The Sunglasses

Summer vacations had finally begun and 15 year old Mala was glad to be one of the few lucky ones amongst her group of friends who would be escaping the sordid Bhopal heat. Her parents had finally decided to take the long overdue vacation to Bangalore and they were all set to spend a glorious summer with the Shettys - her parents’ friends ever since she could remember. Better still was the fact that Anshika, Shetty uncle’s daughter was Mala’s best friend and when they were together, they needed no one else.

Mala stood in front of her tiny wardrobe trying to pick out clothes she could pack so that she had some chance of blending in with the hip Bangalore crowd. She had decided to enjoy herself to the fullest; after all she deserved the break. She had slogged hard for her final exams, as a result of which, not only had she secured first position in her class but Amma had also promised her a grand prize. Although Amma would have preferred to present Mala with a copy of ‘The Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens, Mala was resolutely determined to acquire a pair of hip sunglasses. ‘Sunglasses are in, Amma. Besides, almost all my friends possess a pair’, she argued. Finally Amma had given in and Mala couldn’t help feeling over the moon.

As the sound of Papa’s loud guffaw drifted in from the living room, shaking her out of her blissful reverie, Mala said a silent prayer. She hoped against hopes that her family would not ‘be themselves’ and embarrass her in Bangalore. Even as she prayed she knew that it was too much to ask for because this year she also had her 26 month old brother - Mohit to cope with. In Mala’s opinion, had there been something like a competition for the ‘World’s most embarrassing family’, her family- Mohit with his stupid baby antics in public, Papa with his loud laugh and Amma with her nose always buried in some book or the other - would have won hands down. “Why couldn’t Amma bother more about how she dressed instead of what she read and why couldn’t Papa understand that his booming voice and resonating laughter could be heard from miles away”, she rued. At last a 24-hour journey later, their train pulled into the crowded Bangalore City Junction. Mala spotted Shetty uncle and Anshika who had come to receive them at the railway station. Exhibiting classic teenage-girl behaviour, Mala and Anshika instantly glued themselves together and bantered all the way home, totally unaware of the rest of the world.

That summer the atmosphere at the Shetty residence was one of gaiety as the families enjoyed each others' company. Over the next few days, the girls indulged in several fun activities together. They participated in swimming competitions at the club house, went to the movies, gossiped, played Uno and other board games and had a great time. True to its reputation, time rolled by quickly. Their vacation was soon approaching an end and the important shopping trip was yet to be made. So, one fine Saturday morning, Anshika and Mala pestered their parents into taking them to MG Road - the hip street which had all the branded stores and all the ‘cool’ people. The day had come when Mala would choose her perfect pair of sunglasses and that too from a fancy big store. Clad in her favourite t-shirt and jeans, Mala hopped from one room to another in an animated delirium.

Once at the store, her excitement knew no bounds as she tried several pairs of sunglasses and finally had her heart set on a very glamorous one. Just looking at them she knew that she had found her sunglasses. Amma and Papa exchanged a look as she and Anshika drooled over this particular sample. In no time the deal was finalized and Mala walked out clutching her beloved sunglasses which were neatly tucked in a pretty black velvet case. Stepping out of the store, Mala entrusted Papa with her precious velvet case as their party of eight headed to a restaurant to celebrate the occasion. Settling down in an unoccupied booth at the restaurant Mala squealed “Papa; can I have my sunglasses please. I cannot stop looking at them!” Papa fumbled from one pocket to another, his expressions changing from pleasant to quizzical to apologetic. Mala had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Papa had managed to lose her brand new sunglasses! Mala could not believe that her happiness was destined to be so short-lived. She gave Papa an accusatory look and promptly burst into tears. Everyone sympathized with her and tried to console her, but no one could really understand her grief - or so Mala thought. Papa stood silently looking at his woebegone daughter and felt just as miserable. He blamed himself for Mala’s misery.

An ice cream and a promise of a new t-shirt later, a semi- mollified Mala headed back home. She knew that she would never forgive Papa. She had been a proud owner of expensive sun glasses for exactly 15 minutes and now they were gone. Her parents could not afford another pair this year and it was all Papa’s fault. “How could he do this to me?” she thought. On the way back, Mala was so dissolved in self pity and anger that she did not realize that ever since the dreadful incident, Papa had vanished. A couple of hours later, Mala had already tucked herself in bed. As she lay there moping, she heard a soft knock on the bedroom door and Papa walked in. Mala was in no mood to face either of her parents, least of all - Papa. “What do you want Papa? Should I give you something else that I like so that you can go ahead and lose that as well?”, she asked in an acerbic tone. Without uttering a word, Papa sat down next to Mala and placed a familiar velvet case in Mala’s tiny hand. ‘ I am sorry betu for causing you so much sorrow’, he said softly.

As it turned out, Papa had gone all the way back to the same store where they had bought the original sunglasses. He had laboriously checked all the available sun glasses along with the sales person and had finally been able to locate another piece of the exact same kind. Delighted, he had quickly made the payment and rushed back home to surprise his little girl. Mala jumped out of bed, gave Papa a quick hug and rushed to Anshika’s room with the new acquisition. Even though in her excitement she had forgotten to thank Papa, he was happy to see his daughter’s elation.

Today, sitting in her beautiful apartment, thousands of miles away from Bhopal and her family, Mala stares at the broken pieces of her favourite sun glasses in pin drop silence. Earlier in the day, her cleaning lady had accidently dropped them from their place on the shelf. Papa isn’t here to replace them for her, just so that he can see her smile again and Amma isn’t here to console her either. Today, there is nothing in the world that she would not be willing to give to be able to curl up in Amma’s lap and listen to her read, to hear Papa’s deep throated chortle or Mohit’s constant banter.

Life is like coffee and our coffee mugs are the jobs we hold, the money we earn and our status in society. These are just tools to hold and contain Life. The type of mug we have does not define or change the quality of life we live. Sometimes by concentrating only on the cup we fail to enjoy the coffee. Savour the coffee, not the mug.—> Courtesy-www.flickspire.com and Amma.

