Bangalore Bloating/Delhi Belly

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Reverse Osmosis Must Not Be a Synonym for Filtered

Before we left, my mom told us about a series on PBS, on "The Nightly Business Report" about India -- at 81, my mother's twice as savvy about the stock market as I'll ever be. Accompanying the TV coverage was a blog, including an entry on Dana's "Delhi Belly."

A few days ago, when Pat went to McDonald's while I was at work, she bought an ice-cold, nearly-bucket-sized cup of Diet Coke (more Aspartame-y here, she reports), paid for it, and then threw it in the trash. Wisely, she remembered just in time that her stomach would not be accustomed to Bangalore's ice cubes.

What a contrast to Rome, where we drank from mini-spouts of mountain-spring water all over the city -- and I don't mean water fountains, but rather just spouts. It was delicious, if a little colder than I like water to be.

Last night, I drank water that was reported to have been treated by reverse osmosis -- sounded scientific and safe. Apparently not. Otherwise, I'm not sure what has made me ill like this.

Maybe I can distract myself with the pleasure of blogging, though my stomach's gurgling more loudly than the thumping of the disco downstairs.

How Was Your Day? Please Comment and Let Me Know

Meanwhile, here's how my day was -- at least the earliest part of it:

• Chat with Pat while still prone
  
• Rush to dress, since we chatted for longer than I should have
  
• Change my pants, since the black ones look too severe
  
• Consider wearing my last-minute, pre-India purchase of open-toed sandals and decide that I don't need to be *that* culturally competent today
  
• Determine that I will do my makeup during the commute; it's better than usual, since at least here, I'm not behind the wheel while applying mascara
  
• At 7:30 am, air-kiss Pat's cheek goodbye, since I've developed a cold-sore from inadequate sleep/jet-lag
  
• Greet the omnipresent, tiny, female security guard on this all-women's floor of the hotel
  
• Roll my IBM briefcase down to the Raj Pavilion
  
• Grab a copy of "The Hindu"
  
• Eat a bowl of fresh, plain, homemade yogurt and a baby-banana, plus a glass of skim milk, Caltrate, Malarone, Vitamin D, Vitamin C, baby aspirin, Dayquil
  
• Register from the paper's top story that, indeed, the main terrorist in the UK events of earlier this week is a Bangalore resident
  
• Try not to pay attention to the blonde at the next table, as I don't want to seem flirty; she looks at me once, I imagine, but I won't meet her glance....How sad to be so rigid in my behavior when probably, she's just happy to see someone who looks slightly like her (I could be projecting) and I could be simply pleasant if I weren't feeling so awkward
  
• Refuse a croissant, as I do daily when the revolving croissant server comes to the table -- s/he her/himself is not revolving, but the server changes from day to day
  
• Purchase two, microwaveable Dal Bukhara packets and take a china bowl and large spoon with me in my briefcase, so that I'll have a reliable lunch, as the cafeteria at work is inadequate in its options
  
• Roll out of the restaurant -- my bag rolls, not me -- through the fountain-centered lobby and out the front door, returning thanks to a series of smiling staff people in great, native and western outfits
  
• Greet John, the man who drives me around Bangalore daily in a compact Ford with tinted windows; the model doesn't exist in the American market, and I can't recall its name
  
• Anticipate his turning on the radio, to the station I enjoy, Radio Indigo, and try not to feel any guilt that it would not be his station of choice....I know because I ask him what sort of music he likes and he says, "Rock," but whenever he turns on the radio, he's changing it from a station that plays traditional, Indian music....How gross, I know, not to expand my cultural horizons, but I just like pop music wherever in the world I am, and most of it tends to be American....
  

Pat is telling me that it's time to go to sleep. The distraction tactic worked! I hope for a horizontal time now, with no need to be vertical during the night.