my dentist's wife

The long, silent, graveled road, with abandoned vegetation on either side, opens, after testing my bike’s shock absorbers up to Bajaj’s specifications, into a bustling mercury lit Rajapur market. It’s like arriving from a memorial service to a wedding.
Silence, here, is eaten more by people than automobile honks and rickshaws tinkles. Whether it’s the casual banter or the hurling of abuses at a pan shop, last night’s cricket match discussions or local gossip-all is done in that typical lung-stressing voice trying to intimidate you with every word. Shops tumble on the roads with their articles- bronze utensils, dangling wires, clothes from Bombay, buckets of paints, home appliances, even the kitchen for a tandoori shop comes out on the road, trying to lure its potential buyers and also the ones who don’t want to buy.

A lassiwaala sits atop a high stool with a large earthen pot that resembles a shaahi spittoon, and rolls his hands on a wooden mixer trying to mix the curd and sugar into a thick leathery paste. The lassi (a north Indian drink made from curd) is served, with a layer of rabri on top, to customers sitting on iron benches on the road.
A different song comes from every corner and arrogant steps spring on the road.
My bike tries to whiz past people, walking as if the road belongs to their father, and the tire almost rolls on to someone’s legs. The handle hits someone’s elbows and he curses me with our choicest abuses and tempts me to do a little jamming with him. Another one says he’ll behead me when I just touch him with my knees.

My cousin, who has been my pillion all along, points out. We have arrived at Dr Irshaad Ahmad’s dental clinic. As I try to find some space to park my bike outside that small market, I smell mogra incense sticks. The clinic is at the end of a small market with lined shops on both sides of a small corridor. The front one is of a jeweler, a fat man with a Nehru cap trying to appease the goddess Lakhmi by whirling mogra incense sticks in front of his safe. The second one was of a trader who sat behind a huge table; big bulging dark eyes stared at me. Much to my amusement, the third one was a beauty parlor and much to my discontent, a huge curtain blocked the inside view. The fourth and the last one was Dr Irshaad’s clinic.
Benches adorned the end of the corridor for patients to wait. My heart sank on seeing the long waiting line as the pain shot up once again in my mouth, like a tremor on the face of an abandoned landscape. My cousin took a peak into the clinic swishing aside the curtains on the door signaling him of our arrival.
Much to the chagrin of the awaiting patient, who is next in line, we are invited in.
After all Irshaad bhai, as she calls him, is my cousin’s best friend’s husband.

The clinic is no more than a cubicle. A long sofa-chair is pushed against one side of the wall, with an X-ray machine hovering over it. Attached to the machine is a bulb with a reflector. Dr Irshaad, mid-forties, almost bald, with an amusing face that reminds me of Syed Kirmani, sits in a corner with a small mahogany table in front of him. The table has a picture depicting the root-canal therapy procedure, a few jaw-models in green, and his note-pad with Asma Dental Clinic written in bold letters with blue ink.
The table also has a picture of a boy, neatly framed; scared by the camera pointed at him.
The boy is held by a woman. Late thirties, radiant face complimented by dreamy shiny eyes, a flat nose as if it has been put in haste, thin smiling lips, broad shoulders, attractive. She is holding the boy like a bomb about to explode.

Salaam. How are you Irshaad bhai? My cousin inquires about his well being.

Salaam. A broad smile flashed across his face. His dark cheeks flushed, teeth shone. Pretty good for a doctor, I thought, at least better than my bald hair dresser.
God’s blessings. How are you? Making money with both hands?

Barely managing. God has been kind. Too much hard work, you know, managing two hospitals. My cousin replied in her husky, complaining voice, matching his teeth show with her own neatly lined set. I felt intimidated.

What is your condition? He asked me.

One of my pre-molars is troubling me. A huge pain shoots up every now and then as if all the blood is going to come out from there like a fountain.

So how’s your sister’s tooth I operated last month? He forgot about me.

Absolutely fine. Your hands have got magic in them. Flattered him so that we can work up some discount.

