There are many benefits to travelling around the country. Narrow-mindedness and many misconceptions break down on the road. If you travel from north to south or east to west, many prejudices fall away by themselves.

The nation was locked indoors. Streets were deserted, markets silent, factories shut. Fear had entered almost every Indian home, and nobody knew how long the invisible enemy would stay. Then came a voice on television.

Imagine the final scene of Shyam Benegal's celebrated film Ankur. A little village boy silently watches everything around him: the landlord's authority, the poor's helplessness, and the daily drama of injustice. Then, suddenly, he picks up a stone.

The first light of morning falls on a moving sea of feet. Young men shoulder kanwars, barefoot pilgrims circle sacred hills, and groups of friends climb mountain trails, singing bhajans. Phones stay tucked away, cameras keep clicking, and the name of God rises with every step. This is today’s pilgrimage in India.

The camera rolls. A grand haveli fills the screen. A portly Seth sits on his gaddi, surrounded by ledgers and cash boxes. Nearby stands the familiar Munimji of old Hindi cinema, Kanhaiyalal, with a sly smile and a thick account book. Someone asks for help; he calculates the cost.

Bipolar disorder is casually described as ‘mood swings’. The phrase makes a serious illness sound like ordinary bad temper. It is anything but that.