A Roman Holiday

Deriving inspiration from the famous quote 'A rolling stone gathers no moss', we embarked on a journey further south to the ancient city of Rome, capital of Italy and a land of great historical significance. My OCD induced hyper planning had given birth to a small red notebook whose chequered pages were filled down to the last little square with my scrawls…metro train routes, snapshots of what to see in each city, brief historical inputs, dos and don't s……so on and so forth. This notebook is worth a mention as I never believed till then that I was capable of doing such research on a handful of cities. It is hence a very important relic in my ever growing collection of knick knacks from my travel adventures and I am willing to lend it out to people planning their vacation to these cities for a small fee ;-)

The hour and a half flight from Paris to Rome was made slightly more interesting thanks to the chatty old Italian man occupying the seat next to us. As I immersed myself in the French version of a gossip magazine, my fellow-traveller - Arjun -  humoured the old man by indulging in general banter. I later found out that by doing so, Arjun was mentally checking off a point in his own, personal bucket list- talk to a complete stranger from a distant land.

We were in for a surprise as we alighted on Italian soil. As opposed to the cold, rainy countenance of Paris, Rome presented us with a warm, vacation'y' visage. One would think that this warm welcome would have facilitated a harmonious beginning to our 'Roman Holiday', however, us being us, we could not do away with the usual bickering and squabbling. So, we quarrelled all the way to the Roma Termini (the main train station). I am very sure we weren't a pretty sight with me grumpily staring out of the bus window and Arjun resolutely silent, staring straight ahead into infinity. Ironically, if one asks me today what we were arguing about, I will not be able to recollect even though at that instant it seemed like the single most important issue worth standing up for. As the city rolled by us, the cold war continued till we reached the main station; where it then blew right through the roof. I continued to sulk and refused to help Arjun figure out where the Tourist Information centre was and Arjun's frustration continued to soar heavenwards as he kept running into dead ends. After one particularly nasty skirmish with a rather unfriendly shopkeeper, Arjun stormed out of the building determined to find our hotel on his own. What he did not realize was that in his anger fueled haste, he had left me far behind. Certain that Arjun was doing this on purpose and that he was somewhere around the corner deriving sadistic pleasure from my uneasiness, I took my post at the station entrance, determined not to give him the pleasure of seeing me fret. As seconds turned into minutes and every other tall, lanky man in a red t shirt did not turn out to be Arjun, I began to realize that I was really lost.

LOST…the word flashed like a red neon sign in my head. For no apparent reason, images of me being taken to the police station in a blue police car with sirens blaring, started swimming in my head. 'What darned luck' I thought!!!! Imagine getting lost at the age of 27. How ridiculous is that? I am not tiny, well, most certainly not 3 feet kind of tiny, neither am I someone who might blend into the European crowd (I am sure owing to my colour, wild black hair and typical Indian looks, I stand out like a green thumb amongst the predominantly white European populace). Then how did I end up getting lost!!! My annoyance was reaching an all time high as I felt the first drops of tears threatening to tumble down my flushed cheeks. To cut a very long and painful story short, despite the state of dread that I was quickly sinking into, I managed to weave my way through the busy Roma Termini to the store where I had last been together with Arjun. Relief swept all over me as there, amidst all the white, blond general public stood my very own brown skinned, black haired knight in shining armour looking equally panic stricken and scared as me. In that moment all my anger vapourised and I simply wanted to cling on to him and never let go (thoughts of super gluing myself to him crossed my mind).

Having lost precious hours, we rushed to the hotel (which Arjun had somehow managed to locate in the middle of the entire aforementioned fiasco), dumped our luggage and headed out to our first destination- The Colosseum- Rome's most celebrated and popular monument.

The Colosseum stood in all its magnificence across the road in front of the metro station-a piece of history decorating the present modern landscape. It resembled a tiered wedding cake which had been carelessly nibbled at, perhaps by a pesky little kid, so that it now had big chunks missing from random places. A monument which constantly reminds us of how barbaric mankind can be. A monument which tells us a story of a time when royalty meant being able to witness and enjoy heinous acts of violence from the choicest of perches. As if to cleanse this architectural marvel of centuries of sins committed within its edifice, during and after the medieval era it was used as a venue for religious events. Circling the Colosseum, we encountered street performers dressed as Gladiators, stalls groaning under heaps of dime-a- dozen souvenirs and kiosks offering food and drinks to the visitors. Right next to the Colosseum was an arena of Roman ruins. Popularly known as the Roman Forum, this enclosure houses the ruins of the most important government buildings around the main market place. The once grand site is now just a heap of architectural remains which pitifully speak of wealthier times. Standing here, one gets an impression of how the mighty fell despite their strong belief in their own invincibility. In about three hours, I felt I had already had enough of excavation sites. I was longing to see something complete, something without dents and holes, something which did not make me sad.

The perfect antidote to our 'Roman Ruins'-induced sadness was the bright, one hundred percent intact, gigantic and spectacular Trevi fountain. In deep contrast to the tiny avenue where it was located, the Trevi soar majestically above the surrounding buildings. This famous Baroque fountain enjoys the status of a celebrity having been featured in many popular films like 'Three coins in a fountain', 'La dolce vita' and of course the heart warming 'Roman Holiday'. I happened to read somewhere that the bearded, muscular Adonis-like man in the centre of the monument is none other than Neptune, the God of oceans. One can see him riding his shell shaped chariot which is drawn by two well built horses. The sheer strength which the sculpture exudes is unimaginable. An enormous Italian dinner comprising of sea food spaghetti, but of course the Italian pizza, red wine and strawberries with cream for dessert was the perfect final act of Day 1.

