India is chaotic and organised, green and orange-red, happy and horrible, shocking and stunning and absolutely mind-blowing. It’s totally foreign and yet exactly like coming home and both nothing and everything make sense.

Shivpuri, a small town in Madhya Pradesh, seven hours from Delhi and two from Gwalior, is small, crowded and hectic and everyone, and I mean everyone, stares. I’ve been told I look Indian almost ten times but that doesn’t stop people in the street from stopping to gawp at the foreigner. Everything rushes past loudly and the concepts of brakes and indicators are practically unheard of. Cars, trucks, buses and auto-rickshaws are driven with one hand steering and the other poised over the horn ready to beep when turning, overtaking, warning and pretty much any other reason they consider worthy, including when they see a foreigner or simply feel like it.

Five mins out of town however, the lifestyle changes dramatically. Within the walls of the Happy Days School, a huge lush property which includes the standard school buildings, many staff members houses and an old mill, the pace is slow and the days long and lazy. We rise early and make our way to the staffroom to plan classes or to the kindergarten to play with the littlies (who are absolutely adorable). In class we face a barrage of questions from eager children (generally in grades 4-6 and ranging from 7-12 years of age) who want to know whether we’re vegetarian, what our favourite food, animal, sport and hobby are, what the names of our parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and grandparents are and on and on till the bell finally rings and we move on to the next group.

Classes finish at lunchtime, 1:40pm, when we make our way to the mess hall. We eat there then head back to our room where we laze about, reading and listening to music, sleeping or watching Indian cable TV and doing our best to replicate the dance moves. If it’s not too hot we head to the roof which looks out over the gatekeepers hut, the car park and the highway. Up here there is a mess of power cords, some shade from the neem tree and about thirteen peacocks who retire to the nearby eucalyptus to sleep and caw at night. This is my favourite place. It’s shanti, peaceful, and up here all the stress and wildness, all the shock and confusion, just fades away to nothingness and I’m completely at one with myself and the world. Clichéd, yes but satisfying none the less. Here I can watch the sun rise or set and watch life as it passes, by foot, truck or auto-rickshaw, mooing, barping, yelling or laughing or simply blasting Bollywood hits from large speakers precariously balanced on automotive roofs. It doesn’t get much better than this.