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With jet black hair that defies her age slicked back in a tight bun, the woman wrapped in a midnight blue sari, caked in dirt smacks her lips over her gums. Pointing curiously to the beedi I’m holding, she takes it in her skeletal hands and carefully inspects it, pulling it close to her piercing black eyes.

As the familiarity of the Indian cigarette slowly sinks in, the gentle wrinkles that …

[ Written by guest | 1 Jul 2012 | 6 Comments | ]

Today was meant to be totally relaxing. My only plan was not to have any plans, apart from maybe trying the much-raved about cake called death of chocolate in my new favorite Kerala hangout – an adorably decorated cafe/sanctuary called Teapot.
Since in India things almost always contrary to what you hoped it was no different today. At 4am I realised my diarrhea continued to flourish and overnight I had grown …

[ Written by Katja | 10 Aug 2009 | One Comment | ]