"real travel is the return", I read this on a book a few chapters ago while laying down on a train's bunk, direction Varanasi.
But only now, when the quietness of a dutch night is cracked by several scooters horning in the street, only in that precise moment my ears return immerse into those lively, over-lively roads of India.
A tear runs down the cheek to meet at the crossroad my smile.
All in a sudden that sentence makes more sense, touching somewhere, a spot I was not aware of before.