Mysore, Mysore, what an Eyesore. Mysore is not, as the Rough Guide describes it, an "enchanting and characterful city" (i am relying far too much on this book) It is another heavily polluted, frenetic, noisy, dirty city. Wandering around, dodging beggars, rickshaws belching exhaust, cow shit and over friendly teenage boys i can't help but feel that i am falling out of love with India. My rose tinted glasses are slipping off my sweaty nose. India is a country of contradictions: it is poor but it worships money, its people will shit in full broad public daylight, yet Indians consider themselves the cleanest people in the world, it is the country that brought us the Karma Sutra, yet a Victorian prudishness prevails, animals are sacred but they all look as if they're starving to death and most signifiantly and in the words of Mark Twain, 'all life seems to be sacred - except human life'. It feels like a country which human beings have not quite learnt to dominate.