Memories

Back in the dimly lit room, the man lit up a cigarette. He had finally succeeded in comforting her and putting her back to sleep. The bastards had been rough on her; and all for the sake of protecting themselves when all she had done all her life was protect them. And their secret. His secret.  As he turned to look at her, his gaze softened and he found himself going back in time to the place where they had first met.

It was Paris, the nuit Blanche, and was full of tourists thronging to see sights opened for only a brief window of time. She was one of them, struggling to get a foothold, when he stumbled upon her, clutching his bloody side. She saw that the stranger who had just jostled her was tightly clutching his side and his pallor was unhealthy. It was only as she caught his arm as he stumbled that she noticed the blood seeping down his shirt. She grabbed him and whispered in his ear as she steadied him, ‘lean on me.’

“No, no I will be fine,” said the stranger.

“I am a doctor; I know you are anything but fine, “she said firmly.

He ceded, knowing she was right and let himself be guided in a less crowded corner. Under a street-lamp, she made him remove his hand and inspected the wound. The loss of blood indicated a deep wound and she saw he needed immediate medical attention if he was to stay conscious. She pressed her scarf to stop the bleeding and said, ‘I am taking you to a hospital nearby. You have lost too much blood.’

“No, no hospital, “said he in a raspy voice. “I don’t have medical insurance. But you are a doctor, surely...” and then he winced in pain.

She would have to take him back she realized and quickly hailed a taxi. It was a brief drive but by the time they reached, he was on the brisk of losing consciousness and her scarf had turned a deep shade of red.  They somehow managed to reach her apartment and she quickly put him on the couch. Removing his shirt, she cleaned the wound and bandaged it. She gave him medicines to alleviate the pain and put him to sleep. He had lost quite a lot of blood but would live to tell his tale. She went to bed, keeping her door open to keep an eye on the stranger in the couch. When she woke the next morning, she checked in on her patient- he was still sleeping. As he slept, she realized how good looking he was, black hair, aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Despite the bandages, it was clear how well built he was. She almost touched his brow to brush back the hair from his eyes when all of a sudden he opened his eyes and caught her hand.

‘It’s just me, relax.’ He let go off her hand but his gaze still remained as fierce. “Water, “he said softly. She brought him a glass and helped him up to drink it. ‘I will make breakfast for you, you just try resting.’  He nodded weakly and went back to sleep. It was only while eating when she let her curiosity get the better of her and finally asked him, “What is your name?”

“Tom”, he replied, not looking up from his plate of bacon and eggs.

“I am Mila. How are you feeling today? Better than last night? “

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You were in quite a state yesterday. The wound was really deep. You should have really gone to the hospital.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Really? Care to tell me what happened? “she insisted, pressing further.

He didn’t answer but instead finished his breakfast. Then tried to get up from the couch and swayed. She quickly steadied him and helped him lie down again.

“How long before I can move from this couch?” he said breathing heavily from the effort.

She narrowed her eyes and said to herself that two could play the game at not giving direct replies. “Time to change your bandages.”

He tensed as she touched his wound but relaxed as her expert hands undid and redid the bandage.

“Try resting”, she said curtly. And he did as he was told.

The next few days the same routine continued. She never asked him again why and how he got the wound and he never cared to explain. Then one day when she got up, she found him gone. There was a note however on the space he had occupied. She opened to read it. It said that he was eternally grateful for everything she did for him and that he would repay her someday.

“Well at least he knows his manners, “she said loudly, knowing that the handsome stranger would never cross her path again.

Today

It was a sunny morning like no other; the brilliant blue sky untarnished by clouds, all in all a perfect day for people to throng the streets. But there was no one to be seen, not even a whimper of as much as a footstep. It struck her as rather odd that this small picturesque town would be as quiet. However she could feel eyes watching her behind the windows and behind the doors, as she crossed the empty street. She took her time to find the house; those cobbled streets were all the same and those unwelcome houses all the same. At last, she came to it, and she hesitatingly knocked on the brass knocker, awaiting a response. When none came, she looked around and thought she saw a curtain flutter on the 1st floor window-she knew instantly that they were watching what she would do. She emboldened herself and went around to the back and to her surprise, found the back door ajar. She peeped in and seeing no signs of the inhabitants, pushed it open. It made no sound and she entered to stand in the spotless kitchen, closing the door behind her.  She paused for a minute before opening the other door opposite the one she had just come through, unsure, afraid.  And as she opened the door, things started happening too fast, someone pushed something in her face and she fell to the floor. The last thing she remembered was the sweet sickly smell which rushed up her nose.

