Our Days of Curry in India

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He would approach my right, the serving spoon in his hand, head bobbing slightly while persisting that I pile more and more chicken biryani on my plate. The men in their grey and white dotted uniforms that went down to their ankles would rotate clockwise coming by every 5 minutes to fill our plates, hot garlic naan was continually served. Our lassies waiting for us with the water condensing on the glass still cold, the waiters would not stop and neither would we.  Regardless of the jasmine rice still being on our rounded white plates it would be dunked with buttered chicken round after round, sauces constantly being refilled and we would be rude to deny them. Chewing our mint seeds trying to ease our stomach we walked into our yellow bus and crashed onto the seats and went off; blue posters under bridges filled our eyes as we digested, men and beggars with drugged monkeys on their shoulders walked the roads with a quick pace as we looked in the shops that sold henna for less than a dollar.

 

Please enjoy some of my pictures of what we saw

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About Author

I'm Pimpira Pettibone and 18 years old, from America and Thailand. I go by the name Pim though because it has less syllables. I moved to Green School after being in Bangkok for 14 years.

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