A close-up view of a person’s hand wearing a ring, resting on their lap, pointed shoes and a bag partially visible in the background, evoking memories of travel.

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To arrive and to meet, to leave and to part… #NoVisa — A life in India 4

At that moment, my life was already parting. Was I aware of it? In part, I guess.

March 2012. Three months had passed since my arrival in India. It was the last leg of my contract. My Foundation students would enter the examination phase of their academic year. In April, my work being done, I would be returning to Hamburg:

Somewhere, far ahead, there were rocks and grass and homes.
A harbour, a haven and a halt.
#NoVisa — A life in India 2

The temperature was rising in Chennai. Not a drop of rain since the end of the monsoon.

Meanwhile, I could feel the cold taking hold of Hamburg. That long, dreaded winter I had escaped was relentlessly doing its deconstructing job. The space between both my homes was turning into distance. Not on my side, mind you. So, I decided to take the weekend off, packed a small bag, threw on a coat and flew for 13 hours. 

ARRIVE & MEET

Upon landing, the crisp, pure air of the Hanseatic city welcomed me. Then, silence enveloped me. An empty, soundless sea. How quickly I had got used to the noise, the pollution, the smells, the chaotic way of life in India. We spent three full days together. We reconnected, laughed and talked about our near future. (Or so I thought.) Eventually, I flew back to Chennai.

LEAVE & PART

(This is when I made my first mistake, that eventually turned into mistake number 2.)

And yet, in March 2012, the sensation was one of separation. It happened online and gave me my first ever panic attack. The suffocating heat clamped my throat, holding its grip until I felt numb. 

By the end of the month, I returned to Hamburg to say goodbye, properly. Six hours later, though, I was back on a plane bound for Paris. Sandrine gave me shelter. I cried, drank wine, and crashed. Six days later, same old itinerary: Paris – Hamburg – Chennai.

I threw myself into work, turning this story into Pasticcio Madras.

On 18 April 2012, my boss A. R. Rahman attended this tribute to Chennai, its inky nights, its people, its torrential rain and relentless sun, its rickshaws and water pots, at the Museum Theatre. The overture captured the landing of the plane, the checks, and suddenly: the sweaty breath that seized me as I plunged into the buzz of my new world. Yet, the sweetest memory I have is that my sister had made the trip and was in the audience.

Another life had begun. Alone.

My Foundation batch had graduated, but I still had six Diploma students who needed guidance for their final recital. Their marks would strongly impact their admission to Middlesex University in London. I decided to stay and extended my contract by three months.

That was my first mistake, which eventually turned into mistake number 2. Safety announcements on board duly mention that « in case of loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will automatically drop in front of you. Place the mask over your head first and then, help others. » Well, I sure did not learn the first time. Five years later, that mistake cost me everything.

Travel gives you the illusion that anything is possible. The truth of the matter is that you cannot be in two places at the same time.

#NoVisa — A life in India 4

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