‘see no evil’ postures, for which lord Hanuman holds the copy right.



In my opinion these drawings are things that I may not care to take a second look at. I don’t think that anybody would have guessed that the artist has drawn ‘Ganesha’ if he had not labelled them so. I do not have any religious sentiment worth mentioning, and my knowledge of ‘art’ is restricted to appreciating sign boards, hoardings and number plates. Canvas, for me, is something they used to make shoes with and cover the trucks. But, one need not know the subject to give an opinion is it not?

People from other states, who connect Goa only with 'drinks', carnival (the famous writer from Goa Mr. Mario cabral e sa says that even that word is always spelt wrong. It should be ‘Carnaval’) and new year, may not be aware that “Ganesha chaturti” is the most important festival in Goa. The religious rituals are same as in many other states and enough noise is created by ‘Sarvajanik Ganesha mandals’. One difference in the traditional placement of the idol and accompaniments is the hanging of a canopy called ‘Matoli’ in front of the idol. All the seasonal vegetables and fruits are hung from a square wooden frame positioned horizontally at a height, in front of the ‘mantap’ (makhar-in Konkani) of the lord. Anything and everything goes into it. Cucumber, bittergourd, muskmelon, water melon, pumpkin, apple, arecanut, plantains, lady’s finger, brinjal, snake gourd, apple, custard apple, bread fruit, coconut, sweet corn- you name it, it is there.

Two days before the festival, market streets are full of the items used in the ‘Matoli’. Our Bazaar road is closed for vehicular traffic and these items are spread on both sides of the road for sale. I enjoy the sight and like the excitement in the air. The sellers are eager to sell their produce and make enough profit to sail over the festive season and the buyers trying to get the best for their ‘Matoli’ with minimum expense.
By afternoon on ‘chaturti’ there are neither buyers nor sellers on the road and the road is empty. Everyone is busy worshipping the lord and the sound of fire crackers and ‘ghumat’ -the traditional arati accompaniment, fills the air. the unsold matoli items wait to be consumed by stray cattle or to be collected by garbage collectors.
I went there early and managed to take some pictures before the street got crowded.




I feel this scene commemorates ‘Ganesha chaturti’ better. Happy Ganesh.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Trip to Bangalore.

We made yet another trip to Bangalore, last week. It was same as dozens of such trips that we have undertaken over the years. The trip begins with the proposal, fights over the dates, getting reservations done, preparations, fights over the quantity of luggage, the journey, running around Bangalore, ‘shopping’ and fights over purchases, the return journey and a big sigh of relief. Everything went as usual.

Myself and my wife are well aware of our roles and things almost always go smooth. Even the fights. Usually they are private affairs but an occaasional one may be a public performance. Most of our family members have witnessed our fights, intervened, and have realized the futility of their well intended efforts. People like the vegetable vendor at 'Gandhi bazaar' or an auto rikshaw driver who sometimes get the privilege, try to be of help.


We were buying vegetables with the intention of bringing them to Goa. There was a very cordial exchange of views regarding the quality and quantity of vegetables to be purchased. At some point of time the decibel level of my wife’s voice and facial contortions made it look like a heated exchange and attracted a very small crowd. This being an era of reality shows where peeping into any aspect of anybody’s life is OK, people did not want to miss out on this very real reality show. It benefitted the vegetable vendor also as some of the spectators who did not want to overtly display their interest, came over to his stall as if they intended buying vegetables, made some purchases and lingered on as customers. But the good fellow was not greedy. Once his quota of business for the day was achieved, he involved himself in our cordial exchange of views and placated my wife. "ಟೆನ್ಶನ್ ಮಾಡ್ಕೋಬೇಡಿ ಅಮ್ಮಾವ್ರೇ. ಯಜಮಾನ್ರಿಗೆ ತರಕಾರಿ ತಿಳಿಯಲ್ಲ ಬಿಡಿ. ಕೆಲವರು ಹಾಗೇನೆ. ನನ್ನ ಹತ್ರ ಇರೋದೆಲ್ಲಾ ಚೆನ್ನಾಗೇ ಇದೆ. ಚೀಲದಲ್ಲಿ ಇರೋದನ್ನ ವಾಪಸ್ ಹಾಕಿಬಿಡಿ. ನಿಮಗೆ ಯಾವುದುಬೇಕೋ ತೊಗೊಳ್ಳಿ." ("Don’t get tensed madam, your husband does not know to select quality vegetables. It is Ok. Some people are like that. Anyway, all my vegetables are fresh and good. If you don’t like what he has selected please put them back and select whatever you want").


