For Madmen Only

"There is so much to be said for contentment and painlessness, for these bearable and submissive days, on which neither pain or pleasure is audible, but pass by whispering on tip-toe. But the worst of it is that it is just this contenment that I cannot endure. After a short time it fills me with irrepresible hatred and nausea. In desperation I have to escape and throw myself on the road to pleasure, or, if that cannot be, on the road to pain. When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so-called good and tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my moldering lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of contentment and would rather feel the very devil burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room. A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life. For what I hated and detested and cursed above all things was this contentment, this healthiness and comfort, this fat and prosperous brood of mediocrity."

Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse

Kenny

Stumbled on this really good Australian movie recently - some brilliant dialogues, a very documentary-like and biography-like camera-work and script, and some exceptional acting (Kenny's Dad!).

Kenny is a 'Plumber of toilets' in his own words and according to the rest of the world someone who delivers and looks after porta-loos.

Some of my favourite dialogues,

Kenny commenting about his job,
"I'd love to be able to say "I plumb toilets" and have someone say "Now that is something I've always wanted to do"

At the scene of disaster - so to speak
"There's another classic example of someone having a two inch arsehole and us having installed only one inch piping."

To a fellow in-flight passenger
"Just watch it in there mate. That machine, once you press that flusher, that thing will probably suck your guts out through your bum"

Kenny is trying to clean one of his porta-loos when he remarks to his distracted and chatty friend,
"There's a smell in here that will outlast religion"

Good movie!

The Membrane

It was a very Murakamisque experience, that one; like the idea of spending time at the bottom of a dry well – weird, commonplace, disturbing, mysterious and exciting – all in one.


Breathe

A quiet wind swept over the surface of the clear blue water sending thousands of tiny ripples marching in its wake. The ripples hurried to the water’s edge where they lapped on the white-stone edges, some inevitably stumbling through the grills into the drainage system. A big brown ball of a buoy nodded in approval from the center of the large round pool.

Behind me, the restaurant was doing brisk business as the hotel residents looked to enjoy a relaxed Saturday morning.

In front the pool-decks were slowly filling up. Young families with little impish-boys and angelic-girls, cuddling couples applying sun lotion on each other, sexagenarian soul mates engaged in serious conversation, attractive women with their large dark glasses, i-pods and unfinished pop-fiction novels – all took their place around the pool; sit, stand, bend, run, prone.

Two little girls, one wearing a pink flower-printed swimsuit and the other in an off-white two-piece, stood at the edge of the pool - their black-goggled faces like that of the Luftwaffe. Chattering, smiling, pushing and pulling, and being the way only girls can be.

In the pool, away from me, a bulky Australian looked around - at me looking at him though my goggles and at others putting their diligent laps. He had his arms spread out behind him, the way one normally rests after one’s rounds.

Behind me a crow cawed - it is strange how the pool was the only place in town where I had seen these birds.

Then I went down.


Hold

Along with the blue, a thrilling silence and alienness pervaded the scene below. If I listened close enough, I thought I heard the sound of water running down a large pipe. The blue-tiled floor was unbroken and more or less clean, except for a small lump of feathers away to my left. The surface curved in to the center of the large circle where the tiles changed colour to form a dark flower like pattern. From the middle of that arose a white rope. Far away from me, it stood stalk-like, smoke-like, fragile, swaying helplessly, very metaphorical.

Headless torsos moved all around me. Live throbbing headless bodies propelling themselves around silently - eerie, weird and exciting. Only I could see how the muscles stretched and strained, how the supple flesh trembled in motion, how the legs flayed all over the place and pointed feet moved fish-like at times giving glimpses of perfection. I had exclusive privileges to another world and was privy to some part of these people’s life that they themselves were unaware of and more strangely, may never be. It is strange how when we look in a mirror we don’t associate the head as having control over the rest of the body.

Across the pool, the torso of the Australian stood knees bent and feet pointed together. The two girls splashed into the water, disturbing the calming peace of the place and raising a million bubbles around them. Soon the two tiny lean frames were standing on tip-toe and trying to move around. Arms tugged at each other for a while and soon the feet lifted from the floor. As they swam their limbs moved wildly – arms hit the water as they appeared and disappeared, legs kicked frantically at something invisible behind them, and a thousand air bubbles ran to the surface for safety. Suddenly the goggled face of one of the girls came underwater only to disappear just as fast and to appear once again. In an imperfect but nevertheless stunning display of breast-strokes, the body propelled forward sinuously, fighting the resistance of the water. The chest continued to pump the water as the rest of her body followed suite as if tied to it by a rope.