Day 2 was packed as we had lots to see in very little time. The Spanish Steps were first on our jam packed itinerary and a 200 meter walk from the metro station brought us face to face with a flight of stairs which would have ordinarily qualified as any other staircase had we not known that we were looking at the widest staircase in Europe. The sun shone mercilessly upon us as we sweated our way up the 138 steps to the Trinità dei Monti church which towers over the Piazza di Spagna. Piazza di Spagna houses one of the many many fountains in Rome and after having seen the mighty Trevi, this seemed like a mite to us. Another Piazza on our list was the Piazza del Popollo which is known for it's symmetrical architecture. The two prominent domes here are mirror images of each other. The sight of these twin domes makes one reflect upon how brilliant the architects of yore were. Also, I guess it was a trend in those times for European conquerors to pillage Egypt and bring back obelisks to decorate their Piazzas back home. The Piazza del Poppolo also showcased such an Obelisk right in the centre.

'When in Rome, visit the Vatican city'- This is my version of the famous saying and we followed it verbatim. In order to avoid long queues, we had booked tickets to the Vatican museums in advance. Unlike the Louvre, the Vatican museum did not offer any thematic trail. This was a bit of a problem as we ended up spending nearly 5 hours inside trying to cover all the 54 galleries. The Gallery of Busts interested me the most as it gave faces to all those characters whom I had read about in school books. As we scratched our heads, in an effort to revive our brain cells, we were only able to recognize the busts of Julius Caesar, Marcus Agrippa and a few more who had once been sketchily described in our NCERT textbooks.

Even though each gallery had some thing of extraordinary beauty to offer, The Sistine Chapel with it's famous Michelangelo frescoes took my breath away. The nine paintings which form the elaborate ceiling fresco depict the various phases of man's relationship with God- The Creation of the World, God's relationship with Mankind and Mankind's Fall from God's Grace. The Last judgement, also painted by Michelangelo on the altar wall, is a fiery depiction of Judgement Day- A day which is experienced by all humanity and based on individual karmas results in attainment of nirvana in heaven or condemnation to the fires and demons of hell. The figures which fascinated me the most were those of Charon and Minos-Judge of the Underworld. The figures looked extremely menacing with their horns and sinister expressions. Minos with the serpent coiled around his body, looked dark and scary.The damned souls were shown being pushed out of the boat by Charon into a sea teeming with awful ogres. On the other hand, the depiction of Heaven is sunny and peaceful. Angels and Saints along with the Almighty seem to reside here. The Sistine chapel's sanctity is maintained by disciples of the Pope ensuring that no one takes pictures, people are appropriately dressed and there is complete silence inside. If I had my way, I would have spent an entire evening admiring the works of Michelangelo but our hectic schedule did not give us the luxury to fritter away time on one item of our To-Do list.

The St. Peter's Basilica guarded by the richly dressed Swiss guards beckoned us as we made our way out of the Sistine Chapel. Living up to it's fame, this church is the mother of all churches. As the name suggests, the church is the final resting place of St. Peter who was one of the 12 apostles of Jesus Christ. Michelangelo's dome, Bernini's Baldacchino and other renowned artists' artwork define the St. Peter's basilica. One can imagine the beauty of a structure brimming with such great art. We were lucky to get an opportunity to attend the Mass and we would like to believe that we left the holy church a little more enlightened.

Exhausted and beat, we managed to reach the last point on our itinerary - The Pantheon just half an hour before it was scheduled to shut down for the day. As luck would have it, we were not only able to feast our eyes upon Raphael's tomb and the coffered ceiling of the structure, but were also entertained by a uniformed brass band playing an impromptu symphony right outside the massive Pantheon. The festivities helped in elevating our tired spirits and as we gorged on traditional Italian spaghetti and wine, we could not help but recapitulate the adventures of the day, impressed by our own stamina.

The beauty of Rome lies in the fact that as opposed to the chic and organized Paris, Rome comes across as disorganized and rustic. The difference is the same as between fine cuisine and comfort food. A certain warmth oozes out of every nook and corner and bidding adieu can be very difficult. However, I have a ray of hope - The 2 cent coin that I flipped into the Trevi fountain will ensure my speedy return to this wonderful city…So, here's hoping!!!

A Florentine Get-Away

What comes to mind when one hears of a certain region called Tuscany in Central Italy? Some would say brilliant wines like Chianti, others would say famous artists like Botticelli, Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci while some probably would also be reminded of the macabre story of the Monster of Florence. For me, Florence-the capital of Tuscany- was all this and much more.

The journey from Rome to Florence in the first class compartment of an ICE (Inter City Express) train was an indulgent one as we had wonderful seats and uniformed servers at our beck and call. The landscape transformed rapidly from lovely to beautiful to gorgeous. The picture perfect green pastures with bales of hay and healthy bovines grazing on it resembled subjects waiting to be replicated on canvas by a painter. Although most of Europe is known for such panoramic beauty, the serenity of Tuscany sets it a tad bit apart.

We were lucky to have found a certain Residenza dal Borgo which offered us a suite at an affordable price. It took us some time to figure out the process involved in checking in and getting to our apartment. Having collected our keys from the main hotel, we proceeded to the apartment building across the cobbled street alley. Getting in proved to be quite a struggle as we were to unlock three doors protected by rustic locks which creaked and groaned only to give way after a great deal of twisting and turning. Our effort was instantly rewarded as we walked into a charming quaint suite which was to be our abode for the next two days. Stepping in the living room which was painted bright red (making us feel as if we were suddenly in Communist China) we realised that this was going to be a different experience altogether. The pale blue bathroom, the grass green bedroom-with a spectacular ceiling fresco and the hand painted wooden furniture added to the uniqueness of the suite. As I peeped out of our window, I spotted a group of dreadlock bearing, pot smoking hippies huddling together in front of the hostel right across our building. Now I understood why our building needed to be so tightly padlocked and needless to say, I doubly ensured that our room was securely locked before we ventured out.

