Kashi, Kathmandu and Korea

What an excellent time to get down from a train, 4.30 am. I thought. That too on a chilly winter morning of 31st of Dec. One could just hope the train would get late for ..... well .. may be 2 to 3 hrs, so that one could at least shout for a tea – samosa after talking bath at the waiting room. But, my prayer wasn’t accepted and hence, that was the first audience by the “once a kingdom of Kashi", Varanasi for me. Coming from Nepal, I had boarded the train at 11 pm at Gorakhpur, the night before. Air bag was heavy with lots of remembrances for my friends from my mother, whom she hadn’t seen at all. And ad-hoc lunch, dinner, breakfast and snacks, which I most of the time, could not consume before the unprinted expiry date, was as always tasking my shoulders extra newtons. I slung it across, allowing it to torture me into a grotesque imbalanced figure like a polio-stricken man. a suitcase and another bag containing only the red and grey blanket occupied my hands. I entered the waiting room after few minute’s minute observation of the sign boards. Quite surprisingly at this hour of day, the waiting room was almost full with different types of people. Probably, because the train to Calcutta was late, the room was crowded.

It was my first visit. In Army, we travel a lot but learn very less from the traveling. Most of the time due to security reasons, traveling is restricted to scheduled places and time limit. But arrving at 0430 hrs in this ancient Indian centre of knowledge and awakening, I could not restrict myself, I had heard a lot about Benaras and read about it. At one time, it was Nepal's scholarly destination. All the oldies of Nepal today brag about the reminiscences of Banaras. B P Koirala had built his network in Benaras. And then there’s always religious significance of the ancient city. Till today, there is a different system of Sanskrit education that goes on in Banaras.

I went straight to the movement control office of the station at 5.30, introduced myself to the NCO and instructed not to inform my arrival at the ‘centre’ before I come back after the short visit to the Ghats. I deposited my luggage. Next 30 minutes after paying thirty rupees to an auto-rickshaw, rather suspiciously and walking for five minutes, I was at the Ghat. So, this is Varanasi !

Early morning tranquility at the river bank was accentuated by few melodies, hymns and prayers. I saw various ‘Math’ made by the pandas, felicitors of punya, praying there. They are the authority to the path to God, I thought sadly, people come from various places to perform rituals for their dead relatives, to ensure their path to heaven is not obstructed. And to ensure their ‘Aatma’ doesn't loiter around in uncertainty.

I sat down on the steps at one corner. The sunrise brought with it a warm golden beauty in the waters. The mighty Goddess Ganga wrapped in an orange sari, I felt, has awakened from sleep, with the boats shadowing against the background of the big orange ball of fire, I cursed myself for forgetting my camera at the station MCO. But my regret could not delude the beauty of the morning melodrama. Sun God had come to meet the Goddess Ganga, just raised from sleep, taking bath in open, to the ecstasy of the whole world. The poet in me was quenched. The adventurer evoked. Immediately, a boat was called thirty rupees for half an hour ride. When I climbed the dangling caricature of one of the oldest means of transportation, I prayed God. Fearing, they might punish me for mischievously intervening into their early morning love making. I looked at the sun, bit brighter now, and warmer (because of the recent interaction? ), he looked indifferent. I was depressed. But .... they are Gods.

Moments like this delude your logic and defy sciences. With thousands of years of heritage combined with the opulence of nature all around me, I was feeling gratified, satiated. The Boatman told about the kashi Vishwanath temple, the mosque that was built next to it, about the ghat and about many other things. But most interesting incident for me was simple incident that mystified my vanity. Pertaining to my fair complexion and gate-up, he presumed me to be a foreigner. He started talking in English, which of course was as good or as bad as his boat. Enough to ride through even the deepest waters, but broken, shabby and quivering at many places. I silently kept nodding, fantasying on the newly found identity of myself, my Vanity sailing high. I ignored his question of nationality by further deep queries on the history of the city, his occupation and type of people he met. His amazement, embarrassment and amusement erupted together at the end of my voyage in his ship. When, at last I talked in Hindi he stared at me for sometime startled by my move. He hugged me. I was convinced that he is convinced.

