Writing for Fun
Something's Wrong - Joan Bond
July 2014
I made a journey to India, arranged by my son, as he had been paying money for drugs to keep a liver transplant patient well and able to have a reasonable life. Suddenly, after four years - typical male. Thought it would be wise if he could confirm there was such a guy.
So what does he do? Sends his wife and mother to find out.
The fact that his wife and her mother in law travelled together was very unusual but when we said we had left my son at home to look after the children the Indian women fell about. One thing I liked about the country was that if we were looking at a map in the street people would come from everywhere trying to help, fortunately in the area of Kerala where we made a start, English was spoken remarkably well. Originally Portuguese territory We travelled on buses, water buses, trains, rickshaw, carts and, once for me, as I was too old to walk, said my guide from the hospital, on the luggage rack behind a huge Indian guy while he peddled like mad over a mud road, train lines and through a shallow river. I lived an extra 5 years that day.
We took only a back-pack and slept in Hostels. This wasn't my son being tight but his missus, Katrine, had never been away before in charge of finances and she wanted to prove how cheap she could actually do it. I went for a newspaper one morning and it cost 30 paisa; course I gave him a rupee, 50p in our money, and said, 'Keep the change.' I was put on a ration of three cups of tea that day. That was a luxury there. The guy would have a stall, put some liquid in a paint tin with hot milk, he poured it from high into another paint tin and back for a couple of times then pour it into a glass. Absolute nectar.
Eventually we reached the hospital in Tamil Nadu. A nurse from Liverpool in about the seventies found that health facilities in rural India was abysmal. She started buying a few medicines and going around on her bicycle helping with treatment for the poor and with the help of university students building a small rural clinic the patients came to her. From very simple beginnings it has grown today to encompass three health and development organisations. Her name was Dora Scarlett and she was awarded the MBE in 1994. She wouldn't waste precious time receiving it at the palace, a dignitary had to come to Tamil Nadu. She was getting very old when we met her and having a conversation was like speaking to America, you asked the question and there was a long pause before the witty answer came.
The manager of the hospital, as it now was, took us to meet the family of Myandi Pandy, yes I am sure that is why my son took on his problems, but it was working. In India only one son can afford to be educated and that son hopefully will get work which would help keep the whole family. In this case he was a teacher and had to keep his parents, two brothers and families and an aunt.
The family were trying to kiss our feet with gratitude but we did accept a sari each, such a wonderfully practical gift because we used them for a sheet, pillow case and a cover for the floor as, when you were entertained in a house, there was no furniture and the sari was put to sit upon. When we arrived back at the hospital the nurse dressed us in them and they really make you walk more elegantly.
I actually felt more comfortable in a suit, rather like the scrubs they now wear in hospital as it was cool cotton washed out at night for re-wearing in the morning. If ironing was needed a chap had a stall where he worked, on the road, four items pressed for one rupee. I had the suit made to measure for 3 rupees.
Food we mostly bought at the market, everything was dipped into batter and deep fried so you didn't actually know what you were going to get but it was all delicious; ate only fruit you could peel, no meat, and drank bottled water.
Going on to a city Madurai we actually went to an hotel but were embarrassed by the way English speaking visitors loudly spoke down to the waiters. I did have a treat of boiled eggs for breakfast there as I didn't quite get on with early morning curry. We visited a temple where a particularly clever Elephant performed. He would put out his trunk for a coin and would then place it carefully on a tray but Katrine, tightwad, held up a lower denomination coin, looking just the same, but the animal tossed it back to her in disgust.
I sat in a tailors all the afternoon while they knocked up a suit for my son, had cups of tea and watched as all the folks were drawn in to buy. Beautiful cloth of every hue. I chatted to them all and especially to the little boys who did the running between tailors doing the button holes etc. Children only go to school until eight years old there, unless they are paid for privately and dad thought they were better suited to work for him and save a penny or two.
We decided to complete the holiday by having a treat, and return to Kerala by night train having a luxury coach. Ha.
It was all booked with much paperwork and we waited at the station. No note of booking! Well Katrine went potty and a crowd gathered remonstrating with the guard that we must be found the accommodation. We did, in a carriage with three blokes. Katrine took the bottom bunk and I took the luggage rack, no sheets or pillows but I put the ruck-sack under my head, wrapped myself in the sari, and had the best night's sleep of the trip.
Oh just a minute, I have written more that 500 words and it wasn't even funny. Something's Wrong somewhere.
