On some days I hate India. Yesterday the day started with me having to wait an hour for my cereal because it had been forgotten. Then I went to pick up the laundry I had dropped off the day before. I had stressed that I needed the bag again – “yes OK, no problem”. Of course I don’t get it back. The fact that the train from Agra to Delhi for 160 km takes eight hours instead of three finally drives me to despair. Ironically, the ticket says “super fast express train”. Instead of arriving at noon in the evening, in Delhi it can mean that it is not easy to find a hotel. I am lucky and get the last room.
At such moments I am annoyed just by the many moustaches, by the rubbish lying around everywhere, by the noise and stench. Annoyed by the same old questions “What is your country?”, “What is your name?”. Boring. Anyone who still asks “are you married?” is almost creative. It’s no fun being lied to all the time. There’s no bus? I don’t believe a word. Hot water in the shower? I’ll believe it when I stand under it. When they say it’s fresh juice when it’s fresh out of a can? Constantly some salesman or commission wallahs that I have to shake off.
I’ve already prepared my escape from India, I’m flying from Kolkata to Bangkok.