Are You Experienced?

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coming here again, and next time I’d like to give something back to India in return for what it’s given me.’

‘Exactly. That’s why

I

wanted to do it. I mean I hadn’t been here before, but I knew this is what it would be like, and with my contacts in leprosy, it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss.’

‘But… isn’t it dangerous?’ I asked.

‘Don’t be silly. Leprosy is an entirely curable disease if you catch it at the early stages. And it’s not nearly as infectious as people think.’

‘But… it’s disgusting.’

‘You have to get over that. My first few days were awful, but now I feel more at home amongst lepers than I do with the able-bodied.’

‘But… did you cure people?’

‘No – our place was for people once they’ve reached the incurable stage. That’s what makes Udaipur so popular.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s fascinating. You get worse cripples there than anywhere else, and you have to wash them and assist their walking, and generally try and help them to live with their disease.’

‘

Wash

them?’

‘Yes – I got rather addicted to that.’

‘WHAT?’

‘It’s horrible at first, but once you get used to it, it’s an amazing feeling.’

‘Why?’

‘Because once you’ve done it, you feel so…

good

.’

‘How?’

‘You just feel like a

good

person. You feel like you’ve earned positive karma. You feel as if you’ve cleansed away all the horrible privileges that you were born with, and you’re stripped down to just a simple girl, scrubbing the back of a filthy, scabby, dying leper. It’s absolutely exhilarating.’

‘Oh, I must do it,’ said Liz. ‘I really must.’

‘But isn’t it, like, depressing?’

‘Oh no! Quite the opposite. The place is awash with optimism.’

‘But I thought you said they were all incurable.’

‘They are, but they’re all so charming. I mean, they’ve got nothing left, and they’ve usually been rejected by their families, and they’re about to die, but they can all still laugh and be positive about life.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘It’s true.’

‘That’s not possible.’

‘It’s true. You see, there’s an interview policy. The hospice is massively oversubscribed, and to get a bed there you have to pass an interview to prove that you’ve got the right attitude.’

‘Which is what?’

‘Positive. You have to be positive. I mean, if they were just sulking all the time, the girls who went would be miserable and wouldn’t learn anything.’

‘Are you saying that the patients are selected to suit the nurses?’

‘All hospitals are like that. I mean, if you don’t have the right disease, you can’t get in. If you aren’t ill enough, you can’t get in. This is just taking it one step further. And I tell you, they get better treatment there than they would for miles around. That’s why the atmosphere is so good. It’s simply a marvellous place.’

‘That’s sick.’

‘What – you think it would be better if they didn’t get any treatment at all?’

‘No, but I mean, selecting patients like that…’

‘You have to be selective. I mean, there are lepers growing on trees in this country.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Actually, between you and me, the government education programme is beginning to have an effect, and the supply’s been drying up a bit lately.’

At that point, Caroline joined us.

‘Hi-eey,’ she sung.

‘Hi-eey,’ sung Fiona in return. ‘Feeling better?’

‘A bit.’

‘Did you just do another one?’

‘Another three.’

‘Oh God. It’s getting worse, isn’t it?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Don’t you think it might be time to try a doctor?’

‘I thought we agreed that we don’t believe in doctors.’

‘Maybe we can find a homeopathic one.’

‘If you think so…’

‘Are you ill?’ said Liz, radiating concern.

‘Yeah, I can’t stop going to the loo, and I’ve lost a stone and a half.’

‘You’ve lost a stone and a half ?’ said Liz.

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh, you lucky thing.’

‘I know, but I’m beginning to get a bit worried now because I keep on fainting.’

‘How come you don’t believe in doctors when you’ve just been working in a hospital?’ I said.

‘It wasn’t a hospital, it was a hospice,’ said Fiona. ‘And it had healers instead of doctors.’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Doctors cure the disease. Healers heal the person.’

‘Who do you go to for the shits?’

Liz gave me a despairing look.

The from-a-height thing

The arrival of Fee and Caz heralded the beginning of the end. Liz started getting up every morning before breakfast to go and meditate by the lake with them, and under their influence, she started turning into a cross between Princess Anne, Mother Teresa, Gandhi and Russell Grant.

Meanwhile, Ranj seemed to be going off the rails. It all began to go wrong when he bought a chillum, which is basically a cross between a pipe and a traffic cone, designed for smoking vast quantities of hash. One chillum could probably keep the entire population of Barnet stoned for a week. Ranj, however, acquired the unusual habit of smoking an entire chillum on his own. For breakfast. Then another one for lunch.

Normally, it was impossible to get more than two puffs into a joint before some unknown scrounger would come and sit next to you and start a feeble attempt at a conversation in anticipation of a few drags. Ranj’s chillum, however, was so fearsome that it actually frightened people away. A busy courtyard of travellers could be almost cleared by the sight of a strangely boggle-eyed Indian sucking on one end of what looked like an industrial cooling tower having a bad day. The smoke it produced often appeared to be heavier than air, and most of the time Ranj sat contentedly in a puddle of fumes, rolling his eyes, swearing at imaginary members of his family and occasionally passing out.

Now I’m all in favour of drug abuse, but by this stage Ranj just wasn’t good company any more. He wasn’t