Fate Prevails

It was quarter past ten at night and we were on our way to Chennai Central station to catch the 23.15 Bangalore mail after spending four pleasant days in Chennai.  People who have experienced Chennai are bound to exclaim “how can Chennai be pleasant?”. It was raining and the rain had turned the city unbelievably cool (while also turning it into a big dirty water puddle) plus we were in the pleasant company of my sister’s family. We went to Chennai to join them for my nephew’s ‘wedding shopping’. They were happy that we joined them and my wife is happiest when she is shopping - for anyone, for anything, anywhere. So, everybody was happy (shop owners the most) and I was happy looking at everyone being happy. “naguva keLuta naguvudatishayada dharma”!  - Mankutimmana Kagga.

We had crossed ‘Adyar’ bridge, and were just fifteen minutes away from the station. I was looking forward to a comfortable journey back, the Bangalore mail being one of my favourite trains. Whenever I have travelled by that train, it has been on time. It departs at my bed time 11pm, and arrives at my wake up time, 5 am. Very convenient.

Since it was past ten the traffic was light and in no time we were on the ‘Kamarajar promenade’ running parallel to the Marina beach. Lovely stretch of road. We would be in the central station in another ten minutes.  We were engaged in light talk and I was addressing my brother in law as ‘His lordship’ and was trying to pull his legs making light of his elevated status. In his new assignment, he is an ‘Expert member’ making up a ‘bench’ along with a judge in one of the central tribunals and enjoys the status of a secretary to the government.

The driver turned into the Flagstaff road and was now about five minutes away from Chennai Central. Immersed in our talk, we noticed that the car had stopped, only after it had been stationary for more than three minutes. There was a block ahead. It was 22.40 but we were almost there. Once the block cleared, we would be on the platform in a jiffy. No worry.

A police vehicle arrived and diverted the cars to the other side of the road, one which was meant for oncoming traffic. Our  car moved, momentary anxiety passed and my wife and sister got back to the analysis of ‘sarees’ that had been bought while I tried to understand the purpose behind constituting the Central Tribunal that my brother in law had joined. (Other than giving him a cushy post retirement job.)

Within half a kilometer the car stopped again. The side of the road (actually what is called the wrong side) in which we were cruising was also blocked solid. It was less than half an hour before the departure of our train and pangs of anxiety started traversing along the body. I started looking at the watch every half a minute.  Two minutes passed and our driver realized that if he has to reach Chennai central, either he has to find an alternate route or somehow convert the car into a helicopter. He decided on the former course of action, took a U turn before our back was packed and we were on the way back to beach road. He said that he would turn into the ‘North fort road’ further ahead and that we would be in front of Chennai Central before eleven.

He kept his word and we were right in front of Chennai central five minutes before eleven. All we had to do now was take a right turn to enter the station but the road divider prevented that action.  We had to proceed another hundred meters, take a U turn, come back and enter the station. But when fate decides to trouble you it puts in its best. We were right in front of the station but in yet another traffic jam and proceeding even a centimeter was out of question let alone hundred meters.

Now it was three minutes to eleven and pangs of anxiety were turning into pangs of panic. I was looking at the watch every ten seconds and had an immense urge to get out of the car, climb over the road divider and dash into the station. An action not possible as there was no way that the doors could be opened in the traffic jam (our position somewhat similar to that of the municipality fellow in the first scene of ‘Lage Raho Munnabhai’) and assuming that somehow we did, no way that I could make my wife climb over and cross the three feet high road divider. Twenty eight years back I would have just lifted her and put her across and it would have been a pleasure. I could attempt it now only if I were a crane operator. So there was nothing to do other than sit inside the car wringing our hands. A true case of “so near and yet so far”.

