The Day My Toothbrush Went Missing

By: R. K. Narayan (or his spiritually confused cousin)

It all began, as disasters usually do, with optimism.

I woke up early that morning determined to start a “healthier routine.” I had read somewhere — possibly on a WhatsApp forward — that “how you brush your teeth determines how you live your life.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded profound enough to take seriously.

I reached for my toothbrush, only to find it missing. Gone. Evaporated. The blue one with the slightly bent bristles that had been loyal to me for months.

My wife, ever calm in the face of crisis, suggested I check the kitchen.
“The kitchen?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “Last night, our son was cleaning his toy truck. He might have borrowed it.”

Borrowed. A word that, in Indian households, often means never returning.

I found the toothbrush indeed — in the sink, beside a suspiciously clean toy truck and a blob of jam. I stared at it like Hamlet holding Yorick’s skull. Was this still my toothbrush? Could one cleanse sin with Colgate?

Naturally, I demanded justice. My son merely shrugged and said, “It’s okay, Papa. Toothpaste kills germs.” I couldn’t argue — science had apparently evolved since my time.

Left with no choice, I went to the shop next door to buy a new one. The shopkeeper — who treats toothbrushes as luxury items — offered me three options: “Soft, medium, or Supreme Action Turbo.”

I didn’t know what “Supreme Action Turbo” meant, but it looked aggressive enough to threaten plaque into surrender. I bought it, along with a new tube of toothpaste, and marched home triumphant.

That evening, as I brushed, the brush promptly snapped in half. My wife said calmly, “See? That’s what happens when you try to live like Americans.”

And there, dear reader, I learnt the moral of the story —
In life, as in dental care, it’s better to stick with what fits your mouth.