MADE IN NIRVANA
Chapter 12
The expert touch of a massage
After hooting at full volume the bus departed and, by the time they reached the end of the road, the girls were holding tight to the bar of the seat in front. It drove downhill in twists and turns, once again toward the heat of the city. They sat together, after many days spent always with other people. The return trip seemed much easier than the one on the way there; the road was familiar and the mountains seemed even more beautiful. After a few hours they stopped at the small temple that preceded the most dangerous part of the journey. While the driver went in to say his prayer for protection, the same man who had come on board on their first trip came back to distribute the puffed rice, in return for which the passengers gave a few paisa............
Maria was a little curious but didn't want to lose control. She didn't have to take it but, as it was happening right under her nose, the experience interested her. She wanted to be able to do the basic things, though, like standing up, preparing her backpack, going to buy her ticket, basically carry on with her life and her activities. Was it possible? Yeah sure, she'd take very little, only enough to get the idea............
Maria noticed how Franca took advantage of every opportunity to be close to her, something she had never done before; she was polite, attentive to her every wish. "Do you want a chai?" she'd ask eagerly, or "Do you want to sit here? It's more comfortable." Yes, thank you, no thank you. She was surprised, almost embarrassed by Franca's attentions; it felt as if she was being courted, with these affectionate attentions, such a contrast to her behaviour up till now. As always, she'd make a chillum at every opportunity, but this time she offered it to her to light or passed it to her before passing it to someone else, a courtesy that Maria regularly refused. Nevertheless, she had the strong impression of being treated in a special and different way. Something had changed since the experience with opium. It was pleasant, but at the same time unexpected and she needed to get used to the new dynamic; it was as if Franca was driving and, all of a sudden, had changed direction.
Maria decided to go to sleep early, tired of the many hours travelling during those two days. She lay down in bed and closed her eyes, assuming that Franca would remain in the garden to smoke. Instead, shortly afterward she came into the room. She asked her whether she was all right and offered to give her a back massage. Who would refuse a massage? She let herself relax under Franca's expert hands, which stroked, kneaded and smoothed her tired aching shoulders, back and legs. Where had she learned? She had done a course. Underneath the expert touch, Maria felt affection and warmth made of caring, tenderness, even sensuality, of which she didn't think Franca was capable. She fell asleep with her friend caressing her.
When she woke up it was already morning and Franca was sleeping next to her, with a scarf over her eyes.
She went out into the almost deserted garden and ordered a chai. As she sat drinking it, she saw the beautiful girl from the day before, going out. She smiled at her and wished her a good morning. The girl replied in English: "Good morning!" with a cheerful tone and an open smile. She hesitated a moment, as if she wanted to stop and talk, but seemed to be in a hurry and thought better of it. She made a gesture with her hand, meaning 'see you later' and left, walking quickly, as if to an appointment.
Maria brought Franca a coffee, hoping to wake her up. "If we are going to see Jaipur we'd better go early, otherwise it gets too hot." Her friend nodded and smiled without opening her eyes, swollen with fatigue. She sipped the coffee with her eyes closed, fighting against sleep. Maria went into the garden and picked a half hidden corner; she sat down and began to recite the phrase of which she often thought, but hadn't pronounced for days. The sound and the vibrations made her feel good, aligning her mind and heart in perfect harmony. It seemed so natural and made her feel more peaceful, and stronger. It felt as if she were putting down deep roots that anchored her, wherever she was, and she had a feeling that the roots were in her life itself. After ten minutes she felt calm, alert and ready for a new day. Franca joined her and looked at her twice. "You look radiant!" she said. It was a good description of how she felt inside.
They took a rickshaw and along the way saw a beautiful building in the middle of a lake, which looked like a royal palace. The rickshaw guy said it was the Jal Mahal, the water palace; did they want to go there by boat? Maybe another time, now they wanted to go to the market. They went past two elephants with their trunks curled, carrying a tree trunk, advancing slowly, heavily, shifting the weight of their enormous tonnage from one foot to the other, without haste, their grey wrinkled and flabby skin close enough for them to stroke it.
