India hates me

I may love Mother India, but she definitely has something against me.

I've been bedridden the past few days with a particularly virulent stomach bug, unable to partake in the fun village visits or intriguing talks of the conference I'm currently "attending." I spent the better part of yesterday morning at the Haryana Agricultural University hospital being rehydrated by endless IV bottles, and given painful injections in the "bartarx"..."excuse me?"..."bartarx, buttarx!" by a truly sadistic nurse. A pitbull in a blue sari and white overcoat, she whacked my behind with only half the enthusiasm she did my wrists to find an adequately swollen vein. I pleaded with the doctor on call for an early release as nearby orderlies cackled and babbled rapidly in Hindi, pointing--much to my annoyance and humiliation--at my "buttarx."

Oh well. I've caught some of the program today, gotten plenty of rest, and read more than half of Jhumpa Lahiri's "The Namesake." It's fantastic. Not just because the lives of the Bengali-American characters are shades of my own, but because Ms. Lahiri has a great gift of beautifully describing things by highlighting the most mundane details.

Oh, I'm forgetting the best part---I got to see the mother of all Indian ecofeminists VANDANA SHIVA speak on Monday. She was incredible, and I taped her whole talk. Even though I have no interest in agricultural policy, she really has a way of "waking you up" to the injustices that surround us all, from the Pepsi I was drinking in the chilly auditorium, to the round chipatis we ate for lunch.

Well, I should sign off. I will be happy to be back in my new apartment in Dhaka tomorrow night (I finally moved in) with my cozy room, and two awesome roomates. It's time for me to choke down some more crackers anyway. Adios.