Somewhere around 37,000 feet and jagged, blurry sleep-wakefulness, I realized that we were flying over Montana. The land was vast, barren and snow-covered.
I thought about Bangalore and its chaos. Its rowdy universe, even when viewed from the sky.
Back at my seat, the set of jolly Norwegians I was trapped with was asleep. I can never sleep on a plane. But this time I slept through most of Europe.
London did not thrill me.
I hope L.A. will.