I hate writing obituaries
On Tuesday when the Delhi trainee community was loudly celebrating Diki’s farewell at Kalkaji, I was anxiously waiting for Milena to come back. This one was hanging out somewhere with her nds and was about to join Kalkaji farewell activities later. Otherwise she was leaving India the day after. So was Melis.
Trainees as a community are blessed with short memory. Many of them having just three-four months in their disposal are hungry for whatever incredible India has got to offer them. “Good fun” becomes the target, the motto of the stay and is certainly put into action. People would “work hard and party harder” to make sure they would leave India with a fat phone book half-never-used; 30 kg of extra luggage naturally made up with stuff that is sooo exotic and soooo cheap here; piles of CDs with a decent photo portfolio of the country collected while extensive weekend travelling; love-hate sort of feelings regarding rickshaw drivers, spicy food, insane traffic, crowded markets and sounds of Hindi that are way more familiar but still not understandable. Well, short memory is fairly enough to accommodate the details of this three-month adventure happened in India. Truly adventure; as for many it would be completely unthinkable to replicate at home.
Yet, think of those who, by virtue of staying longer or just by the virtue of the attitude come here to live their life just as they would somewhere else in the world. I believe this is how it felt by both Melis and Milena.
Melis was teaching dance to kids. She was proudly showing her treasury - collection of CDs with performances from the divas of Indian classical dance that she was keen on exploring. I regret I never saw her performing, yet whenever I saw her she was always on stage. Melodramatic as Kanak called her once, or graceful in whatever she was doing, as I would say from a female point of view. Melis, easily carried away with thrilling plans and beautiful things, bought 10-kg tabla just before leaving. The instrument came on the top of 20 other boxes filled with chiffon skirts and camel leather shoes that this girl, who otherwise hates shopping, managed to amass in India.
Milena has become as Indianized as a blond girl can be to her best. She was wearing bindies that went so well with her blond hear and her light-colour-eyes that she was narrowing when smiling. You would hear her Indian “ha-ha-ha” instead of English “yes” and this typical, “I saw you that day, no? You were wearing a skirt”. Those tiny little Hinglish-specific features you adopt with ease. Masses of those and other small and big attachments that took over her during one and a half years in India, she was leaving behind now. She was at this farewell arranged for someone else by people she did not really know, by the people still excited about things that had already become a rightful part of her reality.
Once the both girls left, for me it became the end of Kalkaji, the way I got to know them when I arrived. Leila, Corina, Ellen, Hannes, Carol, Melis and Milena. Most of them were working for various NGOs here and this was one of the reasons it made them such a diverse, yet very tight bunch. Very tight, yet very inclusive. They used to party, go out, spend time and travel together and it was always great to join them – did not really matter for what.
I gave girls a pair of small camel leather shoes – one shoe for each. For them to remember they were two of the bunch left… and leaving at the same time.
Trainees as a community are blessed with short memory. Many of them having just three-four months in their disposal are hungry for whatever incredible India has got to offer them. “Good fun” becomes the target, the motto of the stay and is certainly put into action. People would “work hard and party harder” to make sure they would leave India with a fat phone book half-never-used; 30 kg of extra luggage naturally made up with stuff that is sooo exotic and soooo cheap here; piles of CDs with a decent photo portfolio of the country collected while extensive weekend travelling; love-hate sort of feelings regarding rickshaw drivers, spicy food, insane traffic, crowded markets and sounds of Hindi that are way more familiar but still not understandable. Well, short memory is fairly enough to accommodate the details of this three-month adventure happened in India. Truly adventure; as for many it would be completely unthinkable to replicate at home.
Yet, think of those who, by virtue of staying longer or just by the virtue of the attitude come here to live their life just as they would somewhere else in the world. I believe this is how it felt by both Melis and Milena.
Melis was teaching dance to kids. She was proudly showing her treasury - collection of CDs with performances from the divas of Indian classical dance that she was keen on exploring. I regret I never saw her performing, yet whenever I saw her she was always on stage. Melodramatic as Kanak called her once, or graceful in whatever she was doing, as I would say from a female point of view. Melis, easily carried away with thrilling plans and beautiful things, bought 10-kg tabla just before leaving. The instrument came on the top of 20 other boxes filled with chiffon skirts and camel leather shoes that this girl, who otherwise hates shopping, managed to amass in India.
Milena has become as Indianized as a blond girl can be to her best. She was wearing bindies that went so well with her blond hear and her light-colour-eyes that she was narrowing when smiling. You would hear her Indian “ha-ha-ha” instead of English “yes” and this typical, “I saw you that day, no? You were wearing a skirt”. Those tiny little Hinglish-specific features you adopt with ease. Masses of those and other small and big attachments that took over her during one and a half years in India, she was leaving behind now. She was at this farewell arranged for someone else by people she did not really know, by the people still excited about things that had already become a rightful part of her reality.
Once the both girls left, for me it became the end of Kalkaji, the way I got to know them when I arrived. Leila, Corina, Ellen, Hannes, Carol, Melis and Milena. Most of them were working for various NGOs here and this was one of the reasons it made them such a diverse, yet very tight bunch. Very tight, yet very inclusive. They used to party, go out, spend time and travel together and it was always great to join them – did not really matter for what.
I gave girls a pair of small camel leather shoes – one shoe for each. For them to remember they were two of the bunch left… and leaving at the same time.
posted by Olga Tikhonova | 3:48 pm
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