Miraculously the vehicles ahead moved, and we reached the point of U turn only to find the reverse flow was also blocked. It was 23.00 and we were in a state of total panic. The driver who seemed to be the  only one still in his senses, turned into an opening which seemed to be leading away from the station, ignoring the orders of his ‘Lordship’ and the possibility of being held for ‘contempt of court’. He got into a narrow lane running behind the station and after a few twists and blind turns had arrived near platform five from the back! We were just about fifty meters from the platform when he found out that Chennai had many more equally resourceful drivers who were ahead of him and they had blocked that narrow lane too.

I had a lot of faith in our driver’s abilities but at that moment I decided that the time had come for me to depend up on my own. I found that there was enough space around the car to open the doors and the boot, jumped out, snatched two suitcases and started running towards the platform. My niece took a backpack and a bag and my wife and sister managed to carry themselves with an agility not usually seen. My brother in law was running with a suitcase on his head. It was too heavy for his hands.

Our compartment was at the far end of the train and after having run what seemed like a marathon along the platform, we were in it with three minutes to spare. My wife placed a hundred rupee note in my sister’s hands to be handed over to the resourceful driver along with our thanks and as we bid farewell we could hear the engine whistling. 

As the train rolled out of Chennai central I was left wondering at the ways of fate. Fate, even though at times seemed to be working  against its own will, had willed that we catch the train that day and it had also willed  that my brother in law - at whose disposal the government has placed, staff to carry his briefcase, open the door of his car, hold his gown ready for wearing, and even open the cap of his pen for signing a judgement - ran with a suitcase on his head in competition with the porters of Chennai central, to make us catch that train!

“Vidhiya horegaLanu tappisikoLuvanellihanu? ……………… Vidhiyagasa, neen katte, mankutimma”

Where is the one who can evade the burden of fate?......... fate is the driver and you, the donkey!

Note: Picture in this post is not mine. Taken from the net to have some colour. 

Son Invasion - Teaching Dentistry To My Son.

“How do you manage to extract teeth with this forceps? Its beaks do not close and they are blunt. There is no grip. It slips.” That was my son who seemed to be experiencing some difficulty with the extraction he was attempting. He was using one of my extraction forceps, a veteran instrument with more than five thousand teeth under its belt and still going strong (as I thought). He put it down, removed his gloves, rubbed his finger, and looked at me accusingly for providing him with substandard equipment. “The forceps slipped and fractured the crown. Why can’t you throw this out and buy a new one? ” He is just  out of the college after getting his post graduate degree in dentistry and has joined me in my clinic.

“Throw the forceps out? What do you mean? I have extracted not less than five thousand teeth with it and it is good for another five thousand.”

“That is precisely what I mean. It has been used so much that it has gone blunt and the gap between the beaks is as wide as India gate. You just can’t get a firm grip with that.”

“The defect is not with the forceps but with your technique. If you cannot extract the tooth, tell me and I will show you how to do it. Don’t blame the forceps.”

“Given a proper forceps I can very well extract any tooth. We have not been taught to extract teeth using pre historic tools like this.”

“If you can’t do it, just leave it there. I will finish this filling and takeover that case.”

This is a sample conversation that can sometimes be heard in my clinic these days after my son entered my practice. Most of the time we manage to work as a team but once in a way such exchanges erupt.

“You call this an operating light? A candle would be brighter.”

“Why does the compressor make such a big noise.  I am surprised our neighbours have not complained of noise pollution”

“Are you still using ZOE paste for impression? The only other tube of ZOE (zinc oxide eugenol) that I saw was in the museum” - are few more examples of his observations which irritate me and which start a strong debate.

My clinic is set up to suit my requirements based on the type of work I do and based on my abilities, both professional and financial.  Things have been added and deleted to and from my original equipment. I do not find anything lacking. My son, just out of college, with pictures of latest techniques and equipments fresh in his mind is not finding it easy to adapt to my haphazard (as it seems to him) set up.  And his lack of experience adds to his troubles.