The smile grew wider. He got up from his chair like a lord on being knighted.
He moved the bulb on my face, opened up my jaw, looked into it.
How many cigarettes do you smoke?

I felt the tickle harder than the pain. Aaaaiiiii, looking at my cousin, aaa aaa vvvvery few.
She didn’t know I smoked, but she was safe.

Poison is poison, even if taken in small doses. Looks like your tooth needs my needle.
I wondered what needle he was talking about. If it was the long threaded one lying next to me then I was in serious trouble.

He sat down on his chair and started chatting with my cousin again.
My back is giving a lot of trouble these days. The lower portion is particularly severe. I had all the tests done but nothing came up. What do you think can be the problem?

Did you get your uric acid tested?

Yes. Everything’s normal. Uric acid test, blood test, hemoglobin test.
Every test seems normal. I don’t know what’s wrong. I have consulted many doctors, but no one can point out anything.

How much do you drive in a day? I intervened, at least to let him know that I was there.

At least 100 kms.

That’s the problem; quit driving for a month and you’ll see the improvement.

That might be the problem because it’s all about the posture, he looked at my cousin.
She nodded.

And, how is Samira? My cuz remembered her friend, Dr Irshaad’s wife.

His smile disappeared as if it was never there.
She’s fine. Talked to her over the phone about a month ago. Says it’s too hot out there these days and her eyes burn too much. I said what do you expect in a desert?

You know Irshaad bhai, I fail to understand her, even remotely. With Kabir so young?

Dr Irshaad looked at her and smiled. A smile that fills awkward silences or tries to answer the ineffable.

What needs to be done with his tooth? She changed the topic.

Root canal, what else. He looked at me in an assuring manner.

What’s that? I asked, looking at him from the corner of my eyes, still resting on that wavy chair.

I’ll put a needle inside your tooth and cut off the vein that connects it to your gums.

And how painful is that going to be? Tooth-molestation. It scared me.

Not in the least. I guarantee it.

He scribbled a few medicines on his notepad in a careless, doctoral hand. I think there’s some direct proportionality between a doctor’s status and his shoddy handwriting. As reputable the doctor, shoddier the handwriting.
Take these for three days and come after that.

We left the clinic much to the comfort of the awaiting patients.

Where is his wife? I asked my cuz on our way back

In Saudi Arabia.

What’s she doing there? Puzzled.


Making money. She got a lucrative job and went away. She comes once a year.
You know, they had a seven year long affair before getting married. And she left him just like that, along with their boy.

He’s that same Dr Irshaad who married a Sunni? Yeah I heard about that when they were getting married. Dr Irshaad is mummy’s maternal aunt’s daughter’s brother in law.
That scandal remained in the air for a long time.
(The contempt that these two sects in Muslims, Shia and Sunni, have for each other has expanded exponentially over the years for unknown reasons)

Ahaan. That Saharanpur aunt? The one whose daughter ran off with a married man? I didn’t know that. My cuz got curious. How could she not know about this?
Every Shiite is very particular about his relations. You sit next to us for 15 minutes and we can work up your relationship with us, even if there isn’t a plausible one.

What kind of love was that? What’s the point in earning so much? You are going to spend the better part of your life in an alien country surrounded by people you don’t know. I shout on top of my voice from my helmet.

Hmmm. I don’t understand either. A mocking rather than concerned tone. And that she has a five year old kid. It’s so insensitive of her.

I dropped her at her house which was my house a couple of years back. I was her tenant.
It was a large two-story building whose exterior has never been painted. It has always been gray, grim. Swishing past familiar faces and bumps, I was in unfamiliar territory. A place where my heart has never been. My heart is rather younger than me.

The view from my balcony is shinier tonight. They have put an extra street light on my side of the road. It had brightened the pale white of house below it giving it a creamy texture. The light has invaded its insides through a large window and exposed the water-soaked walls. The paint is peeling off and falling on the mattress like sweat from an old man’s forehead. It’s a drawing room. It has an old wooden sofa set with deep chairs, pale white, with occasional specks of wooden brown on the hand rests. To my dismay, most of the view is blocked by the huge air-cooler.
I can see her now, more clearly, but I don’t understand her. Why am I unable to comprehend that woman-Samira, my dentist’s wife, who left him for a better career?