I looked up.

The surface of the pool, uneven, chaotic and colourful, spread above me like live plasma. The underbelly of the ripples took stunning shades of blue as they scampered all over the place. The surface blinded me from the view above like a live, motley alien membrane.

I lifted my hands from behind me and brought them close to my face. They were larger than what I was used to seeing, fingers wrinkled due to time spent in the water. I slowly raised them towards the surface, watching every movement they made.

What I touched immediately sucked in my fingers and soon half my palm had disappeared through the separation. The surface seemed to dance around the stump of my hand that was attached to it. I pulled back my wrist and fingers and the surface connected above leaving no trace of the intrusion, except of course for the microscopic bubbles that soon swam to the surface and disappeared. I repeated my action stunned by the beauty of it.

Breathless I stayed, at the bottom of the pool.

Painting the Mona Lisa in MS-Paint

Here

Cool!

The rickshaw-race is here!

A True Leader

Steven Gerrard's comments soon after the hard-fought defeat in Athens!

Giving a face to the "Voice"

Here is the face of the famous voice that speaks out to us from all the Hollywood blockbuster trailers that we see. Thanks to Jay Leno show!

Night

The long-tail cut across the jagged surface of the ocean just as everything disappeared in one vast brush-stroke of blackness. The sounds around me - the drone of the engine, the rumbling of the ocean - struggled to escape the enveloping silence that seemed to descend from the sky. It was as if we were staring into the eye of darkness.

The island revealed itself onto our left every now and then - some lighted part of the shore, an array of cottages bordering the white sand beach, and dark hills that I knew flanked them. The long-tails swayed near the shore, in limbo, fleeing the absence behind and hesitant of the presence in front.

The lamp revealed half a lip and chin, adding glimpses of an eye or a nose as the boat crashed into the lashing waves. The red glow of the cigarette on the dark side helped fix the contours of the face. The man stood at the stern, now quiet, alert, guiding me to my destination.

Spray of salt water on the face

The ocean, restless and foreboding, held back its stunning visuals from us. The fluorescent blue and pastel yellow striped fishes with the wonderstruck look in their eyes, metallic green algae on dark purple coral, anemones, the black spiky balls I didn’t have a name for yet – Where were they now? Did they look the same even in this ink blot of pitch black? If I dived in for a peek now, would the waters be as benevolent as it were a few hours ago? What unspeakable creatures awaited me from the chilling depths of the ocean?

My mind bobbed along with my body in that vast sea of emptiness.

Encounter of a Different Kind

Now I have had a bit of the "Indo-Pak" experience. From Group Discussions in college and late night sessions in college canteens, to a trip to the beautiful Kashmir and the electric Wagah Border, to even memories of a bomb-blast that was linked to terror groups in my nice little haven in Kerala.

I'm not an extremist and do believe that history is what historians tell us and hence do not have a very strong view of what happened back then. Though my views on the current situation is clear and strong. Hence an India-Pakistan cricket match is more than just another match, even though that is what I try hard to keep it to. (Well I really can't defend this with conviction after the recent WC experience and the way cricket has moved in our country. Anyway that is just to make a point)

No, this is not about cricket.

There has to be a name for this tactical move, though I'm sure the person I'm about to mention did not intend it as a tactical move - like a Queen's gambit or something. I find it hard to imagine the two leaders sitting across a table to discuss Siachin or Kashmir, and the leader from across the border telling Mr.Singh this. Without much ado, this is what happened,

I was walking home after a late night movie in Dhoby Ghaut. That is a place in Singapore and it is not very hard to figure out the origins of that name. I'm crossing a green signal when I see this guy cross from the other side - lean, boney to conjure a better picture, with a balding head and his hair pasted to the scalp, black rimmed glasses balanced on the nose bridge, and a white faded tee and black trousers giving away the lean frame beneath - much like a malnourished geek from college.

Now we cross in the middle of the road when he queries,

"Excuse me.. Hi.. can you tell me the way to Orchard. (Another Place in Singapore)"

I'm looking at the signal start to blink. Before I can answer,

"You look like a Pakistani. Are you a Pakistani?"

