India has been transfusing inside me for 25 years, every year, the oxygen that I need to live, to love, to amaze myself and simply « TO BE ».

I can intuitively feel the words of Gibran, who wrote : « the song which is silent in the heart of the mother is now singing on her child’s lips ».

And every time I’m going back there, all these unknown hearts welcome me back as one of them in a non-judgement way.

I am from here and there, echoing the extent of myself...I am the charkha weaving the khadi. I am the sap of the plant that runs and reincarnates itself since millennial in the blood of the women, of the mothers, of the daughters...Guardian goddesses with blinding colors often tears apart this very same life but always with infinite dignity. I am the water who cleans and purifies. I am the generous monsoon who glorifies the sacred tree, blowing into the wind men’s wishes.
I am... I am...

Stranger in this country ?

No, definitely... And even the contrary ! There is an overwhelming feeling within me of belonging to this Mother Earth.
To recognize it to the point of finding myself in an entire sensation that nowhere else offers me. A fusion that always makes my return to France difficult, pushing me every time to adapt myself again like a soul in one of my several incarnations.

 I was reborn in India. Going back there is like giving life back to the child inside me, virgin from my invisible suffering, to my questionings. It’s like giving life it’s colors and scents back, like giving back to the women their sparkling smiles to the favors of their children. Trampling the soil of Mother India and being the witness to this wonder permeated the depth of my soul and spread inside me like a tender caress.

Traduction : Déborah Kouby et Fiona Mills .

India has been transfusing inside me for 25 years, every year, the oxygen that I need to live, to love, to amaze myself and simply « TO BE ».

I can intuitively feel the words of Gibran, who wrote : « the song which is silent in the heart of the mother is now singing on her child’s lips ».

And every time I’m going back there, all these unknown hearts welcome me back as one of them in a non-judgement way.

I am from here and there, echoing the extent of myself...I am the charkha weaving the khadi. I am the sap of the plant that runs and reincarnates itself since millennial in the blood of the women, of the mothers, of the daughters...Guardian goddesses with blinding colors often tears apart this very same life but always with infinite dignity. I am the water who cleans and purifies. I am the generous monsoon who glorifies the sacred tree, blowing into the wind men’s wishes.
I am... I am...

Stranger in this country ?

No, definitely... And even the contrary ! There is an overwhelming feeling within me of belonging to this Mother Earth.
To recognize it to the point of finding myself in an entire sensation that nowhere else offers me. A fusion that always makes my return to France difficult, pushing me every time to adapt myself again like a soul in one of my several incarnations.

 I was reborn in India. Going back there is like giving life back to the child inside me, virgin from my invisible suffering, to my questionings. It’s like giving life it’s colors and scents back, like giving back to the women their sparkling smiles to the favors of their children. Trampling the soil of Mother India and being the witness to this wonder permeated the depth of my soul and spread inside me like a tender caress.

Traduction : Déborah Kouby et Fiona Mills .