Oh! India.

India, I must admit, is a thoroughly confusing place. It makes one question all that he has come to believe in his cocooned existence in the white-walled penthouse of his ivory tower. But the fact of the matter is, that beautiful white walled penthouse is as essential to understanding India as India itself. Not that I make tall claims about understanding it either. If anything, all that India manages to do is send me on elaborate, star studded guilt trips shadowed by the menacing clouds of self-doubt. I like to think of it as a wild, pulsating nerve the skin from whose top has been peeled off. You can see it throbbing in blood and flesh and it's reality and immediacy has a vulgar nakedness to it. Every thing that you've thought of in well measured doses of rationality and finely tuned environments tends to break apart as soon as you step into this brilliant mayhem. But you need to have built those thoughts in the first place in order to appreciate the causes of their obliteration. And it must be hard to do when the suffocating mass of humanity weighs down on your life, ambitions, relations, and breath like an omnipresent overbearing coffin. But that coffin has floral patterns on the inside and it has a scent of sandalwood and you don't mind much being there and that is the dilemma that is India. It offers you so many opportunities to learn, it is such a great teacher, but like all things worth learning it makes you bleed through your nose. That heartless savant! Where am I going with this? Hopefully nowhere. That would be the best way to summarize my impressions on this trip.