The New Me in New Delhi

I am observing (behind a swollen, infected left eyelid) that life without wine is no piece of cake. In the last 42 days I have “enjoyed” stomach troubles, headaches, sleeplessness — and now I look like Bob Costas at the Sochi Olympics (although the eye thing has nothing to do with anything except desert sand).

Regardless, I’m working hard to make the move from THE GLOOM into THE GLORY. This road is not easy. (Even Bob Costas’ tour in Sochi was rough. Because of his pink eye, he had to removed from the public eye.)

THE NEW ME watches a lot of television. THE OLD ME never did. Actually, THE WAY BACK ME did a lot of sports. Perhaps THE WAY FORWARD ME might be sporty again when I’m in a place that isn’t 110 degrees.

THE NEW ME doesn’t write very much.THE OLD ME wrote all the time. Maybe all of me has nothing much to say right now. THE NEW ME actually isn’t much for verbal communication either. THE OLD ME wanted to be the life of the party. THE NEW ME doesn’t care about the party or small talk.

THE NEW ME is shocked at how often social media, blogs and Internet memes talk about drinking. THE OLD ME contributed to that bloated lexicon.

THE NEW ME has a brand new Nikon Camera (thanks Allan), which will be put to good use in NEW DELHI next week. With it, I can hide my Bob Costas’ eye behind the lens while taking a lot of eye-opening pictures.

When THE OLD ME was in OLD DELHI in 1989 (egads!), I had a disposable camera with approximately 12 frames on which to capture the sites. Consequently, there were many pictures I didn’t get to take — sights some people might not want to see. Images that, in 1989, were washed away from my own eyes with the aid of a Kingfisher Beer or four.

In Cambodia in 2010, we ended every day with a stiff drink. Our “strategy” was to kill any nasty microbes that ma beere y have found a way into our innards. I also think it was an excuse, at least for OLD ME, to “unsee” the suffering we encountered in the country.

Maybe my Bob Costas’ eye is just what the doctor ordered. Proof that THE NEW ME has no choice but to stare in the face of what THE OLD ME feared. Nothing ever was a piece of cake, despite my efforts to turn evenings into a party.

My eye should be healed by the time David and I leave for Delhi, but my focus has permanently shifted.

THE NEW ME observes the world without the lens of alcohol. The view has zapped some of my joie de vivre and replaced it with a ton of ennui. (Shh, I’m practicing French for Paris in June.)