When I say it was one crazy journey to get here, I’m not even referring to the engineering marvel that is an A330 tube powering through the air. 


Nor am I referring to getting an internship in Paris. Nor am I referring to getting a work visa permit for Paris. Nor am I referring to finding housing. Nor even am I referring to packing for four months in three point something bags. 

That doesn’t leave a lot of things to refer to does it? But between life and the British consulate, a number of things kept me at bay well after my scheduled departure. But as Nani (my grandmother) says, everything happens as it is meant to. 

So rooted in that, I’m many metres in the sky, an issue of time magazine, an hour delay, one movie, two crepes, one dinner, butter popcorn, in flight wine and a small tub of ice cream down (yes, Indians are all about the food aren’t they?). And I haven’t even gotten to Paris yet. 


I start this blog in the hope that I will be inspired to maintain it more often than the stipulated once in two weeks. My Dadi (other grandmother) showed me printed pages of her itenarary from a Europe trip in the 50s. Paper from a holiday in the 50s. Surely I should have a blog record of mine for future grandchildren to look at in awe. ‘In the 10s, college kids wrote these things called blogs, published on a place called the Internet, and they still have copies!’…maybe. 

Anyhow. The idea with being frequent is keeping it short. So until later, here’s one of the many vimrod cartoons I know I’ll post. 


Also this book I bought at the airport:


Au revoir. À Paris!