After our rather hectic Roman holiday, Florence gave us an opportunity to stretch our legs and relax. Exploring the city at a leisurely pace was what we had in mind and this is exactly what we did. Stopping over at one of the many cafes at Piazza Republica, we partook of lunch which comprised of Tuscan wine and pizzas. Stomaches full, we headed out to conquer yet another museum-The Uffizi-which is home to several paintings and sculptures by renowned artists. Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Michelangelo, Veronese and Rembrandt, to name a few, are the famous artists whose work can be seen in the 45 rooms of this large museum. At the Uffizi, I came face to face again with a painting which had caught my eye in the Vatican museum- the 'Adoration of Magi'. I had seen several versions of this biblical episode by Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli and now Dürer. The depiction of the three Magi commonly known as the three Wise Men who visited baby Jesus at birth is surreal. It is said that these men brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh for the blessed one and the affection and reverence that they might have experienced then is evident from the expressions illustrated by the painters. I was later to visit the shrine of these wise men in which their bones are said to be preserved, in the cathedral at Cologne, Germany but that is material for another story and another day isn't it?

Another painting which shook me to the core was 'Leda and the Swan' by Francesco Melzi. The seduction of queen Leda-wife of King Tyndareus of Sparta, by the Greek God- Zeus in the form of a swan left me feeling nauseous and sick. And, to top it all, the story continues with Leda laying two eggs which produced two children-progeny of Zeus (the Swan). Apparently Helen who later came to be known as Helen of Troy was one of these two children.

The Uffizi is a U shaped gallery and thus encloses an open arena in the center. After having covered most of the rooms in the museum, we decided to sit and enjoy the remaining evening in this arena. Picture a balmy evening amidst a couple of painters in their signature berets balancing paint palettes in one hand and numerous brushes in the other, a street singer crooning beautifully his own renditions of famous old songs and a bunch of music aficianados singing along.This was the exact setting that we had the pleasure of enjoying that evening . Also, almost lifesize statues of famous personalities like Galileo and Leonardo da Vinci were witness to the gaiety from their vantage points around the arena. In my imagination, they also managed to shake a leg when no one was looking.

How could I return home after a vacation in Italy without something beautiful in leather? As we walked from the Uffizi towards the famous Ponte Vecchio bridge over the river Arno, I was bewitched by an array of beautiful leather jackets hanging in the glass window of a leather shop. I stepped in, feebly trying to take an oath that I would not get carried away. The store offered a variety of leather jackets in all colours and styles. Italian merchants are known for their persuasiveness and very soon not only was I convinced that the sole purpose of my life on earth was to possess a particular chocolate brown, butter soft jacket but my relatively more grounded friend was also talked into buying a lovely brown jacket for himself.

With considerably lighter wallets and heavier shopping bags, we walked upto the Ponte Vecchio (a famous bridge over the River Arno), just in time to catch the sunset. The river Arno had suddenly metamorphosed into liquid gold as the rays of the setting sun bounced off the water creating an illusion beyond imagination. The city of Florence had acquired a golden patina and the buildings looked doused in gold. Many times in the past while witnessing such great beauty, I have quietly thanked God for creating this wonderful world and I did just the same now.

Having indulged in retail therapy and gastronomic ecstasy, we retired to our peculiar yet comfortable apartment.

Off we were again at daybreak the following day as we wanted to catch a glimpse of the famous statue of David by Michelangelo at the Accademia Gallery. The massive nude sculpture of the hero of yesteryears-David-was no different from the very many sculptures that we had seen in the Louvre, the Vatican Museum and the Uffizi. The sculptor- Michelangelo had received great accolades for this life like statue which appears to be all set for combat presumably with the giant - Goliath. David, an ancestor of Christ and second king of Israel rose to fame after he killed the giant Goliath by striking him in the forehead with a stone from his sling. He is an important character in the Bible, the Quran and the Tanakh (Hebrew Bible).

Later, we decided to walk around the city of Florence exploring it's many Piazzas and cafes and before we knew it, it was time for us to catch our train to Venice.

A word of caution to fellow travellers - while stopping by this delightful Tuscan city, beware, you might just end up loosening your purse strings to a point of bankruptcy, gaining a few pounds and never wanting to go back to work. However, I assure you that the experience is worth all the side effects put together, so go ahead, plan a Florentine get away at the earliest.

Strasbourg, France-16th June 2011

Finally the day had come when I would embark upon my most looked forward long vacation. As the clock struck 8 I headed to the airport to pick up a certain someone. The feeling was that of elation as well as anxiety and while on the outside I might have looked like one of the many merry people who were happily on their way to the airport to receive their loved ones, on the inside I was a bundle of scepticism, excitement, nervousness and anticipation.

After a harrowing 1 hour train ride -I call it harrowing because I had twenty million butterflies, nervous ones at that, fluttering in my stomach- I alighted at the Stuttgart Flughafen Messe S Bahn station and traversed the last flight of steps towards my 'guest' and co-traveller for the next two weeks. He had been waiting for over an hour because his flight had arrived unusually early. After quickly apprising each other from head to toe (after all, this was the first time that we were face to face minus the several chaperones keeping an eye on us), we retraced my steps back to the S bahn platform and took the S 3 to Stuttgart Hauptbahnof (from here we were to catch the U6 to Gerlingen-my enchanting little urban village).

All the way back, we chatted like long lost friends. Our banter varied from serious subjects like world history to subjects which were so buffoonish that I would rather not mention them here (this even included making faces at each other!!!) . I would like to imprint the memory of the walk home from Gerlingen station in my head so that I can relive it whenever I want. We walked under a clear blue sky on a cobbled stone street and that too on a Thursday (which is supposed to be a regular work day). A tantalising smell of freshly baked bread and freshly brewed coffee prompted me to treat my companion to a cup of European coffee and croissant.

