Luca, an Italian guy, has spoken about a trip in India, where he visited places like Varanasi and Jaisalmer and met Ram, a man that received a mysterious call every night…
“Daddy, where are you? Please be careful, I read that…”. The first time I heard this it was hard realizing what this meant. No faults, but I was usually too busy trying to breathe: the Indian’s August sharping mugginess (never experienced something like this) was striking you in the neck and your body is ridiculously sweating. I was clearly confused.
I heard this sentence, nearly on a daily basis, but always absent-mindedly. There was too much to explore and see and I couldn’t recognize the sadness in my new friend’s eyes, met just few days before while I was planning the trip across the North of the country.
“You know Luca, my daughter told me that…”
“Hey Ram, let’s go to see Jaisalmer’s castle!”
“..Yes, let’s go!”
And it was all about blinding colors, spices smells, holy animals, charming smiles, glittering fabrics, deafening horns, kite’s sunset magic. It was just too much all together and pieces around you were lost, living the most intense experience I’ve ever had.
But at night, on Ganges bank, while I was trying to perceive shapes on the other side of the river and enjoying the sound of the water, that call took place again and eventually everything became clear…
Tulsi is 9 and the school is about to start. During the night she fell on her parents’ rooftop in Delhi, where the white crumbled plaster of the railing was well-lighted by the street lights. She reads a lot. She ran out and picked up the dailies, choosing always The Hindu and Times of India. Then she read them. Slowly. Loudly. She took pride in knowing two alphabets, on keeping such a secret on her side. She read again what had caught her attention the most to her mother. Every night, before sleeping, she called her father. “Daddy, where are you? Please be careful, I read that…”. On the other end of the phone, Ram, laughed amused, just before closing the communication and letting inside a bit of space for growing sadness.
Every night I saw him starring at the phone with a blank look, keeping that last smile proud of his little “dalit” magic reader. Every night I saw him, Ram, between Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh, waiting and answering his daughter’s calls, reminding to himself why he was doing that.
