An Evening in Paris ... er New York

As I leave for Chicago tomorrow afternoon, I know I will have a really good time. However, I'm also aware that I will not have the kind of experiences that are unique to New York City. So before I forget the little events of this evening, I want to create one more posting.

I’ve been craving an aalu anda (potatoes and egg) kati roll since last night, when I was too tired to walk to 46th and 6th, about a 10 minute hike from my apartment. Since I still hadn't lost the craving, I decided that I must have it for dinner tonight. Except that when I got to the vendor he was making the last of the two rolls from the ‘wraps’ that he had left. I was in half a mind to try and talk the white boy who was waiting for them to be ready, out of eating at least one. But that would have been too crazy.

After much pondering I reluctantly decided to get a biryani. Just then another Indian dude showed up. I asked him if he was looking for kati rolls, which he said he was. “They’re all out,” I said making a sad face. I don’t know if he was making fun of me but he also made a sad face in return.

The biryani was enough to feed three people of my size and I felt bad that it would go to waste since I would be leaving before lunch the next day and wouldn’t be back for a week. It was an extremely humid night. I began walking three blocks to get to the fountains where it would be cooler and more conducive to making my dinner more enjoyable. As I began eating, a normal looking, decently dressed young man came up to me and asked if I could spare a dollar. I asked him what he needed it for and he responded that he was hungry. He spoke very broken English and from his accent it seemed like he was from Russia. Probably living illegally in the city and not able to find a job.

A dollar wasn't going to do him much good so I told him that I’d be happy to share my dinner, the prospect of which seemed to genuinely please him. I motioned for him to sit down while I finished about a third of the rice. I was really glad that the food I had just bought wasn’t going to go to waste and what better use could I have for it than to feed a hungry person. There was an extra fork and napkins and as I handed over the container to him, he gave me a smile of appreciation and a thank you in return. Someone had for sure heard my concern about waste.

It was just 9 pm. I decided not to return to the apartment right away and walk around for a while, soaking out some of the humidity!

I’m convinced that I have ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ written all over my face. While I was whiling away my time two individuals came and asked me for directions and a couple on 54th street wanted me to take their picture. I could seriously make a fortune if I charged a buck for each time I gave directions and took pictures of tourists. I’m really not complaining. On the contrary it actually makes me feel good because I figure that I must look like I belong here.

Finally when I was two blocks away from 'home', I saw the same Indian kati roll customer coming towards me. We waved at each other as I marveled at the chances of crossing paths with the same person among hundreds and hundreds on the streets that I had just been walking.

Time for me to take a shower and prepare to go to bed at a reasonable hour. The rhyming there was completely unintentional!. Tomorrow is another day and I have a flight to catch. Chicago, here I come!

The Week that Was

It’s been one helluva week. I have very little idea as to where it went. As I begin to write this on Sunday night, I will try and recollect snippets from it.

Two nights of extreme drinking and staying out late. I actually hadn’t partied hard until this weekend. Wasted today in recovery. Feeling like I will never drink again.

Brain too fuzzy still. Will continue writing on Monday.

Watched the first hour of the three part mini series of ‘Bollywood Hero’ on IFC. In a word, it sucked. Besides it having every cliché in the book, what made it even more unbearable was the poor acting, bad direction, an awful script and inane dialogues. It had not one redeeming factor. And guys nobody wants to see the slum-ridden streets of Mumbai anymore. I already mentioned that it sucked, didn’t I?

I ate one of the best sandwiches of my life. The bread was a rustic baguette filled with delicious hummus, crunchy cucumbers, fresh lettuce and basil, romaine tomatoes and zesty peppers. It looked really big and I thought that I would only be able to get through half of it. Ended up eating the whole thing. Oh, and the best part – it was from an organic bakery.

I was waiting for a friend outside the theater that’s playing ‘In the Heights’ on Broadway. A random person came up to me and asked me if I was in the show. I didn’t blink and said yes. She said that she noticed me even though I was in the chorus. I commented that she was very observant. She replied that she had a really good seat. I said niiicccce. She said I was very good. I said thanks. Her seat obviously wasn't that good, I thought to myself.

I went to an Improv theater performance one evening. It was interesting. But I was extremely distracted by this girl with fiercely hairy arms in the cast.

Attended a 2 evening event called Beyond Bollywood and Broadway where snippets from several plays authored by South Asians were read/performed and then discussed. Very enjoyable. Met some interesting people. And some uninteresting people. Even got interviewed by a journalist of the Mumbai Mirror who was covering the event and who politely corrected me when I said ‘Bombay’.

