I’ve been reading ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ by Elizabeth Gilbert and I identify with the protagonist’s longing for India. Even though I have Indian roots, I think there is something beyond this that calls me to India. It’s not because India is “exotic” — to me, it’s not foreign or exotic. But it is steeped in spiritual wisdom in a way few cultures are.

You see chaos and suffering everywhere in India. You need gruelling patience because nothing happens fast. You often witness animals being killed for meat and poverty so extreme that there are no toilets in people’s houses. At the same time, you witness the natural beauty of mountains and beaches, glamourous man-made structures and wonders of the world. Nothing is hidden for long, the way we try to hide in the West. Amidst all of this, the rickshaw driver will tell you about karma and the porter will listen to Sufi music.

The seeds that formed the land thousands of years ago still carry their fragrance amidst the cow dung. The wisdom and pain are so intermingled that they remind you of something visceral: the search for Nirvana and the end of suffering, the freedom of returning home to unconditional love.