After gorging on scrambled eggs (to my great relief and if I may say so myself I did a pretty decent job), croissants and coffee, we decided to take a short nap. Refreshed and re energized, we explored Gerlingen while also chit chatting to our hearts' content. Our first ever dinner date comprised of red wine and pasta. The day ended on a relaxed note with a light movie at home. Had we been younger, this would have qualified as the best sleepover ever!!

STRASBOURG-17th June 2011

If one runs a search on the Internet one comes across the following description of Strasbourg: It is the principal city of the Alsace region in the North East of France and is close to the German-French border.It is situated on the Ill river and can boast about being a miniature representative of France with a flavour of Germany.

The train ride from Stuttgart to Strasbourg was nearly three hours long and took us through typical European countrysides replete with vast stretches of green pastures, towering windmills and languidly grazing black and white cows. It was abundantly clear to me now why Mr. Yash Chopra chose these locales as backdrops for his blockbuster love stories. However, as the hopeless romantic in me focussed on the scenic beauty of the landscape and floated on a cloud of quixotic fantasies, my scientific and hence practical co traveller dwelved on the structure of the windmill blades and on the formation of contrails (something I obviously learnt from him) up in the sky. This is when for the first time we realized how destiny had struck a perfect balance by bringing both of us together. His practicality toned down my abstraction and kept me grounded while my romanticism left a stroke of colour in his vanilla white world of logic (I would like to believe so).

The train pulled into the main station right on time. 'Bienvenue à Strasbourg'  greeted the electronic female voice as we wandered around the station looking for the Tourist information kiosk. With a map in hand and our back packs tightly strapped to our backs, we must have looked like the typical Asian tourists lapping up all the fantastic story book charm of this medieval French town. We were informed that the city was tiny and could be covered on foot.

'Petite France' and 'Pont Couverts' were our first stops. Petite France is a pretty little neighbourhood nestled in the heart of Strasbourg. Walking through the tiny alleys and across toy like bridges we feasted our eyes on the hustle bustle and picture postcard like sights. Small islands of people enjoying a summer brunch in the sun and street vendors selling colourful sketches of the various landmarks in Strasbourg allured us instantly. Click click click we went with our camera, trying hard to ensure that as many as possible instances and sights got a tiny spot each on the memory stick.

Stopping over at a confectionary which boasted of it's home made wares, we inhaled deepily the delicious aroma of chocolate (this memory till date makes my mouth water). The shop window displayed chocolates and candies of all shapes, sizes, colours and fillings possible. It was a chocolate lover's paradise and despite the slightly steep prices, we decided to sample one each of the dark and the milk chocolate truffles. The little drops of heaven were marvellous and melted in the mouth so exquisitely that the innocent recipients of these (read us) had no other option but to close their eyes and experience the short lived pleasure before it slipped down our throats. Tearing ourselves away from the chocolate shop, we moved on to admire tourist boats sailing in the river Ill.

In that moment as we ambled away merrily, little did we know that in the coming days we were to walk so many miles that for days to come the idea of a stroll would make our stomaches turn :). Speaking of stomaches, the incessant walking had definitely built up our appetites and we decided to take a pitstop at a tiny eatery for a 'quick bite'. Our 'quick bite' quickly turned into a full fledged grand lunch as our waiter (who surprisingly turned out to be of Indian 'Mallu' origin) brought us our order-a gigantic ocean salad comprising of squids, oysters, prawns, salmon, fresh tomatoes, lettuce and crunchy slices of cucumber and a footlong tomato mozzarella sandwich which smelt headily of basil.

Having satisfied the rumble in our bellies, we moved ahead towards the Cathédrale Notre Dame. A large Gothic structure (6th tallest church in the world) awaited us. Dozens of  ferocious gargoyle sculptures threatened to pounce out of the confines of the massive cathedral. The grey exterior enhanced the Gothic'ness' of the cathedral and along with the gargoyles added to the grimness of the edifice. Legends of a secret underground lake and of the mysterious wind which blows around the cathedral impatiently waiting till date for the Devil trapped inside served as the mystic icing on the grim cake. However, the sunny weather and the hoards of visitors in all kinds of summer'y' attires added the much required colour to the surroundings. The South East Asians with their fancy electronic equipment (state of the art cameras, sleek cell phones etc) and their hilarious picture poses (well, victory signs and thumbs up signs in front of a cathedral are kind of hilarious and out of place as well ), the so called obnoxious Americans with their thick, loud accents and their overly relaxed attires, the stiff Europeans in their perfect couture and their prim manners, the odd Indian family (complete with a stern, moustachioed father, a timid salwaar kameez and sport shoes clad mother and two semi westernized children, surreptitiously stealing glances at the very PDA(Public Display of Affection)  that their parents were scornful of) looking uncomfortable amidst oodles of the aforementioned PDA displayed by the westerner love lorn couples, were some of the typical tourists buzzing around us.

The voracity of the tongue beckoned us yet again and we felt ourselves being pulled towards an ice cream shop. Sitting in the center of the square facing the cathedral we devoured our mango ice creams and derived cheap thrills out of looking at the motley crowd and commenting on everyone's attire and behaviour. The age old game of guessing what strangers were discussing amongst each other while sitting at a distance out of ear shot made us feel like little children. A little bit of window shopping and a little bit of aimless strolling also contributed to our beautiful day out. Finally at 4pm, having decided that we had seen it all and that it was now time to head back home as we had an early morning train to Paris, we hopped, skipped and jumped back to the train station just in time to board the first of the three trains back home (it was not a direct train and we had to change trains at two stations).

