In India, you know, everything is different from here. There, no one would have thought to say “the thin sickle of the month”: its pale, doughy roll hangs belly down in the middle of the black sky. The crows and pigeons there are lean, like the Indians themselves, almost twice as thin as ours and look like noble birds. Cows' udders are almost invisible there, but dogs' nipples hang almost to the ground. And the cows themselves are small, but the goats are huge, with proud necks like giraffes.
