As the train started moving towards Paris, the fields began to transform into city. People would come in and leave at each stop, and soon the train became very full. I was focusing on individuals, noting what they were wearing, how they were conversing, and it was all foreign. Men and women dressed for work, teenagers with skin-tight jeans, arab girls with scarves, arab boys sporting alternative fashion. I couldn't decipher the code. I couldn't pass off as a Parisian. Not with my luggage anyway.

That was one of my main goals: to be able to navigate the city without seeming like a foreigner. I did not have a list of tourist attractions that I was going to tick off. I was not going to strive to master the French language during my stay. Yet by the 5th day, I had gained that certain confidence, the ability to sweep past the ticket counters and enter the Metro with a flair of familiarity and control, backpack, wallet and iPod in place.

What I saw and visited, I really internalized. There were some things that always remained at the back of my head - like revisiting Montmartre or taking a boat ride on the Seine - but time flew by and I never got around to them. I don't really regret it. They are excuses to revisit Paris.

One such name was that of the Hotel de Ville. It would appear on maps, Metro station lists, and other guides. It was a Metro stop very close to the ones I frequented. Only while looking back at my photography did I realize that I had photographed it without knowing what it was (I had been mapping tower-tops as a friend and I walked to see the Centre Pompidou).

Here is a watercolor of the Hotel de Ville, which I got to know better this time around. This is one of a few I have done recently. Maybe it's time to switch gears again...

Sabeen sent me this photograph today, in an email titled "Waqas being a good citizen;)." It brought back memories from that last morning in Delhi. It was such a coincidence meeting her there, at the airport, and I didn't know she took a picture while I helped some Indians fill out their emigration forms. Their professions: mason, carpenter, plumber. They were going to work in Saudi Arabia for two years, not knowing what lay ahead, not knowing how much they would miss their home and family in those 24 months.

14 Juillet 2008
11"x17" ~ watercolor on paper

approx. 11"x17" ~ watercolor on paper

Paris, Paris, Paris... the last is a carousel seen from the Eiffel Tower.

approx. 11"x17" ~ watercolor on paper

This is the famous church that Van Gogh painted in his last years. I started this when I was at Auvers-sur-Oise. It got all ruined and now here it finally is. I'll work from this and maybe develop some variations.

approx. 8.5"x11" ~ pastel on paper

approx. 8.5"x11" ~ charcoal, pencil and pastel on paper

These mark a transition. I am moving away from Roman sculpture and starting to tackle the other subject that interested me in Paris - the cityscape and architecture in general, and rooftops in particular. I want to tell the story of how this magnificent city converses with the sky above. Hopefully this is something I can pursue in the Delhi cityscape too, and thereby make some sort of comparative studies. But we'll see what happens...

The last of these is one of the lights on Level 1 of the Eiffel Tower - I go behind the scenes to unravel that magic.

Of course, the sculpture theme is far from exhausted! But I'll return to that later.

approx. 8.5"x11" ~ watercolor on paper

This didn't photograph very well, but I'm putting it up anyway before it takes its place in my portfolio. This was done one evening in the studio mentioned in the previous post.

This wall in my college room in Paris (the room i liked to call my studio) served as a sort of record of my adventures in the Paris art world, and beyond. It was a way to add color to this perfect studio with white walls and a wooden floor, a fridge and a desk.

The dilemma, however, was whether I should go out and explore the city or stay in and work. Because I had August to do a lot of the latter, I gave preference to going out.

I so want to go to Paris again - maybe next summer I'll look for an Architecture internship there...

28"x44" ~ pen-and-ink, charcoal, and watercolor on paper

This is (arguably) the largest portrait I've ever done. It started off as a pen-and-ink drawing, and then charcoal was introduced, and then watercolor too found its way into it. It was one of those instances when there's music playing, and you're open to possibilities and you let the drawing dictate its own terms. It was fun.

28"x44" ~ pastel on paper

Again, it was the expression on his face preserved in silver that really intrigued me. Though I had initially planned to continue with charcoal, I thought color might be a good thing to delve in at this point. This sculpture too was in d'Orsay. Below are details of the same drawing.

11"x17" ~ watercolor on paper

Before working on these, the last time I painted in watercolor was 2 years ago.

18"x24" ~ charcoal on paper

This is my drawing of a sculpture in Musee d'Orsay. The sculpture is behind glass because it has been damaged and chipped off at several places. It's color is a decaying grey-green. Despite all that, it is full of energy, and the emotion it holds (is it sadness, ecstasy, pain, yearning?) transcends time and space.

I have put up some sketches as a more focused continuation of the sculpture theme. As I mentioned yesterday, I love to add narratives of my own to these. I couldn’t help, then, to bring some of these to life, merely by adding a dark spot in the eye. You can tell those apart from the sculpture, where the eyeballs are blank.

You can also click here to view photography from the tomb of Abdullah Shah Ghazi (a famous Sufi holy man?). Muneeb and I went there today with his photographer friend, Hina. After that we went to the Karachi Seaview beach and took pictures there.

The Moleskine sketchbook that Bronson gave me on my birthday has been a very close companion on my trip. Because I easily forget things, the sketchbook has served as a guide and reminder. It has notes, phone numbers, hand-drawn maps copied from the internet, sketches and drawings, and also journal entries. These entries are not really for anyone to see but just for me to look back to and recall certain key moments and emotions in their freshness.

