Blow horn! — scream the trucks in painted neon letters, which stand out against the asphalt highway. Oh, best believe I will — and the road is alive with rickshaws, cars, motorcycles and people, each of them following the trucks’ command. We are in India – I am an outsider held by hand of someone I now call family, who moves freely, carrying me through the current. I catch looks from across the street and the benches nearby – our eyes meet, curious and amused. India allows no quiet introduction. It immediately throws me into the plot, into its heat, its noise, its colour – and doesn’t let go.
A swirl of vendors beckons me inside, "Madam, this way, madam". Doors open and close, people pass by, pause at the ice cream stand, ask about prices, glance my way as I stand out from the average Indian crowd. Vendors see it as the opportunity: I watch Nipun's aunt bargaining from 2800 to 600 rupees for shoes. The whole family bursts into laughter at vendor’s audacity. Chaos is embraced and celebrated. The city of flows is sweeping me from place to place. Voices are loud, you might think people are fighting— but everyone is undoubtedly secretly having fun.
Dear, you might be surprised how me and your grandma would communicate without your translation while not sharing a language — believe me, childhood photos speak louder than words. I will have fun trying to read Hindi, and will finally pronounce the last letter of your name correctly after a thousand attempts.
I see the home country of my partner for the first time: the heart of his childhood stories. It’s a culture I meet now in person – and learn to greet with a gentle touch on the elders’ feet. What I see and hear stirs something new and unfamiliar in me, it is not a clear perception.Yet, showing India to me is all about radical acceptance. It is his way of saying: "Look, that is everything I carry inside me, my most honest and inherited self".