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Oh India, Here I Come!

Monsoon Season: July 4, 2009

Dum Dum Airport

Kolkata (Calcutta), West Bengal, India

There are so many mysteries in India, including finding your baggage and getting out of the airport in a timely matter. Timely is a relative term in India, but to me it means getting out of the airport in anything less than four hours. There was just one snag this time, the AH1N1 flu pandemic.

The Government of India was conducting entry screening for all passengers traveling to India from other countries, in which their goal was to report human cases of the swine flu. There was yet another form to be filled out and a long line to stand in. Most of all the form had to be properly filled out. The goal was to declare yourself healthy and proceed to immigration.

Normally this would not be a problem, but how does one look coming from California where the cases of influenza have stayed persistent from April to July. There was a section on the form, “Have you been anywhere where there has been a flu outbreak?” Another question that did not bode well for me, “In the last seven days, have you been traveling in a community where there are one or more confirmed swine influenza AH1N1 cases or do you reside in a community where there are one or more confirmed cases of swine flu?”

After I thought of all the closed schools in my community, as well as the deaths in California due to influenza, I wondered if I would see Dr. Sarkar and his precious family that was waiting for me, or just proceed straight to quarantine, or the appointed Indian government runned hospital, with the other suspect cases. This is where my journey was about to begin.

Should I lie? It just doesn’t seem right to lie to a government official before entering the country. On the other hand, I would hate to be quarantined the moment I arrive in India considering all the preparation for the trip and time off from work.

After carefully considering my options, I decided the truth was a noble and ethical approach. Standing in queue for quite some time gave me plenty of time to consider my options. My turn had finally arrived. I was next.

I stood in front of the health committee which seemed to make me very nervous. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for some health crime I had not committed. In this case, sad but true. There must be a homeopathic rubric for supposed crimes. Ah, but there is one. I just hate to admit I need the remedy for a mind symptom.

The nurse stood in front of me, at attention, in a perfectly ironed, starched white uniform with her hair carefully tucked up in a white cap balanced on the top of her head. She stared at the form and informed me that I had missed a section, and no, she did not want to lend me her pen after seeing my X’s carefully placed in the boxes. I rustled around looking for a pen, and, God bless me, after traveling on the airplane for two days I could not find one in my purse.

After begging her for a pen for what seemed to be an eternity, she finally relented and let me borrow hers out of complete frustration, knowing she had 350 inspections left. I was starting to feel a little worried after she combed my form, seeing the yes box filled in where it would be better to see no. I was clearly worried.

I suddenly blurted out, “I am a doctor!” These seemed to be the magical words and the serious look on her face shifted to a smile and the next thing I knew there was a sudden but hard thump on the document with a stamp of approval. THUD! That was it! I was a free bird to tackle customs and immigration.

Oh India, Here I Come!

Fear of Arrest!

A sense of humor is one of my strongest attributes that has come in handy at points in time throughout my life. More than once, a little humor has certainly gotten me through a difficult day. I laugh when I think back at my funny but worrisome adventure at the Dum Dum Airport which reminds me that I am human. My little mind symptom that I would rather forget, or simply bypass all together, has left me with a great introduction to Zincum metallicum.

In Boericke’s New Manual of Homeopathic Materia Medica & Repertory, there is one short keynote that is simple but tells all: Fears arrest on account of a supposed crime.” ⁶ It would be wise for me to remember this important keynote, as Zincum metallicum may come in handy with further incidents at the airport, or during my many adventures in the Jungle Village located deep in the tropics of West Bengal.

I find the Jungle Village to be the most appropriate name for the vast spreading village, located two hours by train, yellow Ambassador taxi, or blue Tata Land Rover from Kolkata. The village, that is spread out under a grand tropical canopy of green lush plants and banyan trees, is where I reside with Dr. Sarkar and his family during my extended stays in India. The Jungle Village has been given to the name of the village solely for my purposes since I cannot, after many Bengali lessons, correctly pronounce Thakurnagar so that any person in West Bengal can understand me at all! Since my first arrival at Dum Dum Airport in July, 1999, I have decided it is a much wiser decision to call Thakurnagar the Jungle Village and leave it at that.

