I woke up this morning emotionally suspended between two continents. I was curled up in a thin blanket; the monsoonal weather had prompted a nippiness of skin. Through the open windows, the world in the immediate vicinity of my corner building in Delhi crept in; the blare of someone playing the Gayatri mantra on speaker, as if to spiritually cleanse the neighbourhood; this punctuated by the occasional exclamation mark that only a pressure cooker can produce as the steam gushes out past the weight; little clamouring of bangles as women ready their kids for school, the brushing of brooms against makeshift floors. Sounds that I am otherwise able to mute out in the final stages of my slumber came crawling through my ears after three weeks of Australia’s sometimes deafeningly silent ambience. My jetlagged body thus had every indication that it had been returned home, nestled in the distinct din of the megapolis of Delhi.

The Melbourne skyline reflected in the Yarra river in the hours before daybreak. Pic/Getty Images