Dear Mother India,
it has been four months, the longest time each of us ever spent continuously in a single country not named Germany or Romania.
In those months, you nourished us generously with all those different dishes from your infinite kitchens – and you punished us viciously for not paying enough attention in what we pick out of that abundance – you nurtured our souls with a language we couldn’t always understand, sometimes only feel.
You delighted us with your prettiest faces, the smiles of long golden beaches and their roaring surf, the adventurousness of green valleys and deep, formidable jungle, the pride and elation of marvelous mountains and ridges, the repose and ease of mighty, slow flowing rivers, the joy and elation of colorful alleys and tireless streets.
You tested us greatly with the grim faces you reveal in the maddening traffic of your metropolises, the suffocating crowds whirling one to dizziness, the smell and filthiness of neglected streets, bodies and souls dying slowly while the world is rushing by, the bone rattling roads and the mountains, seas and fields of all the trash in this world.
Your billion hearts radiate kindness, simplicity, beauty, happiness and will warm one’s innermost in the blink of a smile.
Your billion legs will test all your patience, endurance, tolerance, rudeness and politeness – they might kick you when you’re down and will run over you when you don’t pay attention.
Your billion arms will embrace you just then with the warmest hug possible while you’re still tending the wounds, causing them to heal miraculously.
Dear mother India – we had to learn, that we can’t love you like lovers do. No. We can only love you like we’d love a mother. Accepting that you are like you are, too old and proud to give in, be trustful in that you mean it good with us, sponging up your affection now, accepting the slaps and rigorous lessons then, always knowing how pointless it is trying to change you, but accepting the inevitability that you will change us.
We will probably only fully understand your teachings after we leave you. But while the thought of leaving a mother can be tempting, the actual departure is never easy. So it is for us – it is no easy day.
Lastly, you had such a crazy life, dear Mother India, if you might accept the humble advice of much younger ones: Take it easy in your old days, eh? You know…don’t go all bollocks late in life when there’s still too much ahead worth living for. You proved us and all the world what folly you are capable of many times – now…take it easy maybe.