Through Our Own Lenses
Last month my daughter and I travelled to India for a few weeks, what I conceived of as a trip of exploration and connection for both of us. My objective was to connect with creators, artisans, and experts — curating on both a material and emotional level, one might say. And for my daughter, who has been to India a number of times, an opportunity to discover all of this and more at an older stage when memories will endure.
I was in my element, and inspiration was around every corner. I revelled in environments that brought me back to my past lives as a dance student then international development professional working and living in India, times when I lived on a lot less and survived a lot more.
These often used to be solitary journeys when I was younger, whether I had company or not. It was very special to have a true travel partner this time, one who is an extension of the generations that have preceded us. To bear witness from her young eyes that don’t really comprehend the history that they carry behind their fresh gaze.
What I didn’t anticipate were the identity issues that would arise for my daughter as she recognized her other-ness, in this place where she felt so confident and at home. Where the warmth and affection came not just from our relatives but from shopkeepers and cooks and total strangers, enveloping her in a cloak of familiarity. We are still navigating some of this, with questions from her about why she looks so different and where does she belong. Questions that, funnily, many of us had decades ago but that no one had answers for at the time.
My schedule was truly packed, and I took her to almost every meeting, shop, and exhibition I attended. From Hyderabad to Pedana to Pondicherry to Auroville to Delhi. Just as I used to do when I was ferried from sari shop to relative’s home to restaurant to temple as a youngster, she didn’t leave home without a book. Wherever we went, she would explore but then find a spot. Head downturned, looking up to listen and observe from time to time, then turning back to her book gracefully and quietly. I took photos to remember these moments. And what ensued was a series of images of Shreya reading in India.
A trip of connection and exploration. Books and photos. Family and strangers. Questions and answers. To stem the emotions that it all evoked, she turned to her books and I turned to my camera and creativity. Our own lenses through which we saw what the heart could process, and filtered what it was not yet ready to. And a trip of many other stolen moments that were undocumented, unfiltered, even more precious as they will only ever be seen through the lens that exists between both of us.
