Roti / Chapati / Indian Bread / Pain de L'Inde

Thats what we crave for. Simply 'roti'.

Photograph courtesy: Sethu Nandkumar Menon
Made by: Ajeet Kumar

Liberte pour Tibet

so chanted the crowd assembled at Stade Charlety.



Although the events that passed today makes me start the story right from the middle, when I stood chanting "Freedom for Tibet", "Liberte pour Tibet", "China Go Home" (even the French shouted in english). While snow fell from the sky, and the policemen watched.
Let me rewind a little. Yesterday spent a beautiful evening at Sacre Coeur (Montmarte), enjoying the snow flakes fall and woke up at a white morning, the roads, the roofs, the trees were all decked in snow. Went through the motions of an usual day, lecture from 9 to 4. As I walked from Catholic University towards Rue de Rennes, I could sense a tension in air, of an event waiting to happen. Well, first there was the police. And not just police, there were lots and lots of policemen, on foot, on roller blades, on bikes and riot police stood guard as the road was blocked. And I waited, not knowing what to expect. And then I heard "booooo" and then a flag was raised. A stood flag, flag of Tibet, quivering in air of hope which this country offered, the ability to protest. To raise itself, unlike in its home which recently it was cruelly crushed yet again.



And as the cavalcade of the Chinese athletes and the ambassador passed the boos grew. And several people displayed their dismay by the thumb down signal. And it was followed by performers sponsored by Samsung, wearing some weird suits. Anyways they passed and the roads opened. I took the metro towards Denfert Rochereau, to be greeted by excited Chinese waving their Samsung balloons and the Chinese flag. And finally got off at Cite Universitaire. And it was a sight, the T3 stood blocked in the middle of track and a crowd gathered near the southern exit of Cite (entrance towards Maison de L'Inde). Walked towards the sight and was stopped by police checking people and their stuff. He saw and my sac and asked what was in it and I said "Livres" and he joked "Pas de propaganda". I affirmed.

The slogan shouting started with the Chinese, "Hai Chinois", they raised there their flag, joy reflecting on their face while Lenovo guys went around collecting info. And then the Tibetans raised their flag and soon the area was filled with cries of "Hai Chinois" and "Libretez Tibet". A helicopter hovered overhead, the police stood guard, two guys had raised the banner for freedom of press with handcuffs instead of the olympic rings.



Then I walked towards Stade Charlety where the torch was to assembled after the run. The war cries went loud and clear between the Chinese and the till now subdued Tibeteans. The Chinese athletes went in the stadium and the Tibetans then roared. The flags crashed, the protest seemed to be turning ugly. All around all you could see were flags. The best part was there were more French people protesting then the Tibetans (only very few). And the French know how to protest, a lady in front of me, kept on whistling loud, again and again.


Another cried "stop the massacre", with the Tibetan flag painted on her face. I never loved the french more than this day. And it felt like home, they were ordinary people, they didn't assemble here for the protest, most of the people were ordinary people stuck in the position because the road was blocked. And they sensed that something was wrong, something terribly wrong with the way the the sport is being conducted. They are questions about Tibet which have not been addressed. And they took on themselves to ask the questions. To see the Tibetan prayer flags tied atop the French tricolour was something.





And then the snow started to fall. The people stayed put. The Chinese flag holder tried to barge in towards the Stadium only to be stopped by the French holding the Tibetan flag. A scuffle broke up and the Chinese were driven away. The police tried to move in to check on the disturbance only to be told by people near the barrier that everything was all right. After that no Chinese flag was in sight.




A cyclist accompanying the relay was diverted off the road, in not so polite manner by the police. Another guy from other side of the road was mauled and then frisked away in an ambulance. The chanting continued as the snow changed to rain and then the sun came out. Then the Chinese dragon moved out of the Stadium and had a hard time flying over the flags of Tibetan supporter. The Chinese official party moved out from the backside, away from the sight of the crowd. The roads were opened and the people disappeared. As the cry for "Libertez Tibet" raised high and high.

Free Tibet

This one was published in "International Herald Tribune", April 2, 2008, page 9. If I am violating any copyrights, please let me know I will remove it. I just wanted to share the message.

