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Sick

I'm on the other side of the worst food borne illness I've ever experienced in what is becoming a pretty large amount of travel in developing countries. This one is still paining me 3 days later. The worst day, the first day, involved all the usual one would suspect with this kind of illness without painting too much of a humiliating picture, couple this with chills, and fever, and a near 24 hour period of not leaving my bed, mostly unconscious. I have no idea what I ate to cause it, but thankfully I've got some antibiotics with me that I never ended up using last year. I started them when the chills and fever started, knowing this wasn't a typical relationship with some spicy food in India. I'll finish what is the prescribed last pill this morning, and I'm still not feeling right, so whatever this bug was, it was hopped up on steroids and did not like Americans. If I hadn't taken the meds, who knows. All is better now, and I think I may stay on hard boiled eggs, coconut water, and bottled water for the rest of the trip. Seems pretty safe to me, and its something my Indian mother/warden/servant Padma seems to understand how to make, and she can't seem to make it spicy. The night before the great Mickey Quake of 2012 she served me food that she was very proud of saying, "See, its no spicy!". It was at best, medium spicy by American standards. We eat a pretty bland diet at home. They asked me what I eat at home, and I said, "meat and vegetables." She said, "Every day!?" Theirs is a diet mostly made of rice, with other carby type breads, and peppers, occasional meat, the kids eat it here I think twice a week, and its chicken, and some vegetables thrown in here and there more often than meat, but far less often than soupy spicy rice.

Observations and Musings

Onto the more interesting part of this post. At least to me. You know, a common thing being put on Facebook lately whenever someone complains about something like their cell phone breaking, or their manicure being imperfect is #firstworldproblems I find this a little heartening because at least these people using the tag have some inclination that their "problems" are really sort of silly in the scheme of things. Even though, at the time they seem large.

Each time I've visited a country like India, a "developing country" it really does bring home to me how little we in the "developed world" need worry about. This trip, it seems to be coming home even more clearly, because this time, I'm really living in it. Or closer to "it" than I've ever lived before. Even still, there are people within feet of me that are living in "it" more. The people here wouldn't let me sleep in the courtyard on a cot, or a table, like most of them do, my son curled in my arms, with flies sleeping on my face and shoulders. Flies, numbering in the thousands, just within visible distance who recently were born in the nastiness that is the "sewer/river" running behind the school. No, I live in my own room, with my own bathroom, and running water. I also just realized that someone else must have lived here before I did, and is probably sleeping on a table until I leave. I'm going to find out who I booted out of a room today, if they'll tell me.

I literally have my own personal servant, I'll phonetically write his name, I have no idea how to spell it, Sigh-T-Bob-oooh, as well as pretty much anyone else at the school as a servant, if I show any inclination for anything they trip over themselves to make sure I have it. So I'm always guarded in my actions, because I hate that, it frankly embarrasses me.

The irony of this, is that I in many respects also feel a servant to their need to serve, and my inability to clearly communicate, or their inability to want to understand. These people will not allow me independence, even though I fight for it every day, like a toddler demanding to feed himself. Just this morning, Sigh-T-Bob-oooh, woke me with tea in hand, in my own special tea cup, with a handle, everyone else drinks from a steel cup *this annoys me*. This involved a banging on my door like the school is on fire, and even when I yell, he just keeps banging. I literally YELL back, multiple times as I'm trying to get a shirt on, this is a door that's no more than 5 feet from my bed, with a window that is not closed. I don't understand it. He must hear me, and even though he understands no English, and me, no Telagu, he must certainly hear the tone... He then, for the first time this morning had his own tea, while he sat and watched me drink mine. So perhaps he's getting more comfortable. Next, after tea, me rubbing my eyes, he starts sweeping my floor, he does this each day, and each day with gestures and ineffectual English, I ask him not to. I was able to convince him to let me clean my own toilet, so I know he "hears" me when he wants to.

He then, starts insisting on washing my clothes. I again, with gestures, tried to tell him that my clothes were fine *he just washed them two days ago, and I pack enough clothes for a week, so I'm good for a while* he nods like he understands, and then still starts gathering them up, even the clean ones. Its nuts.

I tried to help with clean up here yesterday, they cut down a tree, so I started to help move logs, they freaked out. SIR! SIR!! PLEASE!!! then they usher me carefully to a chair as if I'm a toddler who has a tendency to just get in the way of grown up work. I'm not saying that I'd like to sleep on a cot with flies on me in the courtyard, but I really resent the idea that they have that I'm somehow just better than they are. Indians by their culture really revere guests, so I know that's part of it. When you are a guest, literally they believe you should be treated like a "god". In America, we'll get you your first drink, after that, you know where the fridge is. *Maybe we treat our guests like we treat our gods too??* So I know that's part of it, but they also have innately built into their operating system that there are levels of people in the world. They are totally ok with this, or appear to be. When the founder of the school causes Padma to stop cooking the lunch she has been cooking for me for the past 40 minutes because he brought me something else, she just stops, and throws it out. Not even a sour look. I look on in horror at her hard work wasted, and he doesn't even notice. Its fascinating. In the US that would have at least warranted a snarky facebook post by Padma, "OMG can you guess what my boss just did??"

I guess the whole idea of "upward mobility" which is essentially what the "western world" is founded on, relies on one being unhappy and dissatisfied with one's place in life, and so you strive to do better, get better, have more. Here, many people are just fine with sleeping outside. Its their station, and that seems to be ok.

I have to go, Sigh has just shown up with my requested hard boiled eggs, but in classic fashion, instead of the asked for 2, he brought 3. He refuses to eat the third himself, and we just had a race to see who could peel eggs faster because I can do it myself. I won. There I go again, being an unruly American toddler. I hope you all sleep well, I'm just starting my day. Time zones are really neat.

~Mickey

ps. Dad, if you've read this far, I'm proud of you :-)