It was pretty much dry all week. I didn’t need to use my umbrella.

Spotted Regis of ‘The Regis and Kelly Show’ and ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ getting into a cab on 67th street. If you’re not in the touristy part of the city, no one even notices minor celebrities.

Went to New Jersey (gasp) one evening and ate chaat, pav bhaji and channa bhatura. And lots of sweets. It was like being in the mother country. Gave me my India fix.

Walked an average of 5 miles every day except Sunday when I could only manage 3 (yeah, yeah it was the hangover). Making sure I stay in shape. Since I wont be doing any of that during my week in Chicago, I’ll just have to give up eating.

Sunday evening at Strawberry Fields, Central Park - no sign of the band that played songs of the Beatles, the Imagine circle for John Lennon was bare and undecorated (refer http://fightstereotypes.blogspot.com/2008_10_01_archive.html). Whatever happened in the past year? It was a little depressing. I left in a few minutes.

I can hardly believe that I’ve been in New York for almost 4 weeks. The sad part could be that I have barely a little over a week left in the city since I’m gone to Chicago for a few days. However, I’ve decided that sadness has no place in this trip and I will leave here with a smile on my face. There are still so many things that I need to get done before this year is over with and so all I want to do is to look forward.

The week that will be?

A Day in my New York Life

I was walking down bustling 9th Avenue, restaurants on both sides of the street. There were two women amongst so many others walking ahead of me. Both with shoulder length blonde hair. One had a very feminine backless dress on, the other one in a tank top and jeans. Tall, nice legs, shapely and probably pretty (I never did get to see their faces). The one in the jeans had her arm around the other while the one in the dress had her hand in the other one’s back pocket. Love was in the air and nothing and nobody mattered.
You don't get judged in New York City.

Again walking down the same street when the Heaven’s opened up without a warning. I spotted a little convenient store and jogged my way into it, remembering that I had to pick up sugar and biscuits to have with my morning tea. Once I was done with my purchase, I continued to wait inside, watching the rain come down hard. A woman, probably in her late 30’s walked in, bought a banana and asked for the biggest plastic bag that they had. Very efficiently she made three holes in the bag, one for her head, two for her arms and slipped it on like a blouse. Peeled the banana, walked out of the store, opened her umbrella and continued on her way.
Figure out a way to keep moving in New York City.

I’ve sublet an apartment close to Times Square, which can be annoying because of all the tourists but convenient because most places are either walking distance or a short cab ride away and every subway line has a stop here. I anticipated some minor issues in the apartment a couple of days into it and decided that maybe I should look for other options, just in case. So I began responding to advertisements on Craigslist and made appointments to see three places, all close to my old neighborhood. After I got done with viewing two of them I realized that I didn’t have the apartment number of the third one. So I called the person that I had made the appointment with and after he gave me the information he said, “Oh by the way, I guess I should have mentioned this sooner but I’m a nudist.”
He paused for a moment and continued saying that he wouldn’t be wearing clothes when he was in the apartment. I was at a loss for words and didn’t know how to react. I was still processing what he had just said, suddenly picturing my flat-mate walking around naked in the apartment. Obviously this wasn’t going to work out and as casually as I could, I told him that I wouldn’t be comfortable with the situation and there was no sense in my seeing the room. I had to know though, so I asked him if he would have answered the door in the buff if I had showed up. “Oh probably not,” he said. Probably? That was a close shave!
Bare it all in New York City.

It was a beautiful evening and I decided that I wouldn’t take the subway back to the apartment. Even though it was a long hike back, walking is one of the things I enjoy the most in New York. Besides, I wanted to visit my old neighborhood and walk through Central Park. About 20 minutes later, I felt a few drops of rain. The clouds didn’t look threatening so even though I didn’t have my umbrella, I wasn’t really concerned. As it started coming down a little harder I decided to stop and wait under the canopy of a restaurant on the corner of 73rd Street and Columbus Avenue. The sky got darker and the rain was now belting down. I began moving more and more towards the inside of the restaurant. It was getting windy and the canopy wasn’t helping a lot when two African American ladies with umbrellas decided to take shelter and share my space. Finally because of the winds we moved inside and began making small conversation. As the rain became manageable the ladies decided to head out. I came out of the restaurant with them but the rain was still more than a drizzle and it didn’t make sense for me to continue walking without an umbrella. One of them looked back and noticing that I was still stuck under the canopy said, “honey don’t you have an umbrella?” Nodding my head I said no. She came back and insisted that I take hers. “My sister and I will share one sweetie,” she said. They were both large women and one umbrella wasn’t going to do it for them. But she wouldn’t listen and I left the restaurant with an umbrella over my head and a song on my lips!
People are nice in New York City.

