Monsoon

India is mind blowing. It is ALIVE. People here are alive. From the unfriendly custom to cocked-staring-hocking men to a stout little helpful officer to a non-English speaking taxi driver and finally to a young flirty taxi driver, they are all crazily… let me repeat mind-boggling.

I actually overlooked the taxi driver who was supposed to pick me at the airport today. I panicked after all the stares and random guys approaching me for hotel and taxi offers. So I went to the corner and be isolated. And there came my savior, who brought me where I should be right now, safe and sound. I’ll save the details.

Some part of Bombay is equally nothing but dirty, messy, loud, and dirty.

For that whole 1,5 hour ride to this village with my crazy taxi driver, I’ve witnessed more than 5 men standing taking a leak along the highway. Literally, pee-ing where you can see the parabolic strand of crystal glistening liquid flowing from a source called PENIS.

Apart from the long waiting hours, and tiring flights I’m still totally hyped up. I’ve got presents from my Darling. Thank you.

I LOVE IT!

I LOVE IT!

I LOVE IT!

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