I washed up after the filling and went over to the other chair where the hapless patient waited with his mouth open and teeth numb, praying silently and waiting for his tooth to be out. Fortunately our exchanges are in Kannada and our Konkani speaking patients are blissfully unaware of our short comings.

I checked for numbness. My son’s numbing injection was working. The forceps had slipped, breaking the tooth a bit and causing some minor injuries to the gums (and probably to my son’s fingers too) but that did not matter. With the confidence gained by having removed more than fifty thousand teeth, I applied the forceps to the tooth and gave a firm tilt. The tooth did not move. I applied additional force. Nothing .  I tried to move the tooth in the opposite direction. No use. I applied even greater force, the forceps slipped and the tooth broke at the neck with a loud noise. The patient jumped and the root remained firmly where it was. Ideally, it should have been the other way round.

My son lifted his head, opened an eye, removed an earphone from one of his ears and looked at me enquiringly. (Having left the case to me he was sitting at the table, eyes closed, his MP3 player on and the earphones plugged to his ears - annoying )

 “Broke”?

 I nodded my head.

“Forceps slipped?”

“You had already fractured the crown and may be the root is also curved.”

“What are you going to do now?”

 “I will do an open method.”

(An ‘open method’ incidentally is what we do when there is not enough tooth to get a grip with the forceps. The root of the tooth will be inside the jaw bone under the gums out of reach of forceps. In such a case we cut a bit of the jaw bone around the neck of the tooth so that we can expose more of the root and get a hold to pull it out again. It is done by chipping off the bone at the intended place with a chisel or drilling it out with a bur - a small ‘drill bit’ like thing)

“You have bone cutting burs?”

“I do have them but I don’t use them. I use a chisel for my open methods”

“Using a chisel? As I hear, they were very popular when dinosaurs were around. Haven’t heard of anyone using them these days.”

“I do. Even though the procedure looks somewhat barbaric, using a chisel is simpler, faster and less damaging to the bone.” (The dentist positions the chisel on the part of the bone that needs to be chipped off and the assistant hits it with a mallet - if you have seen construction workers cutting steel bars using chisel and hammer, you  know what I mean)

“I feel a bur is better. But do it your way.” He plugged his earphones back into his ears and closed his eyes.

“Switch off that MP3 player, come here and observe what I do. I am sure this is not taught in your college. It may be useful some day.”

 He reluctantly detached the MP3 player from his head and came over.

I positioned the chisel. I asked my helper to hit it. She hit and the chisel slipped. I told her to hit it straight on the head - of the chisel I mean - and not from an angle. She got some hits right but nothing happened.  The trouble with this chisel and mallet is that both the operator and the helper should be experienced in using it. The hit from the mallet should produce optimum force. Enough to cut the bone but not to cause extra damage. This helper was new and not much experienced with the procedure. I asked her to hit harder and she hit with all her force. The chisel cut through the bone, chipped off the root and fortunately stopped before fracturing the mandible (Lower jaw).

 “I hope that the mandible is not fractured. Don’t waste your time and torture the patient more. Use the bur.” - My son.

“She is not able to understand what I mean. I hope you as a dentist do. Don’t stand there making comments. Take that mallet from her.”

 “Don’t make me a partner in the crime. Use the bur” he repeated.

I was about invoke my authority and ask him to shut up and take the mallet but then I noticed that the patient was getting wary of my surgery.  The bur may generate heat and damage the bone but it is definitely more comfortable to the patient. I took the bur and within minutes had drilled out required amount of bone and loosened the root. I could take it out without even using the forceps but just with the use of an elevator, a screwdriver shaped thing with which we prise the tooth out. The job was over.

My son was smiling. He did not say “See? I told you” but his smile did.

“You need not be so smug” I said “there would have been no need for an open method if you had used the forceps properly right in the beginning and avoided fracturing the crown. Now suture the wound and finish.”

Suturing usually is the job of underlings. But it is also true that I have difficulty doing it and my son does it better.

