thumb and index finger united.
This time, just one man came in my presence: he looked like the boy I met in the Good Food restaurant in Kathmandu. He gave me a letter and disappeared. In the dream, I opened immediately the letter and read it, You were a butterfly, I looked for you, I found you. We flew together, for a long time, do you remember?! Our lives pass quickly, but we can still fly.
I woke up startled, all sweaty. The sun was rising. Josè heard me moving and opened one eye. âIs everything fine, little monkey?â
âYes, my love, just a dream...â
He turned his back to me and I fell asleep again, cuddling up to him.
THE DISCOVERY OF DELHI
We got up quite late that morning; we were on holiday and didn't want to rush.
We met Nirvanananda and Max at the restaurant, for a quick brunch... We couldn't call it breakfast, quite after 11:30 am. A kind and smiling waiter brought us a menu in English and we studied it for several minutes before ordering. There were three sections - Indian, Chinese and Continental. Josè and Maximilian confabulated for a while and laughed a little. In the end we ordered French toasts with apples and vanilla, Double-decker sandwich that unfortunately resulted non-vegetarian, Cheese bread rolls, Tossed salad and Vegetable stew. We excluded the Breakfast sausage casserole (the dish that raised the most irony in Josè), the Pasta âall'arabiattaâ, with one r, one b and two t to compensate, the English pickled onions and the Mushroom with tomato and white wine sauce, which didn't sound that good. The Lasagna in the menu wasn't available so we didn't insist further, but we asked for an assortment of fresh fruit juice, tea and milk served separately and a big thermos of hot black American coffee.
While we were trying different pseudo-occidental specialties, Riccardo and Giuliano joined us.
âWe talked to the travel agency of the hotel,â the doctor said. âA private hotel car will drive us around to visit the most interesting places of the city and then tomorrow we can calmly go to the internal flight airport; there are direct flights from Delhi to Kathmandu every day, at 7:30 am and 1:40 pm with Indian Airlines. They arrive respectively at 9:10 am and 3:25 pm, with enough time to complete the formalities of the local visa and settle down in the hotel before visiting the city.â
âGreat,â Josè said. âWe'll be very glad to let you accompany us.â
Giuliano got the menu; he quickly scrolled it, and then ordered a 'Masala dosa' for both, with chai and Plain dahi and Jalebi for dessert.
The waiter understood immediately, smiled and hurried to the kitchen. In less than five minutes later he came back with two colleagues, bringing with him two huge crispy rolls filled with potatoes with an appetizing look, two small plates with strange golden hoops soaked in syrup, various bowls of what looked like sauces and cups of steaming hot Indian tea.
I had already finished my French Toast - sliced bread dipped beaten egg and pan-fried - with cooked apples, but I left the sweetish round sandwiches filled with cheese spread, the unidentified vegetables and the withered salad to order âwhat they had orderedâ, followed by the rest of the group.
The doctor and Riccardo smiled. âWhen you go abroad, it's always better to choose the local dishes from the menu. At least you hope they can cook them... few Indians go abroad and the cooks often adapt recipes from books according to their imagination, the available ingredients and according to the taste of the majority of their customers... which are Indians.â
I watched them whilst they were eating their gigantic rolls using their hands without embarrassment and I realized that it really was the easiest way to do it. We found out that the Masala Dosa was served with two accompanying bowls, containing a delicious coconut Chatni and a quite liquid pulse soup called Sambar. The local Anglo-Indian name of the thick plain yogurt was Plain Dahi.
I was tempted to have second helpings, but I held back. I moved on to the Jalebi: the syrup was sweet in an inebriating way and tasted of saffron and butter... the golden hoops were crispy light twists made of fried pastry that still contained warm syrup. I licked my fingers without shame... then I rinsed them in the small bowls of tepid water that in the meantime had arrived and that I had seen our friends using just before.
At the end of the meal we got up satisfied and we left full of enthusiasm to explore the capital... The Tata Sumo of the hotel was waiting for us at the entrance: it was more like a minibus than a car. Giuliano took leave from us saying that he needed to make some phone calls, Riccardo got on the large front seat next to the driver, Josè and I got comfy on the back seat that was large enough for four people. Nirva and Max took their places at the back, where there were two more seats, one opposite the other and room for eventual baggage, where they placed my trustworthy folded wheelchair.
The first stop was Jama Masjid, the main mosque in Delhi, which we saw only from the outside. Carrying on towards north, within the city, after we overcame the labyrinth of alleys of the bazaar around the mosque we arrived at the famous Red Fort, an enormous complex made of red stone faded through time and too many stairs for my legs. Josè stayed in the car and kept me company while Nirvanananda, Maximilian and Riccardo ventured on the inside. When they came back, they talked enthusiastically about the huge backyard and showed us the photos that they took with the Polaroid.
Then the chauffeur went back in direction of the hotel but we proceeded towards the Lotus Temple, inaugurated in 1986 as the worship center for the Bahai Faith but open to everyone. Built in the shape of a gigantic lotus flower, it's one of the principal tourist attractions of Delhi... and in fact there were a lot of people visiting it. Since it was easily accessible for my wheelchair I decided to take a tour too, pushed by Josè and Nirva in turns, while Riccardo was talking about this religious movement founded in Persia from a certain Baháulláh around 1848 to reconcile all the traditional faiths of the world. In the Lotus temple everyone can enter and read or recite their own holy Scriptures, but musical instruments aren't allowed, you can't give speeches or sermons and there aren't rituals nor holy images or altars.
The next stop was the Qutab Minar, the most famous minaret in Delhi. Riccardo showed us how it was built with the pieces of several Hindu temples that Muslims have destroyed. I was tired and started to feel unwell and there was a question popping in my mind with growing insistence. I decided to drag it out.
âSorry, Riccardo, but I thought that India had a majority of Hindus. Where are all the temples? Or maybe we can't visit them because we're tourists?â
He looked at me with a sad smile and shook his head. âNo, Stefania, there are no ancient Hindu temples in Delhi. Actually there used to be so many, but they were consistently destroyed during the Muslim domination, from which India never recovered completely. And according to their system, as they knocked down a temple they built a mosque or some other building on the ruins, so that Hindus couldn't access even in the future. The same thing that Christians did in Italy with the majority of pagan temples...
The only Hindu temples that you can find in Delhi were built after the English took the city from the Muslims.â
My expression must have said it all, because Riccardo quickly added: âBut there's a really small Hindu temple that survived, because it has always been hidden. It's in the downtown, in Connaught Place: I'll take you to visit it.â
We left the minaret without regrets and since it was on the way for Connaught Place we passed by India Gate, the enormous local arc of triumph that, judging from our driver's enthusiasm, it seemed to be a very important touristic attraction. I imagine
