I can never forget the look on her face as she entered the Duomo.
She seemed as much as in awe of the beauty of the high ceilings, tall pillars, long stained glass as I was. Her eyes were fixated at the carvings of Mother Mary, tenderly holding baby Jesus in her lap, and mine were eagerly following hers.The sculptor seemed to have carved the scene in deep empathy, almost with the same amount of love and protectiveness that a mother has for her child. The stained glass windows, that ran high up almost touching the ceiling, brought colour to the brown stone carvings and grey stone flooring.
She could have easily passed off as a local if it weren’t for the wonder in her eyes.Dressed in a comfortable boot-leg jeans, a plain nondescript shirt, a thick black jacket and short heeled platform boots, she appeared to be on a day off work. As she walked inside the Cathedral, slowly soaking the view and trying to read the story of the carvings, she caught a glimpse of my curious gaze.
We smiled at each other, sharing our appreciation of the captivating architecture. I walked to her side and asked her if she knew English,she smiled again and nodded. As we spoke, I understood that she was an advocate from Florence and this had been her first visit inside the Duomo. I was a bit astonished as I had travelled half the globe to visit this beautiful Cathedral.
” First visit, Despite staying so close in Florence?!”
” Ahh! Can’t get out of work!”
As we parted,I realized I too had not been inside the Taj or Golconda Fort back in my own homeland.
Notes from Milan.