How India Took its Hold, and Never Let Go

It was like breathing in soup. I could hear nothing but horns, see nothing but people, and smell nothing but spice and heat, dense and overpowering. Everything felt close. My skin and clothing were plastered in layers of sweat and dust. Thick, heavy, grimey. The smells that invaded my nostrils changed with every step I took, switching from sharp incense, to fiery curry, to pungent waste.