This is going to hurt just a little bit.

They tumbled into my hands, eight of them, four each from the lower and the upper jaw.I gaped at them with my mouth open, and I am sure it looked more open than ever. A hysterical sob escaped my toothless mouth.Almost simultaneously the alarm also let out a hysterical wail, which jolted me into a sitting position. My frantic hand went up to my lips and touched my teeth. They were all there, my pearly assets! I fingered each of them and tapped them gently to ensure they were still rooted to my gum.
Ah! What a relief it was to run the tongue over each tooth and caress it along the crevices and feel the life throbbing in each of them. Only an individual with a history of teeth like mine will feel life even through dentin and enamel.

Mom stepped into the room to see if I was awake and she smiled to herself when she saw me grinning into the mirror not out mirth but inquietude. She came up to me and said “May be if you didn’t spend all of your dad’s fortunes on your teeth, you wouldn’t have these dreams so frequently”

I faced her with fresh vehemence “May be if I didn’t inherit his Stonehenge like teeth, he would still have his fortunes” I retorted with my smelly mouth.

I have profound love for my teeth, thus worry about them quite frequently.

I had beautiful teeth as a child. Small, white grain like teeth arranged evenly in my rosy gums. It resembled an amphitheater with white seats on a pink, velvet carpet. Had I known they were only temporary; I wouldn’t have had elaborate rituals of burying my teeth and dancing around it, waiting for the tooth fairy to bless me and leave me presents.I distinctly remember the cheated memory. Neither did the tooth fairy bless me, nor did I get presents. Too bad my parents didn’t know of the fairy tale.

And thus started my affair with my teeth, which I didn’t know would last forever.

Twenty fell, 28 and some more grew. Each of it carrying with it a vivid memory of its downfall. Whenever the little one shook, I derived extreme pleasure from the biting pain that ensued the wrenching of it, out of the gum. Though small, it never failed to put up a fight,raising the pain of this effort many notches higher.I always emerged victorious (or loser?). I felt like a gladiator with the bloody catch, holding it up for all to see. My face broke into a toothless grin and there was always the taste of warm sweet–sour blood engulfing the place of the teeth.
My first science experiment started with this process of uprooting. I closely examined its morphology, the nerve ends and gummy flesh still dangling from the root and tried to search for a logical explanation for no particular question.

Then came the villains. The permanent teeth, they emerged like samurai warriors, the incisors, the premolars and the canines. They all bore distinct resemblance to the wonders of the world. The Eiffel tower, the leaning tower of Pisa, Mount Rushmore, and even the Taj Mahal,except that they didn’t look too wondrous in my mouth. This was the time when I was spiraling into teen age. The age when everything which was at the oblivion makes a startling appearance into the forefront. I was hardly ready for it. Not with teeth like mine.
Aren’t I glad to be living in the 21st century, where medical advancements can repair faulty inheritances?! My tryst with destiny began as I became a regular at the Dental clinic.

My orthodontist was a brave man. He was my first crush, not only because he was a doctor (I have a predilection for doctors) but he worked his way through a mass of enamel making them into what they should be. Teeth!

He barbed my teeth and I was to be entrenched for two years. I 'braced' myself for the rules which one had to follow during the period of the fortification of my teeth. No chocolates, no chewing gum, no biting with the front teeth and no meddling with the wire.

But the process took much longer as I had no respect for any of the afore said rules. This augmented the anguish for the three of us. One being the dentist uncle, who was now weary of my raw resolve to make life harder for him by breaking the metal things that were stuck to my teeth; my father, who was now lighter in the wallet but heavier with desperation and of course the protagonist who had to face the harsh lights, the drills, the pricks and the ceramic stuffings.All this taking place with the mouth wide open, the sides drying up, saliva threatening to drool and a pair of hands in the mouth. Certainly not a picture of poise and grace.

In between all this were cavity fillings, root canal treatments, some more cavity fillings and refillings. I was now quite a regular and was among the popular patients at the dentist. I was the steel girl.

After what seemed like centuries,the show did come to an end, and to the delight of all I regained the amphitheater, which was now worthy of a good smile. The numerous trips to the dentist went on to do me some real good apart form the sparkling set of teeth now I proudly own.I am a changed person.I brush twice a day, use only fluoride tooth paste, floss regularly and appreciate Ogden Nash.

