I write a diary every day, where I mainly write about my experience while sliding through the world.

It can be about a different culture – how people of this world do the common things differently. It can also be a reflection on my past experience, or a general thoughts about life.

For the first time, I am sharing a diary of one day with my visitors. The diary is illustrated with a short video from the event I am writing about – The Girl from India.

I had a lunch at one of the typical family restaurants located by one of the large highways. In the western world this would barely be categorized as a restaurant – more like a shelter. The standard of cleanliness is different from what I am used to, but I do like to see the way people prepare and cook the meal.

The trip had progressed quite well and I did not have to stop so often to rest. Consequently, I decided to take a long lunch break instead. I ordered some sort of a bean meal with naan bread.

While I was having my meal, I saw how people gathered around my motorcycle. Some went on it and had their friends take a picture of them. I did not interfere and allowed them to proceed.

After the meal, I laid down on one of the low tables that people use to eat their meals and managed to nap for few minutes.

While I was eating, I noticed a girl who was working as an assistant to the owner of this restaurant. She was not a waitress, but was taking care of washing the dishes, peeling the potatoes and doing other odd chores. She was one of the most unhappy people that I had seen in India. There was no charm or a joy associated with her.

She had a light brown, beautiful skin, black hair and brown eyes. The colors in her clothes matched so beautifully with her natural colors and the the bricks that appeared in the background. This was the model of the day, but I knew that I would never manage to have her to pose for me. Therefore, I asked the restaurant owner if I could have a picture of him together with his wife. I was instantly corrected that she was not his wife.

After some discussion, the girl was willing to join him on the picture. I shot a few photographs, but my focus was constantly on her. I finally asked the restaurant owner if I could take a portrait of her alone and took him by surprise.

I had great difficulty getting the girl to look straight into the camera’s lens. It was like she was somewhere else. Finally, she looked right into the lens. Seldom have I taken a photo of a person with such dull eyes – no joy, no life, nothing.

After the photo session, I put my hand over my breast and bowed my head, because shaking or touching a hand of a stranger is not appropriate. There was a small change on her face and a small movement of her lips, which I interpreted as a smile.

I returned to my table and was thinking about the girl. Could she possibly belong to the untouchables, the lowest Hindu group in India? These people are born into this social group, and almost never have the chance to change their status. Unfortunately, I had no one to discuss this with and my questions remain unanswered.

My meal cost 80 rupees – less than a US dollar, which I gave the restaurant owner. As I had another 80 rupees in my pocket, I gave them to the girl as well as a small appreciation for the hassle for the photo session. I prepared to leave and put on my knee pads, body armor, security vest, water Camelback and my helmet.

I approached my motorcycle and as I was just about to go through the massive crowd, the girl appeared suddenly with her hand stretched out. This has never happened to me before in any Muslim or Hindu country. I shook her hand and was shocked; her act was simple but showed a high level of respect.

With her humble and beautiful appearance, she said: “Thank you for respecting and recognizing me as a human being” – or that is how I interpreted her act.

There I stood, fully equipped with my helmet on my head and probably looking more like an alien from another world, rather than a human from this world. I took my arms around her and kissed her on both cheeks, a totally instinctive reaction.

I had to go because the crowd had discovered that the world traveler was leaving and all the questions that people asked had to be answered. Never before, have I been asked for a souvenir or to give an autograph on someone else’s arm. I of course obliged the crowd and gave both. The boy who got my souvenir asked me to wait because he wanted to give me a present. After about 15 minutes, his friend arrived on a motorbike with a Hindu scarf, which he gave as a farewell present. The crowd applauded and I truly appreciated this small act of kindness.

I started the engine put the motorbike into first gear and started to move. When I looked back and waved to the people to say goodbye, I saw two beautiful brown eyes staring back at me, right into my eyes. They had become a live and for a moment, there was no one else around us. That was the moment of the day.