I'm just in time for my pre-surgery checkup at the dentist. It's 12:30 pm, mid afternoon for some, early morning for me. Dental treatments and the run up to them are quite tiresome experiences. And when you wake up hastily at noon and rush to the dentist just in time for your appointment, you expect things to get done and dusted so that you can return home to breakfast. Not lunch, breakfast. As the stars would have it, my checkup couldn't be done as scheduled 'coz the air conditioner at the dentists was broke. 'Can you please come back in an hour sir?' Yeah sure. Strangely i'm not angry. I'm looking forward to going home to a hot cup of chai and 24 hour news , which by the way is way more entertaining than ever before.
I come home to a disgruntled member of the opposition party who's opened up a can of worms with his just published book.
(Nostalgia - 'Can of worms' was the first and only James Hadley Chase book I ever read. Passable pulp fiction.)
The book in question falls just short of glorifying the man held responsible by popular belief for the country's partition. The last time I checked we were a democracy. The author in question however, is expelled from his party and a state even goes on to ban the book. Freedom of speech anyone? I always though he was an outsider in the party, never did fit the bill.
I hastily put the lid back on the can of worms and rush back to the dentist. He's going to have to contend with my chai-breath for the forced hour long dive into national politics. But dentists are always a step ahead - he comes in wearing a surgical mask and I have to rinse before he dives in. Damn!
He tells me I need to get an X-ray done to figure out just how my wisdom teeth will be extracted. One look and you know these can't just be wanked out using the pakkad. They're either growing inside my gums or are too dilapidated for traditional extraction.
Cut to the X-ray guy.
I am told to remove my ear-ring before my face can be bombarded with potentially but seldom dangerous invisible rays. I suddenly think about that weird woman I saw on the internet with more than a hundred piercings on her face. What if she ever had to go in for a dental x-ray. I chuckle at the thought and wonder how many minutes it would take her to remove all those studs on her face before stepping up for the x-ray.
I am made to perch my face rigidly on a rectangular stand and bite on a plastic rod while the x-ray machine moves around my head, taking shots from all angles. There's a mirror for me to see how unpleasantly funny I look. At that very moment I realize that God has granted me another of my wishes- I always wanted to know what being Hannibal Lectar would feel like. Not that being a cannibal is on my wishlist, but it definitely would be quite something to know what goes on inside his head. The metal frames around my face are vaguely reminiscent of the mask Hannibal is made to wear on him, if not as ghastly. I'm urging to blurt out a 'Hello, Clarise', but neither was there a beautiful FBI agent sitting beside me to complete the setting nor was I at liberty to let go of the plastic rod in my mouth.
Note to self - God has curious ways of granting your wishes. Very curious indeed.
A couple of days later, armed with an x-ray of imperfectly set teeth I set off to get the surgery done once and for all. There are three extractions to be performed, one of them surgical - Fuck! The surgeon injects me with enough anesthesia to kill a two year old. My gums, lips and tongues get heavier by the second as the numbness sets it. I decide to shut out the pain by reflecting, retrospecting and planning the rest of my life while the surgeon goes on plundering and tearing at my gums to shunt out the guilty teeth.
All I can do is guess what he is doing inside my mouth - the anesthesia has taken effect completely and unlike hair salons, dentists do not provide for strategically placed mirrors for the patient to know what's going on.
Here's what I think happened -
1 - I was made to bite onto gauze filled with the most bitter potion I've swallowed in my life.
2 - I'm injected with insane amounts of anesthesia.
3 - The surgeon cuts at my gums, loosens my tooth and plucks them out.
4 - My gums are stitched up.
There, nice and easy. Oh did I forget there were two more teeth to go?
Somewhere during this plundering I realize that life's not about hitting back at or avoiding the pain and suffering you get. It's more about taking it in your stride knowing that you're going to come out a new person. Much like a tooth extraction. Not a very attractive bargain though, considering that I would continue to bleed for a couple of hours afterward, my face would be swollen for three days and the pain would be so incredible that I would have to skip a day of work.
Note to self - The 'Flash' theory propounded in a previous post theory still stands. Anesthesia begets flashes of genius. Er, flashes of... whatever.
