Liza Minnelli- my new friend

The Raj Mandir the first movie theater in Rajasthan...I think

I had to have cursed myself. I didn’t knock on wood…bad idea. Almost half of our group dropped like flies when we went to the Taj Mahal. There was dehydration, there was vomiting, there was diarrhea. ALAS! I triumphed! I did not become sick during the trip. Not once had I had traveler’s diarrhea, two weeks baby and all regular solid beautiful bowel movements. And then the apocalypse came. As I was peacefully going to sleep with the smell of ganja in my nose, the sound of dying cats outside my window in the comfort of my hard bed:

Body: “WOAH! I have to go. Now. Yes now.”

Me: “But I am so comfy. Go to sleep, it’ll go away.”

Body: “CAN-NOT WAIT. Pain-in-stomach, intestines-moving-fast.”

Me: “But I love sleep, more than pizza. You aren’t sick just SLEEP!”

Body: “I will not wait any longer, and if you do wait you will suffer the consequences.”

Me: “FINE.” I went to the bathroom (which may I add is very centrally located in the house, so everyone can hear you do your business, awkward? I think so) and sat on the toilet. Ladies and Gents I had my first loose motion.

At the Jaipur Marathon

(A loose motion? It is the equivalent to the American name for diarrhea. We started to come up with nicknames and signs. Mona Lisa? Lisa Mona? Naw. And for some reason Liza Minnelli popped into my head…What does this broad even sing? O well, she is the scapegoat that gets to have her name tarnished by my bowel movement problems. We also have a hand signal was an ‘L’ like “loser! On your forehead” and ‘M’ like with your three fingers upside down. “LM” clever eh?)

My sleep was awful, tossing and turning, horrible cramps in my stomach, feeling like I was going to hurl and always needing to sit in the bathroom with the read and orange tomato tiles to give me support. The next morning I woke up…I am not going to school only to sit from 9:30-3 and get up to go to the b-room every 15 min. Nope nope nope, I will not. So I spent my day tossing turning and pooping…a lot. The attempt at eating was minimal; I was limited to curd, kichiri (a very bland mixture of basmati rice and baby lentils in a mush form) and dal (soup that tasted like bitter peanut juice) and lots of bananas. Yum. Let me remind you that more than 3 ‘loose motions’ is not good and you are recommended to get some medicine, I had about 20 loose motions. We called a doctor, and I had my 15-year-old host sister converse because I couldn’t understand what I was supposed to do.  Our house is next to a hospital so we get in line for the pharmacy  (which is outside and SUPER sketchy) and I have Bulbul explain my loose motion conundrum and get me some sort of medicine. No prescription needed. Hmm. I had no idea what the pills were, they could have been Viagra for all I knew, but I was desperate.

Thursday rolled around and I was itching to get out of the house, no matter how I felt. I made the daring trip to MI Road (a popular road with lots of shops) with some friends despite my body’s disagreement. About 20 minutes into our escapade and suppressing my bowel movements I realized I needed to go home. NOW. I flagged down a cycle rickshaw, and settled with an old scroungy man who was clearly high, I just needed to go home and lay down. Normally I appreciate the minimal conversations with the drivers but this was not the time. I am riding on a bicycle cart, alone, with a man who is high pedaling down the streets of mass chaos and he is trying to give me some sort of sightseeing tour.

HRM (high rickshaw man): “And this is the park.”

Me: “Uh huh. Very nice.” The smells of street weed, burning crap and urine were starting to get to me. The man’s voice started to become hazy…

HRM: “BBLLLAAAAHHH BLAAHHH BLAAAHHH.”

This is what I was gagging on with the HRM

Me: “Mmmm hmm. Yes.” Ok, I am NOT feeling good.

HRM: “Waaaa waaahhh wahhhh.” (like the teacher on Charlie Brown)

I begin to gag. I am going to throw up. The HRM keeps talking to me. “America nice.” And I am gagging. The roads are getting bumpier and the cycle rickshaw is creaking. I am gagging. Hold it in hold it in. Don’t puke on the streets of India. After what seems like an eternity I reach home run to the bathroom and throw up. So much for feeling good.