Walls That Remember ACT I, SCENE I-The Statue and the Streets (Paris, 19th October, 2023) (An evening at the Place de la République. The square buzzes with traffic, pigeons and croissant crumbs. Enter the Narrator, carrying a box of Chocolates.)
A month in Paris, and I was still acclimatizing to her moods- cobbled tantrums and the way her facades frown in the rain. Salary day had led me to ‘Jacques Genin’- oblivious to the fact that this indulgence would bankrupt me in beauty (as usual). Slightly proud of the fancy purchase I’d just made, as I headed towards the République Metro Station, a visible tension emerged in the air. From laughter to lament- voices rising like scaffolds of fury. My heart sank as thousands pressed against the Monument à la République, its bronze Marianne soaring- liberty herself wrapped in protest. Palestinian Flags everywhere, siren’s wailing, chasing the crowds. Suddenly, the plaza had transformed itself into a stage for pain and rebellion. The monument stood there, unmoved, but somehow alive. With 8% battery and chocolates sweating in my grip, I carved my way through the sea of humans (pretending to be Moses), walking 45 minutes past shuttered metros and sirens. As Paris locked down for curfew, my mind drifted to Gaza and Israel, and of how every city carries its wars, within its walls!
ACT II, SCENE I-The Underground Light (Kyiv, 2022) (The radiant glow of a phone screen in a dim room. Silence, except for Netflix’s “tudum” in the background.)
That night, I watched Zelensky speak to Letterman from a subway station- a president (precedent) beneath the earth, his courage echoing off tiled walls. It was chilling, unrealbravery compressed to 720 p in my trembling hand. The sleeping trains behind him, had turned into shelters now whilst every moment felt like a heartbeat; proof that even underground, a city breathes.