Hend
My life in
This past week I got sick (I mean more than just going to the bathroom a lot sick, which has been basically the norm for me so far) for the first time since coming to India. On Friday night I came home late, and during the walk home I got a rice bath which apparently didn’t get along with my stomach. At least that’s my theory. The next day I woke up, ate some breakfast, and hit the books. I felt a little tired, but that was it.
An hour later I started to
feel cold, so I whipped out the only sweater I had brought to
When I finished studying I was downright freezing, so I got under the covers and took a nap. Unfortunately the antichrist living next door, having taken the form of a four year-old child, was whaling as usual. So I kind of half slept. When I woke up, I was soaked.
After a couple hours of unspecified
bathroom activities and a bath, I still felt tired and cold. So I took another
nap, woke up, and drank some water. When I ran out, I went downstairs to get
some more via the filter in the kitchen. The whole family was there eating
dinner (it was about
God bless Prasad. He forced me to go to his family doctor (just a 10 minute walk away) and walked with me through the rain. We arrived at a tiny office, maybe half the size of a college dorm room, and found the doctor alone in the dark (the power was out), with only a battery-powered lamp shedding some light on his face. At that point I didn’t know if he was going to examine me or tell me ghost stories. He eventually looked at my tongue, listened with his stethoscope, and diagnosed me with something that I can’t remember (pathetic, I know). Prasad and I thanked him and we were off to the nearby pharmacy. They dumped my pills in a makeshift paper bag cut and taped together with magazine pages. On one side of the bag was an ad for instant noodles, on the other an ad for lingerie with a photo of a woman from the waist up in just a bra. As you may have guessed I spent much of the next two days parading this bag around and giggling like an eight year-old. Anyway, the total paid for the doctor’s visit and medicine: 146 rupees ($3.40). For the record, that’s about half the price of a sandwich in Downtown Boston.
The next day I was feeling better. Now I’m back to normal. What’s the point of the story? Patrick Ewing sweats a lot.
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Globalization, I salute you. The highlight of the past week occurred this morning. While waiting in the living room for Prasad before going to work, Radiocity FM was playing a Hindi pop song featuring samples of Lil’ Jon screaming “Yeah!” and “OK!”. Talk about a clash of civilizations. I don’t even like Lil’ Jon, but just imagining a Rastafarian-looking guy with big sunglasses and metal teeth made the day a bit easier.