The market came closer with an explosion of colours: fresh flowers, white, yellow, red, gave off a strong sweet scent. There were piles of neatly stacked oranges and tangerines. The pungent smells of spices, in cones of all colours and protruding from jute bags, tickled their nostrils. Cloths and fabrics of light cotton, hand-printed in geometric designs, shawls and scarves made of raw silk, all caught the reflections of the sun and changed with every little rustle of wind. Cups, bowls and earthen pots; statues of Hindu gods made of stone, copper, bronze and, everywhere, bullock carts, whose strong odours, both unpleasant and natural, mixed with the smell of sewage, cardamom, cloves and cinnamon: another world, other noises, different odours, another rhythm, chaotic and, at the same time, fascinating.
They felt the eyes of men and women on them, curious, interested. A snake charmer started playing as soon as he saw them from afar, and when they approached, he lifted the basket lid: an impressive king cobra with a flat diamond shaped head began to rise, swinging the royal head from side to side, while its forked tongue stuck out fast, withdrew and stuck out again to the sound of his master's flute. Maria had brought the camera with her. She took it out of its bag and began shooting, capturing the amazing images of such a different world. The snake charmer demanded money and she willingly gave him one rupee.
A young man approached them and asked if they wanted a guide, he knew where to take them to take good pictures. Franca didn't want him and tried to send him away, but Maria liked his honest face and thought his presence would be like a business card, an intermediary between them and the local people. She asked him what he usually did. He was a student and wanted to talk with them to learn something about their country, to exchange information on their two cultures, which were so different. He was called Rajiv and followed them discreetly. He explained that Jaipur was a great centre for dyeing and printing fabrics by hand and invited them to follow him into a small courtyard where the dyeing was being carried out at that precise moment.
Women at work looked at the girls, smiling and curious. With gestures, they invited them to sit close, while the word 'chai' went from mouth to mouth. At a request of Rajiv, the women started a new dyeing process, so that the girls could see it from beginning to end. They folded a cotton shawl in three, they wrought it, twisting it and wrapping it tightly; then they tied it with string in different places and began to dip it in buckets filled with liquids of different colours, a little black, a little yellow, a little red. Meanwhile, a boy came from the nearby restaurant carrying a tray with three 'masala' chai; it was the traditional chai of the neighbourhood, said Rajiv, prepared with a mixture of different spices. Maria offered to pay for it, but Rajiv refused: they were his guests. They sipped it slowly, while the dyeing process progressed, step by step. Once finished, they opened the fabric while still wet: it had become a shawl with geometric designs in three colours on a white background. They hung it up and, with a temperature of more than forty degrees, it would dry in a few minutes. Maria photographed it, including in the photo the women who had made it. Did they want to buy it? It cost five rupees. Sure, with pleasure.
A woman approached Rajiv and said something, smiling and looking at the girls. Did they want to eat with them? They were invited to lunch with the women. Maria and Franca joined hands in front of their chest, thanking them, but they didn't have time. The woman said something else and Rajiv asked if they would agree to eat some samosas, they would arrive soon. It was impossible to turn down such a kind invitation. The samosas arrived a few minutes later, accompanied by more glasses of chai. Again, they didn't let them pay. The women motioned that no, they were their guests. While they were eating, questions began to flock through the translation of Rajiv. How old were they? Were they married? No? How was it possible? No children? The women were repeating every reply so that all the workers became involved in the conversation. Did they have a boyfriend? Yes? The girls perceived that they wanted to know whether they had intimate relationships, but they didn't dare to ask. This unspoken question provoked waves of general giggles that crossed the courtyard. The women laughed and looked at the girls, and the girls laughed in turn, feeling the curiosity, the impertinence, the humour in that genuine communication between Rajastani women, belonging to a traditional culture, and two Italian, more modern, women; but at that time they were all simply, equally, women.
Maria asked to see other shawls and the older worker brought her ten. She chose three to buy. The women wanted her to choose another one, as a gift, and then insisted that Franca chose one, too. What a great people, what heart; Maria left a piece of hers there in the yard. She was learning what trust was, as well as unconditional friendship, endless generosity, and the joy that came from the simplicity of a life that, despite the shortage of money, had far more precious values.
Rajiv accompanied them to where they could catch a rickshaw to get back to the Evergreen. Maria tried to give him five rupees, but he only wanted their address, and to correspond with them in English. Knowing that she wouldn't do so, Maria insisted and slipped a five-rupee note in his shirt pocket, telling him that it was for his studies. Only in this way, the young dignified student accepted it.
