Издания и произведения

Der Nr.1-Bestseller aus Frankreich! Ein irrsinniger Lesetrip – einmal um die halbe Welt und zurück: Die Geschichte eines Fakirs, der in einem Ikea-Schrank auf eine wundersame Reise gerät Ayarajmushee Dikku Pradash, charmanter Hochstapler in Turban und Seide sowie Träger eines Schnurrbarts beträchtlicher Größe, fliegt eines Tages aus Indien nach Paris. Er ist von Beruf Fakir und möchte sich bei Ikea ein brandneues Nagelbett zulegen: Modell „Likstupiksta“, schwedische Kiefer, 15 000 Nägel, Farbe: Puma-rot. Kaum am Flughafen angekommen, handelt sich Ayarajmushee Ärger mit einem Taxifahrer ein, verliebt sich im Ikea-Bistro in die schöne…

The first word spoken by the Indian man Ajatashatru Oghash Rathod upon his arrival in France was, oddly enough, a Swedish word. Ikea. That was what he said in a quiet voice. Having pronounced this word, he shut the door of the old red Mercedes and waited, his hands resting on his silky knees like a well-behaved child. The taxi driver, who was not sure he had heard correctly, turned round to face his customer, making the little wooden beads of his seat cover creak as he did so.

Armed only with a counterfeit 100-Euro note, Ajatashatru the fakir, renowned conjurer and trickster, lands in Paris. His mission? To acquire a splendid new bed of nails. His destination? IKEA. And there he decides to stay, finding an obliging wardrobe in which to lay his head. Only when he emerges from his slumber does he discover that he is locked in, unable to free himself and heading for England in the back of a truck. So begins a magnificent and bizarre adventure for the intrepid fakir. Even while he flees the revenge-crazed taxi driver whom he conned on his arrival, and falls further in love with Marie Riviere, the Parisian beauty whom…

Una historia hilarante e inteligente que hace reír a carcajadas, que seduce los corazones y deleita el espíritu, pero que también nos hace reflexionar sobre lo realmente importante en la vida.

The first word spoken by the Indian man Ajatashatru Oghash Rathod upon his arrival in France was, oddly enough, a Swedish word. Ikea. That was what he said in a quiet voice. Having pronounced this word, he shut the door of the old red Mercedes and waited, his hands resting on his silky knees like a well-behaved child. The taxi driver, who was not sure he had heard correctly, turned round to face his customer, making the little wooden beads of his seat cover creak as he did so.