I kept my promise. He walks with me through the village and presents my proudly to his friends. He is pushing me from one side of the road towards the other one and shows me things from which I should take a picture with the question “Selfie?” Damn all I wanted was a tranquil later afternoon walk. He showed me a private school where he learned English. The school is located in a ruin next to the road. The board is fixed under a part of roof. A teacher is teaching his pupils but when he saw me he preferred to take a selfie first. I thought that when this is a private school, I don’t want to see a public school. I told the boy that I am feeling cold and escaped to some privacy.
He gave me some minutes for me and I enjoyed the sunset. I liked the silence. I love the clear air. But it is getting cold soon and Shyewa and his wife need to go back to the main road because they had to work. I gave them a ride but returned for spending at least one night in the village.
Back in the house the wife of the brother of Shyewa serves her husband, her two sons and me some food in a weak light. It is cold and I wonder when and where the women here eat. The grandmother is sitting outside under the stairs next to a small camp fire. I am thinking on my grandmother. I would never put her outside like they do it here.
The electric heater warms us up and I show some pictures of my family. Everyone is amazed how equal my brother is to me or my father to his brother. They like the picture of my nephew Joschka a lot. Even if everybody speaks a poor English it feels easier to have a conversation while watching the photos. Photos are saying more than words.
This night I prefer my car bed. The next morning the boy from the neighborhood is asking me for another walk but I denied. I prefer the company of Arvins cousin who is in the same age than me. But he is busy doing the daily work so I started after lunch towards Varanasi.
It was a great experience here at the countryside. The life and the people seemed to be much more easier and happier than in the city. I am sure that I will miss the pure air of the countryside the next days which I am supposed to spend in Varanasi. A city in which the death lies daily together with the thick fog over the roofs of the city.