An Open Letter to the President and members of the DCI

An open letter to the President and members of the Dental Council of India

Dear Sirs,

We were shocked to read an office communication (No DE-190-2013/2630) where the DCI ‘has resolved’ to start a new course in oral and maxillofacial surgery called M.D.Ch which will be a higher degree in general OMFS. The communication sent on 24^th May 2013 to several State secretaries, DMEs and Registrars of Universities goes on to explain that if they do not hear from the recipients within 21 days, the DCI would go ahead with the implementation of the new course with a duration of 5 ½ years after BDS or two years after MDS. Most importantly, it is also being offered to MBBS graduates. Please remember this is a general OMFS degree that is being offered- not a super specialty in Cleft , cancer etc. The letter was ostensibly written to the above Government and University authorities because they are defined as ‘stake holders’ as per section 20 of the Dentists Act. We are reasonably certain that most of these ‘stake holders’ may not have replied within the stipulated time (15^th of June) and therefore the ground is being prepared for another ill advised adventure into our course curriculum. In 2007, a similar adventure under a different president was undertaken when the DCI for some inexplicable reason, had scrapped the internship. Then too the ‘stake holders’ remained silent!!! Thankfully that experiment with the course curriculum was reversed. ‘Stake holders’ like Secretaries and Registrars of Universities will naturally remain silent because they do not understand or care about the name of some obscure dental degree. Why should they?

Respected Sirs (and Madams), let us once again remind you that the real stake holders of the profession of OMFS are the more than 3,500 MDS degree holders in the country. Nearly 2500 of them belong to an organization called the ‘Association of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeons of India’(AOMSI). We may not be government agencies or bureaucrats but we certainly are the real stake holders because we practice the specialty, serve the public and make a living with a ‘humble’ degree called MDS in Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery. We are aware that there are a couple of persons from the OMFS fraternity in the DCI trying to push forward an insidious plan to undermine the qualification of the existing MDS degree holders. We are also aware that it is being carried forward on the specious argument that the course duration needs to be increased. We strongly agree that the course duration needs to be increased taking into account the special medical training needs of the specialty. In fact several of us have petitioned the DCI on this matter. The argument that an increase in course duration must necessarily mean a change in the name of the degree is difficult to buy. When the MDS course was increased from 2 to 3 years we do not remember anyone changing the name of the degree. The argument that courses with different durations cannot be called by the same name is also not acceptable in principle. Let us illustrate. The  BDS course can be studied in 4 years in most universities but it is 4 ½ years in Kerala (24 dental colleges). The longer version is not called B.D.Ch or any such name. Similarly a condensed BDS of 2 years (for MBBS graduates) has been offered in Annamalai University for several years. To the best of my knowledge it is called BDS. Try the Medical specialties. One can do a 5 year Mch in Neurosurgery. One can also do a 3 year MCh after MS. They are all called MCh ,in case the DCI has not noticed. One can do an LLB in 3 years (after graduation) or a consolidated 5 years. Both are called LLB. In this country there are LLM courses offered for 1 year and for 2 years. Are they not called LLM? PhD degrees in different universities are offered for a minimum of 4 years and 5 years. Both are called PhD at the end.

We strongly recommend that the MDS course duration be increased if necessary. But please do not find disingenuous arguments to call the new format by a different name. What is more ridiculous is the offer to MDS persons to attain the new degree by studying for 2 more years. The implication is that the existing MDS qualified persons are sub-standard. The only people likely to benefit from these new fangled ideas are the numerous dental colleges that can charge more for a new degree (M.D.Ch) or from those wanting to study some extra years after MDS. In fact we are convinced that this may in fact be the real reason for pushing this forward with so much haste keeping the real stake holders in the dark.