This long toothy history left an indelible memory which keeps revisiting me in my dreams reminding me of my dark days. But my friend, I am ready for a tooth and nail battle. I fought it once, I can do it again. And this time with wisdom.

If you liked this, read this and amuse yourself further.
http://www.ee.nus.edu.sg/~teokh/dentist.html

World of worries

I ve never worried, now that is a lie
- Red hot chili peppers, under the bridge.

I was born out of a worry, the worry of an anxious mother to produce a healthy child.
The child was healthy alright, but it had a problem. Of the 46 chromosomes it acquired, it had an extra chromosome, made of worry genes. The function of these genes was to live up to its name. They utilized all the ATP's and proteins leaving me looking anorexic. It was a monstrous genetic dysfunction.

This 47th chromosome sums up my persona. So now you know that worrying comes naturally to me.

As a child, I worried because I called a teacher a “witch”. My friend with concern welling up informed me as a matter of fact that the teacher heard it! My friend also told me that “witch” was a very very bad word. …Bad words....witch…NO! Amma would be very very cross at me for using bad words like that. My friend added this frightening detail about my teacher, she yanked the plaits of little girls. That terrified me!

This piece of information gave me numerous bed wetting nights, mostly because of the incredible line up of night mares which were gory scenes of horror. I was Gretel, and that teacher was the witch waiting for me to become fat and then eat me.

I shrank behind the wooden benches hoping the numerous black heads worn in black ribbons and heads cropped in funny looking porcupine style would give me cover.

I was almost happy when the bell rang. It was like an answer to my fervent prayers.

Then she stood, unfolding herself into a full size horror as she combed through the class. Suddenly her face lit up in glee as a child’s would on seeing its lost teddy bear.My big eyes and her little eyes met. Fear rolled up inside me into a big ball.
“Arundhati! come here” she said.

The voice inside me rang “take her broom and fly out of the class, she won’t be able to catch you”. As I stood there uncertainly, trying to make up my mind whether to bolt out of the class or to reach for the broom resting innocuously in the corner of the class, She came to my desk and took me by her hand.

I felt a heat wave rising inside me; my forehead was lined with beads of perspiration. I was expecting her to shake me hard and curse me to be a stone.

“Arundhati, you have to sing “we shall over come” on the republic day which is on this Saturday. And do wear that red frock that you wore for your birthday.

“I have to give some more instructions so run along and bring your diary, I‘ll write it. Do show it to your mother dear”

My little mind was confused. All questions springing up and crowding my head.

I gave my diary to her, still expecting her to ask me why I used bad words on a teacher.

She handed over the diary to me with a warm smile.A smile was the last thing I expected out of that face! I then stopped and thought why I called her a witch. May be that was just a new word I had learnt.

"Teacher! is witch a bad word?" I asked putting on an innocent look.

laughing softly she replied "no dear, it just means a bad person..why you know any witch?"

I shook my head furiously, till my ribbon slipped down my hair.

She ruffled my hair and asked me to practice the song.

" We shall over come" I sang aloud not realizing the full meaning of it that day.

I skipped happily to my class, a smile cutting through my face for the first time in that hour. I usually smile a lot.


The worry gene has a codon which ensures that I can become unmindful of my worries twice as fast as I get worried.

PUPPY LOVE

I saw him looking at me, he looked new to the place.
Well, he had to be new.Some one like him wouldn’t have escaped my attention. He had a calculatedly cool attitude that set him apart from his cronies, who always never seemed to have a job at hand and perennially lingered around the tea stall at the street corner.

He didn’t belong among his friends who were nothing less than dirty ragamuffins.
He had an air of sophistication and a cloud of mischief hovering about him. But it was evident that he had no family because he wouldn’t other wise hang around those bunch of gypsies.However,he sure had a high intrigue factor and I love intrigue.
It made me turn around and give him another good look.

The Brown hair was worn messily framing his handsome face which gave him a Lion like majesty.I could see a pair of clear eyes gazing back flirtatiously at me. I was trying hard to make out the eye color since I have a thing for light brown eyed people.
Before I could notice any other detail,to my utter embarrassment, his friends also were reciprocating my admiration.I don' mind a bit of admiration. But,they were quite vociferous about their feelings.They howled in acknowledgment of my attention and that set me off on my heels.

