So when my mum and dad decided to get married to each other, they, like most couples of their generation, had done a background check. I mean their parents had done a background check. Of course. The good job-good family criteria were met and that pretty much sealed the deal. I did however ask mom very recently, how did her parents, my grandparents, totally ignored the six sister-in-law deal-breaker. I mean seriously, c’on, that is no mean feat. To which mum said, I wanted to keep my college job, and was tired of living in a rented place and the guy looked decent. She had a point. But what they however did not pay attention to were some very vital issues their progenies would have to deal with in the coming years. Hair, for example. Laugh you may but when you look at your receding hair line at the end of every new year’s eve you would think how things could have been different only if the parents looked little harder.
Deta in his late twenties had an enviable crown of hair going for him with a mustache that could give any yesteryear South Indian hero a run for his money. Ma always had her hair done in a low bun or a pony tail of decent girth back in college. Overall, hair would have never figured like an issue. But as the years rolled by, things were no more the same. Ma’s hair now is a constant source of grief for her. A tail’s there, but not quite a pony’s, not anymore. Deta however is doing better than most men of his age. And hasn’t quite given up on finding ways to hide that one patch on his crown which totally gives away his age which otherwise is a secret well kept. I started having hair fall problem as soon as I moved out of home. For the longest time I kept blaming the change in water, climate, food habit and what not, but when I saw my poor brother’s grey hair screaming at me when he was all of 23 or so, we were united in our common grief once and for all. But hair is put to shame when one rolls out the legendary tales around ‘teeth’ in the Tamuli Phukan clan. Yes, the bateesi. Correction. Tamuli Phukans never experienced that. They don’t know what it’s like to have the full set. I for one don’t remember when my first molar went. Grandparents decided agreeable teeth are the last thing to check on. Wish they knew better.
So today, on a lonely evening,
when I sat with my dinner infront of me, a tooth at the left hand side corner of
my upper jaw was throwing the biggest challenge to my patience. That’s exactly
when the brother pinged on whatsapp. And I had to share the agony of the painful
tooth with this one person I knew would empathize the most. And it took all of
a nano second from an otherwise placid guy to revert with grandmotherly tips
such as, clove oil loga (apply clove
oil), nimokh pani di mookh rinse kor
(rinse your mouth with saline water). I resisted a ‘rofl’ reading it. My fellow
sufferer, inheritor of confounded, foul teeth. And as ever, without missing a
single opportunity to laugh over the gravity defying set of teeth we carry, we
started recounting the many painful episodes around it.
Apparently my brother in his very
early teens had gone to a Dentist to fix one of his molars. The dentist had a
long hard look at the whole frame, took off his gloves and mask, washed his
hands, and sat back on his chair long enough to get my brother really worried.
After a heavy sigh he uttered, “I have treated many patients, from villages
even, but I have never come across a set of teeth as disgusting as this.” Now
my poor brother, despite his age, could tell that the dentist was being mean.
He could have easily replaced ‘disgusting’ with ‘different’, ‘unique’ etc. he
later argued with my parents. But in front of the dentist, all he managed to ask
was, “How are the villagers’ teeth any different from mine?” – must have been a
very curious teen, my brother. He by now is convinced that he has six rows of
teeth which are randomly distributed. Mine comes close to four. While we were
at it, he remembered how he refused to touch a favorite aunt’s chilly chicken
just because she took a dentist’s appointment for him on my father’s advice.
And I can bet he would still sulk as bad when you try talking him into a visit
to a dentist. I for one let out a shriek
when I first saw the x-ray of my own teeth in the lobby of the Vasant Kunj
Fortis hospital many years back. The dentist explained that the weird thing
that was sticking out of my jaw was one of my molars that was growing
diagonally. Yes, like pushing the rest of the teeth to make way for its own. A
bloody renegade of a tooth! My husband looked at me with incredulous eyes like
I was responsible for it! I don’t blame him since he was treading new
territories. Such things were not known to him given his almost perfect frame.
I didn’t do a background check, but I just got lucky with this one! But I would
still think we are the luckier ones. An aunt’s dentist flew with his pliers and
hit on the wall next to him while trying to pull out a rather stubborn molar
when dentistry was still in its primitive stages in India. Recently Ma spent
her entire summer break that lasted for 15 days visiting the dentist…root
canal, touch ups, cleaning, caps seemed only the beginning of an unending saga.
As far as I go, I am waiting for the husband to return from his rather long
office trip to go see a dentist for the first time in Doha. I don’t even know
how to go about explaining the problem. I mean there isn’t only one. I think I
will begin by asking if one can rent a new set for special occasions, of course
after getting rid of the whole set absolutely painlessly. Or for a more
permanent solution, install a fresh set where I get to choose the pattern, just
by clicking on a computer. That would be a perfect world. For now, let me just
go apply some clove oil. Sigh!
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