Paris blues.

February 2, 2013 - Paris, France


It’s been a while since I gave any news here. Not that there aren’t any, for as usual, life keeps on moving, the days keep on passing and the seasons turning. Meanwhile, I do write here and there.
This year I traded a winter under the blue sky of the coconut trees for  some time in Paris, France.
Outside the window, the sky is as white as the white walls that surround me. A few days ago, it even snowed, covering the city with it’s cold whiteness, turned browned mush after a couple of days only.  On the TV, it seems to be big news, yes, it’s winter and it’s a bit cold. I find this reassuring. In the TV box, nothing changes, it’s business as usual. A war here, a new fashion there, all fitting in between a winter soup recipe , a perfume add, a protest for and against this or that, a football match for desert, cherry on top of the cake, today is another day.


Outside the window, the towers are painted with squares and rectangles. Everything is organized, systematized, running as smooth as a perfect machine, time follows the clock hands in the invisible agreement that we call the developped world. As this modern world is going further and further away from the plants, the animals and the simple happiness that come with nature, the new fashion turns organic, natural and healthy. In fashion we search for what we don’ t have, a place to express our inner longings, our dreams. Well being shops open up everywhere, people look for new ways, for new values, they search a new way, away from an anxiety ridden life. New roads get explored, new ways get carved. People occupy natural landscapes and dare dreaming of a greener future for their children and next generations. Outside the window, the world keeps on turning.

From Kathmandu to Paris, the landing takes time, eyes need to  adapt to the new painting style. This time in Paris, no cows in the streets, no wandering dogs, no garbage piles decorating the streets with multicolor plastics. No one asking what is your business, if you are married or have children. Here, no one asking anything, everyone is busy with their own business. Here, there are no colors, no saris shining in the sunlight, no puja powders. Here, everything is grey, the clothes, the streets, the cars.
Here, no smells, no spice racks, no gods at every corner , here everything is organized, running as a smooth machine should.


It’s been years since I spent this much time at « home » as they call it. After all, France is my country, french is my language and I am supposed to have cheese and baguette running through my blood. Yet, I feel as much as a foreigner here than I would feel outisde of France. Through the years, I became a professional tourist, I became a foreigner, I am « bideshi » as they say in Nepal.

To not let the Paris blues run me down, I feel the fresh winter cold on my skin. I use this time to review my own values, my priorities. I dive into the Paris blues, getting used to a new page of my life.
This gives me some time to write, to read some french books and to start a new ink series inspired by Tibetan bouddhists symbols. I look at magazines for which to write, register in some forums, let’s share. Paris blues gives me time to plan my next explorations, I get the blues, might as well sing it and enjoy the music !


In France, this time, I did not come alone. With me is my nepale friend, for his first journey in the west. Through this exchange, I get to see Paris through new eyes. So, together, we walk the city, we eat cheese, kebabs , chinese food and french delicacies. We take the subway, sit at cafes, visit museums, art galleries and busy shops. We do the Paris life, far away from Kathmandu busy social life and friends. From Pigalle tattoo shops, to Nation, from St Michel and the quais bouquinistes filled with old treasures printed on brown paper, Paris opens it’s rich history.  At the Sacred Heart of Montmartre, the artists sketch charcoal portraits, while tourists visit the golden mosaique church dome. Somewhere else, stoned angels smile in the park, watching the Eifel Tower.  In streets filled with fuzzy, shiny, spiky textiles, faces from around the world go about their daily business. Amongst them, we walk, together discovering the city. A street at a time we taste the air, making new  friends, a day at a time.


The blues is not only a sad song, the blues is filled with love and beauty. The blues is a tune made to relax, cry a little, laugh, enjoy  a lot and think about what we really love. Paris blues carries it’s own cozy type of beauty. A warm smile, a kind word becomes a sun ray, while a cloud passing in the sky is a joy to the eye hungry for a bit of blue. Paris shows it’s winter face, under  a fluffy wool scarf, a knee wrapped in warm tights, a pair of high heel boots.  A moment of open sky and life goes on, as usual, playing  a perfect tune, just for the pleasure to enjoy a walk, listening to the Paris blues. 
A cloud opens up …
A bird sits on the window…
Paris blues quand tu nous tiens…
Que ton ciel bleue est beau…
Paris, another town,
I loved you…just for a minute…



« Women




March 4, 2013
Comment ca va ? Je viens juste lire, Lundi 11h14 PM, vos commentaires (incroyable : ils datent de deux ans et vous etiez au Nepal) sur le film l'ennui :
a) pour moi vous avez rate votre eventuel vocation d'auteure tant vous ecrivez bien
b) en ce qui les concerne analytiquement, disons que c'est la sempiternelle question de la dualite humaine : matiere vs spirituel ? Matiere ou sexe & spirituel ou amour car we can't touch love !
March 9, 2013
Bonjour ne me souviens pas du film dont vous parlez? Sinon ben ca va, le temps passe.
merci pour commentaires, je vais y penser:)
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