When she woke up next, she was lying on a bed in a dimly lit space. The nondescript room, as it whirred to focus, was tiny; with a chest and drawer on the left and two doors, one opposite the bed, one on the right. She could make out a window too over the table beside the chest. They hadn’t tied her, she noticed, but somehow she could not get up so she waited a little to regain her strength. A few minutes later, the door opened and a man stood in the doorway, framed by the light of the corridor outside. She could not see his face clearly but from his shoulders and hands and from the way he stood, she knew it was him. He drew a chair from the corner and came to sit by her. And then she saw it clearly, the tiny scar above the right cheek-bone which never failed to remind her of her guilt. She cringed a little as he touched her neck to check her pulse. Satisfied that it was healthy, he motioned for her to sit up. She did as she was told, albeit slowly and with great effort. He made no motion to help her, watching with hands folded across his chest. When she was sitting facing him, he looked at her with his piercing black eyes, full of questions. She could not help but staring at him for she had no answer to them.  They stared at each other for some time, lost in the memories which flooded back, until they turned painful and she could look no more. He sought her hand and held it. She looked at him with an anguished gaze and eyes glazed with tears and said-“I can’t run anymore.” He nodded, he knew already. He pulled her closer as she wept. 

Geneva

Geneva, I discovered is not just characterized by its fountain spurting high above humanity in a magnificent lake or by the riche who live around it. Nor is it all about cows, and chocolate and fondue.
It is in fact one of the most diverse cities I have visited. The surprises began during the train journey where a breath-takingly beautiful landscape awaited-green hills, towering on either side of the train, made it appear like we were going through a secret passage through them. The pristine rivers flashed by the countryside, dotted by numerous cottages so typically Swiss, as the well-organized farms stood out from their Indian (as well as French and English) counterparts. So it was somewhat of a disappointment when the train pulled in at the station for it was in the midst of a concrete jungle and with the French signboards crying café, bar, tabac, it was like I had never left. It soon got better once I got the first glimpse of the jet d’eau and the lake it embellishes. Surrounded by the awe-inspiring Jura mountains with their ringlets of clouds, the lake was regal, magnificent and pure. The water was so clear one could see the bottom and its myriad shades of green and blue can leave a mark on even a disinterested looker. The lake is also the source of the Rhône- the well-loved river which flows through Lyon and one can see where it gets its beauty from. Walking around the lake and peering in the water every two minutes to make sure it was still as clear, we soon forgot the heat and the fatigue.
Next I was encouraged to go to the watch museum-the Patek Phillipe museum and I graciously accepted( out of politeness, tinged with apprehension) . To my surprise I realized that watches in the museum were in fact pieces of jewelry in the 16th century and it was actually a jewel collection-any girl’s paradise. Snuff boxes, fans, mirrors, rings, necklaces embellished with more gems than one can imagine awaited me. In fact they were so beautifully inlaid that one had to search very hard for the original purpose it served-keeping time for the watches were dwarfed by the humungous gems. There were ingenious mecanims for decorating the clocks, with moving parts and melodies and I realized that watch making was indeed advanced mechanics. After having gaped, admired and thought about stealing every piece of jewellery possible, I had to be torn away(literally) to be taken outside.
 My friend and guide took me then to a neighbourhood which was in fact a little Italian village. Huge houses with shutters and red-tiled roofs on either side, a calm so decidedly non urbane, it was like we had left the hustle and bustle of Geneva behind and come to a quaint Italian quartier. We strolled along the streets, soaking up the atmosphere and chatting incessantly. Next on the list was the old genevan town where cobbled streets, heritage trams and tolling church bells awaited. It was like coming to another part of town-gothic cathedrals, fountains which spouted water and streets which led nowhere, we were soon lost in the beauty of history.

It was time for a change once again as we picnicked around the lake, watching a movie in open air and seeing the sun settle down for its nightly nap. Geneva by night was even more impressive than during the day-the wind made the jet d’eau leave a spray trail and the city- lights around the lake formed a necklace of pearls around it. One could hear the gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) waves lapping at the rocks and the ever changing reflection of the lights in the water added to the beauty. And just when one thought it could not get more beautiful, the moon came out from behind the mountains adding an unearthly glow. We must have lost track of time as we gazed at the scenery and it was soon bed time.

