Trip To India

Josè took my hand and I squeezed it hard. The engines started to rumble and the big vehicle moved. “It's not that different from a big bus, which travels not in two but in three dimensions” he said smiling. “Not only far and wide, but also in height. And it's only a one-hour-flight, honey.”

The plane was now rolling on the runway at a good speed. I glanced worried at the line of windows, trying to see something of the outside world, but they were too little and distant. All of a sudden I felt a sort of lift upwards - the vehicle was now up in the air, in the third dimension... An unintentional little whimper slipped out of my mouth and Josè squeezed my hand smiling. It was joke-time!

“A man is walking along the Californian shore when he trips over an old lamp. He picks it up, rubs it and out pops the genie that, with a quite bored look, says: Okay, okay. You've freed me from the lamp, blah blah blah. It's the fourth time in a month and all these wishes are starting to annoy me. So you can forget the classic three wishes, you only have one.

The man sits and tries to think. Then he says: I'm scared of flying and suffer seasickness. Can you build a bridge to Hawaii so I can go by car?

The genius laughs and replies: It's impossible! Think of the logistics. How could the piles reach the bottom of the ocean? Think about how much reinforced concrete and steel would be needed. No, think of another wish.

The man tries to think. In the end he says: I've been married and divorced four times. My wives always said I did not give them enough attention and that I am insensitive. So I wish to understand women... to know how they feel and what they think when they don't talk to me... why they cry... what they really want when they say no, it's nothing... and to know how to make them really happy...

The genius: That bridge, do you want it two or three lanes? ...”

Despite the fear and tension, I burst out laughing. Even the people in the row next to us giggled and the atmosphere cheered up.

A few minutes later the plane stabilized at its cruising altitude and the passengers relaxed, unfastening their seatbelt, reading newspapers and magazines, or getting out diaries and books from their hand-luggage.

Time passed quickly, thanks to Josè’s loving and funny conversation and we landed right on time at the national terminal of Leonardo Da Vinci's airport, in Fiumicino.

Our plane for India was leaving at 3:26 pm, flight EK0098 of the company Emirates Airline. Just one stopover in Dubai for shorthall passengers and refuel, then late-night boarding for Delhi. Overall about twenty hours travel... but Josè explained to me that three of them were just due to jet-lagging and at least another four were spent waiting for the connecting flight in Dubai, so we would have stayed in the air for only about ten hours, of which we would have spent mostly sleeping.

The check-in for the international flight opened two hours before the departure, so we organized with trolleys and had lunch in a diner at the airport. At 2 pm Maximilian's phone started ringing - he had set the alarm to avoid risks - and all of us headed to the hell of international departure's acceptance. A friend suggested to book two separate tickets, so two check-ins, one in Bologna for the national flight and one in Rome for the international departure, because when you change flight and especially airlines during a trip, there's the serious risk that the luggage doesn't arrive in the right place at the right time.

I was quite tired so I sat down on my trusting wheelchair, letting Josè push me up to the departure's queue.

Again Max took care of everybody's check-in, asking for seats near the middle row and for vegetarian food. I noticed that our luggage was light, especially in comparison to other travelers, with somatic Indian features, who seemed to have been shopping in Italy.

At the security check the agents examined carefully our hand-luggage and our passports. Luckily the travel agency had informed us on current legislation, therefore there were no complications.

At 3 pm we were sat in the waiting area at the gate with other passengers, waiting to get on the little bus that was going to take us to the aircraft on the runway.

It was then that I recognized the guy that I'd spotted in Bologna airport whom looked familiar. It was doctor Giuliano, sat a couple of rows away with a tall and heavyset bloke with olive skin. He seemed to realize that someone was staring at him: he turned his head, saw me and smiled even if a little surprised.

We greeted from a distance and then he went back to his intense discussion with his friend.

The big doors of the departure hall opened and the passengers neatly got on two small buses, finally reaching the plane parked on the runway.

One by one we climbed the outside stairs and as soon as we were on board Josè gave my foldable wheelchair to a hostess, who put it in the service area.

Again we shoved the hand-luggage in the over head compartment and we took the seats that were assigned to us.

Soon enough all the passengers sat down and fastened their seatbelt and the stewards gave us a demonstration on how to use them, on oxygen masks for eventual pressure drops in the cabin and on emergency exits. I noticed that almost nobody was taking this information seriously and Josè recommended me saying that plane crashes were far fewer than car crashes. So there was no reason to be anxious.

The take-off went perfectly again, the motors of the vehicle rumbled more and more louder and the plane speeded up, until the push of the thrust took away the ground and the sense of gravity, handing the craft over to the air and then to the sky.

Within a few minutes we were at the cruising altitude. The most experienced passengers casually unfastened their seatbelt, some of them stood up to get objects from the hand-luggage's compartment.

The stewardess started a tour with drink trolleys: tea and coffee in thermoses, water, cans of coke and sprite, fruit juices. Together with drinks, they handed out packets of peanuts and crackers to munch on.

From the seat at our backs, Maximilian commented: “On long flights they give you food and drinks every three hours and you can even ask for some extra soft drinks. I know they serve alcohol in first class but here, if you want it, you have to pay separately.”

I pulled a face. “No, thank you Max. I'm not bothered.”

Our conversation was interrupted by doctor Giuliano, who came closer to say hi.

“Hello, doc!” I preceded him, with a big smile. “Do you remember me?”

He smiled back. “Yes, you're a friend of father Sandro... Miss...”

“Stefania...” I fixed his visible amnesia. Then again it's been a while and I was already surprised he recognized my face. I remembered his name because it was related to a very particular day...

“Please, take a seat”, I said. There were a couple of empty seats in our line and Josè moved so Giuliano could sit next to me and we could talk better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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