Don't Look Back in Anger

Now that my rash is nearly gone, I'm sleeping (almost) through the night. Though overcast and chilly, days are looking much brighter as a result. I think I'll have a few scars on my legs but hey, it could have been a lot worse.

Jessica and Jaime, who broke out in the same rash two days after me, are still suffering. God (Shiva, Kali, Jesus, anyone?) willing they will break through to the other side too. Still no one (we've consulted two Indian, one Tibetan, and one American doctor) can tell us what caused this violent allergic reaction, though I suspect it might have something to do with sand polluted by the oil spill off Goa's coast just before we arrived.

So I'm starting to miss India.

I went over to visit my best friend's family last night, the Bengalis who hooked me up with their family in Kolkata and Mumbai. We sat cross legged on the floor speaking Indian English (you use a lot of the present continuous tense).

"Calcutta is having very bad conjestion," I said, "we were getting [inflection up on last syllable] late because the traffic was just stopped."

"Yes, and very bad pollution is there," they agreed.

Their giant flat screen TV, which has been upgraded at least three times in as many years, was showing a drawn-out crocodile wrestling match on the Discovery Channel. This was a jarring reminder of the material carrots the USA holds over visa-coveting Indians back home.

I'd brought them my digi camera to show pics of their family, but the battery was dead, so I promised to post some of my favorites online.

The order is mixed up but I don't know how to fix that.