India

India is a country that inhabits the hearts and minds of all travellers who have never been. Some people believe that you're not a traveller until you've visited the subcontinent and immersed yourself in one of the most fascinating, colourful, vibrant and exhilarating cultures on the planet.

For those lucky enough to have visited, it never leaves the mind - there's a magnetic pull and you know, or at least hope, that you have the chance to go there again. This may not be the viewpoint of the millions who live in poverty there or those who are trapped by birth within their lowly caste, with ne'er a chance to rise up from untouchable to Brahmin. Yet, these cultural codes which generate their own economic disparities are in plain sight, and as a visitor you need to respect and embrace these differences to fully appreciate the complexity of the country.

India is a land of festivals. Barely a day goes by without a colourful parade, the worshipping of a god (of which the sared text, the Vedas, mentions there are 33) or the lighting of a firework. It's a feast for the senses and in many ways overpowering - both good and bad. One minute you can find yourself in the middle of a thronging crowd in the heat of summer, fireworks flying over your head as the locals burn a gigantic effigy of the demon king Ravana, the next you're sitting on a marble bench staring at the serene magnificence of the Taj Mahal, in awe at the power of one man's love for his wife.

And the nature here is just as mind-blowing as any of the achievements of man. Lanky-armed langurs swing and jump between the multi-stories of apartments and hotels in the magical town of Udaipur. Elephants crash through tropical forests and tigers prowl on the outskirts of urban conurbations, where the first sight of a cow walking down a sidewalk will have you reaching ecstatically for your camera - after all, it's not something you'll ever see in New York or London.

In "Goodbye, Mr. Descartes", in the chapter "Ob-La-Di-Ob-La-Da" Carter visits India and stays on the banks of the Ganga - the most holy river in the country. He's on the look out for a dilapidated ashram, one that was once the temporary abode of the most famous music group in the world. Yet he's having trouble finding it:

I can’t find this damn ashram anywhere. Back at the guesthouse, I mention my predicament to one of the Nepalese workers who seem to be staffing this place.

‘Ah, my friend you are looking in the wrong place. Come with me.’

I follow him to the new guesthouse opposite. He leads me up four flights of stairs inside the half-built building. We eventually reach the roof, which is a bare concrete slab, with rusting iron bars poking dangerously upwards, where more columns will be located.

‘Look, into the distance, can you see it?’

‘Where? All I can see is forests and mountains.’

‘You people, you are all the same. You cannot see the wood for the trees. All you need to do is concentrate a little bit and all will be revealed.’

I’m looking but not seeing anything. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we just can’t see what’s in front of our faces. I stop thinking for a moment and relax. This roof has the most amazing vantage of the Ganga below and the lowland Himalaya. It’s astonishingly beautiful. And quiet. I close my eyes and can smell the faint aromas emanating from the villages below: the spices from the late afternoon cooking and the lovely scent of pine from the verdant slopes.

Opening my eyes once more, I see the Sun. I can see it now, glowing, bathing everything in its glorious light: about to set and start its painful journey of death and rebirth.

‘Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life?’

‘So, you can see it now?’

‘Oh yes. I can see everything now.’