Elections In Karnataka

Today is the election for Karnataka assembly. I remembered it when I saw the Goa - Belgaum, Goa - Hubli (and onward) buses crowded. I see them every day and they are usually empty. I will come to the crowded buses shortly.

It is a pity that all the parties in Karnataka have fielded people with proven track record of illegal mining. There is no hope for the state which even during British raj was famous for people oriented policies and activities. One of the less than half a dozen princely states amongst more than five hundred said to have been pro people. It was being ruled by Sri Krishnaraja wodeyar and was being administred by likes of Sir Vishweshwariah then. If anyone sees any hope for the state even today it is because of the inherent goodness of the people of the state and in spite of the best efforts of the politicians to ruin it.

Coming to the crowded buses, there are thousands of people who are natives of Karnataka villages working as manual labourers in Goa. Many of them still have their voting rights in Karnataka. These people are approached during election times by the party agents and are paid to and fro charges to their villages plus one or two thousand rupees per vote. The money is paid in Goa in advance. They can just keep the money and forget the election. But these sincere and honest labourers travel hundreds of kilometers in crowded buses, sometimes standing all the way to go and vote for the person who paid them. They know that they are not supposed to sell their votes but the lure of cash is very strong. And having accepted the money they do what they had promised.

I hope against hope that one day we will be rid of this evil but for the time being I wish that the people who paid the money were at least half as honest and sincere in their job as those who received it. 

Sarabjit Singh

Sarabjit Singh was attacked in a Pakistan jail while he was there waiting for the noose to go round his neck. Pakistan says he was a terrorist and he was found guilty by a Pakistani court. We (Indians) say that he was innocent and his capture was a case of mistaken identity. Sarabjit died in Pakistan and his body was sent back to India. We hear of many such cases in India too. Some ‘terrorist’ arrested or killed in Kashmir and his family and friends claiming him ‘innocent’. We, staying thousands of kilometers away and reading these things in news papers and seeing accusations and counter accusations on the TV have no chance of learning the truth. We watch these things impassively. It is just another piece of news for us.

Now if Sarabjit Singh was innocent, my sympathies for his family. He suffered unnecessarily because of the enmity between the two countries. The government has offered one crore for his family as compensation. He has been labeled a martyr and a state funeral is held. The Punjab CM -Badal and future PMhopeful - Rahul attended the funeral.

As I hear, Sarabjit Singh crossed over the border between India and Pakistan without noticing it because he was drunk. He was arrested and the outcome was unfortunate. What is even more unfortunate for us is the attitude of our politicians who do not think twice before turning any incident into a part of their vote catching exercise. They turned an unfortunate drunkard into a martyr, fired emotions, attended his funeral and handed over public money to the family hoping that it would buy them lot of votes.

I read about people hurling shoes at them. I wish I had the guts to go and kick them.

Understanding Each Other

Wednesday and Saturdays are the market days in Ponda. My wife believes that we get better quality and variety vegetables on those days and expects me to visit the market and get the best. I try to pretend that I have forgotten about the market and open the news paper. She snatches the paper from my hand and thrusts a shopping bag.  I obey the orders, go to the market and bring back a bagful. My wife empties the bag.

“Why did you bring French beans?”

“They were fresh and tender. Price was also very reasonable”

“But didn’t you remember eating it yesterday and also the day before? I just managed to clear what you had brought last week and you have purchased another two kilos. What will I do with them?”

I have no answer. She goes to the next item.

 “Brinjal. They look at least a week old. Look at the stalk. Brown. How many times have I told you to buy Brinjal only if the stalk is green. I send you to the market hoping to get good vegetables and you bring this rubbish.”

“Forget Brinjal. I have brought ‘Paalak’ also(spinach). You wanted ‘Paalak’ didn’t you?” - me

“I did tell you to bring ‘Paalak’ but it does not mean that you have to bring it even if it is rotting. You act like ‘Peddu Gunda.’”  (meaning the hero of the story ‘Gunda the idiot’ - Gunda’s granny sent him to work and he was given some butter as wages. He brought it home in his hands in the hot sun and it had melted and gone by the time he reached home. Granny said what was given to him should have been placed in a container full of water and brought home. Next day he was paid wheat flour as wages. He poured it into a container full of water and brought it home………… so on the story goes)

She takes a short break to regain her breath and continues

“Today being Wednesday I was hoping that I will get good vegetables and that I need not bother about buying vegetables for another week. You have brought three items out of which two are useless and one that we have eaten all of last week.  And what I wanted most was coriander and lemons both of which you have forgotten. Oh my god. When will you understand me?”

