After 3 years in Paris, one is generally expected to be dripping with the smugness that comes from being able to correctly pronounce ‘Champs Elysees’, to rattle off a dozen cheese names without a pause, to wear simple dark t-shirts costing a small fortune and if one has lived sincerely, to even smell of macarons or similar at all times.
So it was quite queer for me to return from my Parisian stint instead with a deep appreciation for yoga and spirituality, especially as I was returning to the motherland of these things — India. Leaving for France with a love of ‘haute couture’, escargot and Edit Piaf, I came back with a collection of yoga pants, a vegetarian lifestyle and vedic chants on my phone. This phenomenon should not be mistaken for someone ‘returning to their roots’ because my previous life in India incorporated none of these new-found interests nor even hinted at their future emergence.
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