Let me just be honest. I always wanted to marry an Indian man. The reasons are deceptively simple: the food is freaking amazing! However, the universe had other plans in mind. You, Auriol, are going to India instead.
I am sitting on the balcony, traditional Hindi music is playing next door, the sounds of an unending flow of traffic thick like incense smoke. On the other side of the apartment a throng of youth gather in colorful attire taking selfies at their graduation ceremony, techno music voicing the many names of their gods.
I often look at these beautiful humans and wonder if they know how wondrous they are. Can they tell how the colors they so easily wrap around themselves affect others? Do they suspect the joy of release that floods my body when I see every event celebrated in sound and color, luring all my senses to shipwreck?
It’s as though a silent mantra hums under the skin of every single person. Despite the poverty and injustice perceived. We ache with the joy of being here. We. Are. Alive.
When I leave I am taking India with me. My one best friend said rather jokingly, ‘Go have your eat,pray, love moments in India…’ And even though I did not watch the movie but silently judge it for being too obvious, I am walking away with a sense of well being and….cleaner hands.
Sometimes, it’s not a bad thing allowing the hearts of others to sweep one away and bring remembrances to warm the places cold and barren. Sometimes, that is all one needs.