My trip to India has permeated my cells and changed how I see everything. Below are some slices of my experience, which I hope will convey a taste of the splendor of this country and its remarkable people.

Delhi
Twenty five hours after leaving Los Angeles, my plane cuts through a thick layer of brown smog to soar over beautifully preserved temples, falling down buildings, and a tapestry of tin roofs, and land in Delhi International Airport. As I step off the plane I am assaulted by the smells, sounds and vibrancy of the 'Mother land'. Smiling faces and dozens of hands reached out to me... "Lady, can I take your bag"? By the time my friend, Bev, and I settle into a taxi we've been hoodwinked into tipping almost six porters for only two pieces of luggage!

Our drive through Delhi to our retreat center is more vivid than a chase scene in a movie: Imagine, if you can, a street jammed with cars, bicycles, rickshaws, motorcycles, trucks, people, and elephants weaving back and forth with no apparent regard for traffic laws - the only thing that has right of way are the cows. The incessant sound of horns honking is deafening. Male motorcyclists carry women sitting side saddle in brightly colored saris, who hold infants or huge bags of groceries. Lining the streets are open sewers overflowing with trash, open-air markets and people living in tin or cardboard-roofed shanties. Behind all this are tall walls -behind which I am told live the 'rich' people. The stench of carbon monoxide, sewage, cow dung, and coal fires is pungent and overwhelming.

Whenever we stop at an intersection, small beggar children flock around our car. They point to their mouths and say "10 rupees?" A girl - maybe eight years old - holding an infant, presses her face against the car window. In a glance, I see chipped teeth, blackened finger nails, and a dirt-smudged face, as well as sparkling bracelets and a red 'bindi' dot painted on her forehead. We lock eyes and my heart opens - she's beautiful. By the time I've unzipped my purse to find a 10 rupee note, our taxi has already taken off.

Bodh Gaya
While meditating for four days in a beautiful and pristine retreat center in south Delhi, I hear and smell villagers living in tents and cooking over coal fires, just on the other side of a tall wall that surrounds our compound. Every night an armed sentry circumnavigates the perimeter, I guess to ensure our safety. I feel acutely aware of the division between rich and poor, servants and served, and long to join the life that teems on the other side of the wall.

My wish is granted when we arrive in Bodh Gaya - a small town in one of the poorest provinces of India - and the site where the Buddha attained enlightenment. The first morning I walk onto my hotel balcony and enter another world: Just below me a mother and her children brush their teeth with sticks, dogs and small children sort through a three foot mound of colorful trash, women wash hotel linens by hand, a man urinates into the trash, and cows munch on a pile of greens left out by the villagers.

When I enter the town of Bodh Gaya, India opens its arms to me. Little boys with stumps for legs roll themselves on wooden platforms to beg for coins, little girls dressed in rags pull at my elbow, men and women with unimaginable deformities smile at me hopefully, and old toothless women squatting on the pavement hold out their hands. Vendors selling everything from batteries to Buddha statues to clothing to postcards call out from colorful stalls, and teenage boys wave coral necklaces in my face and whisper in my ear, "Hey lady, good deal, just for you".  Some people gawk and stared at us as if we are celebrities, while others jostle and push by. Like Delhi, the air is pungent with the smell of humanity - food cooking in stalls, cow manure, exhaust fumes, urine, garbage, incense, flowers, sewage, and the ever present smell of burning coal. I am enthralled and deeply moved - everyone, even the most 'damaged', seems to exude vibrancy and life.

The Stupa
When we pass through gates into the sanctuary, the scene changes. Beggars and vendors hang back at the entrance, as monks and nuns in long flowing robes of red and gold and Indian 'tourists' dressed in their holiday best stream through.

I find myself in a beautifully landscaped park with marble walkways leading to a monolithic sculpted edifice - The Stupa - which marks the place where the Buddha attained enlightenment. Around me hundreds of Buddhist monks and nuns perform rituals with flowers and rice, and meditate before brilliantly painted statues of the Buddha. Interspersed are tourists - Hindi families on holiday, and very occasionally, a westerner, like myself.

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