This is a sample conversation which follows my arrival from the vegetable market. Items, adjectives and exclamations may vary but the gist and tone is generally the same.  So, now I have learnt. This week I refused to go to the market unless she came along. We went to the market together.

We were about to enter the vegetable market when she remembered that we had to stock up on groceries and some other stuff too. Since we were close to the super market we decided to go there first.

To save time (and to shop peacefully) we parted at the entrance, one to go clockwise and the other anticlockwise. We met somewhere in the middle and looked into each other’s shopping baskets.

“You got Clinic anti dandruff!  Nice. I had emptied the bottle the day before but had forgotten about it.” - Me

“I saw you throwing the empty bottle. I know that you do not use any other shampoo and these are not always available. So I took two.”

She saw the handle of the broom sticking out of my basket.

“You noticed that the broom had worn out! I never knew you looked at such things. I had been meaning to buy a new one but I always forget. Good that you took it.”

I looked deeper into her basket.

“Apricot jam! wonderful. I did not know that new stock had arrived. I was fed up of that mixed fruit” 

“I know that you hate mixed fruit and that’s why the moment I saw this I picked it up.” -wife

Now her eyes fell on the ‘Shrikhand’ ( a sweet) I was holding in my other hand and she looked lovingly at the jar containing the next half  kilo of her weight.

“Oh, Chitale Shrikhand, Mango! Where did you get it? I did not see it in the cold store.”

 “I noticed that you like to have some dessert after dinner these days and I also know that you love this. It was being unloaded from the van just now. I requested and got a jar. They have not stocked it in the fridge yet.”

So on and so forth our exchanges went. We had almost read each other’s minds and got everything that we required. Great team work. How well we understand each other! It was a lovely feeling.

We carried the two heavy baskets to the billing counter but we did not feel the weight at all. We deposited the bags on the counter and the clerk billed them.  I was very happy with our new found camaraderie but at the same time I was a bit uneasy. This was not like us. Somewhat unnatural .

“One thousand six hundred and forty eight” said the billing clerk.

My wife looked at me and nodded, asking me to pay.

“You pay. I only have about two hundred rupees with me” - Me

“How will I pay? I haven’t brought my purse. Haven’t I told you that I will not carry my purse when you are with me?”

“But I have told you at least hundred times not to be a fool and always carry money with you. Now don’t blame me.”

“You are the one who was supposed to visit the market. I joined you only to make sure that you buy good vegetables. It was your responsibility to keep enough cash”

“Vegetables were my responsibility. I have enough for that. I did not expect you to buy half the super market”

By now those behind us in the line were getting jittery though happy with a bit of free entertainment to break the monotony of waiting. Some necks had stretched forward to catch our words better. My wife hissed.

“Everyone is watching us. It is so embarrassing. You always put me in such situations. Now leave those baskets there on the counter. Go home and get some money. I am going to the vegetable market.”

She snatched the two hundred from my hand and rushed out. I came out of the supermarket and as I started the scooter I was feeling normal once again. We had got over our understanding phase and everything was fine!

Testing Times.

The girl in the later stages of pregnancy walked in slowly, followed by her parents. Her eyes were red and she had a hand on her jaw. Her suffering was evident.

She stood trembling and looking around apprehensively at the chair, my instrument cabinet, villainous looking equipment and me, villainy personified.

“She is having a bad tooth ache since three days doctor. We showed her gynaecologist. He asked us to see the dentist.”   - Father

“She is eight months doctor. She has not been able to eat anything since three days and whole night she has not slept. I put a clove in her teeth and I applied ‘Vicks’ but there is no relief” - mother.

“Did you apply Vicks to the tooth!?”

“No doctor, only outside. Should I apply to the tooth also?”

“No, No. Please don’t. What you have done is more than enough.” I could not help a sarcastic tone. I prepared myself for another ordeal. First pregnancy is a new experience for a girl and she is apprehensive  about the welfare of her child and herself. There is considerable physical discomfort and restrictions. On top of this the tooth ache and the fear of dental treatment which has been labelled  as one of the worst experiences. She is under lot of stress. I have had the experience of treating young pregnant ladies with tooth ache before and it is a troublesome combination. For the dentist I mean. I am sure it is troublesome for the lady too but I always end up feeling I suffer more.

