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.”
Sunday, November 15, 2009
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.
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?
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.
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!
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.
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.
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