
I went to the dentist. For perhaps the third time in my life. This time, the problem is bad, he said. Cavities.
Now, I have heard a lot about people who are shit scared of the dentist. Heck, Nat Geo even had a film on them. Prefer death to dentist, they said. Quite silly, I thought. But then, there are people who are scared of sparrows. All kinds.
After my previous visit, which was largely non-invasive, I was confident. I went in (late) and reclined on the dentist's chair. Now, my dentist is a good man. He softened me up with some small talk and almost non-chalantly, rammed the drill in my tooth. Since he didn't mention it, I thought he was just 'checking'. But no. He was drilling... into my tooth. The drill was nasty. It was boring into my tooth, almost down to the gums. And was scraping against the tongue. More pain. 'Keep your tongue away,' he kept telling me, almost sounding like a girl before her first kiss.
There I was, sitting on that fancy chair with a robotic arm that had all kinds of extensions - the drill, the water jet, the suction pump and something else that I am yet to discover. ( Trivia: The Electric chair was invented by a dentis). After a quick break, during which he put on some music, he was back... boring into my teeth. It went on. 'No water-table here,' I had a good mind of telling him. Then it became a trifle worse. The drill probed all around, carving out the hardest bone in the body. "Say Aaaaa...", he would say intermittently. I can do better, I thought. Aaaahhhhhhh!!
The drill went on. "Can you open your mouth a little wider?" "Can I bite your hand off?"
After 10 excruciating minutes, he stopped. 'What? Over?'
'No, Just begun. A few sittings and we'll be through.'
So is he going to leave my excavated tooth open, just like BMC does with potholes?
"Plaster of Paris," he smiled. I nodded.
"Does it hurt," he asked.
I smiled in return.
Mard ko kabhi dard nahi hota.