An Italian Resident

We were traveling from La Spazia to Torino.  We, three of us, Jhuma, Bittu and me, left Florence in early morning and came to Pisa. There we spent a few hours in the Miracle Square to visit the famous leaning tower and other monuments nearby.  Bittu was just six then and was not allowed to go up the tower. So we had to keep ourselves restricted in enjoying the green and colorful surrounding around it. From Pisa we came to Monti Rosso  via La Spazia to have a view of long stretch of Italian Riviera, surrounded by marble rocks and cliffs hanging over the sea. In the late afternoon we again returned back to La Spazia, and then in the evening,  boarded the train to Torino. Actually our journey was long enough. We intended to go to Rene via Paris. However, we could not manage to get a direct train to Paris. So we were traveling to Torino, from where we would be taking our night train to Paris. Rene is about 300 Km. from Paris in the North-West corner of France. There we would be visiting a colleague of mine, who was working on lien for a year. We were going to his place to visit Mont Saint-Michel,   an eighth century monastery, and then would come back together to Paris for a series of sight seeing. Our touring cycle would be completed when we would return to Munich after visiting Interlaken and Jungfraujoch, and then hopping through railway stations of Bern and Zurich.  I was staying with my family at Munich then. Our story of merry-go-round will remain incomplete unless I mention that we started two days before from Munich, spent a night at Florence and had a real feast of great paintings, sculptures and architectures of European renaissance.

  I should take a break here without elaborating further our routes and halts of journey and apologize to my readers, if it has created a maze of confusion among these classic tourist hotspots. You may have rightly guessed that we belonged to that class of middle-class thrifty travelers, who wanted to squeeze every bit of their time, energy and resources in satisfying their hungry eyes. So when we boarded the train, we were exhausted after our day long travel. Still we were enjoying the lovely view of scenic Riviera, as the train was following the same route to Monti Rosso on its way to Torino. Outside the window the sea went on sending us invitation in the twilight zone with its series of small tides breaking on rocky shores. This continued till Genoa, about half an hour or so, and then the sea disappeared as well as the darkness dropped a curtain on every animate and inanimate objects outside, and brought us back to its own world of  inertial frame.

 This was also our inaugural journey with European Rail Passes, which we bought from Munich and gave us the entitlement of six days’ rail journey in any class.  Additional incentive of having this rail pass was that we could start our journey with it from 7 PM the day before, which made it effectively valid for 29 long hours. In reality we found that our European ticket checkers were gracious enough to extend the period further with a broad smile. Even the booking clerks won’t advise you to get a ticket if you needed to exceed that duration for a few more hours.  That exactly happened in the very first day of its use. We were little early from our 7 PM official onset and a bit nervous while boarding the train, to know the reaction of our traveling ticket examiner.  Though the booking clerk in La Spazia assured us and did not bother to issue any ticket for our additional hours of journey, our mind was restless on unforeseen outcome of this unwritten code of conduct against the violation of written one. So when we got into the train, instead of taking a first-class coach, we chose a second class compartment to minimize our risk of violation. But to our great relief the European hospitality prevailed and we were settled to the comfort and quietness of the rest of our rail journey.

At the other end of our row, a gentleman was watching us. He appeared to be of Indian origin. He addressed us in Italian and then in broken English he asked, “Are you Indian?”.

We confirmed our nationality. His eyes brightened up. He spoke in Hindi, “From where?”

My Hindi is almost unspeakable. Jhuma continued most of the conversation. She told, “From West Bengal.”

“I am from Punjab. Today I went to Florence for papers. By God’s grace I got it,” he declared happily.  

“What paper?” she asked.

“The residence permit. From today I am a legal person. Now I can bring my wife and son to this country. How old is your son?” he asked her.

“He is just six.”

“My son is in the seventh grade. He reads in an English medium school. He asks everyday to his mother, when he could come here? He would be so happy!” our narrator could not suppress his joy of excitement.

I tried with my limited Hindi, “What do you do here?”