I think I had a humongous crush on him …you know…the typical kolly wood story where girl from decent family falls in love with a vagabond.

The next morning, I was looking out for him like a life guard at sea would, from behind my dad’s scooter which was sputtering and spewed carbon monoxide.Yeah I know..time to switch to a nano!

I didn’t see him. I turned and looked around trying to get a 360 degree view despite being mobile (if you call 30 kmph as mobile!) My dad brought the brakes on suddenly at the unexpected appearance of a figure which sent me almost flying above my dad as I was perched like a duck on that scooter, trying to spot my new amour. I grabbed my dads shoulder to steady myself, who was blasting expletives aimed at not only his sudden “crosser” but at this generation at large which was “useless and irresponsible”

And then I saw him...coolly trotting across the road, turning a deaf ear to my dad’s angry snorts but giving me that cool look.

I hate to admit it…. but heck...I was in love!

All days at school were now crammed with day dreaming and notes filled with doodles.

I noticed him every day, and he returned all my glances with equal earnest,
It was how ever disappointing that he never budged from that tea stall. Now he also became a regular there.

And then, when all my hopes of him trying to make the first move were dashed, I saw him lift himself off his post and follow me.
I was over whelmed with excitement. I walked slowly, lest I become too fast.He didn’t know where I live.

No one was at home; it was a good time for introductions.

I left the door open, entering my home. I put down my bag and sat with my legs crossed and hands folded trying to strike a picture of poise while waiting for him. He came in with such confidence that it seemed to me for an instant that he was the rightful owner of my home.He sauntered in and sat himself right opposite me.

He had light brown green eyes. I’ve never seen such a brilliant pair of eyes before.

It was obvious he was waiting for me to make a start.And I was as obliging as ever.
“Err...Hi…how would you like to be with me?”

As my uncertainty slowly disappeared,I continued

" If that question threw you off, let me tell you, that was the first thought that pushed itself into my head when I saw you.
uh..you look like some one who appreciates honesty.." I ended abruptly.

He grinned, letting out a gurgle like sound.

“That’s a yes isn’t it?”I asked happily.

He nodded his head for my benefit, clarifying my doubt.


“But now the problem is ma and pa...they need to like you too.”

He now looked at me thoughtfully and threw me the glance which said
“Duh! You know your folks! Not me”

He did most of his talking with those gleaming marble eyes of his. I didn’t even care to find if he was not dumb,nothing mattered as long as those eyes did all the talking.

Just then the door bell rang shrilly throwing both him and me into a state of frenzy. Him because he has never heard anything as shrill as my doorbell and, I because Dad was home!

I had to hide him, Pa would slay me if he found him home, HIM especially, the mongrel, the vagabond, the sudden “crosser”.

I pushed him beneath the sofa, thinking I would create a diversion so he could escape.

On entering my father remarked “Enna Ammu did you try cooking… the room smells funny”
I made my favorite disgusted–with-your–joke face at him.
Before I could give a smart repartee, the alarm bell went in my head as my dad bent to investigate the source of the funny smell.

I didn’t know if I should cover my eyes or my ears.I was suddenly afflicted with complete multi organ malfunction.

He crouched in the comfort of the darkness and shelter the sofa offered.

But a huge hairy hand went under the sofa and pulled him out from under the sofa.

I shut my eyes tightly preventing myself to be a spectator of any violence.

When I thought I didn’t hear anything for a time nearly as long as ones lifetime, I opened my eyes only to see him being ruffled by my dad.

I stammered in disbeleif...p...aa??!!

"Oh I like him, why didn’t you tell me about him before." dad said affably.

"Yo...u ..u like him…??" This time I stammered in happiness. I always stammer when I am flooded with emotions.

"Yes" He reminds me so much of Mozart!"

Mozart was dad's best friend.I first hugged dad.

And then I approached him…I ruffled his hair then pulled him into a tight hug.

“Beethoven!!!..... I love you!” I exclaimed.

“Woof woof !!” He barked delightedly ,licking my face.

