The past

I left over 9 months ago. I walked out of the place that gave me a comfortable life, but also the place that stole my passion & that made me angry.

I went to a happier place.

A place with new possibilities.

Across oceans, across continents to a place where I had time to delve out my passion, that was so deeply hidden.  I went to a colouful place, a place that made nest in a little corner of my heart and that taught me to life fearlessly, to live with less and to live with dreams. I learned to trust that God is bigger than my fears. 

A colourful place that had paneer curry, banana lassi, overnight trains, beautiful dense forests and hill stations that made my heart happy. It had little cups of chai, architecture from centuries ago, palaces, sari’s and ice cream shops open at 4am.

Today, I walked back into the place that stole my passion. Very optimistically and full of wanting to do better the 2^nd time.

Walking home, I realized that perhaps some things you should never go back to. Some things don’t get better and they don’t change.

Some things should stay where you left it.

In the past.

Failure

Im sure Im not the only one that hates failure.

It makes me feel small, insecure and like I cant do anything right. It almost makes me want to climb in bed with an endless supply of series & popcorn.

I get angry with myself: angry for reacting too harshly.  I get frustrated with myself for not seeing this coming, for making the wrong decision. I keep thinking that I should have known better.

At night, when I lie in bed listening to the night sounds around me – my failures haunt me. The people I’ve hurt by speaking too harshly, by saying something that was better left unsaid and the relationships that failed.

I lay in bed, haunted by my failures.

Mornings bring new beginnings, and for a moment the tree outside my window soothes my soul.

Perhaps I’ll do better today.

I’ll try to be kinder.

To listen better.

To encourage, love and understand.

Tiny

I grasped as my friend told me over email that she was expecting. My heart sat in my throat as I thought back to the first day we met. 

She was 18 and had moved to the Big City with her best friend, to study. 

I love her like a little sister. I worry about her like a big sister would.  

She is having a little girl.  A little tiny human, which will eventually grow up to be a fully-grown human. 

I got teary eyed when she messaged me with the news that they could see the brain, the spinal cord, intestines and the three veins feeding her., in the last scan.  A miracle.

A little tiny miracle, so beautifully woven together.  And since I just jpassed High school Biology, I cannot remember all the ins &outs, but I remember even at 17 being amazed at how many things come into play with a pregnancy.

Its at a time like this that I cannot help but believe in God. 

My God creates life the size of a bean.

What I found at the other end

The stamp is like being welcomed to a party without knowing anybody.
Watching the world laugh, love and cook.
And not being part of it.

Until..
One day.

The women who pulled me out of harms way
The guy at Mother Dairy, asking about your life story.
The guy who took you to eat paan.
The northeasterner who taught me about her special relationship with chillies...

The trees in Lodi garden
The wounded raptors
The squirrels
Peacocks screaming in the early morning
Marigolds on door handles and
the praise coming from Temples.

Suddenly, Im home.

The weird became interesting
The colours became garments
The food stalls - loads of little treats.
And the people...
Something I admire.

Reason why not to

My heart broke as I read the message. Like the 17 000 times before that, when I got disappointing news from him. Our plans cancelled. Or he forgot. Or, whatever.

He let me down so many times I forgot half of them, but I know the all too familiar feeling of being let down. Again.  By someone who was a close friend. It seemed he always found better things to do than to spend time with me.  Like getting a hair implant.

Today, after two months of deciding to wipe him from my phone, my networks, my social media and hopefully in time, from my mind, he sends me a message.  “Please can we be friends again?? Please??”

I had to catch my breath as the tears ran over my cheeks. I loved this man - at least that was past tense. Loved.  I knew that I love him 6 months after we met, but instead of getting serious he told me we should break up. Im not the right religion or the right skin colour it seems.

Now it looks like the decision to be friends did more harm than good.

I want to forgive, forget and move on because I don’t want enemies. But today, I don’t want to.  I don’t believe him anymore. I don’t believe in him anymore and I don’t want to hurt anymore. 

