A frog sleeps in our sink. A gecko guards the other half of our bathroom from its station under the rim of the toilet. At night, the biggest, blackest rat in Goa prowls the Blue Corner. But that's okay because five, one-week old puppies, along with their mother live under our cabina. And just to make sure we're able to have a rodent-free, cockroach-free cabina, each night I place little bits of food in the cracks of the walls in the cabinas adjacent ours.




Last week, while I was having my fifth and final crown installed Dr Ranjeeta was having a bit of a difficult time. She placed her left hand on my forehead and then to get a better grip she used my right eye as a thumb grip.

I jumped out the chair screaming, “That's my good eye. If you have to, use the left one.” She got the point.

When it was all said and done, I think Dr Ranjeeta did an okay job. I can only hope that when I get back to Toronto my dentist doesn't give me an inspection and end up telling me something like, 'it was good work, but bamboo doesn't hold up well in Canada.'


Anyway, while Elenka was in the dental chair on Friday I went for a shave and haircut. The barber said to me, “Short?”

I said, “Just a little bit shorter.”

“Little bit?” he said.

I missed the question mark in his two word query, smiled and said, “Yes.”

I leaned back in the chair and he went to work. Less than a minute later I looked in the mirror and realized he'd shorn the whole left side of my head to within a centimetre. I wanted to jump out of the chair and run. But where would I run to? I had two choices really. I could get up and leave; buy a Boy George hat and look like a fool for a month, or let him raze the other side of my head, and try to blend in. I closed my eyes and let him cut.

When it came time for the straight-razor shave an interesting program came on the TV above the barber's head. I looked up just once as he slid the razor close to my carotid artery; his eyes were glued to the screen. A pretty young woman was being seduced by some guy. The artery was thumping in my neck as if screaming, 'Stop this madness.' I closed my eyes and sweated.

When the job was complete, he whipped off my apron, smiled and said, “You like?”

I grabbed a handful of hair from the apron and said, “I don't suppose you could put any of this back on?”

He smiled proudly and said, “Thank you.”

I had nary a nic. Next time though, I will wait for one of Benaulim's many power outages before having a shave.