Normal people worry me

The Big Fat Parsi Wedding

2012-01-16T09:09:00.000-08:00

Growing up in Calcutta, the biggest treat for me was an invitation to a Bengali wedding. While I couldn’t care less about the wedding ceremony or the bride and the groom, the anticipation of the meal that was to follow almost had my heart pounding. And although I admit to exaggerating a little bit, the level of excitement that I felt was pretty damn high. It’s been more years than I care to think about, but I can never forget the rows of narrow wooden tables laid out with paper, dinner plates of banana leaves and the delectable courses of the most amazing dishes that were served to us.

But let me stop myself here because as you can tell from the headline, this piece isn’t about the big fat Bengali wedding.

Sadly I’ve never had the privilege of attending a Parsi wedding. So why, you may ask, am I writing about something that I know pretty much nothing about. Or you could just read on and have your question answered.

Spento Cooper and his lovely wife Annie, owners of the Turquoise restaurants in Bangalore, have carefully hidden on the menu of their Indian restaurant, a 5 course Parsi wedding meal for two. When I saw that, my heart began to poun .... oh shut up already!! But seriously, I could not wait to try it. And there was no reason to (wait) of course.

So one evening, with gnawing pangs of hunger, I made my way towards the restaurant, ready to, in technical terms ‘pig out’. For those of you that haven’t been to Turquoise, you really should go, especially if you live in Bangalore. With two floors, one hosting European cuisine and the other Indian, the warmth of the restaurant immediately grabs your attention with carefully selected upholstery, comfortable seating, a large bar and very pretty lighting that change colors.

By the way, Spento turns into the head chef when it comes to serving Parsi cuisine at the restaurant and having got to know him a little bit by now, I could tell that he was fidgety! My growling stomach was making me somewhat fidgety myself. Settling myself down with a glass of wine, I was now completely ready to be served massive quantities of food.

Our meal began with the Marghi na farcha, batter fried chicken in masala paste. It was a decent way to begin, but in retrospect was the least favorite part of the meal for me. Unless you’re a big fan of chicken, my recommendation would be to get it packed and save your appetite for the dishes that follow.

Patra ni macchi or fish marinated in coriander chuttney and steamed inside a banana leaf was our second course. The authentic recipe calls for a pomfret fish, which is the way I had always eaten it. This time however, we had the basa version. The chuttney was delicately flavored with a hint of sweetness, not taking anything away from the natural taste of the fish. With the marinade being as good as it was, I didn’t miss the pomfret.

It was time for the salli boti, a dark brown, boneless lamb stew like dish with complex flavors of apricots and balsamic vinegar among a list of other ingredients. The boneless pieces of lamb simply melted in the mouth and the gravy was stunning. Although it came accompanied with a wheat rumali roti, I asked for a khasta roti to soak into the sauce, shamelessly licking my fingers at the end.

Completely full by now, I was wondering how I would get through the next two courses. Our final savory course was the famous Parsi dhansak, which Spento referred to as the mutton palau dal. The mutton cooked in flavorful rice, was served with a smooth daal and kachumber/salad on the side. Throwing caution to the wind, I dug into my plate as if it were the first course, overcome by the aroma and unaware of my lack of appetite. And since the plan was to pig out, I even treated myself to a second helping!

The dessert course came with two kinds of custards. The Lagan nu custard, a traditional home-made dessert with charoli nuts and an orange flan, both absolutely beautiful.

It was time to leave and I felt like I would have to be carried out of the restaurant. On the verge of food coma, I remember not getting hungry until late evening the next day. Which was a good thing for several reasons, one of which was that the taste of the meal lingered for a long while!

Two things to remember if you decide to get the Lagan nu Patru or the Parsi wedding meal at the Turquoise. Please give them at least a 24 hour notice. And even more importantly, bring a large appetite with you.

Twenty twelve

2012-01-01T10:57:00.000-08:00

Every year my aspiration is to have a flat stomach. Hasn’t happened so far but I’m not one for giving up.

Why is it that we have so many expectations from our lives, the lives of others and life in general when the calendar changes to January 1st? We go around wishing everyone a year full of adjectives such as ‘stupendous’, ‘incredible’ and in the case of my friend, Naresh, who got a text wishing him a 'momentous' year. When I looked up ‘momentous’ on the online dictionary, the sentence that the word was used in as an example was ‘deciding to drop the atom bomb was a momentous decision’.

I hope I’m not sounding cynical because that’s not what I’m aiming for. I’m simply dwindling with the significance attached to the start of a new year.

Of course I hope that in 2012 the stock market shoots through the roof, that everyone I know is healthy all through the year, corruption gets eliminated and I get to have a meal at Per Se. But that would be just a little naive, wouldn’t it? I mean really - $400 on a dinner just for myself when I’m not even earning?!

On the other hand, where would we be without that four letter word that’s such an important part of our lives. Get your mind out of the gutter folks, because I’m talking about ‘hope’. Even if we sit on our pretty little asses, we hope that things will get better in the new year. Maybe a genie will grant me three wishes (actually I would be happy with just one).

Or maybe I should have realistic expectations from the year. Since I no longer belong to a gym, don’t intend to get a membership and a significant part of my life revolves around food, it’s highly unlikely that I’m going to get that flat stomach. So instead I’m going to hope that I don’t add any more inches to it.

Instead of hoping that I make loads of money in the stock market, maybe I should just wish that I don’t lose any.

Everyone I know will not stay healthy all through the year. So let me just hope that they don’t get seriously ill.

Hoping for corruption to get eliminated would be complete foolishness. So I’m just going to hope that it’s a little bit lesser in 2012.

And since a New York trip is not on the cards this year, I can’t expect a miraculous freebie dinner at Per Se. So instead I’m going to hope that I have at least 3 other memorable travels this year. Kashmir, Turkey and Rajasthan are my top choices today but not written in stone.

Whatever it is that the new year has in store for us, by the time we get to December 31st, we would have forgotten much of what happened. When I was returning home from a night of celebration this morning, I looked around at people walking, jogging, out on their daily errands. An ambulance was waiting to transport a gentleman on a stretcher. Neighborhood stores were starting to open. I stopped at the florist where the morning for the people working there was exactly the same as the previous one.

Was January 1st 2012 just another day?

Ever since I woke up this morning, the R.E.M. song has been stuck in my head.

It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

Have a “momentous” 2012 everyone!

From Alba with love

2011-12-02T22:15:00.000-08:00

My piece in this weeks edition of Indulge. Unfortunately it's not available online.

James Beard award winning writer, Josh Ozersky, describes the unique aroma of white truffles as “a combination of newly plowed soil, fall rain, burrowing earthworms and the pungent memory of lost youth and old love affairs”. Doesn’t sound much like a mushroom, does it?

Of course the white truffle is no ordinary mushroom. Costing upwards of 4000 Euros a kilo, available only for a couple of months in the year, found only in certain parts of Northern Italy and auctioned only to the finest restaurants, these gems are not far from being priceless.

Which is why I could hardly believe that they had made it all the way from Alba to our very own city. Thanks to Gustavo Maurelli, Executive Chef at Bene, Sheraton Bangalore’s award winning Italian restaurant.

Our meal began with a truffle custard served in an espresso-like cup topped with a parmesan foam. I took my time savoring every tiny spoonful, letting it sit on my palate for a few seconds, tasting sheer luxury. A plate of only the best quality parma ham, buffalo mozzarella with truffle bits and a focaccia flatbread followed. I was starting to feel like a male Julia Roberts in Eat Pray Love with the finest symphony playing in the background.

There’s very little I can write to describe the food I was eating. It was almost surreal, one of the most decadent meals of my life. And I can boast of having eaten at a few Celebrity Chef, Michelin star restaurants across the world.

Our main course was a pan seared sea scallop on truffle foam over a crispy ravioli filled with mushy green peas. The scallop was so fresh that it melted in the mouth, the foam giving it a certain flamboyance that could come only from a truffle.

The pasta course was a duet of fettuccine in a light cream induction and a white truffle risotto. Both carbs were finished at our table with white truffle shavings. I had now moved from the symphony to the opera!

Chef Gustavo claims that his wife married him for his tiramisu. Going through our dessert course, an amalgamation of lady fingers, espresso and mascarpone, I found no reason to doubt him.

At one of our neighboring tables, one of the patrons asked the waiter for tabasco. Complete blasphemy! My sincere appeal to everyone eating there - please respect the white truffles.

The Birthing Station

2011-10-23T08:39:00.000-07:00

Over the recent past I’ve filled up one of my balconies with a variety of plants. Besides looking very pretty, the space began attracting some birds and an occasional butterfly. Before long a couple of pigeons scoped out an empty pot that was lying on the side and decided to start a family.

I was initially surprised to see just one egg but then a couple of days later I noticed that a second had been laid. My man-Friday, Rajesh’s presence as well as mine in the balcony aroused a lot of suspicion, but we knew we had to go through the period of building trust. A few days later, they became more comfortable with me (taking pictures) and Rajesh (cleaning). Cleaning became a twice-a-day chore thanks to their capacity of crapping all the time.

One morning, approximately two weeks after the second egg had been laid, I woke up and walked over to the balcony to check on the family, as had become my daily routine. I was delighted to see that between the previous evening and the next morning, I now had 2 appallingly ugly chicks as tenants! Little beige-brown furry creatures, being protected by their parents who became overly suspicious of my presence. Since they saw Rajesh outside on a regular basis, he didn’t seem to bother them any longer.

Over the next few days, we noticed that one of the babies was growing at a much more rapid pace than the other. We were concerned that they weren’t getting the smaller one enough food, so we started keeping some food outside, which would disappear in no time. Not being used to pigeon-tenants, I really wasn’t sure of the protocol, but I was beginning to learn. Cleaning their shit and now feeding them. Since the smaller child was clearly not getting enough due to the aggressive-ness of it’s sibling, Rajesh took the responsibility of opening it's mouth and force-feeding it!

Before long the parents began going out and doing whatever pigeons do during the day, leaving the children behind. After all they now had trustworthy baby sitters living in the same apartment. Rajesh, by now had gone to the next level and was bathing the little ones! I swear it was both hilarious and incredibly sweet at the same time.

Well, the kids grew up in a matter of time and left their childhood home to discover the world. The word about the birthing station though had spread in the pigeon community and before long we had new parents all set to start their family. Some friends inquired if they were the same parents, but this was a completely new couple. And yes I could tell them apart. After all they had lived in my apartment for several weeks. Sukanya, my friend and cooking partner, wanted to plan a baby shower for them, to which I had no comment. She was even starting to come up with the menu. Any excuse to cook. I couldn’t however, for the life of me figure out what gift she would get the parents.

The twins are now here since a couple of weeks. The parents have gotten a lot fatter and the children are growing at a much faster pace than the previous ones, thanks to catered meals by Rajesh.

Sometimes I worry that they’ll never leave because they have it so good here. Their lives will be confined to my balcony and they will miss out on so much. In which case I’ll just have to give them notice and politely ask them to leave. To find a new home, to meet other pigeons their own age, learn new skills and once they’ve met their life-partner, to then come back and have their babies at the birthing station.

