Trip To India

“Great,” Josè said. “We'll be very glad to let you accompany us.”

Giuliano got the menu; he quickly scrolled it, and then ordered a 'Masala dosa' for both, with chai and Plain dahi and Jalebi for dessert.

The waiter understood immediately, smiled and hurried to the kitchen. In less than five minutes later he came back with two colleagues, bringing with him two huge crispy rolls filled with potatoes with an appetizing look, two small plates with strange golden hoops soaked in syrup, various bowls of what looked like sauces and cups of steaming hot Indian tea.

I had already finished my French Toast - sliced bread dipped beaten egg and pan-fried - with cooked apples, but I left the sweetish round sandwiches filled with cheese spread, the unidentified vegetables and the withered salad to order “what they had ordered”, followed by the rest of the group.

The doctor and Riccardo smiled. “When you go abroad, it's always better to choose the local dishes from the menu. At least you hope they can cook them... few Indians go abroad and the cooks often adapt recipes from books according to their imagination, the available ingredients and according to the taste of the majority of their customers... which are Indians.”

I watched them whilst they were eating their gigantic rolls using their hands without embarrassment and I realized that it really was the easiest way to do it. We found out that the Masala Dosa was served with two accompanying bowls, containing a delicious coconut Chatni and a quite liquid pulse soup called Sambar. The local Anglo-Indian name of the thick plain yogurt was Plain Dahi.

I was tempted to have second helpings, but I held back. I moved on to the Jalebi: the syrup was sweet in an inebriating way and tasted of saffron and butter... the golden hoops were crispy light twists made of fried pastry that still contained warm syrup. I licked my fingers without shame... then I rinsed them in the small bowls of tepid water that in the meantime had arrived and that I had seen our friends using just before.

At the end of the meal we got up satisfied and we left full of enthusiasm to explore the capital... The Tata Sumo of the hotel was waiting for us at the entrance: it was more like a minibus than a car. Giuliano took leave from us saying that he needed to make some phone calls, Riccardo got on the large front seat next to the driver, Josè and I got comfy on the back seat that was large enough for four people. Nirva and Max took their places at the back, where there were two more seats, one opposite the other and room for eventual baggage, where they placed my trustworthy folded wheelchair.

The first stop was Jama Masjid, the main mosque in Delhi, which we saw only from the outside. Carrying on towards north, within the city, after we overcame the labyrinth of alleys of the bazaar around the mosque we arrived at the famous Red Fort, an enormous complex made of red stone faded through time and too many stairs for my legs. Josè stayed in the car and kept me company while Nirvanananda, Maximilian and Riccardo ventured on the inside. When they came back, they talked enthusiastically about the huge backyard and showed us the photos that they took with the Polaroid.

Then the chauffeur went back in direction of the hotel but we proceeded towards the Lotus Temple, inaugurated in 1986 as the worship center for the Bahai Faith but open to everyone. Built in the shape of a gigantic lotus flower, it's one of the principal tourist attractions of Delhi... and in fact there were a lot of people visiting it. Since it was easily accessible for my wheelchair I decided to take a tour too, pushed by Josè and Nirva in turns, while Riccardo was talking about this religious movement founded in Persia from a certain Baháulláh around 1848 to reconcile all the traditional faiths of the world. In the Lotus temple everyone can enter and read or recite their own holy Scriptures, but musical instruments aren't allowed, you can't give speeches or sermons and there aren't rituals nor holy images or altars.

The next stop was the Qutab Minar, the most famous minaret in Delhi. Riccardo showed us how it was built with the pieces of several Hindu temples that Muslims have destroyed. I was tired and started to feel unwell and there was a question popping in my mind with growing insistence. I decided to drag it out.

“Sorry, Riccardo, but I thought that India had a majority of Hindus. Where are all the temples? Or maybe we can't visit them because we're tourists?”

He looked at me with a sad smile and shook his head. “No, Stefania, there are no ancient Hindu temples in Delhi. Actually there used to be so many, but they were consistently destroyed during the Muslim domination, from which India never recovered completely. And according to their system, as they knocked down a temple they built a mosque or some other building on the ruins, so that Hindus couldn't access even in the future. The same thing that Christians did in Italy with the majority of pagan temples...

The only Hindu temples that you can find in Delhi were built after the English took the city from the Muslims.”

My expression must have said it all, because Riccardo quickly added: “But there's a really small Hindu temple that survived, because it has always been hidden. It's in the downtown, in Connaught Place: I'll take you to visit it.”

We left the minaret without regrets and since it was on the way for Connaught Place we passed by India Gate, the enormous local arc of triumph that, judging from our driver's enthusiasm, it seemed to be a very important touristic attraction. I imagine it worked especially for Indian tourists that came to visit the capital from other states.

