fever pitch

The G.T Express roars across the Indian countryside, a 35 hour journey that will draw the curtain on the last 8 months.  Every second unravels a surreal slideshow of snapshots whose normalcy is lost in the wake of detachment.  It’s as though I am seeing India again for the first time.  In fact, at the time of writing this a man of certain determination races across the platform at Maramjhiri train station on his motorbike. Oh, India, but of course… 

My last weeks in Tiruvannamalai provided a kaleidoscope of the quintessential Indian experiences in addition to a spiritual and emotional crescendo which found me in the loving embrace of many, not least Mount Arunachala whose spell endlessly enraptures the masses.  Every passing moment proved to be a reflection of self and for the first time in my life I sobbed with tears of release and elation.

India’s sense of extremes in the kiln of incomparable intensity makes it so the country and experiences contained within it pass unparalleled.  It goes without saying that the impression of such an introduction pulsates through my core.  I prepare for my departure a stranger to who I was when I arrived.  The most profound additions being an understanding of a life without limitation and an unapologetic surrender of the perceived control I held in the daily grind.  Of course, such notions are better put to the test in the surrounds of familiar faces and consistent routines.  Bring it on. 

However, before I temporarily hang my hat I must first fulfil an old dream to complete an 800 kilometre hike across the northern border of Spain. I pray my venture on El Camino de Santiago de Compostela is more Coelho than Sheen, but whatever I make of it, the pilgrimage will be a fitting transition back into the Western world.

Oh, India...in my life I love you more.