Trip To India. Renzo Samaritani

Скачать книгу

India on holiday?” he asked casually. “With friends?”

      â€œYes. This is Josè, my boyfriend,” I answered, while he smiled and raised his hand in the spirit of greeting. Clearly he decided that shaking hands would have invaded too much my personal space and Giuliano instantly understood, replying in the same way.

      I introduced the rest of the company to the doctor: Nirvanananda and Maximilian were sat in the row behind us and they decided to stand up to greet him. The encounter was a pleasing distraction from the boredom of the flight that presented itself as very long and they all were obviously willing to show themselves friendly and open to socialize.

      â€œSo, what's new with you, Miss Stefi? It's been a while since our last meeting...”

      â€œOh,” I said “yes, it's true. So much has happened.” I stopped and considered. What could I tell him? It was a complicated story.

      â€œMaybe you don't know it, but father Sandro left the church,” he said. “About one year ago he had a fight with the bishop and was relocated. In Calcutta, India... where he worked for a while with the missionaries of Mother Theresa's charity.”

      I was surprised, but not that much. A character such as father Sandro made undoubtedly a big fuss in the little village in the province of Milano. “I guess he might be better in India, right?” I commented, maybe slightly bitter.

      Giuliano looked at me with a curious face. “Oh, sure,” he said laconically. Then he smiled and added, “In the end he followed his true calling and officially became a disciple of Sai Baba. Now his name is Hridaya and lives in Puttaparthy's ashram. He's finally free from all the conflicts and I'm sure that some of his friends will be happy for him.”

      I felt a bit uncomfortable. I was sort of ashamed of showing so little tolerance and compassion in father Sandro's regards... after all he did nothing wrong. If I was disappointed, he had indeed no fault: he never promised me anything.

      The doctor seemed to read correctly all my thoughts. “Father Sandro was everyone's friend, but he didn't truly bind with many people.”

      I sharply raised my head, because I realized I unconsciously bowed it. Yes, I could be honest with Giuliano; I had to give him an explanation. Maybe not him, but I had very few chances to provide my reasons directly to father Sandro. Talking with the doctor would be the best I could do at that point.

      â€œYou should know...” I started uncertain but I stopped straight away. He smiled and nodded, encouraging me to go on.

      â€œFather Sandro was for me more an acquaintance than a friend, but I was very fond of him. We met in a club where I worked in those days,” I added with a smile almost as an apology, but the doctor didn't give me any sign of shock from my revelation. So I kept going.

      â€œIn that period I was searching for answers to better understand the direction I wanted to give to my life and it seemed like father Sandro could help me to combine the need of a spiritual life with the natural demands of a material life...”

      â€œI see,” Giuliano said with a more serious look. “But you didn't expect that Sandro's solution was so unconventional...”

      â€œYes, exactly. That the accepted an Indian swami, Sai Baba, as his master, while remaining in the Catholic Church.”

      Giuliano patted me gently on the hand. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy...”

      I looked at him questioningly. He apologized, “Oh, yeah, Shakespeare, Hamlet... one of my favorite quotes... I tend to forget that Shakespeare in Italy is basically unknown.”

      â€œNo, no,” I hurried to recommended him, “It’s a brilliant quote. I like it; I’m going to steal it from you.”

      He put on a big smile and change subject. “So, where are you going in India? To see the Taj Mahal in Agra? To the beach in Goa? Or all over the villages?”

      â€œActually we intend to go to Nepal to visit an old friend, monk Govindananda. Five years ago I have been in Kathmandu’s ashram where he lives and I really enjoyed the stay...”

      Doctor Giuliano seemed impressed. “What a coincidence,” he smiled. “I'm going to Nepal too! Maybe we could travel together...”

      It was pretty incredible. It couldn't be an eventuality. Just a few days before the departure I bought a book really interesting, The Celestine Prophecy, and I developed a passion in reading it and in its plot, which stressed how nothing happens by chance and how events in our life are organized in a way that let us spiritually evolve when we're ready and we accept to pursue the ‘journey’.

      After a few minutes of friendly conversation, doctor Giuliano went back to his seat, some rows behind us; and he apparently explained the circumstances to his comrade, because the guy smiled and waved when he noticed that I was looking at them.

      I decided to get my book out of my bag and continue the reading. I wasn't too interested in the movie projected on the screen, to be honest it was quite far from our seats and it wasn't easy to follow the story. Josè pulled out the book from the over head compartment for me and then kissed me on my forehead. “I can tell that you're doing fine, honey. I think I'll go and stretch my legs and maybe see what condition the toilet is in.”

      â€œAlright, dear, thank you,” I smiled and then I dived into my book.

      Despite my fears, the flight turned out rather comfy. It was easy to imagine being on a very big bus, that was traveling on some motorway and I panicked just a couple times, when due to air turbulence the craft all of a sudden dropped in altitude. Josè hugged me immediately and consoled telling me that the bus got a hole on the road...

      Around 7 pm the hostesses brought the trays with dinner. In economy class there wasn't a menu to choose from, besides the vegetarian or non-vegetarian option had to be ordered at the check-in. Josè showed how to drop down the table from the back of the seat in front of mine and I got a transparent hard-plastic tray with a series of similar tiny bowls, covered with a transparent plastic wrap, and a throw-away plateau in aluminum closed with a cardboard lid and a glass of water from the refrigerated jug on the trolley.

      The little tray was quite warm: it clearly had been just warmed up. I opened it up with a kind of interest and found myself contemplating a trio of preparations: plain white boiled rice, chickpea stew and a mixture of vegetables apparently pan-cooked – green beans, potatoes and tomatoes. The taste wasn't bad, but it wasn't anything to get excited about.

      I turned to the bowl of salad: lettuce, julienne carrots and one lonely olive. There wasn't any condiment, but Josè found a packet of ‘salad dressing’ which contained oil, vinegar and packets of salt and pepper. Another bowl contained a fruit salad: a slice of pineapple in syrup and some slices of banana. I accompanied them with a soft bread roll (in a foil sachet) spread with some butter.

      Josè squinted at me, amused by my disappointed and perplexed look in front of my first meal on an airplane. “Don't worry, little monkey,” he said affectionately. “We'll eat properly when we arrive at our destination. Airlines have a restricted budget for what concerns food service. In first class they have better food, but we shouldn't forget that the main service

Скачать книгу