On Being Sick in a Country Full of Indian Aunties

Here, in India, women of a certain (middle) age begin to be known by the respectful term “Auntie” by the youths around them. The relationship of Indian aunties to their juniors is most closely equated to the relationship of Western Grandmothers to grandchildren; it's a relationship of respect for the elder and care (doting) for the junior.

When I woke up this morning with my stomach complaining about the food from Amritsar, I did not know what being ill in India entails. I took some pepto, called the catch-up program coordinator, Neena, telling her I would be staying home today, then cuddled under the covers hoping that my belly would let me rest.

A short while later, I wake up with my hostess standing over my bed, asking about my health and trying to bring me something to improve it. After politely rejecting offers of food and tea (something very difficult to do in the light of Indian hospitality), she settles on bringing me a glass of lime water, a sweet, salty, savory, and citrus combination of ingredients that was truly wonderful. In time, I fall back asleep.

Again, I wake up to the sight of Indian Aunties at the foot of my bed; this time Pratima, who coordinates my stay in Chandigarh, has joined my hostess to check in on me. The two sit by my bed and chat, taking tea and biscuits. “You, lie down,” Pratima says, “with how you must be feeling." 

After some debate, they decide to feed me two dishes; curd (yogurt) with psyllium husk sprinkled on top, and a mixture of rice and daal (lentils) that is good for the lower belly.

Meanwhile, my medicine has kicked in and I'm feeling better, albeit a little worn down. I've been invited to a wedding next weekend by Leon, another owner/coordinator of “Volunteer In India,” and I've decided to buy a Punjabi suit for the occasion.

Suit from kaneesha.com

Only a few days to go before the event, and it's a bit of a rush to get the fabric and have it tailored, as is standard when buying an outfit here. I'm feeling up to it, so agree when Pratima offers to take me to shopping.

With all of these aunties around, taking care of me and helping me function in India, I feel a bit like Great Expectations' Pip, although with several patrons (matrons?). Pratima and I pick out the materials, then shoes, change money, then head off to the tailor's to be measured (the suit will be made, I'm told, for approximately $3). She even waits patiently while I pick up a pack of toilet paper, which feels a bit like I'm annoucing to the world that I'm not quite potty-trained yet (I know, I know, I'll get used to the “jet”). I truly feel as if I'm young again, taking the day out with a favorite aunt whose objective is to spoil me.

There is definitely something to be said for Indian aunties. 

Now, I usually hate shopping, especially for clothes. I find it to be quite a tedious process, and would much rather wear a pair of worn-out jeans and flip-flops than go through the all the trouble shopping entails. However, this was an entirely new experience, one I rather liked. Rather than picking out objects from racks, we immersing ourselves in the many colored cloths, testing and feeling the fabrics, imagining what could be. It became a creative process, one full of promise. In the end, what you get are just clothes, but it's the process of creation that is appealing. 

Afterward, we drive outside of the city to visit a plot of land upon which Pratima is building a home for her family. It's being built into a hill, a jungle above, a grassy valley below. She tells me that in the early hours, wild peacocks climb down from the jungle to enjoy the early morning sun in the valley. The process has an old world feeling to it; brick by brick, each carried up a homemade ladder, a house is being created. 


I go home and rest for the evening, ready to take up my role as teacher (and student, eternally) again tomorrow.  

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Note: So far, I've been ill a few times in India, but luckily it hasn't been serious thus far. I know that with stories of illness such as this one, it's easy to imagine India as somewhere unhygienic or perhaps even dangerous, but I want to be clear. Westerners get ill in India not because there are evil little organisms in the water, air, etc, because there are just as many living in the West as well. We get sick when we are in India because the microorganisms are as foreign to us as everything else. As with everything here, we absorb it, adapt to it, then move on. I close my eyes and mouth in the shower, as well as brush my teeth with filtered water, because I know that here I am a softy, a playground for these new critters. People here are perfectly able to live their lives, using the water and interacting with the world, without need for fear. However, if you place any person on the opposite end of the world, they're going to be forced to make many new relationships, including those with fun little belly bugs. And I'm okay with that.