Chapter 9

2011-09-18T06:42:00.000-07:00

I feel like I’m on the verge of an event that will change my life. If not an event, then maybe a revelation. I have no clue as to what it may be. But I can sense it, feel it approaching, almost reach out to it. Not having the slightest idea of what this may be is oftentimes frustrating, though I can be quite patient when the situation requires me to be. And on the other hand, sometimes the suspense is quite thrilling.

If you’re wondering as to how I know this, all I can respond with is, ‘I just do’. It’s a psychic ability I possess that I’ve kept from the world until now.

If you’re thinking that I’ve finally lost it, my thought process is completely the opposite. I think I may actually be very close to finding it. Finding that one thing that is going to clue me into the next and possibly final chapter of my life. Not that I’m planning on dying anytime soon! It could be an extensive chapter. One that my gut tells me is going to be very different from my past.

If you’re thinking that I’m going to get married, then you are completely nuts.

This evening I was having a phone conversation with this guy, Rabi, who’s making a movie. During the course of our call he began asking me about all the things I have my fingers in. The catering business. The script that I’ve written. The restaurant. Why don’t I write a travelogue? Why don’t I conduct cooking classes? My corporate past making sudden appearances. Etc etc. As I mumbled through my responses unconvincingly, I jokingly told him that since he was in the process of finalizing the music and songs for his movie, I would be happy to sing for free. To which he responded, ‘Is there anything that you don’t do?’

There are of course numerous things that I don’t do, though for a moment I felt like Anusha, the airhead VJ in Delhi Belly. The one who wanted to sing and act and dance and have her own ‘clothes-line’!

Unfortunately although I have the ability to do various things, I’m not exceptional at any one of them. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, considering my track record of how quickly I get bored and how short my attention span is. I don’t agree with the negative connotation behind the ‘jack of all trades’ figure of speech. If I was a chef and that’s all I did, I would begin to hate cooking. I like the variety. The option to wake up in the morning and decide which hat it is that I want to wear today.

Actually there is one thing that I do better than most. ‘Nothing’. I watched ‘Eat Pray Love’ a couple of days ago. There was a sequence in the movie that I could completely relate to - the dolce far niente or the ‘sweetness of doing nothing’ scene. I’m a champion at it. If there was a contest for doing nothing, I would be a top contender. Unfortunately for me, it’s not a recognized skill, even though it should be. If you think it’s easy, try doing nothing for a week.

So getting back to where I started, my gut or my psychic abilities tell me that I’m on the verge of something big, a life directing event (or revelation). Not a financial event because I think having excessive money is highly overrated and losing what I have would really suck big time. Not a career type event because I would simply get bored after a while. Not a life partner type event because one of us would kill the other within no time.

Not that being in the poor house or in prison for killing my spouse would not be a life changer, but I’m pretty sure that it’s going to be something positive. Something that’s going to make me go, ‘Ah, so this is the new chapter of my life’. Something that will also make me go, ‘Duh .. how come I didn’t figure this out sooner?’.

Something that I just can’t put my finger onto. But I can almost feel/taste/smell it. The reason I decided to share it with all of you is so that I could come back and say ‘Aha! Didn’t I tell you?’

Much Ado about Nothing

2011-08-11T06:03:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting in front of my laptop, hoping to write something reasonably interesting. Something that people will want to read past the first paragraph and either ‘Like’ or post a (positive) comment about. Or simply smile at the end of the one-pager, glad that they spent a few minutes going through it. After all nobody wants to write something that will bore the reader. And if you’re bored reading my writing, then there’s something wrong with you. Or at least that’s how I justify it to myself.

However, I can’t come up with one mind-arousing topic to write about. My brain is a complete blank. I’m attempting to scan it, desperately searching for ideas. Some clue that will guide me forward.

Still nothing.

Considering how much I love food, not just eating but experimenting with, it’s surprising that I haven’t dedicated a single page to it. Can’t say that I haven’t considered it as a topic. Several times I’ve thought about penning words that will make my readers hungry, have them fantasize about their favorite treat, get them to a point where they have no choice but to stop whatever they’re doing and walk over to the refrigerator to look for something delicious. And if the fridge isn’t cooperative, drive down to their favorite bakery/restaurant/snack shop to indulge, with or without the guilt.

But it’s not happening. I’m not quite getting the right words to fill up a drool-over post.

My friend Elsa who I’ve mentioned previously, is very witty. Actually most of my friends are and it’s really laughter that brings us together. When Elsa visited me recently, we would have these goofy conversations (as we always do), play on words, talk and laugh almost continuously. I remarked to her that I should record our conversations and publish them on my blog. She however didn’t think it was such a good idea. “It’s OUR thing,” she said. “You can’t just share it with everyone.”

So much for writing about my goofy conversations with Elsa.
(‘Conversations with E’ could be a good title though).
(I still think that it would make for a very funny read).
(Doesn’t help that I can barely remember any of those conversations now).

I could write about my travels. Travels outside of New York. Which I also happen to enjoy very much. The problem is that these other places don’t give me the kind of fascinating material that NYC does. And I’m very sure that my readers are sick of my (I-wont-name-the-city-again) posts.

P.S. I, on the other hand, am certainly not sick of writing about ‘her’!

As a last resort I suppose I could make stuff up. Pretend that something incredibly fascinating happened in my life that I must share with everyone. I could get ideas from the newspaper (maybe not - it’s all pretty much depressing news), lives of movie stars (but then I’d have to read about them and why would I do that?), lives of people I know (hmmm ... never mind).

I guess I have to accept the fact that my life is largely uninteresting. I’m at a point where I’m struggling to write about Something. Anything.

Instead all I have for you is a page about Nothing.

A sequel to The Love Affair

2011-06-23T10:44:00.000-07:00

Previously on The Love Affair ....
Is my love affair coming to an end?
I have no idea. But I figure I’ll have the answer in a couple of months.

I recently returned to Bangalore after spending 7 1/2 weeks in the US of A, 5 1/2 of which were spent in New York City ...

Week One could not have been better, staying with dear friends, perfect sunny spring days and nippy nights, the trees starting to bloom, tulips adorning the city, the return of outdoor seating in restaurants, the Tribeca Film Festival thanks to which I was in the same room as Martin Scorsese, Souleymane Cisse and Ed Burns, discovering a cart selling macaroons in Soho, my favorite meal, the Sunday brunch with a chorizo omelette. Damn! I was even toying with the idea of taking up a consulting assignment and staying back for a while!

Week Two I move into my sublet. Another almost perfect spring week except for a rainy Wednesday. Elsa, the friend I love to death and fight with a lot, visits from Chicago and we spend our days walking, eating, drinking, watching performances, getting to know Gabrielle the waitress/actress, Allie the bartender/model, Celine, Elsa’s niece/waitress/dancer, Michael the waiter/traveler ... there were others but I forget their names. We ate small meals many times a day so we could try out more places. We celebrated Cinco de Mayo, Elsa with beer and I with way more margaritas and tequila shots than should be legal, leading to stories about me that were told at parties later. I discovered that I loved the West Village and the East Village way more than Greenwich Village. New York still had the best pizza and bagels. Yes, life was bloody good!

Week Three was exhausting with my Culinary class, but also fabulous with me spending time reading my book and people-watching in various parks during the picture-perfect afternoons. Speaking of the class, I haven’t worked so hard in a very long time. It was like being on Top Chef, being constantly watched, afraid I would overcook the meat, have vinaigrette that wasn't blended (who was the genius that thought of mixing oil with vinegar?), limp salad leaves, measure incorrectly, cut my finger while chopping, burn my hand while flambe-ing. Fortunately none of that happened and our team consistently had the best dishes according to us!! After spending hours and hours in the kitchen Monday through Friday, I was ready to call it a week and sleep in the next 48 hours. What a ridiculous thought. Sleeping is a complete waste of time in New York City, even if you’re exhausted from a culinary class.

Week Four was a disaster weather-wise. It rained the entire week. Constantly. I don’t like getting wet. I kept buying and losing umbrellas. I hated that my shoes were wet. I began missing home. I wanted warm meals served to me. I didn’t want to do laundry. I wanted more space than just the room I was confined to. The parking garage across the street was too noisy and kept me up at night. The highlight was Pooja’s visit over the weekend, when the rain temporarily stopped, we ate scrumptious meals, bought some art from Union Square, ate cupcakes from a place that sold them out of a window in Soho, discovered that Crocs was now selling shoes that were actually wearable ... stranger things have not happened too often!

Week Five, I got more homesick. Pradipta, who was supposed to come and stay with me for 4 days, called to say that his trip had been canceled. Susan (from Kentucky) and Akshit with family (from Boston) however came in to town so I had some fun times with them. Brunch at the members only dining hall of the MET and the night at Greenwich Village, bar hopping, Southern Comfort shots and standing in line for kati rolls at 2:30 am were particularly memorable. However, the highlight was Sunday night at Washington Square Park, listening to Colin Huggins (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/31/nyregion/thecity/31pian.html), the Crazy Piano Guy (http://www.thecrazypianoguy.com/links.html), playing beautiful classical numbers, enthralling his audience, followed by popular tunes, incredible vocals by David Gordon and Nick Ganju on the guitar. Also the Crazy Dancing Lady, 60-something, visiting from Los Angeles who had had back and knee surgery and who wasn’t shy about showing her unique and endearing dance moves. The audience, clapping, singing (I sang every single song and missed my friends from Chicago like crazy), dancing, lapping up the entertainment being provided in the park. My $10 tip was too little for the magnitude of joy that it brought me. I had a lump in my throat and I wished that I could relive that evening over and over again. For a few hours I was in the zone and not thinking of home.

There were only a couple of more days left in New York after returning from a week each in Chicago and New Jersey. The purpose of my visit was to renew my vows with the city and reestablish my relationship with it. Despite the incredibly amazing time, I had a feeling that it was going to be goodbye for a while. As I walked around some of my favorite hangouts, I was struggling with my emotions. I was happy to be heading home and equally sad that I was leaving. I didn’t know when I would be back to maybe stay in the West Village, experience the unique vibe of the East Village, make friends like Shafik in Vive la Crepe, or David, sitting on the bench next to me in Washington Square Park, share life stories with the bartenders, Allie and Jeremy at Cafe 50 West, get the best foot massage in Chinatown, watch a guy in a suit skateboard to work, be surrounded by artists, musicians, actors, dancers....

Was this the end of our affair? Could the affair really end? Even if I didn’t come back for a while?

One of the people I met this time said to me ‘this city grabs you and never lets you go’. I heart you New York like I heart no other city. But you’ve got to let me go.

The Love Affair

2011-03-31T04:17:00.000-07:00

A strange thing happened to me the other day. A friend of the family sent an email out inviting me to a 17 day trip to Mount Kailash and Lake Mansarovar in September. Venkat, the sender of the email, is an avid mountaineer and participates in multiple treks every year. A couple of years ago I had expressed to him an interest in going to Lake Mansarovar and although there have been opportunities in the past, the timing was never right.

You’re probably thinking “so what’s so strange about being invited to a trek to the Himalayas?”.
I’m getting to that part in a bit.