Let me explain what happens if you change the name of the degree from MDS to M.D. Ch.  We are going to have a new kind of Oral Surgeon with a different name and a superior attitude. The humble MDS graduate, and there are 3500 of them, will be downgraded with one sweeping, inconsiderate act of the DCI. MDS graduates will technically be reduced to second grade post graduates. Is this what you want to do to a generation of young post graduates- disenfranchising and downgrading them and their precious degree?

The MDS graduates with oral and maxillofacial surgery have unanimously struck down this proposal in 2011 during a well attended conference in Delhi. The matter was clearly communicated to the DCI. We do not know what has changed in the statutory body. We will challenge it again in a court of law if necessary.

We request the DCI in its collective wisdom to withdraw this proposal. This is a request from the ‘real stake holders’ of the profession.

George Paul- Past Hon. Secretary, Past President (AOMSI) and member of the AOMSI education committee of AOMSI

Manjunath Rai- Hon. General Secretary AOMSI

Kishore Nayak- Past Hon. Secretary, Past President and President of the International Association of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery

Prabhu. S- Past Hon. Secretary, Past President (AOMSI) and member of education committee

Sanjiv Nair- Hon. Editor of AOMSI national journal and executive member of the International Association (IAOMS)

Krishnamurthy Bonanthaya- Past executive member and member of the education committee of AOMSI.

Olympics on Doordarshan

Thanks to the Olympics, after several years, I watched Doordarshan again.  Doordarshan had made arrangements to showcase all the events in which India was featured. Since India did not feature very often, the rest of the time was allocated to sporting events like fencing, yachting and other exotic games of which I had no clue about. There are some sporting activities that are watchable and others which are not so watchable. Unfortunately India excelled mostly in the latter category. I was of course thrilled to see Mary Kom win a boxing bronze.  It was a creditable achievement and it gladdened my heart. I am generally a peaceful sort of guy when it comes to sporting activity. I honestly do not enjoy watching people beat each other up to get a medal- particularly when they harbor no animosity against the other. But for Mary Kom and India, I watched- in fact I applauded!  

Wrestling, I must admit, is less violent. I watched it with some interest, mostly because India had some medal aspirations. I must admit, that like many people, I have no idea how the scoring goes. For much of the time the wrestlers hover around each other trying to prevent the opponent from touching them. Finally, when they do make contact, the two wrestlers end up in a convoluted heap of hands, legs and heads.  I knew that Sushil Kumar won (and later lost) by observing the corner of the TV which records the score. Unlike boxing, there is little malice in their fight. They are all a bunch of affable guys. In some positions they almost appear to be tangled in an affectionate embrace!

There are plenty of watchable games. Badminton was certainly worth watching and more so because Saina salvaged some pride for us. In fact Tennis and Badminton did afford some entertainment even if there wasn’t a shower of medals. Hockey is a watchable sport but watching India plummet to the bottom was like watching the Titanic go down- a terrible tragedy!

I do not like guns in general. I strongly believe they were invented to kill people or animals or both. Somehow it is one of the sporting events we excel in. Since Gagan and Vijayakumar were shooting at an inanimate target I sat down to watch. Despite our two medals, for which we are proud, I still cannot call it a riveting spectator sport. The shooter, dressed in regalia including ear muffs and some kind of single eye pad, appears to be the only person who can see where his shot has gone. The spectator has to be told about its success (or failure) by a commentator, who I presume is using some kind of optical gizmo. Not my kind of sport really! Archery, on the other hand is a little more dramatic but we got ‘knocked out’ quite early, thus ending all anxiety. In fact most of the news on the Olympics was about one or the other Indian sportsman getting ‘knocked out’ or ‘crashing out’. The news channels make our exits sound quite violent.