I guess this time it’s as simple as don’t want to anymore.

The day

I remember the day I sat on her bed, watching her apply her makeup. I was teasing her, make up for both of us, is a rare occasion… She looked at me in the mirror and smiled. To spend the time on make up, it had to be a big deal. 

She’s been eyeing this guy for weeks. A mutual friend found an excuse to invite him over and she loved it.  They chatted, clicked and he asked her out on a date.

She returned from their first date, saying that she’s going to marry him. Marriage?! Really? After one date… I'm a bit of a realist, but she knew what she wanted and found it in him. 

He took her hand as they went up the escalator.  They had cocktails, watched a movie and I guess, the rest is history. 

I watched them share, grow and fall in love.  Something with a whole lot of magic.  It was as if they found the other piece of the puzzle in one another.  A team.  A bond.  A family.

I watched them dance at their wedding, him singing loudly to her. I remember looking down and saw her dress twirl.

Now, a couple of years later – it’s as if I have a second family.  Im godmother to the dogs, I visit them and the sheets for the spare room, were chosen with me in mind.  I love them, their family – the other bit of it.

They taught this realistic, probably more pessimistic person about love.  They taught me what a marriage looks like and they send me a box filled with home goodies, across oceans, because Im missing home. The best part of the box – a photo of them. 

Heart people

Last night I laid in bed chatting to a friend of mine. She’s beautifully different, got bright red hair and the most amazing house… Except for the fact that I like her house, I like her – she’s interesting, tough and got such a good heart! And a very cute cat...

This morning my mum called. I send her a short text, saying very little and somehow she knew I was upset.  As I stood outside talking to her, I realized that you get all kinds of people in your life: family, friends, relatives, colleagues and those you greet.

…and heart people.

Heart people are the ones listening when you say very little.  They know when to write you a long mail, encouraging you to be strong. They are the ones laughing at your sarcastic jokes and hugging you, though nothing happened.  They’re the ones that call concerned just because it’s Wednesday (or any other day of the week…) and that packs you lunch, when you didn’t ask.

I've got a couple of those and it’s a day like today – when I hate the world, despise people and would much rather be a penguin, that these people understand me, love me and support me.  They talk to me, even after seeing me happy, torn, defeated, heartbroken, empty and miserable.

Heart people don't just love – its as if they fill a little bit of my heart, that needs only them to survive.

What social media and markets have in common?

I spend my Sunday browsing through Sarojini market. My only day off.  A much cherished day of my week and a little bit of time for just me. Nobody else.  But I spend my Sunday browsing the market because two friends wanted to shop. And I like them, so I spend time with them.

Sarojini is amazing, stalls seemingly around every corner.  Enough ice cream for the masses – and yes, the masses loves ice cream in this heat. Great bargains and weird people, so overall, definitely a good bet. 

However, Sarojini comes with the best part of the delhi population on a Sunday.  Enough people to make any reasonable person doubt whether there will be anything left to buy.  Whether you’re looking for underwear, saree’s, shoes, clothing or accessories – you’ll find it.  Chances of them running out of stock – slim. 

The afternoon sun baked on my arms as we walked in.  A pretty hot 38 degrees on this sunny summer’s day.  But if you can carry a 20kg backpack, haggle for your late night ride home and eat food whose name you can’t pronounce- you can survive the market. Right?!

We work our way through the aisles of the market. Up and down.  Push, chat, no, please leave now, you want to look at that?  A couple of hrs later, the heat had gotten the best of us and we walked into a shoe store, because they had air-con.  Yes, we did that. Completely unashamed.

Hours later, I had brought starry scarfes, bangles and a beautiful leather bag.  Serious strategies were followed to get the bag: haggle, walk away, return, not looking happy, budgeting – we did all of it.  The smell of the bag, now makes the effort completely worth it.

Hot, tired, over it and completely happy we sank into a booth at a restaurant much later.  They shopped: gifts, scarfs, more leather bags, shirts and loads of water. 

