Tooth, Truth & Pain

I write this with the spiritual fortitude of a monk and the facial expression of someone being poked in the face with a hot screwdriver. I'm not throwing dramatic explosions .. there's no orchestra to mark tragedy. Just this slow burn.

A smouldering, gnawing sort of suffering that sits somewhere between the back molar and my soul. And yesterday, was one of those days. My blessed tooth performing a one-man opera. Screeching, aching, protesting its very existence, while I continue to sit upright in the office chair performing like the turn-key, clapping-cymbal-monkey of society.

In any good desi household, dental pain is taken as seriously as politics and biryanis. And so, I dragged myself to the dentist. .. armed with this unfazed resolve and a pain threshold I imagined would impress even a seasoned fire-walking Fakir. But what began as a routine checkup turned into such a plot twist straight out of Titanic movie. The dentist, with the seriousness of a court judge and with such gravity, announced into the air, "The root canal we did ten years ago .. it's failing."

Failing? I thought only governments and New Year resolutions failed.

Having already endured six root canals, I consider myself a man of some academic credibility in the matter. I qualify for a PhD in Pain Management and Amateur Dentistry. So as the dentist muttered something technical, my inner voice ..armed with YouTube degrees and WebMD paranoia .. began its TED Talk.

I knew all the tropes: Always Brush twice a day, Always Floss, Always Rinse. And .. Pray to whichever deity handles oral hygiene. Funny no? Every dentist has the same opinion, and yet, somehow the bacteria in my mouth have organized themselves into a full-blown mobland. Their insignia : My Cavity.

I remember once, on a trip to Bangalore, I stopped at a 'bio dentist' .. this holy man who combined holistic, feng shui and divine intervention. "Sir," he said gravely, "it's all in the pH balance." It’s about your sugar intake, gut bacteria, oral microbiomes .. basically, everything except your actual brush. He may have been right, but he also had those Colgate posters of old men holding a toothbrush. No assurance intended.

Even the house driver Das, the unbrushed, the unbothered, the unnervingly cavity free .. declared with pride “Saab, 28 saal se brush nahi kiya!” (Sir, It's been 28 years since I've brushed, no cavity!) I stared at him like he’d told me he never wore underwear. Meanwhile, I, with my bougie electric toothbrush, was falling apart like a colonial bungalow in monsoon. He then spat out a paan-stained blob and added, "It's all about good spit." I almost believed him.

I became obsessed. Plaque is not just a sticky layer; it’s this microbial rave party on your teeth. There are about 159 species of bacteria doing the bhangra in your mouth, and your toothbrush is just one bouncer trying to control the crowd. It’s hopeless. You clean up, and by teatime, they’re back .. hungover and ready to party again. And if your gums bleed while brushing, you’ve either become a vampire or you’ve got gingivitis. Flossing makes it worse, but ignoring it is like ignoring a termite problem in a wooden house .. you’ll smile till your teeth start waving back.

But back to my saga.

As the dentist began drilling, that familiar high pitched whir started .. like some mosquito trapped inside a steel bucket. I felt no pain (praise modern anesthesia) but you are acutely aware of every burning whiff of enamel, every vibration in my jaw. My brain, ever the dramatist, drifted to a memory .. a parable of sorts, Ol' Carpenter Bobby.

Bobby was no ordinary man. He builds houses with devotion. One day, as he hammers away in the living room, he sees smoke rising from the bathroom. Fire! He rushes, douses it, notices two naughty children fleeing the scene, Upon inspecting, he finds burnt timber. Removes it, repairs it, satisfied.

But wait!! Another fire, this time in the kitchen. Again, children. Again, damage. Again, he plays firefighter and builder. He hammers faster, patches quicker .. He starts growing suspicious .. maybe its not the wood or bad luck. Maybe its the children with matches.

You see where this is going, right?

Teeth = wood. Cavities = fire. Bacteria = kids. Sugar = tar paper. Dentists = Bobby with an anxiety disorder. But its the one with matches .. those violent strains .. the mischief makers. Most dentists just keep drilling and patching and blaming sugar, while the real troublemakers .. those bacteria carrying metaphorical matchsticks ..keep returning for encores. Some genius tried Betadine. No use. They tried fluoride. Meh. Finally .. brace yourself .. they found that industry laundry bleach, yes, your neighbourhoods Tide accomplice, actually worked to kill bacteria. Imagine my horror and curiosity fighting this big duel in my brain.

At this point in the dental chair, I'm still nodding like a good national at a national anthem recital, but inside, my brain is playing a heated debate. "Should I really rinse my mouth with diluted bleach once a week?" another part of me suggests, "Why not just go back to coconut oil pulling like the ancients? Or clove oil, for that pain lifting, numbing sting?"

So there I lay, as this entire microbial-pyrotechnic drama played out in my mind, when suddenly the dentist chirped, “All done!” Just like that. My thirty-minute mental thesis on oral inflammation versus oral combustion ended with a snap of gloves and a casual invoice.

I emerge from the chair, half exorcised, half enlightened. My mouth numb, My brain buzzing with bacterial taxonomy and ancient home remedies. Somewhere in my molars, a treaty is being signed between modern medicine and some traditional mysticism.

I’ve resolved to continue brushing like a man clinging to hope. Maybe I’ll go back to my roots. Clove oil for the pain. Coconut oil for the sins. Saltwater for repentance. And xylitol gum for when I want to pretend I’m healthy while chewing something that tastes like depression .. like it's a pact with fate, and dream of a time when dentists are no longer needed because humanity finally figures out how to outsmart the children with matches.

Until then, may your enamel stay strong, your fluoride mild, and your dental bills tolerable.