I must confess that I enjoy the 100 metres. Mostly because it is over in less than 10 seconds which is approximately my attention span. I do not expect an Indian to ever be in the mostly ‘all black’ lineup. I am convinced that some of these power sports, including the sprints, jumps and throws are in the genes or at least powered by what we eat. Despite the occasional Indian in the fray, I do not think that we have the genes or the diet to be involved in pure track and field or even aquatic events. It is just the way most of us are made. We do not have to be ashamed. There are other things we revel in. Since chess, or for that matter cricket, is not part of the Olympic sporting events (not yet!) we may need to wait. When it happens there is no doubt that some Bulgarian sports fan is likely to complain about cricket the same way I am complaining about Yachting. Thirteen guys on a playing field, most of them just waiting for the ball to come their way, may not exactly be a spectator sport to those unfamiliar with cricket. We must not forget that they saunter off from time to time for drinks and tea. Chess, well, it is not going to be a spectator sport for anybody, even in the rapid movement version of the game. We may still watch it on Doordarshan- if Viswanathan Anand is playing for a medal.

In the unlikely event of fasting getting to be a sport, I am sure we stand a good chance. It is an endurance sport like the marathon. We have a great tradition from the days of the Mahatma to the present day Baba Ramdev and co. We also have plenty of practice. At least a third of India’s population, after all, goes to bed hungry.

On being Clever and Wise

I was in Singapore to attend my daughter’s convocation for a master’s degree in Law from the NUS (National University of Singapore). I was gently reminded through a small pamphlet, that was handed out to all the parents and friends, that it was not called a‘convocation’ or in fact a ‘graduation’ anymore. Somewhere in the eighties they had begun to call the event a ‘commencement’, a very American usage. I have been to Singapore several times over the last three decades and have slowly seen the City State turn its back on its old British legacies. It is subtle, but it is happening. I am not complaining. I always thought that the word ‘commencement’ was typically an American misnomer. Why did the Americans have to drive on the right side of the road? Why did the Americans have to do the opposite to switch on a light? Why did they have to spell colour without an ‘u’? Even as I write I am dismayed to see my word processor inviting a red mark under my ‘colour’ -the spelling I have grown so used to. Here I was attending my daughter’s ‘commencement’, when in fact she was finished and going home. There was, of course,  an explanation. The pamphlet patiently explained that the word ‘convoke’ or ‘gather’ was no longer acceptable. The word ‘Commencement’ actually means the beginning of a new life as a professional. So it would have to be Commencement. A few people may call it a disingenuous argument but I think even the British may have to see some sense in the explanation. Singapore, in the meanwhile, still drives (rather carefully by Indian standards) on the left side of the road!

 In addition to hearing an explanation for the use of the word ‘commencement’, I heard a very inspirational speech by Dr Chesterman, the Dean of the Law Faculty. I would like to share the essence of the Dean’s Commencement message which was so ‘profoundly simple’- to use an oxymoron.  His commencement address was on the difference between being wise and clever. We all know that education makes us clever because of the things we learn at University. He explained why all clever people are not necessarily wise. This was the message which he lucidly explained through a story which I am going to repeat in my own words. There was this wise old woman who was blind. Her wisdom, despite her disability, was legendary.  One day a few college graduates (who were naturally clever), decided to test the old woman’s intelligence. They came over to her with a bird cupped within the palms of both hands. They explained to her that there was a bird inside the enclosed palms and wanted the woman to predict if it was alive or dead. She did not answer. They asked her again and she was silent. The clever students then taunted her and wanted an answer, if indeed she was so wise. The old woman knew that if she said the bird was dead they would let it fly with a flutter and prove her wrong. If she said the bird was alive, they would crush it between their palms and lay the dead bird in her lap. She said  “I do not know if it is dead or alive, but I can certainly say it is in your hands”. That was a profound answer. It is so true of our young and learned people. They know so much. The world and the future are in their hands. But it may require the wisdom of a teacher or mentor  to actually tell them that they hold such powers by virtue of their education. The future of the ‘wise’ are indeed in their own hands. They need wisdom to make things happen. The inference to the story is mine and I am not sure if that is what Dr Chesterman had in mind. But it was a good story. I hope my daughter learnt from it just as I did!

