A couple of nights ago, I remembered getting on a cold, cramped train at 2 in the morning. I saw myself there again, waking up strangers with my nervous steps as I looked for my bunk. I finally got myself to fall asleep, and then at 6am, woke to the sounds of the chai-wallahs pacing the narrow corridor. I got up, ate an egg and rice breakfast without knowing who cooked it, and sipped the hot chai not knowing how much it really should’ve cost. I looked at my friends, and I saw in their eyes my same clueless, content face. For the first time, I started to like India.

It’s starting to hit me now that I’m going back.