Greetings from Cornwall, where the rain is pouring down.
On quiet balmy Summer evenings in The Verne jail on Portland, while I was treating his diabetes, I used to have long wistful chats over a cup of tea with an aging (failed) drugs smuggler who had come from your part of India. He described a wonderfully colourful land with an amazing people, and I had no reason to think he lied. I had heard much the same while resting in their Sergeant’s Mess while serving alongside the Gurkha Rifles.
If I ever get to drag this over-used old carcass there (who knows?), I shall most certainly bring you some nice cheeses.
Meanwhile, as I have tried to do, accept your gentle rebirth, keep following your heart, and live your life with love, kindness, tenderness and honour. Such things were indeed well known to older Irish and Scottish soldiers of my experience, when they were not fighting drunk!