Mother Breath I (1/8)

Tuk-tuk life

I write with the support of an image, which is my starting point. I think of this format as postcards of consciousness, where the visual and the written are in conversation. The impossibility of recto and verso is maintained through a linearity that does not allow them to exist at the same time, even if in a publication of this type they are in the same space.

The postcards are always part of a journey and Mother Breath began in India in September 2025. I share the first instalment on the auspicious day of Epiphany. Over the next few days, you will receive one of eight fragment at a time, building the journey step by step, as it was created.

In India, driving is not a mode of transport, it is an affirmation of life, a survival skill of an existence that, although important, it seems to be experienced as if a video game or a roller coaster. You go where there is space, you signal you are alive with a honk, you invest maximum presence in the activity. The fact that most vehicles seem to inch in the same direction is a flimsy and temporary agreement. You can turn when you want, just honk and go – and hope they hear you among the other hundreds of honks. I saw no indicators used anywhere, and my airport car only had the seat belt part, not the attachment, but the honk was beautifully loud and clear.

If I lived here, my vehicle of choice would be a tuk-tuk. If you have never seen one, it is hard to describe: a black and yellow amphibian, part motorbike, part milk-cart, a cute and zippy two-walled coffin, only partly enclosed. I like their attitude. They are adventurous, and their anatomy makes the rider adventurous too. I have got off one while in movement, my one and only stunt woman impersonation. Tuk-tuks get close to the trucks and the buses, fearless little things, knowing their strength is in numbers (in Mumbai, in the thousands, it seems). They are like bedbugs, only efficient in the chaos of circulation.

And somehow each is a shrine. They have names (My mom’s gift, jaya bhagavan – victory to the Lord – Om Lakshmi) and deities, notably the elephant head Ganesha, protecting all taxi drivers. But there are other too, depending on the host, and they are often adorned, with flowers and beads. You see? In this country there is no shame in being a seeker. Even on the plane people were congratulating me for carrying a yoga mat. Perhaps this is what their crazy driving is getting at: pure acceptance of destiny and the present moment.