Remember Act 1, in which the hero spoke about how his vacation involved lots of food and odd news stories? Well, that Act ended rather poorly with the protagonist coming down with stomach ache, fever and chills. However, and this is the dramatic conflict of the story, so pay attention, people around him grossly misdiagnosed the situation with a "illi neeru indu abhyaasa illa" (he's not used to the water here.) The hero was ashamed. He was once again branded an outsider. Then he grew worried. What if he died of bloating and flatulence? Sure, life stinks, but death by gaseousness stinks worse.
Now, Act 2 should have been a short, humorous sequence involving a funny-looking physician, some bizarre side-effects produced by bad medicine etc followed by an emotional Act 3 in which the hero's mother comes to the rescue of her son, thanks to her decades' long experience with her "boy's" stomach's workings. "WE ARE LOSING HIM! Give me a scalpel, some pudin hara and a gulab jamun."
Alas. Act 2, the bane of all screenplays, turned out exactly like Act 2 in all bad films. Nothing happened. OK, the hero was put on a starvation diet for a day, but what's the comic potential in that? And what about Act 3? It involved the mother dragging her son to a Hungarian film. Mind you, no hugs and kisses, no "mera raja beta, thoda aur kha", but "it's an Istvan Szabo film...I don't want to miss it".
To the chiku-seller who sold me TWO kilos of hard, unripe, sour chikus: Dude, WTF?