As some of you may be aware, I am off to spend a couple of months in New York towards the latter part of April. I’ve always talked shamelessly about my love affair with the city, written several posts about it and probably bored many to near-death. It’s been 16 months since my last visit to New York and you would think that I would be euphoric about being there in a few days.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m definitely looking forward to it. I may even go to the extent and say that I’m excited. But the ‘strange thing’ is that (here it comes) I’m way more excited about spending 17 days in the mountains, 5 months from now. My mind has put New York into the back burner.

I had already decided that this time I was going to do things in New York that I probably hadn’t done before. I have no idea what they are but I’ll figure it out. Probably do ‘off-off-Broadway’ instead of ‘off-Broadway’ or ‘Broadway’. Find high-in-character, low-in-glitz, scrumptious-in-taste restaurants. Take photos in streets that have no name (corny I know). I’m starting off by staying in Flatiron, a location that is quite new for me. The rest, I guess, will follow. Oh and I have the Fine Cooking class that I’ve signed up for, friends and some family coming to visit me while I’m there. I know I’ll have more than a blast.

So maybe it’s the excitement of going to a new place, the serenity of the Himalayas, the being-one-with-nature that has got me more excited. I know I’ll be eating basic food, lugging my luggage, staying in tents, freezing my butt off. Doesn’t sound like too much of a holiday, does it? Then why is it that every time I think about it, my heart almost begins to pound? We all know the answer. I’m just playing with you guys!

Strange thoughts are now being processed in my mind. Thoughts such as ‘this could be my last trip to New York in a while’. It costs me a lot of money to visit the city that I love, largely because I choose to spend a significant amount of time there and renting a place in Manhattan is expensive. Maybe I need to channel those funds elsewhere and discover new loves (or hates). Until a few days ago, it was a given in my mind that I’d be making a trip to the Big Apple every year. I used to make fun of this friend in Chicago who, every summer, went with his family to North Carolina. Never went anyplace new because it was tried and tested and they knew what to expect. I could never understand it. And then I think that, am I really being the same way? Should I be making fun of myself now? I know it’s not the same thing because New York isn’t my only vacation of the year. But still.

Is my love affair coming to an end?
I have no idea. But I figure I’ll have the answer in a couple of months.

Homer Simpson and the Chicken Pox

2011-03-02T09:06:00.000-08:00

About a month ago I was watching an episode of The Simpsons in which little Maggie gets the chicken pox and passes it on to her father, Homer. Now I bet you can never guess who Homer subsequently passes on the virus to. And no points for guessing if you already know.

Yes, it was me. Talk about reality TV - this is hitting too close to home. I’ve decided that I’m not watching any more medical shows. Go away Doctor House, no reruns of Scrubs or the next season of Nurse Jackie. God only knows what I may catch from one of them.

While the chicken pox is not a life threatening illness, it sure is a life annoying one. The picture of Homer Simpson scratching his spotty body with a branch was embedded in my brain, wanting to do the same, but refraining from it. After all I’m not a cartoon character who magically will be spot free in the next episode. I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I heard someone say (over the phone of course, while wagging their index finger is the picture in my head), “Make sure you don’t scratch the lesions because they’ll leave a permanent scar”. Really? How come no one mentioned it earlier?

Now keep in mind that I could have no human contact, so the phone was my only connection with the outside world. In this age of instant communication, it wasn’t long before a significant number of people found out about my condition via the ‘have you heard’ method. So of course, I was kept entertained by many ‘when I had the chicken pox’ stories, as a child, as an adult, the unforgettable pain in the ass illness.

Thank goodness for the phone though. And thank goodness that I’m as popular as I am. Because on most days I had to charge my phone batteries both in the morning and in the evening. How else would I have been able to get through those dark two weeks?

Of course there were also the movies to keep me entertained. Before the Academy Awards ceremony, I had to make sure that I watched as many nominated films as I could. So I got The Fighter, The King’s Speech, The Social Network (which actually I had seen in the theater), 127 Hours (that one too!), Inception (oops, also in the theater), The Kids are All Right, under my belt. I’ve also downloaded Black Swan and True Grit but haven’t had ‘the time’ to watch them as yet, because I’ve been 'too busy’ on the phone.

Speaking of the Academy Awards, were they a big bore this year or was it just me bored to death? If this was the ‘younger and hipper’, give me the ‘older and frumpier’ back. Give me Alec Baldwin, Steve Martin, Billy Crystal, Jon Stewart back. Please. I could have used a few laughs.

So even though I’ve recovered from the virus now and the scabs have all fallen, I feel like I should be named ‘Spotty’. Thankfully my face is not bad but the rest of me is covered with pink spots, which means that I’ll be wearing long pants and long sleeves for a while. Eventually I hope to be spot free again. And by eventually I mean by the end of April when I fly out to New York, the coolest, awesomest and definitely the most superficial city in the world. I really heart it!

So here it is. My story of how Homer Simpson gave me the chicken pox and messed up two weeks of my life. It was the un-funniest episode I have ever experienced.

Writer's Blog

2011-02-07T09:25:00.000-08:00

It’s been a while since I wrote anything. I hope that you’ve noticed. I know that some of my readers have noticed and have wanted to know why. There is however, no reason. Except that I’ve been too busy traveling and cooking. And lazing. Which in all honesty accounts for most of my time.

Those of you associated with me on facebook or those of you that are actually in touch with me, are aware of my travels and experiments in the kitchen. Unless you’re a facebook friend that has ‘hidden’ me, ‘blocked’ me or someone who just whizzes past my status updates and pictures. In which case you’re probably not reading this piece. And if you are, I whizz past your status updates too. So there!

The first six months of my 2010 were spent writing my first ever script. Towards the end of those six months I went through narrating it to various people and every time I did, I felt less comfortable with it. So I decided to take some time off and come back to it with a fresh perspective. I hadn’t counted on taking 7 months off but I couldn’t really help it. I was having too much fun. And I excelled even more at being lazy.

Having just returned from my holiday in Kolkata, I have now decided that enough is enough. I must begin writing again. Correction. I must begin re-writing again. Make my script more interesting, change the personality of one of my protagonists, add some mystery to it. The intent is good. The mind needs to work creatively.

The past 4 days I’ve been watching movies like there’s no tomorrow. Good movies. Bad movies. Ugly movies. Hoping to learn something from each one of them. What works and what doesn’t. Most of the time I’m going, ‘edit that scene dammit!’, ‘too much conversation ... losing interest’, ‘the dialogues suck!’, ‘the script needs to be tighter’, ‘could you end this movie already?’ and then once in a while ‘what a brilliant scene’, ‘perfect characterization’ etc. etc.

Sigh. I may never get done with my movie. My expectations are too high. I demand too much from myself. My mind is too damn critical. I will NOT be associated with yet another crappy movie!

"Calm down", I tell myself (yes, I admit that I speak to myself). "Do the best you can and put it out there"
"But .. what if everyone hates it"
"They wont"
"But what if they do?"
"People who like you will pretend to like your movie"
"But I’ll see through their insincerity. You know I will"
"Well .. then ..."
"What???"
"Just go into hibernation. Don’t show your face to anyone after that"

I guess I could do that. Or maybe I could get a new identity and a new face. A sharper nose for sure. Could I maybe get a new body? Taller body? It would be completely worth it. And fun too. I’d lead a whole new life. Imagine starting out afresh. This could really work. Either way I win.

So dear reader, I must end this piece now and go back to my half-assed script. None of us know what the outcome of this exercise will be. Whether I will ever get done. And if I do, will I find someone to make the movie. And it can’t be just anyone. It has to be somebody good or nobody at all. Will the movie work? Will everyone love it? Or will everyone hate it? Or will some people love it and some people hate it? And some people simply like it? Will I walk the red carpet? Will I win an award? I have no frigging idea. All I know for sure is that I’m going to have more than a good time through the process.

And if I do end up becoming famous, I’m going to get myself a whole new set of friends.

Life, Lemons and Lemonade

2010-08-22T00:31:00.000-07:00

Recently life gave me a bunch of lemons.

I was at my friend Ramji's farm outside of Auroville less than two weeks ago, and as we were touring the place, he asked me to help myself to the freshly fallen lemons from the trees. So with an (unused!) garbage bag in hand, I began collecting beautiful organic lemons. On the way Ramji even plucked me one of the best tasting papayas I've had in a very long while as well as a bunch of bananas.

I had a party planned for the day after I was returning back to Bangalore, where I was expecting approximately 35 guests. I had asked Rajesh, my man-Friday to buy some lemons/limes, which we would need for some of the items that were being served as well as the jugs full of cocktail that I would be making. Usually he buys fewer lemons than what I need and ends up having to run out for more. This time he did the opposite as a result of which I had a lemon filled kitchen and refrigerator. Although I had no idea what I would do with them, it still made me happy.

I love lemon tarts and lemon pies and lemon cup cakes. All I have to do is ask Rajesh to make them. How much easier does it get? Unfortunately I had promised myself that once the party was over, I was on a strict health regime. Regular work outs and no sweets. Too many holidays in the recent months had resulted in flabbier love handles and my pants being uncomfortably snug.

So yeah, desserts were out. It pains me even to write that as I salivate for excessive sugar filled treats, instead of settling for a bowl of organic granola that I picked up from the Auroville store. Somehow it just doesn't send the same signals to the part of the brain that is looking for a slice of decadent chocolate cake, maybe some pecan pie or the apple strudel cheesecake from Olive Beach that made my taste buds ecstatic. Dammit, I'd even settle for the chocolate eclair from Cafe Noir!

However, I digress here. Getting back to the lemons, I was still in a fix. Whoever said, 'If life gives you lemons, make lemonade' obviously wasn't thinking 'quantity'. I wasn't about to make myself a tub full of lemonade. After much deliberation, I decided that the only option was to pickle them. As much as I am into cooking, eating, feeding, I have never tried pickling. And never thought that I would. Even Jamie Oliver couldn't get me to watch his show about pickling for the winter months.

Strangely enough a couple of weeks ago, I had stumbled across a site that had an easy recipe for pickling lemons. Almost as if I had a premonition about the farm lemons. Once I got back home however, the site was not to be found. I even went through my web history but for the life of me, there was no such link. Had it been a dream? And if so, why in the world would I be dreaming about lemon pickle?

I knew that I had to take matters into my own hands and call my aunt who is famous for her pickles (among other treats). I asked her for the easiest lemon pickle recipe she had, bought myself a couple of jars and gave the instructions to Rajesh! This morning I woke up to find one of the jars filled with lemon wedges sitting in the balcony. It's a multi-part process and right now they're just soaking in the salt. I'll let you know how they turn out.

Moral of the story: When life gives you a lot of lemons, pickle 'em!

Mother's Day

2010-05-08T22:37:00.000-07:00

Every year on Mother’s Day I plan to write a piece about my mom. The reason I end up not writing it is I’m afraid that the outcome will be sappy, which I don’t want it to be. Yes, it would be quite easy for me to do a lump-in-the-throat-post that will talk about several tender memories, which will get the reader all emotional, after which they will post a comment saying how sweet the piece was.

Being the youngest of five siblings meant that my mom had me quite late in her child-bearing life. As a result, my dad and mom often felt like something between parents and grandparents to me. I’m trying to come up with a clever name for this relationship but my mind is drawing a complete blank.

