Our train was two hours late because of the reduced visibility. Our bus crawled through the haze, encountering traffic jams stretching twenty miles in either direction. We floated the sacred Ganges and could barely see the shore through the murk. Everywhere people coughed, hacked, and spit the brown residue out of their mouths, throats, and lungs. My throat hasn't yet cleared out.
Religion is everywhere - sacred cows, men, statues, shrines, temples, stupas, and buildings.
The next life has to be better. Folks work hard to scratch out existence - especially the women. In the country villages the women do the back-breaking field work, are constantly washing, gathering sticks, and cooking. The men gather in little clusters, drink tea, play games, and talk politics - you know, the heavy stuff. The British left a good highway and railroad system, a populace trained in the civil service, and an educated upper and middle class.