ARE YOU A HOMEOPATH ,NATUROPATH OR ALLOPATH FOLLOWER ?
I’ve been an allopathic chap all my life. From my childhood in Allahabad to now, it’s been Crocin, Calpol, Amoxicillin, Azithromycin, Ciprofloxacin, and the occasional Vicks on the chest for good measure. No Tulsi leaves boiled with pepper, turmeric, honey, and ginger—some magical concoction said to cure everything from grey hair to pneumonia, measles, and possibly even the mumps. My aunt once gave me a syrup made of garlic, onion juice, jaggery, cloves, and a pinch of pepper —claimed it would build immunity- it did none of that. I always had a cold and a cough for as long as I can remember!
Back in Allahabad, I dreaded visits to the family doctor. I’d go in with tonsillitis or a sore throat and, without fail, he’d say, “You’ll need an injection.” It was like a horror film. No small talk, just a needle. I’d sit there with fake bravery, till it was over.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a hypochondriac. I don’t invent symptoms. I just take care of myself. A few multivitamins, sensible eating (when I’m in the mood), and an old-fashioned belief in real medicine.
Anyway, two years ago, I had something vague—nothing serious—and a few well-meaning friends said, “Try homeopathy.” And for reasons I can’t explain, I did. I walked in, came out with sugar pills, and to my surprise… they worked. Or I got better despite them.
The pills are those tiny white globules that taste like absolutely nothing. You’re told to take five - three times a day. You pour ten into your hand, pop them all in. No harm. It’s not like overdosing on Crocin.
Now I’ve got something else—again, not serious. No heart, no kidneys, no liver (whatever those organs do—I was never good at Biology). So, I thought - let me go back to the same homeopath. One visit, collect the meds, quietly vanish.
But no. Within 30 minutes, just like last time, I had nodded dutifully and paid AED 2,000 for a six-month course. Something about the clinic makes me lose all resistance. Scented candles? Hypnosis? Who knows.
The questions were the same as last time- probing and personal :
“Name?”
“Age?”
“Do you feel hot or cold?”
Depends on the weather.
“Spicy or bland food?”
I said I like tasty food. That seemed to irritate her.
“Are you social or do you prefer to be alone?”
I said I like both
“Do you like your job?”
Yes. Otherwise, I’d have retired by now. I tried to infuse some humour into the conversation!
“Relationship with your wife?”
I said, “Fine, thank you.” She smiled!
“Do you get irritated easily?”
No (she asked me this thrice- maybe I have the look!)
“How many children?”
Two. Now grown. Plus, two grandchildren who trouble me endlessly
She also threw in a few others:
• “Do you cry during emotional movies?”
• “Do thunderstorms make you anxious?”
• “Do you prefer trains or flights?”
I nodded wisely at all of them, not sure what part they played in the diagnosis.
She glanced at her computer, repeated a few questions—either to trap me or because she couldn’t hear properly. Which is funny, because I had come to her for an ear problem. Maybe we both need treatment.
I left with two containers and a tiny vial while breathing a sigh of relief of having survived the interrogation.
My next appointment was last week. I missed it. I wasn’t ready to face the music—especially the “Did you take your medication regularly?” part. (Spoiler: I didn’t.)
I’m going today. Alone. I dare not take my wife. What if the doctor asks:
• “Does he snore like a tractor?”
• “Does he argue with you?
My wife will gleefully say yes, and I’ll be given a one-year course, have to pay more and may also get a referral to a counsellor- and they are frightfully costly .
Anyway, fingers crossed. I’m going in. Wish me luck.
– Still not cured, but definitely confused
Anglo-Indians of Allahabad
ALLAHABAD CIVIL LINES NOSTALGIC MEMORIES
The Bishop's School Alumni Association
DrPramod Tripathi
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