I directed the girl to sit in the chair. She looked horrified.

“Are you going to pluck out the tooth?”

“No. Don’t worry. I will not do any such thing. I will only look at your tooth.”

The girl went near the chair, stopped and looked at it as if expecting it to pounce on her any moment. Since it remained in place and did not growl, she went closer and got on to the chair. With difficulty. Everything feels difficult during later stages of pregnancy. I can understand, even without firsthand experience. Parents were hovering around anxiously.

“I think it is the second last tooth. But actually I can’t make out which tooth it is.” - Girl

“Let us hope I can make out. Let me take a look”

I switched on the light, asked her to open the mouth and prepared to examine. She opened her mouth and closed it before I could see anything.

“Please switch off that fan doctor, the breeze  increases the pain.”

I switched off the fan and bent down once again. While inserting the mirror in the mouth it brushed against a lower tooth.

“No, no, no, not that tooth doctor. It is in the upper jaw. Here”

I assured her that I will only see the upper jaw and bent down. Third time.

She raised her hand.

“Please doctor slowly. And please don’t poke”

I dropped my probe back into the tray and held up the mirror. I told her that I will only use the mirror and went closer.

Her hand shot up again.

“Just a minute doctor"  She pleaded. "Nothing is going to happen to the baby no?”

I told her that her child will be absolutely safe, pushed her head gently but firmly in to the head rest and bent down. (Have you kept count? Yes. Fifth time).

Her mobile phone rang. In her bag.

“One minute, one minute doctor.”

She frantically searched for the mobile in her bag and found it after unzipping the fourth compartment. She took the call. Husband, is my guess. Long distance concern.

“Yes.Pain was very bad. Could not eat and no sleep - Yes. I am in the dentist clinic - No, we did not wait long. No patients here - Yes.I asked. He says no harm for the baby- No, No, I will ask our doctor also - Yes, I asked Sanju mama. He said this dentist is not bad.”  

I swallowed that and approached her mouth - successful this time. Sixth attempt. It was not difficult to locate the big crater and the garbage dump look around the tooth. The tooth had not been brushed for ages, probably because it had been troubling her whenever she tried to brush. I gently tested if it was moving and was about to tap it to see if it was tender.

“Yes, yes. That is the one doctor. Don’t touch”

“That tooth is very bad. You may have to get it rem……………” I had not completed the sentence.

 “No, no, no, I don’t want the tooth removed. They say it affects the baby.”

“Removing the tooth has nothing to do with the baby. But if you don’t want an extraction we may try to do a RCT.”

“Oh no, I have heard that it is very painful”

“I will guarantee that it will not cause any pain. (I had my own doubts about my statement but I did state it confidently) But it may take two or three sittings of thirty to forty minutes.”

“But doctor she cannot sit for long time in this position.  She feels very uncomfortable and feels faint if she sits like that for more than fifteen minutes” - mother

“Can’t we do the treatment after her delivery?”  - father

“If she can tolerate this pain till she delivers, it is OK” - I think I was sadistic.  

“No, No, I did not mean that. Can’t you do something temporarily to reduce pain?”

“She can try some pain killers and may be an antibiotic”

“No doctor. No medicines. They say these medicines have a bad effect on the child. We only give her homeopathy medicines which are safe.” -  mother

“You please ask your homeopathy doctor to give medicines for tooth ache and come to me after delivery”

 “He already gave medicines doctor, but there is no relief. Please do something.” 

You do not want an extraction. She can’t sit for RCT and I can’t give her any medicines. What do you expect me to do? Magic? - this is what I wanted to shout. But I didn’t.

“See, there is no harm in undergoing RCT or extraction. And some medicines are permitted even during pregnancy….” but the girl did not allow me to complete my sentence.

“Doctor, are you SURE it will not affect the baby?”

I checked myself. The dentist will be the first to be blamed for anything unfortunate.

“It will not. But don’t take my word for it. Consult your gynaecologist and get her opinion. If she says you can have an extraction I will remove the tooth. If she says you can undergo an RCT I will try to do something to relieve the pain in less than fifteen minutes. If she allows you to take painkillers, take them. Call me later for an appointment.” I pushed the ball firmly into the gynaecologist’s court and sent them off.