Making sure that he remained in the clinic, I washed and went into the house to call our material supplier, out of my son’s hearing, for a new forceps and a supply of bone cutting burs. 

When my son joined dentistry, everyone who heard about it said “Good. You will be able to guide him. He will surely gain from your vast experience.”  !!!!!!!!!.

PS: Apologies. In my previous post I had assured my friends that drawing a picture was a onetime folly and that it will not be repeated. Sorry to have gone back on my words. I did not have any pictures of ‘open method’ and felt that it would be difficult to comprehend without an illustration. The intention at least was good. I don’t know about the result.

Piece Of Tradition

Worshipping Lord Ganapati on Ganesh chaturthi ( fourth day in the month of Bhadrapada of the Hindu calendar) and  goddess Gowri, Ganapati’s mother, on trutiya (third day of the month) has been a tradition in our family for decades or probably centuries. Decades I know. Centuries I guess. This involves bringing clay idols of Lord Ganapati and Gowri, setting them up on a suitably decorated platform or ‘Mantap’ as it is called, worshipping them on the specific days according to tradition, preparing tasty dishes (purportedly as offering to the gods), eating them to heart content and at the end of the festivities immersing the idols in a well or a stream.  Since there are hardly any wells or streams around these days, a bucketful of water performs the function of a well. Before the ‘puja’ (religious worship) you invoke the god and request him/her to enter the idol and accept your worship. After the ‘puja’ you invoke a well into your bucket and immerse the idols in it.

Even though Ganesha chaturti is celebrated all over the country and more importantly in all the southern states, my experience is limited to the way it was being done in Bengaluru, and after I shifted to Goa, what I have seen in Goa during the last three decades. Between the two states I find that lot more importance is given to tradition in Goa. There is tradition involved in every aspect of the festival here. You get the idols from the same idol maker every year. The colour, shape, size and trimmings are always the same. The ‘Mantap’, its decorations and the offerings to the deity follow tradition. The priest who comes over to guide the ‘puja’ will always be from a particular family. The number of days that the idol is kept for worship is fixed and so is the place of immersion. One rarely deviates from tradition.

I read a recent news item  which said that one of the families had an old ‘Mantap’ which had reached a stage of collapse after bearing the Lord’s elephantine weight and bearing with the coastal humidity over decades. The family ordered for an exact replica and it was done only after obtaining approval from the ‘Kuladevata’ (family deity) and with the concurrence of the traditional family priest!

As far as the ‘Mantap’ is concerned we too had our tradition and the ‘Mantap’ that hosted the idols in our house at Bengaluru traditionally was an upturned table. We had only one table in our house which was meant to assist our education process and for three days in a year it housed lord Ganapati who is the god in charge of knowledge. I do not know if studying on the table which hosted the lord of knowledge boosted our learning process but the fact that the learning process came to a standstill during those days surely boosted our festival spirit.

This up turned table was very convenient as a ‘Mantap’.  Its four legs jutting out of four corners were ideal for tying plantain saplings, and mango leaves were hung on a string tied across the legs. The drawers made the raised platform and the idols seated in their places for traditional worship with lighted oil lamps by their side were a pretty sight unlike what you see right now in the picture above, incidentally my debut as an artist. (Please resist the urge to reach for the key board for drafting protest letters. And if you must, reach for my artist cousin’s neck if you can. He happens to be the inspiration. Anyway I assure you that I will not do it again.)

After I shifted to Goa and we started celebrating the festival here, I had to give up the tradition of an upturned table as there were no tables around (my learning process had stopped long back and my children’s process was yet to begin) and for a few years we deviated from tradition and housed our Ganapati once on the TV table, once on the book shelf, once on a teapoy and so on. Then our old refrigerator broke and we bought a new one during a Ganesh Chaturti discount sale. This one had its own legs to stand up on and our old wooden fridge stand was rendered redundant. During ‘Chaturthi’ that year we placed two wooden planks on top of this stand and from the humble position of a fridge stand its journey towards the exalted position of Ganapati’s  ‘Mantap’ began.

