Creative Non-Fiction
I had come through many victories, tests in which I lay fallen, trumped by my better instincts, to negotiate the beauty of India, and remember it the way I did. When I left, it was the Taj Mahal I left, the monument figured by the man who had loved most, for the woman who had inspired him. He had left the robin red breast in every heart that stood an hour to see his work. I knew I would love her, India, till I met her equal.