I felt sorry for the girl and cursed myself for having decided to study and practice dentistry.

They moved out discussing things amongst themselves.

I could hear some whispers near the door.

“Did you ask him about the fee?” - Mother

“He didn’t do anything no? And he didn’t ask also. Come” - Father

So that’s it. Half an hour of testing time. No treatment. No prescription. No fee!

Remember I called it an ordeal? You know why. 

Pati, Patni Aur Woh

I had finished my breakfast and was lying half asleep on the cot next to the window with the news paper hanging from my hands. I felt weight on my stomach and opening my eyes I found my wife and son bending over me in their attempt to get closer to the window. I tried to lift my head but it was pushed down firmly and my wife put a finger on her lips. I am always accused of not talking to her much and this was a welcome development. I put my head back on the pillow. After a few moments the weight lifted and I was allowed to rise. Looking out of the window I saw this female Koel feeding on what looked like some flowers on the tree next to our house.  My son wanted to get a photograph and did not want my head in the frame. He did get a good one.

 The Koel remained there eating for quite some time and then flew away. I went down to have a closer look at the dish which it had relished so much. It was eating these berry like things which looked like flowers (to my eyes - without my glasses) when viewed from my window. 

 I was in the same place (this time awake and actually reading the news paper) at the same time today when I heard some commotion near the tree. Looking out I found that the lady koel was there again accompanied by a male.  ‘Pati’ and ‘Patni’ (husband and wife) had arrived together for breakfast. I have no idea what they were arguing about. Possibly about selecting a place to sit for breakfast. We always do when we enter a hotel. No wonder there was commotion! The wife’s shrill, sharp and staccato voice was quite a contrast to her partner’s famous melodious call. But he was not in a singing mood then and was quiet. I wondered whether she always spoke like that or adopted the voice only when she was talking to her husband! ( Dr Salim Ali says that she is always like that - kik,kik,kik,kik,kik as he puts it ) By the time I got the camera they had stopped speaking to each other and were on different branches facing different directions. Breakfast outing was not going very well.

 The next moment I saw an outsider arriving there to complicate matters. The Large Green Barbet had joined the Koel couple. ‘Pati Patni Aur Woh’!. The wife was looking curiously at this intruder and obviously did not like her presence. Quite natural. Which ‘patni’ would like the presence of a slimmer and more colourful ‘Woh’ (she) around when things are not going too well between the couple?

 Having decided to get away from this unwanted intruder and deal with her husband in private, the Koel abandoned breakfast, pulled her husband and flew away. The intruder attempted to concentrate on the breakfast

After a few seconds she lost interest in eating, turned around and sat looking in the direction in which the Koel couple had flown, probably contemplating on her next move.

 And having concluded that intruding in others affairs definitely tastes better than breakfast  she took off in pursuit of the pair.

I sat looking at the empty branch for a while and since there was nothing better to look at there other than my neighbour’s  new Maruti Swift which only brought about twinges of envy, I left the place too. However, I will keep the tree under watch and get back if there is any more interesting activity.

Down The Memory lane (and bylanes) In Saraswatipuram.

Right from my child hood, that is nearly half a century down my memory lane, Mysore has been our favourite (rather, the only) holiday destination. I was in the city recently for yet another holiday and went out for a walk in the morning earlier than usual. My destination was the Kukkarahalli lake and instead of walking on the main road to the Manasagangotri end of the lake, I decided to go along the interior roads of Saraswatipuram and reach the other end. The wide streets of this well laid out locality, with many quaint houses having a curved frontage and metal mesh windows adding to the charm, are always a pleasure to walk. It was still dark and the light from the street lights, filtered by the canopy of the trees lining the streets, mixed with the light flowing out from the occasional open door provided the right amount of illumination. One or two ladies were already out washing their front yard prior to laying the traditional ‘Rangoli’ designs. There were no street dogs to bark at me and make me turn around and run for my life. Two wheelers and four wheelers were yet to roll on to the streets and disturb the carpet of flowers which the trees had spread under them overnight.   

Almost all the trees were in bloom and walking under them in the cool atmosphere enjoying the fragrance was a wonderful experience. The paper boys and the milk suppliers were still busy loading their bicycles and TVS 50s with their wares and yet to take to the streets. I walked along breathing deep to fill my lungs with as much of the fragrance as possible and emerged onto the Kantharaj Urs road near the Saraswatipuram fire station.

