It’s been 2 ½ weeks since we came back from India this time around. The India fever has been running high ever since I came back home, been binge-watching Hindi films during these past few weeks to try to grasp for the last few straws of India that I had left in me from the trip. Why do I feel this way these days? Am I making up for all those years when I didn’t feel that I belonged neither here or there? Am I getting more sentimental with time, more than I already am? I don’t have an answer to all these questions, all I know is that writing has been my only saviour; it helps me cope with my complicated and scattered emotions about belonging.
I just started reading the book The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri and have also watched the film by Mira Nair based on the same novel. That film hit a spot in my heart and I can’t help but to cry tears of recognition and melancholy. The pain and the suffering is too close to heart. Writing these words after watching the film, aren’t written without a tear in my eyes. At least they clean the vision and hopefully I can see clearly now what I have long wanted to see. Me and who I truly am. There’s never been a need to pretend but I didn’t realise that when I was younger. You don’t have to try to fit in when you know you don’t. Being unique is what is best.
Ever since the second day of visiting Mumbai in November, I knew that I had found my missing piece of inspiration. My long lost inspiration for writing my story, my book. I found it again, in the heart of Mumbai. I could see the waves coming into the shore and we were driving by the south side of Mumbai, feeling the breeze from the opened window. My hair was getting messy in the wind, but I didn’t mind at all, I felt at peace. I knew I had found my way back, to my core. I think that’s why I have had my “identity crisis” with the endless watching of Hindi films, trying to see if I can relate to any of it. I don’t feel the need to relate anymore, I already know what was missing all along. My acceptance.
Peace and Love,
Kimmi Niroopinder Madeline
India, it’s been a while since I told you what I really feel. It’s not like I didn’t care or forgot about you, but I guess I hadn’t found my way home. In my heart. And my aching soul.
While growing up I lost a piece of me here and I couldn’t find it for over a decade. I was always looking to find my way back to that part of me. It was disconnected for so long. I almost forgot. I almost lost you. Disconnected.
I never understood the lump in my throat. Hidden emotions stacked under the surface. Ready to burst at any moment. Triggered by the invisible pain. Deep down in my soul.
A ray of infinite light has enlightened me now. I can see you clearly now. You were always there for me. Right in front of me. Day or night. Dark or light.
It was here all along. My forgotten puzzle piece. It was so hard to find. I didn’t forget about you. I was just lost. But you, still accept me for who I am. For that I am grateful. For that I am proud. Proud to call you my home.
I tend to ask myself that a lot after travelling somewhere. I’m currently in the flight back to Stockholm via Frankfurt. Flying and travelling always puts me in a state of reflection. Why do we travellers always have to have more journeys planned ahead when the last one isn’t even finished? I question whether I really am travelling because I want to explore and see the world, or if I’m escaping something. I would like the answer to be simple and clear and that I’m just looking to expand my horizons, by seeing more than just what I call my home. If we (travellers) really dig deep inside ourselves I believe there might be a reason for all the searching for answers. But I still don’t know the question.
I wonder if it all comes back to soul searching activities. Everyone handles the questions differently and we all have different means to explore the answers. Some people are expressing it through art; whether it be painting, music or writing, they’re all good ways to expressing our inner core of emotions. The emotions that we don’t let anyone see or come near. My favourite way of unraveling my soul matters is to write. Writing poems, long complex outlines, blog posts and journals.
So much sadness overwhelms me when I close my eyes and think about poverty in the world. It’s so unfair, this world. What is karma, really? I can’t believe that everyone deserves what they’re given, if what is given is nothing. Nothing to work themselves up from. I’ve seen a lot while travelling, and it’s just made me more humble and wanting to help people in need more than before. I just don’t know what to do, what can little I do? Charity? Volunteer? Not sure if volunteering here is going to help against poverty by being here in Sweden. I like my home, and I like where I am, but I can’t just sit and watch.
Been surfing around for charity organisations from Sweden and they all have this message they want to reach out with, which I’m not sure what to think of, since I think it affects you emotionally so much that you want to give more than you can afford if you’re anything like me. “How many children do you want to help off the streets?” That question… insane to even ask. How many?!
Well, anyway enough of me babbling about this, it’s not going to help by me feeling sad about it. It’s just reality…