In search of myself

Photos: My Scholarship entry - India: Traditional vs. Modern Lifestyle

nomad_at_heart — Sun, 6 Jan 2013 07:38:00 GMT

Why do I take pictures? Well, somehow gradually and naturally it has become a part of my habitual routine while I am away on my consecutive assignment as a volunteer or just visiting a place as a tourist. It has become a part of my "job", but I'm not a professional. It has become a new passion. I admire people who can paint. I myself can't, it's a special gift, which I lack, BUT I have the photography instead. It gives me the opportunity to express my admiration for the beauty of the world and enjoy it again and again and again... It creates eternal moments! I'd love to learn how to improve on techniques and get to know some tips and tricks of the profession. I may even consider making it my new profession. Actually, when it's added up to my other passions, which are traveling, writing, socializing with people from different cultures, communicating ideas and given the fact that I'm a historian by education and a teacher by vocation, all the pieces of the puzzle fit in perfectly and the overall image becomes quite vivid and downright tempting and delightful for me. Just the kind I'd love to see realized :).

INDIA = LOVE

nomad_at_heart — Wed, 2 May 2012 05:45:00 GMT

So… here I am in India again, a year after the moment I was looking forward to get out of this country feeling something inexplicable. I hated India! No, I loved India! Really?!! I couldn’t decide which one... I’d never felt that way before. I was completely shaken. I was fascinated, but also very confused because the feeling was so intense and mixed and definitely unknown to me… I lovehated India!!!

Why? How was it possible? Was it the effect of the emotional roller coaster I’d gone through with its unthinkable swing between extremes like being treated as a queen and as a piece of shit (not cow shit though!!!) on the very same day? Tough! Was it because my most basic concepts about life were challenged when they met “the Indian culture” in reality and then proven to be right by the very same culture? Paradox?! Was it me? The encounters I’d had here changed my life irreversibly and made me unsettled. I'd met my Karma and it felt like a spell over me. Shittttt!

In search of answers I’m going back to India for another 6 months. Let’s see what happens now…

A typical day of a foreigner in India: I was woken up by some unbearable noise in which, when I slowly came into my senses, could recognize 1) the hoarse voice of the lady owner of the guesthouse; 2) the barking of her pet dog; 3) the dreadful jangling of an unknown object on the staircase; 4) the usual chaos in the street, which itself was a unique mixture of various sounds… not the best way to start the new day, but who knows, the end might be much more pleasant.

Breakfast – chai (I love it!) and some sweet crackers, which Indians dip in it, bought from a street stall. A conversation with the boy seller while sitting on the pavement, the usual questions: Where are you from? Are you in India for the first time? Are you married? Why not? What are you looking for here? They all know that if you aren’t a typical tourist (and they find it out very quickly because I can speak Hindi a bit and by some other signs that give me away), you are looking for something in India. True!

A walk on the main street can easily turn into an adventure of a striking kind cause immediately all of your senses are ruthlessly attacked and you feel completely overwhelmed and stunned by this extraordinary feeling. Everything happens in such a crazy hectic pace and simultaneously on top of that and you really need to be a superhero so that you don’t stumble in the crawling crippled beggar; avoid the cow dung mixed with mud, dust, sand, and other unimaginable ingredients of the newly appeared putrefying rubbish (the old one already burned at night); suppress the increasing nausea caused by the specific bunch of exotic oriental spices in combination with odours among which prevails the distinct sub note of urine; protect your eyes from the vivid colourful tide which threatens to wash over you from the clothes of the passers by, the countless stalls, and even from your plate in the restaurant (food in India is colourful too); while trying also to train your tongue to accept and get used to the pungent taste of the local delicacies; making your way through hundreds of sweating bodies, many of which touch you on purpose or by accident; only to hear “Namaste ma’am! Please, come in my shop” said 20 times in the 200 meters you’ve just managed to surmount…

… But this was in another life, a year ago, and it’d been so unforgettable between then and now that it became a part of me. I didn’t pay attention to these happenings anymore because I knew what was the most fascinating of all – people who lived here. I was going to meet one of them in the evening.

What I’d known about Ashutosh Anand was that he was a 23-year-old student and an active CouchSurfing member and I was going to stay with him for a few days. What I found out when we met was that I’d known him all my life. I’d known his eyes, I’d seen them before… and he didn’t look like an Indian at all! Crazy hairstyle, piercings, trousers worn by the tourists only. This guy felt like an alien in his own country and I felt India like home…

The connection between us was so immediate: on the second day he said: “If I were a girl, I would be Tania!” A few words exchanged and we knew we’d had similar experiences in our lives so far, we had the same mindset, we used the same words to express our ideas and visions about life, we were just as one… and we were experiencing a true miracle – a meeting between soulmates! Since I’d already experienced it before (yes, in India again), I knew it’d teach me something. This time it was about happiness...

A few weeks later, “My Bar” in Pahar Ganj, New Delhi, at one of our already regular meetings:

Ashu: I’m thinking of getting a tattoo.

Tania: What do you want it to be?

A: I haven’t decided yet, but I’d like it to express happiness.

T: Hmm, interesting… how can be happiness expressed in a small picture? Which is the symbol of happiness for you?

A: Maybe… a smiling heart???

T: Oh!!! (as a revelation came to me)… That’s right!... of course!!!... True happiness is when you smile with your heart…

… and thanks to Ashu I knew how it felt! All the answers found!!!

Now I only love India. The part with “hate” in the patchwork verb I used before disappeared like the mist I associated with Maya. I got rid of them both! My life has changed once again and this time it feels so great! I am free from the spell… and I smile with my heart.

My Scholarship entry - A local encounter that changed my life

nomad_at_heart — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 05:34:51 GMT

FLASHES

A typical day of a foreigner in India: I was woken up by some unbearable noise in which, when I slowly came into my senses, could recognize: the hoarse voice of the lady owner of the guesthouse; the barking of her pet dog; the dreadful jangling of an unknown object on the staircase; the usual chaos in the street, which itself was a unique mix of various sounds… not the best way to start the new day, but I hoped the end would be much better…
A walk on the main street can easily turn into an adventure of a striking kind cause immediately all of your senses are ruthlessly attacked and you feel completely overwhelmed and stunned by this extraordinary feeling. Everything happens in such a crazy hectic pace and simultaneously, and you really need to be a superhero so that you don’t stumble in the crawling crippled beggar; avoid the cow dung mixed with mud, dust, sand, and other unimaginable ingredients of the newly appeared putrefying rubbish (the old one burned at night); suppress the increasing nausea caused by the specific bunch of exotic oriental spices in combination with odors among which prevails the distinct sub note of urine; protect your eyes from the vivid colorful tide which threatens to wash over you from the clothes of the passers by, the countless stalls, and even from your plate in the restaurant (food in India is colorful too); while trying also to train your tongue to accept and get used to the pungent taste of the local delicacies; making your way through hundreds of sweating bodies, many of which touch you on purpose or by accident; only to hear “Namaste ma’am! Please, come in my shop” said 20 times in the 200 meters you’ve just managed to surmount…
… But this was in another life, a year ago, and it’s been so unforgettable ever since that it is a part of me now.
I didn’t pay attention to the happenings around me anymore because I knew what was the most fascinating of all – people who lived here. I was going to meet one of them in the evening.