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Published: December 24th 2005
ENTRY FIVE —
July 31st 1986
India
Bombay: is almost indescribable in its intensity, assailing all the senses at once. As you arrive in the East, what strikes you is that everything — down to the smallest detail — is radically different! You're now in an alien world. Sights, smells, sounds, all compete for attention.
Our taxi inched slowly through the dense traffic, horn blasting, eddies of people washing around us, cyclists weaving their way in and out, heedless of the larger vehicles. Tiny three-wheeled auto-rickshaws putt-putted past like toy cars, fitting into infinitesimal spaces. The odor that is India pervaded everything: a sweetness of sandalwood mixed with burning cow dung, and
just a hint of spicy food.
"Look!" shouted Miranda over the din.
The driver answered: "That is the
Taj Mahal Hotel. You are not staying there?" The building was magnificent: a marvelous marriage of mogul and modern.
"No," I quickly replied, "but the guidebook says there's another hotel right around the corner."
As Miranda swiveled her head and continued to stare, we pulled in front of a nondescript, dilapidated old structure converted into a budget hotel.
"Hmmmm," Miranda commented as she eyed it from top to bottom.
The Cadbury Smile
A little girl who recognizes us as the people who handed out chocolate bars, gives us her best smile.My wife was not impressed.
Cadbury Smile
After a sleepless night (next to a family of ten, heard through paper-thin dividers), we most certainly regretted our decision to stay. "Maybe it'll be better tonight," Miranda suggested. "It can't get any worse." We went for coffee at the Taj Mahal Hotel as they had
clean western washrooms! "Why don't we go sight-seeing?" I said, after we had completed our morning ablutions. A walk through Bombay is even more powerful than a strong cup of coffee. In the center of the city, we were besieged by a gaggle of shabby street-children. Many were begging pathetically. Several had been maimed in some way. "The parents do that to increase profits," I explained.
"That's terrible!" exclaimed Miranda. Without hesitation, she strode toward a major department store, asked for the candy section and purchased a box of small Cadbury's chocolate bars. Returning to where the urchins stood, she meticulously gave a bar to each of them. Then we vacated the area quickly. Miranda's strategy was give, run . . . and never visit the same area twice. The children invariably ate the bar of chocolate before Mother could snatch it
Pune, India
Bryan catches up on the news. Dust was everywhere: some even got into our camera. from them. The result was what we called the "Cadbury Smile".
Muslim-Hindu riots
As we made our way north toward Lahore, we slowly became accustomed to the culture shock: spicy foods, the monsoon, packed transportation, toilets which were merely holes in the ground, and of course, no toilet paper.
Mosquitoes could also prove treacherous. In Ahmedabad, I decided to put my theory to the test: our hotel had no mosquito nets, yet, I told Miranda, we would be safe from the little suckers if we left the light on in the bathroom at night. I was convinced that they would be attracted to the light and leave us alone.
Miranda was not so convinced, and covered herself entirely with the bed-sheet (even though the night air was sweltering). The next morning, feeling pleased with myself, I jumped out of bed, sure that I had outsmarted my blood-sucking opponents. To my horror, Miranda began to count the number of bites I'd received. She gave up at 200. It was heat, not light that attracted the flying fiends.
Our visit to
Ahmedabad proved difficult for another reason. Unbeknownst to us, it had become a
Pune street scene
Bryan stands in a safe area (away from the cows & cars). city under siege. Muslim-Hindu riots had necessitated an early curfew. This made it almost impossible to eat our evening meal in a restaurant.
Even leaving the city for the airport turned out to be a nerve-racking experience. The flight was scheduled to take off in the early morning hours before the curfew was lifted, so our taxi driver was forced to sleep in his vehicle all night.
In the deadly quiet dawn, he drove a circuitous route, avoiding all roadblocks on the way to the airport. As it turned out, the effort was a total waste of time and money: our plane left five hours behind schedule!
The Light ? ?
Miranda came bounding into our hotel room in New Delhi clutching two tickets for the train to Agra. "We're off to see the
Taj Mahal," she sang. Her enthusiasm came through as she told me the history of this over-sized tomb, a symbol of love for some dead Indian's wife.
