It’s like all impressions are seasoned to be extra spicy. The colours are of the brighter version, like everything has been pained in the strongest touch. Surrounded by sounds from nature and the tunes of life where most of it happens under the open sky. Calls for prayer, calls for attention. Silence needs a new definition. Or it has to be carried within.
The smells and scents make your nostrils vibrate. The opposite of the smell of snow. The exotic taste of Indian cooking. There is no hiding, there is no free space.
Contrasts. Excessive food and water next to the complete lack of the same. Cool, clean and fresh next to damp, filth and poverty. How to accept and enjoy the beauty while the beast is your neighbour seems to be the Indian challenge. How to be generous and true and make a difference where it really does make a difference seems to be another.
Will giving a school pen to a child on the beach make a difference or is it just a way to keep guilt on a more comfortable distance? “At least I did some good today, so now I can enjoy this delicious meal”. I don’t know.
The sounds, smells, visions, tastes constantly demand your attention. The contrasts which put an edge to everything. There is nothing you can do, or want to do, to avoid it. Just accept to be overtaken by the Indian spirit and go with the Indian flow.
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