You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

INDIAN SNOWCONE

It was a hot muggy afternoon as we arrived in Jaipur. The second-class bus ride through the rural countryside from Agra had been enjoyable despite enduring two hours of intrusive Indian music loudly broadcast on overhead speakers. There were several cabs at the curb outside the bus terminal. I approached a driver who’s conveyance could accommodate our family of five. I asked if he would take us to a hotel. The fact that I had not chosen an automobile taxi nor made reservations with a large hotel, must have led him to believe that we were traveling on a budget because he replied “I can take you to a small hotel, well located, not expensive”. The driver was a slender man of about 40. He dressed neatly in typical Indian clothing a long shirt over tan slacks. He seemed like a pleasant and honest man. I said ”Please take us there so we may see it. By the way, my name is Tod.” He responded, “My name is Samir.”

Like most of the other cabs at the bus terminal, Samir’s was a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled motorized rickshaw resembling a motor scooter with a bench seat for two passengers, behind the driver. The passengers were protected from the intense sun and dust of the streets, by a canvas enclosure. Samir’s tuk-tuk had a second bench seat facing backward, like a rumble seat as seen in cars from the 1920s. Our three kids, 7, 11, and 13 years old, were happy to sit in the rumble seat. Maura and I sat in the “cab” behind Samir. The canvas enclosure obscured our view of the children. This configuration is important because it led to a dangerous situation on our second day there.

Samir took us to the hotel. It was not a hotel in any regular sense. It was more like an oversized house with room service. We were shown a large room in the back of the building. It had four beds, but the clerk said they could provide a roll-way bed for one of the children. It had a private bathroom which was off the main room, up one step, and down a short hall. It was suitable. I booked it for three nights.

We had specific locations, in Jaipur, that we wished to see. Our list of destinations included the wind castle and the Amber Fort. Samier offered to provide taxi service and agreed to come in the morning and take us around.

That evening we walked to a restaurant near the hotel. It was an Indian version of a Denny’s and appeared to be one in which we could find food that was not too spicy. Even though we asked for mild dishes we could barely eat any of it as it was much too spicy hot.

In the morning Samir took us to the wind castle in Jaipur and then to a European-style restaurant for lunch. It was one where tourists go for good food which they could tolerate. We invited Samir to join us for lunch. He smiled, looked away, and demurred. I asked if the food was not to his liking. He said, “No, the food is good”. “Then what is it Samier?” I asked. Looking down he quietly said “I am dalit.” He saw that I did not understand the Indian term and said “I am untouchable cast. I am not allowed in this restaurant.” I was surprised at this revelation. I had thought that the cast system was outlawed in India. Beside that, I had expected an untouchable would be dirty and dressed in shabby clothing. Samir was clean and his clothing was similar in quality to that of other Indian men. “Who would know?,” I asked, “You are my guest. Come on, no one will notice or care.” “No” he answered emphatically, “I can not go in. I will wait for you here.” I was astounded that such powerful and exclusionary cultural mores could exist in the 1980s. There was nothing in his appearance, that I could see, which would distinguish him from other Indians dining there, and yet he was, in his mind, forbidden to enter a restaurant.

After lunch, Samir took us to the Amber Fortress which is a castle built in the 19th century on a rocky promentory about five miles from Jaipur. He waited while we wandered through the spectacular rooms and courtyards of this walled palace. On our way back to Jaipur, Samir stopped for gasoline. Maura and I sat in the tuk-tuk waiting. While Samir pumped his gas. A man came up to my side of the tuk-tuk gesturing to his open palm demanding money for “snow cones”. I told him “ Thanks but I don’t want any.” He was persistent. His English was rudimentary. It consisted of two words “money” and “snow-cone”. When he saw I was not going to pay him, he became agitated. Samir came over and pointed out that the children had taken his snow-cones. He emfatically pointed to the back of the tuk-tuk repeatedly saying “snow-cone”. I got out of the tuk-tuk and walked to find my children eating snow-cones. The two older children had eaten half of their cones, Justin’s cone was largely intact because rather than taking bites of it he was sucking the flavored water from it. Aware of the dangers of street food in India, my impulse was to grab the cones away from the kids and toss them on the ground. But it was hot, the kids were thirsty. And they had already consumed half of the cones. Maura and I decided that we should take the same risk as the kids and have cones also. I paid the man for five of them. Maura ate hers. I, like Justin, chose to suck the liquid from mine. I will explain the reason for this disctinction later.

By dinner time none of us felt well enough to walk to a restaurant. The hotel provided sandwiches and a lemon-lime-flavored soft drink called Limca. That night we all fell sick, some with vomiting and diarrhea. I ordered more Limca to keep us hydrated and to provide electrolytes. By morning, Justin and I were feeling much better, neither of us had experienced diarrhea. None of us were hungry, so I ordered drinks: coffee, bottled water, and more Limca. By mid day my older son, Zoli, was also feeling a better. But Monica and Maura were still very ill. I left them in search of medical help. The hotel staff advised me to go to the “Doctor’s office” and told me how to find it. I followed their directions and found myself walking up an alley to a door, on what looked like a remodeled garage, on it was a small sign with one English word “CLINIC”. I stepped in. It appeared to be a living room converted into a reception/waiting room. The doctor, a man of no more than 30, approached me. I explained about my sick family members. He agreed to go with me to the hotel and to check on Maura and Monica. After examining them he left saying he would return with medicine. He returned shortly with a large number of pills and a black case. He insisted on giving Maura an injection. He opened his case, revealing a felt-lined interior with indentations in which a stainless syringe and hypodermic needles rested. It looked clean but sterilization was not involved. He produced a vile of alcohol and one of injectable medicine. Maura bared part of her butt. He scrubbed the site and the needle with alcohol and gave her a shot. He apologized for the number of pills saying that he had no lab to identify the cause of our dysentery, so he was treating for several possible causes. Maura was able to hold her pills down. Monica vomited hers. They seemed to have no beneficial effect anyway. We all drank lots of Limka and water. By that evening Maura was feeling a little better but Monica was still having diarrhoea and was becoming weaker. She could not make it, on her own, up the single step to the toilet. I continued to ply her with Limca. She was able to keep enough of it down to provide her with the needed electrolytes and liquid to survive. I think she owes her life to Limca.

It was now our third day in Jaipur. Our flight to New Deli with a connecting flight to Bangkok left Jaipur the following evening. By the afternoon of the fourth day, Maura and Monica, while still sick, felt that they were able to fly. Monica recovered more quickly than Maura who remained ill until we reached Japan, a week later.

Oh yes, in case you are wondering about my theory of safer snow-cone consumption. The first rule is don’t eat them. However we did. I think that we all suffered from amebic dysentery as a result. My theory on consuming snow cones is based on the fact that Justin and I were not seriously affected. I think that is because most of the ameba in our cones were shredded by the ice crystals as we sucked the liquid from the cones. If you think that idea is crazy, you are in good company, the rest of my family agrees with you.