Needless to say, the city continues to fascinate me. Every time I think that nothing can surprise me, something does. From the lesbian couple who aren’t shy to display their affection, the woman who gets the largest plastic bag for a single banana in a grocery store, the nudist looking for a roommate or the friendly New Yorker. It’s just another day in my life here.

My New York Stories - Part 2 of many

I’ve written quite a bit about my stay in New York, the reasons I love it etc. It’s been almost 9 months since I returned from my 15 month stint in the city and as I get ready to go back next week, there are so many memories and expectations I am taking with me. Hopefully not leading to disappointment. If you haven’t read Part 1 of My New York Stories, this isn’t really a sequel ….

‘Twas the day before Thanksgiving. It had been less than two months since I had moved into my apartment on 75th Street by Central Park West. Although I knew that the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade was a really big deal, I had never been interested enough for even a television viewing during the years that I had lived in Chicago.

My friend Saloni was visiting me in New York for the week and it was past 10 pm. We had just gone through most of a bottle of wine and even though we had had an exhausting day, we were starting to feel like we needed to do something. Saloni suggested that we go out and continue exploring the city. To me ‘going out’ was always a good idea although I did warn her that the city would probably be dead since most people would have left to be with their families to celebrate the holiday.

As we came out of the brownstone apartment building we saw a sight that we were completely unprepared for. There were people everywhere. A sea of people. Swarms of them. Thousands and thousands of humans. Saloni and I looked at each other and burst into peals of laughter. We laughed until there were tears rolling down our eyes. I suspect it was mostly the effect of the liquor that made us laugh at a sight that was so unexpected. I had no clue why there were so many people in my neighborhood and I absolutely had to find out. As we continued to stare at the magnitude of people and realized that there was a line of sorts, there was also no possibility of us getting through the bodies to see what was at the end of it.

A few minutes later, upon questioning, an employee of the NYPD informed me that the floaters and balloons were being inflated for the parade the next morning on 76th Street. And that the parade would be starting just a block away from where I lived. These crazy people around me were here to get a preview of Big Bird, Herbie and Dora. All tourists of course, people I would have nothing to do with. So I grabbed Saloni’s arm and walked towards the opposite direction. I was a New Yorker. I had my pride and I wasn’t about to indulge in any kind of tourist activity! Besides, we were going to be seeing the parade the next morning anyway.

We eventually parked ourselves on a bench outside the Haagen Dazs parlor on Columbus Avenue and began ‘people watching’. Which I may add is one of the most entertaining and fascinating time killing activities in New York City. We decided to play a game where we would segregate the locals from the tourists. We had no way of confirming if we were right or wrong but to us it seemed pretty clear cut. The tourists were dressed in bright colors, clunky gym shoes, wearing coats that were either several seasons out of style or completely not cool. Their children were dressed in pinks and baby blues. On the other hand, the local kids dressed like their parents, in stylish grown-up overcoats, boots and most importantly wearing an urban attitude. No holding their parents hands, no whining for ice cream. Just minding their own business and checking out the sights.

Although the night that I’ve just described may not seem extraordinary, the fact is that it was no ordinary night for me. Just as each day that I spent in the city, I discovered that it had at least one more interesting and unexpected characteristic. All I had to do was to keep my senses focused. And recognize these traits.

There is always a story to tell, a talent to watch, some people to meet or just the city to view. The multitude of races that live in near-perfect harmony. All the things that give New York City the character that it has are endless. It’s up to each one of us to recognize and indulge in them. Maybe my eyes saw things that weren’t really exceptional to a pair in someone else’s head. Maybe my heart made the ordinary seem extraordinary. Whatever the case may be, next week as I go back to the city that I love so dearly, I feel that I will become one with it. I may just be one in a few million that I share the space with. But my experiences will be distinctive and the time I spend with New York will be ‘specially’ mine.

The Memory Bank

It was about 2:30 in the afternoon when I started making my way to the New Alipore branch of the State Bank of India. Even though it was cloudy and I was afraid that I might get caught in the rain during my 20-minute walk, I nevertheless decided to take a chance. I was on my way to make a deposit for my dad at the afternoon branch of the bank and in spite of so many years having gone by, I still remember the day as if it was yesterday.