I was strolling on the Ghat. These Ghats were reminding me of Ghats of Bagmati in Katmandu. It was similar except the size of the river. I saw a group of children playing cricket. I thought there has to be a way to get out to the place where I can get an auto. I had to return to the station. Ah! ......... before that I thought I will have breakfast in a restaurant. I was completely flexible in my planning as it was not a planned tour. Then, I crossed a young girl, bright Mongolian features, moving quietly, perplexedly at the Ghats. That part was not crowded. She was easily noticeable. I thought if I could help, but could not summon up the courage to go and ask. May be she doesn't know English at all or what if she just ignores me? I let the Idea vaporize, and sat at the steps. The joyous children were playing cricket. I watched them against the background of black smoke of the fire of one of the pyres at the end of the Ghat. I remembered only one word to define the situation – uncertainty. But the shlok from Geeta defined it –
uSua fNUnfUr ‘kL=kf.k uSua ngfr ikod%A
u pSua Dys;n;kUR;kiks u ‘kks”;fr ek:r%AA

After more than two minutes the first time I had seen that mangolean girl, I saw her coming up, confusion more pronounced in her gait and expression. let me try; I resolved.
“Do you speak English?” I heard myself in an English accent I had never known myself speak. She turned sharply. I could not guess anything from her flat expression but just another moment I convincingly believed to have seen a feeling of relief in her eyes. Her nod pronounced it.

“I thought you need some help ? Where are you from ? Ah ........ I mean which country ?” I rapid-fired at her, in a way to hide my own lack of confidence, I suppose.

“Korea”, she said after an uncomfortable Pause. I smiled. As if I had discovered a great truth. It contagiouted on her. What possibly could not have been communicated through words, letter, emails or phones – was communicated by smiles. Drawing new lines of friendship on our faces. “I am Dinesh”. I said as a formal informatory introductory gesture.

“Hi!! Jooyean”. She was more confident now. May be she had forgotten about the dreadful stories told to her by many. The precaution to take against meeting any stranger in India, And the horrendous fraud they often trap the foreign tourists into.

“I – am – searching – for – a – way – to – go – to – the – main road.” She pronounced every word deliberately and slowly. I could easily guess she is a new learner But the phrasing was flawless, not an ad-hoc arrangement. So, she has to be the part of the new “English learning generation of Korea. After so much advancement in the electronics. She must be Eighteen or Nineteen, I thought.

“ Don’t worry, I am also going that side. And like you this is first day in Banaras.” I familiarised myself fearing the second part might have lowered her confidence on me.

“Oh! Really?” She exclaimed. I was quite surprised as my psychological presumptions were shattered. She was rather happy at discovering another lost friend in this jungle.

“I am from Nepal. I am in the Army”. I shortened my Origin and way of earning a living, in a slide-show manner. I didn’t want to explain her that I was in the Indian Army, then the complex system of how Nepali citizens are serving in the Indian Gorkha Rifles. The concept of Nepali Citizens like me, commissioned into the Indian Army, often puzzles many of my Indian friends. It would have been devastating for her. The British are thanked by many and cursed by many too, for recruiting Gorkha Troops – India is continuing for its own reason.

“ I know Hindi”. I reassured her, I will be able to get her to the main-road. This was an explanation to talking to an individual in the local Language. I’d asked about the way to the main road as it was not the place from where I had come in the morning. I showed her a way that went into a narrow tunnel like dark street through one ancient building. Her pale face was stricken with fear. I thought may be she has heard cases of tourist getting raped in India. Or the platinum chain she was wearing, thought she, was luring. But after climbing many steps, dark and frightful, bright street surfaced; her fears vanished.

Seeing the narrow streets in between the highly packed four / five story houses, I remembered Katmandu. The two ancient kingdoms could be compared in many ways. And the ‘Kashi Naresh” had good relations with the “Nepal Naresh” I’ve heard, I remembered Rahul Sankrityayan's experienced remark, “We Hindus are careless in community hygiene, though we take great care in personnel cleanness.”

“How old are you?” I forgot the diplomatic protocol on dealing with ladies.

“What do you think ...... guess ?” She was opening up while we walked through the narrow street. Five feet five inches is her share of the atmosphere. Completely fair as she was, wearing a white skirt, T shirt and a hat she was dressed like an English Lady in a race course. Wearing that high heel which quite often slipped or stumbled in the muddy gaps between the stones of the floor of the ancient street built centuries ago. She seized glances all around and often extracted remarks from local folks. Dressed in a quite western outfit including the floaters and goggles, they had mistaken me for some foreigner. (Israeli, French, Russian, American) because they wouldn’t have quipped in Hindi if they would have known about me, I thought.

