It is day two, and my greatest fear has manifested:
I am climbing Mount Everest, and I am sick.
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In the first bar we play snooker with Italians. In the second bar we drink ciders with Spaniards. In the third bar, a Russian, an American, a Macedonian and I wax lyrical about our respective homelands.
In the fourth bar, I meet the love of my life.
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I am a dancer, waltzing through corridors of soap manufacturers and tobacco sellers and women making roti in the oven of Mumbai’s summer fog.
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