Anachronism et al

Day X:
The taxi jerks to a halt as the scoundrel in Porsche Cayenne cuts across lanes, avoids two cars by a whisker, screeches and skids to a halt, nearly turns turtle, immediately recovers and zooms past disappearing amidst another row of slow-moving cars - all in a few seconds. The Saudi in the hummer doesn’t battle an eyelid. But the been-there-done-that Pakistani cab driver is not amused, neither am I.

The only sound in the background that doesn’t seem as disturbed is that of Kumar Sanu who is still fervently muttering ‘Jaldi hai kya?’ in his nasal tone – a fitting reply to the female playback’s ‘Jaati hoon main’ – suits the mood, I say. Welcome to Jeddah, the land of the abandoned – of the done and the dusted, the tried and the tested.

Aankh hai bhari bhari…aur tum…muskuraane ki baat karte ho…
Tu cheez badi hai mast mast…??!!!??
Wriggle your brain cells, do you remember these songs? If you haven’t grown up in India in the slow 90s, perhaps you don’t. Those were the times - an age when Sunil Shetty or the wannabe hippie Sanjay Dutt manhandled a hundred bald, fat, ugly looking men wearing cheap attires, wielding AK47s and granede launchers – who, in spite of possessing every sophisticated looking armor, never learnt to use them or at least never learnt to use them to perfection.

It baffled at first, to have desultory, lame and mushy songs of the bygone era ringing in my ear. It was even surprising to see audio cassettes of unknown movies and forgettable songs. Who uses cassettes anymore? All these are ominous signs that the audience has never grown up since they dumped everything back home in 90s and set ashore.

Call it anachronism – fellow Indians, Pakis and such folks seem to have lost the count of time and purpose in pursuit of an oasis amidst the desert. Everyone has a story –none of which have an end. Everyone believes he is chasing something, but is, ironically, getting chased by the wheels of time instead. What, perhaps, binds everyone in this land of monotony, boredom and lackluster is a dream. Some have it, some had it while some had theirs quashed.

Jeddah is a strange place - its an amalgamation of pain, agony and hope amidst hopelessness. It’s the place where a million average Joes turn up - not seeking opportunity, rather seeking livelihood.

Like the story of the Indian laborer who toiled for 20 odd years in the gas station, dreaming of building his own big house back home. And after marrying off his sisters, paying off the debts, spending on whims of his wife, showering mercies on everyone and his dog back home, had his house built. But before he could dwell in it, suffered from a stroke at work and succumbed. A strange game of chance this life is, isn’t it?

Day Y:
A new day, another taxi trudges along as it nears another one of the innumerable traffic signals. Sudanese Urchins wander about in the sea of cars loaded with bottled water and spongebob-squarepants air balloons, hoping to make some business while the commotion lasts.

The stationary figure of larger-than-life bicycle dozes off placidly in the background when sideway glances are exchanged. Two Pakistani glances meet, nothing strange. But that this time they share an apprehension and a common feeling of haplessness. Side windows are lowered and a conversation follows.

P1: Kal fata? Peshaur mein? (There was an explosion last night? Peshawar?)
P2: Haan. Hamare toh ghar ke pas hi hai. Chacha wahi the. (Yeah. Close to our house. My uncle was around)
P1: (excitedly) Achha? Toh asal mein kitne mare? (Really? So how many have actually succumbed?)
P2: News mein toh bola hai shayad 70-80 log mare hai. Masjid mein fata hai toh log haazir the hi. Chacha bole 100 se zyada hi honge. (TV reports mention 70-80 casualties but there must be more, for it being a mosque. Uncle is sure there are at least more than 100)
P1: Ya-allah!

Meanwhile, the signal turns green, a car snarls from behind, seemingly furious at the two yokels. Car windows are raised again and the wheels are back in motion.

Life goes on…

Just another day!

A lazy wednesday:

Holiday. No one at home - blissful silence. Lazed and dazed around the house since morning - doing nothing. Bread omelette for brunch - tea biscuit for snacks - plenty of water in between.

Tick tick -
Sun sets. Clock strikes 8:
Feel hungry - Ramadan month - all shops closed :-(

Tick tick -
Half past 8:

Cant bear. God said - lets make something tonight. And then god said - let there be dal.
- Slice and dice onions.
- Take half a cup of lentil - wash thoroughly. Water 1:2.
- Stuff everything in the pressure cooker and wait for the whistle to blow.

And as we speak, clock strikes 9:
A lot of contemplation - Dal and bread would not that great - Lets make chapatis.
- Get two cups of wheat flour. Chapati? Sure eh? Naah. Too much effort - lets make rice.
- Plan changed - 1 cup of rice - wash thoroughly. Water 1:2
- Let us be grand and savor some aloo jeera too.
- Peel potatoes. Chop-chop.
- Oil in pan - cumin seeds, mustard - gas on - wait to sputter.
- Great! Time to call home.
- Chatter chatter.

Half past 9:
- Whats going on?
- Cumin seeds, mustard? Burnt out of recognition.
- Rice? Dal? Didn't turn on the stove.
- So what now?
- Throw everything in to the bin.
- Sulk.

Quarter to 10:
Whats left?
- Nicely washed rice and dal.
- Burnt mustard/cumin seeds. Anything edible? Nope.

Whats next?
Wait for clock to strike 10 - go to the restaurant and have a grand feast.

