New York vs Paris — Manan Hora

New York subway. The 1 train, going uptown in the middle of the day, won’t be too crowded by New York standards- you’d get a place to sit I reckon. Let’s change the interiors of the train. The seats which typically are on the sides facing each other: let’s align them facing the direction in which the train is headed. And perhaps change the colors of the seats from orange to a dark red or maroon. The passengers look the same, but let’s make them a little more fashionably dressed, make sure the clothes are all well-fitted and men’s pants must be skinny/tight fit.

Now, if I woke up here, I would think that maybe New York became more fashionable and the authorities decided to change the subway seats. This would be the case if I were deaf but I am not.
They speak a foreign tongue, one I know of but don’t know really
One I had studied several years ago
And here and there, every now and then
words back come back to me
like names of teachers do when you visit your elementary school after many years.

It’s unsettling when I overhear conversations and can’t understand them.“Slow down!”, I want to scream. “Let me process each word!”, in the hope that the ones I do know will suffice for me to conjecture the gist of their conversation. No, I don’t care about the ongoing tête-à-tête between the brunette wearing glasses and her friend, who for some reason reminds me of Natalie Portman. Really, I don’t. But I want to be able to understand. So that I feel like I belong here, if only for this one day, so that I feel like a ‘local’.

I’m dressed well: I had looked up Paris men’s fashion blogs before I came. I did my homework. I practiced French on Duolingo everyday for 6 weeks before my trip.
But it wasn’t enough-how could it be?
How naive was I to think that I could feel like a local with my slim-fit H & M trousers, my grey button-down, elegant wristwatch, a chic messenger bag to make up for my highly inadequate knowledge of French which doesn’t go beyond ordering food, greeting people and asking for directions. I can read and write a lot more but of what use is that when I can’t really listen or correctly pronounce most of it. Yes, this is my second time here. Yes, I am going to the ‘more local’ spots and yes, I am successfully ordering in French. But no, I won’t feel like a local any time this week.

I close my eyes for a moment and open them up again. I imagine I am in New York, going to office on the 1 train headed downtown. I feel at home. New York, where I feel as much at home as anyone from anywhere. Where everyone is different but also the same in their dream to ‘make it’. Where people don’t have time to sit in cafes and solve crossword puzzles. Where you don’t say ‘hello’ to strangers. No, you’re too busy fighting your own battles and so are they. Where you don’t get half a day off on Wednesday- no, you work late..you’ve got to get that promotion, that bonus, the funding for your startup, finish writing that book... Where your lunch on weekdays is a quick bite at a halal cart- you don't have time to sit at a cafe and eat le plat du jour avec le vin rouge. It’s okay, your South Korean friend is taking you to an authentic Korean restaurant tonight- you’d been trying to plan this for weeks. Where you dream that next year, you will take a vacation. You deserve it. After all, you’ve been working so hard. You’ll go to Paris, maybe- the city of love, spend a good ten days there, experience it like a local, you know. Who knows, maybe you’ll even meet the love of your life there. Hell, it’s about time you started dating someone, it’s been 8 months since your last relationship broke off.

Yes, Paris seems like a good idea. Get away from the hustle and bustle, from the nitty gritties of everyday work, from deadlines and projects. The French have really figured out the work-life balance thing. They are among the most productive workers in the world, you read on Business Insider on your daily 8:20am subway ride this morning. Maybe you should move there for some time- see if your company has any vacancies in their Paris office. Yes, that sounds good. Take it easy. Sip some wine everyday. Explore the city, meet new people. Sit in cafes. Go to museums. Admire the art and the architecture. Enjoy the slower pace of life.

But deep down, you know you won't be able to. You love your work. This struggle. This running to God-knows-where, briskly walking across the streets and avenues, Starbucks cup in hand, morning jogs at central park, long days in front of computer screens ...this is the life you have chosen. You’re addicted to it now. You’re here to make your dreams come true, just like everyone else here. You must do that. Paris?..hmm, maybe for a week.

“Pardon, Monsieur”, the gentleman next to me says as gets up from his seat- my reverie is disturbed. The train stops, I look out. “Pigalle”- that’s my station. I get up and get off the train, doors close behind me. I’m back in Paris.

If you liked reading this post, do comment below. This will encourage me to write more