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 exchanged seats with Franca, who hadn't had the privilege of seeing the cliffs over the river during the first leg and didn't want to miss the opportunity. Whenever she saw a jeep, a car or a bus at the bottom of the escarpment she'd say loudly: "Look, another one there!"
"Yes, thank you," Maria replied, who would rather not have known but, since she couldn't get her to shut up, she sent a thought to those poor people who had lost their lives in that terrifying way and joined the other passengers who were praying in silence for protection. Within half an hour the coach had passed the most dangerous part and stopped at the pink temple. This time, as well as the driver, some passengers went into the temple and Maria followed them. There, before the Hindu gods, she offered thanks for all the wonderful Indian friends she had met and who had welcomed her with affection into their lives. Then her thought went to Paul and his embrace, his mesmerizing eyes. In her heart she expressed the desire to find a love that was possible, someone special with whom she could share her joy, thrills, adventures and grow together. She wanted something beautiful, where no one had to suffer, or make someone else suffer. The passengers climbed back onto the bus and Maria felt a sense of confidence replace the anxiety she had felt before. She was going to trust her life and have faith in what India had in store for her. She relaxed and stopped being a passenger in the driver's seat; she gave up checking the traffic and decided to trust the driver, who had plenty of experience.
Franca was completely focussed on the future. She asked the other passengers how to get to Varanasi, how long the train took and where to buy tickets. They were happy to be of assistance, converting her questions into a general discussion where everyone had their say, gave advice and shared their experience. They were glad to know that the girls were going to the holy city, where many of them had not yet been. Maria was comfortable in silence. She was thinking about the week just gone by, letting the emotions settle in her heart and take the place they deserved. They spent the night on the road, sitting tight and uncomfortable, but this time they were prepared and adapted to the discomfort, sleeping when they could no longer keep their eyes open and swapping seats from time to time, so that they could take turns to relax against the window. As they approached the plain the temperature rose. Maria recognized the villages they had crossed on the way there.
Once again, the dust became part of the journey and their bus drove in the middle of the road, daring the vehicles coming from the opposite direction. Instead of the terror felt the first time, Maria and Franca were having fun, watching up to which point the two drivers played chicken; they'd suddenly swerve to the left, thus avoiding a crash that seemed inevitable, and then merrily continued their journey.
They arrived at Old Delhi bus station eighteen hours after leaving Manali, with only one hour delay. Tired but relieved, they climbed onto the roof to take their backpacks. Outside the station they confidently bargained the price of a scooter to the Tourist Camp. The hot air was making their hair flutter, the cheerful wobbly scooter drove along a familiar road; it felt like coming home!
Being still early in the morning the people who lived on the road side were rising. Some brushed their teeth with toothbrush and toothpaste; others used the old system of rubbing a stick carefully and repeatedly between their teeth. They were preparing chai on kerosene stoves, calling the children, having breakfast. The girls were watching the lives of the people whose home was the road.
At the Tourist Camp they asked for two beds in a dormitory, but the receptionist on duty said they were full. They only had a deluxe bungalow with 'bathroom', which cost ten rupees more than two beds in a dormitory. They were very tired and Maria decided to pay the difference; besides, she liked the idea of having a little privacy after so many days sharing their space with other people. There was an Italian girl, the receptionist informed them, who was travelling alone; they were bound to see her. The bungalow was basic, like the one that Sanya and Colin had, but this was one of the very few that had a shower and that hole in the ground which they called the 'bathroom'. As soon as Maria laid her head on her pillow of folded jeans, she fell asleep.
Franca woke her up with a glass of chai and introduced her to Patti, the young Italian woman she had just met at the restaurant. "You've slept three hours," she said. "It's better if you wake up now, otherwise you'll sleep until tonight and then spend the night awake." Addressing Patti, she introduced her, saying: "She's the one who makes friends with the locals." Maria nodded, unable to open her eyes from the extreme tiredness. She drank the chai with her eyes closed, her back leaning awkwardly against the wall, listening to the conversation between the two girls sitting outside the door.
Patti was back in India after a six-year interval, during which time she had had two children and her husband had died. She spoke calmly about it and seemed to have accepted what had happened. Maria pricked up her ears when Patti said that he had been found dead in a field. He was a junkie addicted to opium and someone had killed him, either because of debts, or to steal his opium, no one had ever found out. "Had it not been so, sooner or later he would have died of an overdose," she said. And she, did she use opium? Franca asked with interest. Sometimes, but she had to be careful, because she had become a junkie too, and getting out of it had been very difficult. Where could one buy some? Franca pressed. The best place was Jaipur in Rajasthan, where she was headed the next day; had they ever been? Why didn't they go, too? Maria remembered that Jaipur was the place where Barbara wanted to buy semi-precious stones to then sell in Italy. She had said it was 'real India', the traditional India. She wondered whether it was very far from Delhi.