On the appointed day, we rode up through that busy street once again. It was busier for a 9 p.m. Rajapur road. Dr Irshaad was taking a nap. It seemed he has been in that position, laid back, legs spread out, hands folded on his stomach, for quite some time.

Irshaad bhai? Cuz woke him up. He got up with urgency.
Did you see more patients than usual today?

Arey Sabiha, Salaam. Lots. I think around 50 since morning.

50? Good lord. How’s your back ache?

I think his suggestion is working. I can feel the difference. He smiled at me. His eyes were milking with sleep.

Then we should get a discount. Cuz said with a laugh, not caring to hide the gap between her front teeth.

Arey Sabiha, I’m already charging you almost half of what I charge my other clients. Elsewhere, it costs around Rs 1000 for a root canal. You can cross check it from anywhere you want.

That I know. She added, acknowledging the favor.

So how’s the pain? He finally looked at me with some concern.

Its better. Actually there’s no pain at all.

Let’s have a look at it.

Hmmm…looks good. Shall we start the therapy today? He asked her.

Up to you doc. We answered in unison.

Let’s start it today.

I saw the long needle, externally threaded steel. I remembered one from my machine design book.

As soon as he touched my tooth, the pain that has receded through medication shot up.

Does it pain? He asked. I nodded.

It seems more complicated than it looks. I think we need to take an X-ray. He turned on the switch for the machine, rotated the white thick pipe with a gun-shaped instrument at its end. He put a hard piece of cardboard inside my throat and asked me to hold it. Within seconds X-ray was done. He took out the film and put it in a small envelope. Wrote my name on it and put it in his drawer.

Come after two days. We’ll take a look at your X-ray and then plan further action.

What about the pain right now?

It’ll recede on its own. If it doesn’t, take this medicine. He checked one on my prescription. I paid him another Rs 100 note out of the Rs 500 he has asked me for the whole treatment. We left with my left hand on my left side of the jaw.

On my third visit, I went alone. I thought he paid too much attention to my Cuz’s inquiries rather than on my tooth.

He received me like someone he has known for a long time with that familiar confident smile. I inquired about his back. He said it had never been better. I was glad to know I had cured what all doctors in the city couldn’t decipher.
He took out my X-ray.

Your tooth looks fine from the inside. It’s just the upper hollowed potion that needs to be taken care off. Let’s see what progress we can make with the needle today.
If it pains a little, bear it.
He pinched me, it hurt. But I didn’t ask him to stop. I enjoyed the pinch.
He rolled it a couple of times inside my tooth. Took it out and inserted it again. More rolling. I felt the metal against my gums. He repeated the procedure several times. It didn’t hurt as much as it did the first time. I got familiar to the pain.

So, how is Nighat aapa? He referred to my mom.

She is fine. Has some pain in her legs. I didn’t know you knew her.

Of course I know her. My family was really close to your mother’s before her marriage to your dad. We spent a lot of time together. Her sisters, my sister and I.
I remember the day when you were born in Fatima Clinic. I went to see your mother. But your grand mother wasn’t very excited about my arrival. You had been crying for a long time and the moment I took you in my arms, you stopped crying.

Ohk. Acha. I didn’t know that. I smiled.

I want to buy a music system for this place. Which is a better option- Sony or Samsung?

After spitting in the small basin next to me and still reeling under some pain, I tried to find my voice. Both are good, but Sony is the best for sure.

Will it be worth the money?

Yes yes, sure, I use Sony only. It has a great sound, worth every single penny.
Doctor Sahab, they are all the same.

He moved his head from left to right in affirmative.

Your son looks very cute in that picture. I pointed to the Polaroid on his table.

And his mother? I wasn’t expecting this question.

