Читать книгу Trip To India - Renzo Samaritani - Страница 7

We got up quite late that morning; we were on holiday and didn't want to rush.

We met Nirvanananda and Max at the restaurant, for a quick brunch... We couldn't call it breakfast, quite after 11:30 am. A kind and smiling waiter brought us a menu in English and we studied it for several minutes before ordering. There were three sections - Indian, Chinese and Continental. Josè and Maximilian confabulated for a while and laughed a little. In the end we ordered French toasts with apples and vanilla, Double-decker sandwich that unfortunately resulted non-vegetarian, Cheese bread rolls, Tossed salad and Vegetable stew. We excluded the Breakfast sausage casserole (the dish that raised the most irony in Josè), the Pasta ‘all'arabiatta’, with one r, one b and two t to compensate, the English pickled onions and the Mushroom with tomato and white wine sauce, which didn't sound that good. The Lasagna in the menu wasn't available so we didn't insist further, but we asked for an assortment of fresh fruit juice, tea and milk served separately and a big thermos of hot black American coffee.

While we were trying different pseudo-occidental specialties, Riccardo and Giuliano joined us.

“We talked to the travel agency of the hotel,” the doctor said. “A private hotel car will drive us around to visit the most interesting places of the city and then tomorrow we can calmly go to the internal flight airport; there are direct flights from Delhi to Kathmandu every day, at 7:30 am and 1:40 pm with Indian Airlines. They arrive respectively at 9:10 am and 3:25 pm, with enough time to complete the formalities of the local visa and settle down in the hotel before visiting the city.”

“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.