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A TORTOISE AT THE MONKEY TEMPLE

It’s my first full day in India without rickshaws or trains or buses to catch. With both feet on solid ground, I step onto my patio at Mowgli Guest House and the tropical humidity makes me smile. I remember that feeling from other places and times: the plane door opening in Hawaii or Mexico or Jamaica, the rush of warmth instantly welcoming you home to someplace you’ve never been before. I cross the path through the rice paddy toward the rocky hills. I feel it: my heart is being nudged open. I’ve been hesitant, a bit cloistered, for the nearly …

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MUMBAI TAXI – NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED

My taxi driver calls it MumBay. I call it MumBye. Most locals I meet still call it Bombay. That confusion is so totally the feeling of the city at first glance–but I can’t even say “glance” because the moment you get there, you’re saturated, a piece of fabric dropped into a boiling dye vat. There’s no standing aside, observing, or you might get robbed or hit by a car or God knows what. If Mumbai were a sentence, it would be an endless run-on: Smash honk yellow cab red bus bonk jazz moombay me a roasted river of glittery slummy…well, …

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Adventures in Packing

I’m packing for my India trip. Or rather, I’ve got stuff scattered all over the front room that I will soon be cramming, jamming, and compacting into one carry-on bag and one teeny-tiny 14” x 22” suitcase that United is making me check through to Mumbai. Damn. What is it with all these annoying luggage rules and charges? Back in the 70’s when I was a flight attendant for TWA, we gave travelers and their baggage r-e-s-p-e-c-t and plenty of room on board. For free. (Excuse me, so sorry, that was me being cranky. I’ll now return to the issue at …

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linda lowery asheville nc author blog post boom baby

Boom, Baby!

It started when I had a bad fall in 2015 that left me with a head injury. During my (nearly 2 years) of healing, my swirling brain kept seeing colorful scarves, silks of magenta and scarlet and persimmon. India, my mind told me as if it was reminding me of something I’d forgotten. When you’re better, go to India. It sounded like a beautiful idea, not the least bit far-fetched, and I’d fall back into that fuzzy, concussed sleep, dreaming of the Arabian Sea and monkeys and ashrams. Now, I’m actually going! They say whoever travels in India comes back …

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