I refused to visit Gandhi's mausoleum and the presidential palace so we made it to Connaught Place around five in the afternoon. Riccardo brought us straight away to the little Hanuman temple, in Baba Karak Singh Road, at almost 300 yards from the main square. He explained to us that this was one of the only five ancient temples that survived - the others were the one of Kali in south Delhi, the one of Yogamaya nearby Kutub Minar, the temple of Bhairava in Purana Qila and the Nili Chatri Mahadev temple in Nigambodh Ghat out of the city's wall. The one in Baba Karak Singh Road survived because during the Muslim domination the believers put the Islamic half-moon on the dome... giving the impression that it was a building used by the Muhammadan fanatics. The picture of baby Hanuman, to whom it's dedicated, is only partially visible from the entrance of the structure and this, I thought, must have been another useful factor.

While Riccardo told us the story of the temple, some old men sat in the principal room kept singing Sri Ram, Jai Ram, Jai Jai Ram. When I turned to watch, one of them smiled at me toothless.

“The song is going on interrupted from the first august 1964,” Riccardo said. “It also is on the Guinness World Records' book.”

Nirvanananda went to kneel before the image of the God and promised us that in the car he would give us more clarifications about the character.

The peaceful and devotional atmosphere in the temple lifted my soul and, when we got back in the square half an hour later, I felt better.

Connaught Place was the most famous square of Delhi, full of stores and restaurants. Walking slowly and carefully, on Josè’s arm on the right and supported by Nirva on the left, I was able to visit the whole area. Then we got into a brasserie in a sub-basement shopping center.

It was already 6 pm, several hours from our brunch and I felt definitely hungry. This time I let Riccardo deal with the orders and I did not regret it. The table at which we were sat almost immediately filled up with many plates of various dimensions, containing a variety of delights. With pen and paper in hand he made a list copying from the plasticized menu. Paratha - grilled wraps filled with potatoes, Puri - thin crunchy spheres completely empty, Naan - bread slightly risen filled with fresh cheese, Pakora - fritters of beer-battered vegetables, Tikka - potatoes and peas nuggets, Palak Panir - diced curd in a spinach puree, Samosa - pastry puffs filled with spiced potatoes, Dahi Vada - fried salted bagels with yogurt sauce, Dal Kachori - round puffs filled with a creamed beans, and a series of assorted vegetables with various sauces and spices.

We went back to the hotel tired but satisfied, at about nine pm, ready to go to bed: the day after we had to leave early.

NEPAL

Riccardo explained to us that from Delhi to Kathmandu there were more than one thousand kilometers, of hills and mountains with rock-sliding and dangerous roads. By bus it would have taken forty-eight hours of exhausting travel. Renting a cab it would have taken ‘only’ twelve hours, to which had to be added to the unspecified time of waiting at the border between India and Nepal, because the gates opened only in certain hours. In addition, you had to wait at least two hours to get the visa.

The day before we paid the hotel check and made the photo ID for the visa while we were at Connaught Place, so we just had to get on the 7:30 am plane from the national flights terminal of the Indira Gandhi International Airport. It took less than twenty minutes to get to the airport, because the streets were completely deserted. At ten to seven we were at the check-in and we got on board without any problem. By now I felt like a veteran of flights...

Unfortunately that feeling didn't last long. The craft that should have taken us from Delhi to Kathmandu was much smaller and my claustrophobia returned overbearingly.

The flight lasted less than two hours but was harder to bear than the one from Italy to India. It took all of Josè’s commitment and Nirvanananda's help, who also sat next to me, to distract me and helped me relax. When the plane landed at the Tribhuvan International Airport, at 9:15 am, only five minutes late on the schedule, my companions ran out of all the jokes they could remember. In the moment we got down the stairs of the plane I thanked my lucky stars for my wheelchair because I felt that my legs were very weak.

At the immigration office of the airport we filled the paperwork for the visa, we added the two ID photos we had ready and we paid in dollars as the local legislation required. Everything was smooth as silk and the cops were kind, so little by little I got over my crisis. Friendly chatting with the guards at the airport, Riccardo explained to them that during our trip in Kathmandu we had to meet a famous local Hindu saint, Baba Pasupathinath who, according to our friends who'd visited him recently during their journey, had healing powers. I raised a shy, sad smile and the policemen were moved. They detached one of their agents to escort us to Vaikuntha Ashram and make sure that everything worked properly.

The monks of the ashram were glad to see me again. They remembered me and told me there was room for everyone. But Govindananda had left... for Puri! Yes, they had an ashram there too, not far from the beach, near Konark. No, they didn't know when he would come back.

I consulted my group and we decided to stay the night at the Hyatt Regency Kathmandu. The purpose of my permanence in Nepal faded and even though the monks of the ashram were nice to me, this time I have a specific mission to accomplish.

