There are a lot of stories I will tell in the coming weeks about my trip to India. It was a whirlwind of activity. I arrived in Bangalore and within a few days landed in the enveloping heat and crowds of Mumbai. But oh god the kebabs, I still have the taste in my mouth, taunting me. Just as I had begun to get used to the seething masses of people, I found myself on the top berth of an overnight train to Goa listening to the neverending chant of the hawkers... teacoffeetomatosoup... teacoffeetomatosoup. Stepping off the train into the blinding sun, I was immediately confused. The more salt I could taste in the air, the better I felt. Days melted together fueled by watermelon juice, milk coffee and pounding surf. Dinners had by candlight at low tables sitting on cushions, a kitten named Thali for entertainment. One more overnight train and I am back in Bangalore. There is a rush of activity. My life is changed forever. I am back on the plane going home, staring at the mehendi on my hands wondering where the month had gone.