I feel the heat first. It rouses me from disorienting, sticky dreams. The walls of my hotel room are an earthy reddish brown, like the interior of a tandoori oven -- steamy, close, and designed to intensify and tenderize its contents. I'm slow-roasting. My thoughts are slow and muddy -- this heat! How can anyone think in this heat? -- and as I rub my eyes and look out my window, I remember. Oh my God, I'm in India! BLOG POSTS
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