I can only describe the process of travelling to India as one of rebirth--and not the beatific figurative kind. The kind with blood and primal grunts where you emerge with a smashed head that takes a while to get back to its original shape.
Home is the womb where all your needs are met and the surroundings are familiar. It's peaceful. You know where the food's coming from and that it's decent grub with plenty of vitamins.
The birth canal is the plane which you suddenly find yourself jammed inside at very uncomfortable angles for over 15 hours. You work real hard to get yourself out of that tight spot--even get pushed by people with giant carry-on luggage--only to find at your eventual emergence a world of confounding sounds and smells and people so that all you can do is bust out crying until someone slaps you (in case of travel alone, slap self).