Exhausted from all the walking and talking, the journey back was quieter as both of us assimilated the events of the day. Upon reaching Stuttgart Hbf, it turned out that the Gods of Rain had finally decided to give my friend a feel of how unpredictable and dirty the weather in Germany can get and so, as we boarded the U6 to Gerlingen, the sky was overcast and the thunderbolts started to create a terrible ruckus. With each passing station, the downpour worsened and we thanked our lucky stars for having the good sense (mostly my friend's) to carry at least one umbrella. Needless to say, the 10 minute walk from the station back home seemed like a year long and finally as we entered the safe and dry interiors of our home, we were an iota short of being completely drenched. Hard as they had tried, the Rain Gods could not dampen our excitement about our impending week long tryst with history as we would wind our way through cities like Paris, Rome, Florence, Venice and Berlin. As the famous John Denver song goes: 'All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go….' we were all packed and ready for our journey through time…

More on this wonderful vacation in my next post….till then in the true French spirit ….Au revoir !!!!

An Evening in Paris-18th June 2011

Getting up at five in the morning was never more exciting as it was on this particular Saturday. A quick cup of instant coffee and an equally quick shower later we hit our frequently treaded path to the Stuttgart Hauptbahnof. Much to the satisfaction of my very punctual friend, we were running just in time to grab a scrumptious butter pretzel each before boarding our super cool, super fast TGV to Paris. As we made ourselves comfortable in our cozy corner on board, we couldn't help but feel smug about the fact that we would hit Paris in just about three hours. At this point we did not have the slightest inkling of what fate had in store for us. Just when you can't seem to be more contented with all the planning and preparation that you have put in to ensure that a trip is executed smoothly, a certain someone who goes by the name of Ms. Tough Luck decides to make her presence felt. In our case as the the hours ticked by and three hours turned into four and then into five, we knew that Madam Tough Luck had struck. Much to our consternation the train hauled into Paris at almost 12 in the afternoon.

Locating the tourist information center was an arduous task as it is tucked in a tiny little corner of the sprawling Paris Est station . After an irksome 45 minutes, we managed to reach the counter in one piece with all our luggage intact. The information booth was manned by a single attendant who, despite being overworked, was one of the most helpful attendants that I have come across during my travels in Europe. Patiently, he answered all my frenzied questions about public transport passes, where to collect our pre booked Louvre tickets from, orientation of the city on our tourist map..and so on and so forth. I must confess that my eagerness to know it all in the shortest possible time and to be able to guide my co- travellers efficiently in a new city can be quite annoying to everyone but myself (This moment of realization came to me somewhere in between this seven day vacation of ours).

As we were going to spend close to three days in Paris, it was economical to invest in the three day-three zone public transport pass which gave us access to the Metros, RERs and the local buses. Our hotel was located in a convenient locality known as Cambronne and was about a minute's walk from the Cambronne metro station. Having figured out which metro to catch, we proceeded to the corresponding platform.

The Paris underground metro system turned out to be a maze of tunnels, passages and moving walkways. It resembled a kingdom to me because it seemed to have a life of it's own. Right there in the very bowels of Paris, there thrives a living breathing civilization. In the narrow passages, one can spot budding musicians playing all sorts of exotic instruments like the xylophone, the tambourine and the banjo. Fruit vendors, souvenier vendors and second-hand booksellers share space on the sidewalks. Walls are adorned with colourful graffitti and posters announcing upcoming musicals/art shows. The ancient and rickety trains are the city's lifeline catering to all sorts of commuters. The diversity and density of the crowd travelling on these trains brought back memories of metro trains in a city thousands of miles away. If you are an Indian, you would instantly understand that I am referring to the the local trains in Mumbai which can qualify as the impoverished step sisters of the Paris metro trains.

We travelled amongst the august company of musicians and their instruments, painters with their easels and paint boxes, students from around the world, people dressed in neat business suits as well as people clad in bohemian couture and dreadlocks and of course the omni present fellow tourists. Just like our Mumbaikers, the Parisians believe in wriggling their way into overcrowded trains and with a shove here and a push there they manage to find enough space to park themselves. To ensure that I did not get lost in the crowd (It is not an advantage to be a tiny person when in crowded places) , I forever had a firm grip on my companion and at one point I almost thought that I had ripped off his shirt which was the only thing that I had managed to grab onto then.

Our hotel room turned out to be tiny albeit comfortable. After having washed off the strain of the journey, we ventured out. Pont Neuf, our first stop, is the oldest standing bridge across the river Seine in Paris. There, amidst the several locks on the railing signifying everlasting love for innumerable couples, the magnificient Louvre on one side and the beautiful Palais de Justice on the other, I caught my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower which rendered me speechless. Far away, looming majestically over the city of Paris was this gigantic metallic structure which had once upon a time suffered heavy criticism from the Parisian populace as it was considered to be a blot on the landscape. The overcast sky was kind enough to give us just sufficient time to click a few pictures and bask in the beauty of the moment before it burst into a light shower. We took shelter under the tin roof of a sidewalk cafe and continued to admire the Pont Neuf from a distance. The drizzle ceased as quickly as it had started and a golden sun pryed open it's way from under a sheet of dark clouds.

With the sun shining gaily upon us, we continued our walk along the high walls of the Louvre. I could not get myself to believe that I was standing in front of the world's most famous museum which houses 35,000 pieces of the most appreciated art work. Slowly we edged our way into the Louvre compound through one of the several entrances which in itself was beautiful as it was rimmed with massive marble and stone sculptures of warriors, horses, angels and the likes. As we entered, we found ourselves staring agape at the colossal arena enclosed by a fortress like structure which is actually the Louvre and smack in the center of this arena was the famous glass Pyramid which serves as a main entrance to the grand museum. For a couple of seconds both of us just stood there coming to terms with the splendour we were witnessing. After giving ourselves ample time, we shook ourselves out of our reverie and started the long stroll from the Louvre complex crossing the Jardin de Tuileries, past the Place de la Concorde with the Egyptian obelisk to the grand Boulevard Champs de Elysees.

In my opinion, Paris resembles a very creative child's playroom. Just as a toddler strews his play things all over his room, a stuffed bear here, a Lego structure there, it appears that the celebrated artists of Paris decided to dot the city randomly with their artefacts. Such is the beauty of Paris that when we were least expecting to encounter something magnificient, we would run into an ornate fountain or a tasteful sculpture or a charming boulevard. But as they say there is always a method to madness, I am sure there is some logic to this as well.

