"In the arcade of Hanuman House, grey and substantial in the dark, there was already the evening assembly of old men, squatting on sacks on the ground and on tables now empty of Tulsi store goods, pulling at clay cheelums that glowed red and smelled of ganjia and burnt sacking. Though it wasn't cold, many of them had scarves over their heads and around their necks; this detail made them look foreigner and, to Mr Biswas, romantic . It was the time of the day for which they lived. They could not speak English and were not interested in the land where they lived; it was a place where they had come for a short time and stayed longer than they expected. They continually talked about going back to India, but when opportunity came, many refused, afraid of the unknown, afraid to leave their familiar temporariness . And every evening they came to the arcade of the solid, friendly house, smoked, told stories, and continued to talk of India.
(A House for Mr Biswas, V.S. Naipaul, 1961)
Ieri sera, in giro per Bandra, i vecchi bungalows ghosts of the Portuguese arrived in Goa with suitcases full of waves and memories. Small porches, curtains like green leaves, the music of the past. The trees devouring tales of forgotten families, such as certain letters in the drawers. Beauty cleared by bulldozers of modernity. India is full of past history, buildings that are sacrificed in the name of speed, luxury, or technology.
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| Peace-Heaven, is one of my favorite bungalow. The photo is not mine, I got it from the blog of Ash that can be found here: http://thehungrycopywriter.blogspot.com/2010/05/bandras-bungalows.html | | |
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