New Alipore is one of the nicest residential neighborhoods of Calcutta and I was lucky to have grown up there. On two ends of it were two bridges, one was the Kaat pul translated from Bengali to ‘wooden bridge’ that was basically a short cut for the walking population to go towards Tollygunj. The other end had the more majestic Majerhat Bridge , bustling with traffic connecting New Alipore to the centre of the city.

Although the kaat pul was replaced with a safer concrete bridge while I was still very young, the name stayed.

To get from one end of New Alipore to the other, it was at least a 30-minute walk if you were a brisk-walker, which I have always been. The portion from where I lived to the bank, which was right by the big bridge, was a very pleasant walk on well-maintained tree-lined streets with broad sidewalks. On the way were a few ‘general’ stores which generally sold most things you would need on a day-to-day basis, my favorite Chinese restaurant called Kowloon, a Yoga school and some fast-food places that served a smattering of American and Indian fare.

Considering that I had left at 2:30, I expected to be at the bank by 2:50. Figured it would take me about five minutes to make the deposit and I would be home by 3:15. This is a little game I've always played. Timed my activities and tried to be on the dot!

It wasn't very busy at the bank. There were a couple of people ahead of me in line and the five minutes I had estimated for being there, would in all probability be just right. I handed over the cash to the teller and waited for him to finish counting it and hand me back my receipt. As he reached out to give it to me, I heard gunshots and saw four men in masks entering the bank, holding guns commanding everyone to stay where they were. A few moments later one of them, a tall, well built guy came over, shoved me aside and barked at the teller to hand over all the cash. One of his accomplice’s was at the next window. Another robber was going around making people stand against the wall with their hands up in the air while the fourth was in the Manager’s office holding a gun to his head, obviously asking for the keys to the vault. I also noticed an unmasked puny man with them, walking with the manager moments later towards the vault.

I remember being completely calm through the entire incident, very sure that they wouldn’t harm me or anyone else. Unless of course we tried to be heroes and as I looked around, I didn’t see anyone that fit the part. I also remember being terribly excited that I was witnessing a bank robbery and was almost licking my chops about the fact that I had such a great story to tell. And nobody I knew could possibly top this one!

Probably all of three or four minutes would have passed when we heard police sirens. A few seconds later, we saw the four masked men, running out of the bank with their bags. I wondered where the little guy was and found out later that the manager, a true hero, had managed to lock him in the vault. The other four had escaped and suddenly the bank was full of cops.

The rest of the story isn’t very interesting. Everyone that had witnessed the incident had to stay back and was questioned. The entire process took several hours. This was before the age of cell phones and for some reason we weren’t allowed to use the phones at the bank to make any calls. I knew that my folks would be worrying but there was nothing I could do. The grapevine in the neighborhood was very strong and before long my mother heard about the robbery. She in turn immediately called my dad at work, who rushed home. Soon neighbors and relatives heard that I, the only son of my parents, the apple of their eye, who had me after giving birth to four girls, was in the bank when it was robbed. Was I hurt? Was I safe? Was I alive? Some close friends and relatives came over to provide my parents with moral support. My dad and uncle stationed themselves as close to the bank as they were allowed to.

Finally at about 7:30 pm, we were allowed to leave. I came out and saw my dad standing by the car, the obvious relief on his face as he spotted me walking towards him. I was welcomed at home by my mother who was in tears and hoards of other people who were acting as if I had come out of some near-death experience. I seriously couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about. Those few bank robbery minutes were some of the most exciting minutes of my life. I couldn’t believe my luck when I was witnessing the incident.

I may have been an extra, a nobody in the crowd scene but for me it was the role of a lifetime!

What's your Purpose?

Many of you have been enquiring as to why I haven’t been writing my blog. The reason is that I am completely uninspired in Bangalore. This is a city that I’ve loved for a few years but have outgrown it. In this phase of my questioning life, it has very little to offer me. This morning I was reading the review of a just-released-in-the-US movie called '$9.99'. The movie is about how a booklet that costs under $10 gives you answers to the meaning of life and how it changes the lives of a few people! Ha! If only it was that simple ….

I’ve been wondering about the existence of mankind as a whole and my life in particular for the past couple of years. Apparently I’m not an exception as I used to believe and have come across a number of people, mostly during my travels and some right here in Bangalore, wondering what our lives are all about. Is there a higher purpose or are we basically here to make a career, support our families and eventually grow old and die? Or in other words, make our lives more comfortable while continuing the cycle of life.

No mean feat – some people do it better than others. Our education or business acumen determines our success in our careers as we pass those benefits on to our children. The way we were brought up determines how we bring up our children and just like at work, some do a better job than others, while some fail miserably. Behavioral patterns passed on to the next generation – some of us turn into our parents while others make a conscious effort of fighting those traits. Mostly with the intention of successfully raising their children.

