It’s hard to be Jolly . . .

. . . when you’re sick. One week and I’m bedridden with some wicked bacteria. I will spare you the details, but know that only antibiotics (Cipro expired in 2006 - Mike assured me that even the military feeds soldiers expired Cipro?!) put a stop to my misery. And I have stiff neck from lying in bed for 48 hours. India suddenly becomes a retched place when you are sick. You start to wonder how it’s possible that you aren’t sick every moment of being here. I spent ample time running over the list of culprits: the bus stop chai I drank last weekend? The water that inevitably clings to all plates, cups and spoons you’re served on? Surely it must have been the samosa chat stand. It’s my own fault for eating street food so fresh from an industrialized country, but this was a truly amazing snack! I was hoping for just a samosa that I could take home and eat with my homemade mint chutney, but the 10 year old chat wallah surprised me by smashing my samosa with his hand. Then he stuck it in bowl, poured brown (tamarind?) water all over it, and covered it with about 15 other unidentifiable condiments. It is not possible this boy had access to soap and hot water, in fact that is the true culprit, lack of awareness about how disease is spread and access to hot water and soap.

The other thing that happens when you’re sick is that your mental health bottoms out. Like I said, it’s hard to be jolly when you’re sick. Suddenly all of life seems sour. I notice I’m sleeping on a two inch straw mattress, the chair cushions smell like urine, the power is out . . . again, the endless smells of ridiculously over spiced food make me nauseous, and I’m sure I can hear Indian men running over puppies on purpose.

Mike thinks I should end on a positive note, so I’m posting this photo of a mangosteen . . . next blog will be jolly, I promise.