Once again, now out of our imagination, Bahia gives an almost fictional tone to this encounter.
I travel to places I have just heard of, without much of a reason other than the urge to want to see up close what is so removed from me, from my domain. I travel light and do not plan much for the days to follow.
With me, nonetheless, whether by chance or fate, I always carry a camera, just as my passport, which, without protocol, takes me places that are far more rarefied and harder to imagine when recounted in words. I do not feel the passage of time, just the present. And I dig deeper into it.
And so I traverse India from north to south, from Goa to Rajasthan, meeting over and over the holiness in men who mysteriously cross my path more than once. While I try to figure out the world with the cool of a traveler, a chemical jolt seizes me for no reason. Far more than I thought I was seeking goes past me, and something between us already feels familiar. I was forever changed by those human, millennial and kind gazes.
My India is the convergence with souls of utter wholesomeness, non-judgmental of values or any other quality. The being is and will always be in a rough state, mirror of our only fortune, the immaterial human strength that keeps us walking unwavering with faith.