The Mist (India #8)


Goosebumps were popping up my skin like rabid whack-a-moles, my teeth clattering and nearly shattering from my body trembling. It wasn’t so much Stephen King’s beast that was causing this reaction; it was the cold of Northern India at 6 am. I wasn’t entirely sure whether my weeks in the much warmer southern parts was making everything seem much more dreadful and meaningless.

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The Monkey King (India #7)


I was on the run from time. Never spending too much time in one place, going through dodgy streets and to questionable places, the chase had started to take its toll on me. I needed to find allies among the unwanted. It was time for monkeys.

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The desert and the sea (India #6)


From the green, luscious jungles of the south, I had finally arrived at the gateway to the desert: Jodhpur. The houses, most painted a version of pale blue, reminded me of a great body of water, and, hence, the title. No, it is neither heat stroke nor food poisoning, it actually made sense.

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The Indian Life (India #5)


When you travel you tend to realize how difficult it is to fully partake in all the life that is out there. Perhaps because I was very tired, not particularly enchanted with the city, or because the city simply does not have all that much to offer, yet most likely a combination of all of the above, I have not seen much of the former city of Bombay. Instead, I spent most of my time with one of the locals.

Maybe I was just lacking monkey.
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Water for elephants (India #4)


Life, in the form of nature, teaches us many lessons. It teaches us that the fat gazelle runs slower and gets slaughtered and eaten by the lions, which is a lesson about going to the gym. It teaches us that crossing a flooded river might mean you will get swept away, which I am pretty sure is a precaution to trying to cross Indian roads. Most importantly, tho, it teaches us about having good personal hygiene.

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God’s Own Country (India #3)

DSC_0960There is a silent slosh sound as the boat makes its way, stealthily, through the canals. It feels, to a certain extent, rather impermissible. This must be the feeling adulterers have when they slip through the night, when you flee for the state for your crimes of treason. Slowly, steadily. I mean, sure, it could also be extremely relaxing if you would rather lack imagination.

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Goats and Butter Balls (India #2)

DSC_0667Sprinkled in the sand, the temples by the shore in Mamallapuram have become nothing more than tourist traps, disguised under the name of “Unesco world heritage sites”. Don’t get me wrong, they are, just like the Venus Fly trap, very pretty tourist traps, but they were so devoid of any spirituality in comparison to the temple inside Chennai. No people praying, no candles lit, no one hitting the floor.

However, there were goats around, and that made everything better.

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