A bit taken-aback - I don't know if that is the right set of words that describe the moment, but something like that - I tell him,

"No.. eh.. I'm an Indian"

"You look like a Pakistani"

"Ok.. Orchard is that way" pointing my fingure

"Ok" As he begins to walk away, he looks back and says,

"You look like a Pakistani. Are you?"

"No.. I'm an Indian"

Man

Don't forget to read the part about the Piranhas!

On Fire-Crackers and the Automobile Industry

‘So like we have computer controlled fire-crackers la’

The idea of computer-controlled fire-crackers snapped me out of my thoughts.

The man behind the wheel was chirpy as usual, but I was lost in a slurry of deadlines.

‘What do you mean computer-controlled fire-crackers?’

‘Haa, Singapore Government ban fire-crackers-aa. No real fire-crackers in Singaporre. Considered as ammunition.’

In India, I was watching the entire night-sky fill-up with multi-coloured flower pots. The crescendo of uncontrolled burst of fire-crackers during the temple festivals deafening my ears.

‘Even one piece of fire-cracker in your pocket, you get 6 years of jail and 4 strokes’

‘4 strokes?’

‘Yeah, the scars stay on you for life. The skin is pealed off from your body with each whip. Once that wound heals the next stroke is made.’

‘Is one lashed in public?’

‘No. No. Inside the jail. But the scar stays with you forever-ah’

It didn’t look so beautiful anymore, the pictures of Singapore financial district and bay-area night-sky filled with fire-crackers.

‘So I guess the only way you can celebrate Chinese New Year is to go to Malaysia?’

‘No, even in Malaysia fire-crackers ban. You might find in some villages, but still illegal. If caught, you get punished. For that matter even China banned fire-crackers. Few years back one whole factory catch fire and burst- one whole factory – around 200 people die.’

‘I come from India. We still have fire-crackers there. It is a very big industry there.’

‘Oh. It is still not banned there eh?’

………..

‘So are you a Singaporean’

‘Yeah’

‘Since when are you driving this taxi?’

‘Oh taxi part-time. I have a factory in China.’

‘Factory?’

‘Yeah. Taxi my brother-in-law’s. I helping him because he is not well. I’m here for a few months. I did not want to sit at home with my wife and I like driving and talking, so here I’m’

‘What do you do then otherwise?’

‘I run factory in China, go to Sri Lanka and Cambodia’

This conversation was getting interesting by the minute.

‘I take scrap cars from junk-yards here and since they are mostly in excellent condition, sell them for good value in SriLanka or Cambodia. Singapore roads very good, so vehicles usually in good condition.’

What followed was a lecture on how the Government regulated the Automobile Industry. This is the gist,

In Singapore the Government on an year-to-year basis, decide on the number of private cars that can be sold in the market. Each new car comes out with a Certificate of Entitlement (COE), or lets say a kind of lease for the car. Now, since supply does not meet demand, these COEs are auctioned, and obviously the richest of the buyer end up with the cars. Hence, any car buyer, in addition to paying the mark-up price of the car also has to pay a price for the COE.
Two immediate questions arise. The first being, why is the government trying to regulate the free market forces when the Per Capita income of Singapore is one of the highest in the world, and you can see every car manufacturer from the BMWs to the Nissan’s here. The answer is to avoid congestion.

The second question then would be, doesn’t that lead to an excellent second-hand car market and over the years with the lack of increase in land size of Singapore won’t we face the problem of congestion anyway. The answer is not that fast. The rule says that anyone wishing to sell his car also has to sell his COE. This means two things, one he/she has to pay a higher price for the new car as well as the new COE thereby deterring him from buying and two, since the COE prices increase every year, the COE prices of the second hand cars are also not depreciated prices of the COEs. Hence second hand cars are also not that cheap. Also, the government is promoting scraping of cars (yeah sending them to the junk-yard) by providing a rebate for such an act. (Does the government bear the rebate? How does that work? I still need clarity on this). Hence there are lots of people sending cars to the junk-yard. Our man here went to the junk-yards and took all those cars that were in ship-shop-shape and sent them to neighboring countries.

Having reached this far I asked him,

‘So you must be a rich man! Doing all this.’

‘Not really, there are lots of us doing this here. There are lot of us ‘traders’, we call ourselves, around here.’

Oh yeah, I forgot to factor in competition!

Another amazing video

'While my guitar gently weeps' on a ukulele

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puSkP3uym5k

Amazing Video

Watch some amazing jugglery in this Fat Boy Slim video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEb3YknGUks

The Masseur

What do you tell a man who looks into your eyes and tells you that you stole his job?

