We had been in South India a little over a week and had recently moved into Tsepal Tobkyed Hospital—across the street from the gates of Namdroling monastery. You might be wondering why rooms were available, or why one might even want to live in a hospital if not sick. The reason is that although it had been open for two years, the hospital still only had one doctor, not much equipment and few patients. And so besides a few little TB monks on the bottom floor, the rest of the hospital was gloriously empty, new and clean. And so this is where we lived.
The hospital backed onto a large field where monks joyously played cricket or squatted in the field peeing. To one side was a spot full of garbage. But on the street side of the hospital was a yellow gate, opposite of which was a small booth where a “guard,” (as the monk manager of the hospital liked to call him) sat. There were two guards who worked twelve hour shifts 7-7 and who switched off every other week. They were both older men. One of them often spent most of his shift in an army-looking olive green uniform, complete with beret. The other wore a similar outfit, minus the beret. At night, and about two hours before their shifts ended, they switched back into their street clothes--Mr Rogers style. The guard who didn’t wear a beret, had a silver handlebar mustache and rode a Pee Wee Herman-like bicycle to and from work. It had pink plastic streamers at the handlebars and was covered in small neon plastic flowers. It was sweet.
So one morning about eight, I’d gone across the street to the monastery to try to find my friend Yulia. Being unsuccessful in my hunt, I returned to the hospital. As I was about to walk inside, I saw the guard (the one with the bike) standing outside, by a room towards the back of the hospital. I decided to ask if he knew if the electrician was coming (at that time, despite all the hopsitals pluses, we had no electricity in our room). I wasn’t really sure what the guard said, as his English was spotty, but I did catch that he asked me if I’d like some tea. I’d just been wishing for some, so I couldn’t help but say yes. The guard invited me into the room. It guess it was where he and his fellow guard changed their clothes. His bicycle was in there, draped with a cloth. There was a small kerosene cooker, a small desk, and on it a large plastic jar filled with sugar and a few plain cookies. “This could become interesting—maybe the guard and I could be friends,” I thought to myself, looking around contentedly, watching the guard make tea. Meanwhile, he was saying, “Coming from? America?” telling me he was going to come visit me, and asking where my “husband” was.
At this point, the tea was ready. I was happy because it had come to a roiling boil and I had seen the guard take a metal cup and rinse it out with bottled water, so I felt safe in the fact that things were fairly clean and I had no reason to think I might get sick from this little tea party. But then the guard went into an adjoining room and came out with another small metal cup. He had a horribly dirty looking pink rag in his hand, which he held up to his mouth and coughed into, and then proceeded to use to wipe the cup with. I felt a little sick. The guard then set the two cups side by side, poured in the piping hot tea, and handed me the nasty cough-rag wiped cup! I was certainly grossed out, and more than a little worried about possibly contracting TB, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and I had already agreed to drink tea with him, so I took a tentative sip as he heartily urged me to drink.
The guard then opened the plastic jar and took out a few sketchy looking cookies, saying I must have a biscuit. He then asked if I liked rum tea. “Is this rum tea?” I gasped.“No,” he assured me. “But if you want, come tomorrow.” I told him that no, I didn’t want—but thanks, took another small sip, and said I had to go. He said I must finish my tea, but I said I couldn’t. “You know, too much tea makes me feel weird, “ I said lamely, laughing uncomfortably.
As I was about to walk out the door, the guard said, “One kiss?” inclining his cheek towards me. “Uh, sorry, no!” I laughed, even more uncomfortably. “Just one kiss?”
