India: The land of chicken korma and karma sutra. A destination for all the senses.

Magicians and fortune tellers amuse colourful pilgrims, wandering sadhus, women in saris, and blokes with proper ‘70s handlebar moustaches. Brahmins seek the gods; and strung-out hippies seek themselves.

The echoes of sitars and veenas ride patchouli-scented airwaves, from thronged bazaars to Hindu temples; and the heat of the days give way to balmy nights in the home of holy water, holy cows, and a holy temple created purely for love. Awww…how could you not like the place?

Err, well, if you’ve never actually visited India before, then Gorakhpur would not be a good place to start. Many a lost and befuddled traveller have found themselves forced onto a bus to Gorakhpur’s putrid quagmire en route to (or from) neighbouring Nepal. But this insignificant speck on the eastern tip of Utter Pradesh is a destination unlikely to stick in your mind for any of the right reasons.

Most globe trotters are lucky enough to fly straight past Gorakhpur on the train, without stopping, completely unaware of what they’re missing: open sewers, plagues of flies, mosquitoes, and cockroaches the size of the Taj Mahal. Nice.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a pampered princess who needs to travel in five-star luxury. I consider myself a pretty seasoned traveller, and I don’t mind roughing it. But this place really does cut the mustard when it comes to eye-opening shock tactics. And I’m not just talking a few creepy crawlies and the odd whiff of ammonium.

Perhaps I am being a bit harsh. There might have been a few rose petals I inadvertently skipped over while dodging the sky-diving cockroach aiming straight for my cranium. But first impressions do last. In a land boasting over one billion people, seven union territories, 28 states, the world’s largest film industry, and the man with the earth’s longest fingernails, it’s worth persevering to at least assault the senses. Heck, this is the birthplace of Buddhism, yoga, trigonometry, and hotmail!

So, zoning into a Zen frame of mind, I trudged on toward Delhi no less. If you thrive on pulsating activity, and enjoy delving into convoluted chaos, then this is a good place to start. Sprawling on the banks of the river Yamuna, the capital of India typifies the essence of the country with its diversity. The Mughal and Victorian architecture of Old Delhi contrasts with the modern metropolis of New Delhi, and is an accessible base from which to check out the Himalaya, Varanasi, or Agra. But, if you don’t plan on losing an eye, I wouldn’t recommend a visit during the Diwali Festival of Light (hint: fireworks like cruise missiles).

Further east pilgrims flock to the oldest living city in the world to bathe in the waters of the Ganges: Varanasi. An important centre of Hinduism, and one of the holiest cities in India, Varanasi is an auspicious place to die (perfect, I knew I’d come here for a reason).

Expiring here is believed to purify the soul, and offers release from the cycle of rebirth. Pious Hindus come here to spend their last days. The Ghats, which line the western bank of the Ganges, are frenetic as women attend to their laundry, holy men meditate, bodies are cremated, children bathe, and men shave and scrub up with soap. All this despite the fact the water is septic and 3000 times over the faecal bacteria limit that is safe for bathing. Never mind.

On that note, I think I need to dry out, so I set off to the desert and Rajasthan: the Land of Kings. This state is an exotic fantasyland with its medieval forts and elaborate palaces which all vividly testify to the history of the princely state.

Set in the heart of the Thar Desert you can visit the blue city (Jodphur), the pink city (Jaipur), or the gold city (Jaisalmer): where, like I did for three days, you can stay in an ancient fort which looks like a giant sandcastle.

You can also visit the Lake Palace Hotel in Udaipur where the Bond flick Octopussy was filmed. There’s camel trekking and ornately carved temples. Or if you’re not feeling too adventurous, simply soak up the very distinctive nomadic desert lifestyle which is unique to this part of the world.

Heading south, the city formerly known as Bombay (a.k.a Mumbai) teems with more than 15 million people. Today Mumbai is India’s economic powerhouse, and home to Asia’s largest slums. It has the glamour of Bollywood cinema, cricket on the weekends, and red double-decker buses. But the shantytowns are pretty deplorable, and they stretch on for miles. The city is, in most parts, squalid, but with a bizarre Victorian backdrop reminiscent of 19th century England. The city is fuelled simultaneously by entrepreneurial energy and a seedy undercurrent, and this strange charisma makes it all the more intriguing.

Finally, no trip to India would be complete without paying tribute to Goa. The former Portuguese enclave that remains quite distinct from the rest of the country.

The prevalence of Roman Catholicism and its obvious European influence makes Goa seem more accessible to the Westerner, which may or may not be a good thing, depending on your idea of escapism. But the people of Goa are definitely more liberal-minded than elsewhere in the country, and it’s perhaps because of this that the area attracts so many free spirits.

The beaches are picture-book perfect (mind the wandering holy cows) with white sands, coconut palms, and a turquoise sea. Colva offers a place of quiet repose while Calangute’s party scene, Anjuna’s giant market, and Palolem’s tree huts all add to the allure of this divine little coastal gem.

India for me was a ‘character-building’ experience, and only one word can really sum up the place: diverse.

It’s home alike to the time-honoured traditional type, and the sophisticated urbanite. It is a land as vast as it is congested, where elephants live amicably with the internet, and colourful saris are cleaned in squalid sewer water. Cows and cars co-exist on the streets, and fishermen fashion simple fishing boats in a centuries-old tradition, while the packaged holiday crew flock for all-night dance parties and all-year-round sun. I won’t completely rule out returning to India, but if I don’t, I know one thing: nothing will ever quite compare.

By Abbey Stirling/MOLI