“You must be 18 or 19 .....” I said praying my guess shouldn’t go too wrong as it is difficult to judge any body’s age from a different feature all together. I didn’t put a full stop or a question mark.

“I look so young .......” She smiled. I could not decide on whether to imagine a question mark or an exclamation to add on to her words partly due to her accent, more so due to the shade of blush shining on her cheek. Her ‘Young’ sounded more like a name in Chinese.

I didn’t have a better answer. I smiled back.

“ I am twenty.” She said, with a full stop, definitely this time. Then suddenly holding me by my right arm she pulled me towards herself with a great force and making the most unusual sound I had ever heard from a creature of the same species. I almost stumbled over her. Then I realized, the bull that was coming from the other side of the street was saved. I was ramming into him. My face and my ears have become red, I could feel it. I felt embarrassed for two things. Firstly her clean skin had displayed such saffron tint of blushing, I was captivated. Secondly, for thinking about what came to my mind when she suddenly pulled me to herself. Embarrassed. much to the degree of being ashamed of one’s self, I looked at my left foot. I had stumped on the bull dung due to her jittery movement. It smelt badly. She was laughing much to my displeasure. I requested for water in the adjacent shop. She helped me to clean it off, silently mocking at me. I could not look into her face. I felt guilty to match her gaze.

“How lucky you are, you get to travel different countries at such an early age !” I didn’t have to put much effort to search for a new topic. “How did you manage the tour, financially ...... ?” The narrow streets were turning at almost right angles. The dark and dirty street was more confusing than my question. I feared we will reach where we’d started from.

“You do a job there ......... ?” I reluctantly added a question mark with my eye brows, unknowingly leading her to a wider street. Few two wheelers were completely enjoying the monopoly.

“Yes, I mean, I got it from tuition. I used to teach school students. I study Graduation.”
“OK”
Suddenly the street ended. I saw the vehicles on a wide road. With the noise, smoke, dust and smell of burnt oil, a mixed feeling of sorrow and joy hit me. I felt silent. She reflected it for some time. “Where are you going now?”

I didn’t know but couldn’t confess such uncertainty to her.

She didn't want the answer, I thought.
“I have to go to the Gadoliya Market, I have to buy something.” She answered my silence.

I enquired from a policeman nearby. By then I’d also made up my mind. “I will go to the BHU, after leaving you at Gadoliya.” It was much more respectable than portraying myself as an aimless wanderer.

The roads in Banaras are ............ well there’s nothing royal or incredible about them. Crowded, unplanned. Filthy narrow streets nearly washed off the Gangetic serenity from my mind. My heart ached, stomach revolted.

“Jooyean !” She was perplexed to hear her name. May be my accent! “Aren’t you hungry?” It was ten.

“Oh ! yes. Did you have Breakfast ?” This was her way to reveal her hunger, I assumed.

I quietly thanked God. We will spend some more time in a restaurant together. I found out a "Shahi restaurant". Inquiring about a restaurant was very easy. But the nearest one came after about twenty minutes of walking interrupted by more than ten repetitions of impatient enquiries. She also ventured into bold enquiries, superceding me at times. I was continuously comparing Kashi with Kathmandu. Well the river Bagmati has, remained just a mimicry of something once called a river. The royal-ness of Kathmandu is unmatchable. Kathmandu would have rated higher in holiness too but for Ganga. The city of wooden temples, I thought, at least hasn’t been left on itself to become a jungle full of humans; the streets of Banaras were one.

Rickshaws give employment to so many people. But they give a very grotesque look to the city, if left unorganized.

“It’s there”. Sharp Korean accent shrilled with joy finally we moved in.

We talked in a more relaxed manner over breakfast. She told she has two younger brothers, sixteen and nine years old. Father is a teacher. Mother works in a Bank. She has come to India with two of her country mates. One her friend, classmate and other, their teacher, she told names I could not reiterate, remember ......... out of question ! How does it matter? I wasn’t going to meet them. A nod did all the job for me. Occasionally a smile. She was happy to see so many Korean cars, she told me. Then I thought what I would tell to remind of my country if I go to Korea, ever! Economic Imperialism they used to call it.