We got up next morning, refreshed and eager to explore some more. I was in the countryside now, for my friend lived in Vernier village, little outside Geneva, and in exploring the forest around, we found the river Rhône again. It was a little trail in the woods by the river and we took a leisurely stroll around the mountains and discovered quite a few waterfalls which came cascading down to the river. It was like hiking in Shimla or Ranikhet, or in the forests on the hills, where the only sounds were made by non-human creatures and the river. Who knew the Swiss countryside was so magically calm? It worked up quite an appetite though and I was treated to some brilliant food cooked by my friend as soon as we found our way back home.
After our tummies growled no more, we headed back to Geneva to get one last look at the lake. We again sat in the parks beside the lake and watched the sky go from light to dark, the wind change from mild to stormy and had to eventually run for cover as the rain came pouring down. Geneva seemed relieved from the heat it had been experiencing as were we. Nothing like old friends and their banter as we laughed and chatted until the time came for me to leave, thus ending my Geneva adventure.
Until the next trip then…

Snippets from a traveler’s life

Snippets from a traveler’s life

How best to overcome the fatigue and the tiredness of continuous exams, presentations and report submissions, the sleepless nights and the aftermath?Simple; just take a refreshing sip of lush, green and enchanting England.

As I set out from a sweltering hot day in Paris towards Norwich, I saw the parched French landscape grudgingly give way to the fertile English soil, nurtured by the blood and toil of generations of men. The landscape dotted with teeny tiny houses among vast fields gave way to the hustle bustle of London and then  transformed again to the rolling country side of Norwich. Green, gold and brown seemed to merge in one hue as we continued, ambling through villages and those typical beautifully quaint English cottages one always dreams of having.  Norwich came at last, the light at the end of a very long, albeit beautifully embellished, tunnel. Meeting family is always such a joy and this time was no different. After a sumptuous Mediterranean dinner, we strolled along the trail of gorillas, innovatively painted (some even resemble batman and ironman) admiring the beauty of Norwich as it slumbered.(The painted gorillas represented their not so fortunate real-lifecounter parts becoming endangered by the minute.)

The next day we set off for the town of Bath, where Jane Austen wrote some of her best works and most of England went to, well, take a bath. For it was here that the Romans discovered the healing properties of the hot water springs and decided to make a pomp and show about it by building a public bath. Now when one mentions public baths, one automatically thinks of the unhygienic conditions, where the entire world comes to wash their dirt and sins away. However the Romans were well aware of this fact and set up an elaborate system of purification in place, well before entering the main bath itself so that only once a person was deemed clean enough for the bath could he enter it. A spa, a sauna, numerous dressing rooms and massage rooms were all part of the main structure, and at the helm of it all-the Scared Pool. This was where the hot sulphur springs finally found an outlet for their boiling rage and gushed to the top. And they remain angry and warm to this day-steaming hot and tantalizingly therapeutic (yes we did touch and drink it and yes we do live to tell the tale).  With an elaborate drainage system and brilliant engineering, the Roman baths are a marvel of their age and to this day, even after significant additions by the English kings, survive the blemishes of time.

Bath in itself is a small town with various other attractions, notably the Jane Austen house and the Fashion museum where one can not only see but also get to try on the Victorian dresses for oneself. And after doing so and trying to sashay down the room, we had a new found respect for the women of that epoch who readily underwent this torture for the sake of what fashion deemed as beauty.  Next on the list was the imposing Pulteney bridge sitting atop the gushing waters of the Avon and built on the lines of the locksmith’s bridge in Florence(but that makes for another blog post). Nibbling on the some fresh Italian ice cream seemed like a dream come true on that hot sweltering day(and yes the sun does reveal itself to the people of England) and all this while strolling the by lanes of one of the most scenic cities in the world-Bath.

The following morning, we had another of our childhood fantasies come to life-that of paying a visit to the mysterious stone circle known as the Stonehenge. The way was marked by chalk figures as old as the hills themselves, and the alleged fields marked by crop circles( made by men or otherwise) and the quaint thatched roof cottages of one of the villages. But nothing could have prepared us for the stones themselves, massive, towering, over powering, awe-inspiring and we paused for a minute, overcome with a fatal desire to touch them yet glad of the distance between us and the Stonehenge.  We did not just marvel at the strength of the men who brought them from Wales without modern machines, but also at the architects who conspired with the stars and seasons to overwhelm the common man into believing that it was less of architectural ingenuity and more of a sacred temple for worshipping the forces of nature.