The Auto rikshaw driver, equally well meaning no doubt, was actually the cause of trouble. He started the fire and then tried to douse it.

I was wearing a pair of shorts about which my wife had expressed her reservations in very clear terms.“These half pants are Ok in Goa, where you move around in your own circles. All of them are like you. Bangalore people are decent and you need to be decently dressed.” She continued, “More over, we are visiting elderly relatives with conservative views”. I made an offhand statement that half of Bangalore is now American and nobody bothers what the other is wearing. I also pointed out that what I was wearing was a designer half pant from ‘Wills life style’. Not some Bermuda purchased on the streets.

We went to see one of my aunts and as soon as I stepped in, she said “ಇದೇನೋ, ನಿಕ್ಕರ್ ಹಾಕ್ಕೊಂಡು ಬಂದ್ಬಿಟ್ಟಿದೀಯ" ("what is this I say, you are wearing a ‘nikkar’!"- 'nikkar',short for 'knicker' or 'knickerbockers'.) My wife gave me a burning look but did not elaborate vocally as we were in front of an elderly aunt and decorum had to be maintained. Later she had forgotten that. While returning, we got into an auto rikshaw in front of my aunt’s house and after some time the auto driver asked me whether I am coming back in his auto after dropping the lady? (my wife). I was puzzled by his question and asked him what makes him think so? “ಯಾಕೂ ಇಲ್ಲ ಸಾರ್. ನೀವು ಹೀಗೆ ಚಡ್ಡಿ ಹಾಕ್ಕೊಂಡು ಬಂದಿದೀರಲ್ಲಾ ಅದಕ್ಕೆ ನೀವೆಲ್ಲೂ ಇಳೀದೇನೆ ವಾಪಸ್ ಬರ್ತೀರೇನೋ ಅಂದ್ಕೊಂಡೆ".("Nothing sir, since you are wearing a ‘chaddi’ I thought that you may not get down anywhere and return to the house after dropping the lady”.)

“I told you to dress properly while in Bangalore. At least when you are with me. Everybody is commenting on your dress. I feel ashamed. Designer shorts! my foot.” The rikshaw fellow tried to console my wife “ಹೋಗಲೀ ಬಿಡೀ ತಾಯಿ. ಯಾಕೆ ಕೋಪ ಮಾಡ್ಕೋತೀರಿ? ಯಜಮಾನ್ರಿಗೆ ತಿಳೀಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಒಬ್ಬೊಬ್ರಿಗೆ ಹಾಗಾಗುತ್ತೆ. ಇರಲಿಬಿಡಿ." ("It is alright madam. don't get angry. your husband did not know. some people are like that. leave it.")
My wife hissed in my ears “Look at my fate. I have to listen to rikshaw drivers and vegetable vendors because of you.”

Other than these episodes rest of the trip went off well. During our return journey by train, my wife slept and I weaved in and out of sleep. I was thinking about the happenings in Bangalore and the above mentioned episodes overshadowed other things. I was feeling a bit low because the opinion poll in Bangalore had clearly stated that my mental abilities need improvement. It was some time very early in the morning and the train had stopped somewhere probably for a crossing. I wanted to know where we were. I was peeping out of the window, trying unsuccessfully to read the name of the station in the semi darkness without my glasses, when I found my vision blocked. One bearded character was in front of the window directly staring into my face. He had a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

“Want some tea?”
“No thank you.”
“You know who I am?”
“No I don’t. Sorry”
“My father is Venkoba rao ganapat rao desai. Grandfather , Ganapatrao duggoji rao desai.
“I see.”
“Mother, Kamala bai, grand mother, Rukmini bai.”
“Nice to know.”
"My sister, Sudha bai. Another sister Girija bai."
“Ok”
“I am from Kolhapur. Sisters in Belgaum”
“Ok”
“Somebody hit you?” (I had stuck my head on a shelf in my cousin’s place and was sporting a 'Band Aid on my forehead.)
“No, I hit my head on a shelf this morning.”
“Sometimes people hit me. You know who I am?”
“Sorry I don’t.”
“I am Chatrapati Shivaji Mahaaraj. Remember that.”
By then the train was hooting and another gentleman came running.
“You idiot, what are you doing here? The train will leave. Come” then he addressed me,
“He is mentally imbalanced sir. Wherever the train stops he gets down and runs away. It is good that he stopped to talk to you. By the way, did he annoy you?”
“No.” I assured him. “In fact he made me feel much better”

That was truth. Though doubts had been raised about them, my mental faculties were definitely better.