Memories of Marseille

When I settled comfortably on the lush green seat aboard the TGV to Paris, the thought of leaving Marseille probably had not occurred to me. Had that been the case, I would have lingered on a little while longer on the platform, taking in the last few gusts of the mistral, forming the last few memories of the place I’d called home the past three months At this time, I can’t help but think of the Chairman in Memoirs of Geisha and what he eloquently mentioned -“Sometimes the things I remember are more real than the things I see”. So mesmerizing were the idyllic days spent. Could it be possible that your sense of reality at a point in time is so magnified, so well entrenched, so deep, that it never ceases to overpower your today, never detaching from your existence in the present? As I rush through life just a few months later, it seems the days gone by would be cherished by me, as memories unparalleled. On deep thought, I realize that there was no one defining moment or an exceptional circumstance of clarity which I could attribute this experience to. There were no momentous occasions where I was overwhelmed a great deal, barring the isolated sighting of a shooting star on a drive to the Loire valley. It was just an amalgamation of each day, each new city visited, every gust of wind that blew my hair astray and every drop of that drizzle that didn’t drench me.

As I think back to the day of the journey from Marseille to Paris, I recall sitting by the huge window and looking at the sights speed past me, or rather me speed past them. The terrain transitions all through, the beauty remains ever the same though, casting a spell on me, a reverie that sends me to a place where words are redundant because all there is to experience is transmuted naturally, effortlessly. The music seems to agree with the sights that quickly disappear before my eyes. The speeding train, the ubiquitousness of the wilderness and the music all seem to work in tandem, creating a filigree of paradise.

The journey could have extended beyond the stipulated hours without me ever realizing. Such was the power of that moment, simple in its setting, yet so intoxicating that its vividness lives on as I write these words.

I lasted through the winter, until the onset of spring, the trees, that stand transfixed on either side of the road that is testament to this journey, accompanied me on this adventure. They had stood there in the cold winter months without any speck of green, bare, exposed, but they had persevered the test of time, and a few days before I were to leave, I saw the first few leaflets blossoming on to the branches.