Not much to see here

Well, as a completely down-and-out traveler, all I want to do is read my book (this 900 page tourist tome called Shantaram), wash my feet of the Delhi dust, and take a nap. Somewhere in there figures in the cool, safe filtered water available from my program-paid hotel. It's much nicer than those I stay in on my own dime.

The train pulled into Delhi last night around 11:30. Everyone was horrified to learn that I would be traveling from the train station alone, in that much night. The man seated next to me in our posh AC chair class car wanted me, in fact, to stay at his own home. Earlier, he had engaged me in a zesty discussion of whether I thought God existed or not. My fat, unread book sat open in my lap, desperate to be read, to overcome this most irritating existential question. As though I hadn't heard him ask the first time, he asked again, in English,

"Madam, do you believe in God?"

I replied to him quietly, in Hindi, trying to mask irritation with smug piety.

"There are some things that you feel in your heart, that when you say them through your mouth, they only come out confused."

He was delighted with this answer, told me that because of this profundity, I would surely pass on my PhD.

And that, sir, is why I am perfectly happy to travel alone -- no unwanted conversation, just cool dusty night Delhi air that feels heavy and thick, and smells of the burning of rubber and cow manure.