Moments in Time

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Despite its countless contradictions, India is a place of boundless beauty. There was something timeless about my travels through the country of my birth and youth, something that I could see, feel, hear, smell, and almost touch.

I saw it in the smiling faces of village children, deriving untold pleasure from simple things like a worn out ball or a piece of string.

I saw it in the ruins of the ancient monuments that dotted the countryside, and in the flower petals on my bed that read “God is Love,” and “Have a Happy Day.”

I tasted it in the variety of delicious foods that were being freshly prepared in roadside shacks, and on street corners.

I smelled it in the night fragrances of the jasmine and raat-ki-rani flowers, and in the early morning aroma of burning incense sticks.
I heard it in the distant, deep-throated whistle of the locomotive, transporting people to far-away places.

I could almost touch it, but not quite, because India’s essence transcends physicality.

I shall return, if not in this life, then in the next, if not in this form, then in another, to live the experience again.