#Venice Diaries-3
"Like singing a Deekshithar Kriti"
He steered her towards Locanda Cipriani in the island of Torcello in the Venetian lagoon.
The 1934 restaurant a favorite haunt of high end tourists from America, Germany and Russia
The Romanesque church visit a must before lunch can be enjoyed in the picturesque garden during spring
It was early evening, the air was moist and cool, the lantern like lights swing in the breeze,
they walked under the pathway covered in criss cross vines of some sort.
He had reservations
He didnt let go of her hand after helping her get on the deck
He ordered a Bellini first, peach puree (made only with locally sourced fresh peaches ofcourse) and prosecco
And some Venetian classics like Moeche (soft shelled crabs) and baby artichokes grown on the nearby island of San Erasmus tossed around with wild mint
"Will u let go?" she asked tugging her hand
He did... but still looking at her bent head
"U love it here dont u" she began all over again
As if his hand was the lil phonographic needle that played the vinyl records on the turntable (old fashioned record player),
the moment he released the needle/his hand the tunes played
"Lets wait till we get back" he said calmly
She sipped her drink... "Great... get me drunk again" she cursed
He nodded
He served her baby artichokes... she absolutely loved it, she almost ate all of it, he ordered another serving
He devoured his crabs too
"Crabs dont smell as bad as fish" she supplied
He half smiled
"dont order fish" she ordered huskily (If u have plans to get laid)
"This topic I like" he responded huskily
"Fish?" she asked , being particularly dense
"No,(I meant) sex" he said, happy to educate
"U get too much of that...(so go ahead) u must try some fish tonight" she said gleefully
"U didnt fly 9 hours to eat artichokes" he explained
"Ya I flew 9 hours to give u a shave" she smiled, spontaneously, locking eyes with him, letting a half smile slip
"I could start shaving daily" he offered
"slime ball" she cursed
He nodded, as if he was OK being one...
He was happy he was able to distract her, she appeared deeply troubled for a while
He wondered if Mr Iyer was sending her video CDs daily of how she could "sanitize herself from the Punjabi boy"
It didnt take a genius to conclude how much the guy hated him, with every week of living in Paris he was offering the man more ammunition to brain wash his wife
He reached and clutched her hand instinctively
All of their seafood pastas and risottos are fabulous he informed her, as she rolled her eyes at him
He ordered the cannochie (a type of local crayfish) "the best in Venice" he muttered, with spring onion & extra pickled vegetables
Risotto with mountain Potatoes,Ginger, Rosemary
Home made Ravioli with Vegetables from Saint Erasmus Island, garlic, extra virgin olive oil & chili pepper
Fresh Tagliatelle Pasta aged Parmesan Cheese
A bunch of things...
His cannochie arrived.. fresh, plump and drizzled with fruity olive oil
"where did u go?" she asked softly
He described the mountain bike (basically a sporty bicycle ride) and described Mont Blanc, Chaminix
He told her about the trekking social forum he was part of
The numbers that actually were able to make it
The train ride, how camping in the wild is, the miles he clocked on some days, the wild flowers the mountain air, the snow
a circular path that winds through ice-capped mountains in France, Switzerland and Italy.
The meadow lands and mountain passes... the sense of accomplishement he felt at doing that
How close to nature and how far away from humanity it was, like how it was the "ideal" for him
"It seems like I dont even know you" she blurted interrupting him
Watching him speak, no He didnt say too many things, he still spoke little... but there was a change
but his eyes sparkled... his face was flushed... like he just got of the bicycle, his hair plastered to his head, sweat running down his side burns
She imagined him that way briefly... getting that daily tan, pitching that tent, taking it down every morning, carefully packing it away
Like making pasta or cleaning the kitchen
He was no longer the bum
He was quietly efficient... almost unnoticeably
He had stopped speaking at that stunned realization from her
Just watched the expressions change in her gaze
"I dont know u... do I?" she said, quietly digging into her rice
It hit her hard for some reason
It was like a shot of morphine... she got one when she visited in March, it wore off by June
And she just got another one... this time the dose was heavy
"thats not true" he said, it sounded like he was speaking from inside a well
His voice echoed at first and then she returned to earth
"Kya?" she said
"U do know me" he said softly
she didnt say anything...
NO I DONT
I MARRIED A GUY THAT HAS MULTIPLE COLLEGE DEGREES
THAT MAKES GREAT MONEY
THAT LIVES IN CHANAKYAPURI
THAT WAITS AT THE MEHRAULI BOTTLENECK EVERY EVENING
IN THE DUST AND SMOG
THAT READS IN HIS BALCONY
WANDERS HIS FRONT LAWN
GOES TO SAROJINI NAGAR MARKET
EATS PANI POORI AS GIRLS OGLE
I DONT KNOW THIS WANDERLUST, THIS NOMAD
THIS.. WANDERER... UMM.. THAT TALKS ABOUT SNOW CAPPED PEAKS LIKE
ITS A WORK PRESENTATION
WITH NUMBERS AND GRAPHS?
LIKE ITS A SRK MOVIE?
I CANT EVEN COME UP WITH ACCURATE ANALOGIES?
ARGHHH
NO...NO...ITS LIKE WHAT I FEEL WHEN IAM SINGING A DEEKSHITHAR KRITI?? 😲😲
(Deekshithar is a astoundingly gifted Carnatic composer, Muthuswamy Deekshithar, as he was known, composed mainly Tamil verses,
he lived between 1775-1835)
She felt a lump in her throat ...at that terrifying discovery
Anupamaa
