An Evening in Paris
The Monsieur and the Madame are on a whirlwind sigh seeing tour and are waltzing thru Paris. They are taking in all the sights of the romantic city that is always having insomnia and they are quite breathless all the time.
Many of the scenes they have not seen before so they are happy that they have now seen the unseen scenes. They go and stand for a split second under the Eiffel Tower that is towering over their heads and they take a selfie. Of course, only the French ground is visible behind them in the selfie, so they take a reverse selfie of the tower.
Soon they are whirring thru the Museum that is housing the vintage antiques to see all the age-old exhibits that even now continue to age even as they are seeing them.
Finally the Museum has been done by them to utter satisfaction and they are strolling thru the gardens at breakneck speed without taking their eyes off the colourful inflorescences that are also perfumatic. They are fulfilled.
Soon it is time to wind up for the day and reach their place of rest and recuperation for little bit of rest and recuperation. They are taking the RER for their R&R. They are flying thru the roads of the city and reach the RER station.
Our intrepid despera-duo are dancing down the steps with amazing grace and rotating thru the turnstiles with amazing speed because the RER is already arrivée, impatiently awaiting their entrée like Alibaba’s cave after correct password is given. And with a zip, zap and a zoom, they pass thru the RER’s sliding doors just as the doors are shutting their sesames. They land in the aisle in a moving act, as it were. Le magnifique, their alacrity!
And they continue their bon journey nonchalantly.
When they reach their destination station, the RER doors they open reverentially to welcome them out. The despera-duo’s heads are already spinning due to their frenetic making of the circuit, so they step out with a lot of ginger onto the static platform. Not to worry, they are steady and make landfall safely. They are clutching clutch-bag in the one hand and their tiquéttes in the other. Their hands are full.
The TC, “Renѐ Georges Gregoire” proudly displayed on the name-badge he has pinned on his chest, is taking a stroll on the platform at that very coincidental moment, ruminating about the vagaries of his not so fast-paced life, when he spots them on his radar. He, being utterly duty conscious, confronts them and requests from them their kind display of the Tiquétte. Monsieur and Madame, not to be outdone by a mere Gregoire, proffer their Tiquéttes simultaneously with flourish and élan. M. Gregoire accepts first one, then the other, slightly bending the knees each time to show courtesy to these graceful foreign tourists.
M. Gregoire: Monsieur et Madame, welcome to Paris. You are, how to say, nouveau dans cette ville? New in this city?
Madame: Si, Signore! Er, I mean, oui, M’sieu!
MG: Aha! Perhaps you are ze Italiano, eh? Espanol? Mexicano?
Mme: No, we are Indians. From India, where Indians live.
MG: Oui, oui. I knew it! I love India! I love Sharooque! Now, let me examinate your tiquѐtte. Ah!
(Silence ensues for the next minute as the TC examines the tiquѐtte. Then he looks up with a little confusion as he punches his tiquѐtte-punch in the air rapidly a few times.)
MG: It is unpossible to pinch the tiquѐtte! Zey are, so to say, expiré! I cannot pinch zem.
Mme: Expiré! (Breaking into Hindi) Kya baat karte ho? Yeh taaza tikat hai. Abhi abhi toh kharida hai!
MG: Non, non, non! Oui. Si, see, slowly, plisse. I am explanating. See, all day long you are ze running with speed. You are clinching ze tiquѐtte wizin your palm and you are ze, how to say, releasing ze moisture zru ze zkin on ze tiquѐtte. And tiquѐtte expiré! Zo, I cannot pinch zem.
Mme: Now I understand. You mean perspire. And you mean punch.
MG: Oui! You are hitting ze nail on ze zumb! Yais! Perspire! And ze tiquѐtte is wait due to perspire.
Mme (pulling out a hair clip from her hair and pointing it at the TC): No problem. Joost puncture, I mean, punch, the expiré tiquѐtte with zis and we can be on our way.
MG (looking relieved): Oui, Madame! Zis vairy good idea. Merci! Now you are released! Namastѐ! May hoo naa! Plisse to say bon jour to my friend Sharooque! I love India!
Madame and Monsieur quickly thank the TC. Then, turning around and without looking back, they hurry out. Monsieur is still scratching his haid.
Paris, you are loved!
~ Chevaugh Coumarzipan
03 August 2019
© Shiva Kumar