The Boulevard Champs de Elysees was lined with trees of the exact same height and flattened tops . This gave us an insight to how aesthetically inclined Parsians are.I must admit that one of the most difficult things that I have had to do in years was to turn a blind eye to the attractive designer stores that beckoned to me from all around Champs de Elysees. They seemed to be calling out to me-'Oh come have a look at our scarves,shoes, bags, coats'……..and on and on went the imaginary voices emanating from the stores. The Arc de Triomphe was our finish line and as we circled in on it we suddenly realised how exhausted we were from all the walking. Our worn out brains and famished guts refused to cooperate any longer and as expected the bickering commenced. How we argued on and on about as trivial a subject as where to eat and what to eat!!!!! Finally we arrived at a consensus on eating pizza as it is difficult to go wrong with something as basic as Pizza Margherita.

A wise lady once said : 'One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.' I couldn't agree with her more right then because as soon as we obliged our bodies with food, things started looking up. We were able to make up our minds about how to get to the Eiffel tower and about our plan for the following day. Instantly the bickering petered out and once more we were the merry duo. After much ado we located the George V metro station and boarded a train to the Trocadero station. As we surfaced from the underground metro station probably resembling a pair of moles resurfacing energized after months of hibernation, something told me that we were a stone's throw from the Eiffel.

Just as we turned a corner, 500 meters from the station, we found ourselves standing on a raised platform right in front of the Eiffel. What a wonderful feeling that was!!! Scenes from movies like 'An Evening in Paris', 'Everyone says I love you' and several books including 'Is Paris Burning' swam in front of my eyes as I stood ogling at this metallic wonder. It would not be an exaggeration if I say that in that moment standing in front of the Eiffel Tower set against a pinkish grey sky, I realised why it is called the most romantic place on Earth. It would suffice to say that I was happy that my very first sighting of this marvelous structure was with a loved one. A cup of hot coffee added to the warmth that had begun to spread itself within me after the sighting. It did not matter any more that we had to stand in a long line for tickets to enter and go up or that it would take ages for us to cover both the floors or that we would be jostled and shoved around by the crowd. We were HAPPY and no amount of unpleasantness could have jolted us out of our warm and fuzzy cocoon.

People have often warned me about the occupational hazards of being in a relationship. They tell me that the journey is not as rosy as the idea of the journey and that the everyday monotony negates all the hype and hooplah created by dreamers about love, affection and 'happily ever after'. I, on the contrary feel that if the journey entails moments and pitstops which make one realize how lucky they are for having someone to share even the tiniest of pleasures with, then it is worth all the hours and days of routine involved.

Yakety Yak Yakety Yak we chit chatted all the way up the Eiffel. On the first floor we found souvenir shops, a coffee shop with a restaurant and more importantly a breathtaking view. The entire city of Paris in all it's shining glory spread itself in front of us. The bridges, the monuments and the boulevards were all lit up under the dusky grey sky. No wonder so many enamoured men chose to propose here as something certainly goes mushy and gooey inside a woman's brain up on the Eiffel, as a result of which, they are more susceptible to accepting and believing the raptures of their beaus. Needless to say, we saw many many enraptured couples exchanging vows of endless love..it was pretty hilarious if you ask me as it is a well known fact that western love stories just like western groceries have a very limited shelf life (I am sorry if I am generalizing..but we Indians tend to generalize and be judgemental once in a while).The second floor offered more or less the same view as is offered by a window seat in an aeroplane and so we decided to begin our descent without spending too much time there. By the time we landed on Mother Earth, it was already midnight and we witnessed the Eiffel all lit up and sparkly as well.

Dragging our weary bones back to the hotel was a painful task. However, we succeeded in reaching our room and collapsing in heaps on our fluffy bed only to be awakened the next day at seven by a rather shrill alarm clock. Having learnt a lesson from the previous day, we had decided to indulge in a hearty breakfast before initiating Day 2 in Paris. Cambronne offered an array of Parisian cafes to choose from and we picked a cheerful street side one aptly called the Royal Cambronne cafe. Our breakfast comprised scrambled eggs with tomatoes, cheese and mushrooms, flaky buttery croissants, slices of rye bread, freshly sqeezed orange juice and frothy cappucinos. We spent a good one hour relishing our breakfast and polishing off even the crumbs.

We were off to a brilliant start on day two with oodles of energy and enthusiasm. The Louvre was to be our first destination. Having done our homework on the Louvre, we knew exactly which thematic trail we wanted to see and we also had flash cards on each of the artefacts that we would encounter on this trail. Our flash cards gave us brief descriptions, history and interesting points to note about the ten major pieces that we were planning on concentrating upon.The museum is divided into three major wings: The Sully Wing, The Richlieu Wing and The Denon Wing. There are eight curatorial departments distributed amongst these wings.

Our chosen trail took us first to the most renowned painting of the Louvre - the Mona Lisa which is located in the Medieval Louvre department of the Sully Wing. As we approached the masterpiece, our flash card informed us that the painting was that of a certain Monna ('Mrs') Lisa Gherardini del Giocondo, wife of a wealthy merchant in Florence. As we read on, we were amazed to know that the painting earned it's worldwide fame only in the 20th century and that too on account of the adventures (theft, stoning, travels to US, Tokyo, Moscow etc.) it had chanced upon rather than the brilliance of the artwork. As expected, there was a crowd of tourists circling the exhibit. Here I used my tinyness to my advantage and wiggled through the pack of people to take a close up shot of Mrs del Giocondo.

I was to be very very careful, my companion warned, I had only a few minutes to take a perfectly symmetric picture before being elbowed out by the swarming groups of tourists. Armed with these pearls of wisdom I zig zagged my way right to the front. I do not know if I lived upto his expectations, but I managed to click three pictures of the celebrated lady before I had to relenquish my prime spot to a rather annoyed looking Chinese man with a large SLR camera.

