Touchdown

The Delhi night teemed as I gazed out at the foreign lights below, lights that grew ever closer, ever brighter. As the vibrations of touchdown possessed my body the view of the teeming city gave way to a view of the teeming machinations occurring outside of Indira Gandhi International Airport. Green tractors that would have looked more more home at a Dust Bowl-era homestead than at a major international airport were hauling luggage and logistics here and there in dim light, ant-like. The terminal's groping tendrils gently embraced our craft and suckled it dry of its load. We squeezed through miles of folded immigration intestines until we met our belated baggage. At long last, our friendly guide, Sekar-ji, and the doors reading 'Way Out' greeted us eagerly. The doors relaxed, dilated and our guide led us out to the great, swirling maelstrom: India.