A graphic on where I went in India, what means of transportation I used, and how long I was in each place (area of circle based on number of days spent).

I write you now from both the inside of a near-comically bouncy bus traveling at terrifying speeds through the foothills of the Himalayas and from within the safe and cozy confines of room I grew up in and the country I call home.

I went to India to try to get a feel for as much of India and Indian culture as I could, and along way challenge myself a bit and get into a bit of trouble. But beyond this, my larger goal was to gain a better understanding of where I was. I hiked through the greatest mountain range in the world and I bathed in three oceans at once. I ate food that still makes my mouth water thinking of it. I rowed a canoe through the famous backwaters of the south and played Holi in India’s City of the Dead. I went to two spectacular Indian weddings. I slept in places that would make you cringe and places fit for royalty. I stayed in some of India’s smallest villages and it’s biggest cities. I meditated with some of the few Tibetans left in the world.

But, when its all said and done, I still haven’t the foggiest idea of what India is. I could try to logic it out; use words like “extreme,” “diverse,” and “love,” but I wouldn’t be doing it justice. I could talk of the poverty and pain in the country, or tell about the raw unadulterated beauty and warmth of it and it’s people, but I still wouldn’t be getting it. I could write a book and leave nothing out, and it still would not be complete. In a way, I have to give up trying to explain it. I have to give up trying to understand it. I have to give up because India is more, is greater, than the sum of it’s parts. It’s larger than life, somehow beyond it’s own identity. India simply is. That’s it. Its all I can say while still being accurate.

Thanks for listening for the last six months. And now back to the usual programming.

This has been DJ AP on the ones and twos, coming to you live from H-bad.

Bombay now joins a very small list of places that I can truly call home. It was the heart of my travels through India, both logistically and emotionally. It was the context for some of the greatest nights, most intense experiences, and late-night conversations throughout my trip. And it is the place I miss the most.

The city, like India itself, is impossible to sum up. The more you get into it, the more you realize how vast and beautiful of a place it is. The scale is on par with New York, the neighborhoods rival Boston’s, and buildings recall London’s colonial past and Beijing’s supermodern future. The people range from the poorest men and women on the planet to the richest CEO’s and movie stars. You can get dinner for 50 cents or 50 dollars. And the equal parts of grunge and class make it totally irresistible to people like me; people who are in it for the fun and the experiences at their very rawest state.

But beyond the city is a group of friends who defined Bombay for me. To see a city is one thing, but to live in it is quite another. I got to drive to work every day, work long hours, meet up with friends, hang out for hours, then get home exhausted and ready to do it again tomorrow. To me, that is living in a city, and being able to live in Bombay with my friends, even if only for a very short time, was amazing. Thank you.

And see you soon.

Cold. Sweatshirts. Mountains. Blankets. Hot tea. Pine trees. Clouds. Heaven. The bus ride from Chandigarh to Shimla was a stunning ascent from the hot plains I had spent the past five months in to the foothills of the Himalayan mountain range. And I can tell you, everything is different at 7,000 feet. People dress differently, with nearly all men in Kullu caps and super dorky sweater vests. Tibetan momo stands outnumber the samosa wallas on the streets. Buildings have pitched roofs and shutters on their windows. And there are mountains. I was in heaven.

I took my time exploring Shimla, which is an old British hill-station that clings to the south-facing mountainside. Vehicles are banned from the heart of town (not that they could get around anyways), so exploring the chaotic maze of streets and alleyways was a pleasure. From Shimla, I set off on one of the typical bone-shaking and death-defying local buses that would serve as my means of transport for the next few weeks. I arrived in Rewalsar the same evening and spent the next day exploring the tiny peaceful Buddhist town that surrounds the Rewalsar Lake. The lake is sacred to Hindus, Sikhs, and Buddhists, and it was beautiful to see all three religions practicing in quiet harmony.

Chandigarh, an architect’s mecca, and me, a kid who likes to think of himself as a bit of an architect, met under uncertain circumstances. I had just run out of money, and of course, it was Friday afternoon, just after the banks closed for the weekend in the states. So I was limited to just 400rs a day for the weekend until I could get money out Monday evening. But I was not going to let a little thing like that affect my pilgrimage  to one of the world’s most architecturally famous cities. I was like a kid in a candy store.

Chandigarh, designed from scratch and built on an area of dust and dirt next to a small river over 50 years ago, was a symbol for India’s independence and progress at a time when the country was still a fledgling on the international scene. Championed by Nehru, the city’s architect was Le Corbusier, one of the greatest architects and architectural theorists of our time. Its masterplan, urban systems, infrastructure, and many of this buildings were designed by Corbusier and his team, and the result is amazing. It has as many flaws as it has successes, but to experience a city that was designed by one of architecture’s great modern thinkers, to walk down his streets, to see his thoughts and methods in action, and to physically experience, frankly, a theory, is incredible.

I fell asleep in Delhi and awoke in Haridwar, one of India’s most famous pilgrimage sites and a city dominated by a river. Haridwar, and in particular Har-Ki-Pairi (meaning “the footstep of God), marks the exact spot where the river Ganga leaves the rapids of the mountains to begin its slow ascent through the plains to the Bay of Bengal. It is a pretty touristy town but delightfully spiritual, especially along the river, where thousands of pilgrims strip down and bathe in the icy rapids with gritted teeth and clenched fists. I was blessed enough to spend the morning watching these pilgrims suffer through this, all for the love of God. It was a beautiful experience. Also, while watching this, I came to a nice little conclusion: love is in the little things, peace is in the big things.

Usually first on traveler’s agendas, Delhi fell near the end of mine which meant that I was not privy to the culture shock that usually hits many as they arrive, bleary-eyed and befuddled, at the main bazaar in Pharganj en-route to a hotel.

But I can’t start there just yet, because there is one even that took place on the 20 hour train ride from Bombay that was pretty special to me: my first rain in five months. Just sit back and think of five whole months without a single drop of rain. I was like a child who made a new discovery for the first time; the smell of the rain, the unnaturally cool breeze, and the dark, warm, eerie quality of light on the land. It was beautiful.

But yes, not needing to spend time walking around in a confused daze, I was able to jump right in and get into the city. I was especially excited to see the city from an architectural perspective – particularly the difference between Old and New Delhi. And let me say, it is quite a difference.