Trip to India
My trip to India, as a country India is a great unknown, a world apart, far from any logic and understanding … ”
This one just read is an extrapolation from my logbook, which I held tight in my hands for all the 14 days of touring I did in Northern India. Writing an ordered travel diary was impossible for me.
I believed that once I returned from this adventure I would fill a thousand of my red diaries with my stories, with my reflections, that I would rewrite the rivers of words that were invading my notebook. Instead, what I did was the exact opposite. It was facing the reality that appeared to me with different eyes bare-chested. On my return,
the multitude of images, of words that invaded my mind began to blur, to take on other meanings. I had to admit to myself that I would never be able, to tell the truth of things, no in its fullness, no in the way I wanted.
Diversity of India
But one thing is certain: India is packed in every sense. It is an immense nation, with more than 500 languages spoken even if only 14 are among the official ones, the country abounds in religions, ethnic groups, inhabitants. India is a river full of men, women, and children that never stops flowing, day and night, without interruption. It is a dense, colorful, vociferous river that knows no limits and barriers.
My first big trip
On my first big visit to India, the desire to get out of the continent was fulfilled by my uncle, to whom I will be eternally grateful. They say that a trip to India must be thought a priori and that only a posteriori is metabolized. I confirm it’s all true.
I have been back for three weeks and only time is helping me to focus on what I have experienced. The feelings that this continent aroused in me did not know half measures, it overwhelmed me completely, left me breathless.
I left with a suitcase full of enthusiasm and curiosity, my eyes were thirsty for new images, eager to be amazed and India managed to do all this. I saw one of the most beautiful sunsets ever in Agra, the city that houses the imposing Tajmahal, spice warehouses that invade the streets with pungent scents, I drove kilometers among the surreal desert landscapes and villages of merchants.
During my trip to India, I was bewildered by Delhi, the capital, which intrigued and frightened me at the same time. A capital made up of absolute contradictions. I understood that India involves you, hugs you, but it is the same one that punches you in the stomach, scratches you without any mercy, that leaves you indelible scars.
In the heart, I port Varanasi, a city to live in, impossible to describe. Varanasi is something different, indefinite, mystical; not attributable to any Western model.
Then there were Jaipur, Khajuraho, Orcha, Gwalior, all cities that made me smile, but also cry, cities to which I cannot find words. The one thing India does not allow? It is to remain indifferent. The existing poverty takes your throat, your stomach, you would like to do something, but you are powerless.
The only thing you do when passing in front of a child thrown into the street with nothing, only with a rag to cover his private parts; is asking yourself why? Every detail is amplified, every day is a great unknown, and every photograph is insufficient.
And then, while you observe all this, you try to understand, you are amazed. The words of the good Amarnad come to mind: here everything is possible. Yes, everything is possible here. You were absolutely right dear Amarnad.