Today V went to interview a Bollywood film Producer in Juhu. This very nice older gentleman talked to us about his films, how he got started and the hayday of Indian Cinema. He introduced us to the writer on his current film and invited us to visit his film shoot in NY in April. We had a good time chatting with him, and he told us about his next project, a Bollywood version of Romeo and Juliet. I asked him what made his version particularly Bollywoodish and he responded, "well, of course in my movie they won't die." I laughed my ass off.
Later that night, V and I ate some guava. V ate the skin. I asked her if it was okay to eat the skin, and she said, "I don't know, but I'm eating it." I thought, well if she can do it, so can I. And it tasted great. We had a big spicy dinner, and then later that night, the puking began. Oh, Vidhu didn't get sick. Vidhu never gets sick. She just eats what she wants while everyone comments on the weak consitution of the American stomach. She doesn't count of course, because she's an Indian at heart. Apparently she's an Indian at heart and in stomach.
One note on my illness: The family would check on my condition every hour of so...and when they did, the entire family entered my room, sat on the bed, felt my forehead. Preeya went so far as to administer 'touch therapy'. Actually quite nice. They insisted a Doctor be called to the house. The nice elderly gentleman that arrived was their family doctor, a man who had been administering medical help to the family for over 13 years. The only problem was that he's now in renal failure and was sicker than I was. I felt guilty that he made the trip out for me, but these people would stop at nothing to make sure I was taken care of.
While sick, I was forced to drink a variety of drinks/medicines that they themselves take when sick. For example: coffee, tea, fennel seeds. I, of course, threw everything up. I wanted water, which they didn't want me to drink much of (as they thought I would just throw it up) and sprite (which they thought was bad for my stomach as it is carbonated). Of course I became dehydrated, and so when the doctor asked if I had 'wet mushys" (which is Hindi for diarreha - I had fun trying to figure that one out.) or whether I was able to 'pass urine' I told them no. I heard much discussion that day about my inability to "pass urine" and everyone, including some strangers who happened to call the house that day learned of the inner workings of my urinary system. The doctor decided my lack of peeing was a serious problem, so they decided that I needed to go to the hospital, which I refused to do, and much arguing ensued. If not for the presence of Vidhu, I probably would have ended up there, but she came to my rescue, got me crackers to eat and sprite to drink and told them to let me just sleep it off. That lead of course to my recovery, though Lalit laughed for days that the threat of the hospital was enough to cause my immediate recovery.
The whole night and next day I spent in bed. So for tomorrow's blog forgetaboutit.
Later that night, V and I ate some guava. V ate the skin. I asked her if it was okay to eat the skin, and she said, "I don't know, but I'm eating it." I thought, well if she can do it, so can I. And it tasted great. We had a big spicy dinner, and then later that night, the puking began. Oh, Vidhu didn't get sick. Vidhu never gets sick. She just eats what she wants while everyone comments on the weak consitution of the American stomach. She doesn't count of course, because she's an Indian at heart. Apparently she's an Indian at heart and in stomach.
One note on my illness: The family would check on my condition every hour of so...and when they did, the entire family entered my room, sat on the bed, felt my forehead. Preeya went so far as to administer 'touch therapy'. Actually quite nice. They insisted a Doctor be called to the house. The nice elderly gentleman that arrived was their family doctor, a man who had been administering medical help to the family for over 13 years. The only problem was that he's now in renal failure and was sicker than I was. I felt guilty that he made the trip out for me, but these people would stop at nothing to make sure I was taken care of.
While sick, I was forced to drink a variety of drinks/medicines that they themselves take when sick. For example: coffee, tea, fennel seeds. I, of course, threw everything up. I wanted water, which they didn't want me to drink much of (as they thought I would just throw it up) and sprite (which they thought was bad for my stomach as it is carbonated). Of course I became dehydrated, and so when the doctor asked if I had 'wet mushys" (which is Hindi for diarreha - I had fun trying to figure that one out.) or whether I was able to 'pass urine' I told them no. I heard much discussion that day about my inability to "pass urine" and everyone, including some strangers who happened to call the house that day learned of the inner workings of my urinary system. The doctor decided my lack of peeing was a serious problem, so they decided that I needed to go to the hospital, which I refused to do, and much arguing ensued. If not for the presence of Vidhu, I probably would have ended up there, but she came to my rescue, got me crackers to eat and sprite to drink and told them to let me just sleep it off. That lead of course to my recovery, though Lalit laughed for days that the threat of the hospital was enough to cause my immediate recovery.
The whole night and next day I spent in bed. So for tomorrow's blog forgetaboutit.
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