After the disappointment of the dhow, I immediately booked a flight for Cochin and packed my bags. First, I enjoyed sweet Agnes’s last cooked breakfast, said my fell wells to both her and the waiter with the pig nose and left the riad.
However many times I go to India, she never failed to seize my senses. Every one of my six senses become stronger. Any nose can smell the extremes of life in India; rotting rubbish, then enjoy the smell of cooking roti. And one’s eyes can observe the mutilated who look back only to beg, and then the enjoy the generosity of chat as if the mutilated does’t exist at your side. It is hard to ignore blasting car horns, piped street music, and then enjoy the occasional silence when it accidentally comes about. It is a funny old world of many extremes my native country would find dysfunctional. I am pleased to be back. India nourishes the sixth sense.