AN ACCI-DENTAL TRUE STORY

It all started on a cold November morning four years ago. I was already extremely late for the first hour and by the time I warmed up my ye-olde-Suzuki Samurai, my Timex Ironman read 07:44:36. With the Mission: Impossible theme playing inside my head, I kicked into gear and blasted off leaving behind a cloud of acrid smoke. Being a Speedfreak, I used to push my poor bike to the limits trying to get to the college parking lot within 4 minutes [Covering 3.5 km in 4 minutes on an 8 year old 100 cc bike is not easy, mind you]. So there I was, cruising at about 70 kmph, the chilly wind whipping my hair all over the place. A maniacal grin on my face and watering eyes, you’d think I was crying with ecstasy. And you wouldn’t be completely wrong…

That’s when things started happening. I overtook a Tata Sumo* [*Name has been changed to protect privacy] narrowly missing a zombie-pedestrian sleep-walking across the road. I looked back and bared my rather prominent canines at him like a pissed-off wolf [Poetic license, baby]. Satisfied, I turned back to the road and spotted another potential target for highway harassment – a guy on a scooter who seemed unaware of the fact that fourth gear existed and his right indicator flashing. [Why on Indian roads is the right side called the wrong side and the left side called the right side?] I went “What a moron!” and decided to give him a little scare.
Putting on a burst of acceleration, I sped towards my target. When I was about nine feet from him, he began to make a right turn. Much to my alarm, I realized I was the moron and slammed into him before I could say “Oh sh@#”

My bike kissed the unforgiving asphalt and so did I and for the next few scary moments the road and the sky alternatively filled my field of vision. When I stopped rolling, I could feel blood oozing out of a dozen scratches all over my body. But fortunately, I didn’t break anything except for my precious Timex Ironman and half an incisor.
Now incisors happen to be those teeth in the front, the ones you display when you put on you million-watt smile. I was so devastated by the tragic loss that I couldn’t sleep in the class for two days after that. For months, a part of me ignored it and another part of me hoped the chipped incisor would heal and grow back wolverine-style. I know, it was stupid.

A year later, I was at a Dentist’s clinic – for the first time ever. The door opened and the Dentist said brightly “Come in!” Justifiably, I looked up to the heavens and muttered “please don’t screw up this time”. When I noticed that the Dentist was already wearing his surgical mask my hyper-active imagination kicked in and I started getting disturbing ideas. Maybe he doesn’t want me to recognize him in case he messes up and I come back for revenge. Or maybe he has bad breath and/or crooked teeth?

Anyway now I was occupying a reclining dental-chair-whatever, feeling apprehensive. Suddenly, a high-pitched whine filled the room. The source of the noise turned out to be a small drill which the Dentist ran on my tooth while I closed my eyes. Then he said “now open your mouth wide”.

For the next fifty minutes, I lay there with my mouth wide open and my eyes shut tight. My jaws were stretched stiff and getting quite painful. So I decided to distract myself by thinking about something pleasant. I imagined a nice twisty piece of empty road and myself at the helm of the Devil-among-cars, a wicked Lamborghini Murcielago. The nasal roar of the Lambo’s massive V12 playing in my head considerably mitigated the pain in my jaws. Blue sky, green grass, black Lambo – it was heaven… [Devil in heaven? Poetic license is brilliant!]
I was knocked out of my reverie when the Dentist said “Open your eyes, it’s done”. Anxious about my tooth, I hastily washed my mouth and grabbed a mirror. What I saw shocked me to the core. My canine looked like Count Dracula’s fang. Numb with shock, I said “it doesn’t look right” pointing to my canine. The Dentist started laughing. He took off his mask revealing perfect, white teeth and said “It was the adjacent incisor that I fixed, can’t you make out? I didn’t even touch your canine.”

Now when I look back at the whole incident, I realize it was stupid of me to be reckless on the road. Perhaps even more stupid than telling everyone that my canines look like Count Dracula’s fangs...