By popular demand.....

Wow, who knew!

So, here are a couple of verbal snapshots of my India trip:
One arrives at Delhi at Indira Ghandi International Airport, one of (hmm, how many ?) major airports in the world named after a prominent woman. India has knocked herself out prepping for the Commonwealth Games that took place this October in Delhi, with thoughts of looking like a viable venue for future Olympic host city status and other major sports gatherings - World Cup, anyone?

IGIA is current proof of her intentions. The airport is vast, shining, elegant, overstaffed, and near empty. The Commonwealth Games were a huge economic disappointment, as tourists shunned the venue due to terrorism fears, and Indians deserted the city in droves to avoid the anticipated congestion.

I would like to testify that anyone concerned about terrorists getting anything past the Indian security system is worrying up the wrong tree. Or something like that. On my return trip I discovered that every passenger is treated to a personal pat-down - women in a private booth with two attendants - and that absolutely nothing in my bag escaped scrutiny. I had a pile of coins in my carry-on which were examined, and a pair of 4-inch plastic scissors with a metal strip for each 1 1/2 inch cutting surface which were confiscated for the greater good and safety. One breathes easier with attention like that. I certainly knew that I was not a threat by the time they were done with me.

So, the airport could be considered to be an investment in India's future, and  it is decidedly an improvement over its predecessor. The former incarnation - one speaks this way naturally in India - of the airport was dingy, twisted and inadequate for the flow of the many thousands of humans through its systems.

The streets of Delhi are a world in themselves. First there is the business of driving on the left, or wrong, side of the road. (If it were on the right, that would be right, right?) That is invariably disconcerting to my brain, and I seem incapable of learning my part. If I had my way, every country with that mode would follow the lead of Britain, who started this wrong-headed deal to begin with, and label each and every pedestrian crossing with the appropriate "LOOK LEFT" or "LOOK RIGHT" designation. Crossing the street for dummies.

Since my last visit, Delhi has also built many new roads and improved many others. Now there are shiny new lane-marking, painted, dashed lines. So much easier to ignore! Where three lanes are indicated, four to five will exist, routinely. Naturally enough, because the lanes are painted for actual vehicles, and the conveyances are of every imaginable style - tuk-tuk motocabs, bicycle rickshaws, scooters - many of which have full families on board, Dad driving with one kid on his lap, Mom on behind, nursing the baby and holding the third between her and Dad - buses filled to the brim and beyond with passengers, trucks (but only at night, as all deliveries must occur only then) with paintings and decals on every surface, bicycles, the odd ox-cart, and plenty of cars. Along the edges of the street the hand-carts work the shoulders, dodging sleeping people, feral dogs and cows, folks bathing from spigots on roadsides, chapatti makers mixing dough for the day's business yet to be, any manner of activity. Most of the larger vehicles have "Horn Please" painted on their rear bumpers, as if drivers there needed this encouragement. The din of horns is unending, in an incessant sort of never stops sort of way. It's a kind of ongoing conversation.

While I was in India, the temperatures were high, in the 90s to begin with, accompanied by humidity in matching percentiles, but cooling after a day of intense rain to the 80s, where it leveled off and stayed. As fall is the season in the agricultural regions for field burning, the air was often smoggy, and on some days, ash fell from the sky. It was never a choking sense of "pollution", but rather a feeling that fresh air would be a nice change, and when it came, it was noticed.
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But... these are all physical aspects of a trip made for personal and spiritual purposes. This, I have come to realize, is probably a gap that I cannot entirely bridge. Because the personal and spiritual aspects are...  personal. Here's the remedy. I am happy to converse with any individual, personally, about what the experience is, is like, etc. But I'm not willing to do that in such an impersonal arena as a blog. That being said, here are some distillations that I can share:

• Life is precious. In all its various forms, no matter how it manifests. Every being clings to its existence, even a cockroach or a slug or a mosquito; every life-form is eager to enter this world, whether as seed bursting pod, or as chick pecking egg, or as babe enduring the duress of labor. Life is precious. . 
• Human life is even more amazing: in every action we take, in every word we utter, every expression crossing our face, every morsel we eat, we have  the power of volition. Choice, and its concomitant responsibility. (Of course, this applies to healthy, capable adults.) There is meaning in this necessity of choice and it is our task to explore to the fullest what that meaning is.  We are given both reasoning brain and precious life, and are meant to ask, "What is the purpose of this life?" And to keep asking and asking.
• In all we do, say and think, we are best served when we are guided by love and compassion.Our  closest relationships thrive with a spirit of mutual service. Love is our most valuable mode of exchange, and it is our truest self. "To thine own self be true," dear friends.