I look out the window waiting to find the words to describe our two months in India and the only thing I see is white snow and the milky sky.
So there may be as far removed from what we lived on the outskirts of Madras. Because one of the things that hits you in Tamil Nadu (and India in general) is the use of colors that adorn everything from the inevitable glass bangles sold on street corners to get the saris that women more poor worn with elegance.
Now we are faced with a new home and we often find ourselves in the hands fragments of India. From Delhi to buy lamps to pictures taken at Ananda Illam, the House of Smile when we were guests. And so we hold the duster and think back to everything we tried, the things that made us angry, to those who have given joy to the people encountered and places known.
We lived together with children whose face and melancholy eyes which often resemble those of people from childhood violated, but to whom the fortune, fate or God knows who gave them another chance and if they are deserved all around . We heard how
Susairaj has decided to create this structure, a second home for "our" 24 children, the sad circumstances which led to choose this name and the fear that the lack of funds, due to the crisis that is affecting so many different countries, bring it close to the House.
We have learned to communicate with someone who does not know our language and thinking that Italy is a beautiful country even if he does not know in which continent is.
We felt necessary and unnecessary, surrounded by perhaps undeserved attention and gaze from eyes amazed to see two Westerners walking under the sun of the tropics in an area where it is certainly not for tourism.
We have seen people who would normally enjoy the fruits of a lifetime of work and instead you see the small satisfactions denied retirement because they are forced to work up to when life will no longer be their partner. We
seen places whose names had been hitherto only read about in books or brochures of travel agencies and instead hide, as well as natural and architectural beauty, the lives of millions of people, each with their own beliefs and their beliefs, sometimes or often light years away from ours.
We are sick and healed, we have peered deep within ourselves, having, at times, afraid of what we saw.
Now, in the gray and rainy Milan, I think back to what was written during our stay in India who had remained in Italy, the little things that made us laugh or that we were amazed and I think the mail to a colleague of mine, a Sicilian by birth and arrived here in the north to find work. I remember when, during the most difficult moments, happened to think of returning to Italy, the security that comes from the monotony of days are always the same in the office, I think back to when I wrote that we had tried to go anyway, and that those children, however, understand him and sometimes just ripeterselo because now it seems that everything is within our reach.
Stefania
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