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For some inexplicable reason, I have always wanted to visit India. I felt a connection with its culture, the food and smells, the people and even the language. But I wanted to feel the real environment, so I decided to make a Solidary Trip. This experience would allow me to volunteer with the dalit population and take part in a few projects with two NGOs. At that time, I was studying Development Cooperation, so I couldn’t be more excited about it. There were two events that significantly marked my journey in India. The first one happened right when I got into the Ghats in front of The Ganges River, in Varanasi. As soon as I saw the people getting purified by the sacred water, I knew that I had finally found the spiritual and inspiring place that I had been looking for: Every morning, most of the indians went there to pray and purify themselves; Every night, they had a ritual with music and incense to worship the gods. I inmediately experienced a sensation of profound peace, harmony and spirituality. Besides the peace and joy of the scene, there is also a more dismal side to this river: Varanasi is known as the city that indians want to perish in, so they ensure their place in heaven through the cremation in the sacred Pyres. This close natural coexistence between life and death really astonished me. During my stay, I went there every morning to admire the sunrise, as well as every night to witness the marvelous music performances. It made me feel in contact with their tradition and culture. I loved watching the children play cricket with a stone, and the adults chatting over a cup of Masala Chai. I felt incredibly grateful for what I was experiencing. However, my next encounter would make my journey even more personal and revealing: During my first day participating with the NGO, I met Virat, a four year-old boy who lived in a slum. Virat’s smile was the best memory that I took with me from my trip, along with his mother’s hugs. I met Akhila, Virat’s mother, while taking part in another of the NGO’s projects. I didn’t speak hindi and she didn’t speak English, but the two of us communicated with smiles and signs of gratitude. She introduced me to her oldest daughter, and she treated me as a daughter also. I used to spend the evenings playing with Virat and the other kids among the garbage around the slum. I loved the way they called me “Didi”, big sister in hindi. When Virat knew that I was leaving in a few days, he hugged me and gave me a single piece of plastic, which was his best good-luck charm. I still preserve it. One day, Akhila managed to tell me about her parents, who had abandoned her in the streets when she was a baby. She also told me about her husband, who used to get drunk and beat her. I was speechless. She didn’t show any sign of resentment. Her eyes were full of tears, but I could see the light emanating through them. Her life wasn’t easy, but she kept fighting and smiling to everyone. I admired her strength and enthusiasm towards life. During our last day together, she wouldn't let go of my hand. When, inevitably, we said goodbye, she gave me a hug that only a mother could give. She called me “Bati”, daughter in hindi. She really was like a mother to me. I still remember the tone of her voice and her scent of spices. At the end of my trip, I realized something: For some reason, I was meant to feel the emotions that this place evoqued in me, learn the lessons and meet the people who I shared my time with. My journey there was, ultimately, about the experiences that I had and all the memories that I brought back with me. Now I know the purpose of my trip: I needed to find my own door to Nirvana, and meet the people who showed me the way there.