Why doing the ‘clichéd’ is not actually cliché: A bitter night in Paris.

Maybe it was the cold, tinkering winds of excitement that suddenly erupted a thought in my head, 

“Yes, it might be the greatest cliche of the century, but let's visit the Eiffel Tower!”

Note: Please understand that just because an object, a person, a conversation or a place is classified as ‘Cliched’, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve the beauty it is entitled to have. 

Living within the reach of Champs-Élysées whilst being in touch with the Arc de Triomphe, I wondered if the ‘buzziness’ of Paris was just here, or all around. 

Every night, I browsed at a little cafe with an espresso, trying to "expresso" my feelings on a piece of paper. (I know you got it.) But something didn’t seem right. 

Here’s the list I had on my crumbled chunk of paper:

1. Glide through the brisk Parisian markets and pick out fresh, au Courant pieces of cheese, maybe a loaf of bread, who knows?

2. Smile at this graceful girl serving pecan pie next to the local supermarket. Make it seem like you LOVE PECAN PIE. Okay, well, not really. Don’t overdo it buddy. Go say Hi. She has pretty eyes. Okay stop talking. 

3. POV: You’re Don Corleone from ‘Godfather’ and you need to enact that ‘picking up oranges’ in a stylish way and ‘sniff it’ kind of scene. Well, go find oranges! Go see godfather you confused little aliens. 

4. Manav you are not funny, you just don’t take your tragedies seriously. (This one was just out of introspection because the espresso was now empty, I was off any liquids and this godamn lovers paradise denied my TEA.)

5. You have the ‘Louvre’ left, you can’t let the exquisite paintings and sculptures pass just because you forgot to carry an extra set of pants. 

6. Buy pants!

Every time I tried to capture the beautiful scene of Paris in my eyes, my mind convinced me that it was too precious to acquire. How can I? 

It’s not because it's Paris, nor is it because of its culture, weather or whatever. Something that lingers in the air, makes you smile. Ah, That's it. 

I don’t know if it's simply this fossil-aged couple led by a grouchy old man, gently interlocking his sweaty left palm with the right of his chirpy wife or the exasperating child, angrily sitting on the sidewalk of the road, until his defenceless mother gives in and buys him his favourite ‘Croissant’. 

I felt like I was living in a drama, wherein I was an actor and a part of the audience as well.

It felt like watching a radiant play, enjoying its delicacy, humour, melodrama and emotion. 

My heart was filled. I guess, in the end. That’s all that counts right?