It served the lord in its original shape for few years and during the construction of our present house I got a marble slab cut to size and used it as the top instead of the rotting planks and the fridge stand really started looking like something made for the purpose.

Another year my son got inspired by the decoration of the ‘Mantap’ in his friend’s place and decorated our ‘Mantap’ too with shiny golden paper and hit two nails at the corners for tying a string for the purpose of hanging auspicious mango leaves. With these trimmings it turned out to be a fully developed Ganapati  ‘Mantap’. It has served for more than a decade now and has become the traditional ‘Mantap’ of our household.

I am sure that my improvised ‘Mantap’ will surely last longer than me and few more decades down the line those who are around will have no knowledge of its humble origin. It will only be known as the Ganapati ‘Mantap’ always being used for placing the idols for worship during the Ganesh Chaturti festival.

Another piece of tradition is born.

Shielding Fish From Rain!

Ever heard of someone holding an umbrella over fish to shield it from rain?                                                                      

Well, that is what exactly one of my friends did last night!

We were at a party in a farm near Ponda, (incidentally a fresh water fish farm but no true Goan would touch a fresh water fish with a barge pole, leave alone holding an umbrella over it to protect it from rain.) and some of my friends were frying fish (King fish, fresh from the Arabian sea) in the open. It rained, there was only one umbrella, and it was used to shield the fish being fried while the group of onlookers hovering around, offering useful suggestions, eagerly anticipating the outcome, got wet.

For a Goan fish is priority and a king fish, as its name suggests, deserves royal treatment.

The New Cricket Hero and His BA.

Unmukt Chand, is the captain of the India under 19 cricket team (this information is for those who are worse than me in keeping up to date with cricket). His team managed to beat Australia and lift the world cup - under 19. Great and congratulations. The whole team is assured of a great future in cricket, fantastic sale prices in IPL, endorsement  offers by  ‘Youngistan’ Pepsi and what not. Very good.  Let them enjoy. They deserve it.

Now, what concerns me is the hue and cry (lead by our media) regarding the captain of the team being denied a chance to appear for and clear his BA exam. I appreciate the college authorities who stuck to rules and refused permission to appear for exams. Chand was playing cricket, no time for attending classes, lack of attendance (less than 33%), and so can't take exams. Right. What irks me is the apologetic utterances by the VC of Delhi university (I don’t know his name) and the Minister for human resources (Kapil Sibal) and their determination to set things right.

I do not understand what is there to set right? Unmukt Chand could have given up cricket and remained in his class like we fools and could have got his BA, BDS or whatever. He was good in Cricket, selected cricket and assured himself of a great career. Fine. But if he wants his BA, he should attend classes, study for exams and pass. That should be the stand of the University. If the university wants a share of  Chand’s glory it can offer him a Hon. Phd. and the minister can recommend him for 'Padmashri', both of which are available to all our cine actors, politicians and other popular folks. 

The university and the government should try to save what little credibility our  university degrees still have. Let we mortals have our degrees and the cricketers their glory.

The VC and minister are not trying to set things right, they are trying to set things wrong. 

Tamdi Surla - Water Falls

I have written about the first outing of 'The early birds of Ponda pool' (EBOPP) for short, to Dudh sagar falls, a trek of approximately 25 kms up and down some time earlier in this blog. I had also mentioned about the next two outings to Molem and Bondla where the focus was on restoring the energy lost during the first trek by consumption of lots of  fluids stored in different couloured bottles to go with other unfortunate leggy birds and legless swimmers of this universe. Now, having convinced themselves that they are sufficiantly restored, the EBOPP decided that they are in a condition to embark up on the next trek where focus will once again be on the use of their own legs and zeroed up on a visit to a waterfall near Tmbdi surla, a village in Sanguem taluka, South Goa, on the 15th Aug 2012.

