So, continuing from the sudden spiking of anti-Hindutva stupidity last time, I need some refractory cooling before I head off to another of my normal potential lines. So I shall continue with describing the affection among human hearts through sometimes subtle, surely beautiful and sometimes ostentatious display. Oh là là! The French are famous (notorious?) for their romantic ethos all over the world I guess (though they are often mis-attributed, the French kiss is purportedly a British construct while the French fries are la Belge frites from the stratified nation of Belgium), but anyways, there is a notion of romanticism that casts a beautiful spell over the French people and the French cities! Oh the amount of dreaminess that I experience when I think of Paris, even before I was lucky enough to relish an actual physical embrace from her! *blushes*Anyway, more about the charming evergreen lady that is Paris, later, forward onto public display of affection and the brief exchange of words I have had over it and the questions it has caused me to ask myself. So, I do believe and I am quite sure that I concur with most people when I say so, that the world can always do with a little more of love and a display of such pure soulful feelings should not be unwelcome.
3. Les personnes oubliex
People forget. As simple as that. Pour example, the well dressed, tall and muscular lad who helped us round by showing us (incorrectly) the way to the correct metro line to take to Lausanne-gare, and whom we accidentally chanced upon again in the streets of La Sarraz where we happen to live for some time now. He is the manager of a shop in the city and also practices muay-thai, a form of martial arts that originated in Asia, but with all the Euro-American-centrism around, gained popularity over the world only after being adopted by the powers that be, i.e. the USA. He spoke with his limited vocabulary about his job, and his practice of martial arts! It felt good to perhaps know a but about someone in this new place, so far away from one’s home! But as usual, I expect too much. Language and words, one of the reasons that humans rule the world and beyond, though being singly much weaker than most other species, yet with the power of flexible coordination, able to understand, cooperate and create, nay, understand the world, is something I often crave for and admire. Yet people forget. Loved ones do not talk or sometimes get driven to the terrible thing that is known as monotony – গতানুগতিকতা অনেক প্রাণ নিয়েছে, অচীরেই, অজান্তেই – it is a silent killer that has often unknowingly taken many lives, sometimes without even having to cause any sort of physical harm. But I digress. So, kusti da, as we lovingly started calling him (and who used to be accompanied by a new gorgeous lady every time he used to walk back to his home from the La Sarraz railway station, forgot us. Even as I smiled and waved. The end.
One of my happiest memories of Lausanne shall remain that single 10 minute interaction at exactly the same spot that I am sitting in right now. I missed the train on that faithful day too, and this was the exact position on the metal chair, beside the photo-parlour and in front of the large Swiss clock. The only difference was that, the previous one was at 18 hr 17 minutes, while the Sun was large and the heat slightly oppressive, while the current one is at the moment that I lovingly call গোধূলি, the time when the cowherds lead the cow home and the Sun plays now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t, behind the Swiss Alps in this case. I was alone and waiting for the Vallorbe-bound train that was evidently late. The flip-boards did not help that much but I could guess from the new addition to the now routine announcement, that *something* had happened to it for 10 minutes.
A few minutes of thinking aloud (OMG, even Swiss trains are late) led to a soft musical voice saying <<Yes, the train is late>> from near my left. And unnoticed to my naïvety was a charming young lady who was fiddling with the ubiquitous iPhone in her hands. If I may take some poetic license, her aquiline nose, ending in a sharp tip quite common this side of the Caucasus, as well as her blue Lac Lémanesque eyes that were sparkling with enthusiasm were a perfect embodiment of childish and peaceful beauty, of say, an awakened version of‘Flaming June’. Normal conversation ensued, enquiries about each other’s nationalities, work, homes et cetera et cetera. She was a web designer, visibly excited about her first job over here in Switzerland, from her home in Burgundy, France (was pleasantly surprised that a young dark-skinned lad from the Orient could have known about obscure French provinces) and was quite passionate about making the best out of her job for an e-commerce website. She charted off a few brand names which I had no idea about and which I jokingly referred to as being known only to girls! She took offense in a cute manner and went on the defensive saying that she didn’t know half of them in spite of being a girl herself. And of course the blushes as I congratulated her on her first job, and the final goodbye as her train for Yverdon-les-bains arrived before mine at Renens. (side note : Renens is a beautiful name for a girl, never asked the lady about her name) I’ll probably never see her again, but for some reason, I remember a lot about this lady, the enthusiasm of the lady was contagious. She probably reminded me of someone else. My train arrived a little later and I left, the smile having unknowingly transferred from her face to mine.