I told her about my family. And my job. “Will you come for that movie with me?” She said taking me by surprise. Of course, she was indicating at the PVR multiplex which we came across in the way. She had quiet enthusiastically enquired about show timing. It was 11.30. I paid the bill after much protest from her. My perseverance won.
We headed for the multiplex.
“But you won’t understand Hindi.”
Since when did Korean’s develop penchant for Bollywood movies was what I meant.

“You are there ........ to explain.” She smiled, mischievously. “I like Indian movies”. She added seriousness.
I observed. Silently.

The door keeper gave a heartiest welcome. The multiplex, a recent inauguration, was thankfully good. She would at least have a good Image of the imagery. She bought the tickets, which she took to be her right after me paying the restaurant bills. I did not protest.
Her position of back where T-shirt did not reach and skirt did not origin from, was exposed. She had a good waist covered by a fair skin. She turned back. I was exposed. She caught my stare. She smiled, showing the entrance door by one hand, handing me the tickets by another I took the tickets in one hand and held her by her bare arm to move inside, the sleek touch was nothing less than exciting. The guard snatched the tickets from my hand, glanced at both the ticket and us. I could not guess his inferences. And it did not matter too. We moved into the loud music and dim light. Few people were already sitting on the chairs, unevenly. A man with a loose untucked shirt and torch in one hand showed us the seat in the last row. I’d already located in the dim light – G – 18 – 19.

Seats felt comfortable. I could feel her strong perfume, must be some Korean brand.

Lately I hadn’t been able to see a movie in Kathmandu. I thought wondering what the standard of the new halls there is. Due to the ongoing Crisis there, development is in a stalemate or its negative? What's the solution?

Well ........... It was not the right time to dwell into one of those self piteous moods.

“I will show you my family photographs.” She flashed her digital camera. My sister studying in Kathmandu was twenty years old. Could I imagine her going to a foreign country alone? And sitting in a theatre to watch a movie she won’t understand at all ! And, showing my photographs to a stranger, a boy there!

Her brother looked like a long haired hippy. The T-shirt with an OM on the chest, at the background, the hills seemed friendlier to me. The couple sitting next to us, I thought, was Koreans. I told her. She ignored and continued her exhibition.
When will I globalize?

May be my kids will one day Go exploring the streets in Seoul wearing the yellow sailboat or the symbol of tai-chi, on their T–shirt.

The lights went off when I’d finished seeing her friend, parents, teacher and colleagues and her village house. There was no boyfriend. Two brothers.

I could feel her making some adjustment on the chair. I wanted to look at her once, knowing her face will be distinctly bright even in the darkness. The certificate of censor board on the screen demanded much lesser courage to read through. I decided on the later.

We watched the movie monotonously interrupting my concentration only to explain her in between. In a subtle way to look at her, at times to touch her unknowingly. In the interval I went to buy some refreshments. When I returned she had acquainted herself with her country mates. An early thirties couple, both of them healthy and shorter than her.

“Dee-nay – ssh.....” Then she added something in her strange language what would she have said? Optimistically, I thought, friend or .......
‘an acquaintance ?’
‘a person I know ?’
‘one Indian? /a Nepali ?’
Whatever, I was Intrigued to hear my name from her.

They smiled at me, with a slight move of head which I understood I had to amplify and receive as a bow.

I reflected.
Lights went off. Momentary silence then the fortissimo resumed. My curiosity was almost dead. On the movie as well as on her. For the last one hour of the movie I went off to sleep.

It was 2.45pm when we came out of the theatre. “Let’s go to the university,” I was quite surprised to see the flexibility shown by her in her plans. It could not have been possible if they had not decided on exploring the city Individually. She had told me, every morning, all three of them will part to roam around. They would meet for dinner in the evening.

I knew there will be auto-rikshaws available for that four kilometer journey. But rickshaw was a better option, I thought. I, personally, feel very uncomfortable in the auto-rickshaw. It’s sound and strong smell of petrol is repulsive for my senses. The cycle Rickshaw, whereas burnt and smelt of only one thing – human sweat.

The rickshaw was pulled laboriously by a man in his late forties ....... or the hard work had made him look so old, I kept my options open.

We moved slowly, rather he moved slowly. The lively, colourfull and Bazarrous ride was made adventurous by two things. Firstly, the seat was slanting downwards at a certain gradient wherein we continuously slid down. This tactically designed seat kept us on our toes ...... quite literally. Secondly, as the cliché goes, ‘Our feet weren’t on ground’ due to the happiness of bumpiness.