Our conclusion – amazing day, but its emotionally exhausting pushing through the crowd to see everything, keeping track of team members (yes – otherwise they disappear!), haggling your way to a decent price and pushing off all of the unwanted sunglasses/ watches/ belts that gets pushed into your face.

Much like social media…

You have to engage with others to have the returned effect on your blog/ wall/ photo… Whatever.  When it was only facebook, it was easier.  Now you have to maintain your own profile, one for friends and one for business networking, one for photos, one for words, one for the man on the moon. 

It becomes work to seem interesting, knowledgeable and (somehow) still yourself – although a better version on all of these platforms.  Its an art of knowing when to tag, vent, keep quiet.  Share, relate, perform, be, produce.   

How come we have to spend so much energy being likeable on a platform? And since whatever you say/ do on any of these platforms will be there forever – forgetting someone, nope.  Not that easy either.

The one you’ll never forget

You know those days that just. won’t. end. 

Those days that seems like a waste of energy, make up, effort and normally results in a glass of wine.  Or wanting to climb back into bed.  I had one of those weeks, except I don’t have wine, cannot vent to anybody and found the situation just getting worse despite my best efforts.   And yet, within the madness, the crazy working days and relentless heat I found a little moment of kindness.

The first one I remember happened in Swaziland.  I had taken the weekend off to meet friends in Swaziland and crossed the border just before dark that night.  Being in a strange country, I got lost and finally pulled off the road to get my bearings while sitting with the map on my lap.  A pickup pulled over just behind me, a lady jumped off, running to ask me if I’m ok and if she can help… Actually, I just drove past the turn-off, she directed me and watched until she saw me reach my hostel.

Such a simple gesture, and yet at that point, meant the world to me. I’d been driving for five hours. It was my first weekend off in seven months and I was still trying to deal with the death of my father. 

Yesterday I found a strange gesture of kindness in the mad city of Delhi. Don’t get me wrong – I like cities, I like the vibe, the lifelines of it all and the dreams people come to cities with.  Delhi, however, is another story – pretty amazing, but you have to spend some getting to understand it.

After the shoot, I made my way outside to find an auto.  It’s 11 at night, the time everybody warned me against. Everybody: my flat mate, my landlord, colleagues, friends – everybody warned to take care at night. Not to go out after 10pm and if so, not to travel alone.  Delhi, unfortunately does come with a reputation.

The camera crew was 5min behind me and finally helped me find an auto.  There is a weird relationship within a crew – we trust each other with our lives.  While they are busy discussing it, a couple asked me whether I knew them and if I need help.  Kind, but firm.  Clearly knowing the reputation the city has and how it feels to be new in a city. 

I smiled, I’ve been here seven weeks.  It’s the one I’ll never forget.

Why I pray - part 1

India, among other things - are loud, colourful, curried and overwhelming. But, like a bowl of sweets, you have to dig to find the good ones.

In the process of making this home for the next couple of months, I try to learn as much about the who/ what and why that inspires these people – known as the biggest democracy on earth, with 1.25 billion people, everything works a little different.  Including democracy.  Crossing the street for instance, is a combination of a wild guess, luck and somebody not wanting blood on his hands.

I was asked to film an Indian wedding, a Hindu wedding – known for its glamour and a party that lasts three days. Yes, these people know about partying – first is the Sangeet, which is like the reception that we know: good food, loads of laughter and a big party.  The Mehndi is the following night, where the bride gets henna tattoo’s done on her arms.  The legend is that the longer the Mehndi lasts, the greater your husband-to-be, loves you.  This is also the night is which the women choose their bracelets: a whole table is setup with bracelets in every possible colour and design.  The bride chooses her own and is supposed to wear these for a year after a wedding.

