Former

Joyful jumps for my friend Paul, who marries the love of his life today. And also for my parents, who did the same thing, exactly 30 years ago.

During my trip I heard several stories of people who combined their travel with a visit to a dental clinic. For a fraction of what you'd pay at home, you get a fresh set of teeth, goes the logic. Ticket price included. If anyone is considering to go for such a package deal in Hyderabad, Pakistan, than I strongly advise against this.
The Dentist. My family must have thought of him when they saw the green title above this entry: a tall, slender posture; always in control. Impeccable haircut, silver-coloured glasses and spotless white overcoat. Serenity hangs around his practice, like the fluffy seeds of dandelions above a spring meadow. That's where I sank my teenage teeth into fluorine. Where time after time the verdict was no dental caries.
Mr. Former, a subtle suggestion.


(Pictures: on the first photograph the original work of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai on display at his shrine in Bhit Shah, on the second guys posing near the Talpur tombs in Hyderabad.)

Ten years later in Hyderabad. Cycling I make my way towards 'Doctors Street' where Shahana - one of the founders of the 'Ilm-Jo Sojhro' school where I help out - has made an appointment for me. Sheer chaos has replaced the organised madness of Iran's city streets. Black slope tetris has become whimsical street racing. Cars, carts, riksha's, motorcycles, cyclists, pedestrians and limbless beggars form an unpredictable budging brew. Cars keep a line so that other motorised vehicles cannot pass them on either side. This is the principal reason for Pakistani drivers to use the horn constantly. The one in front moves a few centimetres, so that overtaking is theoretically possible. The result is a constipated road, as the car from behind fills the gap like a cork does a bottle. And more horns.
Add to this a suffocating amount of exhaust fumes (dirty lovely riksha's) and sweltering heat that radiates the view, and you've got my ride to Doctors Street.

(Pictures: enjoying at the shrine, and the sweeper. Both dental careless I'm sure.)

The Sweep Step

(Abdul Latif Bhittai is a famous Sindhi poet. At his shrine sufi's gather every morning to sing his poems that focus on religious tolerance, humanistic values and the unity of God. To them God is in everything. My eye was caught by the sweeper, who graciously shone the floor. He himself absorbing light and sound, the tiles, after his effort, reverberating them as never before.)

This street, which is named after it's function as it houses doctors, dentists, pharmacies, beauty and 'sex' clinics(?), body-scanners, therapists and if you search for it probably some shamans from the village too, is one-way (the wrong way if you come from the center) and too narrow. "Go there, and ask anyone for dentist Latter and he will point you the way", Phillipe had told me, which was indeed the case. And if it weren't for the sign outside the practice, which was in Sindhi, I would have found it easily. Now I missed it and passed through this medical ghetto without finding Mr. Latter. I did however nearly get myself killed by oncoming traffic as I was looking up, going against the stream, which almost made the dentist redundant.


(Pictures: traffic police officer with pink shades and a black and white rider with horn)

"Above the Shah Drug Store, teak hai (meaning 'OK' in Urdu/Hindi)."

A waiting room
A power cut
A waiting room filled with fumes from the generator
Light at the end of the hallway.

"Come in!" But I wasn't the only one who was ushered in. Last in first out seemed to apply for Mr. Latter's waiting room, as the person who came last, was served first. Probably because he's in a closer concentric circle to the dentist. If one thing is clear to me about Pakistan, is that everything works around personal connections.
While I was waiting, Latter asked me if I wanted chai or a cold drink (both terribly sugary). No thank you. 'Spreading smiles!' shouted the poster next to me. Spreading dust, the floor. Spreading bacteria the many messenger boys that walked in and out with plastic bags full of medicine from the Shah Drug Store, chai, cold drinks and their curiosity (whispering).


(Picture: girls at the Kalhora tomb in Hyderabad)

When it was my turn, Latter needed the blink of an eye to tell me 'no dental caries', and about the time that it takes to open a can of 7up to tell me that the inflammation above my front teeth will need root canal on both the right front tooth and the adjoining canine, as well as oral surgery in the upper jaw.
After a lengthy discussion and a second opinion (dentists have dentists in their concentric circles) we settled on antibiotics from the Shah Drug Store. Let's first see.

(At the top of my lungs: Former!)

Inflammation

(Another detail of Bhit Shah, somehow symbolic for the feeling in my gums.)