I have a great life, and if only I would tell myself that everyday, I would have a great life everyday :)
Im here in East Grinstead and just being here is an indication of a great life. I landed at Heathrow and the madness I left in Bombay picks you up right at the airport. Its as busy as life can sometimes be. I had to walk a mile with my suitcase (thank God for trolley bags) to the Central Bus Station. People pass you by and everyone has somewhere to go, no one is really there. Only bodies present in the airport, the mind is always somewhere else, either at the place they left, or the place they were headed for. I tried my best to be "there" and I found I was alone.
The Central Bus Station is not a fancy pick from the Bollywood movie. Its pretty cold with just alleys for buses to stand. Unlike in India you have vending machines near the benches while you wait. I was hungry and I was cold. Its funny how cold and hunger go together. I have never found myself saying "Im hot and Im hungry", thirsty is much appropriate. I dont know what the English were thinking when next to the bench at the bus station, out in the cold, they have vending machines selling ice creams. I was cold and I was hungry and the only thing I could find handy to eat was ice cream. I dont know what the selling psychology is here, but I headed for the machine. Atleast after eating the ice cream I wont be hungry anymore, only a lot more colder. I put in a 10 pound note with the queen side up, and the machine swallowed her with delight spitting out some wasted change in disgust, and out popped a "Caramel Cream" cup. I ate it with sadistic pleasure my teeth and oesophagus (the canal that takes your food from the mouth to the stomach) shivering in a musical rythm. By the time I finished my cup, my tongue was numb and when the ticket collector asked me "Where are you getting off my lady" I could only babble "South Terminal". He gave me a puzzled glance and shrugged his shoulders "hop in" was all he had to say.
East Grindstead is a pretty small town. And Forest Row is a pretty place, true to its name, with Forests everywhere.
My first few days were mainly a focus on my health. "How can anyone make themselves so sick ? You have done a great job at that !" Is what my teacher had to say. I felt great already. Whenever someone compliments me, I feel great, even if the compliment was directed at me making myself sick. I guess in my delight that "I did it", I also realised "I" did it. And now I didnt want to do it anymore. "How can I undo my sickness ?" I asked alarmed. "I was beginning to think you would never ask" my teacher said. I always thought she was too pretty to be a teacher. All teachers I had since then were bland, unattractive and yet very wise. I always thought wisdom and beauty dont stay in the same place, but G changed that perception. She was a stunning teacher.
I was sent to a chiropractor who would tell me how to undo my sickness. Its funny how I created sickness without any instructions and now I had to be taught how to undo it. "Whatever" I muttered to myself "I will make myself well".
The chiropractor was an Italian guy. Massimo. Nice name I thought. Instantly in image of an Italian hunk, long hair, golden skin, dimpled cheek, shiny white teeth came to my mind. And before I could complete my mental sculpture the door to the consulting room opened and out walked a lean man "You must be Priya" he said in a twist almost biting his tongue. It sounded like my name in some strange language, but since he was looking at me with a smile, I nodded.
Massimo was Italian. He wore pants shorter than his size and a white shirt like the ones that sailors do. He seemed like a man who was so passionate about his work, that he had no time to dress up...er... like an Italian man. He sure had a set of shiny white teeth but the huge mole on his lip took your attention away from that. He had a dimple alright but everytime he smiled the mole almost touched the dimple. "Lets set you right" he said in a very Italian Accent, and I was ready.
A chiropractor works with your bones and aligns your body. When he finds your spine out of order he can also point to the disorder in the organs that are related with that point on the spine. One tickle down my spine and he figured that I had a colony of parasites in my stomach and intestines and also some that were causing me allergies and headaches. Wow. Italian men are smart. The first step was to set my spine right.
He lay me on a table and asked me to fold my arms clutching my shoulders. Then he twisted my neck on the side and said that he would raise me from the back, pull me in an embrace and crack my spine. "Good Lord ! If he makes a wee tiny mistake, I will not need this body anymore." I closed my eyes and Massimo put his hands under me raising me from the back in a one short "huh" cracked 6 bones on my back. "Thats good" he said. As I straightened my self on the table feeling a distinct relief in my back I realised that my long time dream had come true, of being in the arms of an Italian man, even if he was a chiropractor with short pants and a mole in his lip, genuinely interested in the vertebrae of my spinal cords and the energy imbalance of my body.
I must say that the spinal correction worked wonders on my body, though usually the hug would suffice, and I quite look forward for more wellness. ....
(to be continued) (only on special request)
