It’s Sunday and I’m at a matinee. Rainer Thielmann reads poems from his new photo book ‘Indien von Innen’ (India from Inside). It’s some 37 degrees outside, not much less inside the lovingly restored Palais Am Festungsgraben here in Berlin-Mitte.
His poems transport me back to India in no time. I see the beautiful images where even the poorest soul still looks amazingly calm and peaceful. Of course, the pictures are a selection carefully directed. But careful with what purpose? Of romanticizing the lifes of the poor? I don’t think so. Rainer Thielmann portrays it all, you literally smell the garbage and choke from the petrol-ladden air on the streets of Delhi. But you also hear the laughter of the children wanting to be photographed, the wisdom of the brahmins he met and the bells of the temples he’s entered.
And there it suddenly is again. This knot in my throat. I’m trying to push my tears back… I know this feeling. I don’t always know where it’s coming from and what is causing it but I know it… I don’t like it at all. It makes me feel vulnerable, weak, out of control, a loser.
Rainer keeps going, I swim in and out of focus on his performance and my day dreams. And suddenly it dawns on me. I’m jealous. I’m jealous of the happiness, the peace and calm these people convey. I’m jealous of the curiosity, openness and hospitality that seems so characteristic for Indians. How come all humans are born curious and peaceful, open-minded, full of love and trust (at least that’s what I believe) and only in some regions in the world a large proportion manages to remain like that throughout life? How come in Western countries we so often believe we know it all, wanting to teach everyone our way? And how come, in so called developing nations people soak everything in, ready to absorb anything of use to them no matter where it comes from? (All my assumptions beside, there is tendencies!) And India is a great example of being such a humangous sponge that takes in everything and – rapidly or slowly – digests and discards anything unhelpful for their very own way. They love their cricket regardless of the fact who brought it there. Many rather speak English than learning Hindi. They even bought Jaguar away from the British. They might be slow to catch on but they’re unstoppable once moving! They’re just not afraid. Not of life, not of poverty and less even so of wealth. Not of foreigners and not of failure. And that’s what I want.
Das Leben hat mir Angst gemacht (Life has frightened me), I am thinking. And then I ask myself: has it really? Slowly, my tears subside. I am fine. Just bring it on!!