I come across more and more people who are choosing to remain single. A few of my closest friends while growing up in Calcutta, as well as some of my newer friends in Bangalore have never been married. Thanks to Facebook, I am now in touch with many of my co-workers from when I first started my career and am a little surprised at the number that chose to remain single. A lot of people are of the opinion that single people bury themselves into their careers because what else are they going to do anyway. Most of my friends are leading very interesting lives, playing sports, making time for their hobbies, going back to school to pursue learning that does not have a correlation to making money, traveling etc. Oh yeah and also working to maintain a reasonably comfortable lifestyle. Sounds familiar? And here I thought that I was the oddball!

My question here is ‘do single people have a different purpose since we don’t have the responsibility of ensuring that our children turn out to be bright and good human beings who will eventually be an asset, in whatever small way, to the world at large?’
(Or more realistically, bring up our kids in a way that they will take care of us when we grow old and insecure?)
Or do we just make the most of our single status and lead frivolous but fun lives, having only ourselves to worry about?

While I am totally ‘for’ fun and intend having the best time until I have my health and enough in the bank, something in the back of my mind tells me that there is more.
While I feel blessed that I am able to see the world, meet different kinds of people, work when I want to and by and large live life according to my terms, that irritating little 'something in the back of my mind tells me that there is even more'.
Something more that I can use my skills for, make an impact and leave a little part of me behind.

I'm curious to get your thoughts and opinions. If you think I'm an idiot, I want to hear that too! Just back it up with why you think so.
Is there more to life than what I’ve been blabbering about in the last few paragraphs?
I’m fairly certain that there is more to my life. And I’m going to find out what the heck it is, even if it kills me!

My Students My Teachers

Let me proudly introduce you to my students.

The oldest, Rekha, who just finished school and would like to become a flight attendant. Confident, ambitious, aware, pretty much today’s woman. The only thing that’s holding her back is her (lack of) fluency in spoken English and the inability to acquire funds for her training school.

The next oldest, Neha, in her tenth year of school. Shy, conservative and completely the opposite of Rekha. Will probably get married by the time she’s out of her teens.

Manoj, who’s the same age as Neha. Crazy about Bollywood music, good in sports and loves clothes. I bet he dreams of growing up to be a movie star.

At fourteen, the next oldest, Tekchand a.k.a Teku, the sweetest and simplest of the lot. Completely clueless about schoolwork and can barely read either the English or Hindi alphabet. However, an excellent cook and the most sincere worker at home.

Little Vedchand, age twelve, looks eight, who completely hero-worships me. He’s always looking for ways to please me, has been trying the hardest to learn English, gets shouted at the most but is definitely the teacher’s pet!

Rohit in class/grade four, terrible speller, couldn’t care less about school, frivolous, loves to run around the hills, pick flowers, shoo the monkeys, anything that could get him away from his books.

Little Neha nicknamed Nani the female version of Pig-Pen, has a cloud of dirt and dust follow her wherever she goes. She’s a little monkey, cute as a button, climbs everything that comes in her way. Thinks studying equals memorizing.

Lastly, Lokesh, the six-year-old brat! The brightest in the bunch with amazing comic timing and a smile that would melt anyone’s heart. Undoubtedly everybody’s pet.

Teaching children is a much more challenging task than I had expected. And as I write this I can almost picture some of you thinking ‘I told you so’! Having said that, I’m completely up for this challenge although I also know that there are limitations to how much of an impact I can make in less than three months. I’ll probably be greyer and balder by the time I’m done, but if I can influence even one of them to become a better student, the hair transformation may be worth it!

So while I teach them English, Math and Hindi, I want to throw a question to the readers of this piece. Have you ever tried teaching English or Math using Hindi as a medium of education? Are YOU up for the challenge? I bet not! Until now I never realized that I could barely complete a sentence in Hindi without throwing in a word or two of English. I see the children getting a kick out of me struggling, desperately trying to translate from English to Hindi and getting tongue-tied. It’s embarrassing but at least I’m learning. So what if the teachers happen to be my students?

Additionally, my students are also teaching me:

That a samosa and a cup of tea is a treat. Maggie noodles are an even bigger treat and chow mein and momo’s from a Tibetan street vendor are the ultimate happiness-giver!

That a Rs. 500 ($10) cricket bat can bring so much joy and definitely beats playing with a stick.

That going to Shimla, which is a little over an hour away by bus, is a bigger event than me traveling overseas.

