Beyond the Clichés

Much has been said about New York City and Paris – two of the greatest cities in the world. The night skyline of New York City with “the radiance of a million electric lights mirrored in the waters”<1> and the Eiffel tower, photographed from a low angle, lit up and fading away into the fog; these are the first images that kindled my fantasy about both these cities, and that subsequently fed on books and movies. Being there in person used to be a distant dream, but sometimes, when you least expect it, dreams become reality. I got to live close to New York City for about a year, and visit Paris during a brief trip to Europe.

A while after the said trip, I felt this urge to compare and contrast these two cities, while my memories hadn’t completely faded. I happened to read that the more you analyze, interpret, describe and classify your experiences, the deeper your understanding is. Back then, I was far too naïve to let go of my prejudices of the first impressions or those nurtured by the clichés. But it is in retrospect, that I feel more competent to analyze my reminiscences.

I went to New York City sometime in 2011 and my first impression of the city was rather unremarkable. I couldn’t match my then-husband’s enthusiasm as he proudly presented one of the biggest cities in the world to his small-town wife. As I looked at this sprawling ‘frontier of skyscrapers’ with a tinge of homesickness, I could not help being disappointed. I am still unsure if it was the tall and bold wilderness of buildings towering over me or the droves of people clogging the streets that intimidated me more. I was suffocated by the hyper-dense congestion, vertical and horizontal. On the other hand, when I visited Paris, a few years later, I was enchanted from the moment I landed at Charles de Gaulle airport – the picturesque train ride, the streets, the lamp posts, the graceful Parisian balconies and the ubiquitous old-world charm. In fact, I was so mesmerised by the worn wooden staircases, carved wood doors, their elaborate handles and the iron railings that I didn’t complain when I realized I had lugged my suitcase all the way to the topmost floor of a building only to find out we were at the wrong address. It was so true what Charles Dickens had said – “What an immense impression Paris made upon me. It is the most extraordinary place in the world!”. <2>

As important as they are, first impressions, unlike the cliché, need not be lasting ones. The city of lights might have held me in a trance with its timeless beauty and grace, but the serenity accentuated its melancholy too. Paris, for me, was a surreal sojourn into the past, maybe owing to its slower pace and overt venerable vibe. It chaperoned me as I traced the progressive imprints of history, from the flying buttresses of the Gothic Notre Dame to the high-tech modernism of the Eiffel Tower, that is the centerpiece of the city’s landscape.  The quaintness of its cafes and the quietness of the Seine granted fleeting respite from the poignant splendour of the monuments, an ode to the glory of Renaissance and classicism or the mass produced asymmetry of the Art Nouveau features.

Antithetically, New York City is a ‘theatre of progress’<3>. I had been fazed by its sheer scale. It was something beyond the boundaries of my imagination. But that did not stop me from venturing into the city again. With a map in hand, I set about acquainting myself with the city, street by street, block by block, marveling at the ingenuity of its grid. The people were perpetually hurried and seemingly disconnected, like the buildings detachedly growing upwards. The facing rows of stern post-modern facades that gave away none of the secrets of its interiors, were a shocking contrast to the vibrant chaos of home (that I had never appreciated enough before). But like the very grid that defined this city, there was order to its chaos too. It had this enigmatic charisma in spite of the occasional squalor and shabbiness.

From this too superficial dissection, I have come to conclude that New York City is the anti-Paris or vice versa. As one city seems to leap ahead of time, the other seems entirely comfortable in its timelessness. And also that, our expectations are only too fragile. It may be true that ‘Every city is a compromised and imperfect realization of its blueprint.’ <4> They can be far different from our fantasies and expectations as well. The architectural backdrop and cultural soirees are alluring traits of any city, but the imperfections are not trivial either. They keep the mystery and adventure alive. I have come to love both these cities for different reasons, but I owe it all to the unexpected twists.

Sources:

<1> Koolhaas Rem, Delirious New York: A Retroactive Manifesto for Manhattan, Monacelli Press, 1994

<2> Victorian novelist, Charles Dickens, on the charms of Paris.

<3> Koolhaas Rem, Delirious New York: A Retroactive Manifesto for Manhattan, Monacelli Press, 1994

<4> Koolhaas Rem, Delirious New York: A Retroactive Manifesto for Manhattan, Monacelli Press, 1994