George Paul, July 2012

Mirror! Mirror! On the Wall, Who is the 'best' of us all!!

An open letter to the Vice Chancellor of Dr MGR Medical University.
Respected Sir,
This letter is with respect to the numerous awards that were distributed on the occasion of Dentist’s day. I must thank you for recognizing the specialty of dentistry and deeming it fit to reward numerous persons who have contributed to the profession. While appreciating the fact that some senior dentists were given ‘life time’ awards based on their long standing contribution, I was a little taken aback by the awards for ‘best teacher’ and ‘best dentist’. Surprisingly there were several bests, which is an anachronism by itself. As a qualified ethicist I tried to analyze the logic and rationale of naming several persons as a ‘best’ doctor or ‘best’ dentist. ‘Best’ is a superlative word which means that the quality is unparalleled. It does not merely mean ‘having good qualities’. It in fact means ‘most good’ (the word of course does not exist). So who defines best amongst practitioners? To every patient, his/ her dentist is the best dentist. That is the reason why the patient has chosen somebody as his/her dentist. By that logic, the dentist who sees the most number of patients is possibly the best dentist. Of course, I do not agree with that criterion alone because ‘best’ may also have to do with the quality of work which a patient may not be able to technically evaluate. The ‘best’ can also be someone who has good ‘people skills’. One can also define ‘best’ clinician as the person who is most compassionate or charitable. It can also be the person who offers ‘best’ treatment on a ‘value for money’ scale. As you can see the concept of best is a complex one. More importantly, it is arbitrary. The University has chosen to raise a hornet’s nest by selecting a ‘few bests’ from amongst approximately 10,000 registered dentists in the country. I can only think that the criterion was arbitrary and is likely to earn the displeasure of several others who may themselves feel that they deserved it. Thousands may be disappointed, but failure to express sentiments should not be construed as acceptance or approbation. I have written openly because I do not practice general dentistry and am clearly not in the contention. Most importantly, I can give it in writing that I certainly would not the best by any stretch of imagination, even if I did practice dentistry.
I am must reiterate that I am writing this letter after much deliberation, as I do not wish to hurt the feelings of the several persons who have received ‘best’ awards in various aspects of dentistry on the occasion of the Dentist Day celebration. I have no doubt that the University has decided to honour several dentists with the best of intentions. I am also certain that several of the awardees are also worthy dentists and teachers and truly deserved recognition. My only objection to the awards is on the use of the term ‘best’ when recognizing some of these individuals.
With regard to ‘Best Teachers’, I am not sure if your office relied on student feedbacks or data submitted by the staff themselves. If it was based on student feedbacks, let me humbly submit that the best teachers for them are the most lenient ones. All of us have been students at some point of time or the other. Students are also fond of teachers who award liberal marks and mingle with them socially. There is general agreement that teachers should be evaluated (if at all) on the basis of pedagogy rather than popularity. This would be impossible given the time and resources available to us. As for inviting self application, I think the notion is basically self defeating. A truly good teacher may not actually offer himself/ herself for such a competition. Pedagogy is a personal attribute that should not lend itself to comparison with other similar professionals. Again, I must assure you that I am not a teacher and am clearly not in contention.
My reason for writing this letter is largely based on several letters and verbal comments, I have received in confidence pointing out the arbitrary nature of the award system. I have also unconfirmed reports that some of the ‘best teachers’ were in fact part time teachers who are shown as full time teachers. If this is true, this has the potential to cause much embarrassment to the University. I hope there will be no faux pas.
I wish to assure you that this letter is not meant to criticize the award, awarder or the awardees. It is only an opinion based on fairly sound principles of ethics and conflict of interests. I hope the University stops the practice of awarding ‘best’ titles in the future. On the other hand recognizing merit and contribution based on material evidence and judged by their peers or an impartial panel is certainly welcome.
Regards