That an indigenous MP3 player can be called an I-Pod and be one's most prized possession.

That one can have a birthday party without a cake, without presents (except for the ones I bring), no new clothes, no party favors, no games, but still be a joyous celebration with balloons, Maggie noodles and paneer (cottage cheese) sandwiches.

That birthdays don't really get celebrated (until after I got here).

That one doesn’t need washers and dryers. Each one wash and line-dry your own clothes for crying out loud!

There are very few disappointments.

Whining is worth nothing.

When you fall down running around in the farm, it’s okay that there’s usually no one around to pick you up.

That even when it's freezing, its not 'too cold' or when the sun is scorching down during their 30 minute walk back from school, it isn't 'too hot'. Or a 30 minute walk to school isn't 'too long'.

And so on ....

These children have become such an integral part of my life. Everyday I feel a little more humbled and hope that I can repay them by teaching them things that can be learned from a book in return for the lessons that I’m learning from their lives.

The Incidental Tourist

I’ve been traveling across Himachal Pradesh which is a completely mountainous region for about a month now. Besides the amazingly picturesque places I've been to, I really enjoy the people that I’ve been coming across. Here’s a glimpse at the most memorable of them …

‘Brian the thirty-something-babe-magnet’ at Jimmy Johnson’s café, Manali, who had an audience of two guys who looked like they were in their early twenties from Canada and England. Actually Brian’s audience was the entire place because it seemed like he had a microphone installed in his throat – the acoustics didn’t have to be very good for his voice to reach every corner of the café.
So we all found out that both Brian and his sister are serial-daters. The last woman he dated was a sweetheart but terribly boring. Brian loves the outdoors and traveling to foreign countries, camping, trekking etc. While all she wanted to do was lay on the beach on vacation. If she hadn’t been such an amazing cook he would have left her much sooner and if they’re both still single when he’s 60, then he’ll probably marry her (I’m sure she’ll take her chances and stay single for Brian).
Just before he left the US for his travels, he met this 29-year-old high school teacher who wears long dresses and sometimes no underwear. She’d asked him to be his date at the school prom coming up in April. He was also told that he would have to be at his best gentlemanly behavior around the kids but of course she would make up for it later. Good thing that she made that clear – the babe magnet now has something to look forward to.
And the reason I know his name is that he often quoted people during his conversation. For example his dad said “Brian, this last girl you brought home seems perfect for you”. Which is when Brian knew that the time had come to dump her.

‘Rakesh, the life-saver’ drove three of us in a van that seats nine from Manali to McLeod Ganj. Since the drive was an all-nighter I was afraid that Rakesh would doze off at the wheel if the rest of us did. So I kept him engaged in conversation and listened to his stories. The most interesting one was about an American tourist who he drove around in his jeep across various locations in the Himalayas. When they got to some higher points in Ladakh (over 13,000 feet) she passed out as a result of altitude sickness. With the help of some local tribals they were able to revive her but due to the thin air and lack of oxygen she kept going back into a state of unconsciousness. With great difficulty he brought her back to a lower altitude and was by her side until she recovered completely. She was so overwhelmed with his dedication that she proposed marriage to him, which he didn’t accept. Mein mem se shaadi kaise karta – mujhe to English bhi theek se nahin aati (how could I marry a Western woman – I can barely speak English). I found his innocence and simplicity both refreshing and touching.

I mentioned that there were three of us traveling in the van. The other two were Vishvan, my nephew and Keren, a young woman from Israel. Rakesh, our driver, was extremely concerned that the two studs in the van (my nephew and I) would try to take advantage of Keren, which he confessed to me when we stopped for dinner. He was so upset about having such tainted thoughts about us nice guys that he stopped later at a temple to ask for forgiveness!

Keren, the woman we had the opportunity to take advantage of but didn’t, had been traveling across the Northern part of India for about a month and was going to stay until the middle of April. She kept talking about how sad she was that she had to go back and that she wished that she could be here forever. She worked for an insurance company and her boss kept calling her every other day to find out when she was returning. Which made me think that either she must be really good at her job or that she must be really good. We kept bumping into her during our days in McLeod Ganj. She wanted to marry me once she found out that I had a U.S. passport. Of course, she was just kidding. Right?

The hypochondriac animated American girl sitting at the next table at the organic café in McLeod Ganj who had irregular menstrual cycles. Except when she had lived with a guy for a brief time and guesses that having a man around was what helped (I assume she meant having regular sex and in retrospect am surprised that she didn’t just come out and say it)! She had tried regular medication, homeopathy and acupuncture with limited success. Now she was in McLeod Ganj doing a course in Yoga. What amused me most was the level of detail she went into when describing her problem and every treatment she had undergone and also the fact that she was so nonchalant about the entire café being privy to what I consider to be quite a private matter. I wanted to go up to her and say ‘find another man’.

