DeLHi BeLLy 3.0

"If anyone was going to get sick on this trip, it would be you." That's the sentiment our Indian family expressed since I was the only one adventurous enough to try everything they put in front of us.

During Holi I tried some of everything (minus the sugary milk--Diabetes!) and even demanded the spicy versions. At first they would hesitantly put it on my plate and watch nervously as I tasted it. Well, I was nervous too, but only because on many occasions I had no idea what I was putting in my mouth. Luckily, we were both always pleasantly surprised! They were impressed a white girl could handle spice and I was impressed I never wanted to gag. Indian food = win, win. It even got to the point that when they'd put something in front of Marta or Michelle that made them squirm, Ms' would give it to me (are we missionaries?) or quickly toss it on the ground.

It was therefore very ironic that after eating Indian food breakfast, lunch and dinner for a solid week, one night Michelle and Marta felt like being adventurous and eating things they'd seen me eat but I broke down and had a western meal, a meal that gave me a horrible, horrible bout of not Delhi Belly but food poisoning.

After very little sleep and a long day in the blazing sun, we had dinner and were in bed by 9pm. Two hours later I woke-up with a feeling that I was going to vomit. This was a unique feeling for me because even when I want to vomit, I never can. The last time I remember ever throwing up was....maybe 7th grade? Strangely enough Marta and Michelle slept through TWO HOURS of me revisiting my fish & chips. My only companion was the blaring music from the hallway that as a light sleeper I had previously found absolutely annoying. I laid on the bathroom floor with a mix of misery and stress. I'd never felt so horrible in my life and I was worried that if I couldn't keep down any food, my blood sugar would go low and I'd have to go to the hospital, an Indian hospital (the knowledge that in a few hours I was suppose to be on a 6 hour train ride back to Delhi didn't help either.) So there I was, sipping on a mini-bar Pepsi, immediately throwing up as soon as liquids hit my stomach, and then laying on the floor crying when I wasn't.

I would have preferred Delhi Belly.

I managed a couple hours of sleep and miraculously made it the whole train ride without moving. When we arrived in Delhi I slept the rest of the day and didn't eat for nearly an entire week. That may seem great to some of you, but I love Indian food. I was looking forward to real samosas, new curries and all the peshwari naan I could get my hands on, and all for only a few dollars. Instead, I had no samosas, only three servings of Malai Kofta, poha, and a small variety of naans. {sigh} At least I (somewhat) documented a week in the life of my mouth:

In honor of this NYT article