If time had a smell in Malwa, it would be river water mixed with roses and incense. The kind of scent that walks ahead of you as you wind your way to a ghat or a temple. In this part of Central India, I realised, time isn’t a ticking clock with a schedule, but a rhythm you learn by letting your breath slow and your expectations unclench. And so, consciously leaving my watch behind, I walked into the days guided by stone steps and old walls, by rivers carrying the hours and eons rather than counting them.






