In New Delhi I found a home, in the company of my dear friends Kanika and Azfar. Kanika is a local and welcomed me most whole-heartedly into a life of home-cooked feasts and neighborhood jaunts. My adopted Indian grandmother felt much like my own. A warm heart has no cultural boundaries, be it Indian or Polish. In little time I understood the extreme duality which exists in the interior and exterior worlds of India. In an instant I was transported in a rusty rickshaw to a place of great splendor, the Imperial, one of the majestic hotels of Delhi. I momentarily forgot the mesmerizing eyes of poverty in the surrounding streets. Yet this is what India is all about, the people. I am fortunate enough to know them from the inside.

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