My mom, who also happened to be born on this date, May 9th, was all of 4 foot 10 at her tallest. As she grew older, she began shrinking, with the result that I, who by no means am I tall man, began towering over her. My parents used to live with me in Chicago and I remember one time my dad’s colleague came over to our apartment. She took one look at my mom, gave her an enormous hug and said ‘I never thought of myself as a giant!’

The first impression that my mom gave to most people was of a warm and affectionate little lady who cooked great meals, who was a dutiful wife/mother and who lived in the shadows of my dad. Ha! Those people could not be more wrong! And although my mom was sweet and loving and warm and affectionate, they hadn't been privy to the feisty woman behind that calm exterior.

Any time there was an ugly situation that involved anyone in the family, she would be in the front, fighting for one of us. When my dad, who owned a factory that was heavily labor intensive, ran into financial trouble and wasn’t able to pay his employees, my mom was the one who broke the news to them, built a case and asked for more time. When she didn’t have enough money to run the house, she was out there, pawning her jewelry , borrowing money and never letting us feel like we were in any kind of trouble.

Not only did she bring up five children in her home, for many years she even managed a couple of hundred more as the Principal of a school. In her fifties she studied Homeopathy and began working in a charitable clinic.

She threw great dinner parties, right from intimate meals for a few to catering for a hundred people on my tenth birthday and a hundred and fifty guests at her own daughter’s wedding! Now that you have to admit is unique!

My mother was the most social person I knew. Growing up in Calcutta, she knew everyone that lived in our neighborhood and if she didn’t know them, they knew her. When I bought my home in Naperville, Illinois, in a primarily white neighborhood, it took her no time to get to know the neighbors. She never got fazed by her accent, the fact that she was the only saree wearing woman or that even ten year olds were taller than her. One evening when she and I were out for a walk, I was amazed at her being greeted with a ‘Hi Champa!‘ by both children and adults. Not just amazed, I was impressed and proud.

I could keep bragging about my mother but I don’t want to OD my readers!

Mom went through a very hard time the last three years of her life. It was a big chore for us to get her to eat anything. Anything besides puchkas/pani puris, which was something that would always light up her eyes!

I’m celebrating her birthday this evening with her favorite treat. And I’m pretty sure she’ll be out there watching and getting a taste of it too!

Happy Mother’s Day to all you lovely, feisty mothers out there!

The Japanese Wife

2010-04-14T02:30:00.000-07:00

Last evening I watched a movie called The Japanese Wife by one of my favorite directors, Aparna Sen. Quite honestly, I think Ms. Sen holds that position in my mind, not only for her superlative movie making skills, but also because she’s so stunning, possesses a charming Bengali intellect and finally for a reason that makes absolutely no sense, visited my parent’s home when I was a little boy!

The Japanese Wife, adapted from a short story by Kunal Basu is about Snehamoy, a young man living in small town Bengal, and Miyagi, a young Japanese girl, both of who are manic introverts and who find friendship, love and their life partners without ever having met. Their friendship bonds into marriage when Miyagi sends him a silver wedding band engraved with her name and Snehamoy responds by sending her vermilion for the parting in her hair and conch shell bangles, both of which signify a woman's marital status in Bengal.

The movie reminded me of the play Love Letters, as much of it is shown through letters that the two protagonists write to each other over a period of seventeen years.

Snehamoy lives with his aunt who tries to fix him up with her God-daughter at which point he confesses to her that he is already married. Several years later the God-daughter who loses her husband, comes to live with them along with her young son.

The movie is largely about Snehamoy’s relationships with Miyagi, his aunt, her God-daughter and the little boy. Except for the kite flying sequence, The Japanese Wife is a quiet movie that one has to feel from the inside.

It’s no surprise that the lead characters live in remote towns, where lives are simple, expectations low, dreams free and joys many. I have no idea if such places continue to exist, but to me the movie was set in a different time. A time that, although I’ve never experienced personally, having always lived in a large metropolis, do believe used to exist. A time that Ms. Sen took me to, using all her creative and technical tools of cinematography, music, dialogues, location choices, body language etc.

In this age of instant gratification, can one really fathom a long distance friendship that transforms into love, culminates in marriage and embeds into a commitment that only gets deeper over time? Can love really be built out of words (writing in English, which both of them are not fluent in), photographs and memorabilia? The movie makes you believe in all of the above and that to me is a huge triumph.

In this age of 3D, larger than life characters, over the top sequences, special effects, etc etc, can a small, heartbreaking movie like The Japanese Wife really work? I think we all know the answer to that, but I will continue to believe that it did and it will. And I thank the film makers who bring a small group of people a large amount of joy by believing in the same thing.

The Answer

2010-02-28T01:58:00.000-08:00

A few minutes into a conversation with someone new, I get asked the proverbial question. The answer to this question could either be potential for conversing longer or could nip this possible new friendship/acquaintanceship in the bud. The question that, depending upon my state of mind or depending upon the person that’s asking, I could respond to in many different ways.

The question of course being, “So what do you do?”

Now we all know that the person with the inquiring mind wants to know what I do for a living. Not what my hobbies are or what I do in certain situations or even who it is I may be doing. He or she may as well be asking, “So where is the money coming from?”

It’s a perfectly reasonable question to ask when one is meeting someone for the first time. I myself have asked the same question innumerable times and got answers like “I work for Infosys” or “I’m a Systems Analyst” or some such thing. Since I live in Bangalore seven out of ten people I run into are working in the IT industry. Just like I used to. The other three are usually either working for an event management company, are healthcare professionals or are running their own business.

So getting back to the question that I have many responses to.

Response to the person I don’t care if I ever meet again.
“Nothing”
The person looks at me quizzically and repeats the word ‘nothing’ with a question mark at the end.
At this point I usually sigh and say, “Of course I do a lot of things but none of them pay me.”
And before the mouth opens again to form words, I say something to the effect, “I quit my job a while ago. Am trying to figure out what I want to do next.”
(Even though I’m actually done figuring out).

Response to the person I definitely never want to meet again.
“Nothing”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah nothing. Excuse me I need to use the restroom.”

Response to the person I’m messing with.
“I travel … and I read … and I’m a big movie buff …”
“No I mean where do you work?”
“Where’s the time for work when I’m doing all this other stuff?”
“So you don’t work?”
“I work out – does that count?”

Response to the person that loves to talk about money and possessions.
“I used to work in the IT profession.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t. It’s been a while since I quit.”
“So what do you do now?”
“Nothing that pays me.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Dead serious.”
“Why would you quit? I bet you made a ton of money.”
“Wasn’t a good enough reason to keep working in a profession I had begun to hate.”
“So where does the money come from?”
“It doesn’t?”
“Are you rich?”
“It depends. How much money do I have to have to be rich?”
“So you have NO income?”
“Well, I lied. I have an apartment that I’ve rented out.”
“You couldn’t possibly live on that.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that.”
“How much were you making when you quit?”
At that point, I decide that I need to use the restroom. To barf.

Anyway, I decided that I’d had enough of these games. There was no way I wasn’t going to meet new people and there was no way I could stop them from asking me what I did. Especially when I know, what it is that I do. Even if it doesn’t bring me any money. As yet.

This morning I sat with my Macbook and designed myself a business card. After I was done with lunch, I drove over to the Printo by my place and had them print 96 of them. I think they look really snazzy.

The next time I get asked the question, I plan to reach into my pocket and hand out my new business card that says “Ratan Sethi, Writer”.

In with the New

2010-01-05T02:49:00.000-08:00

2009 was the first full year I spent not working towards making money. It’s been nineteen months since I quit my job. A job that provided me with a monthly salary, health insurance, airline miles, hotel points and the choice to live in New York. That choice of living in Manhattan, having a one-bedroom apartment with a nice address, fine dining, theater, sporting events etc. was lost the day I decided that working in the IT profession was too high a price to pay. I stayed back on for four more months until my savings depleted away to nothing.

Moving back to Bangalore was tough, to put in mildly. Way tougher than I had expected. Way, way tougher than it had been moving from Chicago in spite of having lived there much longer. I was in the biggest funk, completely unable to shake off the Big Apple from my system. In a few choice words, 2009 started for me with a whole lot of whining, complaining, bitching, moaning and groaning.

Thankfully 2009 ended for me in a very different way. The city was the same in January last year, when it had annoyed me to no end, as it was in December, when I was happy to call it 'home' again. Over the course of the year, my many journeys and the experiences I had, taught me to accept my surroundings and focus on what I had, instead of what I could’ve had. After all, no one had twisted my arm and made me quit my job! As much as I wanted to have the most decadent chocolate cake, I couldn’t possibly eat the entire thing too. Something had to give. In this case it was my ‘attitude’!

My time in the Himalayas gave me a better understanding of who I am as an individual. Not as a son, a brother or a friend. It also made me appreciate the little things, through the eyes of the children that lived close by and were pretty much the only company I had. It took three months of solitude for me to be bored with myself. Three months is a long time. I could very easily bore most people in less than a few hours. Or even during the course of reading this piece.

Summer of 2009 in New York made me realize that as much as I loved the city, I missed the proximity of family. My sister who used to live in New Jersey had moved from there and that had created a vacuum-of-sorts. In some inexplicable way, this time I felt a little disconnected. Was it the superficiality or had I really moved on? I know I will never stop loving New York (in fact I’m already planning my next visit there) but it seemed like the honeymoon was over. My next visit will tell for sure!

My ten weeks in Hong Kong reminded me of the importance of being healthy. And as long as we have our health, we must make the most of it. My cousin, who is bravely going through a rough period of illness, is an example of having the right attitude. If she can smile her way through her discomfort, what the heck do I have to bitch about?

And finally after bonding with family and friends in Delhi, Chandigarh, Chicago, Chennai and Coimbatore (city names that start with a 'C' were obviously very popular in 09!) over the course of the year, I came back to Bangalore, the city with near-perfect weather and where my year began. I’ve gone from war-zone streets by my previous apartment to torn-up sidewalks by the current one. The street widening, laying new drains and other such projects have a way of following me. Maybe I’m being put to the test except that I haven’t figured out why. I do however know that I’m not going to let it bring me down. Because this is the new me. The non-whiner, non-bitcher, non-complainer, non-moaner and non-groaner.

I have a really good feeling about 2010. There’s so much I’ve planned to do. I want to
Write a lot
Experiment with gourmet cooking
Travel to places I’ve never been to before
Stop Procrastinating
Get fitter
Laugh more
Spend quality time with family
Make new friends and keep the old ones
… more

Not to forget, somewhere along the way, figure out a way to pay for all of this. Minor details.

I doubt if I’ve had such high expectations from any year in the past. And I also know that things don’t happen on their own. So I guess it must be that I feel so ready to make a dent. I’m sure each one of you also has lots to look forward to. So let’s work towards it and make it a landmark 2010.

Happy New Year!

An Evening in Paris ... er New York

2009-08-18T05:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-18T05:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-28T07:58:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-14T22:20:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-30T23:57:00.000-07:00

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.

It was 2:30 in the afternoon when I left. I expected to be at the bank at 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?

