As soon as the feet step off the plane, India calls the senses to alert. Heat immediately wraps around exposed skin, seeping through day-old travel clothes. A warm, musky odor confirms that the sterile plane environment has been left behind, as a child returning home inhales deeply and sighs with content, “Ah, it smells like Mumbai.” To the unfamiliar nose, it’s a smell that can’t be placed, for which the brain has as of yet no mental map. It is deep and inescapable, somehow both sweet – as if fruit has been left in the sun too long – and sour; not in a crisp, tart way, but with an edgeless humidity, as if after strenuous physical activity when all olfaction is filtered through the smell of body heat.
Stepping outside of the airport, the ears are inundated with families and drivers shouting names of loved ones and travelers, each competing to see if his voice can rise above the dull roar. There is a small space between the the newcomer and the sea of people, creating a stage on which the deer-in-headlights act can be perfected. …Keep Reading!