This fire station building, remaining as it was half a century ago, is at the center of my childhood memories of Mysore. My maternal uncle stayed on the Swimming pool road to the left of this station (now called Mahabhodi Road) and one of my aunts was on the third cross, just a street away, to the right of the same building. We moved a lot between these two places every day passing in front of or behind the building  but spent most of our time on the street in front of my uncle’s house where there was almost zero traffic and plenty of shade from the ‘copper pod’ trees which were full of yellow flowers and chirping birds. We played outside most of the time and when we felt like, ran inside to help ourselves from the cluster of Bananas which hung in a corner of the bedroom. I am partial to the Banana fruit and we have always had a bunch containing about a dozen in our house. But my uncle used to buy a whole cluster of eight to ten dozens and hang them in a corner. It was a novelty and a great experience to pluck the fruits from the cluster and eat them. Like plucking them out of the plant itself! Mysore has provided many such memories that I cherish but two of them stand out.

One was the episode of our hunting a parrot and the other was my learning to ride a bicycle.

The majority of the birds that were there on the tree in front of my uncle’s place were what we called ‘Parrots’. They could be ‘Parakeets’. Green birds with red beaks. We, myself and my cousin, were very keen to ‘hunt’ one. It may be because we wanted to see the effectiveness of the hand held ‘Catapults’ which we made using the fork of a small tree and rubber bands or may be because we wanted to test our prowess as hunters. It is possible that we only intended to hit and capture a parrot for keeping it as a pet. Whatever it was, we made a catapult especially for the purpose, using strips of rubber from an old cycle tube instead of rubber bands - for more power- and tested its accuracy by firing it on empty boxes. Having found it suitable for the purpose, we stood under the tree armed and ready. We selected a small pebble of the right shape and size, loaded the weapon, selected an unfortunate bird, aimed and shot. I was wielding the weapon. Having previous experience of the accuracy of my aim, we expected nothing to happen or just a flower or a few dry leaves to fall down. But to our utter disbelief and surprise, something small and feathery fell from the tree to the ground with a soft plop. We ran there and to our horror, found, instead of a happy and singing parrot ready to be our pet, a bleeding tiny yellow bird writhing in pain. As expected, my aim had missed the parrot but the pebble must have hit this bird. The sight of the tiny bird in agony, with blood oozing from its stomach deflated our valour in an instant and we were now full of remorse and were eager to save its life.  

To get out of our guilt we concluded that the bird was not hit by my stone but had been attacked by a crow exactly at the time when I had shot the catapult (even today I believe that was what exactly happened) and we tenderly carried the bird into the house. Evading his mother’s enquiries with vague answers, my cousin managed to procure a cardboard box, some cooked rice and a small receptacle for water. We lined the box with some cloth pieces, laid the bird in the box, placed rice and water next to it and waited for it to eat, drink and recover. It opened its eyes, looked at us (or may be we imagined that it did), tried to get on to its legs, collapsed and died. There was nothing else we could do. We cursed the crow, broke the catapult into pieces and conducted a solemn funeral for the bird behind the house.

Learning to ride a bicycle was a pleasurable and painful experience. What I mean is that the experience was a pleasure but the body had to endure considerable pain. Another cousin of mine who was much older than us and was a research graduate at the Mysore University then, had gone home for vacation and he had left his bicycle with my uncle for safe keeping. It was safe - till my sight fell on it. The presence of an ownerless bicycle lying unused triggered the dormant desire to learn cycling and I embarked up on it with gusto. I was found attached to this bicycle all my waking hours for the next week or so with a single minded devotion to the cause, almost matching Ekalavya. And, just like him, I did not have any ‘guru’ to teach me cycling.

The learning procedure was to push the bike to the top of the slope – the road in front of my uncle’s place was a slope beginning next to the fire station and ending at the intersection of this road with the one coming from the swimming pool, where there was a circle. (Now known as the JSS circle) – and then try to roll down the slope standing with the left foot on the left pedal and the right foot hanging freely, to learn ‘balancing’ the bicycle. Once that was achieved, the next step was to insert the right leg through the center of the triangular bicycle frame and get hold of the right pedal in what was known as the ‘Katri’  (scissors) maneuver. Very aptly named. This was because most of the bicycles then were of standard size, much bigger than the young learner and the learner  had to use the shortest way to reach both the pedals.

