I recently came to the unnerving realisation that it has been over a year since I returned from India, and from my nomadic lifestyle. The thought presented itself suddenly, delivered with a sharp stab of icy fear. I fought feelings of nausea as I forced myself to consider the truth, that I have been living as a settled person, a caged bird, a conventional human for more than twelve months.
I pictured where I was a year ago, waking at dawn on a rumbling sleeper bus from Goa, my stomach flipping as I sat up to steal my first look at Mumbai, the city I had longed to visit for some time. I was hot, sticky and dirty. I was tanned. My stomach was as flat as it had ever been, and the smell of Indian spices lingered on my skin. Continue Reading