Stories

Piccioni alla mia finestra 2

Una mattina, aprendo la finestra, vidi che i due ovetti bianchi erano diventati due pulcini. Uno grigio chiaro, uno grigio scuro, uno un po’ più grande dell’altro.Alzarono la testina e mi guardarono. Erano vivi e attenti, ma inermi. Certamente in balia totale della vita.Ripensai al mio primo incontro con i loro genitori. E a tutte le volte che avevo dato un’occhiata al nido, accertandomi al tempo stesso che nessuno si fosse impigliato nella rete. Avevo notato che i due piccioni si agitavano al mio arrivo e quindi avevo preso l’abitudine di dare loro un segnale, emettendo il mio verso animale, in modo che potessero allontanarsi senza impanicarsi e restare incastrati. E avevo iniziato a dare loro ogni giorno una manciata di dal, per sancire la nostra “amicizia”. Per alcuni giorni dopo l’incidente non avevo nemmeno aperto la finestra, per non interferire, ma poi avevo sentito che era meglio, dopo tutto, chiarire la mia posizione: “Hey, siete miei ospiti. E so che presto riempirete questo angolo della mia casa di cacche e altre amenità, quindi perlomeno, abituatevi alla mia presenza”. Del resto quello era lo scopo della rete protettiva: tenere lontani i piccioni, uccelli molto belli, ma dall’igiene molto discutibile! In

Read More »

Pigeons at my window 1

I don’t remember anymore which Covid month it was. Sometime between the 7th and 8th. It was certainly still raining … I went to the guest bathroom – downgraded to service bathroom due to the absence of guests during the lock-down and after – to fill the watering can, and from the open window I saw a pigeon trapped in the protective net. Due to the wind and the lack of maintenance – lock-down again – the net has holes through which pigeons enter to take shelter from the rain on a kind of balcony without railing of about 1.5 square meters . It wasn’t the first time this happened. The first time ever, I saw it too late and the pigeon died before I could do anything. From then on, I started to look out from that window at least once a day, to make sure no pigeon is trapped. Like other times, I armed myself with scissors and courage, stepped over the window, and making the same sounds I would make when approaching a cat, I tried to warn the pigeon of my good intentions. I had to move very cautiously, because I was on the fourth floor,

Read More »

Piccioni alla mia finestra 1

Non ricordo più quale mese del Covid fosse. Qualcosa tra il 7° e l’8°. Di certo pioveva ancora… Andai nel bagno degli ospiti, declassato a bagno di servizio dall’assenza di ospiti durante il lockdown e dopo, per riempire l’innaffiatoio e dalla finestra aperta vidi un piccione imprigliato nella rete protettiva. Causa il vento e l’assenza di manutenzione – sempre lockdown – ha delle falle da cui i piccioni entrano per stazionare al riparo dalla pioggiasu una specie di balconcino senza ringhiera di circa 1,5 mq. Non era la prima volta che accadeva. La prima volta in assoluto me n’ero accorta troppo tardi e il piccione era morto prima che potessi fare qualcosa. Da allora in poi mi affaccio almeno una volta al giorno per controllare che non ci sia nessuno intrappolato. Come le altre volte, mi armai di forbici e coraggio, scavalcai la finestra ed emettendo gli stessi suoni che farei avvicinando un gatto, cercai di avvertire il piccione delle mie buone intenzioni. Mi muovevo in modo molto cauto, perché mi trovavo al quarto piano senza ringhiera in uno spazio piccolo. E soffro di vertigini. Il piccione era sul lato inferiore della rete, per fortuna, quindi potei sedermi, evitando di

Read More »

Pigeons at my window 2

One morning the two white eggs had turned into two chicks. One light gray, one dark gray, one a little bigger than the other.They raised their head and looked at me. They were alive and alert, and helpless. Certainly at the total mercy of life.I remembered my first meeting with their parents. And all the times I had taken a look at their nest, making sure at the same time that no one had got entangled in the net. I had noticed that the two pigeons were agitated when I arrived and therefore I had got into the habit of giving them a signal, emitting my animal sound, so that they could get away without panicking and getting stuck. And I started giving them a handful of dal every day, to sanction our “friendship”. For a few days after the accident I hadn’t even opened the window, so as not to interfere, but then I felt that it was better, after all, to clarify my position: “Hey, you are my guests. And I know you will soon fill this corner of my house with shit and other jolly goods, so at least get used to my presence ”. After all,

Read More »

A surprise at the airport

2014 I was at Goa airport. In the waiting room, two chairs away from me, sat a Indian couple, probably husband and wife, of a certain age; he definitely looked older than her. The woman wore an apple green sari with fuchsia pink flowers that made a beautiful, almost psychedelic contrast to her fair brown skin with a slightly coppery note. She was tall, beautiful, but not the usual elegant Indian city woman you meet in airports; she had more the energy of a village woman, with big feet and high cheekbones, and a certain cheerful majesty rather out of the ordinary. She got up to go to the bathroom and her glasses case fell off. “Madam” I told her “you lost something” . She gathered the case, thanking me with a smile that was the quintessence of a beautiful smile, and quietly went to the bathroom. I was writing in my travel notebook and when she came back she asked me in Hindi if she could write me something in the notebook. Her gestures were clear, but I must have had a puzzled and amazed look on my face, because her husband, a smiling and tender man who until

Read More »

My first inspirational speech

Or at least the first that I remember. I grew up in a family where music mattered and everyone had their own specific taste and preferences. Mostly the Italian music chirping over the radio that was constantly on – my mother used to say that as a baby I would not sleep without it; or the more sophisticated Neapolitan, Folk or Tango songs that my grandfather played on his accordion and guitar. As a child I used to spend a lot of time with my cousin, Alessandra, as we both were taken care of by our grandparents. And together we used to sing with grandpa while he was playing, and it was actually, for both of us, our first band! And we developed a common music taste, enjoying the “singing as one” of everything that came to our ears. When I was about 11-12 years old, two new different music gendres came into my life. Classical piano music by Chopin, due to a vinyl record that my grandpa bought by mistake and that wasn’t brought back to the shop just because I loved it, and THE BEATLES! This time the “culprit” was my father – he no longer lived with

Read More »