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“Urgh.” I shudder audibly. The chalky, dull taste of yellow lentils mixed with plain rice curdles round my tongue as I gum on it like a fussy infant. My medically mandated meal is dahl and rice, and I can barely disguise the revulsion on my face - is this not the exact same shade of bile expelled rather spectacularly from the depths of my soul not 2 hours ago? Three loud taps on the rickety door split the air and rouse me from my trance. Maesh, the middle-aged doorman sticks his head in and says gruffly “You eat. I come back and we go hospital.” He’s gone as quickly as he arrived. It’s day 6 of my organised tour and the plan is to explore the iconic golden city of Jaisalmer and soak up the magnificent beauty of its fort from a rowboat on the lake. Indeed, that’s exactly how it plays out – just not for me. My 14 travelling companions have moved on and I’m forced to remain in a dusty Rajasthani town, so nuclear is the nature of my gastric-pyrotechnics. This was supposed to be my time to chase adventure, to encounter first hand the riot of colour and bustle for which India is famous. Instead, I find myself doubled over in an auto rickshaw, careening onto a dirty concrete bridge overlooking a vast urban landscape below. Endless piles of plastic litter the narrow streets and a heady mix of diesel, cow-pats and assorted rotting garbage permeate the scarf over my mouth. Kothari hospital is clear across town. Maesh sits in the front seat with the auto-rickshaw driver, chattering away. I am surprised that he has come with me, but figure he sees it as an opportunity to take a break from running errands all over the hotel. We reach the hospital and, to my astonishment, Maesh leads me inside, marches straight up to the front desk and demands that I see a doctor. There’s literally hundreds of people waiting, but within minutes, I’m harried into and out of the chambers, prescriptions are written and filled, and we exit the hospital, an assortment of medications tucked under Maesh’s arm. He hands me a bottle of water and the first of many antibiotics. “You take now. Then again tonight before food this one, wait half hour, after, do this one.” He’s made the auto driver wait for us and climbs back aboard, signaling for me to do the same. I climb in gingerly, exhausted and thankful to this man who has gone so out of his way to help me. Maesh looks back at me from the front seat, nods at me and smiles faintly. For the first time in 48 hours, I find myself smiling back.