George Paul

Irma's Kitchen- Jamaican Food

It was my first visit to the Western Hemisphere. I was to serve for 6 weeks as a volunteer dentist and oral surgeon in Jamaica. I was on an early morning flight from New York to Montego Bay. That morning, I was so hungry I could eat anything…at least until I saw two men kissing on seats across the aisle. The middle aged balding man unabashedly petted and fondled an effeminate youth with a brush moustache. I had never seen two men kissing openly before. The scene was a culture shock that took away my appetite.
It was therefore a rather hungry young man who landed in the small and informal Sangster International Airport in Montego Bay. Mr. George Palmer the local coordinator received me and dropped me off at the house where I would stay for the next few weeks. I then met the formidable Irma who would be my cook, bodyguard, advisor and babysitter. She was referred to generally as Irma the maid. I first shocked her by emerging from my room with a lungi. She would always refer to me as the guy from India who wore a skirt. She had not cooked lunch. How would she know what a brown guy in a skirt would eat!!? We often laughed about it later. In any case I was to eat in a nearby restaurant the first day. My first lunch was in the neighbourhood local restaurant where I ordered what I was told was the ‘national dish’- Ackee and Salt fish. It was a disaster. The ackee is some kind of fruit that tasted like nothing I had eaten before. It came with a steamed, peeled, raw banana which reminded me of something we don’t talk about at a dinner table. The fish was salty as promised but certainly not to my taste. I had a forkful of each in deference to Jamaican sentiments about their national food and went back to the house. Later that evening I was informed by a friendly neighbour that unripe Ackee could be dangerous and one could die if it was not cooked properly. I decided that I would not like to die on a sun kissed Caribbean island 10,000Kms from home with undigested raw Ackee in my system. I would see plenty of it over the next month. Never ate it again.
I sat Irma down the next day to plan my meals. We agreed about avoiding Ackee at all costs. She told me a list of things she liked making. She was not what you would call an imaginative cook. The good news for her was that I had no food restrictions. I knew I would survive. I returned from work the first afternoon to what she called a beef soup. It was the most elaborate soup I have had. There were vegetables, dumplings and various other ingredients, some floating and some sunk to the bottom of a large bowl that could feed a small family and their pet dog. For the next few days it was roast lamb or chicken and rice. It takes some time for South Indians to get used to the idea that rice can be eaten without some kind of gravy. I never thought I would ever crave for Sāmbhar in my life. I meekly mixed my rice everyday with Tabasco sauce.
I met Kishore Gopal about a week into my assignment. He was a dentist from Thirupathi working for the Jamaican Government. We met through a common friend, a nurse who worked in one of the clinics I visited. After introductions we started speaking in English. She insisted that we should feel comfortable and speak in our native language. I spoke English, Malayalam and Tamil. He spoke English and Telugu. Both of us had only a vague familiarity with Hindi. English was our common language. The nurse insisted that we speak in our native tongue. She could not believe that we came from the same country and knew several languages but English was the only common one we could communicate in. Gopal, whose wife was away on vacation, introduced me to the Red Stripe Jamaican beer and Jerky pork. When he first suggested Jerky pork I could not dismiss from my mind the recurring imagery of a convulsing pig jerking in a barbeque pit. I later learnt that Jerky came from the Jamaican use of the word Charqui which means dried meat in the language of the Arawak Indians (The original inhabitants of Jamaica). Jerky Pork or Chicken with the accompanying sauces made from one of the spiciest chili sauces became our standard dinner. This was invariably washed down with six pack cans of Red Stripe beer or Jamaican Rum Punches. The world famous Appleton estate rum was distilled just a few kilometers away from where I stayed. Jerky pork or chicken or beef is actually dried meat marinated in spices and pimento sauces and cooked over a smoking pit of wood charcoal. One could actually stand at the edge of the pit and select portions.
The Jamaicans were a happy people who danced, drank and ate with gay abandon. They happily went about eating their Ackee and salt fish without any major disaster. Nobody else I talked to had heard about an ackee death. However, I later came to know about scientific reports of death caused by severe alkaloid induced hypoglycaemia from the raw ackee (which was brought to Jamaica by the slaves from West Africa). The Jamaicans have a very eclectic cuisine borrowed from various ethnic groups that have settled in the country over the years.
It was on my last evening in Jamaica that I was introduced to the very popular local dish called curried goat. It tasted every bit like a typical south Indian mutton curry, replete with ground coconut and spices. In fact it entered Jamaican cuisine through the relatively small ethnic Indian community who came to Jamaica more than 150 years before as indentured labour. They were sometimes derogatively referred to as ‘coolie’ Indians. I was once called that by an irate driver in a traffic jam. They mostly lived in a county called Westmoreland near Montego Bay. On my last day I was happy to taste a bit of India on the happy dinner table of the joyous people of Jamaica. They truly epitomized the national motto “out of many one people”. Where else would you find traditional Arawak Indian Jerky pork, West African Ackee and Asian Indian Goat Curry at one table?

