Mumbai on the west coast is the country’s financial heart. Its energy is infectious, its warmth legendary. The brooding Gateway of India stands testament to its historic past. From Mumbai the new Konkan coast rail line snakes down to the international playground of Goa and its arcing beaches, swaying palms, breathtaking churches and spicy vindaloos.

First discovered by hippies in the ’60s who threw off their clothes and inhibitions with great abandon to introduce full moon parties and topless beaches to a welcoming, if bewildered, local population, the former Portuguese enclave has matured as a destination with fine resorts and fine food. Its laid-back attitude and strumming guitars have endured. Are you still looking at your watch?

Just a tad farther south is Kerala, promoted as God’s Own Country. It is. In the summer when the monsoons break and the rains wash over a grateful country,

as Arabs flock to Mumbai and the coast to marvel at the floods and spatter, Kerala blossoms with unimagineable shades of green as the rice paddy ripens and thrusts up from well-watered fields. Islands of coconut flutter amidst the emerald sea, boats chug down the backwaters laden with camera-clicking tourists, and long, untouched beaches welcome new footprints.

Kerala is also one of the country’s main exponents of the Ayurveda tradition. There are more spas in the south than you can shake a stick at, but holistic wellness is a countrywide tradition. As children, Indians of a certain age were pummelled by parents and slathered with coconut, or even stinging mustard, oil. Now they are giving it back to the world. It is a refined art, natural, and timeless. Breathe deeply in the hills, do your yoga stretches on a remote white-sand beach, or in the pampered confines of a five-star spa retreat in Chennai, Bangalore, or Shimla. Incredible India it is.