2009-06-18T23:43:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-23T19:33:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-03T03:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-17T06:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-13T02:18:00.000-07:00

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 outhouse 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 outhouse 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

2009-01-06T04:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Home is Where the Heart is - the Sequel

2008-12-30T06:55:00.001-08:00

I know the previous post was supposed to be my last for the year. But it wasn’t. So shoot me!

This one is basically to respond to all of you that reacted to my last post either by leaving a comment, sending me an email, calling or chatting with me online. In this post I will just respond to the comments and that should also take care of the emails that I received.

Naresh – I appreciate the encouragement but I’m not moving back to New York. At least not yet. You are however, still going to lose a friend in Bangalore as I’m not staying here either!

Aparna – I can’t believe you actually put a public comment out there. It was great spending the time with you in New York and briefly in Chicago – even though I’ve decided against moving back (for now), I will still see you in 2009 when I visit.

Madhu – You’re right I was restless towards the end but I think a short visit back would have taken care of that state of mind! Also the fact that I was running out of cash could have had something to do with my restlessness!

Mike – Dude … I honestly had no good reason to move back when I did. My plan was to spend a year or so in New York. I thought I was done and should try something new. I still had my house/car etc back in Bangalore so I hadn’t really gone with the intention of staying for too long. I especially hadn’t counted on falling in love with the city!

Rashi – Its funny how you’ve known me for such a short time and you still know me well enough to say ‘but knowing you, you never know’. So true. The last thing I want to be is predictable! I do appreciate the welcome with open arms and hope to see you guys in 2009.

Sheetal – I don’t think I have an issue with feeling a sense of belonging. I’ve never felt that I didn’t belong in any of the places that I’ve lived in but I’ve also never felt that I belonged in New York as much as I did! As my friend Elsa put it - “it’s love”. I think it is. But sometimes one has to work to obtain one’s love and that’s what I need to do right now!

Susan – That was such a sweet comment. I was truly touched. Who knew that two strangers sitting across from each other at the airport would become good friends and have so much in common.

Uma – I’m at a point where I don’t think I could live in Bangalore for 6 months in a year. I think that I’m pretty much done with this city!

So are you wondering what I’ve decided to do in place of moving to New York? I hope that I’ve perked up your curiosity. I will reveal my plans to you in the New Year. Meanwhile have a safe and enjoyable time on the 31st night/1st morning and I hope that 2009 brings us all peace and a better economy.

Home is Where the Heart is!

2008-12-23T03:59:00.000-08:00

Until a couple of years ago I felt that I was going to live in Bangalore for the rest of my life. At the time I hadn’t counted on evolving and having different expectations as time went on. More importantly, I hadn't discovered 'living in New York'!

Two months ago after I returned from my 16 month stint in New York some people asked me whether I thought Bangalore had changed. My response to that was that I didn’t know if Bangalore had changed or not but I sure had!

I feel that Bangalore doesn’t offer me the kind of life that I would like to live. In addition, after living in a little apartment in New York, the size of my penthouse is beginning to embarrass me. I question myself as to why I need to have so much space. If I could have my way, I would sell my apartment and move into a more modest sized one. Unfortunately with the economy going through a time of turmoil, the practical side of me tells me that this is not the time to sell.

It’s been two months since I returned and I’m still unsettled. In one of my previous posts I had mentioned that I felt like a New Yorker the day I moved in. I am however, not feeling like a Bangalorean in spite of having lived here for several years and having felt it previously.

Some of my friends in the US had warned me that I was going back too soon. And although in my heart of hearts I too was afraid of the same, I thought that once I came back I would forget it all and be happy here.

Why is it that Bangalore doesn’t feel like home any longer? What is it that I miss about New York that I would like it to be home at this stage of my life? Here’s a list of things that come to my mind.

- More than anything I miss the energy of that city. I have never felt more alive than when I was in New York.

- I miss the variety of people one gets to see and meet. Walking on the streets, being in the subway in a city made up of Caucasians, African-Americans, Hispanics, South East Asians, South Asians, etc.

- I miss being in the culture capital of the world – Broadway, art exhibits, book launches, movie premiers, writing workshops ….

- Central Park. It was such an integral part of my year – my escape from the hustle and bustle, when I wanted to enjoy the weather and read my book, walking through Strawberry fields, Bethesda fountain, the vibrant change in colors from the lush greens, the purples, yellows, oranges to the bare browns or the snow covered stark white.

- I miss walking to the bank, the grocery store, the post office, the barber shop, the cleaners, the restaurants …. I just miss walking in New York!

- I miss the variety of restaurants, the New York style pizza, the over-hyped Magnolia cup cakes, the best pancakes that I’ve ever had at the W and the Four Seasons, the Martinis, Chinatown, Little Italy, the absence of chain restaurants, the overwhelming presence of Sushi places, Sunday brunches etc.

- I miss the eye candy!

- I miss my Upper West Side neighborhood, the C train, the Red line, SOHO, Greenwich Village, Riverside Park. I even miss Times Square!!!!

I mentioned to a friend in New York over chat yesterday that I was considering moving back. Her response was that I was crazy and I asked what was wrong with that. To which she said ‘Absolutely nothing! It’s completely okay to be crazy!’

I don’t know if I’m actually going to move. Two weeks from today I may wake up and feel wonderful about being here. I do know that I Heart New York and isn’t that where home is supposed to be?

War and Peace

2008-12-04T00:55:00.000-08:00

On the night of November 26th I was in Amritsar with my sister and brother-in-law. Although we had spent considerable time at the Golden Temple during the day, I decided to go back later that night. There weren’t too many people at that hour and the experience was completely different from the previous one, when a much larger crowd of devotees and tourists were at this remarkable site. I felt at peace mesmerized by the sight of the temple amidst the calmness of the lake that it sits on. The temple is surrounded by marvels of architecture with entrances on all sides signifying the importance of acceptance and openness. It’s said that one cannot visit the Golden Temple until one receives a bulava or an invitation from the Almighty and I felt truly blessed to have been on His invitee list.

In another part of the country, at exactly the time that I was feeling so good about being alive, terror had begun striking. The streets of South Mumbai were being riddled with bullets, a very uncommon occurrence (at least I don’t ever remember it happening previously but what do I know?). Although I was alarmed when I watched the news later that night in my hotel room, I eventually went to bed dismissing the entire incident as being no more than a gang war.

The morning news was of a completely different nature by which time the terrorists had taken over prestigious hotels in the heart of the city and a building that housed Israeli nationals, having killed many and holding others hostage. The entire experience of watching it on television was surreal. Like a bad action movie, poorly edited and much too long. Except the people in the midst of it were real and not actors. Was this the ultimate reality show in extremely bad taste?

In a world population of approximately 6.7 billion we have a miniscule percentage of terrorists that are creating havoc. Why is it that 99.99999% of ‘us’ are not able to get rid of .00001% of ‘them’? Why are the political agendas stronger than safety agendas? Why is it that we have to spend billions to incorporate security measures when we could spend a lot less to terrorize and finish them? What is it going to take? Isn't this really enough?

Are we going to light a candle, wear white for a day, participate in a protest rally and go back to our seemingly unmemorable lives, struggling to survive, saving to make the next big purchase, wanting a meal in the most talked about restaurant-of-the-week and wondering (fleetingly) if the subway/mall/theatre that we’re in could blow up at any time?

At this point I have no great ideas as to what we can do as individuals. What I do know is that we must not forget that terrorism is a part of our lives until terrorism is eliminated. We must voice our anger, our need for safety, demand the implementation of security measures and very importantly look out for each other as good human beings. When I read about the employees of the Taj and Oberoi who gave up their lives to protect their customers, it completely amazed me. In such a situation one would think that they would have tried to protect themselves first but instead these were unarmed servers, chefs, administrative staff who put the lives of their customers first. It’s only thanks to such heroes that we still have faith in humanity.

The terrorist attacks of November 26th are being called India’s 9/11. Do we need a label for the incident? I’m fine with a label as long as we take it as seriously as 9/11 was taken by the US. As Indians, most of us are cynical about what we should expect from our political system. However, we have to be resilient and ensure that this isn’t ‘just another attack’. Enough IS enough. Make your voices heard. Fight the evil.

Peace must take over.

O B A M A

2008-11-06T08:44:00.000-08:00

Several months ago I watched a play on Broadway called Thurgood. The play was based upon the life of Thurgood Marshall, the first African-American to serve on the Supreme Court of the United States of America. It was a piece of history that was written in 1967.

Another piece of history was written yesterday when Senator Barack Obama was elected to be the next President of the United States of America. This was an election that was not only closely watched across the globe but was also a personal victory (or loss) for every American, across all sections of society, age groups, genders and race. Never in my memory has an election been as personal and as emotional as the one that made history yesterday.

Thanks to the time difference, I was up at the crack of dawn so I wouldn’t miss a single minute of the results. Not only was I switching channels on my television, I had live MSNBC on my laptop as a constant. When it was announced that Obama had got the required number of electoral votes to be the next President elect, I had a lump in my throat that wouldn’t leave. During his speech I had tears streaming down my eyes. I would have given anything at that point to be at Grant Park in Chicago and kept thinking about how stupid I was to not have stayed in the US until after the elections. I was so close to witnessing history live but I guess in my heart of hearts I had always been afraid of an Obama loss.

I had always maintained that Obama would not win. As much as I wanted him to and as much as I believed in him, I didn’t think that America was ready for a ‘colored’ President. Although during the last weeks I was starting to get more and more hopeful, I was still not convinced by the polls and found out only a couple of days ago that my fears had a name – it was called ‘The Bradley effect’ (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bradley_effect).

I have never been happier to be wrong. America was ready for change and the color of Obama’s skin was unimportant. Although he was the right choice regardless of anything else, in my mind there were three factors that helped him tremendously – George Bush, the economy and Sarah Palin.

A few days ago I was jokingly telling a friend that if McCain wins, I will probably give up my American citizenship. However, I hadn’t really thought that Obama’s victory would make me want to move back to the States!

For the past several months I’ve had an Obama magnet placed strategically at the edge of a family picture on my refrigerator to make it look like he belongs to my family! It’s been a topic of conversation, a source of amusement and has also visibly upset a close Republican friend who was visiting from Chicago. On a side note, I’m truly amazed that we’re still friends!!

It’s going to be tough. The economy is a mess. Thousands of people are losing their jobs every month. Foreclosures are a common occurrence. Liquidity is an issue. The entire world is affected by recessionary trends in the US. Expectations from the new President are very high and he’s going to be closely watched.

Barack Obama is no Messiah. He is a President (in a couple of months) with a vision and a plan. He knows that the road ahead is tough and the damage cannot be undone easily. I don’t care what anyone else says, I think Obama is The One, in my family picture and in million’s of hearts. Do I think that he can turn things around?

Yes he can!

How Random is That?

2008-10-11T18:07:00.000-07:00

The first thing I did this morning was that I kicked myself. I was SO mad it wasn’t even funny. And for good reason. I had missed John Lennon’s birthday on October 9th. I had made a mental note for myself to go to Strawberry Fields at Central Park and spend a few hours celebrating with all the other Beatles fans. On the night of October 8th when I was returning from dinner with some friends, walking towards midtown from the upper west side, a man who was quite obviously high on alcohol, walking close by, just out of the blue said ‘don’t forget Lennon’s birthday celebration tomorrow at Strawberry Fields’ and I looked at him and said ‘yes I’m aware and I will be there’. How random was that? And if that wasn’t a reminder from God, then what the heck was it???