Day over! Voila!

Odontophobic, Me!

So what do you find the most scary? People? Ghost? Places? Animals? Trees? Terrorists? Mice? Flies? Caterpillars? Stock Market Crashes? Osama? Obama? LEHMANN BROTHERS?

Ever wished that you never get to have a date with your favorite creeps? Well I did too. The scariest thing I can vaguely remember having encountered are the packs of centipede you find in the jungles in monsoon. Given them a chance and they would crawl over everything. Your feet, your hands, face and when you think you’ve seen the worst, you'd find a big group partying on your back. Their crimson shade and a curly, curvy, glossy appearance ensure you want to faint the moment you see one on you. My feelings for a dentist hovers somewhere around there.

The phobia for dentists dates back to schooldays when I got my first real tooth pain. I remember the day when a shrill went down my spine as I chewed something with my decayed tooth. That was the worst pain I've ever had in my life.

The same week, I went to meet a dentist. I vaguely remember the day. She didn’t talk much; just asked me to sit on a reclining chair. I thought, why not? She inspected my mouth for a few seconds.

What happened next is something that is etched on my memory ever since. She switched ON a light and pulled it on my face. I'd only seen these in Mithunda movies when the bad-cop would question Mithunda, pour water on his face and do excruciating things to him.

So the spotlight was on me and I am no Mithunda. I am more of a terrified little wimp. The next thing I saw is the doctor trying out her drilling machine. Now I'd never seen a doctor with a drilling machine before. And I thought, if at all, it would be used on the very serious and complicated cases like mining for diamonds hidden underneath your medulla oblongata! I thought she'd devote some of her attention to me and cure me of this excruciating pain in my....teeth.

The next thing I remember, I saw the spot light, the drilling machine, the dentist...all closing in on me. But recline of the chair would take me lower and lower. I remember I was falling....weightless, clueless...the drills were badly trying to get me and they did. It hit a corner of my tooth and I could take it no longer: I simply fainted.

Normalcy was restored when I was given some water and the recline restored in such a manner that blood would run into my brain. I opened my eyes and saw the dentist giving me a condescending look.

I never visited a dentist again for the next few years till things turned out pretty bad. It was about 3-4 years later and the same tooth when mom took me to another dentist who promised a magic cure called RCT (Root Canal Treatment). They would remove all the damaged nerves of my teeth and replace it with synthetic ones. And with it would vanish the pain and the agony. I was ever so happy!

But this again was a painful exercise for me. I would be summoned every week and every time I'd go there hoping it’s the last. Since it never ceased, I decided that enough is enough and lived on with a hollow on my tooth. I avoided dentists ever since. I suspected I am odontophobic.

So 10 long years later, when I discovered a part of my teeth broken and coming off with a slice of sandwich, I was petrified about meeting Ms Frankenstein again. It was a different tooth and having past experience, I knew that RCT is the only way out. I made umpteen enquiries about good doctors around the park. Around the same time I started getting nightmares of the drilling machine.

On Isha's recommendation, I went to see her dentist. I was petrified to say the least. So I did all kinds of research online. I read a discussion on forum that if LA doesn't work the way it’s supposed to, the doctor would prick the nerve out and inject the anesthetic straight into it. This was supposedly the worst kind of pain mentioned and which everyone had invariably suffered once. I kicked myself for reading.

The day of appointment arrived and she said that I can start the process that very day and it would get over in a day or two. It was a catch-22 for me. Neither was I prepared for the game nor could I withstand the agony of the painful tooth. When she asked me whether I’ve had breakfast, I found a leeway and ran out of the clinic citing I am there with an empty stomach.

I took an appointment due 2 days hence and decided to call in Isha this time to give me some 'moral support' :P.

She was only interested in freaking me out even more. The doc gave me LA and asked me to wait for some time and then later, started drilling and cutting inroads. I felt a twinge and I screamed. I thought it would prompt her to go a bit slowly.

But it didn’t. I could see her reaching for the syringe again from the right corner of my eye. And then I thought of the forum discussion. I was scared. I dreaded that the most discussed process of injecting anesthetic into my nerve was about to begin. I waited with my fingers, hands, legs, shoulders; and everything crossed.

I screamed before she got the syringe into my mouth. She then asked me to be patient. And so I did; all patient, eyes shut - waiting for the needle to poke my nerve. When it did, I could feel a twinge. By Jove it was painful! My heart was racing. I could do nothing but persist and several agonizing seconds later, I sat there not feeling anything, heaving a sigh of relief.

I then lay there with my mouth wide open, needles of various kinds poking the teeth in contention. Broken pieces of teeth flying around like saw-dust. And an hour later, the ordeal was over. She said the RCT itself was over. Now I was scared again; how someone can wrap a month long process in a single sitting!

I asked her whether it’s going to pain anymore and she said that RCT is a surgical procedure and there would be traumatic pain. PAIN!!!! I suffered all this to get rid of my pain and here she was telling me that the pain has just started! I was furious and left for home feeling dejected, waiting for the pain to start all over again!
Thankfully, it didn’t ;)

She summoned me the next day; an appointment that I skipped just to test how my fractured tooth is keeping. It’s been a week since and I am yet to pay her a visit. The thought of going back to the drills still scares me and now I get that strange scary feeling again.

The next appointment is for the morrow. The drilling machine nightmares have made a comeback too. Wish me luck. Hope I make it ;)