From there one promoted oneself to what was known as the ‘Bar’ – Riding the bicycle straddling the bar connecting the seat and the handle. For this, one had to grow enough and gain enough balance to swing the right leg over the bar and get hold of the right pedal.  In this position, with every effort of pushing the pedals down, the body and the bike alternately swung to the left and right dangerously and the bike moved in a zig zag way till the art was mastered.

The final position was the ‘Seat’ where you rode the bicycle properly sitting on the seat. One had to grow a lot before that could be achieved and it took years to be able to ride ‘Seat’ if one learnt cycling at a very young age.

My memory is wandering into the bylanes of cycling techniques. Please endure.

I had reached ‘Katri’ with ease but was fed up of pushing the cycle up the slope every time. Now was the time to maneuver the bike around the circle without stopping and ride to the top of the slope again. While attempting to successfully turn around the circle I fell dozens of times damaging my right knee, right elbow and the entire right side of the bicycle but by the end of the day I was proudly riding nonstop up and down the slope.

Before I left Mysore, I had mastered the art and had even ridden the bicycle all over Saraswatipuram with my hands off the handle! I have never felt so elated and felt that sense of achievement in my life again.

Immersed in my memories I had forgotten the Kukkarahalli lake and had reached the other end of the Mahabodhi road and by then the orange - red sun was coming up between the coconut palms. The tree tops which were a uniform black in the dark had turned into beautiful shades of yellow (copperpods), soft pink (rain trees), white (three different trees the names of which I could not get.  One of them is called ‘Honge’ in kannada) and blue (Jacaranda) with the sun rays playing on them.

As I turned towards Kuvempunagar, where I was staying, more doors were open and in front of the houses ladies were out sweeping their yards. The more enthusiastic ones were also sweeping the street in front of their houses removing the carpet of fallen flowers but making it look very neat and tidy. I crossed two more roads and found myself in front of the Javaregowda park in which the regulars had started their morning constitutional. Sitting comfortably in the shady, cool porticos of the beautiful houses next to the park with cups of morning coffee steaming beside them, few lucky people were opening their morning paper.

I am quite happy where I am, but at that moment I just could not help myself wishing that I was living there.

I could very well appreciate the sentiments of the great Kannada poet Pampa when he said “antavaraagi puTTaladEnaagiyumEnO teerdapude? teeradoDam maridumbiyaagi meN kOgileyaagi puTTuvudu nandanadoL Banavaasi deshadoL”. (While describing the land ‘Banavaasi’ and its people, Pampa says “I do not know how I can get to be born as one of them. At least as a bird or a bee, in that paradise called Banavaasi.”)

Well, Mysore may not exactly be the ‘Nandana’ (Paradise) that ‘Banavaasi’ was and I may not go to the extent of wishing ‘Maridumbiyaagi meN kOgileyaagi’ (at least as a bee or a bird) - but my feelings came very close to that. 

Camera courtesy : Vidya Shankar. I always like articles with pictures. If the writing is bad one can at least look at the pictures. Having seen Vidya’s photographs in Face book I was sure she has a good and working camera. Since she has posted a lot of bird pictures I knew that her camera is always charged and ready. (How is that for the Sherlock homes in me!)  The camera was good. Blurred image indicates my incompetence.

Identification of trees : Vidya Shankar

Computer courtesy : Anuradha and Nandakumar.  The number of my postings on this blog have crossed three hundred. I am now an experienced writer. My experience is that unless I put things down in words as soon as they form in the mind, they evaporate. Anuradha handed over the keys to her house and access to the computer so that I could go over there and type whenever I wished. Writing this has given me considerable satisfaction and it would not have been possible without free access to Anu - Nanda’s house and computer.

'Customer Is Always Right'

“I want to make a new denture.”

“You already have one?”

“Yes. But I want a new one.”

“Is the old one broken?”

“No”

“Does not fit?”

“It fits ok”

“Are you not able to eat with it?”

“No, I can eat”

“Then why do you want a new one?”

“This denture is small”

“Small?”

 “Yes. It is small. I want a bigger tooth. “

“Why do you want a bigger tooth?”

“My cheek has gone in after my tooth was removed. Even after putting this denture there is no change. I want a bigger one which can make the cheek look full.”

