That autumn, at Montmarte Hill

 

I remember - climbing stairs

Lots of blanched ones up the hill

Then, what views of the city sprawl -

Paris, endless Paris, our hearts to fill

 

The summer skies were daubed in blue

The dazzling domes three, blinding white

Montmarte’s hills were lush with green,

Crowned atop, that Parisienne sight

 

Where every dream that you could stir

And every note that you could sing -

Eiffel, Montparnasse, Invalides,

All tied neat in a September string

 

Travellers all with outstretched hands

City-spotting all the sights away

Behind stood smiling Christ and Joan -

Let these children laugh and play

 

That sparkling day, at the Sacred Heart –

Why do I mark it above the rest?

It was the start of a vagabond’s walk,

Slowed and spent, but filled with zest

 

They were those doors we cannot see

Those hid and placed, on our everyday

Through which once walked, there is no return

As if the world now walks a different way

Montmarte it was, where we wayfarers’ lot

Looked at the dreamscape we had won,

For months thereafter, everyday

Was a newfound hue of the autumnal sun

 

(I won’t dwell there, well, not this day

They deserve their own songs, each anew,

So many dulcet notes that float -

They can’t be stored in these lines of few)

 

The years have passed, and you may think -

You can return once more to Montmarte’s lane,

But time is just like a river’s flow

The water same never comes again

 

Penury there was, but zeal as well

To see the world, to wear your soles

Alas today, there are riches more

But aren’t we all now wearied souls?

 

At least the pages of Paris and past

Are rich and full, with laughs and cries -

It starts that Autumn, at Montmarte hill

Under whitewashed domes and bright blue skies…

 

16^th March’24

 

The Sacre Coeur or the Church of the Sacred Heart, is the highest point in Paris and the city’s second most visited spot. Upon a hill that overlooks the entire cityscape, it is a worthy abstract of the City of Light.

The spotless blue skies today, took me back to that day, years back, when we went traipsing up the stairs of Montmarte hill under an equally blue sky to see the chapel, the city and the skyline. It was in the first few days of our eventful stay in Paris, and I remember the overwhelmed joy with which we were eying the various landmarks of the city that we would be so keen to explore in the days that were to come. In a way, it was one of the starting lines with which we would write our long ballads of not just Paris, but farther beyond of an entire continent. Songs which we should be pretty happy about today, for there was so much written in so little time with even fewer resources (Read: student budget, no unlimited data, no free wifi, no Google translate, no Google Maps), that it almost makes you wonder today with a big smile.

Montmarte then becomes a golden milestone at the start of that journey that I have personally re-visited countless times, and around which I have also written and scribbled endless lines.

A few more lines then do no harm in the memories of infinity, that all started one autumn day, under blue skies at Montmarte…

 [Cover image: Author's archives]