Morning didn't start well again. I woke up before 6, and read for a while, then tried to write a little, and finally I went for a walk. Nothing felt good, so I got newspaper and went back to bed. Pope is dead. “Champion of the poor?” Maybe, but only if those poor don't use condoms and don't perform abortions. Otherwise, they deserved their pathetic deaths, whether from AIDS or from starvation, doesn't make much difference.

I fall asleep and wake up five hours later. That's much better. I find the “Landmarks” bookstore, for which Lonely Planet's “South India” claims to have the best selection of books in south India, on the map and go out. I can not believe it, it is actually raining! Well, more like drizzling, but after a week of 90s that feel like 100s it feels pretty good. First I need shaving and food. I find a barber at Pondy Bazar, which is main shopping area located a few blocks from my place. I think I got shaving at this shop once two years ago, but I am not sure. I get in and sit on the only available chair. The barber skillfully spreads shaving cream over my face and starts pulling the razor down my cheeks. There is certain amount of trust that you have to have in your barber. I think I trusted this one too much. He cuts the birthmark on my chin and the scar on my chin and then a few other places. There is blood all over, but neither I or he are showing that there is anything wrong. He just wipes the blood with his finger often enough so that drops don't become too heavy and start rolling down my face. At the end he applies some kind of soap all over my face, which stops the bleeding, puts some aftershave and powder and let me go. I can't really say that I am super pleased with the service, but I leave a small tip anyway and leave.

Now food. There is one interesting restaurant across the street that I noticed the other day but it opens only for dinner. I settle for a masala dosa at a small place down the street. Dosa is a big crepe made out of rice flour and it is served with sambhar (a sort of gravy) and a couple of chutneys (spicy sauces.) Masala dosa is the same thing, except that the crepe is stuffed with a mix of potatoes and some other vegetables. It is very tasty. In general, south Indian food is mostly vegetarian. They do eat meat, but only once a week at the most. The thing is that this vegetarian food is prepared with so many different spices that each dish has very rich flavor. Even after a few days of this kind of food I don't feel need for meat. After the meal I order a coffee and go to wash my hands (this kind of stuff is eaten with hands) and in the process cause bleeding from the birthmark again. The waiter (and everybody else) notices it and brings me some ice.

On my way to the bookstore I pass by a guy who is peeing by the street. That is nothing unusual here, but this one is facing the street. He is looking down with a big smile on his face, as if his penis just told him a good joke. I reach the bookstore after a half-hour walk through the dust of Chennai streets (many people, including traffic police, wear gas masks for protection.) The bookstore is nice, modeled after American chains. There are guards at the entrance with whom I exchange my backpack for a token with a number. I start with cookbooks and found it a little strange that there are so many cookbooks about Indian food on the Indian market written by Americans. I pick one about south Indian vegetarian cooking written by an Indian (who lives in America.) The book is well designed with nice photos of food and a decent introduction. Good enough. On the opposite shelf are books about sex. OK, let's see what that Kamasutra is all about. I first pick one book that, among other things, talks about Kamasutra and claims how it is wrongly assumed in the West that Kamasutra is a sex manual. It is much more, the book says. It is written by a sage who led ascetic way of life for several years before writing the book and it gives insight in the way of life at the time, as well as a social commentary. Then I pick one of the few editions of Kamasutra and start randomly flipping pages. First I learn that all parts of human body that are suitable to be kissed, are also suitable to be bitten, except upper lip, interior if the mouth and eyelids. Well elaborated, I would say. Next chapter I get to is about making an acquaintance. It advises men that women should be approached directly if they are single, but for those that are already married, a female messenger may be a better choice. Quite a social commentary.

I leave these lowly carnal instincts behind and move to spirituality. Sanch and Bhaskar, my boss-couple, recommended “A Life of a Yogi” to me before I left Salt Lake City. I ask a clerk and he finds the book for me. It is a thick hard-cover with gold colored pages and a slightly different title. In trying to figure out whether that is the same book, another customer, who was standing close by, gets involved and we start a conversation. He is a doctor of homeopathic medicine in Madurai, the temple city, which I visited two years ago, and comes to Chennai on weekends, since he moonlights as a consultant at a local hospital. He is very passionate about Indian philosophy, but complains how it is not part of Indian educational system. People only learn about religious rituals and how to keep tradition alive, but not about underlying philosophy. He recommends “Essentials of Hinduism” by Swami Bhaskarananda and, if I am really serious about it, “Hindu Philosophy”, whose author's name I forgot, but I know it starts with an “R” and that he is a former president of India (something like Radhakrishna). He also recommends “Mysticism” by Evelyn Underhill as a classic text on spirituality. I pick the Essentials (which, of course, doesn't mean that I am not serious) and we part.