Patti hadn't arrived yet. Franca sat on a bench and began to talk to some English people, while Maria took the opportunity to go for a rest. Her friend came into the room to get the chillum and her charas. Was she all right? she asked with concern. Did she want her to stay there? No no, thank you! What on earth was happening? Something had definitely changed; she didn't know what it was, but maybe she preferred the way Franca was before. When Patti arrived, Franca withdrew with her for almost an hour and it was five o'clock before they reappeared to go to the shops, most of which were in the vicinity of the Evergreen.
They visited a shop where they sold exquisite paintings on silk. Sitting cross-legged on the floor covered with soft white mattresses, they looked at one piece of art after another, unrolled before their eyes by the owner. Patti was experienced and she quickly chose what she wanted. In less than half an hour she decided to buy ten paintings. They were representations in Mogul style of ancient scenes of men and women, kings and queens, courtiers and warriors, skilfully painted on silk, beautifully elaborated in minute details. The owner carefully rolled them up and put them inside a rigid tube.
Then it was the jeweller's turn. Patti had her supplier, who recognized her as soon as she set foot in his shop, even though it had been many years since the last time, and welcomed her warmly. Seated on high stools, their arms crossed on the glass counter, bright lamps shining light over their heads, they admired tens, hundreds of rings, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, anklets and semi-precious stones such as white rounded moonstones, purple amethyst, dark red grenades, black stars, brown tiger eyes streaked with yellow, turquoise, dark blue lapis lazuli with gold flecks, opals in different colours and shades, and then emeralds, topaz, rubies. Patti decided to buy only semi-precious stones as synthetic versions of precious stones were virtually indistinguishable from the natural ones, and this made for a risky trade; it was more likely to get cheated than not, she explained.
Franca wanted to buy a silver anklet, but the shopkeeper insisted that she should wear two, not one. He strove to explain that women who wore only one were 'easy' women, women 'of the trade', but she didn't want to know about buying two and said that she didn't care what others thought. She bought a chunky one and wore it on her left ankle, defiant and confident. The shopkeeper looked at her, shaking his head, but Franca sent him light-heartedly to hell and left the store saying that she liked to go against the tide.
The evening at the Evergreen was interesting, with an infinite number of young foreigners who came and sat next to each other on the long benches, so that it was impossible not to make friends. Maria saw the beautiful girl arrive late, sit at a table farther away and exchange a few words with a couple. She seemed to be travelling alone. At each table people were smoking chillums and joints. There were those who smoked them all, like Franca, those who smoked just a little, like Maria, and some who didn't smoke at all, like the beautiful girl who passed them without smoking them. Maria went to bed early, exhausted after a busy day. After a while, Franca joined her, asking her if she needed anything, offering her a massage to relax. While savouring the expert touch of her massage, Maria knew that Franca's new behaviour didn't convince her and made her feel uncomfortable. She fell asleep while her friend's hands slid slowly from her shoulders down. Her doubts would wait until tomorrow.
Maria decided to go to sleep early, tired of the many hours travelling during those two days. She lay down in bed and closed her eyes, assuming that Franca would remain in the garden to smoke. Instead, shortly afterward she came into the room. She asked her whether she was all right and offered to give her a back massage. Who would refuse a massage? She let herself relax under Franca's expert hands, which stroked, kneaded and smoothed her tired aching shoulders, back and legs. Where had she learned? She had done a course. Underneath the expert touch, Maria felt affection and warmth made of caring, tenderness, even sensuality, of which she didn't think Franca was capable. She fell asleep with her friend caressing her.
When she woke up it was already morning and Franca was sleeping next to her, with a scarf over her eyes.
She went out into the almost deserted garden and ordered a chai. As she sat drinking it, she saw the beautiful girl from the day before, going out. She smiled at her and wished her a good morning. The girl replied in English: "Good morning!" with a cheerful tone and an open smile. She hesitated a moment, as if she wanted to stop and talk, but seemed to be in a hurry and thought better of it. She made a gesture with her hand, meaning 'see you later' and left, walking quickly, as if to an appointment.
