A squadron of 3-wheeled rickshaws surround and cut my ride like starfighters, their annoying RING-NA-DING-DING! two-strokes squirting blue smoky smog. Driver Ranjit counters with a stab on the oil burner's go pedal, followed by a raunchy horn blast and veer into the buzzing intruders to let them know Homey the Clown doesn't play games.
The sun's down on my final day in the office, I weep a little on the ride home and realize: This is it.
Can't quite put my finger on it yet, but something profound happened over the last two weeks that will stay with me for a long time. It'll probably come to and become clearer after digesting the trip, but initial guess is it's the people.