"Is it far from Delhi?" asked Franca, as if having heard her thoughts. Five hours by bus, said Patti. A doddle, compared to the nineteen they had just done.
"Compared to the journey from Manali, it's a doddle," said Franca. "I'll ask Maria!" With her eyes still closed, Maria said yes, as long as they didn't have to get up early; she was very tired. There were 'de luxe' coaches said Patti, several a day, and they had air conditioning. She was going to find out and maybe they could leave at around two in the afternoon? It sounded good! So, a few days in Jaipur, then back to Delhi, and then to Varanasi. Maria lay down again; she felt a great weariness. Franca prepared a chillum with the charas she had made and they came to smoke it inside the room.
Patti went on to tell: she lived in Milan and, with two small children, she had separated, disillusioned by her husband who did nothing but smoke opium and sell it. Then, determined to break free from the addiction, she had 'locked' herself at home with the children and stopped using it. The first week had been hell, but she had resisted. The second week had been easier and, after about a month, she began to live a new life.
"Where are your kids now?" asked Maria. They were with her sister while she was coming to India to buy things to resell in Milan. She needed money and intended to buy clothes, jewellery and paintings on silk. She could make seven to ten times what she invested and had people ready to buy the things she would bring. Maria was waking up and was very interested.
"Could I go with you some time, so I learn where to go? I am very interested in this thing of buying here and selling in Italy." Of course she could, Patti said with enthusiasm, she would be very happy to go around with a friend.
They decided to continue talking at the restaurant. The stuffy atmosphere made it difficult to breathe and, where they could, they walked in the shade of the young trees. The waiter recognized them and greeted them cordially.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes, thanks, and you?"
"Bahut acchah, very well," he replied, rocking his head. "Where have you been?"
"In Manali."
"Oh, the Valley of the Gods," he said, with a certain deference. While waiting for the food they had ordered, Franca continued to ask questions about opium; she was very interested and Patti was glad to satisfy her curiosity. During this conversation they understood that, in addition to things to resell, she also intended to buy some opium to take back to Italy. Maria had a lot of objections. Wasn't she afraid of getting caught? No, she had a foolproof system. What would happen to her children if she did get caught? She wasn't going to get caught, she was sure. But if she had found it so difficult to get rid of the addiction, why was she going to sell it? It wasn't easy to get addicted, she said, you had to use it for a long time, and she knew people who used it only occasionally, once a month. Franca grew impatient at Maria's questions and cut her off: "I'm more interested in knowing what it's like, I've never tried it. How does it make you feel?"
"It makes you feel good," said Patti. "It relaxes you completely; you don't worry about anything. It makes you daydream. It's beautiful!"
"And how do you take? Do you smoke it?" One could smoke it or eat it. Did she have any here? Franca asked. Yes, a little. If they wanted to try it out, she'd give them a piece. "I do, for sure. And you, Maria? Come on, you try it too."
"Yes, thank you," Maria replied, who would rather not have known but, since she couldn't get her to shut up, she sent a thought to those poor people who had lost their lives in that terrifying way and joined the other passengers who were praying in silence for protection. Within half an hour the coach had passed the most dangerous part and stopped at the pink temple. This time, as well as the driver, some passengers went into the temple and Maria followed them. There, before the Hindu gods, she offered thanks for all the wonderful Indian friends she had met and who had welcomed her with affection into their lives. Then her thought went to Paul and his embrace, his mesmerizing eyes. In her heart she expressed the desire to find a love that was possible, someone special with whom she could share her joy, thrills, adventures and grow together. She wanted something beautiful, where no one had to suffer, or make someone else suffer. The passengers climbed back onto the bus and Maria felt a sense of confidence replace the anxiety she had felt before. She was going to trust her life and have faith in what India had in store for her. She relaxed and stopped being a passenger in the driver's seat; she gave up checking the traffic and decided to trust the driver, who had plenty of experience.
Franca was completely focussed on the future. She asked the other passengers how to get to Varanasi, how long the train took and where to buy tickets. They were happy to be of assistance, converting her questions into a general discussion where everyone had their say, gave advice and shared their experience. They were glad to know that the girls were going to the holy city, where many of them had not yet been. Maria was comfortable in silence. She was thinking about the week just gone by, letting the emotions settle in her heart and take the place they deserved. They spent the night on the road, sitting tight and uncomfortable, but this time they were prepared and adapted to the discomfort, sleeping when they could no longer keep their eyes open and swapping seats from time to time, so that they could take turns to relax against the window. As they approached the plain the temperature rose. Maria recognized the villages they had crossed on the way there.