Her Asian-American friend who actually seemed interested!

The nerd-English couple Vishvan and I struck up a conversation with at our favorite restaurant in McLeod Ganj called Oogos. They had ordered double stack pancakes, which were the largest pancakes I had ever seen. They didn’t belong in McLeod Ganj where all the Western tourists looked like they had just rolled out of bed, hadn’t showered in quite a while, didn’t look like they could possibly have ever been employed, wore ill-fitted clothes and had a travel-weary look on their faces. Instead these two (I’ve completely forgotten their names) were a doctor and a scientist, wore clean designer clothes, looked freshly showered, smelt nice (our tables were really close) etc. In other words they stuck out like a sore thumb. Minorities like us (Indians) in McLeod Ganj. They’d been traveling for six months – first to South America and then to India. Their favorite place was Peru and Dharamshala was definitely the ‘most interesting’.
I didn’t ask them to explain. Some things are best left to the imagination.

The couple from New York who I met at a book store. Had a question that I knew the answer to. They were in McLeod Ganj for an advanced Yoga class. Good looking and unfriendly. Brought back memories …..

March Showers Bring April Flowers

Tuesday, March 17 2:05 pm

I’m staring at the sky above me, wondering if the rain clouds that have suddenly filled up a portion of the sky are actually going to bring about some moisture. Or if they will leave as quickly as they appeared. I’m hoping not. The area has been dry for over 6 months – there was no snow this winter and everything is starting to look parched. My desire for rain is a little selfish though since right now I can only imagine how everything around me would look if it were lush green instead of a dry brown.

I’ve been in Mashobra for almost five days now. Five days that have definitely resulted in me losing some extra flab and feeling fitter than I’ve been in a while. Five days that have made me realize that in spite of being alone I am not even close to being lonely. Being a self-proclaimed out and out urbanite, five days of simple living have made me question if that is who I really am.

My biggest treat is going to the local market and buying some sweets. I’ve done it only once so far. I figure that if I have them too often they will stop being a treat. And then what will I be left with?

The best part about being here for me is all the walking/trekking that I get to do. Two, three hours of it everyday and there is no sense of being tired. Completely out of breath when I do the uphill climbs but not at all tired. Loving it!

However, three days straight of Indian meals consisting of roti (a whole wheat tortilla for the benefit of my American readers), daal (lentils) and vegetables cooked Indian style and I was really to kill for pizza. I knew I had to get to Shimla and eat something that wasn’t Indian and also pick up groceries that would get me through the next few days. Now I’m all set with cereal, whole wheat bread, soups, cheese etc. Not to forget a bottle each of wine and rum!

Just outside my room is an apricot tree that’s in the process of blooming. I take a picture of it everyday so I can tell the progressive difference from the day that I arrived until the day that I leave. I expect to post those pictures in about a week.

I must also introduce you to my canine friend, who walks with me every morning shortly after I wake up. We don’t know each other’s names because he doesn’t belong to the people whose farm I’m living in. He just visits me every so often and we either have a one-sided conversation or just walk around. I picked up some treats for him also yesterday as a reward for being such a good friend.

The clouds are still around. I have my fingers crossed. I want all the parched vegetation to have some relief and not be thirsty any longer. Maybe I should do a rain dance or something. I wonder if I could get the steps if I googled it. Anything’s possible.

Tuesday, March 17, 6:35 pm

It still hasn’t rained but there’s a complete cloud cover. I heard rain down in the valley and am hoping that we will also get lucky. I just got back from making kadai paneer for 10 people (the 2 Bahadur’s and their families). If they don’t like the way it tastes, they’re certain to keep me out of the kitchen in the future. Otherwise I’ve decided to make a dish for dinner every night. Join us if you can.

Mesmerized in Mashobra

I’m sitting on the edge of a cliff. I would be intimidated if I thought about how high up I am and that if I stumble over I could be in serious trouble. So I choose not to think about it and focus on the marvels of nature and technology. Here I am in complete solitude and silence, sitting on the edge of a cliff (couldn’t help bringing that up again for effect) and am still connected to the entire world over airwaves. No less than a miracle if you ask me.

