As the river flows

Chapter 2

They say that the greatest joy in life is to be able to see the world, experience its many colours and taste its many flavours. But, as he stood outside the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, under the freezing October rain with a cart load of luggage, praying for someone to give him clear directions (preferably in English), Ankit could not disagree more.

“To hell with new opportunities and wanderlust,” he mumbled under his breath. All he wanted at the moment was a strong cup of steaming coffee and his bed. Honestly! Is this what he gets after travelling for over twelve hours? Dear lord! Had he known what a right pain this entire experience would turn out to be, maybe, just maybe, he would have declined Bridel’s offer. He really should have known way back in May that this would be another s**t show. Because really, things had started to go wrong almost from right in the beginning.

First, it had been his passport, or the lack thereof, given how he had never needed one before (since this would be the first time he would be leaving the country. Wow! That was a scary thought). Of course, like so many things in the country, it turned out to be an unnecessarily complicated process, requiring the help of agents and middle men, and many trips down to the passport verification office. At one point he had had to enlist the help of an IAS officer that Feroze knew, to get his passport approved.

That had only been the start of his problems. What with the entire Visa application process trumping him into the next Sunday! In fact, he had pushed the memories to the back of his mind, locked and never to be revisited, lest he remember the lecherous man that had taken his interview. No! He was over it! Forgotten. That’s what it was. Yes!

Of course, every cloud  had a silver lining (even if barely there and missing in places) and as per Feroze’s advice, Ankit had enrolled himself into the A1 level at the Alliance Francaise in Delhi, so that he would be somewhat conversant with the language, when he finally found himself in France. But of course, four months is nothing (he didn’t even manage to sit for the A1 DELF exam, given that one of the dates had been in the middle of the course and the other in November) and now, standing here in the French heartland, all the words and phrases that his teachers had tried so hard to teach him, seemed to flow right out of his mind, leaving behind a resounding emptiness, that he could not even hope to salvage anything out of. All he remembered was ‘bonjour’!

But of course, to top this all off with a bow, he had almost missed his goddamn flight! He had decided to take the flight from the Mumbai airport, instead of from Delhi. Heaven above! Why! His reasoning? It was a direct flight, with no stopovers in Dubai. However as fate would have it (or maybe it is unfair to blame fate for his own stupidity) his flight from Delhi, had arrived in Mumbai with barely any time left. He only realized that after he had been escorted to the international terminal from the domestic terminal and was faced with the impossibly ginormous crowd, waiting to emigrate. There must have been over two hundred people there. By the time he had finished filling up the emigration form, he had only had 15 minutes left for the flight to take off. In a right panic, he had called out to one of the ground staff, who had practically done a double take when he realized how close to missing the flight Ankit was. The sun had seemed to shine down on Ankit in that moment however, and he had been rushed to the front of the line where he was met with a representative of Air France.

He had been ushered from one point to the other by five different men with walkie talkies in their hands, speaking lowly and urgently into the mouthpieces, almost in a tragic reenactment of a relay race, until he had finally boarded the flight with barely five minutes to spare. Needless to say he had been almost understanding of the furtive glances that the other passengers had given him and the forced smile of the strikingly French airhostess, as she had directed him to his seat, had been swallowed down with a heavy dose of reality check.

The only respite in this madness had been the very cute male cabin crew member, who he had chatted up halfway through the flight with the excuse that he needed some extra blankets and some water. That had been nice. Pointless, but nice.

However, like all good things, his luck too, had come to an end (not that there was much to begin with) and now he was stood in front of the tourist office at the airport, slightly drenched and shivering, trying his hardest best to procure a map, using the little French that he knew.

“Bonjour, je voudrais un carte…” Ankit mumbled uncertainly. Was he saying it correctly? It was ‘carte’, was it not? He remembered his teacher pointing to the map of France in the classroom, and saying ‘carte’. So, he couldn’t be too far off, right?

“Quelle carte?” the man asked suspiciously. ‘Quelle’ was ‘what’, right? Damnit! So he had got it wrong! He fumbled for a bit and decided to throw caution to the wind and just say what came to his mind. He took a bracing breath and started wildly gesticulating with his hands, emoting with his body. Words flew out of his mouth – “rue”, “immueble”, and “pont”. And just as he started to feel like an utter fool, wishing that the ground would just swallow him up, for he could not, for another second, bear the thoroughly judgmental stare that the man was fixing him with, there was a hand on his shoulder. The next thing he knew, he was being shoved to the side and a giant beast of a man was taking his place at the front of the counter.

“Hey!” He protested, but the man just waved him off.

“Il veut la carte de paris.” The man said in a voice that sent shivers down Ankit’s spine. If he had not been so righteously outraged at the man, he would have turned into goo, he was sure. But he was! Outraged, that is. So he most certainly did not melt. No, sir! Then the man’s words finally registered.

“That’s what I said!” He spluttered, incensed. Was this a joke! He had said ‘carte’, had he not? He stared speechless at the beady-eyed man at the counter as he pushed a map under the counter and towards him. He scoffed.

“Merci, monsieur!” he said as politely as he could manage. As he turned around to thank the man with the amazing voice (ahem), he saw him already walking away from the counter.

“Hey!” he shouted. “I mean, excusez-moi!  Monsieur!” Quickly grabbing his cart, Ankit hurried after the man. Wow, the man was fast! Didn’t he hear him call! Damn! Why was he so fast!  They were almost at the exit, by the time he caught up to the man.

“Mon-siuer!” He panted out, blocking the man’s path with his cart, as he hunched over with his hands on his knees, breaths coming fast. He held up a finger and hoped that the man would listen and wait. His breath caught as he straightened up and came face to face with the man finally. The face that stared back at him was stunning with the straight nose and those piercing grey eyes. Grey eyes that looked at him, like they would at a pest under their shoes. Unimpressed and dismissive.

Ankit almost flinched away from the venom directed at him, but caught himself at the last moment. He squared his shoulders and decided to trudge on, like he did with so many things in his life.

“Monsieur. Merci beaucoup pour aider moi.” He said, knowing instantly from the look on the man’s face that he had said it wrong. God, why was this happening? Did he learn nothing in the course?

The man gave him another disparaging look and said, “You are in my way.”

“You speak English! Thank god!” Ankit practically squealed in delight. Finally!

“Yes, unfortunately.” The man said, looking away.

 “Umm.” Wasn’t the man being a little too rude?  “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for helping me out there. I was really struggling for a second. The man just wouldn’t help me! If you hadn’t…”

“Listen, I am in a hurry, so you need to move.”

“Sorry, I just…”

“I don’t have time for this.” He scoffed. “I didn’t help you because you needed it. You were just too loud, you were giving me a headache. And now you’re wasting my time. I’ll be going now.”

As he moved around the cart, Ankit was left with a sinking feeling in his gut. His first time in France was really turning out to be something, alright! Maybe, this was a bad idea. He was better off in Delhi, with Feroze. But then, this was an opportunity of a lifetime and he couldn’t possibly let this go. That would be extremely foolish of him.

He decided to shake off the encounter with the rude stranger. He couldn’t let one bad experience mess with his head.  He had other things to do. Bigger things to achieve. Taking a deep breath, he decided to let this one go. It’s not like he would ever meet the man again anyway. So, what would be the point of holding a grudge?

Things could only get better from here on out. If only he could now find a cab to take him to…where was it again? Ankit took out his phone and quickly looked up the address.  Ah yes. Place Monge. He looked at the map in his other hand. Hmm, there was a metro there. Maybe he could…But one look at the trolley full of luggage and he knew that would be impossible. He needed a cab. Even if that cost him a fortune.