Once again, the dust became part of the journey and their bus drove in the middle of the road, daring the vehicles coming from the opposite direction. Instead of the terror felt the first time, Maria and Franca were having fun, watching up to which point the two drivers played chicken; they'd suddenly swerve to the left, thus avoiding a crash that seemed inevitable, and then merrily continued their journey.
They arrived at Old Delhi bus station eighteen hours after leaving Manali, with only one hour delay. Tired but relieved, they climbed onto the roof to take their backpacks. Outside the station they confidently bargained the price of a scooter to the Tourist Camp. The hot air was making their hair flutter, the cheerful wobbly scooter drove along a familiar road; it felt like coming home!
Being still early in the morning the people who lived on the road side were rising. Some brushed their teeth with toothbrush and toothpaste; others used the old system of rubbing a stick carefully and repeatedly between their teeth. They were preparing chai on kerosene stoves, calling the children, having breakfast. The girls were watching the lives of the people whose home was the road.
At the Tourist Camp they asked for two beds in a dormitory, but the receptionist on duty said they were full. They only had a deluxe bungalow with 'bathroom', which cost ten rupees more than two beds in a dormitory. They were very tired and Maria decided to pay the difference; besides, she liked the idea of having a little privacy after so many days sharing their space with other people. There was an Italian girl, the receptionist informed them, who was travelling alone; they were bound to see her. The bungalow was basic, like the one that Sanya and Colin had, but this was one of the very few that had a shower and that hole in the ground which they called the 'bathroom'. As soon as Maria laid her head on her pillow of folded jeans, she fell asleep.
Franca woke her up with a glass of chai and introduced her to Patti, the young Italian woman she had just met at the restaurant. "You've slept three hours," she said. "It's better if you wake up now, otherwise you'll sleep until tonight and then spend the night awake." Addressing Patti, she introduced her, saying: "She's the one who makes friends with the locals." Maria nodded, unable to open her eyes from the extreme tiredness. She drank the chai with her eyes closed, her back leaning awkwardly against the wall, listening to the conversation between the two girls sitting outside the door.
Patti was back in India after a six-year interval, during which time she had had two children and her husband had died. She spoke calmly about it and seemed to have accepted what had happened. Maria pricked up her ears when Patti said that he had been found dead in a field. He was a junkie addicted to opium and someone had killed him, either because of debts, or to steal his opium, no one had ever found out. "Had it not been so, sooner or later he would have died of an overdose," she said. And she, did she use opium? Franca asked with interest. Sometimes, but she had to be careful, because she had become a junkie too, and getting out of it had been very difficult. Where could one buy some? Franca pressed. The best place was Jaipur in Rajasthan, where she was headed the next day; had they ever been? Why didn't they go, too? Maria remembered that Jaipur was the place where Barbara wanted to buy semi-precious stones to then sell in Italy. She had said it was 'real India', the traditional India. She wondered whether it was very far from Delhi.
"Is it far from Delhi?" asked Franca, as if having heard her thoughts. Five hours by bus, said Patti. A doddle, compared to the nineteen they had just done.
"Compared to the journey from Manali, it's a doddle," said Franca. "I'll ask Maria!" With her eyes still closed, Maria said yes, as long as they didn't have to get up early; she was very tired. There were 'de luxe' coaches said Patti, several a day, and they had air conditioning. She was going to find out and maybe they could leave at around two in the afternoon? It sounded good! So, a few days in Jaipur, then back to Delhi, and then to Varanasi. Maria lay down again; she felt a great weariness. Franca prepared a chillum with the charas she had made and they came to smoke it inside the room.
Patti went on to tell: she lived in Milan and, with two small children, she had separated, disillusioned by her husband who did nothing but smoke opium and sell it. Then, determined to break free from the addiction, she had 'locked' herself at home with the children and stopped using it. The first week had been hell, but she had resisted. The second week had been easier and, after about a month, she began to live a new life.
"Where are your kids now?" asked Maria. They were with her sister while she was coming to India to buy things to resell in Milan. She needed money and intended to buy clothes, jewellery and paintings on silk. She could make seven to ten times what she invested and had people ready to buy the things she would bring. Maria was waking up and was very interested.
"Could I go with you some time, so I learn where to go? I am very interested in this thing of buying here and selling in Italy." Of course she could, Patti said with enthusiasm, she would be very happy to go around with a friend.
They decided to continue talking at the restaurant. The stuffy atmosphere made it difficult to breathe and, where they could, they walked in the shade of the young trees. The waiter recognized them and greeted them cordially.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes, thanks, and you?"