I was waiting for my food parcel and this is what the guy at the counter had to say,

“I got retrenched thrice and I got fed-up of it. Around the late 90s when you guys (raised eye-brows and pointing fingers, no animosity in tone or expression though) in India and China started picking up work from around the world including Singapore I lost mine. You guys outpriced us out of competition. Your employer, HAL, was the last one to give me the pink-slip. I tried my luck in the job market for about a year after that, but there was no demand for a middle manager. I gave up after one year. Now I help around here in this restaurant in addition to offering my services as a Thai masseur for private clients. I had around 20 years of experience before they kicked me out.”

It is definitely a very different experience when you come face to face with the fall-out of the process that flattened the world.

He plans to come down to Kerala and learn the technique of Ayurvedic massage to cater to the ever increasing market for massage therapy in Singapore.

"A Brave New World", First impressions of Singapore

Everyday, as I get into my Hotel elevator, I see representatives from at least three different nations in that space. The tall, white, stout, bald foreigner in his late 50s wishes me 'Good Morning', the student wearing three quarter cargos, motley t-shirt, colour framed glasses and the spiky hair can be Malaysian, Singaporean or Chinese, and the middle aged couple who keep pecking each others cheeks looks like a mix of Asian and European origin. This diversity is one of the most striking things about Singapore.

The lady who attends to Room Service is Malay and knows all the four official languages of Singapore (she even tried to speak in Malayalam, but gave up). In the MRT (Metro Rail) I met a SriLankan who was educated in Trichy, is now settled in Singapore, but who someday wishes to go back, not to SriLanka, but to India, and settle in Bangalore. He tells me India, especially Bangalore, is doing great.

The Taxi drivers I meet almost always men in their 60s, mostly Singaporean of the 2nd generation of Chinese or Indian settlers. They are a very cheerful and talkative lot - a far cry from the Autowallahs of Bangalore or Chennai. The difference it makes when you are greeted with a - "Good Morning Sir", rather than a bargain on price and on reaching the destination given a print out of the bill, of course paid through card, and told - "Thank You and Have a Nice Day", is unparalleled. It is not to be mistaken as part of a high-flier life-style as a Taxi is a common means of transport in this city. Some of the men work from 6:00 am - 11:00 pm even after retirement age. They also know quite a lot about the world. One Taxi driver, on telling him that I was from India, enquired which part of India I was from and on being told South India, asked whether that place was hot. He had heard of a certain Chennai which was very hot throughout the year! Then there was the 2nd generation Malayalee, whose father settled here after the World War, and looked after his two families, one in India and the other in Singapore - well he said that in a matter of fact manner and on sensing my wonder at his description, told me that that was the way things were at that time. He then showed me a piece of news on those days Strait Times that talked about Kerala Govt's ban on public spitting and blowing mucus in public places. It doesn't take much to brighten my day.

One of my project mates is Chinese, from Beijing and is employed with - Infosys! On questioning he starts to talk about Infosys' operations in Beijing and tells me how a contract won by Infosys India is now being done in Beijing. I was even told Infy was a good option for fresh graduates as it was easy to get into and they were recruiting in large numbers! At work, I'm replacing an Indian, report to a Chinese, work with a Singaporean and an Australian, am part of an African's team and sit in the seat of my Alumnus from Lucknow, India. Not truly Global I know - the South Americans, Canadians and the Icelanders are missing. But am sure they are somewhere in the crowd!

People are in general very courteous, work hard, lead a balanced life - are in office by 9 and leave office by 5, and are not xenophobic. They are at ease with foreigners and are more than willing to help out; and are damn stylish! Women know a thing or two about style and fashion here, and men try hard to catch up. The range of fashionable clothes that women can wear without revealing or being obscene is amazing; and it is impossible to guess a woman's age. It is probably in their genes to remain slim and petit.

It is a truly fascinating city, Singapore. If I were to take any aspect of life and I mean any - from the attitude of people to cycle-rickshaws, or from food in McDonalds to the Central Fire Station - it will be different and more importantly different in a very positive way in most cases.

One of the reasons why The Taj Mahal is so beautiful is because it has a clear blue sky as a background, uncluttered by distractions of buildings and trees. Strangely, this was the thought that crossed my mind when in the light of dawn I first saw the sky-scrapers of downtown Singapore. There they were jutting out into the sky in sheer defiance, like the imperial guards of some Chinese emperor, defying everything that I had seen and experienced till then.