So now you have a sense as to why I was so mad at myself. Anyway, since I couldn’t go back in time, I figured that I would go to the park today and have a belated celebration of my own. Every weekend there’s a band that plays by Lennon’s memorial and a few times in the past I have stood beside them and sang myself hoarse. The last time was with my friends who were visiting from Chicago a couple of weeks ago and it was such a memorable time. In fact we all agreed that it was the most fun thing we had done in the 4 days that they were here. And believe me, there was severe competition since we had done so many fun things!

So at 5:00 pm today I made my way to the park, my vocal chords intact. It was so amazing. I guess a lot of people couldn’t show up on the 9th and were there today including some celebrities like Alec Baldwin and Emily Bergil. I made myself comfortable on the floor, next to one of the guitarists and sang every single song with them for about 3 hours. I didn’t just hum or sing quietly – it was as if I was the lead vocalist! I was so into the singing that I didn’t realize for quite a while that the woman sitting on the bench next to the band, just above where I was, wasn’t just any woman. It was Yoko Ono! How random is that? My favorite moment was when before leaving, Yoko tapped me on my shoulder and said ‘you sing very well’. Oh my God!!! I could have died and gone to Lennon Heaven right then!

Anyway, at the end of the night, I said my goodbyes to the band and thanked them for the many evenings I had enjoyed listening to (and singing with) them. Turns out that one of the band members is half Indian and his dad is from Bangalore. How random is that?

Also as a punishment for forgetting Lennon’s birthday, I’ve decided that I am going to have to come back for it next year. Heh.

Speaking of ‘random’, the Saturday before I was moving out of my apartment my doorbell rang at 11:30 pm. No one has EVER rung my doorbell at that hour without my knowing exactly who it would be. I was in my pajamas and I opened to door to see a pretty woman holding an alcoholic beverage.

Me: “Hello”
She: “Hello”
She: “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”
Me: “No, not really. I just got home a short while ago”
She: “Well, I’m at the party next door and I was very curious to meet you”
Me: (Thinking) “Why would she be curious to meet me?”
She: "I know you're wondering why"
Me: "As a matter of fact I was". Damn she was good!
She: “Actually, we share the same last name and first initial”
How random is that?

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I ended up partying with them until 2 am, meeting my neighbor for the first time, two days before I was leaving the apartment.
How random is that?

I have many more random stories to share but it will have to be another time, another posting.

Cakeaholics Anonymous

2008-09-17T21:13:00.000-07:00

Last week I had an experience that completely blew me away. Never in my life had I thought that I would see the day that the sight of cakes and pastries would nauseate me. And this wasn’t a single-day phenomena – it went on for the entire week. It was more than troubling – I was in near-panic mode.

Everyone that knows me reasonably well is aware of my fondness for things that contain sugar and more so if those ‘things’ include chocolate. But no … the smell of chocolate was enough to make me gag. I wanted to get as far away from the three layered Devils Food cake with chocolate ganache icing, chocolate pastries with raspberry cream filling, chocolate cupcakes iced with rich buttercream frosting (alright you can stop drooling now) as a turkey would from Thanksgiving.

You may, dear reader, ask as to what was the cause of this strange phenomenon. Or you may not ask. I am however, going to tell you anyway. I was in a Techniques of Baking class all day, all week and I have NEVER been exposed to SO MUCH butter, sugar, chocolate, icing, cakes etc. in my entire life. The smell of baked goods that would on a regular day make my knees weak had quite the opposite reaction (uh .. not meaning that they made my knees strong).

In spite of my loss of appetite for desserts, it was all in all a fantastic (but intense) class. I have to confess that I'm not used to menial labor in the kitchen. I am on the other hand, used to having a cook who follows instructions very well. In other words I’m lazy but I supervise well. This class was tough for me because I had to do everything myself. Everything that one needs to do to bake a cake well. And we were baking on an average 5-6 cakes per day. Baking the cakes was the easy part. It was the layering, preparing the different fillings and icings and finally decorating them that was painful. Painful but rewarding. The ‘painful’ part will of course go away once I’m back in Bangalore and my cook is trained. And all I will be left with is the ‘reward’.

Our class was made up of 14 women and 2 men and we had to work in groups of two. My partner was a woman from the Philippines who makes an annual trip to New York and enrolls herself in baking classes. She was a nice lady, very ‘propah’, at 9 am every morning she looked like she had just walked into class from a beauty salon – not a hair out of place, perfect make-up, designer clothes - quite the Philippino desperate housewife! I'd like to add here that she was a little bossy too in a quiet way but by day two she realized that she had met her match.

We had our very own younger ‘desi’ version of Mrs. Philippines who flew in non-stop from New Delhi the same morning, showered and showed up for class. Looking way fresher than me for sure! Now you have to keep in mind that I’m not used to waking up before 10 am. And here I was, had to be at the train station at an unearthly 8:30 am. I was so stressed that I lay awake all night, tossing and turning, looking at the time and tossing some more. So compared to Miss New Delhi, I was a holy mess!

My personal favorite was M – the class clown, always more interested in what other’s were doing, taking frequent breaks, great sense of humor, prettiest girl in class (I’m NOT sending her this blog – all she needs is a bigger head!), knew everyone by the end of day one, charmed the chef – wait a second – except for the ‘prettiest girl’ part, did I just describe myself? We were just like two peas in a pod and got along famously too!

And just for the record, I made a Pound Cake, Blueberry Crumb Cake, Devils Food Cake, Chocolate Chiffon Cake, Angel Food Cake, Coconut Raspberry Cake, several kinds of Pastries, a Swill Roll, Raspberry Tarts, four different varieties of Cupcakes, with/without filling, with/without icing etc. etc.

Each recipe is being sold for $10 (which is a bargain if you ask me, considering how much I paid for the class) – I’ve been out of a job for a while now so I’m sure you can understand my need to make some extra cash.

Please email me for details on where to send your cash/cheque/check/money order.

Summer of 2008

2008-09-07T16:06:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while. Summer is on its way out. The lease on my apartment runs out this month. With each passing day, I get closer to checking off ‘Living in New York’ from my ‘List of things to do before I die’.

It’s been quite an incredible summer. I’ve had family and friends visiting me from all over – Hong Kong, Bangalore, Chennai, New Jersey, Chicago, Georgia, Cincinnati, Boston, Connecticut, Philadelphia – gosh, I think I’ve met more family in the past two months than I have in the past 2 years!

I want to leave New York while I’m still on a high about this city. As memorable as my time has been, I know that I cannot possibly live here. The pressure of having to be in shape, dressing well, trying out new restaurants, the constant feeling of ‘wanting to be out and either making the most of a beautiful day’ or ‘going to a show’ or just doing ‘something’ is exhausting. I’m exhausted. I want to go back to Bangalore and do absolutely nothing for a few days.

You’d be exhausted too if your summer included eating out almost everyday (and gaining weight as a result), 2 Broadway shows, a symphony, a ballet performance, exploring different parts of Central Park including the much hyped carriage ride, spending a day at the humungous Metropolitan Museum, going back to the Museum of Modern Art (just because …), doing a 3 day bus tour of the city, a speedboat ride into the East River, still trying to go to the gym 3 times a week, entertaining relatives, getting portraits made, attending a wedding and several parties, visiting art galleries, going to the US Open, miles of walking everyday, etc.

However, nothing in the world is more exhausting than shopping. My sisters who were visiting from India had insisted that they were not interested in shopping while I went ‘yeah yeah’ in my mind. I was amazed at the number of purses, footwear, clothes and more purses, footwear and clothes that they ended up with. Why am I even surprised? I really am not. I’m just wondering how the heck I’m going to get all the stuff that I’ve bought in the past year home. And I’m still looking to buy more. I hate the materialistic side of me. But I figure, when am I going to be in a city again where the lowest end store is a Macy’s?

People ask me about my New York experience and I can without hesitation say that it’s been one of the best years of my life. So much has happened that it feels like several years were packed into just one. There were times when I would try to not make plans but plans would get made by a larger force! Unexpected calls from people I never imagined I would see here. When I left Bangalore I used to joke about not giving my number and address to anyone so I wouldn’t have houseguests. And for those of you who think that I constantly had guests in Bangalore, my 400 sq foot apartment out here has seen WAY more action. I’m dead sure that the 111-year-old building that I live in has never seen so many people come and go. There were days when there was no walking space in my apartment as every square foot of free space had an airbed with someone sleeping on it.

However, all good things must come to an end. I have 47 more days in the city and I plan to make the most of each of them. Day 46 is going to have me going back to the US Open to see the Men’s finals. As much as I was hoping for a Federer-Nadal match, I really am not complaining about having to watch Federer-Murray. How many of us have the opportunity? I feel so lucky and so blessed to have the life that I do. I love being ME so thank you God!

All lines are busy – please call later

2008-06-20T12:32:00.000-07:00

I received a call this morning from an acquaintance who spent the first what-seemed-like- innumerable-minutes explaining to me how busy she is. She has a full time job and has to come home and cook and clean. And commuting to work is such a headache. The ramble went on and on with me not listening to a word past a point. In fact I was reading the paper when she called (yes I have time to read the newspaper – I am so un-busy!!) and I went back to it uninterested in her busy lifestyle and unable to focus on it.

Oh in case you’re reading and thinking, 'is he talking about me?' you can heave a sigh of relief because I’m not. My opening character of this piece clearly doesn’t have the time to read my postings, so I don’t send them to her! Heaven forbid I give her more to do! However, if the thought did come to your mind, the next time you’re trying to come up with an excuse, think of something a little more original!

It annoys me to no end when someone who hasn’t been in touch for a while, hasn’t returned your call(s) and/or email(s) decides to get in touch with the classic ‘I’ve been so busy’ excuse. Unless the excuse is followed up with some compelling reason that has caused him/her to be busier than the rest of the working population, I really don’t buy it. I would rather be told ‘sorry but calling you back wasn’t a priority’ or ‘I did see the caller id when you called but I wasn’t in the mood to speak to you and then it slipped my mind’ or even ‘you are at the bottom of my list of people to call – that’s why it took so long’. I may get offended but I’m sure I’ll get a laugh out of it!

We’re all busy. I have a full life and I’m not talking about going to work, cooking and cleaning. Those are just things that I’m forced to do. It’s all the things that I want to do is what keeps me really busy. And considering that I just resigned from my job, starting next week I’m going to be even busier!

I’m so irritated with the ‘busy’ word that I’ve now started substituting it with ‘tied-up’. Which, depending upon how the conversation is going, can lead to some very interesting visions!!
“Sorry I haven’t been able to speak to you in the past month but I’ve been tied up. In fact I just got free!”

