How was India?

Like being on a thrill ride that you can't get off of.
Like a Shakespearean comedy and tragedy.
Like being a helpless kitten.
Heaven and Hell.
A disaster.

Or perhaps best to explain with a series of poems I wrote while delirious.

Idiotic
Nincompoops
Deserve
Itchy
Anus

I'm
Normally
Despairing
In
Agony

Improper
Nutrition
Destroys
Innocent
Antenatals

Inundated!
Nasty
Diarrhea
In
Abundance!

Idealistic
Novel
Dream
Isn't
Appreciated

Insects
Not
Discouraged
In
Abode

Ironically
No
Doctor
Is
Around

Improved
New
Drugs
Impossible
Access

If
Noone
Does
It,
Abandoned

Imbibing
Native
Drink
Invites
Amebas

Infection
Not
Dressed
In
Amputee

I
Need
Dosas
In
Abundance!

Ingrown
Nails
Doubly
Inconvenient
Ailments

Impossible
Now
Don't
Inquire
About

Infected
Newborn?
Doctor
Is
Absent

I'm
Not
Disillusioned
I'm
Angry

Inpatient
Nonetheless
Drug
Isn't
Adequate

I've
No
Distance
Between
Asses

Incredible
Novelists
Discussing
Insatiable
Arguments

Infinitely
Numerous
Diseased
In
Actuality

Inconvenient
Needless
Delays
Instigate
Attacks

I'm
Never
Doing
It
Again

It's
Not
Deadly
It's
Apocalyptic

Immune
Now--
Doesn't
Irritate
Anymore

Indecent
Nudes
Don't
Impress
Anyone