MADE IN NIRVANA
It starts again from now
Maria got up early, she had a morning's work at the Academy of Fine Arts, which was the reason why she had come back from India in September. Just one morning's work but this year it was her turn to pose for the entrance exams for the faculty of sculpture. The institute's square courtyard, surrounded by ancient arches, housed the janitor's shed. Beppi greeted her warmly: How was she? She had lost weight, but looked beautiful. What had she done? A slimming diet? No, India. Ah, India, so how come she was wearing shoes? He thought everyone went barefoot in India.
Full of excitement, she started to undo the straps; it seemed as if no-one had opened or inspected it. The things she had packed, and almost forgotten, began to appear, one by one. First ten different coloured sarongs wrapped in clear plastic bags, then a few metres of raw silk, neatly folded. There was a strong smell from everything she pulled out; it was the smell of India she remembered so well, a blend of sandalwood, patchouli, spices, moisture and dust. She sniffed the things with a mixture of wonder and nostalgia.
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