New Yorkers pretend to be the busiest people in the world. It seems like everyone is running to get somewhere and they’re always running late. Most of the people I’ve met here are ‘extremely busy’ but upon probing, their lives seem no more hectic than mine (a lot less actually most of the time). As much as I’ve grown to love this city, I’m also convinced that the majority of the people here are completely self-obsessed and think it’s almost embarrassing to be in regular touch as their secret of not being busy will be revealed! When I first moved here and I’d meet someone new, I’d be like ‘lets meet up sometime’ and we’d exchange numbers or email addresses. Silly me, I’d even try calling or texting, not knowing that everyone’s too busy to call or text back. I was beginning to get a complex, but then I found out that this is how you’re supposed to act over here. Sadly I think New Yorkers are some of the loneliest people in the world.
On a happy note, I also came across people who have a mind of their own and don’t care about conforming. I can proudly call them my friends!

I’d love to end this piece by saying something preachy like ‘our family and friends are the most important things in our lives and we should never be too busy to be in touch with them’ or ‘we can always get another job but its hard to replace a good friend’ or ‘running after money could result in people running away from you’.

But I’m not gonna ….

Of Mice and Movies

2008-06-14T18:50:00.000-07:00

Recently I came across a mouse in my apartment. Which I found out, is not an uncommon occurrence in New York apartments. I had suspected that these creatures did make an appearance but I had never actually seen one for myself. So when I got out of bed a few night’s ago to get a drink of water and turned on the kitchen light I saw IT. We completely took each other by surprise and scared the s*** out of each other. He began running for cover and I muffled up a scream and jumped around a little, not knowing what else to do. A few seconds later, I saw it disappear into a crevice and I made my way back into the bedroom without the drink of water. My heart was pounding and I got under the covers and quietly went back to sleep.

The next morning I called the building superintendent who sent the exterminator who set up traps and did whatever else he was supposed to do. Gave me all kinds of tips on how I could prevent mice from returning in the future. But I haven’t seen once since and I’m really not one for following instructions.

Anyway, the only reason I tell this story is so I could have a clever-ish title for this posting!

So now I’m going to move on to movies.

Is it just me or did Hollywood hit rock bottom with the quality of movies last year? I mean if you look at the Oscar nominations for the past year, you have ‘Michael Clayton’ a mediocre ‘thriller’ at best which you forget as soon as you leave the theatre. ‘No Country for Old Men’ a much hyped movie about a maniac who goes about killing everyone. ‘There will be Blood’ – highly pretentious with an eye on the Oscars (just like ‘Babel’ was a couple of years ago). ‘Juno’, a heartwarming movie about a pregnant sarcastic, cynical and funny teenager, which deserved to make the money that it did, but an Oscar nomination? And finally ‘Atonement’ which I guess had all the ingredients to please the critics so I’m going to let this one go.

I was having a discussion about the recent mediocrity in Hollywood with a friend of mine and we both were of the opinion that they should have just cancelled the Oscars. “Sorry, but this year there will be no Academy Awards because we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel and still not coming up with great films. See ya next year … hopefully!”

I watched the latest Indiana Jones a couple of weeks ago. This was one movie I was really looking forward to and was extremely disappointed that it had received such poor reviews. So even though my interest had dwindled considerably, I eventually decided to go watch it. Maybe it was my lack of expectations, but I thoroughly enjoyed the film. I thought it had all the ingredients (masala) I was looking for. It had the pace, the adventure, the humor and the whole look! Loved it! Of course no Oscar nominations for this one though!

Another movie that I really enjoyed in the recent past is called ‘The Visitor’. A small film with no big names performing in it. Highly recommended. Don’t miss it.

Sadly, these are the only two movies that I’ve actually been glad to have watched this year. Slim pickings my friends. Is Hollywood running out of ideas? I sincerely hope not because we so look forward to original films from LA. And if Hollywood is running out of ideas, where is Bollywood going lift its ideas from (sorry couldn’t resist that)?

And I cannot end this ‘movie write-up’ without talking about one of my most favorite films that I watched once again this week – ‘Fight Club’. Every time I watch it, I seem to get enthralled by it even more! Of course the credit for the movie has to go to the book written by Chuck Palahniuk. I remember our book club in Bangalore read the book and watched the movie and all the women cringed. The men, on the other hand, thought it was the greatest! I never thought I would use the word ‘brilliant’ to describe any performance by Brad Pitt. He should be kissing the director's feet that he got to do this movie, by far his best. And Edward Norton, as always is outstanding. This movie probably has the most amazing and memorable dialogues that I’ve come across. My favorite line in the movie - the things you own end up owning you - Tyler rocks! And the entire premise is SO original, and if you think about it, SO pertinent. This is one movie that you either GET and love or DON'T GET and hate. There is no middle ground. Okay, I’m going to stop gushing now…..I just want to say that I even bought the script for this movie (the things you can buy on the streets of New York City!)

I could go on and on about movies but I’m going to stop before I lose each and every one of you.
I’m stopping.
I’ve stopped.
THE END (credits rolling).

NYC Subway Spotting!

2008-06-01T17:39:00.000-07:00

It was a couple of weeks before Christmas. I was in the subway headed towards downtown, meeting some friends at a bar. Santa got into the train and made his way to the empty seat right next to me. I looked at him and smiled.
“You’re the skinniest Santa I’ve ever seen”, I said.
“It’s almost 2008 dude,” he replied, “Santa has to be in shape”.
I couldn’t agree more.
“So, what would you like for Christmas?” asked Santa.
“World peace” I replied, completely dead pan and we both laughed out loud.
We arrived at the 14th Street station and Santa got up.
“Santa needs a lot more beers. Ho! Ho! Ho!” he announced and got off the subway.
It was around 10 pm and thankfully there were no kids around.

This was last week. A South East Asian couple was sitting directly in front of me. He had his hair down to his shoulders and she had it as short as a boy’s. He wore earrings in both ears, a bracelet, necklace and several rings. She wore no jewelry. Thankfully he wasn’t wearing make-up and neither was she. Every 30 seconds they kissed each other. They shared the same iPod. They were dressed almost exactly alike – black Tshirts with cut off sleeves and tight, tight jeans. When I got off the train it was time for the 30 second kiss.

African-American male. Probably in his 30s. Sleeveless Tshirt and shorts. Arms and legs completely covered with tattoos. Wearing at least 10 different kinds of beads around his neck and a few around his wrist. Not a care in the world.

Overweight couple. Daughter wearing pink. Definitely tourists!

Indian IT nerd – glasses, mustache, Lee jeans and clunky gym shoes. Probably new in the city. Hopefully 6 months here will make him more stylish. Highly unlikely.

Big homeless man sleeping. Long hair, long beard. Unkept, unclean, uncared. Noone around him because of the unpleasant odor.

The Jackson 5 impersonators. Father and four sons (supposedly) – big Afro hair, unbuttoned polyester shirts, songs from the 70s. Made quite an impression on the commuters and quite a packet I must say!

A group of office colleagues returning from a sporting event. Drunk, loud and obnoxious. They could very well have been my friends and me in any part of the world!

The three white bald guys - same height, same size, looked exactly alike – triplets or generic white men?

The Hispanic mother and daughter that kept laughing about something the entire time. They would say something in Spanish and burst out laughing. There were bouts of giggling followed by unashamed loud laughs. I had no clue what was so funny but it definitely made me smile.

Never a dull moment in the New York City subways. Just keep your eyes and ears open!

‘Play’ing with the Stars!

2008-04-30T19:19:00.000-07:00

I was trying to think if I had ever seen a Hollywood actor in person and I finally remembered having seen John Malkovich in a play in Chicago a few years ago. The solo American movie star who I had seen in flesh and blood.

That was then ... my pre-New York days!

Things have changed in the past couple of weeks when I’ve had a windfall of movie star sightings! Most of them as a result of shelling out the greens on Broadway and worth every penny that was spent.

Laura Linney, of Love Actually, Primal Fear, The Truman Show, Mystic River etc etc and one of my most favorite actresses in the raunchy production of Dangerous Liaisons.
Lawrence Fishburne of The Matrix series of films, Mystic River, Bad Company, Mission Impossible III and many more in the one man act in and as Thurgood (Marshall), the first black Supreme Court Justice of the United States.
Frances McDormand, Best Actress, Oscar winner for Fargo AS the country girl IN The Country Girl directed by the hugely talented Mike Nichols!
Peter Gallagher of American Beauty, While you were sleeping, Sex Lies and Videotape as the director who brings a has-been, deeply troubled actor back into the limelight in The Country Girl.
and saving the best for the last
Morgan Freeman who needs no introduction, as the alcoholic actor who’s getting a chance to make a major comeback in The Country Girl!

Do I sound like I’m bragging? That’s because I am. And why shouldn’t I? All you film buffs are probably green with envy. And you’re going to get even more jealous when I tell you that I got Lawrence Fishburne’s autograph and was backstage just inches away from Morgan Freeman.

I was completely overwhelmed at the end of each of these plays. I'm not sure if it was because the plays were outstanding or the fact that I was seeing these actors, who I had watched in a number of movies, performing live in front of me. What is it about seeing a celebrity in person that gets us so wired? I'm guessing its the fact that a larger than life character we’re so used to seeing behind a screen turns out to be a real person, just like one of us. This person really does exist and is not unreachable. Plus of course the fact that we can brag about it!

That’s not all. Chris Rock was in my neighborhood. One solitary block from where I live. I didn’t even have to pay to see him. I was walking back home after my workout and saw a small but starry eyed crowd standing outside this restaurant that spans almost the entire block. Upon inquiry I found out that the Rock man was about to come out of the limo that had just made its way outside the eatery and within seconds Mr. Rock was waving to the crowds amidst much cheering and whistling. One more celebrity sighting under my belt!

I went to the New York Knicks last home game of the season, playing the Boston Celtics. No big stars playing that game since competitively it didn’t matter who won or lost. It was still exciting to be there. Jack Nicholson was in the same stadium! The half time and time-out entertainment was definitely more enjoyable than the game but that too wasn’t the best part. The best part was all the free food and drink you could have! Free coke, free hot dogs, free popcorn, free ice-cream, free candy, free pizza. Nothing like a good deal in “the land of the free”! Sure gave us a lot of
k(n)icks. I know I know, I’m starting to kill you with my lame jokes.

I’ve now got used to hobnobbing with the stars. I don’t know if I can handle being among mere mortals any longer. Or at least not for an extended period. I feel like I have to change my social circle. Walk the red carpet. Shun the paparazzi. Give interviews with inside information about my celebrity friends. Designer suits. Tall fenced in homes. Weekends at the French Riviera. Yeah yeah yeah. Shut up already .....

My New York Stories - Part I of many

2008-04-10T18:22:00.000-07:00

Oftentimes I wonder what it’s all about. What is it that we’re supposed to be doing? Are we here for a reason? Is there someone that has real answers to these questions?

I knew very early in life that I couldn’t lead the ‘expected' life. Get an education, make a career, get married, have children, feed them, educate them, etc. etc. Obviously I have nothing against it, but I couldn’t see myself doing it. As a result I’m not highly educated, have never been ambitious, no wife, no kids! People always ask me “don’t you want to settle down”? And I think to myself “do I really seem unsettled?”

Of course my definition of being settled is quite different from the standard one.

In fact anytime I begin to feel 'settled' I want to do something unsettling! I’ve realized that I don’t like routine. I like surprises as long as they’re not the kind with people jumping out from behind the couch on my birthday. I want something unexpected (in a good way) to happen. Something that separates today from yesterday. And the day before. I also know that this is not going to happen unless I MAKE it happen.

