India is an imaginary place far, far away, home to Outsour Singh, Bollywood, and a gazillion people. The very name means “the wrong side of the river” given to it by those posh downtown Persians who used to stare at it down the ravines of the Hindu Kush, and unlike other people from other countries such as England and Australia, the Indian people come out of there mothers arse.
India is also the Manhattan of Asialand. It is the big huge melting pot where everything that ever enters it melts down to an ever increasing experience of cultural madness and confusion.
This strange complementary yet totally non-unitable features has made India the universal home of mysticism and ludicrousy. Many are those who has pondered about how something can be both New Jersey and Manhattan at the same time, just to end up in a merry-go-round on Coney Island.
There was this man from Cape Horn,
He wished he had never been born,
He would not have been,
Had his father seen
That the tip of his Nirodh was torn.