"India, I have swum in your warm waters and run laughing in your high mountain meadows.
Oh, why must everything I say end up sounding like a filmi gana, a gooddamn cheap Bollywood song?
Very well then: I have walked your filthy streets, India, I have ached in my bones from the illnesses engendered by your germs.
I have eaten your independent salt and drunk your nauseatingly sugary roadside tea. For many years your malaria mosquitoes would bite me wherever I went, and in deserts and summers around the world I was stung by cool Kashmiri bees.
India, my terra infirma, my maelstrom, my cornucopia, my crowd. India, my too-muchness, my everything at once, my Hug-me, my fable, my mother, my father and my first great truth.
It may be that I am not comprehend what you are becoming, what perhaps you already are, but I am old enough to say that this new self of yours is an entity I no longer want or need, to understand.
India, fount of my imagination, source of my savagery, breaker of my heart.
from Salman Rushdie "The ground beneath her feet"