Maria brought Franca a coffee, hoping to wake her up. "If we are going to see Jaipur we'd better go early, otherwise it gets too hot." Her friend nodded and smiled without opening her eyes, swollen with fatigue. She sipped the coffee with her eyes closed, fighting against sleep. Maria went into the garden and picked a half hidden corner; she sat down and began to recite the phrase of which she often thought, but hadn't pronounced for days. The sound and the vibrations made her feel good, aligning her mind and heart in perfect harmony. It seemed so natural and made her feel more peaceful, and stronger. It felt as if she were putting down deep roots that anchored her, wherever she was, and she had a feeling that the roots were in her life itself. After ten minutes she felt calm, alert and ready for a new day. Franca joined her and looked at her twice. "You look radiant!" she said. It was a good description of how she felt inside.
They took a rickshaw and along the way saw a beautiful building in the middle of a lake, which looked like a royal palace. The rickshaw guy said it was the Jal Mahal, the water palace; did they want to go there by boat? Maybe another time, now they wanted to go to the market. They went past two elephants with their trunks curled, carrying a tree trunk, advancing slowly, heavily, shifting the weight of their enormous tonnage from one foot to the other, without haste, their grey wrinkled and flabby skin close enough for them to stroke it.
The market came closer with an explosion of colours: fresh flowers, white, yellow, red, gave off a strong sweet scent. There were piles of neatly stacked oranges and tangerines. The pungent smells of spices, in cones of all colours and protruding from jute bags, tickled their nostrils. Cloths and fabrics of light cotton, hand-printed in geometric designs, shawls and scarves made of raw silk, all caught the reflections of the sun and changed with every little rustle of wind. Cups, bowls and earthen pots; statues of Hindu gods made of stone, copper, bronze and, everywhere, bullock carts, whose strong odours, both unpleasant and natural, mixed with the smell of sewage, cardamom, cloves and cinnamon: another world, other noises, different odours, another rhythm, chaotic and, at the same time, fascinating.
They felt the eyes of men and women on them, curious, interested. A snake charmer started playing as soon as he saw them from afar, and when they approached, he lifted the basket lid: an impressive king cobra with a flat diamond shaped head began to rise, swinging the royal head from side to side, while its forked tongue stuck out fast, withdrew and stuck out again to the sound of his master's flute. Maria had brought the camera with her. She took it out of its bag and began shooting, capturing the amazing images of such a different world. The snake charmer demanded money and she willingly gave him one rupee.
A young man approached them and asked if they wanted a guide, he knew where to take them to take good pictures. Franca didn't want him and tried to send him away, but Maria liked his honest face and thought his presence would be like a business card, an intermediary between them and the local people. She asked him what he usually did. He was a student and wanted to talk with them to learn something about their country, to exchange information on their two cultures, which were so different. He was called Rajiv and followed them discreetly. He explained that Jaipur was a great centre for dyeing and printing fabrics by hand and invited them to follow him into a small courtyard where the dyeing was being carried out at that precise moment.
Women at work looked at the girls, smiling and curious. With gestures, they invited them to sit close, while the word 'chai' went from mouth to mouth. At a request of Rajiv, the women started a new dyeing process, so that the girls could see it from beginning to end. They folded a cotton shawl in three, they wrought it, twisting it and wrapping it tightly; then they tied it with string in different places and began to dip it in buckets filled with liquids of different colours, a little black, a little yellow, a little red. Meanwhile, a boy came from the nearby restaurant carrying a tray with three 'masala' chai; it was the traditional chai of the neighbourhood, said Rajiv, prepared with a mixture of different spices. Maria offered to pay for it, but Rajiv refused: they were his guests. They sipped it slowly, while the dyeing process progressed, step by step. Once finished, they opened the fabric while still wet: it had become a shawl with geometric designs in three colours on a white background. They hung it up and, with a temperature of more than forty degrees, it would dry in a few minutes. Maria photographed it, including in the photo the women who had made it. Did they want to buy it? It cost five rupees. Sure, with pleasure.