Swerving around, we caught a rare moment with the next artefact on our trail :'The Wedding Feast of Cana'. I call it a rare moment as for a minute somehow, there was only us and the painting and no one else and then just as suddenly the swarm of tourists descended upon it and our moment passed. This painting which once upon a time adorned the walls of a monastery in Venice, depicts the biblical episode of Christ's first miracle at a poor man's wedding. However, the painter, Paolo Caliari also known as Veronese, has swapped the era with his own and hence the painting showcases a rather opulent wedding with guests dressed in brilliant outfits and the table laden with copious amounts of food instead of a poor household. Despite the affluence of the parties depicted, there seems to be a shortage of wine and here's where Christ steps in and miraculously turns water into wine. The minutest of details have been taken care of and one wonders how long the painter might have taken to paint such an enormous canvas with such attention to detail.

Another massive canvas awaited us in Room 74 of the French Painting section- The Coronation of the Emperor Napoleon I and the Crowning of the Empress Joséphine in Notre-Dame Cathedral on December 2, 1804 by Jacques Louise DAVID. This painting competed with the previous one tooth and nail when it came to attention paid to minute details. Each one of the 150 portraits of spectators in this painting was unique. Each expression, each gesture, each posture meant something. For example: the portrait of Pope Pius the seventh who is shown presiding over the coronation of Josephine reflects the lack of conviction that was felt by the subject. The portrait of Talleyrand also is shown casting an ironic eye on the ostentatious display.

The three previous paintings had set high expectations for the next piece that we were about to witness and quite frankly it lived up to it as the story behind the mutilated sculpture called the Victory of Samothrace was pretty fascinating. The statue is that of 'Victory' and she is shown alighting on the prow of a ship to which it brings divine favour. It is said that this sculpture stood on the island of Samothrace in Greece and could be seen from quite a distance by ships approaching the island. The massive sculpture looks eerie thanks to the defacement that it has suffered over centuries. As we analyzed our photographs later, we realized that the pictures of us taken in front of this gigantic sculpture were the ones where we looked like midgets.

The next three paintings namely, 'The Oath of the Horatii' by DAVID-a painting describing an episode from Roman history where three Horatii, Rome's chosen champion warriors, take an oath of loyalty before their father while the women of the house observe despondently, 'The Odalisque' by DAVID's disciple Ingres-a female nude painting featuring a woman in a harlem in the Far east who has an almost indecipherable deformed body as she has three extra vertebrae and her left leg and right breast are attached to the body in a strange manner as well as ' The Raft of the Medusa' by Rouen-a painting depicting the tragedy of the frigate Medusa which sank in 1816 because of the incompetence of it's captain who was appointed in his capacity for political reasons and also features in clear detail gory images of cannibalism, slaughter along with various other psychological states of mind amongst the survivors who are shown afloat on the wooden remanants of the ship, were all thought provoking and gave us a lot to chew on and discuss for many days to come.

A very French painting caught our eye next as we encountered the 'Liberty leading the people' by Eugène DELACROIX next. It was a bold depiction of a scene post the three day riots known as the "Les Trois Glorieuses" which led to the downfall of Charles X and the crowning of Loius Philip even though the people of Paris tried to establish the Republic. A dirty, half naked female figure represents the Republic and the painter has ascertained by painting representatives from all classes the fact that political awareness in all stratas of society was at an all time high during this period.

The Slave who is imprisoned in the marble by Michelangelo and the beautiful albeit armless Venus de Milo seeking to depict timeless, divine beauty were the final cherries on the marvelous sundae which was our thematic trail through the 10 master pieces of the Louvre. Having completed our main agenda in little over two hours, we wandered through the other galleries catching some Egyptian pieces including a terrifying original female mummy and an enormous Sphinx. The original papyrus displays and the ethnic jewellery worn by the ancient Egyptians also caught our attention. At last after feeding on loads of unadulterated art for four complete hours, we decided that we had had our full and that now it was time to feed on some real food. The Louvre food court offered us the much required fiber in the form of a fruit cup and the equally much required calories in the form of a double chocolate brownie.

Our cultural sojourn was not over just as yet. We were now headed to the famous Notre Dame cathedral. Unfortunately as we reached the ancient monument, we were informed that there was some kind of a protest being held in front of the cathedral because of which it was closed for the day. As we were already overdosed on cathedrals, this was not a big setback and we decided to visit the Saint Chapelle which is famous for it's stained glass interiors. Inside the chapel we were subjected to pin drop silence thankfully broken by a naughty little girl with a head full of curls, youngest amongst three siblings, noisily playing the clown in front of her mortified parents much to the amusement of the other onlookers.

Next on our 'to-do' list was a trip to the Latin Quarters, a locality surrounding the University of Sorbonne. Interestingly, this area was christened Latin Quarters because of the Latin speaking scholars who frequented it in ancient times. A little bit of poster-shopping for our future abode spiced up the visit. I could almost imagine how our first home would look bedecked with these tid bits from all over Europe.

I warmed up to the streets of Latin Quarters instantly. We picked out the seediest of all watering holes called 'The Latin Corner' to enjoy a cocktail each. For the first time in my life, I was served a Mojito with a sparkly fire cracker dipped in it. As I sat enjoying the familiar tang of my drink, I couldn't help but appreciate the not so classy yet noteworthy decor of the cafe. The theme was undoubtedly raunchy night club but the clientele was by and large sophisticated and chic. Two Mojitos down, we were ready to yet again gorge. This time around the chosen diner did not live up to our expectations even though we were served big portions of food. The crowded place killed the mood and we quickly finished our meal and headed out. Our last night in Paris was thus spent loitering around the streets of Latin Quarters. But we knew, we would be back again, some day soon.