Well the history of University and mystery of fourty rupees cooled down my hysteria.

So, this is the Banaras Hindu University. I thought looking at Jooyean, who had already started feeling better in the serene and clean environment. The university, I found, was the only place where some order prevailed. Or at least on the streets it was apparent. It was evident from the first appearance, we will regret the decision to walk. It was a vast area to explore on foot. We saw the agricultural department. Then the medical boy’s hostel. Both of us were unknown to this place except, I had the advantage of knowing Hindi. But often the students themselves broke out in English, whenever we wanted to make some enquiry. We passed about the agriculture faculty. Inside the university, it was like a completely different town, she told me. There were colonies for the employees of the university. Quarters, for professors, readers, teachers, assistants. It was huge, colonial.

‘These people, so old, what are they doing in the University?’ She said, ignoring a gaze from a man. “Don’t look like students.” A pun or grammatical error? I thought.

He was wearing grey pullover and fourty plus years on himself. I looked at him like a tiger or a dog on a stranger dog trying to venture into my territory. Instincts are so strange ........ so basic and so powerful. I suddenly wanted to revolt, whoever said you can win over instincts by knowledge. That man, may be a professor. I looked at him as he overtook us in a determined walk to turn and get into a Bungalow just ahead. I went nearer to Jooyean. So near to be careful only not to brush with her bare arms. She took off her goggles and looked at me, straight into the eye.

I was busted and melted my guilt out to blame at unknown person,” Because of your skirt and .......... I mean they are noticing you.”

“I’ve started enjoying it” She spoke like repeating a dialogue from a hit movie. I had no answer.
“We can go and see the library ......... It must be real big.” I was happy I got something to make our loitering purposeful. Once again, we came to our enquiring mode. Sometimes me asking for a way, sometimes she taking Initiative. The library, which was just in front of the big temple was indicated easily by them.

After about 15 minutes of walk, two grounds of hot cricket matches, teasingly smiling children, more than a dozen strong piercing stares (mainly at her) and a few wordless but beautiful smiles, we stood at the crossroad. It’s under pressure great decisions are taken. As we were lacking in time, I had to decide quickly – temple or library? More over, I did not want to give her any idea of my dilemma as I had some how taken control taking due advantage.
Temple – heritage, faith, belief, ritual.
Library – Knowledge, interpretation, ideas, awakening.

We had to keep our bags and books outside before entering the Library. Library, in itself was a huge building. The Bookshelves arranged in Ground floor in a circular fashion with a large space in the centre, utilized for Desks and Chairs, where few students were sitting, pre occupied in studies.

“Jooyean helped herself with a book on Yoga, which gave us some time to relax our legs, we had walked a lot since morning, together. I fluttered between Literature, Art and Philosophy. At five, when we came out, the day had started to end its adventures. The sun, which had emerged from the banks of Ganga, was planning to take leave behind the huge temple we had not visited.

The Rickshawala or some shopkeeper will be able to tell me the shorter route to the Railway station. I started building up a plan. I had to patch up the damage by being a ‘little late’ instead of ‘very late’ at my centre.

“Its getting Dark, can’t you come till my hotel?” Her innocent face displayed a terrorized request. The first casualty in an operation is your plan, I remembered. May be now you will take back your words about enjoying the audacious ogles of people, I searched for joy in panic. I was trapped.

When I reached the centre after leaving her in her hotel, it was very late. Every body was ready in their suits for the new year party. I dumped my luggage, requested one of my companion to kindly straighten the suit. I rushed to the bathroom discovering and humming a fresh tune.

The party couldn’t have been made more enjoyable than that. In a hotel outside, it was nicely organized. But one thing that kept me pondering over was ‘Only if I could get her here’. Well, late in the night, drunk of the drink and the dance, I dreamt into the heavens.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-----------------------------------------------xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

What an excellent time to board a train, 11o'clock, At night. She had no choice. She was being maneuvered by their plans. I freed myself in the evening and headed to the crowded pathway which leads to the Ghat. Crowd, colourful people, passed aside. Rickshaws, shops, occasionally vehicles, all passed through. I tried not to think of the train. It was getting dark already. I can not go to the station to see her off and then, I stopped suddenly, at a shop where a teenager boy was picking up the stone and wooden sculptors-Gods, birds, mystic shapes, structures and stacking them inside. I was mystified by the wide variety of the shapes which shone of human devotion. Passion had fueled life into the dead pieces, ....... or to say correctly, had revived and surfaced the cosmic energy hidden within the objects to make it alive.