A woman approached Rajiv and said something, smiling and looking at the girls. Did they want to eat with them? They were invited to lunch with the women. Maria and Franca joined hands in front of their chest, thanking them, but they didn't have time. The woman said something else and Rajiv asked if they would agree to eat some samosas, they would arrive soon. It was impossible to turn down such a kind invitation. The samosas arrived a few minutes later, accompanied by more glasses of chai. Again, they didn't let them pay. The women motioned that no, they were their guests. While they were eating, questions began to flock through the translation of Rajiv. How old were they? Were they married? No? How was it possible? No children? The women were repeating every reply so that all the workers became involved in the conversation. Did they have a boyfriend? Yes? The girls perceived that they wanted to know whether they had intimate relationships, but they didn't dare to ask. This unspoken question provoked waves of general giggles that crossed the courtyard. The women laughed and looked at the girls, and the girls laughed in turn, feeling the curiosity, the impertinence, the humour in that genuine communication between Rajastani women, belonging to a traditional culture, and two Italian, more modern, women; but at that time they were all simply, equally, women.
Maria asked to see other shawls and the older worker brought her ten. She chose three to buy. The women wanted her to choose another one, as a gift, and then insisted that Franca chose one, too. What a great people, what heart; Maria left a piece of hers there in the yard. She was learning what trust was, as well as unconditional friendship, endless generosity, and the joy that came from the simplicity of a life that, despite the shortage of money, had far more precious values.
Rajiv accompanied them to where they could catch a rickshaw to get back to the Evergreen. Maria tried to give him five rupees, but he only wanted their address, and to correspond with them in English. Knowing that she wouldn't do so, Maria insisted and slipped a five-rupee note in his shirt pocket, telling him that it was for his studies. Only in this way, the young dignified student accepted it.
Patti hadn't arrived yet. Franca sat on a bench and began to talk to some English people, while Maria took the opportunity to go for a rest. Her friend came into the room to get the chillum and her charas. Was she all right? she asked with concern. Did she want her to stay there? No no, thank you! What on earth was happening? Something had definitely changed; she didn't know what it was, but maybe she preferred the way Franca was before. When Patti arrived, Franca withdrew with her for almost an hour and it was five o'clock before they reappeared to go to the shops, most of which were in the vicinity of the Evergreen.
They visited a shop where they sold exquisite paintings on silk. Sitting cross-legged on the floor covered with soft white mattresses, they looked at one piece of art after another, unrolled before their eyes by the owner. Patti was experienced and she quickly chose what she wanted. In less than half an hour she decided to buy ten paintings. They were representations in Mogul style of ancient scenes of men and women, kings and queens, courtiers and warriors, skilfully painted on silk, beautifully elaborated in minute details. The owner carefully rolled them up and put them inside a rigid tube.
Then it was the jeweller's turn. Patti had her supplier, who recognized her as soon as she set foot in his shop, even though it had been many years since the last time, and welcomed her warmly. Seated on high stools, their arms crossed on the glass counter, bright lamps shining light over their heads, they admired tens, hundreds of rings, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, anklets and semi-precious stones such as white rounded moonstones, purple amethyst, dark red grenades, black stars, brown tiger eyes streaked with yellow, turquoise, dark blue lapis lazuli with gold flecks, opals in different colours and shades, and then emeralds, topaz, rubies. Patti decided to buy only semi-precious stones as synthetic versions of precious stones were virtually indistinguishable from the natural ones, and this made for a risky trade; it was more likely to get cheated than not, she explained.
Franca wanted to buy a silver anklet, but the shopkeeper insisted that she should wear two, not one. He strove to explain that women who wore only one were 'easy' women, women 'of the trade', but she didn't want to know about buying two and said that she didn't care what others thought. She bought a chunky one and wore it on her left ankle, defiant and confident. The shopkeeper looked at her, shaking his head, but Franca sent him light-heartedly to hell and left the store saying that she liked to go against the tide.
The evening at the Evergreen was interesting, with an infinite number of young foreigners who came and sat next to each other on the long benches, so that it was impossible not to make friends. Maria saw the beautiful girl arrive late, sit at a table farther away and exchange a few words with a couple. She seemed to be travelling alone. At each table people were smoking chillums and joints. There were those who smoked them all, like Franca, those who smoked just a little, like Maria, and some who didn't smoke at all, like the beautiful girl who passed them without smoking them. Maria went to bed early, exhausted after a busy day. After a while, Franca joined her, asking her if she needed anything, offering her a massage to relax. While savouring the expert touch of her massage, Maria knew that Franca's new behaviour didn't convince her and made her feel uncomfortable. She fell asleep while her friend's hands slid slowly from her shoulders down. Her doubts would wait until tomorrow.
To go to chapter 13 click here Chapter 13
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