People used to tell me: You jog in big Indian cities? How can you do that? It's so dangerous, so polluted! You must be nuts! Sometimes I would explain. But explain what? The subtle play of the sun in the leaves of the trees? The fallen flowers in the ground? The silence of the ladies who sweep the road before the morning rush? The watchmen who remove their sandals to read the morning paper comfortably on a seat? The chaotic roofs discovered by chance below a busy road? The ice cream coloured hotels? What's the point... So now, I usually say: Yes, I must be nuts.
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