Baggage claimed and customs papers stamped by a bored agent we braced ourselves to face the sea of people waiting outside. India puts your senses into overdrive. The smell was already overwhelming; the cacophony of horns, people yelling and engines revving was completely disorienting. It took all my energy and focus to guide my reluctant cart down uneven ramps while dodging the buses barreling down the narrow road. Safe in the car I sighed and turned to Jessica--"Welcome to India."

The sacred cow

Traffic in New Delhi is like a computer game. Drivers compete for the road with cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles, mopeds, bicycles, pedestrians and, of course, the ubiquitous cow. As Delhi expanded rapidly it absorbed surrounding villages without quite managing to urbanize them. Now there are small dairy farms all over the capital and the cows, underfed and emaciated, wander the streets in search of fodder. The cows lounge in the middle of the fast lane, chewing cud placidly as honking vehicles twice their size speed past.

Some people say that you need extra eyes to safely negotiate Indian traffic. It feels as if everyone is out to get you, even the cows. Drivers quickly learn that the best way to get around a cow is to drive around their posterior--cows rarely move in reverse. Drivers are also always careful about not hitting a cow--as much out of religious beliefs as out of a basic sense of survival--the invariable crowds will lynch anyone impatient enough to harm the bovine. So the cows remain a fixture on Indian streets, a metaphor for the nation --placid emaciated cows sitting in the fast lane.

Visit to the slums

You could almost hear the heads turn when Jessica and I walked into the P.D. Mello Road slum in Mumbai. Picking my way through the puddles and garbage on the road I rushed to catch up with a social worker. This slum is an endless row of makeshift houses made of scraps of plastic, metal and brick into the size of a small dorm room. Though this slum, and others like it, are completely illegal they are rarely demolished by the authorities fearing vociferous protests and the loss of valuable vote banks. Some 55 percent of the city's population is estimated to live in slums.

Women sit outside their houses, cooking and gossiping, occasionally yelling at a child getting in their way. A 'manja,' or wooden bed lies on the street and a man bounces his son on his knee. An entire lifestyle takes place on the municipal road as transport trucks drive by. Even if some conscientious city official decides to take action to demolish the illegal constructions they spring back up in a matter of days. Slums are a fact of life in Mumbai, a city where property prices rival those in New York.

World politics in a Mumbai cab

Sunday evening we packed our bags and braced ourselves for the 20-hour trip back to New York. The final drive in India--a two hour ride to the Chatrapatti Shivaji airport--was an eye opener. The yellow and black cab, a Fiat model from circa 1950, rattled through crowded streets as air heavy with exhaust fumes poured through the open windows.

Shankar, our driver, started talking about "Amrika," the land of plenty and richness, when he heard we were going to New York. I was astounded by the range of his knowledge--he talked eloquently, if not flatteringly, about George Bush and his foreign policy. Apparently Bush doesn't compare favorably with Clinton, who impressed everyone during his visit to India last year. Shankar also had strong views about how the Indian government should be revamped, even suggesting that he could do a better job than the present powers that be. We even talked about how the region around India-namely the Middle East-was increasingly unstable and we speculated about what would happen in the next few years.

Little did we know that two days later the World Trade Center would be attacked. I wonder what he has to say about the incident, and I wish I could let him know that we're safe.