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It's No Fun Being A Guinea Pig Melvin Durai Melvin Durai is an Indiana-based writer and humorist. Born in Tamil Nadu, India, he grew up in Zambia and moved to the U.S. in the early 1980s. In 1995, while working as a reporter for a daily newspaper in Chambersburg, Pa., he began writing a regular humor column. His weekly column now appears in several newspapers and on a number of Web sites. He also writes a twice-monthly column on Indian and Indian-American issues. He is a diehard fan of the National Football League and also likes to run, lift weights and play soccer, tennis and pool. An award-winning feature writer and aspiring novelist, he plans to publish a collection of his best columns. You can write to him at comments@melvindurai.com To read his older columns, go to http://www.melvindurai.com

When I read recently that a researcher at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore had been censured for using Indians as guinea pigs, I was reminded of why I never became a researcher. After my first day of work, I would have had to turn in my research badge.

"I'm sorry, Melvin, we're going to have to let you go," the chief researcher would say. "You got the Indians and guinea pigs mixed up again. You really should learn how to tell them apart. The guinea pigs are short, hairy and fat; the Indians are short, hairy and slim. You have to be careful how you treat the guinea pigs, because you can easily upset the animal rights activists."

The Johns Hopkins biologist, Ru Chih C. Huang, had tested experimental cancer drugs on people in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, without adequate preliminary tests in animals. In other words, Huang failed to follow the normal progression of scientific testing: (1) tests on rats; (2) tests on guinea pigs; (3) tests on primates; and (4) tests on people in Thiruvananthapuram.

Though nobody appears to have been harmed by the illegal testing, Huang deserves the sanctions Johns Hopkins imposed on her. If she had wanted to test her drugs on humans so badly, she should have given the drugs to her relatives. Perhaps she could have handed them out at a family reunion.

Huang: "Hey Uncle Pham, don't you have cancer?"

Pham: "Cancer? No, I'm pretty healthy. Healthy as a horse."

Huang: "Well, have you considered taking up smoking? I just happen to have an extra pack of cigarettes."

If I sound annoyed at Huang's indiscretion, it's partly because I know what it's like to be a guinea pig. I've been a guinea pig many times -- not to experimental drugs but to experimental food.

Back in college, my roommates did most of the experimenting. Even when they boiled eggs, it was an experiment. "Oh no, the eggs have turned black. Maybe we should have put some water in the pot."

These days, my wife does most of the experimenting. She's a professional researcher. She does animal research at work and food research at home.

Yes, she loves to experiment in the kitchen. That's usually a good thing. My wife's very creative and often produces meals so delicious, I devour everything in an instant. "That was a great meal," I tell her, licking my lips. "What are you going to eat?"

But every now and then, my wife cooks something "exotic." By "exotic," I mean "strange." I know it's strange even before I set foot in the kitchen, for the smell has drifted to the living room and all the plants have died. That's when I start to pray. "Dear God, please turn our parakeet into a guinea pig. I want to give it some experimental food."

To be fair, I should mention that I do a little experimental cooking myself, just to show my wife what it's like to be a guinea pig. "Look Sweetie, I cooked some broccoli curry. I'm sure you'll like it, because the parakeet absolutely loves it. I've never seen him squeal so much."

If I've learned anything over the years, it's this: Nobody wants to be a guinea pig. Even the guinea pigs would rather be something else. As soon as they're born, they realize their fate and start whimpering. "Oh no, we're guinea pigs. We're going to be experimented on. Like those Indians in Thiruvananthapuram."

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