Walking around at 8AM on an overcast morning, I come across a Hindu temple that sits like an explosion of color among unremarkably grey buildings. 
Barefoot, I follow a small gathering crowd through the doors of the temple, my sandals abandoned in the street. Impossible to blend in, I try to stay out of the way of the restless ceremony.
I find myself at times swallowed by the crowd, abandoned again, run over by holy men marked with ash and carrying fragrant flames.
Music and chanting takes turns, their driving rhythm slowly ratcheting up the frenzy to its eventual climax.
Then, as quickly as they have gathered, the worshipers spill into the courtyard of the temple through its three open sides, then file out into the street.
I linger to take a few photos, then return to the grayness of the city. I am dizzy from the experience, senses inflamed. Now I know how Alice felt after returning from the looking glass.
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