The curse of the cobra woman

So here I am. It's been a while.

The summer trip to India was stunning. Normal western terms of reference do not apply. The entire experience was so intense, so out-of-the-ordinary, that I'm still mentally processing. No doubt things will emerge here in dribs and drabs. For starters, check out Flickr.

The first week was a real high: heading into the Thar Desert surrounded by goatherds, camel carts, and the amazing forts of the Rajputs; discovering the incredible Golden City of Jaisalmer. The second week started on a similar high, in the dreamy white (well, off-white) city of romance, Udaipur, and the country retreat of Deogarh.

Then, on the road to Jaipur, our karma seemed to change. Waiting in our car at a railway crossing, we drew the usual attention of the local beggars. This time, it was an old woman with very few teeth and a cobra in a basket. Even if we hadn't been urged not to hand out money in the streets, opening the car window to a cobra seemed like a bad idea, so we ignored the woman as much as we could until the train passed and we drove on. I get the feeling that this left us with some sort of shadow. Since that encounter, a couple of old traumas have re-awoken.

Firstly, in Jaipur and Agra, my companion and I started to become unwell, which, on the last day, culminated in a homeward journey dominated by several hours of unremitting stomach cramps. On return to Helsinki, this was confirmed as salmonella. At 7 years old, I was hospitalised with salmonella and complications, so this ailment already carries enough bad karma in my mind. In any case, I was unfit for travel to Japan, so that leg of the summer didn't happen.

Secondly, on returning to the autumn season of theatre rehearsals, I fell awkwardly and triggered another complaint that has figured large in my medical history: a dislocated shoulder. The repetition does not make the injury less painful, and I needed a double dose of two different types of hard stuff to knock me out enough to get the joint back in place. Further surgery may be necessary to stabilise the condition at last. I am typing now slowly and left-handed.

So, as I said, here I am. Sitting at home with my second successive sick-note, remembering the highs and lows, the ups and downs, the rights and wrongs since my last blog entry. Arm in a sling, about to take my final dose of anti-malarial medicine, and hoping that simple passage of time will lift the bad karma of the beggarwoman with the cobra.