She doesn’t looks like someone who would leave him even though she holds him like a bomb. He wasn’t shocked to know that I knew about it. He took it for granted that his wife’s dear friend would’ve passed it on to me without the least bit of hesitation. This is how the society is in this part of the world. Such a scandal, even though it took place three years ago, is blurted out within seconds on meeting someone who doesn’t know about it. Be it anyone’s scandal.

But she did. He said. The carefree outburst every now and then was replaced by an almost no-teeth smile.

Why did she go? It was hard to find the voice to ask this, but I guessed from his face that he wanted this to be asked as if he had an answer prepared.

Money-the prospect of living in a city like Riyadh-a great career.

Doctor sahab, God has been so kind to you. What is it that you don’t have? A well established practice, a government job, two clinics, a house in one of the best localities in the city, a name to reckon with, car, bank balance-I’m sure. What else would any wife want?

Dr Irshaad gave the embarrassing-but-haughty smile on hearing his achievements.
You know Abbas, when she left I couldn’t understand it at all. I mean she wasn’t unhappy with me. I took pretty good care of her. Made her the queen of the mansion of my heart. And then he went on to use many similar phrases from mainstream Indian cinema.

I was so embarrassed on hearing them. I always thought them to be so obscene, the release of someone’s insides in such bland words; I thought them to be unreal.
He stopped. He was more colorful than I had anticipated in my earlier visits. He was able to laugh at his incapacity to keep his wife, a rarity among Indian males.
I found his laugh more intense after that. The release has taken the farce out of his voice.
I responded to his jokes with equal admiration. He was very open about his wife after his first release which I thought was long overdue. It just came out.

Samira was a medical aspirant when they first met. Irshaad was a student of one of the most prestigious medical colleges in the city. Hers was a lower middle class orthodox Muslim family, the kind who make their girls live in cages, the only kind known in the city. Dr Irshaad’s friend at college got married to one of Samira’s friend. Irshaad and Samira signed on the place of witnesses. Then they met often after that. Samira took him as a guiding force in her dreams to don the white coat one day. Irshaad was turned on by the idea of a girl who had the nerve to break free from the clutches of the social fabric of such a hypocrite society. She was out of the ordinary for him. A speck of unusual hope he has searched all his life but never found. She was his slap to all that he has loathed while growing up. The relentless cry for societal norms, hiding behind religion to cover up their ineptitude, trashing girls who gave the slight indications of a liaison, and hiding their boys if some errant behavior came to light, self loving, ignorant, talking about God as if they meet him after the Friday prayers every week.

I remember the day I proposed. Dr Irshaad was speaking again. This time fully relaxed in his flexible chair, hands on his bald head, trying to recall one of his favorite moments from life.
It was overcast. I had promised myself that she would say yes if it would rain. You wouldn’t believe this but it started raining as soon as I had this thought. A smile, this time more genuine than ever.
There was no doubt in my mind that she would say yes or that it wouldn’t rain. The positive anxiety when win is almost certain is an assurance of peace between mind and heart. She was overjoyed. It was almost certain that no one would agree- neither her side nor mine. I was a Shia, she was a Sunni.
Our friends signed for witnesses this time.
Our marital life started as I had expected. Full of love and surprises. She turned out to be the best wife one can hope for. And that’s why it was so hard to let her go.
His smiling vanished. A serious melancholy possessed him now. He looked hideous in a serious face since his nose looked sharper now, and I tried hard to hide my smile.

I left the clinic with a heavy heart that day. The attractive face in the picture suddenly turned cold for me as all attractive faces generally do. I rode the bike faster than usual. I wanted to be home as quickly as possible.

My last and final appointment was scheduled on 6th December.
I arrived at a late hour. I knew it was my last day at the clinic and wanted to probe further. To try to figure out Samira Ahmad, the woman who left her husband and child for a job in the gulf and was disturbing me so much with every passing hour.

