Sing a Song for me

“Where you from? Are you married? How many brothers/sisters you have? How old are you?” I hear these questions for what feels like the millionth time. “Almost 34” I say. I look in his face. He has wrinkles around his eyes, his body skinny, his hands look old from the rough life in the mountains. His black beard starting to show gray hair. “I’m 35” he says. I tried to guess younger in my mind before. It still shocks me. People here look much older than in the Western world. We don’t know that kind of hard work anymore, that simple basic life. The whole family sleeping on the floor in the same room, washing themselves in a small dirty room where the cold mountain water comes out of a tap in the wall. The hole in the ground, the toilet, the floor dirty, a few plastic buckets to wash yourself, the clothes and flush the toilet.

The kitchen some sort of stove in the wall, a gas flame on the dirty counter, a sink with cold water and a piece of soap, endless metal plates, cups and cutlery to cook with in the shelves integrated in the walls which at the same time serve as a storage for food and leftovers. I cooked last night. Right after arriving with five kilograms of vegetables from the market. I was proud of myself to manage it under these unfamiliar conditions. 

I sit down with the leftovers of last nights cooking from the shelf. No electricity, no fridge. It seems to be ok. I lean on a metal pole where I hung my towel after having taken my first cold “shower” in the washing room. The son comes to bring me a pillow. The dad brings me chai. Again. They’re so kind. They boy always looks at me from a side angle with his big brown eyes. Wherever I sit someone brings me a pillow or blanket. Arranging around me to accommodate me in the best way possible without being intrusive or disturbing at all. 

“Today you’re going to the Hindu temple, tomorrow you can go to mountain. But no rush, first you eat lunch” he says before I even got my food. It’s what we do. Even at the river I find myself some guys wanting to sing for me as my first encounter the first night in the hotel. “Can I sing a song for you?”

After my first week of struggling through our culture differences I decided to do as I am told. To get back into my flow, not resist anymore, not expect anything else anymore than what is and get to experience and enjoy the real Indian (Kashmiri) culture and integrate it into my being. “Don’t worry be happy” he said again and again after he picked me up yesterday. 

[Salam Alaikum Salam. Two men in traditional clothes step onto the grass next to me. They speak Kashmiri with me as so many have tried before. Communication always. The alien has landed. He sits down next to me, starring at my phone. No boundaries. As the girls coming to the house just sitting next to me, looking at me.]

Back to back. “Don’t worry be happy”. I know I need this after these days. Having a crowd of Indian men from all over contacting me through all channels, calling, messaging, telling me what to do, what not to do, wanting me to come to their place but not giving me the information I need, trying to help; knowing what’s best for me, taking over my decisions, referring me to a relative or friend, sharing my contact, giving me different advice, mistrusting their own friend and recommendation, questioning me about everything, giving me different information. Everyone acting in my best interest, crossing boundaries, wanting to be my friend or else. Taking my biggest value from me, my identity, my whole being disturbed, my freedom taken away, my independence disrespected. At some point my mind starts  turning insane if it wasn’t for my friend. 

My life saver. The one that got me out of my new family, the one that made these last days enjoyable, finding a connection on a different level of understanding. Taking me around, showing me places to relax, showing me the next coffee shop to let go and breathe. Bringing me a perfume and coal to color my eyes in a little velvet bag, my heart jumps, I give him a quick hug. “This will look good on you”. We’re smiling, we’re walking around the entire lake when we finally take a boat, he’s laying close to me and gives me a kiss. If it wasn’t for the boats man we might as well have had more of it. Mixed feelings arise, having the same part involved that every man since I’ve entered this country wanted to get of me, my body. It could have been different. At the same time he’s shown me a different side. I need to be clear. He wants to come with me. To the next destination. He wants to travel with me. 

After finishing this beautiful day having dinner I return to my home where uncle/friend whoever this connection was supposed to be, starts talking to me about what I want to do, having his doubts about his friend’s advice for me. “Do you really want to go there alone? Why? I think 3 days is too much. I would like to give you company”. That comes as a surprise. Really? I am still surprised. Even family fathers, even anyone. Again. Doubting me, his friend, my decision. Me having no information but to try and error. AGAIN. I get distracted again and bomb my friend from the office with more questions about the situation. “Anything you need love. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” He’s patient. He’s been patient through all this, organizing every step of my journey. “I’ll come see you in the mountains and bring a bottle of vodka.” I’m hopeful for the next step. 

Could the next morning have been relaxing if it hadn’t been for my family father getting me on his bike an hour before I was supposed to leave, driving me across town far out to his sister’s place for two minutes for no reason. Making my blood pressure rise, mood swing. Keeping me from eating. My phone rings. My organizer. “No problem love. Just stay in touch. Should I tell him that you need to go?” He knows. I’m stressed. My life saver calls, I jump back on the bike. No time. We arrive back. It’s nearly 1pm. I eat my ice cream and call him back. “Did you eat love?” This reminds me of another time. I get a message. The driver is there. I can’t see him. I go inside to grab my things. He calls, the driver calls, my host asks me: “Didn’t you say the driver was coming at 1?” Not that I haven’t been annoyed before. “So??? He is here. What do you want from me???” I’m drained. The phone is ringing again. “Let me go to the toilet and I will be outside in a second. Now everyone leave me alone.” I say. He laughs “Sure love sure. Everything is fine. Whatever you want. Even I should leave you alone?” One minute later I’m outside. The driver is putting his phone in my face. It’s a video call. I stick out my tongue to the screen and laugh. “Thank you love” I say. We get into the car. Finally. “Don’t worry be happy” he says. Yes. And so he will say in every following situation laying here on the floor he comes to cover me with a blanket like his own daughter. “You’re cold”. A girl comes to the room. “What’s your name?” She shakes my hand. Let’s be friends. 

Yes I’m everyone’s friend wherever I show up. I get help, I have friends, more like fans. People come, they follow, as my life saver writes me earlier. “I will come see you tomorrow”. Wasn’t someone else coming to see me tomorrow bringing vodka?! I don’t even care anymore. I let them be. I am here now. Whoever comes may come, whoever leaves may leave as long as I’m in peace.