Ringo Starr

Ringo was fed up. The extremely spicy food made him feel incredibly nauseous because of his sensitive stomach, he couldn't stand the constant strumming of acoustic guitars that echoed around the clock, and frankly, he didn't understand a single word the deeply spiritual people there were saying. Their talk about enlightenment, karma, and ego had given him the worst headache of the year.

Before taking the final step, he had a brief but tense discussion with the rest of the group. John and George, deep in their meditative trance, looked at him with a mixture of condescension and disappointment; Paul simply tried to mediate, to no avail. Ringo wouldn't budge. With a serious expression, he finished packing his heavy luggage and set off for the train station, determined to leave Rishikesh behind and return to civilization as soon as possible.

He was walking briskly in the sweltering afternoon heat, dragging his suitcases along the dirt path. Suddenly, something at the side of the road stopped him.

It was a small shop, but with an unusual facade that stood out among the vegetation. Its pretty entrance was adorned with small metal bells and long curtains of colorful fabric that swayed gently in the breeze. Ringo hesitated for a few seconds, adjusting his sunglasses, but curiosity and the need to escape the scorching sun for a moment won out.

Pushing through the curtains and hearing the jingle of bells, she entered a remarkably cool and well-maintained shop. The sweet aroma of mild spices and freshly baked bread told her it was a nice food store. Behind the cash register, someone was waiting to serve customers at the counter.