“I work in a Dairy firm. My employers are very nice people. Husband and wife, together they run the firm. I am the only employee there. They depend on me so much!” he continued, “It’s a lot of work. I single handedly manage over 200 cows. Of course, hardly you do anything without a machine. Everything is automated.  Even for drawing milk from  cows. Then you need to feed them, clean them. I work day and night and that is why my employers are so happy with me,” he said cheerfully.

“How much do you get?” Jhuma asked.

“1500 a month. Food and accommodation free! A lot today! You know we have Euro’s now. Earlier we used to get in Liras. But now with the introduction of Euro Italian currency has become very strong. With that money I bought land in my village and bear the expenditure of my kid’s education.”

His name was Bhajan Singh. He came to Italy about seven years ago.  I asked him, “How did you come here?” 

“By a ship.” Then he explained. “First I came to Tunisia by air. You do not require a visa for that country. Only the passport is enough. Then I boarded a ship to Italy. The moment I arrived here I threw my passport to sea. So when Italian policemen caught me, I did not utter a single word. Even not in Hindi. They could not make out my nationality. So what they would do? I was a botheration for them. They gave me a ten Lira note and asked me to go to Rome. But I had my contacts in Paris. There I planned for working in restaurants.  I went there and started working in restaurants. It was a hard life. You are always at the mercy of others and have no identity, no legal status.  I was driven out from one place to the other. Finally I came to this part and got my work in a dairy firm. The place where I live now, is about 50 Km from Torino. Here people are nice. They treat you well. My employer gave me shelter and helped me in getting my papers. They were asking me for bringing more people like me. Italian youths do not work. They do not want to do such a hard labor. That’s why there is a huge demand of people like me.” He paused for a moment and added, “Bengalis too do not want to do such work.”

“Are there many Bengalis?”

“Oh yes! A lot.  They come from Bangladesh. You will find them in Rome, in tourist places,  sea beaches. They sell toys, bangles. They work also in restaurants. They do not earn much from that kind of work. But if you ask them to work in farms, they would run away.”  

“Don’t you go to your village in India?” Jhuma asked.

“I could manage once. That too four years ago! I thought of not coming back here. But what I could do there? If I stayed I would have been involved in village disputes, could have been murdered too! My village was no more a safe place for me.” He sighed, “So I came back again. That was the last time I met my kid and my wife. Of course I get letters from my son regularly. I do not know how to write or read. But my employers read them for me. They even write in lieu of me.”

“Don’t you have holidays?”

“Oh yes. But they pay me twice the amount on holidays.”

“What do they do when you are not there? How are they managing now in your absence?”

“They work by themselves. Today they will come to the station and pick me up.”

During our conversation Bhajan also got a call from his employers and he updated them about the present location of the train. The train was running a bit late. He could speak well in Italian. He also informed us that he was capable of conversing in French. On learning that we would be visiting Paris, he gave us a few tips. “Take care of your belongings and purse in Paris. More so, if you are traveling by metro numbers 1, 4 and 7. Do not board crowded trains.” We enquired about Indian restaurant in Paris. He told, “Ask for the lane Satte Rui. It is near the Gardi’list  (Garre De La East) station and there are a number of Indian restaurants.”

Finally when his destination was approaching, he got up from his seat and came near to us. He said, “Sir! This is the happiest moment of my life. I got my papers. I do not have to worry about my stay in this country. Now I can go back, bring my family here. My son is impatiently waiting for me. He has asked whether he would be able to study in English here. My employers assured me. He would be able to manage here. Your son reminds mine.”

He caressed Bittu’s forehead and put a ten Euro note in the pocket of his shirt.  Jhuma and I, both of us, were taken by a surprise and almost simultaneously reacted, “Please, do not!” 

He did not pay any heed to our request. He said, “My happiest moment sir! Let me share with this kid! Buy something for him!”

He got down on the platform and quickly proceeded toward its exit waving his hands to acknowledge his presence from the crowd.

