And so, looking in the mirror quickly became the best way to cure my hiccups, or to wet my pants – whichever one was needed most at any given moment. Thankfully, I was spared the mask after a few months, but this by no means was to be the end to my torture. With only braces on my teeth, I was called to the clinic every month, where the dentist would simply look at my teeth for a few minutes, and then send me back home.

This went on for five months, during which, I also noticed that I would be sent in to see the doctor as soon as I arrived, as there would be very few people in the waiting room. Also, he started behaving very strangely: he would take pictures of my face, first straight, then in profile.

Finally, after another month, my mother just got utterly fed up and took me to his empty clinic, demanded that he remove the braces, and put an end to the whole charade – which he did, promptly, somehow having sense enough not to argue with my mother. After six long, bizarre years, I realised, as I ran my tongue over my teeth, how incredibly smooth they were.

The following week, his clinic had closed down, and he, the crazy dentist, was nowhere to be found. It was later learnt that his reputation, which had once been so stellar, had been going down the drain, and just as teeth that he had been treating slowly deteriorated and finally fell off, one by one, virtually all his patients deserted him. Except me, of course, who was apparently first his pet project, then his personal guinea pig, and eventually, his last hope to regain lost glory, which explained why he had tried his best to hang on to me for as long as he could.

So that was it. It had cost me several thousands of rupees as well as untold misery and also made people run away from me, but hey, at least my lower teeth were back where they deserved to be!