Singapore is a model city - the roads are wide, clearly named and are lined with trees and flowering plants. Sprinkle a good helping of stylish cars and well-dressed people from around the world and there you have your postcard. Above all the city is as clean as a freshly starched pajama. Like a friend describes it, you can see the treads on the wheels of the cars, and you don't have to polish your shoes everyday. Roadside constructions are blinded from the public, like I have seen when the Delhi metro was being constructed. The whole city runs as if it were an automated machine, I have seen a policeman only once in my last 2 weeks in this city.

Shopping is the favourite pastime of Singaporeans, and they jokingly call it the national sport of the country. There are underground malls connecting different parts of the city. You are busy taking in the Starbucks, the Carrefours and the Kopi tiams, and before you know you have covered 3 to 4 traffic junctions.

According to a B-School friend, the Government of Singapore has taken care of the fundamental needs of its citizens, the ones that Maslow talks about. What he meant to say was that the basic 'Roti, Kapda, Makaan, and Sex' needs of every individual in this city have been taken care. The Government provides housing - 90% owned by the individual, social security and health care needs of the populace; and the city has its legal blind spots. Rules and Regulations are plenty, and fines are very hefty - $500 for eating food and $1000 for smoking in trains. It is very clear that the authorities have no intention of spoiling the child by sparing the rod.

Still Singapore is not without its murmurs of discontent amongst its labour class - I have not yet had a chance to talk to the thriving upper class. Like one Taxi driver told me, till a few years back things were great, but now, though the govt does provide for our basic needs, there is no fun. He was for one referring to the many rules and regulations, and for another saying that given the small size of the country, to get away from the city one had to fly to another country. Cost of living also becomes high once you start going after the luxuries. $10 starting for a movie is probably the cheapest form of entertainment. Concerts run into $50 or more and cigarette packs cost $11 and come with gory pictures of patients afflicted with cancer.

I chanced upon a movie trailer that made fun of many of the quirky ways and some of the issues of Singapore (like bureaucracy!!); and it got a loud reception in the theatre. It probably is the biggest advantage of the visual medium that it can sneer the masses on their face, portray them as outright idiots and still get their acceptance and appreciation. Borat is making waves all around the globe and the Black Adder series that I'm currently into rips apart anything British (and French!) over the ages.

It might look a bit childish, but the list of cars that I have seen in Singapore reads something like this - Ferrari, Porsche, BMW, Renault, Jaguar, Mercedes, Alfa Romeo, Lotus, Kia, Nissan, Audi, Saab,Volkswagen, Mazda, Lexus, Volvo, Toyota (like we have the Maruti in India the Toyota is everywhere), Proton, Suzuki Swift, Hyundai and Honda (I have not seen a Lamborgini yet!). Well that is Singapore for starters.

And as far as bikes go Dirt Racers and broad wheeled Hondas rule the roost. I'm told there is a Harley Davidson parade that happens ever Monday - seems the club members just ride around the city showing off their priced possessions.

One is witness to innovation in every part of life and the meaning of the phrase 'by any stretch of imagination' is redefined everyday - there are street side e-kiosks for paying all your monthly bills in single shot (from electricity and water to the credit card charges), there are congestion taxes to dissuade vehicles from taking heavy traffic routes during peak traffic hours and the concept of "On-demand TV" lets you choose, pay and see movies of your choice using just your remote and TV.

It is hard not to wonder why things are so different from back home; but I miss home for sure.

Motorcycle Diaries

We were like the travelling Saints - Param, Sri Kanta and Me.

We would move from shrine to shrine, singing bhajans for 10 mins wherever we stopped, mesmerising the gentlefolk of the sleepy town of Kaivara and bringing some smiles on our faces. Actually, spirituality was lost on me - I was just a chronicler, I took snaps, recorded videos on my mobile and reflected on the moment and the experience that I wished to chronicle somewhere. Param and Sri Kanta did all the chanting.

It was the night before that Param rang me up and asked me whether I wanted to join him on a bike trip. He had some work in this place called Kaivara, some 50 kms outside Banglore. I was just back from my Diwali break to Goa. The temptation to answer a blind call, the impulse, is exciting - reminds me of days back in college when we would on the spur of the moment decide to go for a movie on the eve of an exam. I'm glad some of that madness is still left in me.