Spring in Paris

("First day of spring in the Bercy garden")

Spring is here in Paris. Actually the day it officially arrived 20th March, I went to Bercy Village, its to the eastern side, north of La Seine. Although its called a village, its actually a set of 10 odd shops (aimed at tourists, fooled by label of a village in Paris) which sell wine, coffee, small handicrafts, cheese, clothes. Very commercial but in a village like setting. Ages ago a railway line passed there, the track can still be seen there. So if your pockets are bulging, or you have a girl to please do go there for a glass of wine and cuisine francaise.
Also there is a pet shop over there. Which sadly for one of my friends didn't have any cats, thought they stock cat carriers and food. They have the cutest pups, you know "Milou", the dog Tintin has, it was so cute and playful, then there were pink poodles, British Bull dogs. The sad part is they are in an enclosure, but they at-least had a playful attendant to play with, compared to the wailful cries of St. Bernard pups I heard in a similar pet shop in Val D'Europe. Also there were rabbits (lapin and not la pain which means bread). Anyways both are considered delicacies in France. Then there were mice, red mice, green mice (just 'joking', I mean they had different kinds of mice) and hideous rats (about 20 euros), then couchons de L'Inde (which means small Indian pigs). They were the unlikeliest Indian pigs ever (the one you see savaging through muck or making the most of the fruit from which the famed 'petha', a sweetmeat of Agra is made. A friend of mine told me she had one (not petha, but cochon de L'Inde). She had not idea either what it has to do with a Indian pig. They were priced about 50 euros. Wow, Indian pigs rocks. Maybe the municipality departments in our cities (like Agra) can start exporting them here, its 3000 bucks. The candy lies for the pups, they start at 1000 euros, with the price of poodles undisclosed.
Parisians love their dogs, they lead a better life then most people, they eat the best caviar, sip the most mature wine, snub their noses at conte and cantal ('le fromage i.e. cheese') and shit all of that on Champs Elysees (the hippest street, worshipped by fashionistas of the world). It even boasts a song to its fame. The tour de france, the cycle marathon ends here. The pocket dogs are the most wanted, so much so that one of the issues with the East Europeans countries joining the EU has been smuggling of ill bred pocket dogs to France and like.


http://youtube.com/watch?v=iDaCFk3Da1M



("Bercy Village")

Anyways the village was just incidental, there is a beautiful garden just outside and here I was on the first day of spring. And I saw small tulips breathing in the almost crispy air, shows signing of warming, trying to share the warmth they held within and it definitely made me feel warm. Come on, after seeing grey and 'encore' grey skies for last 6 months, a little red and pink goes a long way to warm your heart. Also there was a young boy carrying a young belle fille (girl) in his arms, I wish my camera was quick enough to capture the moment. The girls legs were curled around his waist, his arms around her neck. And he carried her through the garden. So this is spring in Paris, I thought. Good times ahead.

Next day it started raining. Oh its raining yet again. Then the sky became bright, the sunlight poured through the window warming my lecture room, filling it with light. And then the hailstorm started and suddenly the street was covered white. And then the sun came out again, and it rained again whole day long. For next two weeks it rained.

Today, the weather has turned warm. Its on the upper side of 10'C. And I basked in the warmth of 14'C air, along La Seine, looking at the building reflecting the sun as the bells of Notre Dame rang at 7 pm. It was a bright sunny evening and I saw these beautiful flowers, brightening up the city with colours and I finally took off my jacket. Its spring in Paris. Its time to walk along La Seine.

("Le Printemps (Spring) in front of Notre Dame")

A place to live

For those of us who have moved out of home (read India) the first thing which hits you is a place to live. The second is food (or maybe its the first). And I am not Joey (I love 'Friends' so I am sticking with sandwiches and not ...). Life in colleges back home is so simple, you have a hostel 100m away and 6 food courts (serving delicacies), now I call Brajwashi food a delicacy. God forgive me for all the cribbing I did while gulping down pao bhaji and idli every other day. Believe me I have not tasted 'paneer' in last six months. Thats coming round the circle, after 4 years of paneer makhani, shahi paneer, karahi paneer, tangdi paneer, paneer tikha, panaeer tawa, paneer this, paneer that (God I would love to pay my ablutions in front of the menu board of Brajwashi, today). God forgive me when I cribbed drinking hot tea for Rs. 2 only, spiced with cardamom, claiming it was too sweet while walking in the lush 50 acres of Daiict. Its retribution day now.