Contrary to popular belief I also realize that you don't always walk into the sunset with a curvy brunette by your side after confronting your pain. I walked home in the sweltering afternoon sun, content with marveling at intoxicatingly beautiful women every step of the road.....
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Briefing and HR execs
Software companies have a particularly disgusting habit. They build up a visa interview as if it were the be all and end all of your life. 'Comb your hair, have a clean shave, wear a tie, wear a white shirt, brush your teeth well, polish your shoes and while you're at it, get a nose job done'. The way I look at it, a visa interview is Gods way of giving it back to the Indian male, for the countless hours of preparation that a prospective bride has to go through to prove herself worthy of being his wife. But thats not the point of this post.
Lets cut back to the interview build up. One day prior to the interview I had to appear for a briefing session at our corporate office at Akruti. I had to be there at 10 am, which was always going to be difficult considering I had worked till 3 am. Simple math said i had barely 5 hours of sleep to spare. Since I'm finally getting my visa done, i assumed that every star in the universe is shooting to get my job done; I wake up at 9:00 am, quite confident that i'm going to make it on time. But baseless confidence has always been my nemesis. To cut a long story short, it took 50 minutes for my rickshaw to reach Akruti from Andheri station. A distance I remember covering within 20 not so many years ago.
Note to Self - Bombay is getting too crowded. Need to migrate to another city, or maybe another country.
I am the last person to reach the session. Accusing eyes stare a hole through me. (Gimme a break guys, I'm working nights these days!)
The lady in charge of the briefing session instantly reminds me of the queens guards you see outside the Buckingham palace. She betrays no emotion and has a sense of purpose about her. For the next hour she would dazzle us with all the possible questions we could be asked at the interview. She's learnt the questions and the least offensive answers to them so well that I'm convinced she should be given an honorary visa herself. She isn't the normal HR types that we encounter in the IT industry - she's polite. Relatively.
I suddenly have a flash! Yes, when I should be listening intently to what I should or should not answer at the interview, I'm getting flashes. Could the timing BE any better? But a flash is a flash and must be flashed -
Why are HR employees so dragon-like? Always willing to spew venom on your face for something as innocent as not attending a fun at work session? It's not that tough to figure out. HR associates are more often than not Arts grads. As students, most of these Art-walahs feel a sense of self-accomplishment, a sense of triumph of having resisted the temptation to join the band-wagon of science grads. They think they can change the world with their ideas (a few do). Those who don't, end up as HR execs filling visa applications for the very science students they so despised. Disillusionment.
Not a very bright flash. But a flash nonetheless.
During the briefing, I get the distinctly uncomfortable sense that I am a part of a filthy rat race that's never going to end. I toggle with the idea of professional suicide by giving the visa interview a miss. But better sense prevails and I decide that I need to be a rat for some more time. Some more years perhaps.
At the end of the briefing we are wished the customary 'Best of Lucks' with the fine print reading - don't blame us if you flunk the interview.
'Best of Luck'? You can't go through so much preparation and at the end of it all leave things to luck. 'You bloody well clear the interview', I tell myself.
On the way back I can't help but reflect on the past month. Things are happening at a breakneck pace and I'm tiring. I take refuge once again in a stick of Milds, that for so many years has been my uncomplaining shrink...
Lets cut back to the interview build up. One day prior to the interview I had to appear for a briefing session at our corporate office at Akruti. I had to be there at 10 am, which was always going to be difficult considering I had worked till 3 am. Simple math said i had barely 5 hours of sleep to spare. Since I'm finally getting my visa done, i assumed that every star in the universe is shooting to get my job done; I wake up at 9:00 am, quite confident that i'm going to make it on time. But baseless confidence has always been my nemesis. To cut a long story short, it took 50 minutes for my rickshaw to reach Akruti from Andheri station. A distance I remember covering within 20 not so many years ago.
Note to Self - Bombay is getting too crowded. Need to migrate to another city, or maybe another country.
I am the last person to reach the session. Accusing eyes stare a hole through me. (Gimme a break guys, I'm working nights these days!)
