March 15-16. The carpenter does a good job.

We buy more wood for the remaining tables, this time together with the carpenter who knows a cheaper place. He picks the wood himself and he will do everything. We: pay. Sure, perhaps I wake up from my slumbers one day and realize I can’t really do anything except from distributing pecunnia. So be it then. It means I will be worthless after I have delivered the package.

The carpenter does a great job. He has a toolkit with chisels and an automatic saw that goes “rrrrwwwhhhiiiiii rrrrrwwwwhhhiiiii” and he works almost all day for only six hundred rupees. Three more tables, much stronger, are leaning proudly against the fence when the sun sets. Those days in Tamil Nadu are not too busy, we simply enjoy our time and help Nehru and Ruby if we get the chance. Life is nice here, the roads are dusty but not too dusty. The chaos is not repulsive and the stench of the roadside garbage doesn’t scare away the cows. The town’s hustle and bustle is perceivable by a foreigner’s ears, and the sugar cane juice not too sweet. This is the kind of Indian town I like. Going about town is easy, bargaining is not the only type of conversation with the locals you’ll have, arrogant dressed-up foreigners on their yogi-trip are scarce, and people smile.

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Kamiel Choi

Dutch philosopher and poet, sometimes sharing thoughts on the internet.

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