Dr Irshaad was in a nostalgic mood that day. He remembered 6th December 1992. The day Babri Masjid was demolished.
It was such a great tragedy. I was in college at that time. We heard it on the news. There was great unrest amongst the students. Muslims as well as Hindus. They were at a cross with the government’s inability to tackle such a situation. Everyone thought it was a sad day in the world’s largest democracy.

The mosque was not the tragedy. The aftermath was the real tragedy. The bomb blasts and the subsequent riots.

Hmmm. He looked grim today. I thought my chances of knowing more about his wife were slim today.
So how is the tooth?

Absolutely perfect.

Good, good. God’s blessings. It’s your last turn I think? What did I say I’ll do today?

You said you will fill the gap.

Oh yes, yes. He took a white powder from a small bottle. Spread on the glass sheet, it looked like talcum powder. He added a pinch of a watery-substance to it with his scalpel and mixed them to form a thick paste. He applied it on my tooth and asked me shut the jaw so that it can take the shape of my jaw profile.

I had to ask this and I had to ask it now. He was so gloomy that I thought he wouldn’t rub it off. The anger might make him answer.
Doctor Sahib, if you don’t mind can I ask something. Since I came to know about your wife, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t understand it.

Let it be. I don’t understand her either. She comes once a year and behaves as if everything is just fine. That her living away doesn’t matter to me or her in the least. At first, I asked her questions. I would burst into a rage on her arrival. I wouldn’t talk to her for days. Then there would be a moment when something would trigger a memory-a song or a movie or an incident. Last year only, we were sitting on the balcony and suddenly that song from the movie Ghar- aapki aankhon mein kuch started playing on the radio. And the evening lit up.

It’s pretty clear that you both love each other so much. It becomes baffling with every conversation with you. The more I think about it, the more confusing it gets.

I thanked him for his treatment and he thanked me for my concern.
I started the bike but didn’t go home. I zoomed around the badly lit streets with all sorts of steps pouncing on them. I kept looking at their faces- all sorts of them, especially middle aged women, trying to decipher Samira through them. It wasn’t a success.
They all looked absolutely clueless; some wore a forced pride on stepping out of an expensive car, some were trying to locate their children, most looked like a distant dream one has and forgets easily.
I decided to ask my cuz about it. She might shed some light on it.

Salaamwaalekum. I greeted her. She looked ghastly with black spots around her big eyes and her pale skin that shone in the solitary bulb in that room. She was the daughter of a retired IAS and was trying to cope in a shrunken space after their huge mansion, overlooking the university, was taken away after his retirement.

Waalekumassalaam. How’s your tooth? You didn’t come after the first appointment. I waited for you.
I had spent a lot of my childhood days with her family. I was almost like the brother they never had amongst five sisters.

Tooth is absolutely first class. Actually, today was the last appointment. I thought why to disturb you after your long and tiring days managing two hospitals.
I came to ask you about Dr Irshaad’s wife. I started talking to him about her and I couldn’t bring her to light. I thought you might be having some info regarding that.

You know, there were many rumors when she left. He was physically abusive, she had an affair, she was too young for him, or he had another wife. All sorts of them. You know our society.

So what’s the truth then?

The truth is, Samira never really understood love or any of it. She thought she did, but she didn’t. There was this guy before Dr Irshaad also. She thought she loved him too, and it waned. Just like that. Disappeared in thin air one day. I remember her telling me, that it was all an illusion. He was too common for someone like her.
She was always career oriented. Always the go-getter types. She topped the state medical exam. Did you know that? Dr Irshaad was too mediocre for her. So she got an opportunity, and she left. And you know what the worst part is? She has no idea what damage she has done to him.

I was transfixed to hear all this. And does he know why she left him?

I think now he knows that she never understood any of his love, that she never really loved him. But I don’t think he knows that she doesn’t know what love is.
To those who have loved and known their love, it’s nothing short of a miracle; to others it’s just a four letter word, a hypothesis for which no proof is sufficient enough.

I started the bike and without even looking at the window, right in front of my cousin’s door which has been a constant companion in my growing up years, zoomed off in a dark night where the only light came from my bike’s headlights.