Old man, housewives, farmers, and industrial workers

The smoke from the fire rose into the Indian sky as we joined in the circular tribal dances. I lost  a shoe and gained a great night. The shoe was recovered, the great night not so much. 

I spent the first day in the tribal village locked up sick in the sauna that was my room. I was luckier than Alyssa, who spent the day sick,  trapped on a roller coaster posing as a tour bus. Uttarra (our program director) took lovely care of us and brought us a little black goody bag filled with medicines; Shaila hydrated us with welcomed bottles of Sprite. Only Uttarra could manage to deliver remedies to two wilting Americans in the middle of a mountainous tribal village in India. We love Uttarra. To make the medicine go down, a spoonful of sugar came in the black sack: Glucose- D (No. 1). I had sentiments of an identity crisis as the powder slipped from the spoon to my lips; I'm not a child, a sportsperson, or Old man. 

Next morning, we spoke to the village persons about their lives for a while. I tried to put the impending six hour mountain rove back to Pune out of my mind, and out of my stomach. With more Sprite, a touch of Glucose-D (No. 1!) and the comfort of having Uttara and Shaila there to give us gentle re-hydration reminders, I made it through the wilderness. Somehow I made it through. Madonna doesn't get props here, though, because my i-pod died mid-mountain. 

an accurate summation of my tribal visit