So, I’m sitting at a table in a rooftop restaurant, deep in thought. Writing away in my travel journal about the day’s experiences in Mamallapuram. I’ve a half eaten plate of fruit in front of me, which I am kind of nibbling at half-heartedly, after all, tropical fruits aren’t my thing. I prefer a nice sour Granny Smith apple, if you know what I mean. Mind you, I’m in deep concentration mode, trying to bring out the words to describe my day and all of a sudden there’s a loud thump on my table, tea spills from my cup and I’m scared shitless when I look up and see a thirty pound bull monkey looking at me, reaching for my fruit plate. I try to shoo him away, but he bares his fangs, and my what fangs he had, at me and hisses. So, I look at him and say, “have it your way, brother. Fruit’s all yours.”

It was almost as if he understood me. He then set about sitting down on the table like a proper monkey should and for the following few minutes ate what remained of my fruit, staring at me the whole time, daring me to do something. And when he finished the fruit he jumped back up the thatch roof covering my table and then on to the roof and disappeared.

What is it with monkeys and me?