Troothy experience

It all started with this idea of growing wise (no wonder those four jutters are known as wisdom teeth). My parents took real good care of my dental structure so that the appeal on the face maintained itself. There was this one tooth (obviously the dumbest of all wisdom tooth) in the lower right hand portion of my jaw which aimed a bit too high and propelled out at an angle. There was an unprecedented hole that formed between the pre molar and the tooth where all the rut used to rot and their family started clocking population exponentials. A dentist did warn me about the dire consequences but me and my overconfidence didn’t hold long, I had to show it to another one after 2 years by then the fortress of the enemies were built real strong. I had got a route canal done to one of the pre-molars, now the effect of toothpicks damaged that tooth and bedlam broke loose. I consented for a local anaesthetic surgical extraction of the devil of a wisdom tooth. The operation, I thought would be a small one so I didn’t take any one with me. The doctor got on with his job and my mouth weighed over a ton, lord jesus’ crucification walk was revisited, my mouth was gushing with blood. Lo and behold! I heard a nut crack in my mouth – the tooth refused to surrender and broke in half. The doctor used all his days of weights and gymnasium training and dug in to excavate the remains of the dodo of a tooth. I gave into the pain and went into a trance. On waking I was supposed to fill the pockets of the doctor who made the lower right half of tooth a cotton plantation. I paid the bill and walked to an autorickshaw and was intercepted by the protocols of being seated in the auto, the driver said, “Sir, wear (where) your shoes”. I realized the pain made me float in the air, I trudged back to the battlefield and picked my shoes and walked hand in hand with them.
For a week my food pipe was cleansed by all possible liquids and ice-creams became the Pharaoh’s curse. I was done for, I vowed not to go to that dentist again. During the 4 months respite between Jabalpur and Mysore, I got myself a memorial bridge constructed within my mouth at Gangtok. To this day the bridge stands and would for a long time to come, but everytime a soul touches the hardened base of the bridge, they feel the shivers run down their spine and in a bid to escape fear they plunge right into the doom of my stomach and out from the colon as nothing but mangled waste.