"Bahut acchah, very well," he replied, rocking his head. "Where have you been?"
"In Manali."
"Oh, the Valley of the Gods," he said, with a certain deference. While waiting for the food they had ordered, Franca continued to ask questions about opium; she was very interested and Patti was glad to satisfy her curiosity. During this conversation they understood that, in addition to things to resell, she also intended to buy some opium to take back to Italy. Maria had a lot of objections. Wasn't she afraid of getting caught? No, she had a foolproof system. What would happen to her children if she did get caught? She wasn't going to get caught, she was sure. But if she had found it so difficult to get rid of the addiction, why was she going to sell it? It wasn't easy to get addicted, she said, you had to use it for a long time, and she knew people who used it only occasionally, once a month. Franca grew impatient at Maria's questions and cut her off: "I'm more interested in knowing what it's like, I've never tried it. How does it make you feel?"
"It makes you feel good," said Patti. "It relaxes you completely; you don't worry about anything. It makes you daydream. It's beautiful!"
"And how do you take? Do you smoke it?" One could smoke it or eat it. Did she have any here? Franca asked. Yes, a little. If they wanted to try it out, she'd give them a piece. "I do, for sure. And you, Maria? Come on, you try it too."
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. With some anxiety mixed with excitement, she said she would eat a little piece, but very little, a child's dose. "Not so little for me," Franca said, laughing, "make it a man's dose, a big man!" Patti had it in her room. It was better to take it on an empty stomach, she said, so that they needed less to feel the effect.
The waiter brought the chai and the girls sipped it slowly, blowing to cool it a little. They were excited about trying the opium and going to Jaipur; it was a golden opportunity, given that Patti knew how to get there, where to stay, the best shops and what to buy. She came back with two black pieces of shiny opium that she wrapped in a piece of cigarette paper. Maria's piece was very small, while Franca's was more than double. Feeling her palms sweating, Maria struggled to swallow hers. Franca instead, who couldn't wait, swallowed her piece cheerfully, with a sip of chai.
"And now?" asked Maria.
"Now nothing," Patti soothed her. "Keep doing your things, and eat because, in a little while, you won't feel hungry."
When the waiter brought their order they rushed to eat with enthusiasm; they were starving! Maria finished the rice, chicken, vegetables, and even the pudding and then ordered another chai; she hadn't eaten so well for days. They talked about the shops in Jaipur, the semi-precious stones, rings and earrings that Patti was going to order or purchase directly, if she found enough things she liked. The tailors were very good at copying anything. If she had a suit, or a jacket, made in Italy which she wanted them to copy, within a few hours they'd make a perfect match, or nearly so. You had to watch them closely, she added, otherwise they'd make mistakes. She explained about the paintings on silk she would buy, they were the best in India. She told them about the Hotel Evergreen with its beautiful garden and good restaurant. Jaipur was a very exciting city, she assured them. It would be a great shame to return to Italy without having seen it.
As the minutes passed Maria felt the tiredness resurface; her eyelids were getting heavier and her eyes wanted to close. She had to go to bed; after all they had travelled all night. Franca was also beginning to feel the exhaustion; she had only rested an hour and decided to follow her. In the room, Maria lay down on the bed, her shoulders, her back, her legs were aching. The heat was unbearable and she was sweaty, dirty, her hair full of dust. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she removed her trousers and the t-shirt that had stuck to her skin and closed her eyes, while Franca busied herself in the bathroom. She heard the water from the shower flowing and her friend speaking, but her words were covered by the sound of the water and she couldn't understand anything. Exhausted, lulled by the muffled sounds, she fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed that she was lying in the sun on the shore of a lake surrounded by green mountains, the sun warmed her and made her sweat. She woke up to go to the bathroom, feeling so heavy she could barely lift a hand. She turned her head on the 'pillow' and, with an effort, she opened one eye. Franca, sitting on her bed, was looking at her.
"I'm all sweaty… I fell asleep," said Maria. "I can't wake up. I'm so tired!"
"You slept like an angel," said Franca, looking serious, "... you were beautiful."
"Mmmmm. Thank you. You are not too bad yourself," Maria laughed, half asleep.
"No way. I'm not saying I am a monster, but I'm definitely not as beautiful as you."
Maria turned toward Franca; her eyelids were as heavy as lead shutters. "If I don't go to the bathroom I'll wee myself, but I can't move." She half-opened her eyes and saw that Franca was watching her in silence. She had showered and her long hair was still wet. Sitting naked cross-legged on the bed, she was making a joint, strange for her who preferred chillums. "Well, I can't go for you," she said. "While you are at it, take a shower; it will make you feel better."
