Silence makes me uncomfortable. I spit on the streets with ease and gaiety. I order dinner in Hindi, albeit broken. I skirmish with eunuchs, haggle with mango-sellers and rub elbows with South Mumbai's self-ordained royalty. And by rub elbows, I mean literally. The only difference between a nightclub on Saturday night and railway station at 7 pm is the availability of overpriced alcohol at the former and profusion of body odor at the latter.

I ride the trains to and from office every day, often during peak hours. This daily sojourn has given me a precious glimpse into the underbelly and inner-workings of Mumbai. I have run the gamut of human experiences and emotions on the tracks. I have been pulled into an absurdly overcrowded compartment by a man half my size, been helped to my feet after falling while disembarking by a group of women, and been outstripped in a desperate dash for a moving train by a man with one foot.

I have been showered with praise and showered with spit for my naïve attempt to enmesh myself into the Mumbai local trains. On one occasion, the crowd passed me my bag in assembly-line fashion after I was already outside and on the platform. On another, three railway police helped themselves to 900 of my hard-won rupees when I was caught with an expired pass -- the actual fine is 350. I even conceded defeat once on a particularly crowded Sunday afternoon and vowed never to ride again; on that day, each of my four attempts to board was physically rejected by a veritable wall of humanity that protruded obscenely in a mass of arms, legs, slippers and hair grease.

A three-hour bus ride to South Mumbai ended my abstinence from the trains; and in fact, I soon came to direct my vitriol towards the buses themselves, especially after a memorable incident that involved a four foot dwarf swiping my seat when I stood to retrieve my wallet. It's true; the little chap wriggled between my legs and hoisted himself up while I watched on incredulously. Stern castigations had no effect on the pint-sized savage and my complaints to the bus conductor fell on deaf (read: disinterested), ears.

Has it been worth it? Absolutely. The outpouring of generosity and hospitality - in homes, at parties and during day-to-day interactions - has overwhelmed me. I have a drawer full of visiting cards; it seems thrice a week some random person pushes one in my palm and whispers in my ear, "If you ever have a problem, give me a call. I want you to enjoy my country." It's true; in India, the guest is treated like a gift from God.

I have devoured Dosas, sipped the golden nectar that is Aamras and enjoyed the finest home-cooked meals -- Kashmiri, Punjabi, Gujarati and more. I eat Sev Puri and Vada Pav with reckless abandon. If three cases of gastro-enteritis have taught me anything, it's that food poisoning can be a fine weight-loss solution. I have enjoyed moonlit cruises down Marine Drive, and participated in a puja for actor Rajnikanth's film, Sivaji.

Above all else, and despite the occasional (or frequent) hassles, I have absolutely loved my time in this beautiful country. It's been a most challenging and rewarding journey. I have discovered a lot about myself, the world around me and my place in it.

Matthew Schneeberger, a resident of Ohio, currently works with Rediff.com India