On the morning of July 4, I left Delhi for Uttar Pradesh to report a story on India\u2019s feverish toilet-building campaign. I was out on the street most of the day, when I noticed ink in my journal was smudged with raindrops. \u201cThe monsoon has arrived,\u201d I noted.<\/p>\n
The smudged page also contained a fragment of overheard conversation: \u201cWe will marry our daughter to you only if you have a foot.\u201d It was the first line of an intriguing story I would never write, because the next day I went for a morning jog in Delhi\u2019s beautiful Lodhi Gardens.<\/p>\n
That is really the last thing I remember with certainty. I only learned later that I had, somehow, made my way from the gardens to New Delhi\u2019s Golf Course Colony, several miles away.<\/p>\n
This is where a malignant brain tumor, as yet undiagnosed, struck me down and left me thrashing on the ground.<\/p>\n
Read it all<\/a>.<\/p>\n At one point he was taken for dead by a mortuary crew, who toe-tagged him: \u201cUnknown Caucasian male, age 47 and a half.\u201d Almost 70, \u2066@rodnordland<\/a>\u2069 found something to cheer him up after a brain tumor was found. “Well, I could learn to love this tumor.\u201d https:\/\/t.co\/EWlnJNoVYB<\/a><\/p>\n \u2014 Peter Baker (@peterbakernyt) September 1, 2019<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n