I was just leaving the temple with my dad somewhere in Rajasthan, India. There was no one around except for her; a youngish girl, carrying home water. She waved and I walked over. We couldn’t talk to each other but we could smile.
Immediately I felt awkward. Our driver in our rental car was waiting for us. We waved good-bye to her. She continued to walk; with the heavy jug on her head. I know because she had let me hold it. Driving away, moving on I looked back at her.
It didn’t seem right. In fact, it wasn’t. At least, we could have offered her a ride. But we hadn’t. Yes, feeling guilty. A common feeling I experienced in India.
I was in awe of the women in India. Simply, stunning in all they do.
I would be (as the teens today say) ONE BIG HOT MESS day in, day out. I couldn’t even begin to try. I thought I was doing well if my hair hadn’t frizzled into one massive bowling ball and that was a good day.
Indian women were cooking, they were carrying water on their heads, they were carrying anything and everything on their backs, they were looking after the kids, they were always doing and still… they have that “je ne sais quoi” , that simple elegance that makes you want to run for your camera and ask if you can take their photo.
Personally I know that NO ONE would EVER want to take my picture as I try to cook in my kitchen. It is anything but elegant.