As you walk by the colorful shops and busy markets and narrow streets and lavish temples - you realize that the crowd has its own language. I do not mean language like English, or German, or Hindi. It is more like a distant echo in the mountains, or a mixture of music beats from bars on a beach. The streets are filed with some kind of whispers - angry ones, happy ones, inviting ones - but together they remind me of humming birds or buzzing bees. All the words vanish in the air. We are left with a cocktail of sounds and letters, while all the individual emotions and messages…