Head wiggling

I am reading yet another book set in India. Even though it’s now “A major motion picture”, it is, in my opinion, not a particularly good book, content- , structure- or language wise. The story is quite superficial, the characters are difficult to identify with and the research not impressive. 
Still, there is something about it, maybe reminding me of other tales I’ve heard or read, or possibly even experienced, stirring something within me. Something elusive, yet real, that makes me want to go there, be there, become absorbed in its overwhelming non conformity, where the improbable is the norm, the unique the standard, and  the average nonexistent. I feel like losing myself in a society unfathomably rich in people and diversity, in culture, religion, language and geography. A country developing so fast in some areas that it is hard to keep up, in others so backward it is hard to comprehend, let alone accept. 
The smells… of decay, sewage, funeral pyres…, the scents… of skillfully prepared and tasty slow food, of trees and flowers…. 

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