Born On A Cusp

There’s something terribly wrong here.

Some of our kin in the Philippines had asked my father and mother to check on the prices of certain medicines and buy for them while they’re here in Delhi for a visit with me and FrenchBeard.

Now the fact that these uncles and aunts had made such a request meant that they were aware of the general trend that pharmaceutical products are cheaper here in India than in the Philippines. I knew that, too, and had some knowledge of the fact that, for instance, India’s law on generic drugs is being enforced at a far higher degree than that of the Philippines. Here, too, there is intelligent awareness that medicines are not made more or less effective by their brand; paracetamol is paracetamol, whether it’s Biogesic or some other patented brand name. Here, there isn’t any giant chemist chain that marks up medicine prices so many times over, and which does not follow laws about giving buyers off-hand a list of their generic choices.

Still, it has been quite a shock, to actually buy the medicines and discover how much cheaper here they are indeed.

There’s a pill supposedly for lowering cholesterol which is sold for PhP60 per tablet in the Philippines; here, it’s Rs.10 apiece, or around 12 when adjusted to Philippine peso. There’s this one taken to supposedly maintain blood pressure around a normal range, priced at PhP50 apiece; here, it’s Rs.6.50, or 8 in pesos.

So that’s six times over. But we got the biggest surprise in this skin cream for my father, which he had been using in Manila after developing rashes on his fingers. Exactly the same brand, the same GlaxoSmithKline manufacturer — in Manila, a 5-gram tube (‘not even filled, but full of air!’ says my father) for PhP200; here, a 20-gram tube for Rs.19. (No missing zeroes.) That’s 40 times higher.

(In classic FrenchBeard humour, he tells my father: ‘So Daddy you have to say Incredible India! Incredible India! ten times.’)

I’m sure there will be some “complicated” explanation for this whole pharmaceutical business. But my gut-feeling just says the picture is terribly wrong; it is such a scandal.

A country as poor as the Philippines — Sure, there has been economic growth, but poverty is still pervasive and effective health care continues to be out of reach for big sections of the population — should exert more serious efforts in making medicines more accessible to the people.

(With apologies to Rene Descartes.)

This may be what they call ‘soft power’: conquering the globe without designing to do so, and without the ‘hard’ power of warfare or colonisation — but rather with ‘soft’ tools as in culture.

One of the world’s leading language experts says a new kind of Standard English, which will be understood globally, will soon evolve. And, says Prof. David Crystal, this new Standard English will have pronounced Indian characteristics. Crystal is author of the Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language.

Thus for example, instead of the British, “I think it’s going to rain”, future users of this global Standard English might commonly say, “I am thinking it’s going to rain.”

“In language, numbers count,” says Crystal. “There are more people speaking English in India than in the rest of the native English-speaking world.”

And since Indians tend to say, ‘I am thinking, I am feeling, I am seeing’ — rather than, ‘I think, I feel, I see’ — this way of speaking, says Crystal, “could easily become sexy.”

I am sure that even Indians did not see this coming. It’s just really how they speak English, translating from native-tongue linguistic mechanisms while utilising the second (or third, fourth) language.

Take this thing about using the word ‘only.’ You would think they can simply say, “I live in Delhi.” But what they will say is, “I live in Delhi only.” Or if I ask FrenchBeard for instance, “Where is this bookshop?” and he’ll reply, “It’s in Khan Market only.”

A widely read columnist on popular culture, Vir Sanghvi, not long ago wrote that he thinks this is simply the result of translating the Hindi, ‘hai’ (a nasal intonation like heh), which normally ends a declarative or inquisitive sentence — the use depending on tone — into ‘only.’

And language never ceases to amaze.

FrenchBeard and I rarely find any reason to debate about which of what is better, India’s or the Philippines’. Generally, it doesn’t matter to either of us. And in most cases, there’s no contest anyway.

He’ll say, for instance, that Delhi has infinitely more trees, more open spaces, and more parks than Manila can probably ever dream of. And I’ll say yes, hands-down.

Or I’ll say, Manilenos use trash bins in public places far more willingly than Delhiites do. And it’ll be his turn to say, you got that right.

Or he: Indians are more trusting than Pinoys. (I agree.)

Or me: Pinoys do not have a pronounced preference for boy babies over girls. (He agrees.)

So we leave each other be, as far as most of these things are concerned. But there’s one thing where neither one of us has given up just yet: Mangoes.

He insists that India’s mangoes are superior over the Philippines’. I insist that if he’ll say that mangoes here taste really good, then I’ll have to say that Philippine mangoes give you a taste of heaven.

You think he’ll give up, no. He says I haven’t, to begin with, tasted all the varieties of mangoes from all over this subcontinent. And I say, in turn, that I don’t need a hundred varieties to tell me that the best in the world is found only in Guimaras, a province in central Philippines.

And so it goes, and we’re not done yet. We’re still waiting for a non-Indian-non-Pinoy to give us an impartial take on the subject. Meantime, I shall continue to miss my mangga.

Bhuri is from Rajasthan. On Tuesday night, she traveled on a train to Ahmedabad with her relatives for a medical check-up, as she was seven months pregnant.

Just before midnight, the mother-to-be awoke and went to the toilet. She would later say that she suddenly felt very weak and passed out. The next thing she remembers, people were frantically knocking on the toilet door.

As she came to, she realised her stomach was flat. “My child was gone.” The baby had slipped out of her mother’s womb, into the toilet tube, and landed on rocks between two steel tracks two stations away.

There in Kalol — perhaps just as Bhuri was recalling what had happened — someone had seen a newborn child lying on the track and called the attention of the station master, who quickly ran to the baby. “The baby was lying dangerously close to the left track with the umbilical cord hanging by the side,” the station master would later recount. The baby had turned blue due to the chill at midnight.

The rail workers wrapped the baby in a cloth and called the local doctor. While the child was being examined, a call came, saying the parents had been traced.

Two hours later, mother and daughter were reunited, and doctors say the baby is well on her way to recuperating.