Parapluie, I couldn't find the Umbrella

[Parapluie is the French word for 'Umbrella'. Why should you know this? To shield yourself from a 'downpour of lingual trivia.']

Paris announced the arrival of Autumn last week with an eight day continuous spell of very rainy rain and very windy wind. The spell continues as I write this.

As I write this, the clock in India has struck 12 and my mother has turned a year older. In Paris, she remains 3 hours 30 minutes younger but I have to make do by only hugging the parapluie that I have just found. The parapluie that she had packed in my cargo luggage over a month ago when I was about to leave Delhi for Paris on my first posting.



The four weeks that I had spent here were quite comfortable. Shifting to new places, meeting new faces- is like second nature to me (with masks, it is definitely a first. Living abroad is another first). My luggage arrived just 10 hours after Autumn in Paris. 

28 cartons. According to immediate need, priorities were clear: Umbrella, rolling pin, sarson ka tel, chimta. It took me 3 days to open all boxes- strategically: food > clothes > kitchenware > crockery. 

I couldn't find the umbrella. 

Carton no.19 was the last remaining carton (number '19' was chosen to be the last one as an 'unlucky' sign of Covid 19 and  certainly not because it was my favourite cricketer's jersey number).



I couldn't find the umbrella.

I kept getting wet in the rain for 4 days; partly because I knew the 'windy' wind was drying my wet jacket as I walked through the misty illuminated pathways of Paris, and partly because I woke up each day with the belief that I shall find the umbrella.

I couldn't find the umbrella.   

I didn't buy a new one because I just had supreme faith in my mother's packing skills. She had been omniscient about the things I would need here: from the smallest sachets of spices to the hugest bags of quilts (to my rugged Led Zeppelin sweatshirt that I kept carrying with me). Everything was there in the 28 cartons. It had to be!

I couldn't find the umbrella. 

I decided I will buy a new one yesterday when I got extremely late for my French class because of heavy rain. After the class, I walked up to a convenience store and just bought more onions (they remind me of home every evening when they sizzle in my tadka)- not an umbrella. I thought this might just be a case of ignorance like it was every single time in childhood= Me: (shouting) 'Mummy, I can't find X' > Mummy appears, spots X and gives it to you, while you realize that it was in front of your eyes all this while.

I couldn't find the umbrella.

Over an entire week passed and I kept getting wet (and subsequently dried thanks to the windy wind of Paris). During my daily calls with Mummy I kept telling her that I was still searching for the umbrella. She told me that the packers took all the stuff that she had collected, but in which carton the umbrella was she couldn't know. She told me to buy a new one. But I somehow didn't want to. I wanted to wake up everyday in the hope that I shall conquer a mound of cartons and emerge victorious with the umbrella in my hand.

I couldn't find the umbrella.    

I spoke to Mummy today and she told me how I should use dhaniya powder and that tomorrow is her birthday. I said I remembered. She told me to sort out my cartons and start getting things in order slowly and steadily. So, I started with the simplest of things: clothes. I began to place shirts, pants, sweaters, jackets in different compartments in my almirah. There was an umbrella rolled in my rugged Led Zeppelin sweatshirt!

I had found the parapluie, I couldn't find the umbrella.

I got wet in the downpour of tears that it had suddenly brought me. My umbrella was a year older now, I thought. And she was far far away. But I did have the parapluie- to remind me that I could conquer numerous mounds of cartons- but the thing I would be searching for, would have always been in front of me.                 



Comments

patticulars said…
Hey Vikram!

Visited your blog for the first time after I randomly recalled its name for no reason at all.
Checked out a few posts only to realise I’d been here before.

Finished my studies for the day, prepared my bottle of water (2/3 chilled, 1/3 room temperature) for the night and finally opened the blog (this time on my phone).

I usually go to sleep after my customary Casey Neistat vlog. You know, like a reward after slogging through the day.
Today I feel like i can give it a miss because I feel like I had my dose of reward via this extremely serendipitous blog that you uploaded just right now.

May Paris treat you well.

After reading this post i started caring about my parapluie.😥
Anonymous said…
Hi. Go to the Saravana Bhavan at Gate du Nord. I liked doing that when I missed home.
Sapling said…
The umbrella might not stop the rain. Yet you always feel protected.
If not wrong stating the same thing repeatedly clearly shows it is an emotional post.
I interacted with your emotional side today. Indeed I wasn't surprised to meet the emotional you . Your are strong Tintin.
Unknown said…
i am not crying, you are crying
Atul Tyagi said…
As ever, an encapsulating read, that emboldens yearnings in all those working towards following suit, on to the same roads, yet another set of different journeys.
You seldom reply on the blog but quite likely will write about it in time itself- are you to do it all singlehandedly? From cooking, keeping the house tidy, making it habitable?Pretty much just turning it into your home all by yourself?
That’s so sweet “..Vikram”
Just like you
May ur umbrella live longer and healthier for years 💐💐
Anonymous said…
Hey Vikram!
You are a true gentleman with different flavours in your personality...sarcasm, out of the world and now this clearly reflects the tenderness of your heart shelled in a mature mind...I wish your achievements n success won't ever get bold enough to get over this side of yours..
Lots of love and wishes for long n healthy life for your umbrella...may she keeps on protecting you for hundreds of years to come...
Anonymous said…
I won't fail to say that this has been the most enlivened script that I have ever encountered in my life. I could simulate each triviality of this post into a magnanimity, as if surfing on some other tangent. Every time it percieves that u are on the event horizon of verse writing, u burrow an inch deep into the singularity of an infinite union of thought, words, feelings and nothingness. Happiest birthday to your mum......
Kritima said…
When i see your post and go through your blogs sir , i aspire to meet you more,hope to meet you soon sir ❤
Anonymous said…
19th cant be unlucky . its your birth date day
Mogali.. said…
I got my eyes wet after reading this Mr Garewal...long live UMBRELLA 🤱
Anonymous said…
"Actually, Paris is the most beautiful in the rain"
Hope you find your midnight hideout with Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Dali. :)
Anonymous said…
Loved it❣
Sir, can you share your experience of Indian Foreign Service.please...
Popatlaal with a french touch♥️
meer said…
I didn't took a slight break while reading this. loved it.
Unknown said…
Awesome writings
Heart touched
Ishita said…
This blog is a God-send. I cannot remember the last time I read such beautifully and passionately written accounts! Keep going! Looking forward to many more of these..

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