After over a week into our trip the scents of home--freshly laundered sheets and crunchy orange leaves--have long since dissipated and new foreign smells have replaced them. We smell like India. Like sweat and dirt never fully washed off by bucket baths every few days. Like the rice and curry we eat for dinner each night. We smell like stuffy jeeps and well worn shoes. Like a fresh coat of paint on the dingy walls of a school and clean hair washed in a river. We smell like coloring markers and wrinkled paper, mountain air and dirt roads, and popped corn and suntanned skin. Like chai tea and peanut butter sandwiches. Like salty tears on tired faces. We smell like sunshine beating down on a hot day and smiles that light up a face. We smell like joy and hope and souls fulfilled. We smell like love and laughter and contentment. We smell like India and I've never loved a smell more.