A gift

Went to have a cup of tea with Georgina before pulling together the final strands of everything needing doing before leaving for India tomorrow. She gave me one of her posters from an exhibition held in Germany called Glucklose Kopfe - which translates as Loose Heads. Art produced in a Nigerian hospital for those declared to be mentally ill. I left Georgina still feeling kind of apprehensive. I always become slightly ill at ease just before I go. An irrational nervousness that I won't be able to do the job joins little stabs of fear at the big looming unknown which add to the heavyheartedness of leaving my children.

The flip side of this is the edgy kind of excitement that comes with falling into the abyss that is India with all its great smells and gut-wrenching stenching smells and kaleidoscope of life with all its colour, grandeur and harshness.

So as I was driving home, still feeling anxious about leaving my family for so long, I stopped at the lights and my eye caught the figure of a homeless man swathed rags. He was sitting against a wall in the winter sun, his face covered by a black shroud.

A young woman with short hair, a colourful scarf, and a confident swagger walked down the road carrying two cups of coffee. She turned into the alley, respectfully leaned down to the man. He removed the cloth and I could see his weathered face shining dirty-smooth in the sun. She handed him one of the cups. There was a fluid kindness and gentility in her movements. No charity. No condescension. Then she casually sauntered along on her way.

In that moment of compassionate humanity I found peace. I now feel okay about heading off on my own journey to one of Rajputana's grand kingdoms.