I miss Delhi.
I miss the noise, the banter, the colours, the disorganisation and chaos. Because whatever else Delhi is, it’s alive. In all its raucous, antagonistic glory, it is fully and completely alive...
And I miss that.
Having spent two weeks in a hotel room, with the social life of a reclusive agoraphobic on a vipassana retreat, I’m ready to scale the perimeter fence.
Oh I know! In India there have been tears, howling, gnashing of teeth, hair pulling and fury. I have wanted to board a plane home more than once. I have screamed, stomped, howled and spun....But it's also the most fun I've ever had. Delhi is home! So here I am in a pretty French town with graceful, kind, charming people; the kind with manners and patience I can only dream of.... and I’m itching inside my own skin.
Sometimes, I think I want an easier life. But I don’t.
I want to feel fully alive.
And that’s not the same thing.
I have a short whistlestop tour of my dearly beloveds and then...
I’m going home.
