About My Country

I live in a beautiful country, called India! I chanced upon this lovely except from a book by Mark Twain on his journey to India.

This is indeed India! the land of dreams and romance, of fabulous wealth and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags, of palaces and hovels, of tigers and elephants, the cobra and the jungle, the country of a hundred tongues, of many religions and many gods, cradle of the human race, birthplace of human speech, mother of history, grandmother of legend, great-grandmother of tradition, whose yesterdays bear date with the mouldering antiquities of the rest of the nations — the one sole country under the sun that is endowed with an imperishable interest for the inner self consciousness, for lettered and ignorant, wise and fool, rich and poor, the one land that all men desire to see, and having seen once, by even a glimpse, would not give that glimpse for the shows of all the rest of the globe combined. Even now, after the lapse of a year, the delirium of those days in Bombay has not left me, and I hope never will.
Mark Twain, in Following the Equator (1897), Ch. XXXVIII