Mind Games

I tried to adjust myself into a more comfortable position in the chair for the 23rd time in just under an hour. I do not know who designed these steel contraptions or why he hated humanity so much. But, humanity in all its magnanimity accepted his hatred and spread it to every waiting room and lobby. I do not think that a better machine to kill the human will and replace it with a sense of hopelessness has been invented yet. The story of the steel chair, though, is for a later time. Coming back to the present, I was in the waiting room of a dental clinic. Accompanying my grandfather to the dentist had become a monthly ritual for me and I always make it a point to wait outside. Not that I have come to a pact with the mosquitos or that I enjoy reading the old magazines, but because every time I see the doctor he gives me a crooked smile that seems to say “So, buddy, when do I get to hurt you?” Other than the fact that the magazines had become a month older nothing had changed this time either. The only source of entertainment provided in the waiting room was a water purifier and some disposable cups. You could try holding the cup in your left hand and turning the knob with the right or the other way around. And once you had gained expertise in that maybe you could progress to holding the cup and turning the knob with the same hand. But even then you only had 4 permutations to try out, after which things got a little repetitive. 

I was preparing myself, mentally, for the most difficult of those tasks, “The left, single handed”, when I saw the gentleman enter the waiting room. He must have been in his early sixties, immaculately dressed, without even a single grey hair out of place. I wanted to ask him how he managed to keep all his hairs equally grey, but something about the way he was scrutinising me made me feel that I was better off without that knowledge. With one final disapproving look he turned his head. But before he did that, I thought I saw a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, as if he was expressing his absolute disdain at my unkempt hair. I had at least another 30 minutes of waiting to complete and being a benevolent man, I did not want the gentleman to be uncomfortable. I went to the wash room to give myself a makeover. I returned, a transformed man, with neatly combed hair and even my shirt tucked in, ready to face the stringiest scrutiny. However he did not even turn to look at me as I sat down. Instead, he was staring intently at the empty plastic cups stacked in the seat next to me. And there it was. There was no doubt about the twitch this time. It was a very subtle motion of the upper left corner of his lip, just enough to let me know that he does not approve of the state of affairs. Now, that the waiting room had no waste bin could skip even the keenest observers. But it was extremely prejudiced on the part of the elderly gentleman to make me solely responsible for all the eighteen cups. I do not think they have yet invented a purifier that is as interesting as that. But, yet again my altruistic tendencies got the better of me and I decided to make the world a better place for Mr G (Let us call him that). I collected not only the cups but also a couple of polythene bags lying on the floor, lest Mr G decides to give me the “Twitch” again, and went in search of a waste bin. Fortunately I found one just outside the clinic. The waste bin was a sight in itself. An empty bin standing gloriously, surrounded by load of waste. No wonder that we as nation never made it big in basketball. The sight makes you realise that the “Waste Bin” got its name from the fact that it is a bin placed along with all the other waste.

 I got back to clinic, having successfully completed my endeavour. I was confident that now I had earned my right to ask Mr G regarding the grey matter. I had just entered the waiting room, when Mr G decided to give me the twitch again. Panicking, I looked around the room to find out what the source of his discomfort could be this time. Could it be that the door was left open? Or was it the chairs that someone had left out of place? A couple of magazines had fallen off from the table. Was that the reason for the dreaded twitch? How could Mr G think that I could create so much havoc in the short time that I waited in the room? The last question was immaterial. The important thing was to stop the twitching. It had become a question of prestige for me and people who know me would vouch for the fact that prestige was one thing my prideful self would never compromise on. I closed the door, arranged the chairs, removed the wrinkles in the table cloth and placed the magazines neatly. I decided to go one step ahead and even turned the fan towards Mr G before finally looking at him for his approval. Not only was there not even the slightest hint of agreement on his face, his mouth was contriving into a slow and very deliberate twitch. Now, that was the last straw. “Come On! This is ridiculous! I did everything you asked me to do, sir. You cannot play games with an innocent guy, you know.” I shouted at the old chap. Mr G seemed alarmed by my outburst and immediately got up and knocked on the doctor’s door. “Hello Mr Menon. How is the pain?” the doctor asked, as he came out. “Well doctor, it seems to be getting worse each minute, so much so that it is makes my mouth twitch some times.” If I had the ability to burst into flames I would have chosen that exact moment to do so. “Mmm… doctor do you mind if I wait inside?” Mr G, well I guess it is more appropriate to call him Mr M now that I knew his name, asked. “Sure, why not?” the doctor said before turning to me and giving the smile. I do not know if the incident with Mr Menon had any influence on my perspective, but I found no malice in that innocent smile. Then he asked me “ So young man, when do I get to work my magic on you?”