About Zoos can be heard almost as much as nonsense about God and religion. Wohmeinende but ill-informed people think, Animals in the wild are "happy" because they are "free". The people here have usually a large, good-looking beast in mind, a lion or a cheetah (the life of a wildebeest or aardvark is less spectacular). Imagine the wild animal as it does after eating a prey that has endured their lot with compliance in an after-dinner walk through the savannah, so that it attaches to the much more abundant food to no fat. Imagine how this animal makes its offspring proudly and tenderly, like the whole family sitting together on the branches of a tree, admiring the sunset and sighed satisfied. The life of wild animals, they believe, is simple, elegant and meaningful. Then, blocked such an animal caught by the bad people in a tiny prison cell. With his "happiness" is so over. It longs for his dreadful "freedom" and thinks only because enkommen as it can. it is this "freedom" for too long denied, the animal to a mere shadow of itself, break his will. Something people believe. But it is not true. (Read from page 39)
super fat so far, full of noise . But a good, exciting! Full many impressions, nice and interesting people around me. An India that is simply different than anything I had known before. Again and again I draw comparisons with my time in China, projecting experience in the present, but without being able to draw conclusions on how the near future.
Mario My roommate was also in China for half a year full of fun. good conversations, fun. Today, like yesterday with him encouraging scooter through the city. This mad traffic. Everything to the left, all mixed together, but you can always swim with the current that is actually more of a gooey mass. Horn was once 29 times, here is flat-horn announced. The others are in the organization simply good. Sheila , the organizer of the NGO. Her husband Kennedy, the Chief of the NGO that holds the shop and has provided me with this morning, a Einführungspräse. Udavi here has already beat that moves in the last 15 years. I thought at least. Between now with C athi Massala chai by the roadside and be thrilled that the dealer is more Artist as a seller. afternoon with Mario and Anne in to class a girls' school. Bus travel in old steel cans with half-height bars, instead of windows. Only 8 girls are there. The other half is due to tsunami warning home. In their homes or slums. We, therefore, play Hangman. 
12-15 year old girls are both tough, Sun on the other hand restless that rules have no chance. Many people on the streets. At the St. Thomas Christian Church and the grave of the apostle Thomas by (@ all: how she falls into a series with St. Peter and Santiago de Compostella?) To the beach. A long, muddy, sandy beach. The sea of blue and white wavy with whitecaps. The jump in pressure is suppressed by 
the knowledge that the sewer the slums right there and enters the rivers stinking mud holes in which black sludge forms. Still nice to see the ocean from the Bengali Choromandelküst e. Anne, Mario and I enjoy the yield 
lick. A begging child reaches us a note on the 15 signatures attest that it is deaf and dumb. Mario gives him 10 rupees, after some hesitation. "Come, we'll show Santhos. Here, and people were driven from their slums. Concrete boxes remain to be temporary. High 4x4 meters have the things in which no one still lives. Here is to live a family. Grandma, grandpa, parents, and 2-4Kinder. No electricity, no water, no sewage and other hole. We move on. Children in our direction. Laugh, are happy. Want to have photos taken when they see our cameras. Some even begging. Behind the concrete boxes are still the old straw huts, Metal boxes and dilapidated stone walls. A huge number of children, elderly. Some women pflechten chains Yasmin flowers, other 
re washing. The children pump the water to the pump. The groundwater is likely to have the quality of sea water. We must look inside their huts. No, they ask us to look into it. Not see that we, as poor and sparse they have it, but because they want to show us her home. The image of the deceased brother and father. The small Hindu shrine next to it. a young, very pretty delicate mother with her little son. An old man who is arguably the grandpa, I want to say something. Unfortunately, I do not understand Tamil. His dark brown, weathered, wrinkled face, gray-white hair, can easily bald above the forehead does not detract from the sore lips, slightly rotten teeth in a blood-red mouth. Images burn themselves. Unfortunately, I have only two rupees in his pocket. We see 
s pain and suffering, but also very many smiling faces. Joy, interest, curiosity. These people may be in a cage, which does not offer many possibilities, but they are free, then they do not always think to escape as they can. From our well and is also from an objective point of view, the bad people here, but her will is not broken. We also see happiness on their faces. That makes us happy, much lighter. Time and again we take pictures. Every child wants with it, but can not stand still. Goats, dogs in the middle. A small Rinnsaal sewer. We drink a chai tea 
. Really there! At the edge card is played. Everything happens there: food, play, work, nap, sleep, wash, silent and talking . The slum may have a length of one kilometer. We need until we reach the beach. Banned, impressed shocked pleased with the people. A cold Coke and a cigarette, a little silence and speech. A myriad of indisc 
Hen pairs of the endless and very wide sandy beach. No groups around the campfire, you will hear from those guitar chords and wine is drunk. We decide to return for the motor rickshaw. No, rather not wait. Eating Flat in Girls. Rice, a pleasantly spicy potato and vegetable mix, something Dosa (wheat bread). Then get beer from the "Wine Store" for not much money. Alcohol is banned in Tamil Nadu, actually, but somehow allowed but subject to a 58% tax . watching the evening still with Katherine, Anne and Mario "A million dollar baby" and get used to the Kingfisher beer. Chat about China, India, Jobs and nonsense. Now into a bunk, under the provisional attached, airy mosquito nets sky . Tomorrow we go to Tirumaki. The slums outside. Evening to a party at the Beach. Krass, a complete contrast. Sunday visit. A trip perhaps. India lives and I shall be there.
PS: The party was then no longer held on the beach, but in the Meridian Hotel. Upper Indian Class, House Music, pre-heat the organizer in the apartment, the DJ drinks from California and whiskey and vodka, deep conversations with strangers abdancen until the T-shirt can not absorb sweat more showers at the hotel, the way home only find a roundabout way.
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