I reached the town of Mashobra, which is about an hour away from Shimla (sometimes spelt Simla) last evening. Although I’m passionate about travel, I’m not too crazy about journeys. Which is why I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the 4 ½ hour bus ride from Chandigarh to Shimla followed by an hour to Mashobra by cab. The journey actually ended up being fairly comfortable and I didn’t get impatient or irritable. The bus initially had a request show that was playing on the radio. One of the callers was a street vendor selling pani puri’s (google it, if you don’t know what that is). He was requesting a song for his wife who was perpetually mad at him because every night he would come home late from work. His reason for being late was that after he closed shop at 11 pm, he had a ‘meeting’ to go to. Unfortunately the radio jockey didn’t go into details about the meeting so I’ve been wondering ever since what this post 11 pm meeting must be about!

Mashobra was introduced to me last year by my cousin, Madhu, whose friend has an expanse of absolutely gorgeous land in the area (actually I believe she owns a hill). Thanks to the hospitality of the friend I am now in the midst of mountainous beauty. A portion of the property is used as campgrounds for folks who come to trek in the area. The first group of this year is expected next week. Should be fun for me too. While they freeze their butts out in the tents and use makeshift toilets, I’ll be sleeping comfortably in the cottage bedroom with an attached bath and running hot water.

I don’t think I’ve ever been in such complete silence. I’ve been to very quiet places several times but it’s always been with friends/family. And the people I associate with are usually anything but quiet. So here I am, all by myself, surrounded by silence. I wonder if I will get tired of it at some point.

Well, I’m actually not entirely alone. A little bit away from where I’m staying, is another cottage where the help live, consisting of 2 men both whose names are ‘Bahadur’. The older Bahadur is the boss and has his family with him. The younger one seems like the errand boy and I’m unsure of his marital status and whether his family is also here. Thanks to the two Bahadur’s, I got my meals served in my room, my clothes washed and ironed and escorted when I went out for a trek this morning! They seem a little paranoid that I’ll lose my way and they’ll lose their jobs. I’m sure I’ll manage to shake them off by tomorrow.

Mashobra has been on my mind for the past couple of months and now I’m here. I feel truly special, lucky and blessed to be in such a marvelous place, surrounded by imposing mountains. I feel so small and in a way I also feel so big. I guess it must be because both the Bahadur’s are smaller in size than I am!

Reaching out to the Sky

Patience is not a virtue I possess in abundance. When I returned from New York to Bangalore I was all set for my next adventure. Except that I didn’t know what the adventure would be. There were rumblings of ‘working on a movie’, ‘making a corporate training film’, ‘taking up some consulting/training opportunities’ (zomg!) but they were just rumblings. I didn’t know which of them would materialize and more importantly which of them I really wanted to pursue.

Not knowing where my life was headed was driving me up the wall. Barely any time had passed since I had returned but I needed answers right away. I was waiting for a sign and not doing a great job at it! Shall I go back to New York? Shall I take up a job in Bangalore? Do I want to start a restaurant or an exclusive catering service? Questions that I wasn’t getting an affirmative response to. From myself.

And then one evening while I was having a chat with my friend Aparna (Paul-Jain) who, during the course of our typing, pointed me to this site that made my decision for me. I was going to be a volunteer teacher in the Himalayas! Suddenly New York no longer interested me (for now) and the idea of spending extended time in a beautiful mountainous region, teaching little kids English, living in a little room with minimal comforts, traveling to places that I’ve always wanted to go to and writing the book that I’ve been itching to … it couldn’t be more perfect!

Going back to New York would have been too easy in some ways. The hardest thing would have been to get a job in this economy but other than that I was going to be back in an environment I had lived in and loved. The excitement of exploring something new was missing and even when I was speaking to my friends in the Big Apple about the possibility of my moving back, my heart was someplace else. I’m not saying that I’m never going back to New York – I hope to and I would love for it to be my base city. But right now I’m headed ‘someplace else’.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always loved the mountains. It’s been my favorite place to vacation. When I lived in the US, I was so overwhelmed by the mountains in Colorado and Montana. It’s about time I explore the Himalayan mountain system, which happens to be the planet’s largest, and is home to the world’s highest peaks. My heart is pounding just writing about it!!

A couple of days ago I was reading a cover story of a magazine which said ‘2008 – Thank God its Over!’. Not quite my sentiments. I thought 2008 was one of the most exciting years of my life and I have my postings to prove it! I had the ultimate urban experience in the ultimate urban environment. And now its time to do something completely different. No more unlimited choice of restaurants, theatre, sporting events, bars, nightclubs, waking up to police car sirens, noisy neighbors, annoying tourists. I foresee a lot of silence. It’s going to be so dramatically different. It’s time to reach out to the sky.