I was in Kanyakumari for three days. Every morning, I walked down to the beach to read. And every day, I would see these men playing Kabbadi. They played with such competitive spirit. It was a sight to behold.

This girl’s eyes make me sad. It’s as if – for a moment – she has forgotten the joyful innocence of her childhood and is lost in boredom.

Children want to smile. They are carefree, yes. They are energetic, yes. But at their core, it is because they wish only to express genuine delight that they are able to live such wondrous lives.

There is no feeling like the momentary suspension of reality which occurs when you drift through early-morning fog as it evaporates off the surface of a calm river.

You don’t need a television, iPhone, movie theater, or even bookstore to pass time. Simply listen to the world around you, observe it with watchful and wonder-struck eyes, and point to any monkeys you see hiding amongst the trees.

I’ve never been so overwhelmed by natural beauty as when I visited the hill station Munnar in Kerala.

As the bus I rode in climbed to 6,000 feet, the air cooled to an unfamiliar crispness. Mother Nature had thrown a dozen breath mints into her mouth and exhaled softly on my face.

And the Green of Munnar is Green as Green was intended. The leaves are so fresh and nourished that they look like liquid from a distance.

Towards the afternoon, a thick fog settled over the town. The rickshaw driver I was conversing with told me you could set a clock by the fog’s arrival and departure times.