This is something which I come across quite often in my job. It is true that the cheeks look hollow after a few teeth are removed (gives an ‘aged’ look) and people feel that by replacing the teeth they can get back the original, younger look. But sadly, that does not happen. The hollowness in the cheek is because of the wearing out (resorption) of a part of the jaw bone around the teeth (alveolar bone) and also the loss in muscle tone brought about by the lack of support from the teeth. Placing an artificial tooth does not always bring back the original look.

This man had two teeth missing in the upper jaw - one on the right and one on the left - and similarly two in the lower jaw. This had not actually altered his looks. But he felt that his cheek had gone in and that the denture he was wearing made no difference. Now he hoped that putting a denture with a bigger tooth would improve things.

I told him that he looked fine and that there was no need for another denture. I explained that we can make the tooth just as big as the gap between the natural teeth permits. I also mentioned that even if I somehow managed to make a bigger tooth/denture it was not going to alter the look of his cheeks.

“Still, I want a new denture and as big a tooth as possible.”

He had a fixation for a bigger tooth and was not going to give up.

I did not want him to have false hopes and so I said that I would make one with wax, put it in his mouth and show him. (It is one of the stages in making a denture and we call it a ‘trial’) If he is happy with it, I said I would make a similar denture. He agreed and I started the process.

I called him for the trial. The old denture had a tooth which was worn a bit and I thought that a new ‘bigger looking’ (but not really bigger) tooth would satisfy the person. He did the usual circus in front of the mirror and viewed himself from different angles, mouth closed and mouth open, poking his cheek repeatedly.

“This is OK but feels a little flat. Can you please make it bulging towards the cheek”

I added some extra wax on the part of the denture that touches the cheek.

“This feels better but if you can make it even bigger......."

The placement of the teeth in a partial denture (where one or a few teeth are replaced) is bound by the size of the gums and the natural teeth present in the mouth. They determine the size and position of the artificial tooth. Like a missing brick in the center of a wall. The new brick should fit in the existing space. It is just not possible to put a bigger tooth just because I feel like making it big. I explained this to the fellow. I showed him his model and my compound wall - which is yet to be plastered - to make my point clear.

“That is Ok but please, little bit bigger, covering that space completely” he inserted his finger between the tooth and the cheek to indicate that there was some space left.

I pushed the tooth completely out of alignment and towards the cheek. It was not coming in contact with his lower teeth at all. It was of no use for chewing whatsoever. And the denture would not be very stable even. But the tooth could be felt pressing against the cheek.

“Ah, this is fine. That is how I wanted it.”

I told him the problems that he may face with this ‘out of the ordinary’ denture but he wanted it made that way.

I made the denture and told him not to tell anyone that I had made it. I had my reputation to take care off. But he was very much pleased and went away happily. You may see the denture in the photograph of the model of his upper teeth. I have marked it with a pen but I would have preferred to hide it.

He was back after six months. I expected trouble. But no. He was very happy with what I had done and wanted a similar one in place of an existing lower denture.

Now I knew what he wanted and made one just as bad as the upper one. Again, he was very happy.

See the picture below? The second denture is incorporated in this model of his lower teeth. I have again marked around the tooth, the second one from the top, left side. Sticking out.

He came once again last week and wanted yet another one made. The missing tooth on the other side of the lower jaw. Once again, he has a normal denture there but wants an abnormal one. Now it was routine for me. I told him that I could make it as he wants and can place both the lower teeth on a single denture base. He would have one lower denture replacing both the missing lower teeth and one upper denture. He need not juggle three pieces in his mouth.

“No, No, just make a separate one. Make it as you have made the one on the other side.”

The red thing that you see in the picture is the wax model of his third denture. The trial is over and he has approved my work, much worse than the previous - as far as the guidelines governing making of artificial teeth are concerned.

I had kept this case hidden from my son. He has specialized in replacement of missing teeth and he is a stickler for rules. He would not approve such atrocious work. This case was about to go to the lab and my assistant had left it on the working table. My son saw it.

“What case is that?”

“Oh, that. One of my old patients.”

“Which lab did you send it to? Whoever set that tooth must have been either fully drunk or absolutely ignorant about setting teeth”.

“It is neither”

“How are you sure?"

“Because I did it”

“You set this? But appa, why? What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing wrong with me. It is just that the ‘Customer is always right’!”