02/23/2018 12:00pm
In a small hotel near Canal Street, I meet my friend Elsa. She left France three months ago to join Hashim, her companion. They advise me a few visits : a market, a memorial, a waterfront, an old colonial district called "White Town" ...
"Ok," I was thinking, "I'm going to do some sightseeing and draw beautiful houses…"
But I realise quite fast that I do not want to spend my trip counting windows. I have already traveled in India for several months, I have seen sublime landscapes and visited the palaces of Rajasthan, but this is not what I remember the most. What really stay in my mind after years are the people who opened their doors, who accepted to posed for a portrait and speak about themself without knowing me.
So, in Pondicherry, I do not care about the buildings : I prefer the inhabitants.
I am lucky to be around Hashim, who is fluent in Tamul, the language of Tamil Nadul. I have the opportunity to have an interpreter, and to exchange a little more than the usual information with people of the area. I start to look for people with whom I could start a conversation.
And my eyes naturally turn to women. It is not so surprising: when I left France, the Weinstein affair had just provoked in the media a big feminist movment. Curious about the subject, I have spent the previous weeks reading the story of women right.
There are three housekeepers in my hotel.
Why would I go further?