India is a sense unto itself. I call it the sense of overwhelm, when all of the senses are being used to their absolute maximum at the same time. In the simple act of standing on a street corner I can smell the spices on the hot pan next to me, the putrid smell of urine, a garland of jasmine flowers passing by, cow dung, the exguast from hundreds of rickshaws, the sound of thousands of people in a very big hurry, and all their voices, horns, bollywood blasting, and tireless shuffling of essential goods (of the likes I've never seen before) everywhere. Then there is the cuisine, which is a whole other universe of senses all together. This place is stimulating more things than my small mind has ever imagined. The pace of India is kind of a time warp. Despite the insane speed of traffic, sounds, and movement of street throngs, you can count on waiting for a good long while as the street vendor finishes his conversation before taking your rupees for a bottle of water. It's all so very fast, yet so very slow. It's both the beauty and the frustration, the absurd and the divine. It's everything all at once, and it's been going on forever, timelessly.
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