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India. New Delhi. Pardon me, Old Delhi. It is October 2014 and here I am, 21 years old, sweating and breathing heavy in the hottest city I have been so far. I came to Asia for the first time, trying to become a model. Anyhow, I ended up granting my Mom's wish. All life she was more into Eastern culture, Buddhism, Judaism, meditation and spirituality. Unlike the others, me and my roommate Sandra had a burning desire to see all the sights that India has to offer. And since I love Gandhi, we decided to visit his museum in Old Delhi. I still remember the warm eyes of our driver, Ramakrishna. He was around 60 years old, a bit chubby and he was breathing hardly with all the tobacco he was smoking constantly. Nevertheless, there was some beautiful energy around him. He was like a little boy, talking all the time, asking questions and making us laugh. Ramakrisha was driving a small white van, filled with various Indian Gods, which were hanging all around and while he was driving so fast, it looked like they were dancing in front of us. I wondered how he could see the road. The music was very loud even though the radio was visibly broken, and the station with popular Indian music was half lost. Ramakrisha was telling us about his life in this country where he grew up. At one point I saw the tear going down his cheek. He told us about Meenakshi, his daughter. After his wife passed away some years before, he became an alcoholic and his daughter left him for good. He then said that they planed for so long to come together to Gandhi Smiriti but it never happened. I felt for this man, I could feel his pain and how powerless he must have felt. They did not see each other for five years back then. He also said that he did not go to this part of the city since then. I don't believe in coincidences, this man, I really felt like I knew him for a long time. I wanted to help him, instinctively I hugged him. He continued with his story, about how he stopped drinking and how he wants to reconnect with Meenakshi. The old town we were approaching was completely different, there were people and clothes everywhere we looked. Cows were going around freely, people were stamping on their dungs. When we have reached the museum we told him to wait for us an hour, but Krishna was such a good man, very caring, he was scared to leave us alone. He said he wants to show us this part of the city. I can still feel the adrenalin rushing, he was holding both of our hands, one by each side, as we were walking slowly through masses. Men were screaming at each other, they were pulling us, it was chaotic. The clothes were everywhere, old toys, chairs, kids running around our legs barefooted. It was all in colors, loud, fast and crazy. And suddenly, we reached it. Gandhi Smiriti. Ramakrisha finally let go of our hands and smiled. He said: '' Girls, here we are". Orange walls, saffron, that is the color. Saffron color all around. The day was becoming the night as the sun was going down the horizons. It was still hot. All the madness disappeared as we were going inside. Again I heard the birds and saw expanse. The smell of grass, people sitting on it and playing with their children. I never felt so peaceful. Ramakrishna told us all about Gandhi and all the things he did for India. Everyone has a different path, some roads are straight, some not, some short, some long. What's important is what we will do with the line of life. This man gave us a part of his life and love, to completely unknown strangers. We gave him a moment of joy where he did not feel alone. Unfortunately, we did not keep in touch, but I am sure that he and Meenakshi are reunited. There is always harmony in all this chaos.