When I was a little boy growing up in India, I remember the monsoon days when I used to cuddle with my father in the evenings and pestered him to tell me the stories of the jungles around the world, the tigers, the lions and other animals. My father was awesome storyteller. He used to tell me the stories of Jim Corbett and the man-eating tigers, lions in Africa, dense forests in Borneo and his own experiences in the jungles in India. Lying close to him and curled up, I used to listen to those amazing stories while it rained outside. With the symphony of torrential rains on the tin roof, my childhood dream used to roam around in a make-believe world of animal kingdom, in the vast savannas of Africa, in the dense forests of
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