A simple piece of stone, an elephant inside beautiful outer netted shell was one I tasked to remind my Korean friend of myself.
I was disappointed at the type of hasty packing the boy did, but he had his own excuse. His master was not there at the shop and more over, he also had plans for celebrations with friends. He was in great hurry. His continuous splatter in strong Bihari accent, made me feel the same. Navigating through the ocean of ancient buildings, I had a feeling of self satisfaction on arriving at the hotel she was staying at. As I climbed the steps, my heart paced up. I saw her friend and her teacher at the lobby of the hotel. They were reading magazine. She must be in the room, still getting ready, I thought. Both of them smiled a sorry smile at me and appraised me that she hadn’t come back form her visit. She wanted to make the best of her last day in Banaras, I thought. But it was too late. I seated myself on the sofa with them and they tried to entertain me. Their English was as good or as bad as Jooyean's, but certainly we lacked understanding of some other language, a communication gap could be felt.
Only knowing or not knowing a language doesn’t effect the communication between two persons. Well, at last she arrived.

We did not greet each other in any exceptional way, just as if she had expected me to be there because she was leaving that night. Though I had not told her I will be coming. Neither was it any great event for me to see her; as if I hadn’t parted from her at all. But some excitement did flash in her dark black eyes when I opened the package and presented her my ‘ambassador’ elephant. She expressed her gratitude with a hug. I too did not have words.

She was excited to show me a payal she had bought in a thousand Rupees. She was excited to find out the outcome of her adventure. She was told it is silver, and it was sold as a silver, I looked at it, I could not decide whether she deserves to be praised for her bargain or condemned. I hadn’t wanted to know about the originality. I did not want to make her feel she was fooled, if she was. So, most probably, I fooled her. The same joy she had exposed the previous day when she had bought a green goggle in two hundred rupees. It lasted only till I told her this type of goggles can be bought in less than a hundred, and there’s no question of it being original Gucci's. But, well now I thought it doesn't matter whether she buys original silver or not, till the time she buys the confidence and the joy. I didn’t want to shatter either of them, mostly because, she was leaving Banaras after about three hours.

When we moved into the Restaurant I was assured we will get original Korean food there. At least, I will not be fooled, even if I am, I will not know the difference till the time I visit Korea myself. The ambience was completely foreign to me – Korean. It was on the first floor, a big room with no windows. She exchanged words with few Mangolean features seated on the floor on both sides of the one feet high table. I wanted to tell them all, this table looked like a low bed I had back in Kathmandu when staying in rented rooms. They are the moderates. Thought our tradition keeps the food down on the floor. The westerners eat on a high table, sitting on a chair.

Only medium to convey whatever I felt was a smile and a bow, when she went on like a chatterbox. They had something written on the wall too, in Korean. Sincerely speaking, Japanese, Chinese and Korean look no different to me. Such was the nervousness created by the unfamiliar, I was embarrassed when I was told the meaning of the name of the restaurant, after I asked. “Raga’ means melody”, another Korean girl said briefly, without looking into me. Then I realised it was the Sanskrit word ‘Raga’. I felt anguish over the person who chose to name the restaurant, couldn’t he decide on a Korean name?

They eat very hot food. that was the only thing I could make out from looking at the menu table. No dish was complete without some strong chilly supplement. I enjoyed the food. The delicacy of the unfamiliar and the strangeness amidst all those Korean faces, kept me low on talking. Finally, I came out of the restaurant with a new experience richer. The manager, Ajay who had asked something to her when I entered with her, shook my hand firmly. I thought, more firmly than his usual habit, as he knew I was an Army Officer. I promised him to come some day with my friends, though I doubted it convinced him.

Then the time for us to part. Our parting was nothing romantic. I do not want to end in a highly romantic manner. I want to be global. I want to be modern. I want to be optimistic. The only dramatic scene at the end was about her yellow sail boat post card. She gave me a post card in which her address, phone number and email id was written. But, when she started writing something for me she got stuck after writing “Annyong ” (an informal namaste or a Hii! in her language) “I was lucky to meet you.”

She was in a dead lock for quite some time not able to decide anything else to write. My optimism projected – write whatever you want to in your own language. I will read it when I will learn the language.

After few strange characters, Jooyean surfaced.