George Paul
October 1991

Kinky Food!!!

“Balut! Balut!" cried the hawker, carrying a steaming basket on his shoulder. I had been hearing this cry every evening for several days. I knew it was something people ate, but did not have a clue what it was. I finally asked a Filipino friend.
“Oh! You haven’t eaten a Balut?” he enquired incredulously. He tried explaining the rather unique delicacy. To me it sounded like some form of boiled egg!
“No big deal, we eat plenty of them back home” said I. He thought for a while and said this was different. He told me it was ‘sexy’. Now! I was really curious.
I finally approached the hawker the next day with the trepidation of a teenager buying condoms at a pharmacy. The description of ‘sexy’ was making me curious. The hawker spoke a little English. He whipped aside the steaming cloth that covered a basket full of eggs. He went on to crack the top of one egg to make a little hole. I was getting quite nervous about this whole affair. He proffered the egg to me and asked me to suck the contents out through the hole. He watched while I tentatively put my lips to the hole in the egg. I almost felt like I was doing something clandestine. Seeing me suck up the contents of the egg he heaved the basket onto his shoulders with the ominous promise of “Make you sexy”. The contents went down my throat – a warm, gelatinous mucus like bolus, leaving behind some tasteless crunchy bits in my mouth. I chewed and swallowed that too. I hurried back to my hotel room. I certainly did not want to be overwhelmed by some gross sexual transformation on the main street of the little town of Puerto Princesa. God only knew what it was!? I sat back and waited for the ‘sex elements’ to take effect. After about an hour I realized nothing was happening. Realizing it was safe to venture out, I sauntered out to the hotel bar. Over a bottle of beer (the world famous San Miguel) a Filipino doctor friend told me about the enigmatic Balut. Balut, he explained, was a fertilized egg that is incubated till about 10 to 15 days to allow the chick to form. It is then boiled and the developing chick is eaten by sucking it out through a small hole as I had done. The crunchy bits were the cartilages of the chick’s early skeleton. The rest was obviously half formed foetal tissues which were of course boiled. The locals also called it an ‘abortion’. He told me that he himself preferred it a little more mature- incubated for a few more days. He explained that there would be some downy feathers by then. He offered to introduce me to the more mature feathery version. I politely declined. No! I wasn’t in a mood for the more ‘well done’ version. I then delicately put the question uppermost in my mind. “What about its aphrodisiac properties”. The Filipino doctor burst into laughter. He confirmed what I already suspected. It was a popular myth. “The feathers sometimes tickle your palate” he said. “Nothing else gets tickled….” he said with a mischievous smile!!