We visited the temple, socialized with a couple of foreign guests of the ashram, took advantage of the great breakfast that was offered to us and around noon we rented a small rickshaw caravan, headed to the Hyatt Regency Kathmandu, a five star hotel where, like good tourists, we basked in the luxury. Riccardo and Giuliano insisted to pay for our stay in the hotel, claiming that we were in some kind of way working for their cause and in the city there weren't decent hotels: the choice was between luxury and hovels. There was no middle ground. I must say that our protests were really weak and lasted for a really short time... We inquired about the return flights for the next day to Delhi and we all booked, including the doctor and his friend, Indian Airlines 4:15 pm flight with arrival at 5:30 pm. While we paid our tickets with various credit cards, Riccardo winked at me with a smile and I returned it right back. A great stratagem, if someone did a research on our movements.

It was a nice day. The first visit was at the Buddhanath Stupa, a few minutes away from the hotel - the most famous sacred Lamaist place out of actual Tibet. Then we went to visit the temple of Pashupatinath, where unfortunately we weren't allowed to enter, the Sayambhunath Stupa and the house of Devi Kumri, in Durbar Square. A kid that presented himself as ‘local tour guide’ told us to put some rupees in the specific box, so that the living baby goddess would show up at the window of the first door to bless us. After a few minutes in fact the girl appeared: a small sweet and serious face girl surrounded by an elaborate and high red crown and wreath of colored flowers, the eyes enlarged and elongated by a heavy black outline, the lips red and all of the forehead completely covered in red and yellow, with a ‘third eye’ applied in the middle.

Riccardo took us around the market stalls and various alleyways, which looked somehow familiar from my last stay. We visited a series of places that I had never seen before; I wrote the names which I can't connect anymore to the photos we took: Guhesvari, Akasha Bhairava, Hanuman Dhoka, Kashtamandap, Ashoka Vinayak, Jaishi Deval, Balaju Budhanikantha, Changu Narayana, and Shekha Narayana. But I recognized a little temple dedicated to Shiva that I visited the first time and the temple of Durga, I learned it was called Dakshinakali now.

Nirva had got rid of the sad expression he'd had over the disappointment of not finding Govindananda, Max and Josè were super busy taking pictures and commenting amused by every smart and naughty move of the monkeys in every corner. One of them seemed in love with my boyfriend and didn't leave him alone! Clearly at one point my look must have been so wicked that when I screamed “I'm jealous!” the poor monkey ran away with its tail between its legs, after stealing two bananas from Maximilian's backpack. We burst out laughing seeing his face because the fruit was closed with the zipper and not one of us had noticed anything! It was hilarious.

“Now we have two less bananas and I'm very hungry little monkey... where will you take us to eat?” started Josè.

“In a chic place!” I smiled maliciously. And took them to the Good Food.

Actually the ‘Good Food’ was a clean place, I have always eaten well and it was quiet, but you couldn't define it as an elegant restaurant. I gladly noticed that in five years the management hadn't changed, the woman of the place clearly had a great memory and greeted me as if time had never passed. She'd lost weight and seemed in really good shape, happy and full of energy. Something good must have happened to her... who knows!

Even this time she tried to speak in our language: "Italiani simpatici!" and showed us two tables of four, adjacent, that with a small effort could be brought even closer. Riccardo and Giuliano said that, if we didn't mind, they had work to do and pulled out a file with a pack of papers with sketches and charts. They chose a table for two at the bottom of the room, ordered a local vegetarian menu and soon enough were profoundly soaked in a conversation in whispers.

We let them discuss freely and we focused on our food. Even the menu was quite the same as five years ago and I ordered wraps with cheese and soup of beans. Max and Josè pepperoni pasta and fried chicken - maybe tired of vegetarian food - Nirvanananda a kind of fried rice with vegetables and diced fried curd of milk, pan-fried vegetables and chickpeas and wraps made of wholegrain flour.

We ordered one bottle of red Kamasutra wine for the two meat-eaters and a jug of a salty Indian drink called 'Lassi' made of yogurt, very smooth and refreshing, for me and Nirva; it also had seeds of cumin and a little bit of lemon juice and mint leaves. Josè convinced me to taste a bit of wine, after that I already felt tipsy! Everyone made fun of me and I acted offended. I wanted to get my own back and, because I was tipsy, I started mocking Josè and Maximilian out loud about the fact that they didn't completely take a break from their murderous diet. It was a topic that Nirvanananda and I touched once in a while, without putting too much pressure on, because after all we wanted them to reach that solution in a natural way and not by choice. We didn't want to nag them nor to seem fanatics and I liked to think that in life giving a good example was usually the best way to assert ourselves and make people listen, not just hear.

Josè realized he'd made a mistake to insist with the wine and Max rolled his eyes upwards - afterwards I realized I'd not made a respectable spectacle of myself.

When the waitress came back with the second courses, Josè and Nirva made her bring a coffee for me. It worked rather well because, when the others finished their seconds and the mango dessert arrived, I had a clear head.

When we were paying the check, the owner of the diner remembered about a letter that she had put aside for me... I couldn't believe it. opened it with my heart pounding, imagining who could have left it. Inside there was a note with an Indian phone number and signed: Pedro.