PHARMACY
Jacqueline travels south from her home in Switzerland to the West End Hotel in Mumbai. She walks through the crowded streets near the Bombay Hospital, but she will not stop here. Two days later, in the back of a rickshaw, she covers her face with a thin scarf as she is driven to the domestic airport. There our elegant anthropologist boards a small plane and flies to Coimbatore, the so-called Manchester of India. There a handsome gentleman wearing a white lungi meets her plane and drives her through intense traffic. Careening carts and motorcycles, incessant honking, goats, cows, chickens. This is Tamil Nadu. They arrive at the hospital gate.
It is quiet. Dinner is waiting. Sitting on the balcony, Jacqueline gazes into the giant bongo tree embraced by its many bongo children. She feels at home. The cacophony of screeching birds is familiar, almost soothing. She searches for tiny geckos on the ceiling. This month will be good for her. She will drink the bitter brew. She will endure the daily six-person massage. She has faith in this place. She will recover her balance. She will be lively.