That was approval enough from him for letting us keep him.

Silver Savannahs

The earth felt flat as the plains stretched endlessly
The moon painted silver shadows on the dark canvas of the solid earth
The clouds shimmered and the stars dazzled
My eyes looking upward at the sparkling celestial abyss, reflected their brilliance
But within they were as empty as the plains.

I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting
as always...

For the soft thud of the silver stallion, riding like the wind, with its silvery mane framing its silhouette with a halo
For the rider of that stallion, with his cloak flying madly behind him
For the rider of the wind, galloping eagerly through the Savannahs
For the rider, whose eyes brim with silver light, and whose teeth gleam in virgin white within the velvet like pink lips.
For the rider, weaving in like a summer bee, through the scant trees strewn over the canvas.


I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting
as always…

For firm hands to whisk me away from the silver earth beneath my silver slippers
For tender hands to mount me on the stallion
For soft, sweet breath over my neck comforting me when the wind slaps me across my face
For those eyes, embedded in silver to gaze at my head and untangle the sliver threads of my emotions
For my heart to race with the steady pace of the stallion.

I casted a long ward glance out of the window of my eye waiting, waiting as always for my rider, who rides in the silver Savannah's of my mind.

Episode 2: Fiddle -de- dee ride!

Now… now… bus rides can’t be all that bad! It is the life line of the city. And once you become a regular, the conductor becomes your great friend, and as a sign of he bond you share he will stop the bus even if it’s not the stop. This is especially a blessing when you are running behind a bus at a speed that would put Marion Jones to shame (sans doping!).

It used to puzzle me as to why they call this man who issues the tickets a conductor!?I figured that since he conducts people into his bus he is called so!
I find most of these conductors astute possessing a variety of talents. One is his mathematical ability, where he does all the arithmetic in lightning speed that too amidst chaos and confusion and the other talent he is endowed with is his musical abilities. The soprano parts especially enthrall the audience so much so that the bus halts in awe, and the serendipity of it is that the place where it was pulled to a stop is the exact same place you need to alight! Now if you don’t call that your good fortune what else would it be! And he is so kind that he uses his musical talents each time some one needs to dismount! Bless his kind soul!


The sights and sound that you chance upon when traveling in a bus makes it a very worth wile experience. The encouraging part is that, no one really cares if you are eaves dropping! And I shamelessly indulge in it and amuse myself, sometimes stifling a laugh or slapping my head at their stupidity or letting my sinews wrench in their troubles. Half the time I am half tempted to offer advice, but I know better than that, unless I want to be looked as something as dirty as a plumber’s fingernails!

By the way, always be on the look out for the dark corners in bus stops! There will always be a couple, cozily tucked in a corner, often holding hands and looking left to right from time to time in case of curious onlookers. If you notice, the girl’s back will always be turned towards you making you all the more curious! My heart goes out to these couples who can’t be exhibitive about their love!

Now, when the bus is stuck in an awful traffic jam, your only solace can be books or music because a bus is boring when it is static. But the others definitely don’t think so. Just when you are nearing the climax of the book, the neighboring fat aunty already encroaching into half of the seat will want to pick a conversation! And most often it starts off as a mumble about how late she is getting! And for being polite if you nod your head in agreement, she ll take that as a cue and go on! Not even giving you a moment to tell her that a fly went into her mouth!

In my last post I told you why it was of great importance to have a seat in the bus.
But I excluded the reason as to just why it was so (marketing reasons!)
If it’s a crowded bus, and you are standing, you will have your air supply shut off. Or you can be sautéed among the standees whose smells will make your face crease like a bull dog! If its long journey, you can even consider varicose vein a possibility. But most of all, there are some men depraved of sexual activity, who lurk around in crowded buses, targeting the unsuspecting who think “pavam he doesn’t have place...”!
This is where my trusty back pack comes into play! Any time I have to stand my back pack is my armour; any funny stunts…throw a cold stare and make sure the iron rod in your backpack gets him right there!

But there are also the ever so gentle gentlemen, who will relinquish their seat for you! But being the woman I am, I would never accept that offer! Unless I m going to be pregnant,an amputee or an 80 year old.
I can’t understand these women! They want to be treated on par with men, but they want reservation too, they harass the men to get off the seats, and place their derrières comfortably! Gleaming within with a sense of satisfaction! While the poor man who probably is back from work blasting rocks in a quarry willingly makes way for over grown squats! Sorry again boys!

