It’s time to head back. I could miss the flight, lose my passport, and slip right back into Vrindavana life… chappatis and dahl, wandering the holy tracks, immersing in scripture, singing into the early hours. We could adopt the determination of the ascetics and old widows, leaving Vrindavana only when the ashes from the funeral pyre merge into the River Yamuna and float downstream. Realistic? Probably not. The holy month concludes and pilgrims disperse, the temperature drops as winter looms, and another year in the material world gradually winds up. Vrindavana, however, remains forever unchanged, steeped in a devotional time-warp. The singing goes on, the bells, cymbals and drums steadily reverberate, and offerings at the rustic shrines, saturated with raw, unpolished affection, continue. Vrindavana’s devotional fervour perpetuates, day after day, as it has for generations. When you return, nothing’s changed. Old is gold – timeless transcendental tradition. Those who reside here in spirit, live in the eternal present, oblivious to the ever-changing tides and trends of the ‘real’ world, deeply content with simple devotion in the here and now.