07/10/2011

A Salesman

In stead of hiring a cab, we decided to return to our hotel on foot. It was a fitting proposition, as the path to our hotel from the conference venue went by the side of the river Nile. We came to Cairo two days before for attending a conference. In our team, myself and Partha (Bhowmick) were the two delegates. Jhuma and Bittu were the other two members with the sole purpose of tourism.  The conference was being held in the Hotel Grand Hyatt and it happened to be the very first day of its proceedings. We came there  quite early in the morning and registered ourselves. The day before, we had a tour of famous pyramids of Giza and Sakkara. In Giza we scaled the walls of two great pyramids of early Pharaohs Khufu and Khafra, and even made an entry into a deep narrow passage of the latter, which led us to the burial place of the king.  But what was most thrilling to me, was the sight of a large step pyramid (of Pharaoh Djoser) at Sakkara, probably the oldest man made structure of this planet still casting its shadow in the desert sand. 

As our presentations were in the afternoon, we had planned for going back to our hotel after the morning session. Our hotel was roughly at a distance of two kilometers from the conference venue. We wanted to have our lunch at a near-by market place, so that after the lunch, Jhuma and Bittu would take rest in our hotel, while both of us would join the conference to attend our sessions. The registration desk of the conference was in the third floor in a gorgeous hotel lobby. Both of our non-delegates waited patiently for the completion of our registration formalities. We also attended a session of our choice, which prolonged their meditation.  However, for anyone waiting in that lobby was not so unworthy. The hotel was situated on the bank of the river. The lobby provided a panoramic view of the city across the river through its wide glass panels. Underneath the serene beauty of picturesque blue river with white boats scattered across kept us captivated and animated. It reminded me of my childhood metaphor and romanticism with the name ‘Neel Nad’ (The blue river) in my own language.

When we came out from Hyatt, we still had  an hour and a half  left to finish our lunch. That was the reason why we took a leisurely stroll by the river side, even though the sun was beginning to get hot. There was nice breeze blowing from the river and at places there were wooden benches under the cool shadow of large trees.  We had no hurry. We took a few shots in our cameras and rested for a while on benches under shades. Eventually we came near to a place where the trail went below a bridge. This was the bridge whose view we had from our hotel room. Our room was in the seventeenth floor of a very old building.  The bridge was connected by flyovers in different directions. The principal one met the junction at Tahrir Square, which was close to our hotel. Mentally I had mapped our neighborhood into two partitions made by this bridge.  At its one side situated some of our places of interest such as, our hotel Iris, Egyptian Museum, the conference venue Hyatt, etc.  The other side remained as an unexplored zone of mystery to me. So instead of marching forward and crossing the bridge, we took a diversion at our right side. We were expecting to find a known landmark, which should guide our route to our hotel. However, after crossing the road and moving a few steps ahead, we reached a junction of confusion. At this junction, the roads went topsy-turvy in all directions. We wanted to go near the Egyptian museum, from where we could easily locate Iris.  But, it was not clear to us which direction we should follow from there. The rough road map, what I downloaded from the net, became useless to resolve our dilemma. Fortunately we found two policemen in front of a palatial building. So we sought their help. But they feigned ignorance of English and pointed to a person, who was standing near them. He was a middle aged person, a little round in shape, bald-headed and of short height. He appeared to be a polished gentleman wearing a grey suit and a tie. He came forward and listened to our query. Then he spoke in broken Arabic pronunciation, “Egyptian Museum! You want to visit. This side.” He made a half gesture pointing across the street. In that direction, a sidewalk mysteriously disappeared by taking a sudden turn. Before moving forward, we wanted to make sure whether we understood him properly. Probably our states of perplexity on such a simple matter aroused his interest on us. So he asked gently, “Are you Indians?” On receiving our confirmation, he appeared to be elated, “I have a friend in India. He lives in Bombay. He is a doctor”. Then he introduced himself, “I am also a doctor. But doctor of botany. I work in this building. It is the US Embassy,” he pointed towards the stately building.  Though I had the curiosity of knowing what kind of job a doctor of botany was doing at the embassy, I preferred to restrain myself and we were about to move forward in the direction he showed us.  But, he was not finished yet, “What are you doing here?” We informed him that we came here to attend a conference. “Oh! Conference! I too had a conference in India. Last year. Are you planning to visit the Egyptian museum?” he wanted to know.  

