Before dinner, at our hotels, we met Ashima again. She has two daughters, and her husband died in a car accident ten years ago. She showed her American friend Linda’s photo on her phone, who, according to her, I strongly resembled. (Well, there was just as much resemblance as you could expect between two white people…) She told us that Linda had honored her by even visiting her home. This was the first glimpse of hope I saw. People are so different here than in Tamil Nadu! Like in a tale: they live in nature and naturality, in naive, childlike goodness and acceptance.
The biryani was delicious once again, and this time we had it with freshly squeezed orange juice. Marcsi and I gathered our courage and ventured out for a walk in the darkness as if we were home on a shopping street. We glan