It was a spectacular experience, better than anything I’d hoped for but almost indescribable to others.  Colour, lights, beautiful dresses, nice shoes everywhere – it’s quite easy to feel under-dressed at a wedding.  On the last night, where the wedding ceremony is conducted – the pair is asked, after many rituals, prayers and blessings to walk around the fire seven times. 

I photographed the bride the entire evening, or rather been doing so for 3 days.  Tonight when she was getting ready to enter, with the dance of the girls together with a group of drummers, for a moment she looked frightened.  I guess, like any other bride.  Later, as they began the rituals she said to the groom “Can you believe we’re finally getting married?”. I had to laugh, very typical bride…

As they walked around the fire, I felt a deep sense of connection – not that anything I’ve seen over the past 3 days was familiar to me, but in my world a man & women is brought together by God. The marriage is a bond declared before God, between two people.

I watched many of my friends get married and it still is, one of the most beautiful moments ever. Not the gown, or the hair or the colour scheme but the knowing that God can not only create the earth, and give people the insight to create everything we do, but also to spend time creating unions in His name.  

I walked away in the early hours of the morning with many, beautiful images imprinted in my mind and a happy heart.  God is good, he reminded me of His goodness in the middle of a Hindu marriage ritual.

Context

We pride ourselves as knowing – whether that’s a theoretical knowledge, or a practical knowledge, we know stuff.  Or we think we do.  

How much of what we know is context? How much do we actually know – when taken out of context?  Landing in a new city has given me a unique type of knowing, or for that matter – not knowing. Realizing that my knowledge is very much depended on a familiar context.  In India, where I cannot pronounce half the words I read, where cabdrivers ignore me half the time and with more culture/ traditions that I ever realized – my context is non-existing.

My familiarity with what I, supposedly, know went right out the window.  The process might be the same, and the outcome something similar to what I know but for this foreigner, knowledge-wise I'm starting from square one.  

I have to take a map and point to where I want to go.  I (tried) to adapt a slightly more Indian accent and I eat local food.  At least a start: I’ve learned my way around the metro, can say thank you in Hindi (Dhanyavaad – and spell it correctly!) and know the surrounding areas to the office.  And for the rest of it, hand signs do work! 

I won’t classify myself as a super knowledgeable person – but I do read a lot: anything I can lay my hands on: newspapers, blogs and books.  I like to know and understand the real world, and I hate ignorant people.  But then again, I read about things that interest me: politics, people, good food, art, history, architecture and of course the films.  Who doesn’t like the movies?!

A couple of laughs later, a couple of swearing very loudly (in my head) and a lot of deep breaths – knowing that I don’t know, that’s fine.  For now.  I will learn, understand, enquire and spend my spare time learning about this fascinating place that I call home for now. 

And in the meantime, Im not ashamed to ask for directions…

What they don’t tell you

They say don’t judge a book by its cover.  That’s what they say, but that’s not what we do. 
We need something, anything to make us understand.  We judge, estimate, assume and place into boxes because it organizes the world around us. 
But if we dig a little deeper, a little beyond the surface you’ll find what they don’t tell you.  You’ll find instances in the beautiful, thick long hair of Indian women.  You’ll find the beauty in street kids playing next to the road and you’ll find the passion of the team that welcomes you.
As I set my foot into India my first welcome came from a sms that read ‘Welcome to India, this is where your mad journey begins’. I had a bit of a laugh, yes – indeed, it will probably be a mad journey. 
As I ask for the bigger picture to get a sense of the world I’m letting myself into, I’m met with a surprising response.
A burst of passion.
 I expect television people to be passionate.  The working hours, the circumstances, the deadlines all drain the rest out of us.  Tiring, but it’s the passion that keeps us going. 
For the team at here it’s not only about the business, but about the opportunity they give to young members of the team to explore, whether it’s a new skill or just an existing one wanting to be made better.  It’s about getting to know the road less traveled by.  Not the Taj Mahal, the tigers or Holi, but the rest of this big, rich and beautiful country.
Perhaps it’s what they don’t tell us that make the difference.  That brings the spark and that creates the experience.