I was walking down the hot road this morning, heading southwest along the Ganges. Cows lazed in the street, and crowds thronged to the bazaars. Motorbikes zipped through town at menacing speed, scattering pedestrians in every direction. A holy man sang out on the road behind me, a stirring song that pierced the air and my heart.
From a doorway, I heard a man’s voice. “Everything is possible,” he murmured.
I looked over my shoulder at a smiling Indian man, with bright eyes and a red spot of paint on his forehead. I felt strange and exhilarated all at once, and continued down the road, smiling.