Slowly Maria sat on the edge of the bed, trying to find the strength to get up. Supporting herself against the walls, she made it to the bathroom.
"Leave the door open," said Franca "otherwise you'll die of heat in there."
From the tap came a weak jet of warm water. She lathered without hurry and washed her hair with shampoo, letting the poor flow of the shower rinse her slowly. She came out dripping, without a towel; she had forgotten to take it out of her backpack. She was stunned by tiredness and maybe the opium was taking effect. She would dry in no time in that heat, Franca assured her, who had lit up her joint and was smoking it, her back against the wall, her legs crossed. She followed Maria with her eyes as she moved about the room.
"You want to smoke?"
"If I smoke I'll fall asleep."
"It's okay! Just have a toke. Come on, take it!"
Maria sat on the bed and took the joint that Franca offered her.
"You're so beautiful!" she said again, looking at her without smiling.
"Oh, come on, drop it!" Maria took a drag and gave the joint back to her. She adjusted the 'pillow' under her head and lay down, as she was, naked, with wet hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, and fell asleep again. This time she dreamed of being in a big tub of hot water, along with other people, men and women, whom she didn't know. They were washing her with bubble bath and massaging her legs and back. There was a strong good scent. She woke up to find Franca massaging her back: "How wonderful! What are you doing?"
"I'm putting coconut oil on your back. I've already done your legs but you didn't wake up." Maria lay motionless, receiving with delight the expert massage that Franca was giving her, sitting astride her legs and buttocks. "I didn't know you could give massage," she mumbled, her mouth on the pillow.
"Sure! I'm very good."
"Will you teach me?"
"Of course! Then you can give one to me."
Maria was lulled by the strong and experienced massage and fell asleep, while Franca was smoothing her back, shoulders, neck, arms, hands, head, and dreamed of Ugo. He touched her with love, and passion. But then his face faded and became Paul's face. She dreamed and didn't know whether she was awake or asleep, she was between the two states, tranquil. Hours later she opened her eyes and looked at Franca, who was fast asleep beside her, still naked. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, content and relaxed.
They got up to go to the restaurant but didn't have much appetite. They ordered one chai after another, spoke little and slowly. They couldn't do anything in a hurry and it was fine. Patti told them of her life in Milan, a second baby quickly followed the first, and Rocco was arrested at the airport and sentenced to three years for smuggling drugs. He had got off lightly because he was a drug addict, a junkie and, as such, unable to make sensible decisions. In those three years alone she devoted herself to raising the children, consecrating her life to their happiness. After serving his sentence, Rocco begged her to take him back, but she knew he would never change and kept him at arm's length. One day the doorbell rang; she opened the door to a policeman with his cap in hand. Was she Rocco Malvolta's wife? It was over, that poor life of his, ruined, thrown away, like all those years spent 'using'. He had had happiness to hand, but hadn't been able to see it; instead he was looking for it in opium, deceived by the illusion of a life without problems. As if a life without problems ever existed. Only with his death they were over. What a price to pay! Patti's eyes grew moist with tears. It was such a shame, she said, blowing her nose, because Rocco was a good person, but weak, and had let himself be overwhelmed by drugs. What a wasted life! Did she miss him? No, she didn't miss him, but she was sorry, without a doubt. Things could have been so different if only he had had the strength to stop. He could have been a real father to their children. He would go to the park with them; take them to eat pizza; visit their grandmother; help them with their homework. Instead... She wiped her eyes and sat up straight. Well! Tomorrow, what time did they want to leave? At two o'clock there was a 'de luxe' bus which arrived in Jaipur at about seven. Was that okay? It was perfect!
It was nice to travel with someone who knew where to go. Between Franca and Patti they decided everything and Maria enjoyed being led. The bus ride was comfortable, even if they couldn't open the windows because of the air conditioning. She preferred by far the dust and the noise to that sense of claustrophobia, of separation from the people of the villages they crossed, barricaded behind the tinted glass, imprisoned by comfort and progress. The hours passed between a nap and a daydream. The effect of opium was still slightly noticeable. She felt less involved with the outside world, separate from reality, as if everything that was happening around her didn't matter. She had no desire or interest in talking to people; she just wanted to look out the window and let her thoughts wander.
The impact of Jaipur was very strong. What a place! What people! The massive Pink Fort greeted them from the main road. Hundreds of rickshaws flooded the streets and their coach was surrounded by them. Rajastani men wore huge turbans in brilliant colours, rolled above their heads and matched by the exaggerated moustache that gave them an almost savage appearance. Patti explained that they belonged to the caste of the Rajput warriors in the Hindu religion; they were proud people, courageous and cheerful at the same time. The women wore bright multicoloured skirts that stopped just above their ankles, embroidered with threads of contrasting colours and richly embellished with mirrors and beads. Their legs were adorned with large silver anklets that jingled at every step. The short blouses left their backs bare from the bottom of the shoulder blades down to the waist, while long and light cotton shawls of vivid colours covered their heads, fluttering with every movement and every breath of wind. The colours of the Rajastani clothes were very strong: bright pink, sparkling red, pea green, yellow with the intensity and warmth of the sun; close to each other they filled the eyes with a variety and strength of colour far surpassing those seen in Delhi.
