Indian summer and the quest for answers.

Indian summer and the quest for answers.

It's my third day in Wich Latte, and I've given up feeling bad about seat-hogging. Not when the cafe is virtually empty (in comparison to the nearby crammed and overcrowded Cafe Churchill), and when it is the only place with free wi-fi in the vicinity of our hotel. Well, there is the cybercafe barely ten steps around the bend from Hotel Bentley's where we're staying, but what's thirty steps more if it means the convenience of using my own laptop, and the best (if only) Caesar salad I've had in four months?

It is also my third last day in India, and I think it's a shame that our oversight led us to choosing Mumbai as the destination for our last Indian jaunt. The Bollywood capital is not throbbing with twirling saris and pulsating bhangra music as I had expected it to be. Instead, while walking in the choking heat around the touristy Colaba district yesterday, I felt like I was trawling Little India back home. But of course, the locals here are very much less discreet with their lecherous stares.

What was it I came to India for? I lay in bed this morning, pillow propped up against the headboard, contemplating the question.

I left Singapore a little hesitant but confident that I would find my purpose some time between yoga retreats and Indian cooking classes. Neither happened, obviously, and I have no excuses to defend my inertia in self-improvement.

Four months have passed, and I am no clearer of my purpose and intentions as the day I boarded the SQ flight to Ahmedabad. Did I get lazy along the way, or did India (namely Ahmedabad and lazy MICA days) rob me of my wanderlust?