• Before I begin my Monday Musings, let me apologise to all homeopathic doctors and people who believe in this form of medicine – I have no intention of mocking you or laughing at you. As a matter of fact, I have a great respect for Homeopathy and am indeed grateful to those doctors who have helped me deal with chronic problems in my family but the other day I was at a homeopathic store and I just couldn’t help noticing that most homeopathic stores are
  • dark, dingy and dusty
  • manned by people who look dusty and untidy
  • patronised by people who look equally untidy and spaced out.

• Of course there are always exceptions to the rule like my own homeopath ( naturally – she has to be the best and is indeed quite the opposite of a crusty old man with her pert hairstyle, her impeccable grooming, and her exceedingly pleasant persona)

I am a great believer in the healing powers of homeopathy. I first started believing in it  over 30 years ago when my daughter developed her first cold. It was a cold January morning when her sneezing became sniffles and soon became a cough. Naturally it couldn’t be ignored for too long and I took her to the ‘best ‘ paediatrician in town. After checking her out he prescribed a strong dose of antibiotics for the germs and some cough syrup for the cough. I read the prescription out loud to make sure I had the names and the dosage right when I realised that the cough mixture had some steroid content. I was aghast at this strong medicine and voiced my concern: if this 1 month old were to take a steroid every month wouldn’t she become resistant to it? I was told to take it or leave it, the doctor couldn’t have cared less.

I chose to leave it and try homeopathy instead.

Dr. B was a wise old man who had trained to be a doctor in England. He was known to the family and a well respected Physician known for his diagnostic acumen and healing skills. He asked for all kinds of symptoms – does your baby get a fever that’s higher on full moon nights? Does she sweat on the soles of her feet? Honestly, o had never given these things a things a thought and felt extremely foolish when I couldn’t answer most of the questions to his satisfaction. I was thrilled though when I could recognise the word ‘arsenic’ that I read on his prescription. “Doctor,” I said confidently, “isn’t that some kind of poison?”remembering the detective stories I had read as a young teen, feeling pleased that finally I didn’t come across as an ignoramus.

“It’s not poison,” he said coldly freezing me with his rheumy grey eyes “you can take it or leave it!”

[tweetthis]This time I chose to take it and was convinced it was easier administered than the vicious looking syrups and drops that passed off as pediatric medication in the allopathic world. After all, which child won’t like a sugar pill? A tiny one that dissolves magically when kept on the tongue? [/tweetthis]

Later on when the coughs and colds became more regular and were attributed to my daughter’s allergy/reaction to Bombay and its pollution, I resorted to homeopathy to cure her coughs and colds. One year of regular medication, titrated according to the phases of the moon (just joking) and she was cured of her sniffles for life. I can proudly say that the only time she missed school was when her entire class  was attacked by the chicken pox  that her constitutional  medicine couldn’t keep  away.

So having had great belief in the system, I would often resort to it when I felt that Allopathic medicine wasn’t satisfactory enough.

Tired of popping Pantaprazoles that seemed ineffective, I called up my homeopath who  promptly  prescribed the requisite pills. Equally promptly, I went to Princess Street that has a couple of homeopathic shops. Just before me were two older people who were clambering up the chipped steps rather gingerly, making sure their clunky walkers didn’t get entangled. I made my way to the typically dark and dingy shop that hadn’t been painted in a hundred years and dusted for as long. The old wooden counter was higher than normal and one salt and pepper head bobbed above it, staring blankly through thick spectacle lenses. Before I could show him my prescription, one fat, greasy looking girl with frizzy hair that threatened to brush my face took out a piece of brown paper bag on which was scribbled something that looked like code.

“Can you give me a book with all the symptoms and all the medicines?”

“No, you’ll have to ask the owner.”

She moved further into the shop where the owner was seated in front of a dozen small glass bottles. His forehead that was smeared with kumkum was furrowed with frowns as he looked disdainfully at the girl who repeated her question, glancing furtively at all the books kept on the counter.

“Who has given you this?”

“The doctor.”

“Then there’s no need to read any book. There are so many books that you will get confused. You have gone to the doctor and he has prescribed the medicine. If you want, I will give you that.”

“Ok ,” said the girl trying hard not to yield to the temptation of leafing through the books that seemed to be calling out to her ” Take ME, TAKE ME”. The man barked out the prescription to someone inside the shop who came with three little bottles of pills that he deposited with his arthritic hands.

In the meanwhile, I handed over my prescription and was given the pills in the smallest of bottles.

“Oh! I wanted bigger bottles.”

“But I can’t change them now.”

“I don’t want to change them. I’ll take them . But I need more pills so please give me a bigger bottle.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? ” he said showing me a bag of empty bottles kept in a zip locked plastic bag.

“Which size do you want?”

“I’ll take this,” I said pointing to the medium sized one.

While I waited for him to make more medicine,  a young girl in a bright red dress with orange nails and pink streaked hair sidled up to the counter. The bobbing head read the prescription. ” We don’t sell mixtures. You will have to buy each medicine separately.”

“All right, but please give me enough medicine for four months.”

“So how many pills is that?”

“I don’t know, you calculate.”

“You will need four bottles of this size,” said bobbing head trying to imagine how many pills he’d have to swill in the mother tincture.

Just then the owner came alongside and calculated the number of pills that she’d require and chose a larger bottle.

“It will take time to make them.”

“Ok, I’ll just go and finish some other errands,” said the girl with the orange nails and left the shop with her sidekick.

By that time my medicines were ready. I took out the money – paid in full change all Rs 186 in assorted coins.

Bobbing head was unmoved. He picked up the coins and without counting, handed them over to the owner.

I’m posting this on Write Tribe’s #Monday Musings