A noble dignity accompanied the apparent poverty of these people, conveying an alchemy of courage and pride, friendliness and simplicity. The rickshaws were offering their services in a discreet way; at the first expression of denial, they continued on their way without insisting. Maria felt immediately at ease, fascinated by these people. It would have been relaxing to walk around Jaipur, had it not been for the heat which was more intense than in Delhi.
"How many degrees do you think it is?" asked Maria gasping.
"Around forty," Patti said. "We are close to the desert of Thar. It's much hotter here than in Delhi."
She was glad they had arrived in the late afternoon, when the fierce heat of the midday sun had begun to decline.
The hotel Evergreen consisted of a cosy rectangular courtyard, adorned by a lush garden and surrounded by a score of rooms on the ground floor; basic and cheap. Luxuriant flowering trees created large areas of fragrant shade on the long tables and benches in the courtyard, ready to welcome the visitors. On the far side was the restaurant counter, which took orders and communicated them to the kitchen. An atmosphere of relaxed familiarity pervaded the hotel and its garden. Patti asked if they had three beds in the dormitory: they had only one, which they could offer for four rupees, and a twin room for ten. Patti took the bed in the dormitory while Maria and Franca took the room with two beds. Maria put her luggage down, leaving Franca in the room to prepare the inevitable 'arrival' chillum.
She sat in the garden and looked around, trying to guess the nationality of the people sitting there. There was a group of Germans; that was easy to understand because she could hear them talk, and a couple of Nordic guys, either Danish, or Norwegian, or Swedish. She saw a beautiful girl who spoke with a couple of blond boys; she was more or less her age and a ravishing beauty. She had regular features and large eyes, smiled freely and laughed often. Maria couldn't take her eyes off her and tried to glance at her sideways, so as not to get caught staring. She would have liked to speak to her, but it didn't seem to be the right time. Shortly afterwards the two boys left and the girl remained alone.
Franca arrived just then with Patti and sat down next to Maria. The girl got up and disappeared into one of the rooms. They ordered something to eat and while they waited, Patti shared her programme for the next day. She would go on a tour of the shops in the afternoon, which both Maria and Franca were welcome to join. In the morning she would go looking for a friend whom she had met years back, hoping to find him. If they wanted to, they could take advantage of the morning hours to visit Jaipur.
They relaxed and ate dinner, while the garden was filling with young people coming back after a long day around the city. There were visitors of all nationalities, French, British, Germans, Scandinavians, Italians, Israelis, and even Indians from South India who had come to visit the capital of one of the most traditional, cheerful and vibrant states of the Indian continent.
The waiter brought the chai and the girls sipped it slowly, blowing to cool it a little. They were excited about trying the opium and going to Jaipur; it was a golden opportunity, given that Patti knew how to get there, where to stay, the best shops and what to buy. She came back with two black pieces of shiny opium that she wrapped in a piece of cigarette paper. Maria's piece was very small, while Franca's was more than double. Feeling her palms sweating, Maria struggled to swallow hers. Franca instead, who couldn't wait, swallowed her piece cheerfully, with a sip of chai.
"And now?" asked Maria.
"Now nothing," Patti soothed her. "Keep doing your things, and eat because, in a little while, you won't feel hungry."
When the waiter brought their order they rushed to eat with enthusiasm; they were starving! Maria finished the rice, chicken, vegetables, and even the pudding and then ordered another chai; she hadn't eaten so well for days. They talked about the shops in Jaipur, the semi-precious stones, rings and earrings that Patti was going to order or purchase directly, if she found enough things she liked. The tailors were very good at copying anything. If she had a suit, or a jacket, made in Italy which she wanted them to copy, within a few hours they'd make a perfect match, or nearly so. You had to watch them closely, she added, otherwise they'd make mistakes. She explained about the paintings on silk she would buy, they were the best in India. She told them about the Hotel Evergreen with its beautiful garden and good restaurant. Jaipur was a very exciting city, she assured them. It would be a great shame to return to Italy without having seen it.
