Everyone asks me what I think of the “new India” now that I’m traveling around the country. My one-word answer would be it’s cold.

I have never been so cold in August in India. It’s actually swelteringly hot outside. In Delhi the parched landscapes of the hi-tech city seem to be gasping for air. In Kolkata it feels like an oven. In Hyderabad the boulder strewn red earth is baking.

But inside every building I go to it’s freezing. The brand new airport in Hyderabad needs a sweater. The malls are chilly. The airplane ride is so bone-chilling I had to dig a long-sleeved shirt out of my suitcase. The glitzy Indian School of Business is actually near Hyderabad but it feels like a Boston winter’s day inside.

Every time I come out of a mall or an office building I feel like I am enveloped in a cloud of condensation. My friend who is a photographer found his lens fogged up when he tried to take pictures. The camera had been sitting in the uber air-conditioned hotel room for two long. We had to sit and wait for it to re-adjust to the warm air outside.

These days in India it is much in vogue to try and find the “real India” versus the “new India.” There is a lot of buzz about the new issue Vogue India where poor Indians are posed against luxury goods. The goods flaunt their brand names such as Burberry and Fendi, the farmers and other Indians are nameless.

Everyone is trying to find the image that juxtaposes the two Indias – the slum next to the gated community in Gurgaon, the poor daily help and her mistress’ BMW, the rickshawpuller near the glam mall.

But I think it’s silly to posit one as the “real” India and one as not. They are both real. One is just air-conditioned. And there’s always a doorway leading from one to the other.