The lady in charge of the briefing session instantly reminds me of the queens guards you see outside the Buckingham palace. She betrays no emotion and has a sense of purpose about her. For the next hour she would dazzle us with all the possible questions we could be asked at the interview. She's learnt the questions and the least offensive answers to them so well that I'm convinced she should be given an honorary visa herself. She isn't the normal HR types that we encounter in the IT industry - she's polite. Relatively.
I suddenly have a flash! Yes, when I should be listening intently to what I should or should not answer at the interview, I'm getting flashes. Could the timing BE any better? But a flash is a flash and must be flashed -
Why are HR employees so dragon-like? Always willing to spew venom on your face for something as innocent as not attending a fun at work session? It's not that tough to figure out. HR associates are more often than not Arts grads. As students, most of these Art-walahs feel a sense of self-accomplishment, a sense of triumph of having resisted the temptation to join the band-wagon of science grads. They think they can change the world with their ideas (a few do). Those who don't, end up as HR execs filling visa applications for the very science students they so despised. Disillusionment.
Not a very bright flash. But a flash nonetheless.
During the briefing, I get the distinctly uncomfortable sense that I am a part of a filthy rat race that's never going to end. I toggle with the idea of professional suicide by giving the visa interview a miss. But better sense prevails and I decide that I need to be a rat for some more time. Some more years perhaps.
At the end of the briefing we are wished the customary 'Best of Lucks' with the fine print reading - don't blame us if you flunk the interview.
'Best of Luck'? You can't go through so much preparation and at the end of it all leave things to luck. 'You bloody well clear the interview', I tell myself.
On the way back I can't help but reflect on the past month. Things are happening at a breakneck pace and I'm tiring. I take refuge once again in a stick of Milds, that for so many years has been my uncomplaining shrink...
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Change, Root canal and Flashes
At long last, change is here (almost). No, i'm not watching the presidential elections' coverage reruns on youtube; like all outwardly pretentious but insecure and vulnerable 25 year olds, the only change that i find remotely interesting to write about is that which has a direct relation to me.
One day from now I am going to be interviewed by a highly suspicious gentleman slash lady who may or may not deem me fit set step on the soil of the You Es of Aye. Lemme see, they'll probably ask me why i deserve to go to the US in the first place, there would be vague questions asking me to trace my lineage back up to 4 generations. And if there's any shadow of an evidence of my forefathers having swatted a fly - BOOM! bye bye. neeext!. (Blame the rantings on lack of sleep and the root canal I'm going through).
Let's cut to the root canal, shall we? Ok, so on the 18th I had my root canal done. Unlike urban legends, it's not really that painful a process. It gives you an ideal setting to reflect back on the bitch that life is while getting your bad whites fixed. Not a bad bargain.
Here's how it went. I was made to sit on a freakishly comfortable chair, with a fluffy pink-yellow-green sunflower attached to it's robotic arm which, by the way would eventually be used to violate my mouth.
Notes to self -
1 - My office chairs really suck. They need to take a cue on ergonomics from my dentist.
2 - Pink sunflowers are funky. I'm not a fan of pink, but pink sunflowers are another thing. God, how soon can this evolution take place?
The doctor comes in with a mask over his mouth and double disinfected gloves on his hands. With an aire of professionalism he commands me with courtesy to open my mouth and sprays in an intoxicating clove spray.
Note to self
3 - 'Command with courtesy' - need to learn this. It's an art.
4 - The spray tasted good.
Now starts the fun. The robotic arm has an attached tray that has an array of apparatus that would later be used to dig and drill into my tooth and gums. There are about 20 needles, an equal amount of drill tops and generous doses of anesthesia. The doctor goes about his job with discomforting ease (discomforting for me that is).
For every needle he sticks into my tooth, theres a drill which follows that almost rattles my brains out of my ears.
Note to reader
1 - I'm lying of course. It wasn't painful. On the contrary i quite enjoyed drilling. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.
About halfway through the drilling, a FLASH. Not the one on the robotic arm. The one that lights up inside your head leading you to a sudden realization of great and absolute truth - 'The tooth is the most secular part of the human body'. Really, think about it. You can recognize a Rabbi (not the singer) by his locks, a Brahmin by the absence of his locks, a Jain by absence of footwear, a Muslim by his beard (really, we have distinctive ones :) ), a Sardar by his hair, a Parsi...well we can all recognize a Bawa when we see one. My point is, there's no way you can distinguish a persons faith by his teeth. It's the most secular part of the human body. And by virtue of its secularism, the easiest way to make friends is to flash your 32 whites.
