Category: Uncategorized

An Afternoon in Paris

The year was 2017.

The month of February, or maybe early March.

It was a cloudy day in Paris.

There I was, a lost soul in more ways than one. I was doing just fine at my internship, but I had no clue what was next. I spoke French, but not well enough so there was a considerable language barrier between me and the French people around. My diffidence did not help things either. So, every weekend so far had been spent wandering the streets alone, mostly around the Seine and St. Michel.

This weekend was no different. I had wandered off and reached the Pantheon somehow. I had gazed at the graves of the greatest sons (and the few daughters) of France. On the way back, grey clouds and thunder took over the sky and I desperately wanted shelter and a hot drink. And so, I entered a café named ‘Comptoir Meditarranee’. It was empty, save for an older gent I assumed was the owner, a young waiter, and another customer who was dressed in a way that while simple, made him look distinguished and bohemian simultaneously. From how he chatted with the others, called them by their first name, and how comfortable he was in his seat, I could tell that this man was a regular here.

I took a seat at the table next to him and ordered a hot chocolate in broken French. Moments later, he started humming a tune that drew me out of my reverie. A vague memory was brought back to life: of a man and a woman dressed in black. I looked at the man and smiled.

‘It is an old Argentinian tune. Called Por una cabeza’ he told me.

‘Gardel, non?’ I replied.

‘Brava’ came the reply. He asked me where I was from and how did I know the composer.

I told him I had loved the tune after listening to it in a movie, and so I had made the effort to find out who the composer was.

‘This Indian young lady knows Gardel’, he told the owner. Then he turned to me and told me that it was a song about betting on horses during a race.

At this moment, the young waiter arrived with the hot chocolate. As he placed the glass on the table, he told the gentleman he had danced to this tune in his Tango class. Listening to this, the older man gave the younger man his hat to wear to his dance classes.

As this scene played out in front of me, I wondered if I had somehow taken a turn and entered some portal to the past to an era where people were regulars at a café, and where there was a conversation amongst fellow patrons and no one cared to look into their phones.

He turned to me and asked me what brought me to Paris. I am a student of biology, I answered. And you, Monsieur? Surely you are a Parisian?

‘Ah no. I am from Belgium. I could never be like these people.’, came the reply.

And then I discovered his profession from him: an opera director who had worked on the French stage for many years.

After this, to my great regret, a lot of the conversation that followed is lost to me. But I will try my best to recreate it.

M. Director told me that he had spent considerable time in India. He had spent a few months in Kerala exploring Kathakali and Ayurveda. He had enjoyed learning about something entirely different from what he was accustomed to.

That, he told me, was the joy of being an artist or a scientist. There was always a chance to remain curious throughout life and learn something new. At that time, I needed to hear those words and they remained with me.

Time had passed by rather too quickly and we were finished with our respective beverages. He asked me what my future plans were. I told him I would love to get to know the city, with its numerous museums and interesting places at each corner.

I asked him the same question and he told me he was off to Mauritius for a few months to enjoy the warm weather. If fate meant it, he said, we would maybe cross paths somewhere soon.

I smiled and thanked him for the company and conversation. Sometimes I wonder why did it not occur to me to ask for a name or a card. I guess maybe because all of it happened so unexpectedly and rapidly.

A few years have gone by since that day. The café closed down a year later and moved elsewhere. And I have had a few cups of hot chocolates in the company of many others, but it is the memory of the cup I had in Paris that stayed with me. On that day, I felt like a part of that busy city. I think it was there that I realised the joy of being a flaneur (or shall I say, flaneuse?). It gave me the courage to venture out more on my own and look forward to the stories that exploring brings.

And that is why despite all the cliches, Paris remains the city of love for me. It gave me a love for life which has persisted despite all.