When my friend had the misfortune of falling ill some time ago, she was touched by the number of people who commiserated with her. Convalescing and housebound, it was nice to have someone or the other drop in for a chat. And quite often, they brought something to tickle her palate. Apart from being a welcome change from her usual diet, it gave her a break from cooking. The illness had left her weak and wan, with little energy for even the smallest exertion.
But what became quite galling was the free medical advice that friends, acquaintances and well-wishers kept doling out. There was just one exception, who, ironically enough was a qualified doctor! She felt that the friend had consulted a specialist and was in good hands. She only looked at the reports out of clinical interest.
There was one who swore by chicken soup — not for the soul but for the body. She even went so far as to offer to make it for the friend. “It will help your recover fast and build up your resistance.” My friend appreciated her kindness and concern but cried off. But the persistent chicken soup specialist didn’t leave until she had extracted a promise to ask for it should the friend change her mind.
The next offer came from a quarter that swore by Homeopathic remedies. She came armed with a bottle of pretty pick-me-up pills. “These won’t have any side effects that antibiotics have,” she averred. My friend looked ruefully at the bottle of pills and wondered what to do with it. All Homeopathy pills were sweet so perhaps she could pop them into her mouth instead of candy.
Not to be outdone, the Ayurveda admirer arrived to have her say. “There is nothing like a good old kashayam (a concentrated brew of special herbs) will not cure,” she announced . “I AM cured. I just need to take things easy for a while and I’ll be right as rain,” my friend protested. It fell on deaf ears. “Go in for a short rejuvenating Ayurvedic treatment and you will feel like a giant refreshed, she recommended. My friend felt that should she feel ‘like a giant refreshed’, the adviser would be the first victim!
Wondering (rather meanly) if the visitor had a stake in any such venture, “Do you know of any reliable centre that won’t charge a bomb?” my friend asked.
“Any outlet that is certified and has a qualified doctor is fine,” was the answer. My friend felt a little ashamed of herself for her thought.
After the Ayurveda admirer left, my friend did some serious thinking. “I am sure the next one to visit me will be a naturopathy nut extolling the virtues of drinking cucumber juice, eating raw bitter gourd, making yoga and meditation the be-all and end-all of one’s existence. Such a life of self-denial, designed to stifle bonhomie and joie de vivre, was certain to make the blithest spirit morose. It won’t appeal one bit to a sybarite like me. I’d better pack my bags and have a holiday in a sequestered spot with a sylvan setting where I can convalesce in peace. I’ll do nothing more strenuous than showering, eating and sleeping. And when I return, looking the picture of health and fitness, everyone will want to know the secret of vigour and vitality,” she chuckled.
She set about making arrangements immediately. “I will be incommunicado for a fortnight during which my batteries will get recharged. I shall lie in a hammock all day, reading a racy book and being sinfully lazy.”