Tambi Surla is at a distance of 38 kms from Ponda and is well known for the twelth century Shiva temple, supposed to be the oldest temple in Goa. It is Lord Mahadev's holiday home.

The trek begins single file after paying respects to the reigning deity of the place.

Surmounting the obstacles or tamely going under as it suits each individual

 Crossing  a dozen cool, pleasant, clear water streams in the path

 Keeping in mind that there are other occupants of the place who need to be treated with respect and regard, this one possibly a pit viper, located by one of the sharp eyed in the group,( lucky it did not cross my path, either pit viper would have ceased to exist or Raghunandan. More likely Raghunandan)

getting a first look of the falls from a distance, egging us to move faster

 we are there after an hour and fifteen minutes.

And immediately the swimmers  freak out and enjoy an exhilerating shower

A sedate walk back after an eco friendly trek (note the carry bag carrying tetra packs and other trash)

and after a relaxing swim in tamer waters near the temple, the swimmers return to their daily grind once again.

The Reis Magos Fort

Once in a way our family manages to shrug off the built in lethargy and gets out to spend an evening together. Last Wednesday was one such day and the shrugging off of lethargy was aided to a great extent by my wife’s statement/threat that whoever stays back home in the evening will cut the vegetables for curry, mix the dough for chapattis and make other arrangements for preparation of dinner.

We unanimously decided to spend the evening out and were trying to find a place worth visiting when the name Reis Magos Fort sprang up. I had read recently in the news paper that the old fort which was being used as a prison and later was allowed to rot had been restored and spruced up. We did not know if it would be worth going there and since the location map showed it to be on the opposite bank of river Mandovi, close to Panaji, we felt that we could take a chance. A drive along the river Mandovi is always welcome.

We managed to start at half past four and reached the fort at half past five wondering what the timings would be. The new board in front of the fort said that we need not wonder for long and showed the timings 9.30 AM  -  5.30 PM,  and the lock on the gate indicated very clearly that the timing was being strictly followed.

I felt bad for having missed it and we walked to the ‘Three Kings church’ just next to the fort and spent some time admiring the view of river Mandovi from the church.

The gate to enter the fort was closed but there was nothing to prevent me from walking around the fort and while doing so, at one point I found some stairs going half way up the fort.

I climbed up and sat there enjoying the cool breeze when my sight fell on a half open door next to the landing.  I tentatively stepped in to appease my curiosity and found that it opened onto a large terrace from which there was a good view of the fort itself

and another flight of stairs that lead to the top. We had made a back door entry into the fort!

The small museum at the top was closed but we were rewarded by the wonderful view of the Mandovi   estuary and the Cabo Raj Nivas - the Goa governor’s residence. The governor stays at the tip of the land mass you see projecting into the river at a distance, in a beautiful bungalow overlooking the Murmugao port and the arabian sea. Lucky governor!

We climbed down, spent some pleasant time on the terrace where one of my sons got himself occupied exploring the prison cells which now contained paintings of old time Goa and the other  was happy just roaming around  talking on his mobile phone.

My wife's observation and objection always is that we are together just as long as we are in the car and not a minute later. We decided to make an attempt to dispel the thought and managed to sit together a minute for a family photo.

It was getting dark by then and we started back thanking our luck for providing us an entry into the fort and on reaching the door, found it closed and bolted but fortunately not locked.

We offered our thanks to the carpenter who had fitted the padlock in a way that cannot be locked and attempted to open the rusty bolt. It screeched aloud and protested our furious attempts but gave up after five minutes. Even after releasing the bolt it was not easy to push the door open and the use of my children’s might only made it groan and brought down flakes of mud from the roof. We hastily moved back, thought of shouting for help and decided to do so after another attempt. With some gentle but firm persuasion my children managed to open the door keeping the fort intact. We thanked our luck once again for not locking us inside and returned home with a nice feeling and a set of  pictures to keep the memory of a pleasant evening alive for a long time.