Note to self -
5 - A political party that does not have dental hygiene in its manifesto is not secular.
Convinced that this flash could only have resulted from the abundant quantity of anesthesia in my system i resolve to have another dental procedure soon. Or at least keep some of that spray handy.
Satisfied that I am still capable of ideas that would some day rock the world, my mind wanders to a vacation on a beach. Not Juhu beach; a more famous one, like Hawaii. Blame it on lack of creativity or the comfort of the dentists chair, i start conjuring up images of being seated in that very chair, having a dental procedure (a second root canal perhaps) in Hawaii. Medical tourism anyone?
Note to self
5 - Need a vacation. Maybe thanksgiving.
Seven needles, seven drillings, even more anesthesia and 30 minutes later the doctor still shows no sign of relenting. That doesn't really bother me; these are the only really quite moments I've had for myself in a long time. A very long time. The doctor could dissect my gums for the rest of my life and I wouldn't complain.
No. Not really. Too much quietness can be suicidal as well. With my quota of path breaking ideas over for the day, my mind drifts to more worldly (and mundane) things. Whats life going to be like 5 years hence? Where do I see myself heading? When will I score? More importantly, where will I score?
Note to anyone who cares a fuck. And errr... also to myself
6 - Need to figure out another profession. Now.
That's when I begin to feel the first semblance of discomfort in my mouth. FLASH# 2.
'As long as you're doing something you like while you're simultaneously a part of something you dislike, you're cool'. Otherwise, you're a sitting duck for pain.
(Yeah I didn't get it the first time too). Let's finally put the high school math to some use and form the equation right-
Equation 1 -
Root canal (Dislike) + Theory on dental secularism (Like) = Cool
Equation 2 -
Root canal (Dislike) + Mundane thoughts (Dislike) = Not Cool
Lets put the equation to some asli duniya ka scenario (like the robotics or COA questions in engineering)
Real life example 1 - Year 2005-2006
Work(Dislike) + Gym(Like) = Cool
Real life example 2 - Year 2007-2008
Work(Really Dislike) + Spanish(Like) - Gym(Like) = Cool
Real life example 3 - Year 2009
Work(Get me the FUCK out of here) + Spanish(Like) + Dancing(Like) = Cool
Real life example 4 - Year 2009-2010/2011
(Assuming that homeland security lets me in the US)
Work(Like -- hangs in the balance) + Gym(Like) + Spanish(Like) = Cool
Scenario 5 is where it gets interesting. Year 2011 onward.
Work (Better do something you like) + Basically do stuff that makes you go bonkers = Utopia
Basically what I'm saying is - do something you like. Fuck the rest. Easier said than done.
Perhaps on cue, the doctor tells me we're done for the day. Happy that I had two flashes of self-satisfying self realization, I head to work looking forward to my next two appointments with the comfortable dentist-recliner and the pink sunflower.
One day from now I am going to be interviewed by a highly suspicious gentleman slash lady who may or may not deem me fit set step on the soil of the You Es of Aye. Lemme see, they'll probably ask me why i deserve to go to the US in the first place, there would be vague questions asking me to trace my lineage back up to 4 generations. And if there's any shadow of an evidence of my forefathers having swatted a fly - BOOM! bye bye. neeext!. (Blame the rantings on lack of sleep and the root canal I'm going through).
Let's cut to the root canal, shall we? Ok, so on the 18th I had my root canal done. Unlike urban legends, it's not really that painful a process. It gives you an ideal setting to reflect back on the bitch that life is while getting your bad whites fixed. Not a bad bargain.
Here's how it went. I was made to sit on a freakishly comfortable chair, with a fluffy pink-yellow-green sunflower attached to it's robotic arm which, by the way would eventually be used to violate my mouth.
Notes to self -
1 - My office chairs really suck. They need to take a cue on ergonomics from my dentist.
2 - Pink sunflowers are funky. I'm not a fan of pink, but pink sunflowers are another thing. God, how soon can this evolution take place?