“Why?” One might be curious and want to ask? Here is the quick version of the story. Upon my first arrival in India after traveling for over 36 hours, with stops in Japan and Thailand, I stood in queue for two hours at customs and immigration at Dum Dum Airport. Finally, after a bout of nausea due to the intense heat, no circulating air, humidity, and my apprehension, I approached the immigration officer, who was dressed in a stiff military uniform and looking ever-so-official. He asked me where I was going in India. I replied, “Thakurnagar…Thakkkurnnnagar, Thakkkurnnnagar.” I tried to say Thakurnagar, over and over, but to no avail. The officer simply could not understand what I was saying or where I was going. “Thakkkurnnaaagar…”

Finally, out of frustration he moved on with his further questions. “Madame, could you please state your business and with whom you will be residing.”

“Yes, I will doing volunteer work, and living with Dr. Sarkar and his family.” I saw the puzzled look on his face and decided to provide more details as I could see that things were not going according to plan and I was beginning to worry. I quickly added, “He is a professor that teaches at The National Institute of Homeopathy in Calcutta.”

The immigration officer, seemingly stuck on the first part of my answer, looked completely puzzled. “Dr. Who?”

Oh, here we go again. “Dr. Sarkar, Dr. Shaaarrkaaarr!” I could feel my voice starting to tremble as my apprehension and anxiety started to escalate. You see, the Bengalis pronounce “S” as “Sh”! What a nightmare! I tried again, “Dr. Shhharkar,” I spoke ever so slowly, trying my best to say this world famous homeopathic doctor’s name.

The immigration officer, in his khaki brown, stiff uniform, looked at me sternly and asked, “What is his first name?”

I knew at that very moment I was in deep trouble! Could it really be possible? Dr. Sarkar’s first name started with another “S.” “Shhhunirmal, Shhharkar,” I tried my very best to say his name.

No, not bit of luck! He absolutely could not understand whose name I was trying to say.

The immigration officer became even more serious. “Madame, I am truly worried about your well-being here in West Bengal, India. I fear that harm may come to you! I beg you, please, take care and do not talk with anyone! Things are not always what they seem in India. Please be careful!”

And with that long-winded speech, he stamped my passport in three different places. Loud and clear! Stamp, Stamp, Stamp!

I tried to control my emotions, but the heat, humidity, and two hours of standing in line had indeed gotten the best of me. Now, I was frightened, and needed a whole vial of Aconitum napellus at this point. Instead of under the tongue, I was thinking that an IV infusion would prove well! Trembling from fright, I inched my way to the baggage claim.

The group of Westerners, two to be precise, quickly received their baggage. They both glanced at me filled with pity and worry as they exited the immigration department and proceeded on to their loved ones. More panicked with every minute that passed, I finally saw my black luggage coming alone on the conveyor belt with a red bandanna tied around the handle for identification. This was precisely one hour after everyone had already claimed their belongings and left immigration as I had checked the time (every two minutes) on my Mickey Mouse Timex that contained a second hand for taking pulses. My watch was fastened with a stylish red strap that had been loosened due to the swelling in my left wrist, a sign that I was in the tropics and definitely too hot.

Pale, exhausted, drenched with sweat, and with little confidence left, I pushed my luggage cart out the door into the intense heat, humidity, and bright sunlight to find the family I was about to meet for the very first time. Dr. Sunirmal Sarkar, his wife Kalpana, and three little children had been standing, leaning against a metal railing, waiting in the tropical heat for numerous hours.

I was their very first visitor from another country and they did not know what to expect. The whole family, and to my surprise, many of the medical students and residents from the National Institute of Homeopathy, in what was then called Calcutta, welcomed me with open arms and a big Namaste!

We all piled into the royal blue Tata Land Rover and headed off into the vast tropical jungle for the ride of my life. Over potholes, ditches, past cows in the highway, dodging on-coming traffic, bicycles, rickshaws, and the odd goat that wandered from his nearby home, the driver quickly, with intense concentration, swerved at the last possible moment all of these obstacles to avoid what would be a most unpleasant accident. I screamed the whole way and nearly passed out with fright. I held on for dear life, as anyone would on their first two hour jeep ride into the deep jungle, past the neem and banyan trees into the tropics of West Bengal.

I will avoid talking any further about my crazy, endless mishaps at the airport, and extreme mind symptoms that I encountered in customs and immigration, and focus on the children that may require Zincum metallicum. The children are our future and the joy of our lives. Therefore, I have dedicated my first chapter to all the children that require Zincum metallicum.