The diversity of progress After 25 days and 24 nights, this is my last evening in India. But with each passing day, with each person I’ve met, with each place I’ve visited, and with each piece of information I’ve absorbed, it seems that my mental image of this fascinating country has become less and less coherent. If you asked me today what my most beautiful or memorable or scary or strange experience was, I’d be hard pressed to come up with an answer; nor could I put labels like “archaic,” “modern,” “anachronistic,” or “progressive” on many of the things I’ve seen.

The power of devotion On this bright, clear morning, I’m sitting on the banks of the Ganga River in Varanasi (Benares), one of humanity’s oldest continuously inhabited cities. But Varanasi is not only famous for its historical significance (“Benares was already ancient city when the Buddha walked its streets,” to paraphrase Salman Rushdie), it is also one of the holiest places for devout Hindus. Thousands of temples, shrines, and ashrams are scattered throughout this mesmerizing jumble of sandstone, concrete, and marble, but the most enigmatic of its many sacred sites is located right next to me: the public cremation grounds on the riverbank.

The elusiveness of conceptions The train car I’m in is supposed to be the most comfortable way to travel by rail in India: The Anubhuti Class coach on an Intercity Express. Needless to say that we’re running behind schedule; furthermore the air conditioning has given out, my seat back won’t go up, and there’s a shady looking guard at the end of the carriage, fondling a submachine gun. Maybe I’m more irritated by these things than others after having been spoiled by the paragon of railroad travel, Japan Rail, last year.

The widening of perspective As I write this, I’m sitting on a bus that’s rumbling across Uttar Pradesh, a federal state in northern India. My seat, the tiny fold-out table on which I’m resting my notebook, the floor, the window, the plastic curtains, … everything is covered in grime. Wherever I turn, it all looks filthy, worn, spent. And that’s pretty much how I feel right now—and presumably how my fellow passengers must feel as well.