Carlo Pizzati
As I travelled around India by retracing the steps of my great-uncle who landed here 80 years before I did, the irony struck me: here I was, an Italian in India by choice, chasing the ghost of a dear relative who had been brought to Bombay in chains in December 1940 by the British
Translating Ovid’s Metamorphoses provided the logical next step of my literary journey and gave me some solace in grief