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Journalism of Courage
The man who owned the firm that published James Joyce stood in his doorway on the Rue de la Bucherie, regaling us about his 8216;Bombay
connection.8217; Small world? Or was is a reminder of the appeal an Indian city has around the globe?
library where Hemingway was a daily visitor.
For his and Joyce8217;s sake, a couple of Indian hacks on a shoestring budget had trudged across the length of Paris on a literary pilgrimage. What we found was a quaint-looking store by the Seine with a plaque outside which said James Joyce8217;s Ulysses was first published here.
We worked our way through a labyrinth of rooms, alcoves and stairways lined with bookshelves until we found someone sitting behind a writing desk, willing to talk in English. Turned out, he had even visited India. 8216;8216;This place is now owned by George Whitman, who was himself fascinated by India.8217;8217;
8216;8216;So, is he around?,8217;8217; we asked.
8216;8216;You8217;ve missed him, he passed away last week,8217;8217; he replied.
8216;8216;Oh!8230;8217;8217; we lamented.
8216;8216;I8217;m just kidding,8217;8217; he smiled. 8216;8216;Mr Whitman lives next door. Why don8217;t you go over and
say hello?8217;8217;
8216;8216;Is this another joke?8217;8217; we laughed.
8216;8216;No, just tell him you are from Bombay, he8217;ll say 8216;I8217;m a Bombaywallah too.8217;8217;
It sounded like he was having fun at our
expense, but we took the chance. An old man in a red cardigan opened the door when we knocked, a book in one hand, his glasses
dangling from a string around his neck.
8216;8216;Mr Whitman,8217;8217; I said with trepidation, 8216;8216;I8217;m a journalist from Bombay8217;8217;. 8216;8216;I8217;m a Bombaywallah too,8217;8217; he responded cheerfully. Mr Whitman had not just visited the subcontinent, there was even an article about him in a local newspaper.
The 88-year-old gent who had fostered generations of students, academics and writers on the Left Bank, was renewing old ties through us. Small world indeed.
For a city known for its literary landmarks and bohemian culture, Paris still surprises the visitor with its sometimes eccentric and charming ways. Even the monuments have a mix of grandeur and gravitas that is unique to the French.
Take Pere La Chaise 8212; some call it the Ritz among cemeteries. Spread over 44 hectares lined with paved avenues, it8217;s home to over 70,000 graves, mostly celebrities. The most popular is the resting place of Jim Morrison, a hangout for the young, hip and underemployed. It8217;s said if you are disappointed that you haven8217;t yet been propositioned in Paris, you must go and sit near it. It8217;s always surrounded by people and covered in flowers, candles, gifts of drugs and graffiti.
If you spend the entire day at the cemetery, you could spot Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Frederic Chopin, Balzac, Moliere and Isadora Duncan. Marcel Proust is popular with writers and gays, Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas with writers and lesbians, Abelard and Heloise with lovers and romantics.
Ensconced in tranquil surroundings, the place was a bishop8217;s vineyard and a Jesuit retreat before the French Revolution forced the city to create space for more bodies. It didn8217;t make an impression on the tradition-loving French at first, so they transferred a heap of famous corpses there. Soon it became treacute;s chic to dump your relatives at Pere La Chaise.
Remember the Count of Monte Cristo at Valentine8217;s funeral. 8216;8216;The weather was dull and stormy, a cold wind shook the few remaining yellow leaves from the boughs of the trees, and scattered them among the crowd which filled the boulevards. M. de Villefort, a true Parisian, considered the cemetery of Pere la Chaise alone worthy of receiving the mortal remains of a Parisian family8230;8217;8217;
No one pays better tribute to the dead then the French. And there could be no better place than Pere la Chaise to dwell on the mortal condition and the immortality of souls.
But it8217;s best to go there on one8217;s own. While you take in the serenity which reminds you of the fleeting nature of all life, you don8217;t want your travelling companions telling you to get a move on lest you miss seeing the Eiffel Tower.
Talking about the Tower and the overrated view from it, the city is much better served by Montmartre, its highest hill, which is rich in the gypsum from which plaster of Paris is made. Topped by the Sacreacute;-Coeur basilica, it8217;s the last village in the big city and has a unique atmosphere. Walking at random, you will discover
gardens, old houses and steep streets with magnificent views on Paris.
What8217;s more, if you are from Mumbai, it will remind you of Altamount Road and the decline of old wealth. The roads up and down the hill, flanked on both sides by quiet bungalows often in need of a fresh coat of paint, are evocative of one of Mumbai8217;s best neighbourhoods.
The cafeacute;s, dance halls, and studios of Montmartre have been immortalised by painters from Toulouse-Lautrec to Picasso. You go past the many painters of the Place du Tertre who are always ready to sketch out your face, and they remind you of pennyless artists who lived there in the early 20th century Renoir, Monet, Van Gogh and Picasso among others. We chanced upon a house Van Gogh lived in along with his brother Theo during his days of extreme hardship. There could have been no more awe-inspiring moment to complete a visit.