So a place to live its is, before coming here I didn't bother much and left it to the whims and fancies at a certain Mrs. Florence Haynin who booked me at Maison De L'Inde, Cité Universaitaire. I managed to reach here, thanks to a mexican driver. Boy, I
would have been in a soup because I didn't even have the address in print when I landed at Charles De Gaulles (aeroport, Paris), thankfully he had. And in the half hour he took to drive me here, he managed to show me pictures of his wife, his paintings and his dog. The mexicans are so similar to Indians in this regard. The first strange we meet we pass around the photos of our loved ones. It happens with me all the time on bus stands and trains in India. We just love flaunting that yeah 'I am doing her'.
Jokes apart, here I was standing at the entrance of CIUP (short for Cité Internationale Universaitaire de Paris Cité) and the first thing I noticed. Everybody around me is jogging. Ipods plugged me, tight pants and they are puffing.
I move in and am handed over the keys at the Maison de L'Inde (wait a minute, whats L'Inde). I see you are new to French, an explanation is required here. Its like do you remember from your geography lesson where is Mistr (read in hindi) ? No, silly its where the pyramids are. Its Egypt. Or where is amerikaaa ? In technology we talk of learning, and then unlearning to keep ahead in the rat race. So I received my first lessons in geography, Inde (pronouced 'and') is India. Guess what is U.S.A. Its 'Etats Unis'. Britain is 'Angleterre'. Secondly I am told that I speak 'Hindoo' (pronouce Oondoo). I have tried futility to explain that I am Oondoo and I speak Oondii to no avail.("Back view from Cite Internationale")
And then it dawns on me the whole tale of colonization. The world was colonized by largely two forces the English and the French, and the Spanish, Portuguesse. And so now I learn there are so many different version of history, geography as there were the colonizing powers. I particularly was caught in the prism of seeing the world through my very pseudo 'English' eyes and here was my initiation to the Francophone world.
In college back at home, I took courses on culture and the notion of Indianness proclaim the multilingual nature of our existence. We have 22 official languages and Hindi (devanagri) english as the official languages at the Centre. I stayed in a Gujarati dominated area for 4 years, have spent considerable time in Tamilian and Kannada area and yet never faced the inability to express myself and to be understood as I do here. Maybe it because the Indian languages have evolved from IndoAryan and Dravidian groups and somehow the notion of a nation imposes a common worldview over here. And we have the history of English as a uniting force. Am glad I came here and am learning to transact in a different language.

("Maison De L'Inde")
So Maison De L'Inde it is. You can check out the website if you are searching for residence here, although they have never updated their website since the day it was made (just a guess). They won't ever reply to your email, don't even try
It's an Indian establishment and definitely feels one, they just love your money. And don't believe them if they say they don't have a room available. I believe an Indian can only understand how to get one when there is none available.
Foreigners (I realize, I am foreigner here though) are first of all hit my the intense smell (the spices) and the noise (the music). I would say I find it a very quiet place, unlike hostel life in India where every room plays loud music and heated discussion go way past graveyard hours. Other place in Cite offer much better deals (cost wise) and better rooms (definitely much better), but chances are you won't see anyone around. As an experiment I once knocked all rooms on a floor of Maison de Provence de France (approx. 20) and no one answered. People living at other houses have told me they don't know their neighbours. But they have good welcome parties, India is a poor country, we just have chips and cola while at MPF you have a selection of French bread, cheese, wine and beer. So you know where to head for.

Another quibble I have here is why is the building designed like a home for the homeless. At Cite Universaitaire there are more than 40 houses according to the nationalities and each house building is representative of their architecture, so we have Grecian columns, Moroccan tiles and zen garden at Japanese house but we have rectangular structure to represent India, the abode of cultures.

("Maison De Japon")

Life at Maison De L'Inde revolves around food. We have the smallest kitchen compared to other houses but we use it to its limits. No dull, bland French cuisine for us. I never believed it until I had a plate of mashed potatoes here (didn't even add salt). And this sentiment was shared by my American and African friends. So here we celebrate festivals and birthdays by cooking together, we experiment with vegetables in extreme conditions, concentrate our gravies with the strongest spices sourced from Gare du Nord. Sometimes our experiment fail, the dish goes down the dustbin after blackening the kitchen with smoke, an occasional fire or two, but we persevere till we emerge out of Maison De L'Inde as trained chefs. Oops, I forgot for a moment I am doing my Masters in Science in Electronics for Systems (System on Chip design). The smell from the kitchen can be disconcerting sometimes.


I had an interview at my induction in the house with the director of the house, Mr. Bikas Sanyal. And we talked about how to use a microwave so as not to burn the building down. End of interview.
Most people learn their primary French here. The receptionist greets you with a Bonjour Monsieur with a smile every-time. And you learn to say 'Oui', 'D'accord' ('yes, 'ok') when you are unable to understand anything what the cleaning lady is saying. Although there is no male-female segregation here, but the first floor is exclusively for girls. This is just to pacify the horrified parents of innocent girls that no Indian boy is getting anywhere near them, they are left for the French.

A last comment, people in France love jogging. All the tales about French stuffing themselves with cheese and wine are true and remaining health, because they jog. At 4 pm is afternoon, they will jog, at 9 pm they will be out jogging, at 2 am they will jogging. Yes, so at 3 am also, I have seen people jog here. Hail or storm they are jogging all the way. After all no one wants to miss the next dejeuner.