The doctor comes in with a mask over his mouth and double disinfected gloves on his hands. With an aire of professionalism he commands me with courtesy to open my mouth and sprays in an intoxicating clove spray.
Note to self
3 - 'Command with courtesy' - need to learn this. It's an art.
4 - The spray tasted good.
Now starts the fun. The robotic arm has an attached tray that has an array of apparatus that would later be used to dig and drill into my tooth and gums. There are about 20 needles, an equal amount of drill tops and generous doses of anesthesia. The doctor goes about his job with discomforting ease (discomforting for me that is).
For every needle he sticks into my tooth, theres a drill which follows that almost rattles my brains out of my ears.
Note to reader
1 - I'm lying of course. It wasn't painful. On the contrary i quite enjoyed drilling. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.
About halfway through the drilling, a FLASH. Not the one on the robotic arm. The one that lights up inside your head leading you to a sudden realization of great and absolute truth - 'The tooth is the most secular part of the human body'. Really, think about it. You can recognize a Rabbi (not the singer) by his locks, a Brahmin by the absence of his locks, a Jain by absence of footwear, a Muslim by his beard (really, we have distinctive ones :) ), a Sardar by his hair, a Parsi...well we can all recognize a Bawa when we see one. My point is, there's no way you can distinguish a persons faith by his teeth. It's the most secular part of the human body. And by virtue of its secularism, the easiest way to make friends is to flash your 32 whites.
Note to self -
5 - A political party that does not have dental hygiene in its manifesto is not secular.
Convinced that this flash could only have resulted from the abundant quantity of anesthesia in my system i resolve to have another dental procedure soon. Or at least keep some of that spray handy.
Satisfied that I am still capable of ideas that would some day rock the world, my mind wanders to a vacation on a beach. Not Juhu beach; a more famous one, like Hawaii. Blame it on lack of creativity or the comfort of the dentists chair, i start conjuring up images of being seated in that very chair, having a dental procedure (a second root canal perhaps) in Hawaii. Medical tourism anyone?
Note to self
5 - Need a vacation. Maybe thanksgiving.
Seven needles, seven drillings, even more anesthesia and 30 minutes later the doctor still shows no sign of relenting. That doesn't really bother me; these are the only really quite moments I've had for myself in a long time. A very long time. The doctor could dissect my gums for the rest of my life and I wouldn't complain.
No. Not really. Too much quietness can be suicidal as well. With my quota of path breaking ideas over for the day, my mind drifts to more worldly (and mundane) things. Whats life going to be like 5 years hence? Where do I see myself heading? When will I score? More importantly, where will I score?
Note to anyone who cares a fuck. And errr... also to myself
6 - Need to figure out another profession. Now.
That's when I begin to feel the first semblance of discomfort in my mouth. FLASH# 2.
'As long as you're doing something you like while you're simultaneously a part of something you dislike, you're cool'. Otherwise, you're a sitting duck for pain.
(Yeah I didn't get it the first time too). Let's finally put the high school math to some use and form the equation right-
Equation 1 -
Root canal (Dislike) + Theory on dental secularism (Like) = Cool
Equation 2 -
Root canal (Dislike) + Mundane thoughts (Dislike) = Not Cool
Lets put the equation to some asli duniya ka scenario (like the robotics or COA questions in engineering)
Real life example 1 - Year 2005-2006
Work(Dislike) + Gym(Like) = Cool
Real life example 2 - Year 2007-2008
Work(Really Dislike) + Spanish(Like) - Gym(Like) = Cool
Real life example 3 - Year 2009
Work(Get me the FUCK out of here) + Spanish(Like) + Dancing(Like) = Cool
Real life example 4 - Year 2009-2010/2011
(Assuming that homeland security lets me in the US)
Work(Like -- hangs in the balance) + Gym(Like) + Spanish(Like) = Cool
Scenario 5 is where it gets interesting. Year 2011 onward.
Work (Better do something you like) + Basically do stuff that makes you go bonkers = Utopia
Basically what I'm saying is - do something you like. Fuck the rest. Easier said than done.
Perhaps on cue, the doctor tells me we're done for the day. Happy that I had two flashes of self-satisfying self realization, I head to work looking forward to my next two appointments with the comfortable dentist-recliner and the pink sunflower.
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