India

I fell in love with India. Because before I met Rohan, she didn't have a face. She lived in the stereotypes of the diaspora, who try to be more Indian than the Indians themselves. She lived in the prejudices of a former colony that has never really known how to feel about the wahindi who stayed after the railway, speak kiswahili and invest in the country without marrying their daughters off or assuming seats of public office.

Enter Rohan. The first Indian from India I've ever really known. A proud Brahmin who lived on the thrill of what he liked to call 'calculated risk'. I met him at a time I wanted someone to accept me, fight for me, love life with me - and he did all three.

And it's because he was so proud and comfortable with his country and history that I learned to love her too. And all the prejudices slipped away as I reacquainted myself with India's social fabric, religion, history. And it is her age and her civilisation and her vastness that impress me. But it's also her hurts and dreams that now assume a human face instead of what had been a reason to continue to be prejudiced. 

He has since taken motorbike trips from Rajasthan to Madhay Pradesh (a-la-Che Guevara style in 'Motorcycle Diaries') and though I am no longer with him, I feel myself riding there too.

It's funny how you can live vicariously through looking at photographs. But when I see those temples and them looking out from those cliffs. I am there too. I have driven for 10 hours and I am perched on a rock, wind-whipped and satisfied. And I am happy that he gave her to me. That he allowed me to accept a place and a people and a culture without ever even going there.

And maybe one day I won't equate India with him. But for the moment, everything that I am open to knowing about her, is because of him.