Thirteen million people live in the sprawling metropolis of Kolkata, formerly Calcutta. Ancient ambassador cabs and buses crowd the streets, spewing clouds of noxious fumes into the air. On a warm autumn afternoon, visibility is measured in blocks and our lungs and eyes burn. We walk around the city center, unable to hear each other, our voices drowned by a cacophonous symphony of blaring, beeping car horns. One day, a strike is called by the minority political party, drawing attention to a land dispute -- the government plans to seize agricultural land to build a Tata car plant -- the shops are shuttered, the air miraculously clears, and under a surprisingly blue sky the city is eerily quiet.

But every other day, Kolkata's jam packed streets throb with the vibrant energy of life lived for all to see. On crowded sidewalks, we barely squeeze by men stopping for a shave or haircut, vendors making fresh-cooked food in sidewalk kitchens, women with babies begging for rupees, shoe-wallahs re-soling shoes, men urinating on narrow alley walls, and street stalls set up everywhere selling cheap clothes, fabric, books, CDs, watches, spices, jewelry, toys...

An air of faded elegance permeates the city, a dilapidated veneer cloaks its decrepit colonial buildings. Surprisingly, Kolkata is easy to fall in love with. People are friendly, helpful and curious, and despite the poverty and filth, everyone dresses neatly, their hair immaculately groomed. The food is fantastic, and the bookstores are divine. We enjoyed roaming the streets, absorbing the chaotic energy of the place, watching the smog-softened light illuminate one amazing street scene after another, wondering what would happen next.