Another Train Journey

It was another one of those long train journeys taking me home after a conference. I did the usual things to while away the morning- reading, dreaming and scheming. North bound trains, I am convinced, have the worst food. Fortunately, choosing a meal was easy. I had the simple choice between vegetable biriyani and egg biriyani. I favoured the vegetable biriyani , simply because I believed it was less toxic. I don’t particularly like the terrible experience of salmonella poisoning (with rotten eggs). Certainly not in our railway toilets. I tucked reluctantly into the half cooked, suspiciously coloured rice with a fragile plastic fork which distinctly looked used. There was only a faint suggestion of vegetables in the meal-a sliver of carrot and a slice of green chilli. The only hope of anything palatable lay inside a plastic pickle packet that was clearly not meant to be opened without a dental struggle. I tried vainly to open it with my teeth and tasted success when it spilt unceremoniously on my moustache and lips. The IRCTC sure does make you work for a meal.
I then settled in for a planned afternoon nap. Over the years I learnt the hard way that it was not easy to take a siesta in a train. There would be the loud conversations between passengers, ringing of mobiles and the intermittent hawker who walked down the aisles shouting “Waterrrrr” or “Tomater soup” or whatever. The few who wished to take a nap invariably snored- and they always fell asleep before I did. These days I go equipped with ear plugs which are quite effective in keeping out most of the noises. I woke up at 4.00 PM ( an hour before my scheduled arrival) surprised at the silence around me. There were three other fellow passengers in my coupe. They talked and laughed animatedly but noiselessly. I removed my ear plugs and was surprised that there was still no sound. I would have panicked about my eardrums but for the fact that I could still hear the clatter of the train.
I watched amazed as the three of them spoke with their lips, hands and a wide array of facial expressions. I soon realized that they were all deaf and dumb. It made me wonder at the remarkable nature of their interactions. There was never a moment in their conversations when one of them could take their eyes of the faces of the others. There was something intense in the communication which we ‘normal’ people ignore. We can talk, narrate, curse or ridicule someone while looking away from them. It is our way of emotionally distancing ourselves when we lie, deceive or have something unpleasant to say. If these special people dared to take their eyes away from the other, there would be no conversation. It would be like putting an ear plug in. Looking into the eyes of others, brings to human interaction a sublime level of intensity and sincerity. I wondered if it would be possible for these three persons to lie or deceive while looking into the face of the other. During a lull in the conversation, the oldest of the three, seeing me watching them, indicated with his hands that the teenager sitting beside him was his daughter. He put a cupped right hand, palm facing downwards and the left hand vertically below, palm facing upwards to indicate a child. I smiled. What else could I do? I was the handicapped one in the crowd. The gentleman then indicated the young handsome man sitting across him and indicated that his daughter and the young man were going to play badminton. He indicated badminton with a telling unmistakable swing of his hands. With my limited dumb charade vocabulary I asked him where they were going. All three immediately turned their attention to me and the older man pulled out a document for me to read. They were on their way from Trivandrum to Lucknow for the national Badminton trials for the deaf and dumb. If they did get selected they could go to South Korea for the world meet. I smiled and indicated a flying airplane by with my hands. They nodded indulgently. I was learning. The older man then revealed through a complex series of actions and lip synchs that he had another daughter and that all four including his wife were deaf and mute. With some difficulty (for me) they managed to ask what I did? I pointed to my mouth and acted out a tooth extraction and they went into paroxysms of appreciative laughter- the only sounds that came out of them. I really was learning. I was just thinking that they must be lucky to not have to use a mobile phone, when the younger man whipped out a Nokia handset. He wanted my number. I wrote it down for him. He indicated that he would message me by gesturing and acting out the process on his mobile keypads. Just as I realized I was catching on the train began to slow down. I was reaching my destination. As the train came to a halt, the sounds of the station came in through the open door of the coach. A cacophony of languages, footfalls and yelling interspersed with those of the hawkers hoarsely vending their tea, coffee and Vadai. Welcome back to the real world. We said our goodbyes with handshakes and I gave the silent universal thumbs up to the two young players. Driving home from the station, I resolved that I will learn the hand language. It would be a great way to spend my old age- gesticulating silently to my wife and breaking out into peals of laughter!!!