We ate our home cooked food. We were spread-out on the grass near the road eating rice, dal and beans. We had clocked some 2 hours on the bike. We had almost 20 kms more before we reached our destination. The dog sat patiently behind us. Every now and then it would just get up and nudge a bit closer checking out where we were with our lunch. Its turn would come. I had tried shooing it away. It just jumped back a few steps confused why I was doing what I was doing - couldn't I see it was hungry and following us around for food was a natural thing to do. I gave up, I did not have whatever it took to pelt it with stones and drive it away.

Wind on your face at 70 kph, a machine that responds to your slightest whims between your legs, smooth grey roads scampering into a horizon of overcast sky, rocky hills and green flora that has taken its true colours from the slight drizzle that is falling around, and the thought of seizing the moment. Life!

There was this place in the mountain where they were cutting shrines in the hill. There was this hall in the womb of the mountain which shouted back at us when we called out to it. Param and Sri Kanta ran towards the podium shouting the Lord's name. I looked around taking in the moment, we were actually INSIDE the mountain! Forgetting for a moment our angst and our cowardice to solve it, we ran into the warm and protective cavern of nature.

We will emerge one day, stronger, resolute, free and ready to be scarred again!

Lines that Stuck

The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion - these are the two things that govern us

- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray


The aim of life is self-development. To realise one's nature perfectly - that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owe's to oneself

- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray


Show some respect to your time on this Earth - Paulo Coelho, Zahir

Life is Serious Business - Param (Friend)

Give Life a Chance - Akshay (Friend)

Word Play

Happy Onam.

Happyo Nam. (are we happy?)

An interesting message I received today.

By the way I have not quit blogging. Just took an extended break. Hope to be back to active blogging soon.

Recent movies I saw,

1. Lage Raho Munna Bhai - Very Enjoyable. Arshad Warsi as Circuit steals the thunder. The idea of Gandhi-giri is also good.
2. The Tenant (Roman Polanski) - Waste of Time. Have watched Chinatown, Rosemary's Baby and now this. What is all the hype about I fail to understand.
3. Vettayadu Vilayadu - Very slick and enjoyable. Production quality is great, but an overdose of violence. Watchout the lead dancer in the last song.
4. Achan Urangatha Veedu - Highly reccomended for performances and treatment of a new subject in Malayalam cinema (one of the many sex scandals that have rocked the state).

Ogden Nash

This Is Going To Hurt Just A Little Bit

One thing I like less than most things is sitting in a dentist chair with my mouth wide open.

And that I will never have to do it again is a hope that I am against hope hopen.

Because some tortures are physical and some are mental,
But the one that is both is dental.
It is hard to be self-possessed
With your jaw digging into your chest.

So hard to retain your calm
When your fingernails are making serious alterations in your life line or love line or some other important line in your palm;

So hard to give your usual effect of cheery benignity
When you know your position is one of the two or three in life most lacking in dignity.

And your mouth is like a section of road that is being worked on.
And it is all cluttered up with stone crushers and concrete mixers and drills and steam rollers and there isn’t a nerve in your head thatyou aren’t being irked on.

Oh, some people are unfortunate enough to be strung up by thumbs.
And others have things done to their gums,
And your teeth are supposed to be being polished,
But you have reason to believe they are being demolished.

And the circumstance that adds most to your terror
Is that it’s all done with a mirror,
Because the dentist may be a bear, or as the Romans used to say, only they were referring to a feminine bear when they said it, an ursa,
But all the same how can you be sure when he takes his crowbar in one hand and mirror in the other he won’t get mixed up, the way you do when you try to tie a bow tie with the aid of a mirror, and forget that left is right and vice versa?

And then at last he says That will be all; but it isn’t because he then coats your mouth from cellar to roof
With something that I suspect is generally used to put a shine on a horse’s hoof.

And you totter to your feet and think. Well it’s all over now and afterall it was only this once.
And he says come back in three monce.

And this, O Fate, is I think the most vicious circle that thou ever sentest,
That Man has to go continually to the dentist to keep his teeth in good condition
when the chief reason he wants his teeth in good condition
is so that he won’t have to go to the dentist.

PS: Not sure about the line-breaks as this was picked from an unofficial site - is probably still under copyright. Please feel free to point out a 'proper' version if you know one.

Whose line is it anyway?

Interesting link about the 100 Best 1st lines from novels!

(link from Jabberwock's blog)