THE flight into Mumbai was late, and it was nearly 2 a.m. when we stumbled into the car our hotel had sent to pick us up. Walking out of the airport, my girlfriend and I were bathed in klieg-like lights shining down on what appeared to be an endless sea of people crowded behind a police barrier — families waiting for relatives; drivers searching for passengers; vendors and beggars, policemen and businessmen; and every other form of Mumbaikar humanity. Or so it seemed to us.

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