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In my iPod: The Hindu Times - Oasis[download]
State of mind: non pulsed
Location: Varanasi, India
I may not be even close to an amateur market analyst, but I dare to wager not one but both my hairy balls; I bet the thing that will not sell in this part of India is a fucking water heater. On my last night in Agra; just seconds after I have taken my shower, I was still butt naked and I was already beginning to sweat bullets. It isn't just those sticky feeling but real drops of sweat, dripping down my brow, my chest, my ass and even my fucking balls. There isn't such thing like cool water coming out from the tap or shower here. The water that flows out is general from warm to hot. And on an extremely hot day, all you fucking need is a cup, a slice of lemon, a sachet of Earl Grey and the fucking water from the tap to make a nice refreshing cup of Lady Grey.
To me, this was SNAFU [1]. I don't even understand why I even bother to take a fucking shower when I end up sweating even more.
So I have gotten my ticket and it is time again for me to fucking move on to my next destination - the holy city of Varanasi. I don't not have a fucking clue how far it is from Agra but my train ride there will take more than 12 hours. That is why I opt for the bunk seats, instead of the solid seats; I hope I can get as much sleep as possible before I reach my fucking destination.
Many pilgrims head to this India's Jerusalem, to be cleansed in the water of the Ganges . Even though I am feeling more of a serial sinner than a person who would atone for his fucking sins, this fucking train ride somehow feels like a pilgrimage filled with trials and tribulations.
For starters, the fucking bunk compartment is so fucking cramped, crowded and not to mentioned noisy. There is no air-conditioning but only a couple of small rotating fans attached on the ceiling. And lastly, the fucking smell is totally repugnant. I don't know if this may sound logic but I think all Indians emanate a faint smell of curry from their body because of their daily diet. So try to imagine this, it's cramped, warm, stuffy, noisy and the air is fouled with the smell of curry and the musky stench of some sweaty Indian bugger. These are the asperity that I have to face for at least 12 hours. My journey has proven to be much demanding than going to Mecca to fucking walk around the Kaaba. So don't you dare say that I am not a fucking pilgrim…
Well, I will try to be positive and look at it this way, if I suffocate and die by the horrid armpit stench of the Curry Fucker that is sleeping below me (which is getting stronger by the minute); at least I will die a fucking martyr.
[1] an acronym used by the soldiers during World War II: Situation Normal All Fucked Up