From the ancient we moved to the medieval by shifting base to London and paying a visit to the Westminster Abbey where centuries of men prayed, hoped and dreamed- from royalty to poets like Chaucer, all found their final resting place underneath. From grandiose royal weddings to even more opulent coronations, this abbey really has borne witness to man’s journey through time. For a less romantic version of life, we visited Tower of London, marked by blood and gore in the violent English history. It was in this tower cum hill fort that Sir Isaac Newton lived as the head of the Royal Mint and that Sir Walter Raleigh was imprisoned.  All of Henry VIII’s wives were also killed here and apparently a man, one of the many bloodthirsty England hung, was hung, drawn and quartered here( from where the expression originates). This is also the resting place of the famous Koh-i-Noor in the queen's crown and the less I say the better. Moving on, next on our list were these interesting fountains which seem to spout out of the ground suddenly and which were quite the rage with people actually bathing in them to take respite from the heat. From then on, we just roamed around near the river banks until we were tired  and/or hungry. It is rather magical to be roaming around, discovering parts of London very different from what one has read about(read Picadilly circus, Buckingham Palace which of course we did see but we enjoyed the parks around rather than the Palace itself). It’s the realization that you don’t want to be a tourist anymore and would rather explore the city for what it is than for what it has to offer.

And thus another beautiful trip to the city of my dreams came to an end. Until next time then!

London Diaries II

The next day dawned bright and clear( well as far as London goes anyway) and we went to eat fish and chips in one of the oldest pubs in London. After a sumptious meal and conversation to go with, we proceeded to the event which had instigated the whole trip-a performance at the Globe theatre.

Shakespeare's charm which has held audiences captivated over the centuries was brought to life in the rendition of A Midsummer Night's Dream which we experienced. It was a very scintillating performance, what with the actors up close and looking in our eyes and the various characters from the play which kept bursting from in between the audience. The open environs(namely no roof) added to the old world charm. Music and dance and drama kept us on our toes for almost 3 hours. 

Soon after the dream ended, we went about trying to find a good indian restaurant, guided by our noses and some helpful Londoners(they are awfully nice and hilariously funny). We eventually found ourselves in Brick Lane and helped ourselves to some delightful and savoury dishes-the likes of which  I had only seen in my own country. Stomachs filled to bursting point, we traipsed to central London where a delightful performance by a stand-up comedian, Inkey Jones was to follow.His scathing yet hilarious comments about people in the room left us laughing till we ached and begging for mercy. We all needed a breath of fresh air after being a nearly passive audience for some time and decided to walk back to our hostel. Although it took us close to an hour, nothing could rival London in all its beauty at night. Shimmering in blue, yellow and red, London transformed from a classical old world town during the day to a glittering modern butterfly at night. The Millenium bridge looked like a portal straight out of Star Wars( or Trek if anyone can tell the difference) and the reflection on the waters on the Thames was close to celestial. There was magic in the air and in our eyes as we finally brought yet another remarkable day in the remarkable city of London to a close.

London Diaries I

Hello everyone.

This blog has been in the making for a long long time and should have been up and running a few years ago. Nonetheless now that the moment has come, lets not mince words and get down to brass tacks.

Let me begin by the motive which finally pushed me to creating this-the London trip and hence the first entry is aptly titles as the London Diaries I

Why London  I hear the interested reader(s) ask? Well it was officially a trip with my English class( don't get me wrong, my level of english has not regressed with learning french but this is a compulsory course and I am not complaining) with a legendary Prof who will be called as such and some band of friends who will also be called as such. One weekend was what it consisted of and evidently one did not expect to discover the whole country/culture in such a short span of time. But what I did not expect was that I would make new friends and discover a London which was very different from what a tourist might hope to discover.

It all began on the train which although goes under the Channel is not like the one which has been made popular in Dubai-that of fish trailing above and menacing sharks baring their beautifully set teeth. Neither does it involve the impressive ocean waters swirling into nothingness. All it does involve is a tunnel where one hears nothing thanks to blocked ears and has to shout to make oneself heard. Which is mildly irritating for those whose ears are NOT blocked-its like being stuck in a fish market in Kolkata when you don't want any fish. Moving on, the light at the other end of the tunnel gave way to some dark clouds and a lush countryside-my first impression was that i was finally in a country where cars rolled on the 'right' side (or left as my italian friend quickly pointed out) of the road.

The disembarking, taking the tube(which is really like its name suggests, giving you the uncomfortable feeling that you are much like an insect inside a tube) and reaching the hostel was banal. However the achitecture and the planning of the city with a Shard rising above some classical bulidings was surprising. We checked in and decided to roam the streets for food when we bumped into our Prof with some other friends. Finally having chosen a pub/resto we settled down to a delicious meal and some wonderful conversation, for who knew that Prof was such an interesting character! The never ending wonderful stories, the stimulating discussions and the cracking sense of humour was enough to keep us entertained until late at night. Who said age was a barrier to have a pleasant evening?