India was a tumultuous temptress. There wasn't any moment that I didn't want to inhale the beauty of our mismatched universe into my tiny, untrained mind - this country has not grown wise with age, it toys with dirts, it is in despair and the city smells rotten. The air is full of sickness, spreading poverty and desperation. In my eyes, India was beautiful. Here lies the underbelly of ancient civillization, it housed many emperors, their golds, their women and their slaves, in a white palace, in an amber fort. Now they are enslaved by modern currencies, their distant past, once glorious, has dissipated into the musky air of Delhi. Money is powerful here. People beg, harass and hassle - I had to admit I found it irksome initially. A child begged me for food. I bought him an ice-cream and it brought him a moment of happiness for a mere fifty rupees. Then he asked for more money. I walked away, my heart sank heavier and my mind's a mess. Do I feel empowered to rescue him? Do I feel extremely priveleged? Do I feel thankful? It was by sheer luck that I was not born into the slum of Delhi, it was by fate that he begs and I give. I came to this country like a greedy outsider, I saw beauty in every corners, on the dirt road, between the chaotic lanes, in the streets that housed the lost, the unwanted, the strays and, and the abandoned. As I indulged in their beauty, the locals saw something else. Their eyes grey and liveless, they saw opportunities for a turnover, they saw joy in an extra hundred rupees from a foreigner, they saw nothing, nothing at all but to trade for the currency of life. They are not living. It took me a while to realize that it is easy for me to see beauty in this city, because I'm just a visitor, and they have to stay for good.