"I'm not feeling well," I said.
Immediately, disappointment registered all over her face — eyes narrowed, mouth turned down, bottom lip stuck out. Her shoulders slumped, and she crossed her arms
Aga Khan Palace, Pune
Miranda and Bryan stand outside the Aga Khan Palace, one of the buildings in which Mahatma Gandhi was imprisoned. while peering suspiciously in my direction. Her body language made it clear that she thought I was feigning illness to avoid a pilgrimage to this overdone grave.
As the day progressed, it became apparent that I was seriously ill: I experienced cold chills all over my body. I couldn't stop shivering as my temperature started to climb steadily. We weren't sure how high it had risen, because the Fahrenheit thermometer went only as high as 105 degrees. It was at that point I began to hallucinate. I remember thinking that the "F" following the 105 stood for fatal. I also felt as though I were floating out of my body.
It seemed I was watching Miranda from the ceiling as she ordered a bucket of ice from room service. It was a red bucket. Why had she called down to room service? Was she going to put a bottle of wine on ice? Was she about to celebrate my demise? Maybe she was more upset at missing the Taj Mahal than I realized...
Immediately, the vision ended. I felt I was back in my body. The warm peace I had experienced was gone, and replaced with a
"How Long, Lord?"
An exasperated Bryan after walking up and down the covered walkway of the Aga Khan Palace many times while Miranda tries to take the "perfect" photograph. bone-deep coldness. It felt like someone was trying to submerge me in the Arctic Ocean. The frigid water was filled with tiny icebergs.
"Can you hear me?" It was Miranda's voice. " . . . need to get your temperature down."
I was in the bath, fully dressed, and freezing cold. She continued adding water and ice cubes to the tub. The sensation was one of the worst I'd ever experienced.
"Your temperature must come down!" Miranda pulled the thermometer out of my mouth. "Normal," she announced.
The bathroom was in a state. There was water everywhere, ice strewn across the floor, empty ice buckets, and the bath now filled to overflowing.
"This kind of ice-cold shock can't be good for me," I forced through chattering teeth, feeling no joy at being back in the land of the living.
"Neither is going out of your head with fever! Stay in the tub."
There I sat. Miranda returned promptly. "I have found a doctor." After immersing me again in the bath, she told me to stand. Then the love of my life went on to fill my pockets with ice-cubes. She helped me downstairs
The Gandhi Memorial
Inside the Aga Khan Place. and into an auto-rickshaw. The Sikh driver was reluctant to let me into his vehicle, but Miranda took no nonsense from him. I thought she was going to drive off in his auto rickshaw leaving him behind (so did he).
Moments later we were in the doctor's office. Miranda demanded to see the doctor at once.
"Sorry miss," said the receptionist, "but this is a sex clinic. Is your husband having trouble performing?" (One kindly lady suggested taking the ice out of my trousers might help.)
"No!" roared Miranda. "My husband is feverish."
Miranda and I were directed to a general practitioner who soon diagnosed me as having malaria. Apparently, there were several drug-resistant strains in the area. She gave me a different drug — not chloroquine or palwudrine. Within 24 hours I was back to normal.
The next day, as my health returned, I was surprised at Miranda breaking into tears . . . great streams ran down her face. "I thought I had lost you!"
Sikh Militants
We were nearing the conclusion of our honeymoon. After some difficulty with Indian bureaucracy, we were able to
The birthplace of M.K. Gandhi
Bryan and Miranda visit Mahatma Gandhi's birthplace. A self-appointed guide stands next to us. book passage on a train, which would travel across the Punjab province to my new parish, Lahore. Miranda longed to see the Golden Temple at Amritsar. She felt it would make up for missing the Taj Mahal. As the train pulled out of the Delhi station, I found myself deep in thought . . .
We never made it. We were turned back by Sikh militants. Miranda and I were returned to New Delhi, questioned, and allowed to book our flight . On July 31st we flew to Lahore
Links: Punjab Terror
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