I was born in a hot midsummer night.
Along the Sea I grew and I used hands to colour all the worlds I couldn’t speak. I chanted and fully danced my early life as a child.
It was at the eleventh year that Mother Earth wounded my family, and me, far from the Sea. Then we wandered our years in pain, searching for home.
I hated teachers, yet I subdued to them, restless. Summers came for my heart to come back, to be reborn in the wet warmth of stars, at night. Schools left me to mathematics, safe spot of the mind: numbers, alphabets, infinites, formulas and symbols unknown to words. How many lives can I afford in ten years time?
I lived then as a young business woman, as a future wife, as a mother of a child that was not mine, until a beloved twin soul emerged from the Sea. All of a sudden, I missed the places I had never even heard of.
The sacred land of Ladakh lit up the first of my hundred thousands lives back home to India; there I was given the name Osel Kandro, which means “Dakini of Light”.