I never thought beyond Mumbai, or so did I think. The subtle stilts by Gateway, the Victorian Era architecture left behind, the flora marked by its quintessential placement, the locomotives for the people traveling to ends of the city, daily, breathlessly. To me, it was the perfect place to breathe, live and die. A city I belonged to, a city I grew up in, a city I wanted to forgotten with in future. And that is when Paris happened to me.
La Paris, the city of music, art and love. I may not be an art connoisseur, or a musician, but I am a lover. A lover I never thought I would be. A hope to fall endlessly in love, is something that lingers in our heart, knowingly or unknown to some. And I fell, oh I fell deep, so deep that I rediscover myself every moment I breathe now. The feel to caress, to touch, to experience love, in dimensions untold.
The inexplicable rush of excitement in one's nerves, walking the parisian streets, watching men unfold their chairs in front of their shops, serving bordeaux I have never tasted better before, women laughing gently, and wandering carefree with their men to unfurl the parties of the night. The musette accordion filling your ears and imagination galore. The touch of the Renaissance architecture all across, the Sienne flowing through the hearts, the French delacour (oh yes, people were wonderful). Alas, I don't speak French, else I would have been a lyric in the poetry of France.
Someday, some birth, I want to be a part of this magic, when a Lewis Caroll could pen, "Delilah in Frenchland".