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"Oh, are you saying that work can be fun, too?" she said, grinning some more. "If you are saying this, then you are right. Spiritual being, the way I see it, should be like dancing. So many people say that life is a drag, because they don't know what it is. Life isn't static, it is a dance. In our case, we are dancing together. Did you know that I am working for Fred during the time you are here? I am officially your guide. As you said yourself, we have to do something meaningful to change the world, even if we do nothing more than to ease the Dalits' lot in India. But I think if we make it a dance we'll do much more. Officially I've been hired by Fred to be working with you in a daring project to make our world a richer and more secure place. Didn't you tell me that poverty is the greatest security threat on this planet, even to civilization itself? And for it to be richer, it has to flow like a dance, don't you agree?"
I nodded in agreement. While searching for something intelligent to reply, I sat down again and began sipping my tea. What more could I say?
"It is poverty to limit ourselves to just helping the poor," I said a while later. Indira had gone inside by then. "Our goal has to be to uplift the whole world. Anything less isn't enough and is prone to fail," I said in a loud tone. "We can't isolate the poor. But before we go to work on that vast project we have to celebrate what we have already accomplished," I added.
She didn't answer.
I wondered if what I said had been intelligent enough.
"We have to celebrate our humanity as never before," I said quite loudly by then. I thought she had gone inside to get another pot of tea started.
"Let's celebrate that part of our humanity that is reflected in the great cultural achievements of India," she replied instantly as if she could read my thoughts. Her voice came thinly, as if from the bedroom.
"What specifically do you have in mind, Indira?" I asked. I put my teacup down onto the table on the balcony. There was still food on the table from our late-night snack together. The idea came clear the plates off.
"What I have in mind," she called back from inside the apartment, "is that tomorrow, if you like, I might take you to Khajuraho. For that we have to get up real early, before dawn."
"That sounds exiting. Khajuraho you say? The great erotic temples of love, the greatest ever built?" I said.
She said yes, as she suddenly stood before me, dressed in a half-length dark-blue nightgown that by touch felt as if it was made of silk.
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