As the minutes passed Maria felt the tiredness resurface; her eyelids were getting heavier and her eyes wanted to close. She had to go to bed; after all they had travelled all night. Franca was also beginning to feel the exhaustion; she had only rested an hour and decided to follow her. In the room, Maria lay down on the bed, her shoulders, her back, her legs were aching. The heat was unbearable and she was sweaty, dirty, her hair full of dust. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she removed her trousers and the t-shirt that had stuck to her skin and closed her eyes, while Franca busied herself in the bathroom. She heard the water from the shower flowing and her friend speaking, but her words were covered by the sound of the water and she couldn't understand anything. Exhausted, lulled by the muffled sounds, she fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed that she was lying in the sun on the shore of a lake surrounded by green mountains, the sun warmed her and made her sweat. She woke up to go to the bathroom, feeling so heavy she could barely lift a hand. She turned her head on the 'pillow' and, with an effort, she opened one eye. Franca, sitting on her bed, was looking at her.
"I'm all sweaty… I fell asleep," said Maria. "I can't wake up. I'm so tired!"
"You slept like an angel," said Franca, looking serious, "... you were beautiful."
"Mmmmm. Thank you. You are not too bad yourself," Maria laughed, half asleep.
"No way. I'm not saying I am a monster, but I'm definitely not as beautiful as you."
Maria turned toward Franca; her eyelids were as heavy as lead shutters. "If I don't go to the bathroom I'll wee myself, but I can't move." She half-opened her eyes and saw that Franca was watching her in silence. She had showered and her long hair was still wet. Sitting naked cross-legged on the bed, she was making a joint, strange for her who preferred chillums. "Well, I can't go for you," she said. "While you are at it, take a shower; it will make you feel better."
Slowly Maria sat on the edge of the bed, trying to find the strength to get up. Supporting herself against the walls, she made it to the bathroom.
"Leave the door open," said Franca "otherwise you'll die of heat in there."
From the tap came a weak jet of warm water. She lathered without hurry and washed her hair with shampoo, letting the poor flow of the shower rinse her slowly. She came out dripping, without a towel; she had forgotten to take it out of her backpack. She was stunned by tiredness and maybe the opium was taking effect. She would dry in no time in that heat, Franca assured her, who had lit up her joint and was smoking it, her back against the wall, her legs crossed. She followed Maria with her eyes as she moved about the room.
"You want to smoke?"
"If I smoke I'll fall asleep."
"It's okay! Just have a toke. Come on, take it!"
Maria sat on the bed and took the joint that Franca offered her.
"You're so beautiful!" she said again, looking at her without smiling.
"Oh, come on, drop it!" Maria took a drag and gave the joint back to her. She adjusted the 'pillow' under her head and lay down, as she was, naked, with wet hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, and fell asleep again. This time she dreamed of being in a big tub of hot water, along with other people, men and women, whom she didn't know. They were washing her with bubble bath and massaging her legs and back. There was a strong good scent. She woke up to find Franca massaging her back: "How wonderful! What are you doing?"
"I'm putting coconut oil on your back. I've already done your legs but you didn't wake up." Maria lay motionless, receiving with delight the expert massage that Franca was giving her, sitting astride her legs and buttocks. "I didn't know you could give massage," she mumbled, her mouth on the pillow.
"Sure! I'm very good."
"Will you teach me?"
"Of course! Then you can give one to me."
Maria was lulled by the strong and experienced massage and fell asleep, while Franca was smoothing her back, shoulders, neck, arms, hands, head, and dreamed of Ugo. He touched her with love, and passion. But then his face faded and became Paul's face. She dreamed and didn't know whether she was awake or asleep, she was between the two states, tranquil. Hours later she opened her eyes and looked at Franca, who was fast asleep beside her, still naked. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, content and relaxed.
They got up to go to the restaurant but didn't have much appetite. They ordered one chai after another, spoke little and slowly. They couldn't do anything in a hurry and it was fine. Patti told them of her life in Milan, a second baby quickly followed the first, and Rocco was arrested at the airport and sentenced to three years for smuggling drugs. He had got off lightly because he was a drug addict, a junkie and, as such, unable to make sensible decisions. In those three years alone she devoted herself to raising the children, consecrating her life to their happiness. After serving his sentence, Rocco begged her to take him back, but she knew he would never change and kept him at arm's length. One day the doorbell rang; she opened the door to a policeman with his cap in hand. Was she Rocco Malvolta's wife? It was over, that poor life of his, ruined, thrown away, like all those years spent 'using'. He had had happiness to hand, but hadn't been able to see it; instead he was looking for it in opium, deceived by the illusion of a life without problems. As if a life without problems ever existed. Only with his death they were over. What a price to pay! Patti's eyes grew moist with tears. It was such a shame, she said, blowing her nose, because Rocco was a good person, but weak, and had let himself be overwhelmed by drugs. What a wasted life! Did she miss him? No, she didn't miss him, but she was sorry, without a doubt. Things could have been so different if only he had had the strength to stop. He could have been a real father to their children. He would go to the park with them; take them to eat pizza; visit their grandmother; help them with their homework. Instead... She wiped her eyes and sat up straight. Well! Tomorrow, what time did they want to leave? At two o'clock there was a 'de luxe' bus which arrived in Jaipur at about seven. Was that okay? It was perfect!
