Everyday it’s getting harder to divulge intimate details of one’s life. For instance, one wonders whether you would like to know about a recent toothache.

I first became aware of it a few days ago on my late night way to where I stay. It was drizzling a bit and things were a tad slippery all around. For a strange reason, our rickshaw was stopped around the Andheri flyover and the driver’s credentials were asked for by the police.

After some huddled conversation, the driver came back and started rummaging for some papers in his dashboard compartment, or whatever they call it.

He was muttering some poetic abuses and a sum of Rs 50. Apparently, his licence had an objectionable quantity of moisture on it, from the rains. So there was this irate cop and this insignificant man trying to sort out their differences in life while my tongue caressed an elusive molar.

Yes, I should have done something to help, but admittedly, I was pretty wet myself. This could have led to further complications. It was around Independence Day, which I believe is a cause for celebration in some parts of the world and yes, I was wet from gill to fin, like a fish, is what I’m trying to say. Even in that state, the pain dominated everything else.

Finally, the matter was resolved with no hard feelings and we trudged on, the rickshaw dancing among the potholes that grow like grass in the monsoons. It hurts like hell with a toothache.

Sometimes I stop by at the egg-bhurji stalls to try and organise dinner. The vendors act like hotshots from a movie and I wait. Then the cops come again, after a general alarm, of course. The stalls are portable suddenly. It’s an efficient system. The city amazes us not because people survive, but because life is possible. The egg-bhurji vendors just pick up the stalls and march away like a caterpillar.

Might as well confess that I’ve had one toothache like this before. I went to see a dentist in Worli a couple of years ago. I waited for him to finish with his last patient like my entire destiny was in his hands. The pain was excruciating, and I had to get back to work.

“So what’s going on?” I inquired, settling into his funny examination chair. “Hmm, it seems like you’re getting a wisdom tooth,” he said. “So why does it hurt so much?” I asked. He smiled and said, “It’s not the tooth that hurts, it’s the wisdom.”

To me these were the words of a dentist-philosopher, but only until I realised how many people he must have said the same thing to. So he prescribed an ointment and I was on my way.

I haven’t visited a dentist this time, but this evening I received a call my old friend Vimal and we chatted about life. For a good half-hour, I had no idea that I had teeth at all.