I travelled to India in search of the monsoons. I wanted to feel the trill of the water
continously pooring from the sky. I wanted to inhale the distinct smell of wet mud. I
wanted to witness the power of nature. But I was too late. The monsoon never came.
Or rather it came, as it always does. It came very strongly indeed - favoring none, killing
more than a hundred people, and leaving people by the thousands stranded. From
the north to south, India, I traveled chasing the monsoon. Only to witness it’s tail long
enough to slip between my hands. It kept eluding me. It never was to be.
This is a book about everything but the monsoon. Fragments of life from the streets
of India, the country I keep returning to. I did not quite find what I was looking for and
yet I did.