It was nice to travel with someone who knew where to go. Between Franca and Patti they decided everything and Maria enjoyed being led. The bus ride was comfortable, even if they couldn't open the windows because of the air conditioning. She preferred by far the dust and the noise to that sense of claustrophobia, of separation from the people of the villages they crossed, barricaded behind the tinted glass, imprisoned by comfort and progress. The hours passed between a nap and a daydream. The effect of opium was still slightly noticeable. She felt less involved with the outside world, separate from reality, as if everything that was happening around her didn't matter. She had no desire or interest in talking to people; she just wanted to look out the window and let her thoughts wander.
The impact of Jaipur was very strong. What a place! What people! The massive Pink Fort greeted them from the main road. Hundreds of rickshaws flooded the streets and their coach was surrounded by them. Rajastani men wore huge turbans in brilliant colours, rolled above their heads and matched by the exaggerated moustache that gave them an almost savage appearance. Patti explained that they belonged to the caste of the Rajput warriors in the Hindu religion; they were proud people, courageous and cheerful at the same time. The women wore bright multicoloured skirts that stopped just above their ankles, embroidered with threads of contrasting colours and richly embellished with mirrors and beads. Their legs were adorned with large silver anklets that jingled at every step. The short blouses left their backs bare from the bottom of the shoulder blades down to the waist, while long and light cotton shawls of vivid colours covered their heads, fluttering with every movement and every breath of wind. The colours of the Rajastani clothes were very strong: bright pink, sparkling red, pea green, yellow with the intensity and warmth of the sun; close to each other they filled the eyes with a variety and strength of colour far surpassing those seen in Delhi.
A noble dignity accompanied the apparent poverty of these people, conveying an alchemy of courage and pride, friendliness and simplicity. The rickshaws were offering their services in a discreet way; at the first expression of denial, they continued on their way without insisting. Maria felt immediately at ease, fascinated by these people. It would have been relaxing to walk around Jaipur, had it not been for the heat which was more intense than in Delhi.
"How many degrees do you think it is?" asked Maria gasping.
"Around forty," Patti said. "We are close to the desert of Thar. It's much hotter here than in Delhi."
She was glad they had arrived in the late afternoon, when the fierce heat of the midday sun had begun to decline.
The hotel Evergreen consisted of a cosy rectangular courtyard, adorned by a lush garden and surrounded by a score of rooms on the ground floor; basic and cheap. Luxuriant flowering trees created large areas of fragrant shade on the long tables and benches in the courtyard, ready to welcome the visitors. On the far side was the restaurant counter, which took orders and communicated them to the kitchen. An atmosphere of relaxed familiarity pervaded the hotel and its garden. Patti asked if they had three beds in the dormitory: they had only one, which they could offer for four rupees, and a twin room for ten. Patti took the bed in the dormitory while Maria and Franca took the room with two beds. Maria put her luggage down, leaving Franca in the room to prepare the inevitable 'arrival' chillum.
She sat in the garden and looked around, trying to guess the nationality of the people sitting there. There was a group of Germans; that was easy to understand because she could hear them talk, and a couple of Nordic guys, either Danish, or Norwegian, or Swedish. She saw a beautiful girl who spoke with a couple of blond boys; she was more or less her age and a ravishing beauty. She had regular features and large eyes, smiled freely and laughed often. Maria couldn't take her eyes off her and tried to glance at her sideways, so as not to get caught staring. She would have liked to speak to her, but it didn't seem to be the right time. Shortly afterwards the two boys left and the girl remained alone.
Franca arrived just then with Patti and sat down next to Maria. The girl got up and disappeared into one of the rooms. They ordered something to eat and while they waited, Patti shared her programme for the next day. She would go on a tour of the shops in the afternoon, which both Maria and Franca were welcome to join. In the morning she would go looking for a friend whom she had met years back, hoping to find him. If they wanted to, they could take advantage of the morning hours to visit Jaipur.
They relaxed and ate dinner, while the garden was filling with young people coming back after a long day around the city. There were visitors of all nationalities, French, British, Germans, Scandinavians, Italians, Israelis, and even Indians from South India who had come to visit the capital of one of the most traditional, cheerful and vibrant states of the Indian continent.
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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