The sketchbook also held various cards, guides, tickets, and brochures at different times, and has grown and evolved as I have myself.

I have photographed pages with drawings of Greek and Roman sculpture from the Louvre and Musée d’Orsay. They have been a focus for me in Paris. Not only do they display great artistic skill and beauty, they also carry mysterious narratives. I care little about who these people are – I am interested in interpreting them myself and ascribing narratives to their lives. This may be the beginning of further exploration.

You will also find two sketches I did rather hastily during the light and sound show at the Red Fort in Delhi – it was dark and photography was not allowed. I look at these sketches and can relive the excitement of the show I experienced that night.

The strangest thing happened. I suddenly find myself in my home in Karachi, even though I had planned to have tea with Aman somewhere in Delhi today.

I got up this morning and decided to call Pakistan Airlines to make absolutely sure I would be flying out on Wednesday, July 30th. Ever since I had heard Jahnvi's horror story in which the airline refused to let her travel on an e-ticket, I had been slightly worried.

So it was "lucky" I called. Mrs. Farooqui at PIA told me with great assurance that my flight was confirmed for August 2nd. This was shocking because it was supposed to be July 30th. She said PIA had canceled the July 30th flight. I didnt have any hotel reservation for the extra days, and so their suggestion was to fly today, in three hours from then.

In these three hours I had to get dollars exchanged for rupees to pay off the hotel bill, go to the center city police station to offically "check out" of india (which all Pakistanis have to do), and then rush to the airport. I did it all!

The hotel people were like family by this time and they were very helpful.

On the way to the airport I got to see the Hindu pilgrims who were carrying water from the Ganges River. They had walked all this way and not once, the taxi driver told me, did they let the water containers rest on the ground. It was remarkable that the few I saw were barefoot in the scorching heat!

And now as I still feel like I must be in India I am sharply brought back to reality by the realization that I left some sketches pasted to the wall in my hotel room in Delhi - drawings that are not important enough to have mailed over to me, yet too precious to forget.

I walked around Chandni Chowk and felt like Enoo from Taare Zameen Par. I wanted to see the Light and Sound Show at the Red Fort, but it was much later on, so I walked toward the Jama Masjid to find some food that was not McDonald’s.

Pictures from the day can be found on Flickr.com by clicking here.

As I passed shopkeepers, autos, bicycles and samosa stands, it suddenly became cloudy and dark; there was a strong wind and the leaves began to rustle. Dust rose in gusts and blinded me. People became quiet and there was a strange excitement in the air. The monsoon was here and even as shopkeepers packed up their outdoor stalls in great haste, everyone was merry. The water would come, defeat the Delhi heat and cleanse the city.

Just as it started to pour, I found a small restaurant and entered. It was one of those cheap unhygienic places you never go to, but I felt adventurous. The food, which tasted really good and made me full, cost 15 rupees, which is about 40 American cents. I also got shelter from the rain. It turned out beggars and old holy men also came and sought refuge from the rain there and it was interesting to hear the conversations. I took a picture of the rain and then they wanted me to take more pictures: of an old man, of the coins the cashier was counting, etc.

Then I walked all around the mosque, and back to the fort. At the fort I must have seemed intriguing to the police guards (because of my camera perhaps) so they started a friendly conversation.

Do you like in Delhi or are you visiting? Visiting.

From where? I study in America.

What do you study? Architecture.

Where in India are you from? Uh… my ancestors used to live in Agra. Am I allowed to take pictures here?

I knew bringing up Pakistan would be inconvenient. After the recent terror attacks in Bangalore and Ahmedabad, a 20-year old photographer from Pakistan with a tripod stand would definitely seem suspicious. Besides, I didn’t lie because my grandparents had indeed lived close to Agra before partition. Our conversations were charming and pleasant, and I met them again on my way out.

The light and sound show was spectacular. It traced the history of the fort from the time it was constructed, through the periods of the great Mughal kings, the brief take-over by Nadir Shah, the British rule, the freedom struggle, and then finally Nehru and modern India. The buildings would light up, and you would hear sounds from different parts of the surroundings. This created a very real atmosphere and I felt I was living through history.

And since photography was not allowed I sat and drew in my little sketchbook, using just a pen. This apparently interested the kids and family next to me, and they started a conversation which was nice.

Later that night I met up with Jhanvi, a friend I had met at Princeton last winter. She and her friends were getting together and it was nice to get to know them.

Yesterday I worked on some sketches indoors during the morning and then I met up with Kav and Nienke, friends from Princeton, and had lunch with them in this very rich froofroo market in Delhi, which has really great bookstores, clothes, and all sorts of shops. It’s the kind of market where people dress up and go, as if to be seen – we have them in Pakistan too.

Uday invited me to dinner. His house is far away from the city, in the suburbs. It is a very large and luxurious country house. It was great to see Uday and meet his parents for the first time. They were very friendly.

It was a very cultural event. Uday’s parents’ friends were over (all of them rich and influential Indians, it seemed). There was a bar and the living room was lit beautifully. Everyone sat comfortably, and then the singing began. They took turns, and to the tune of the harmonium they sang classical and old Indian songs. It was a great experience to be part of this mehfil. The food too was superb – Kashmiri food mostly prepared by Uday’s father. I had some very interesting conversations with the visitors. I especially liked talking to Lekha, an old eccentric (in a good way) potter who would start speaking to me in French after a while – and then Frenglish.

Pictures from the day can be found on Flickr.com by clicking here.