NEW DELHI, INDIA – I was supposed to fly to Nepal Thursday. Information from somewhat dodgy sources hinted that the next phase of the revolt would materialize in Kathmandu in the coming week. I had hoped to arrive early and take the pulse of the situation.
My plan derailed Wednesday night when I found myself in the emergency room in New Delhi with an I.V. tube dangling out of my arm. The Apollo hospital has massive signboards on every side of the building advertising “India’s First International Certified Hospital.” India has been the world’s largest democracy for over four decades, and a few years back they revealed that could develop nuclear weapons. I found it a bit unsettling that the sign boards indicated that holding health facilities up to international standards is actually a new priority.
Arriving at the hospital at night guided by a fellow correspondent based in Delhi, it initially proved difficult to find the emergency room. We were turned back at the main entrance and eventually found our way into the atrium. The floor was lined with people sleeping on grubby blankets and tattered straw mats. Inside the atrium there was also an ATM machine, a travel agent, and a large doorway framed in marble with backlit polished metal displaying the words “Platinum Lounge.” This was the equivalent of a first class waiting lounge in the airport, reserved for people with the means to avoid sleeping on the atrium floor. Unfortunately, it was already closed for the night.
We eventually found the emergency room, where we were ignored until my colleague exaggerated my temperature to catch their attention. I was then placed on a gurney, wheeled five feet further, then told to move from one gurney to another. This one was kicked and banged around by the attendant for a while until he managed to lock the wheels.
Eventually the doctor came around, asked me to describe my symptoms (vomiting, 104F fever, headache) and ordered a series of blood tests, an injection in my back side, and an I.V. into my arm. He said we would wait 40 minutes for the the test results, then he would decide whether I could leave the hospital or not.
We waited about one hour and 20 minutes without any news.
A Sadhu, which in Hinduism is considered a holy man that dresses somewhat like a clown, was pacing back and forth past the foot of my bed. He had on an orange robe and marigolds in his hair. I had photographed a Sadhu festival in Nepal once. The holy men had spent the day at the temple smoking hashish, smearing themselves with ashes, charming cobras and lifting heavy rocks strung to their genitals. With those events still haunting my mind, I figured his reasons for being in the emergency room were probably more urgent than mine.
Eventually my colleague got sick of waiting and asked the doctor about the results. The doctor then interrogated the nurse, who revealed that she had never sent my blood off to the lab. Oops. They sent me home and told me to come back for an appointment with Dr. Rao in the morning. “He’s the best. He treats all the white people.” my colleague informed me.
[Copyright Tomas van Houtryve. Do not copy, archive or re-post without written permission. All rights reserved.]
