[...] My destination, Calcutta, was now inundated with 100,000 refugees from Bangladesh who had just fled their flood–swamped homes.
I came in late at night and sure enough, sleeping bodies wrapped in sheets, shoulder to shoulder, lined the streets everywhere.
How would I handle viewing masses of desperate people, especially when I had nothing to give? I doubted that I even had enough money to make it to Australia where I could hopefully replenish my wallet.
When I finally nudged myself down the stairs late the next morning, I was aghast at the transformed scene on the streets. Sheets had been spread out like picnic blankets and each hosted happy families.
People bantered with incredible vitality and enthusiasm, and children...children (this was the part that emblazoned on my memory) crawled all over their parents, especially their fathers in affectionate playful gymnastics that their fathers seemed to love as much as they did.
I can't remember who it was, but someone tweeted about a book on becoming a happier person: Pete Walker's Complex PTSD. I was sure I didn't have PTSD, but at the same time I figured