proficiscorestvivo

MY PASSAGE TO INDIA

proficiscorestvivo — Sat, 9 Mar 2013 10:14:00 GMT

My first encounter with India was not the best.

Around midday, forty-eight hours after I left the Italian grounds, I arrived in Pune. And the problems soon started.

Travel is nothing but an inconvenience. There is always enough trouble where you are.

Charles Bukowski

To be honest, I’ve already met India the night before. It was late at night when I landed in Bangalore. The dazzling lights of the airport and the continuous comings and goings of people burdened by luggage made me think of being in a parallel universe, where day and night get confused. Appealed by the opportunity I had to finally have a look to this subcontinent and encouraged by the tobacco dependence, I set out for the sliding doors.

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PRASTĀVANĀ

proficiscorestvivo — Sat, 9 Mar 2013 10:12:00 GMT

This book, more than an insomnia, is a journey. The insomnia belongs to the one who wrote the book, the journey to the one that made it. Nevertheless, since it also happens to me to walk through the same places the main character walked through, I found an opportunity to provide a short index of those.
I’m not sure if I’m doing this for the illusion that this topographic catalogue, with the power of reality, could give light to this Nocture, in which i’m looking for a Shadow; or for the unreasonable lust that one day some lovers of incongruous paths could use it as a guide.
Antonio Tabucchi, Indian Nocture.

Along this line my journey to India begins.
Ten months of unbearable and flavourful life, marked by the traffic noises and the mantra sounds. A life immersed into the dioxin’s odour and masala’s scent.

I <3 Tehran -part2-

proficiscorestvivo — Fri, 8 Mar 2013 00:57:00 GMT

A good reason to wake up in the morning in Tehran, Breakfast. I'm not a big lover of breakfast. Or at least the breakfast we have here. I've always preferred a slice of bread with olive oil and coffee than the usual biscuits and milk. The Persian breakfast completely reflects my taste. Not so grand as the English one, not so sweetish as the French one, the Iranian breakfast tells in its delicate simplicity the perfect balance of flavour. After waking up, we used to sit around the counter top that divided the living room from the kitchen.

Sob bekheyr azizam.
Azizami, sob bekheyr. Khubi?
Man khubam, merci. Khubi?
Kheyli khubam, merci.
Chay mikhai?
Bale, merci

Every morning I could brush up on my poor Farsi.

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Photos: I <3 Tehran

proficiscorestvivo — Fri, 8 Mar 2013 00:35:00 GMT

I <3 Tehran -part1-

proficiscorestvivo — Fri, 8 Mar 2013 00:26:00 GMT

It has been difficult to choose a journey to which I could start the blog. I choose one of my last. The one that remains more in my heart.

The journey began in may 2011. In that year I myself was in India, for an exchange program with the university. During my stay in India, Pune to be exact, I met a guy, Hamed. We’ve been together since the beginning. We probably knew this story couldn’t last forever, but it didn’t matter at the time. For the time I was in India, we were always together.

Hamed is Iranian. He was already studying in Pune before I got there. Going out with him, I met a lot of his friends. They were Iranian too. Thanks to him I could come closer to a culture I didn’t have an idea existed. I will always be grateful.

Charmed by him and his story I decided I had to stop in his country before going back to Italy. It has been the wisest decision I’ve ever made.

Therefore, in May 2011 I embarked on an Emirates flight from Mumbai to Tehran, with a stop in Dubai. As soon as I landed, a new beautiful experience began.

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