Tough but blessed India feels like a woman and the whole country in her. Home of hers hosted us in that poor place to an extent of richness. Her head was full of white curlies and black flees. Trying to nit-pick them she was telling about ghosts that pursuing her while life spans and making feel the pain. And only escape existing – to move from place to place to find the one where they will not make her to suffer.
And you know, she was moving inside her insight. Moving thoughtfully, drawing money with a pencils on a little sheets of the old Bible while mixing her adhered English with native Tamil. Talking about her brother living next to the ocean and bad habits of one living by her side she served the sweetest coffee made of nothing.
Ill and half-dead dogs were strolling through her place with an intention to find some food. But only mental food was available at that dirty place to stay but clean to comprehend. Pall of smoke she produced with no matches and timber made them stay with her as well as her bad-habited neighbor, the source of keeping her physical presence.
“Praythelord, praythelord, praythelord, praythelord” - she kept saying with a rhythm which still echoing in my mind. As far as her secular sounds of no religion and stories of no endings and beginnings I have never heard and she had never told.
Mythopoeic reality of one hour spent in a certain place makes your mind playing with you a game called “ladders and snakes”. You will never know after which ladder a snake waits for you but you are aware that for every ladder there is a snake.
They told me she’s insane. They also told without violation that Viola is her name. But I did not believe them. I believed her.
Was it a woman or a country? I made my decision. Now You decide.