But other wise, bus rides are a really pleasant experience; especially if a dashing (no pun intended) young man giving you enough attention to bring a little pink flush over your tanned cheek. So, if you have no other choice of transport, better learn to like the poor man’s rolls Royce, and indulge in the luxury it offers!...Bon voyage!

The great Indian bus ride , Episode 1: Ticket to ride

As every other morning, I was waiting for the bus at the stop where the ride begins. This is of great importance to the chronic traveler. At the first sight of the bus, people brace themselves in various strategic positions to get a head start to enter the bus.

The men and little boys don’t do this, because they have an uncanny knack of jumping into a running bus, it is only the ever so gentle ladies who push and block and nudge you out of your way while they barge into the bus!

With years of practice, I have managed to nudge back and push all other blockaders!
And place myself somewhere as comfortable as a long legged person trapped in a seat like contraption can be!

You may wonder why one has to sit in such uncomfortable conditions, but those who travel by bus frequently will know just how important it is to get a place to sit. I will explain to you just why it is so important to sit in a short while.

As you settle yourself for the oncoming journey, and if you have flashes of guilt about being a selfish person, here is a chance to prove that you have a large heart.You can offer (else will be imposed) your lap as temporary cloak room where others can unburden their belongings which an be anything from a bag to a child, a word of caution there: If the child is sick, it is better you relenquish your seat to the child or its proud owner! I am not saying this out of empathy, but out of an utterly selfish motive! Unless you want the child blowing its nose all over you or resting its oily head on you’re new white cotton kurta...or still worse…a travel sick child!

Buying a ticket is as exciting as investing in stock market! You pass the money through a sea of people, anxiously craning your neck to see if the person passes the money and doesn’t bungle with the destination’s name!

And when the conductor does pass the precious ticket with assorted change, you are doubly anxious to receive the ticket and change! Well all this can be very conveniently avoided if you decided to give this ticket buying affair a pass, BUT there is always an omniscient presence of khaki clad, enlarged belly men waiting as eagerly as a frog would for a stupid fly, to embarrass and harass the innocent to check if you’ve got a ticket

If you are a man,and you fumble in your pockets to find the elusive ticket which you probably had scrunched up among the other contents of your pocket, the frog man will catch you by the collar,if you still don’t find your ticket, he will shake you until all the teeth in your head rattle.
But if you are a pretty looking, well groomed woman, you definitely receive better treatment.Even If you havent got a beauty contest winner looks (which is not much these days!) you can try purling the same look your dog gives you when you deny a chocolate to it, you will be let off with a reprimand as soft as one used to scold a new born!

Sorry boys, we are definitely a superior breed than you!

plan to dream!?

Planning is such a funny thing! You go through every miniscule detail elaborately-
think of appropriate situations, rehearse reactions, and even have place for people you will be flanked with and even their responses!

Engrossed in such a train of thought, you smile or frown to yourself to the great amusement of people around you! I have been caught once too many times busily mumbling a repartee to a smart comment, or blushing to a sudden cute proposal that comes my way! All in the dream factory of course!!

Emerging from my dream land, I feel as armed as a Jedi with my lightning fast response all at the tip of my tongue …waiting to be unleashed under slightest provocation!

But …aarrggh! THAT situation never flashes! Not even something remotely close to it!!
All my well articulated and perfectly worded response has to be left behind in the recesses of my mind hoping they will find their day!

And in the rarest of occasions, when that situation DOES raise its head, which is as similar as my thumb print, to that of my conjured situation, I am so struck and over whelmed by a sense of déjà vu that my tongue is hopelessly tied at the coincidence!
And all this after studying a paper of crisis communication for one semester, where one is ever ready with well rehearsed drills to deal with any circumstance.

As a little girl my father used to sit me in his lap and tell me “If you fail to plan, you plan to fail”
But my years of experience has taught me that
Circumstances maketh a man! And planning kills spontaneity!

Also “Never plan (dream) in a public place!” especially if you think you are an expressive person!!