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The plane cruises through the clouds, defying gravity. I look through the oval windows, admiring the greenery below me, the rivers meandering through the landscape. I guess we are passing over Andra Pradesh or something, for Northern India is not as green. Soon enough, the greenery disappears, to be replaced by a brownish landscape. The land is chequered, divided into so many neat squares by a giant hand, a huge chessboard.

The plane curves and makes a smooth landing. The cool voice of the air hostess tells me that is the 29 degrees maxmum, dipping as low as 14 degrees: radically different from Singapore.

It is not until that I am in the car, reclining against the plush chair enjoying the aircon, and a small girl runs upto our vehicle desperately pressing today's paper against the glass, begging us to buy one, that it truly hits me: I am in India.