A Place To Heal

A crowdsourced compilation of the remains of broken relationships is as intriguing as it is therapeutic, discovers Nitin Chaudhary.

- Nitin Chaudhary

SHOULD ONE EXPLORE a city or allow the city to let one discover her. I had long wondered.

Then, one day, I came to Zagreb, barely carrying enough clothes to last a weekend. I left my phone in the hotel room.

Without it, I was unmoored, like a paper plane in flight not knowing where it will land. But I trusted the city to embrace me, and guide me to what I should experience.

Zagreb is a patient city, serenely tolerating visitors getting lost in its streets and bylanes, and gently nudging the lost ones back on track with its beautifully calligraphed signposts marked with tourist attractions.

As I walked around, I stumbled on a figurine of Nikola Tesla, etched in white marble, and showing him in deep contemplation. It was late afternoon, and I rested beside it, wondering where to go next. Studying the pastel orange signposts for help, I noticed one that stood out. It said ‘The Museum of Broken Relationships’. I let the city guide me.

I walked past cafes that metamorphose into bars as the sun goes down, ice cream kiosks that pop up in the summer, designer boutiques that steal the quintessence of Zagreb and make it look like yet another European capital, till I came across a stunted hill atop which sits the museum. I decided to take the old, still functioning funicular, run by a gentle, equally archaic operator, for two Euros per ride. I didn’t have any change on me, and yet he waved me in, welcoming me like his city had.