No wise person in the village thought that destiny will play such a vile game with Elisa,a distant relative from my mother’s side.She was beautiful once with Caucasian pallor in face, the coffee beans frock she wore with those adorable and confident look in the eye and the easy pace with which she moved leisurely from house to house in the neighbourhood and town teaching young girls who are about to marry how to have a happy family in the future, a sort of Finishing school she ran in her two wheeler, an old yezdi motorbike…She was one among the three audacious ladies in our village who rode Bikes…. She wore capri pants and wedge shoes and had chandelier earrings.. She had a part time job in a place where old people are given shelter. She had taken a course for that……She had a brother who wrote dystopian stories in her spare time.And she hated him for that ...His name is Edoardo and folks called him Eddie, but his father by his full name,and I am still to find out a reason for that. You see,he will be a deacon in the local parish soon..… After a major accident,her father was in a wheelchair and her stepmother became the main bread earner … In the town there are various gardens in every one of the kilometers, small and big ones,meant for people to walk or run or to doze, sitting on those ancient benches. And a few students will use these for study purposes, and it was my practice to see the birds and Bird’s nests sitting on one of them.…… After my third year of medical practice,I got an appointment to go to Zurich.You must see Zurich by rain. I like it.And this time,it rained all the first few days,I was there. And you see there is that Lenzburg castle and Rhine experience to remember……My three wards also came with me this time,for internship. With a lot of perfumes on her clothes, Elisa too .. She confided that she lost a good deal of opportunities due to the unusual smell of her body which ended up in a strange collection of perfumes. I took one from that collection that had a big number 9 written on white background with the picture of agile horseman To examine patients after applying perfumes is perhaps a bad culture.It had taken away much of my sympathy,as I had felt at least a few times…In this journey, I made friends with a few and one was in Milan.The long three and a half hours was made light by the repartees of Elisa and the grand tales of my companion ophthalmologist Federica Jonas..... And love,of course,that made my trip compelling.. It’s not a peak day typical of winter morning, but the greatest number is everywhere as a guest who was soon to approach and who was waiting and the earth had an invisible thrill and and a mood to act..The hostess was exceptionality kind. And kindness,believe me is better than knowledge..So we went to that shelter with a huge garden of cork oak, the cypress, cherry laurel. campion, primrose, and saxifrage….... Where did I see those things earlier? Maybe that was a fancy tale I read in boyhood……. Elisa had another infirmity ...for bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon which she kept in the shelf,more for elegance than for actual use. Then her mother joined one fine morning and thought together that they will not go back home that season and stay here for the frequent check ups she needed. …I met Rosanna.It was in Milan. A long tale. I should make it short. She may be in her thirties,with a wise forehead and a serious countenance.She had a cupid’s bow and I complimented her brisk walking style.. Several patients waited at the alleyway behind the Parlour. It was a Wednesday. Her day away from work. She packed the suitcase and took a taxi and reached the station. The train was ready. I must go, she said and a sardonic smile flashed on her face,and she took the White handkerchief from his left pocket and hit her hair with it. She used left hand those weeks, because her right wrist got fractured. She was once in a public place,by the parking lot,and after parking the two wheeler, jumped the chains that separates the parking area from the entrance lobby and fell down on the ground . A fraction of a second, she lost her focus or perhaps she was distracted by too many notice boards all around,Save water,save life, Don't park your vehicle outside the parking area.Do not throw away empty bottles in the garden etc. So she was in plaster for six weeks, fairly good time for bone to come back to old shape… She stopped dancing in the evening. Her garage was once turned into a dance hall.Many new fellows came. Her father quizzically notices these changes in the environment.Her brother is not bothered. Her father scolded her brother often ... You gibberish hard headed buffalo ,you once were…..Her aunt too is a doctor,she said, in Geneva …The balance of her money was spent on cool foods and spoilers. She said once-good to see you even though I do not like you specially, you act like a hero but the things you can do here are very limited, limited by rules.. Perhaps it adds to the gravity of the scene.It is hard to think of that again,these disasters………However I saw minimalism in her work as in the Austrian architect Adolf Loos and his friends….. Sun was shining through the mountains when we talked and a bright canopy of light that covered the earth gave us more inspiration,and I hope it was not due to those ruby coloured drinks of that season.. The lady smiles humbly.The train was about to leave Zurich and it was the last and final announcement.Milan, and more of that..11:10Zürich HB…14:50Milan Centrale..Had bratwurst & rösti and beer on the north side of the concourse. …. Lord, she was present. Dark Indian eyes, Her father was Indian and her mother, Hungarian.Both met in an ashram in Pune in their youth and married. After her mother’s death by a road accident,her father married again. He had long curly hair and was often mistaken for a musician or a saint whenever he traveled in India, because there,, people of these categories grow their hair, not for fashion but as a custom.. Some do not comb it and it becomes a thick bundle in a few years, however they take regular bath to keep it clean……Another hour or 90 minutes needs to go.. He peeped into the huge hole in time.. He said,when they met in Milan.(His cousin had stayed in Zurich.They were friends more than relatives, shared dresses and overcoat and sometimes socks too.he used only one colour, blue, because to find a pair for every day was difficult in his disorderly schedule). He said- Sono un artista. devi venire in india But,she said- 'mio padre era un pilota. odio scrittori e artisti'. After coming to a city that was the centre of my youth, for family affiliations, I thought for a while, to relive those times,even if passive again. It has been more than three decades that I came here .. I was then living in a small room in a lodge.Now I have relieved some of the major desires of that time which I was all the time aching for..- and has found that some others are not worth pursuing as such….She had said further in that season, when time did somehow seem to stop…..’inoltre, viaggio raramente fuori dal continente. tutti i miei amici sono qui. pensi di aver bisogno di troppi amici per renderti felice?’ He said- 'l'amicizia è una faccenda spirituale. puoi averlo ovunque'...……. She said her grandmother is in an Augustinian nunnery at Venice. She had forgotten its name, because she left her long ago when she was still a child. Her father and her aunt brought her up... In fact,he has gone to a similar place,next to the Arsenal on its east side…He had heard the names of three noble ladies, Felice and Ortensia Colonna, and Giulia Orsini from a friend of him into church ministry….. -(From a work of Fiction in progress)
