The Hypochondriac's Guide to India

Ideas presented pertaining to glamorous overseas adventures and thrilling escapades that colour the linings of well read books have always appealed to me. However, never once in my existence have they appeared to be anything more than fantasy. I have always been attracted to danger, only I prefer the kind that can be enjoyed over a chocolate biscuit and safely stowed away whenever I feel I'm teetering too close to the edge of mayhem. It seems the more I think about something, then the faster it creeps into my life until I'm at the point of a nervous breakdown. I am a typically obsessive hypochondriac who is also prone to anxiety.

Unfortunately, although I see this as a perfectly reasonable way to be, my parents are less understanding. They think I'm mad, raving mad, for avoiding beaches for fear of tsunami and being mortally afraid of contracting rabies from the neighborhood dog or from a playful nip from my cat. I don't think it's crazy but actually makes quite good sense. I know sometimes my fears and quirks may border on sounding nonsensical, but I have always believed that the weirdest things can occur at the slightest, most normal moment and it pays to be prepared and safe. There are some things that just can't be dealt with however, and one of those is being dragged on a family trip to India.

One day in my hometown, a city where the exotic or unusual only poked its way in haphazardly around a grey and dull society, my father made the announcement that we were going on a Trip. My initial thought was my months and years of begging to go to New York had finally made an impression. Then the one word, India, sent me crashing down. It wasn't as if I didn't enjoy the culture, food and people or perceived myself as anything other than lucky to be allowed the privilege of travel at all. It was just that even saying the word India sent a thrill of fear and electricity zooming through my entire body. It seemed like the most exotic place on the planet. I didn't or couldn't imagine little old me ever truly existing in the noise, color and smells.

Sleepless nights followed the announcement as my mind raced and swam with all that I knew or had assumed about India. I secretly hoped we wouldn't get tickets at all and could go somewhere different where diseased dogs and monkeys wouldn't roam close by us on streets, a place I wouldn't have to have shots for a spectrum of catchable diseases, where I could drink the water freely without fearing the dreaded "Delhi Belly" and where I could trust street merchants not to sell me bogus bottles of coca-cola. However the ticket purchasing was almost painfully easy and accomodation followed suit. Like it was all just destined to work out. The date of departure, Christmas day no less, suddenly loomed on the horiszon and I realized it was time to try and kick my old habits in the most exotic way I knew how. The Hypochondriac, Anxiety riddled girl was going to go to India, and I just prayed to any and every god I knew that I would somehow survive it unscathed and live to tell my tale.