I replied, “Definitely.”  

“But my friend, this is not the time for you to visit the museum?  Now it is only ten thirty.” He looked at his watch and said, “Now it is the time for groups. Are you in a group?” We had to accept that such a small number might not have the quorum to form a group. He went on elaborating, “The morning time, from nine to twelve is group time. You are normal tourists. Normal tourists enter after that.” This was news to us. I planned our program from various tips and suggestions from the internet. But nowhere this constraint was discussed. We did plan for visiting Egyptian museum next day in early hours. So I got vividly irritated by this annoying piece of information. He seemed to feel guilty by upsetting us and tried to console us, “Still you have plenty of time. Why don’t you go to the city center and do shopping?”  I considered the proposition. Our friend wrongly assumed our intent of moving around. We had no plan for visiting the museum on that day. We wanted to have our lunch then. So a city center would be the right place where we might go, on our way back to hotel.

  I asked, “Is it nearby?”

 “Oh yes. Let me show you the way.” He was eager to help us. I looked at others for their approval. All of them felt the same way. Indeed we had to look for a place to eat. 

He led us through a path, opposite to the direction he pointed before. It went downward by the side of the embassy.  He kept on talking, “I am actually a florist. Do you know who a florist is?” He stopped a while and then continued, “I do research on flowers.” I had to acknowledge his fits with a sound of appreciation and amazement. As he was talking, he was bubbling over with excitement. He asked again, “In which hotel your conference is held?”

 I answered, “Hotel Grand Hyatt.”

“Ah! Hotel Hyatt,” he got excited again, “My Sister is going to marry in Hotel Sheraton” 

“When?” I asked.

“Oh! After two days! What a great party it would be!” he loudly boasted.  I had to congratulate him on such a happy proposition.

I asked him, “How far is the city center?”

“Just ahead of us. I am taking you there.” he assured us. Then after a while he asked again, “Do you know Bedouin?”  

He waited a few moments for our reply. I simply smiled at him. He declared at the top of his exaltation, “I am a Bedouin. My family came from the deserts of Sahara.” I was amused at the sight of such a modern day Bedouin, suited-booted without the conventional robe and hood, as we used to think of anyone but a Bedouin. Finally, we came down to a street.  At the turn of the street our friend extended his warm invitation, “Come my dear friends! Please come to my chamber. I would like to give you my visiting cards.”  He led us to a souvenir shop. There was a woman in her twenties with a headscarf worn around. He introduced her, “Meet my sister! It was her marriage, I was talking about.” The woman appeared to be greatly discomforted by his brotherly affection and declaration of her marriage to strangers like us.  She retracted herself against souvenir-racks to make a space for our entry.  I was also greatly relieved with the realization that the next day we could start early for visiting the Egyptian museum. Our friend offered us chairs to sit, “Please be comfortable and have seats. I will show my collections to you.” Partha and Jhuma still remained standing. They had no intention of sticking to that place. They were signaling me to leave the shop. But from such an interesting person, it was hard for me to make an abrupt departure. So I took a seat.  Bittu also did the same. Probably he was looking for it as he seemed to be tired of walking. Our host offered us drinks, which we politely declined. Then the florist wanted to show us his products of research, the Egyptian perfumes from different herbs and flowers. We expressed our gratitude to him for his good intention of showing us his valuable items, but regretted our unpreparedness to buy any of them at that moment. He was disappointed but did not plead further. He also appeared to be a bit exhausted as a consequence of his concocted excited states by assuming so many roles within such a short duration.  So at last, our botanist cum florist cum Bedouin friend withdrew himself from all his self-reincarnations. He wished us good luck and shook my hand to bid goodbye.

21/9/11