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non-fiction Travel

India Chronicles: #5 – In Sickness and In Health – Indore

Indore. ~2 million people rich. Recently cleaned up. Home to my husband.

I doubt I would ever set foot in this town in the central part of India if I had not married my husband. And here we were, rich with new memories from the North, and I, with the loss of my voice. When I lost my voice, I suddenly missed my mother. It had only been five days since we arrived in India. The first time I coughed, my mother brought me Banafsha, hot herbal therapy, instantly. I laughed her off stating that pollution caused my cough. She ignored me, proud of the Banafsha curing my cough. She noted when my cough ceased. She kept feeding me the medicinal herb. It mattered less her own leg hurt her every time she walked. It mattered less (to her) she experienced blurry vision ahead of our travel to the Taj Mahal. She said she cured me with Banafsha. Having landed in Indore, away from her, suddenly down with Laryngitis and an obnoxious cough, I knew, my mother did not cure me with Banafsha, she cured me with love. So, here is my paragraph dedicated to my mother who often takes the back seat but is dearly loved for her selflessness and unparalleled love.

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The first day in Indore, we traveled to Ujjain, an hour away, a route my husband frequented between his engineering school and home. There, we met with his relatives and I learned about his culture and customs.

The next day, we paid a visit to my husband late father followed by a visit to his schools and a get together with his extended family.

kids played in the play yard at the hotel, and my oldest developed a stomach bug.  The third day, we flew to Bangalore – Bangalore, my one-time bachelor pad, a city I loved for its greenery and cleanliness. While the city center was just as I left it, areas of Bangalore had not been kept up. The city that welcomed all into its arm, the influx of people failed to uphold simple rituals of the past like turning off the engines at stop lights. But Bangalore will always hold a special place in my heart, no matter what.

As time rolled, my cough worsened. I spent two sleepless nights and when the time came for Kerala, the much-awaited vacation inside of vacation, I shuddered pondering if I could survive the bouts of cough and achy chest and carry on.

By Mars D. Gill

From an early age I wanted to make connections with people from across the globe. Allowing emotions to escape the deep recesses of one’s mind, and be spilled into a sheet of paper for the world to read lays an opportunity for reader and writer to combine in a nameless bond, one of oneness, and intrigue. It bares a private part of the writer for all to see. It is daunting and exciting. If a written word can dissipate the worry from another heart, if a written word can bring to a face a smile or a tear, then that connection is complete, and a word shatters the physical distance and brings souls together in harmony and joy. This is my dream, only a dream at the moment.

When I was 15 years old, we got a new English teacher. She spoke so beautifully and clearly and made me want to be a better person. Despite my age-old struggle with language(s), I was fascinated by the world of writing. My teacher inspired me to be a constant memory keeper. I feel at some level she taught me how to think.

Now years later, I am blessed with a career and a family that keeps me busy. However it is that 15-year-old in me that is knocking on my heart and via this little personal web site, urging for outlet for my life-long aspirations of writing and as well as begging for validation of all the dreams, old and new that just do not go away. So, here I am on word press with my own website to see where my dreams take me.

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