The Fear Inside the Forceps

The smell of antiseptic still clung to his fingers, but there was no confidence left in them.

“It’s bad luck in my dental practice, doctor…” Dr. Prakashan said quietly, almost as if he were apologising for something he did not fully understand.

They were walking through a crowded street in Thrissur, where life moved with its usual impatience, autos honking, vendors shouting, people hurrying past as if time were chasing them. But Prakashan walked slowly, like a man carrying a question that had grown heavier than his body.

Beside him walked Dr. Joseph Mathew.

Everything about Joseph spoke before he did, his crisp shirt, his polished shoes, the faint fragrance of an expensive perfume, the easy confidence of a man who had never doubted his place in the world. His clinic stood not far away, behind glass doors that reflected success, air-conditioned rooms, soft lights, velvet chairs, and a receptionist who spoke English even when the patient could not.

Prakashan glanced at him, then looked away.

They had once stood in the same classroom.

Now, they stood in two different worlds.

And somewhere between skill and success, something invisible had gone missing.

Prakashan looked at him with a mixture of respect, confusion, and a little sadness.

“I don’t understand, doctor… we studied in the same government Dental College… we even worked together under that old and famous Doctor Babu Subhash in Chalakudy… but look at you now! Two houses, a car, patients waiting in line… and look at me…”

He laughed weakly.

“My clinic looks like a ration shop after a flood.”

Joseph took a deep breath, like a man about to explain the secrets of life.

“That is the problem with you, Prakashan,” he said slowly. “Don’t feel bad… but I must say this. You people have no general sense.”

“General sense?” Prakashan asked innocently.

Joseph paused. He himself did not clearly know what he meant. But that did not stop him.

They stopped walking and bought two cups of coffee from a nearby teashop.  After sipping from his takeaway coffee, he began explaining.

 “See… patients don’t come for treatment alone,” Joseph said, lowering his voice like a guru revealing wisdom. “They come for feeling.”

Prakashan frowned.

“What feeling?”

“The feeling that you are a big doctor!”

He pointed towards a newly opened clinic across the road.

“Look there… big glass doors, lights, fancy chairs… even before entering, people feel confident. That is what you are missing.”

Prakashan scratched his head.

“My clinic has chairs… plastic ones…”

Joseph ignored that.

“You must have a good setup. Clean stairs. Bright lights. Soft chairs. Air Conditioning. Reception. Everything must say: ‘I am a successful Doctor.’”

He leaned closer.

“If you look poor, people think your treatment is also poor.”

“In the world of appearances, people trust what they see before they trust what they feel.”

Prakashan nodded slowly.

“That is true…” he admitted. “Earlier, I tried all that… bought a sofa, magazines, even hung a picture of Aiswarya Rai near the mirror…”

“Then what happened?”

“I became uncomfortable!” Prakashan said honestly. “I would sit there and feel like I was in someone else’s house. My wife would cook fish curry; the smell would spread into the clinic… she would mop the floor in front of patients… I felt embarrassed… but also… I felt real.”

Joseph shook his head.

“You must act, Prakashan! That is the point!”

The Performance of Being a Doctor

Joseph became more energetic now.

“You need a big board outside. Huge letters! ‘Dr. Prakashan Dental Care’, with shining gold colour! From the road itself people should see it.”

“And then?”

“Advertisements! Not in newspapers, but in Facebook, Social Media everywhere! Say you studied abroad. Say you treat poor people free. Say something! People like stories.”

Prakashan looked worried.

“But… is that not lying?”

Joseph smiled.

“It is not lying… it is presentation.”

“Sometimes truth is not enough… people want it decorated.”

Prakashan was silent.

Joseph continued, now fully in his element.

“When a patient comes, don’t talk too much. Sit seriously. Look important. Even if it is a simple tooth, act like it is complicated.”

“Complicated?” Prakashan asked nervously.

“Yes! Use many tools. Look inside ten times. Turn the chair up and down. Make them feel you are doing something big!”

He laughed.

“I even keep machines I never use. Just for effect!”

Prakashan’s eyes widened.

“And then?”

“Then you remove the tooth quickly. But before that, make them believe it is a major operation.”

Prakashan stopped walking.

“Doctor…” he said softly, “I can’t do all that.”

Joseph turned.

“Why?”

Prakashan looked down.

“When I hold the forceps… suddenly I get scared. What if I break the tooth? What if I hurt the patient? My hand starts shaking…”

He paused.

“Once… I pulled out the wrong tooth.”

Joseph burst into laughter.

“That happens! You’ll get the right one next time!”

But Prakashan did not laugh.

“For me, it is not funny…” he said quietly.

“Skill without confidence is like a boat without a paddle… it only drifts.”

They continued walking in silence for a while.

The evening crowd moved around them, students, workers, auto drivers, people going home after long days.

Finally, Prakashan spoke again.

“You are right, doctor… maybe I don’t have that ‘general sense’… maybe I don’t know how to behave like a big doctor…”

He smiled faintly.

“But I also don’t know how to pretend.”

Joseph said nothing.

And in that silence, something deeper settled between them.

“Not everyone fails because they lack skill… some fail because they refuse to become someone they are not.”

As they parted ways, Prakashan walked back towards his small clinic.

It was simple. It was Neat and Clean. It was real.

And it was his.

But somewhere inside him, a quiet question remained,

In a world where appearance creates success…

what happens to those who choose honesty?

“Sometimes the cost of staying true to yourself… is a life that looks like failure to others.”