Lucky Lina

Lucky Lina. The taxi driver says to me. I feel that way. Sitting here just got sold my first weeks. I feel happy, comfortable, taken care of, the day is planned out for me. The upcoming weeks as well. „I book you a hotel for the night. I get you the driver, he takes you to the hostel to pick up your bags. Then I bring you to the hotel. Your flight for the morning is booked and Taxi to the airport paid. Do you want whiskey or beer? We can chill and drink. What do you want to eat?“ Throwback SriLanka. Similar mentality. Everyone making sure you’re being taken care of. Fully and completely. 

The world is with me when fellow travel companions approach me, having seen that I finally made it to India as well as the Indians bombing with messages through all channels. After 40 hours of involuntary fasting, recovering my stomach from the obligatory shits after my first Indian street food, being approached by several Indians wanting to show me around, help me, scam me, protect me, I needed to get out of the hostel finding something to eat. In the 45 degrees blistering heat, I buy some bananas and cookies at the street stands, walking towards the noisy dirty main road looking to go to the market. Bazaar. A guy asks me where I’m going. I tell him the market. He smiles at me: „it’s Sunday today. The market is closed. You see everything is closed. I will bring you to the main center to the tourist office. They will provide you any information you need. Wherever you want to go.“ Walking with the street with me, a child looks at me holding an empty plastic bottle. I’m pouring my water inside. The visible poverty is heartbreaking. Only minutes before I got chased down by a couple of children and old men touching me wanting money. A tough testing for the soul. 

Arriving at the office he shakes my hand and hands me over into the next hands. An office is opened for me. We sit down, he smiles, shakes my hand, I know how this is going to end already. Surprise. He’s my age asking me about my interests, yoga, trauma therapy, Ayurveda, yoni massage and so on and so forth. Surely this makes me feel seen, understood, connected. I’m in India now. It’s the culture. These questions I value so much that make me feel seen, heard and understood are in opposite to many other cultures daily routine. I need to remind myself this is what I came here for. To use this beautiful culture for healing, growing, learning. Not let it be my downfall at the same time by letting it abuse me by the wrong people, opening my heart to them as everyone is approaching me. My sensitive spot, my wound where the light shines through as it enters, opening my heart to everyone, too early, too careless transforming it into carefree. 

I grew up in a stable family, though feeling a big part of my childhood lost and misplaced in this world. Missing my mother as a child left scars of wanting to be loved by everyone but truly only my mother.

This is what I say. It’s what I write. I make myself vulnerable. Just like that in a tourist office. 

I’m in India. How did this happen? I think I have not yet just realized this. My dream of many years. INDIA. 

„Thank you for trusting me. I love you. Love. Can I say this? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Really.“ I hear him say only a few hours later in my hotel room drinking whiskey, singing Hindi songs for me. Beautiful beautiful beautiful. Isn’t that new?! Little reminder? This seems an appropriate start into my journey before taking off to Kashmir in the early morning. The room is dark. Time doesn’t matter as we go through the day. My appetite is back. I’m starving. I wake up in the middle of the night. I eat a banana. 

Way too early the concierge knocks on my door. Taxi Taxi. It’s too early. Three times they come up to get me. I’m ready for the new adventure. Way too early at the airport I treat myself with the long missed cappuccino. The desk lady asks me why I bring coconut oil. I say I clean my teeth with it every morning. She asks further, she’s interested. I explain it to her, she says that would be good for her too. „Nice to meeting you“ she smiles. The side of Indian hospitality I like so much. 

I feel the whiskey in my bones. In my eyes. In my mind I laugh about last night while Raj from my hostel who’s already tried to make me take the train with him to Kashmir on my first day, asks me out for a coffee. He likes me. It’s special. He’ll take me on a trek with other people. He’s met many women but I’m special. We’ve spoken five words in person. Nothing I haven’t heard the night before from my tourist management hero or all the weeks before or all these years before. 

It was tempting, it always is until I break the cycle for something more I deserve. I didn’t go with him. I had different plans but booking the bus failed. My credit card wouldn’t want to work. I knew there must be a reason. Wait for the next day I thought, checking out, walking on the street to find food. Maybe someone will come to me and offer something different. My time is limitless. As the universe wanted this is where I ended up. In a plane to Kashmir. Where I belong back to the mountains. As they have appeared in my dreams one night ago from a far away country. The place of my dreams. As we prepare the landing the majestic snow covered peaks of the Himalaya move across the scenery. Welcome back. 11:11.