As many of you know, I threw away a perfectly good job that paid me more than a fair amount, was close to home and did not require me to work long or weird hours – something most people would give their left arm for! I wasn’t sure what I was going to be doing next but checking out New York was in my radar. I was a little nervous about the move. It isn’t easy giving up a life of leisure and moving to a city that was completely unfamiliar and maybe a little intimidating. And THAT was precisely what made it exciting. Then there were the questions. Was I going to find a job that would allow me to live in the city? Was I going to be able to live in a tiny apartment after being in a more-than-modest-sized-one for a number of years? How was all the housework going to get done? Dinner would not be waiting for me at the table. My clothes would not magically get washed and more importantly, ironed. I couldn’t just be in the mood to eat something and it would get cooked. And in all probability I would have to actually work in my new job – something I had alienated myself from in the recent past!

Well, it’s all worked out so far. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be living the life I was so curious about. It’s said that ‘everyone should live in New York at some point of their lives’ and I couldn’t agree more. It truly is a unique city. The energy that this city exuberates cannot be replicated anyplace else. New York is almost its own country, a true cosmopolitan city that has brought together all the cultures of the world. It’s almost hard to believe that New York is a part of the US – it’s as different from the rest of the country as chalk and cheese.

Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here. And other times I wonder if I’ve always been familiar with this life. I met someone at a dinner party recently who grew up in Connecticut and said that after living in New York for 6 years was finally beginning to feel like a ‘New Yorker’. I, on the other hand, felt like a New Yorker the day I moved in. There was something about this city that grabbed me instantly. It made me feel like this was also home. It was almost unreal, how comfortable I felt here. There wasn’t a 'settling in' (there we go again!) period, no 'getting used' to my new surroundings. It almost seemed like I had lived here in a previous life.

I eat out a lot. It definitely beats cooking although I do go through it a couple of times a week. I get my laundry done. I had a cleaning lady come clean once but it seemed like an awful amount of money for a miniscule apartment. So I clean. I hate mundane tasks. I miss all the help I had in Bangalore. But I don’t dwell on it because I have no idea how long I’m going to live here. I certainly don’t want to waste time feeling bad when I have so much to feel good about.

The other day someone I ran into (in small town America) said she was in New York a couple of weeks ago. She made a face and said "I hated it. It’s so dirty and crowded". This, coming from someone who has lived in Chennai all her life, not the cleanest and most sparsely populated city in the world. I almost wanted to slap her when she said that. How dare she say something derogatory about my city? Crowded yes – but dirty? Where was THAT coming from? I surprised myself because instead of just ignoring a comment (made by someone who completely overlooked everything that the city has to offer and only saw the superficial aspect), about a city that has more character than Meryl Streep in all her various movies, her remark made my blood boil.

More importantly it made me realize how close this city is to my heart. And how I will always be thankful that I’ve chosen to spend a portion of my life here. I have no idea what life is all about and what it is that I’m supposed to be doing here. I do however, know that at this moment, where I am feels SO right. Amen.

Spilling Culture

2008-04-02T18:31:00.000-07:00

Lately I’ve been spilling coffee on myself more often than not. Every morning I walk over to Starbucks to get my ‘bold’ Columbian cup of caffeine that will jolt me out of my sleepy existence. Unfortunately it also ends up leaving stains on my shirt. Sometimes the lid isn’t shut tight. Sometimes I’m not paying attention and the entire slit on the lid doesn’t make it into my mouth (of course it doesn’t help that I have a small sized big mouth). And then sometimes I just bump into someone and the spill happens. Of course, like clockwork every Friday when I go to the cleaners, Mr. Chung (which by the way isn’t his real name) will look at my shirts and go “more coffee stains!!” and I’ll laugh out loud in an attempt to look less foolish and even lesser of a slob. I’m sure he thinks I’m an idiot.

I’ve been considering giving up my morning cuppa and sleeping through the day. I wonder if my client will notice. It'll shrink my dry cleaning bill for sure.

Speaking of liquids that are consumed, I’ve cut down on my alcohol intake. Not that I need to worry about being in AA or anything but my Friday and Saturday nights were becoming wilder than my weekends in college. Sometimes I would have no recollection of what time and how I made it home from the last bar that my friends and I were at. No idea if I took the subway or a cab. No clue if I paid the cab driver an obscene amount of money. How I got into my apartment building, changed into my pajamas etc. etc. The only thing I remembered was everything spinning around me.

So two weekends ago I decided to not hit the bars and enhance my cultural side instead. It began with a trip to the Museum of Modern Art on Friday evening with my cousin and a buddy of his. I put on my cool glasses and walked around feeling like an intellectual. The exhibits did not appeal to me in the slightest but I didn't display how I really felt. After a while I couldn’t keep up the pretext - I took my glasses off and began passing inane comments. The three of us would try to make sense out of nonsense, giggling like schoolgirls. It isn’t easy going through five floors of bad art and pretending that it’s working for you. On the other hand making fun of bad art can be quite entertaining. The best part of the entire experience was the café where I had a cup of really rich hot chocolate and didn’t spill any.

Chocolate schmocolate … we were exhausted and decided that we needed a drink. So we walked into the closest Irish bar and loaded up on Guinness. Now THAT felt really good!

That same weekend I went to the Opera. The production that we had tickets for was called Falstaff by Giuseppe Verdi, a comedy no less! I was told by some of my more frequent Opera going friends that this was a good one to break into.

The dress code was a big topic of conversation. Some people said that a “suit was the bare minimum but a tux would be the most appropriate” (while I rolled my eyes). “Jeans and blazer”, “Definitely wear a tie”, “Things are very different now – people dress very casual”. Anyway, I went with a button down shirt, dress pants and a blazer. And fit right in thank you very much.

I was always skeptical about the Opera. I’m not a big fan of Broadway musicals and I somehow never thought that I would get a kick out of fat people singing falsetto in a language that I didn’t understand. But was I in for a surprise! It’s hard to explain what I specifically enjoyed but I had a blast. I realize that people don’t have a ‘blast’ at the Opera but I did. I loved the grandeur theatre, the dramatic acting and singing, the subtitles (!) and the sets were amazing! The fat people were really fat and very entertaining. I felt completely enriched with the entire experience. The only thing I missed was seeing people watch it through those little binoculars. Do they not do that anymore?

We wanted to follow up the Opera performance with high tea at the Four Seasons or the Astoria Waldorf (did I neglect to mention that we went to a matinee performance?). Unfortunately we couldn’t get into either place as they were packed with people who wanted the same thing – tea in silver pots, little scones and crumpets, finger sandwiches and British accents. I was all set with mine but didn’t have anyplace to use it at.

All in all it was an entertaining weekend and I only consumed alcohol once. I’m going to ignore the part about watching a Bollywood film ‘Race’ in the theatre the same weekend. Just pretend that it never happened. It would completely be against my whole two days of being a culture vulture and we can’t have that, can we?

Spring Awaitening!

2008-03-11T17:55:00.000-07:00

Many years ago I acted in a play called Spring Awakening. Which happens to be running on Broadway, 2 blocks from where my friends Subbu and Aparna live. Since this was so long ago, there isn’t too much I remember about the play except that we performed at Kala Mandir Basement in Calcutta during a time when English theatre was very popular with the student population and the burra saab snooty families of the city. I also remember some of the other cast members, the only claim to fame being Smita Tharoor, sister of author Shashi Tharoor and winner of the Miss Calcutta beauty pageant. In addition I remember having a crush on this other girl, whose initials are VS and who sadly didn’t feel the same way about me. Instead there was this third girl (whose name I can’t for the life of me remember) who felt the way I wanted VS to feel. And since I don’t even remember her initials, I’m sure you can understand the impact she made on me.

However, I digress here. Because this piece isn’t about the play. Or about the people that were a part of the play. I just happened to think of it since I’m so eagerly awaiting the arrival of spring.

For the folks that have been living in New York for a while, this has been a mild winter. We had only a few really arctic days and just one snowfall where the white stuff stuck on the ground for a couple of days. It’s not even the cold that has bothered me as much as it’s been the gloom. Cloudy, rainy, dark, gloomy days. How many of those can one take without feeling low? Coupled with flight cancellations, having to walk to places, not being able to find a cab, wind chill, it can become a real downer.

Hopefully the worst is behind us. Although one can never predict anything with the weather system anymore. Nothing is a surprise, what with tornados in December, snow in April, hot and humid conditions in October, who knows what’s really coming next.

And what’s with the spring collection in stores in January during sub-zero temperatures? I lost my really cool pair of ear muffs but I couldn’t find another pair for the life of me because stores were selling sunglasses and tank tops. Why would I want to walk into a store and try on a pair of shorts and a polo shirt and spend 10 minutes taking off all my layers and putting them back on again? I really DO have a life!

With what you’ve read so far, I’m sure you would never think that I’m just not a cold weather person! However it really is true. I admit that I don’t like winters (gasp). The cold makes me want to stay home instead of going out. It makes me want soup instead of sushi. It makes my teeth chatter when I’m outside and a few minutes later break into a sweat in the subway station. It brings rich Europeans to New York City at Christmas time who stand in line outside Tiffany’s and Saks Fifth Avenue like they’re a Walmart selling discounted junk.

But most of all I love spring because it means green trees instead of brown, it means more of the sun and less of the clouds, it means longer days, bigger smiles, more people on the streets, fewer clothes and not to forget a spring in my step! Bring it on baby!!

Walking down Penny Lane

2008-02-19T17:41:00.000-08:00

Warning : This blog is very Beatles centric and will not be of much interest if you’re not familiar with their music.

Have you ever had a week that revolved around a certain topic or person or place or ….. a rock band? Last week was one such week for me.

MONDAY – Its just another day
I was flying out for a client engagement and was headed to LaGuardia airport. Most of the New York cabbies now have a little television in the back. It doesn’t broadcast regular channels and instead has these relatively short magazine type stories that most passengers could complete watching during the course of their ride. As the taxi entered Central Park to get to the east side of Manhattan, I heard the Beatles singing ‘Love me do’. I usually use taxi commutes to make phone calls and wasn’t paying attention to the television. Until the Lennon-McCartney duo began belting one of their early songs, at which point my radar went up and I began focusing my attention towards the screen. Quickly hanging up the phone I started watching a 10 minute clip on the life of the Beatles transporting me back to college when my friends and I used to eat, drink and sleep this band along with many of the classic rockers. The Beatles however were the Kings. Humming my way through check-in and boarding, this was turning out to be a great way to start my week.

As I stowed away my luggage into the overhead compartment of the aircraft (do I sound like a flight attendant making an announcement?) I took out the book I would read on the way. Haruki Murakami’s ‘Norwegian Wood’. For those of you that may not know, ‘NW’ was part of the Beatles ‘Rubber Soul’ album and one of the first Western songs that had an Indian musical instrument, the sitar being played by none other than George Harrison.

TUESDAY – A day in the life
Last summer I had worked with a television production house on conceptualizing and filming the pilot episode for a food and travel show to be aired on NDTV. Long and uninteresting story – didn’t continue with them and decided to move to New York City instead. A few weeks ago I heard from one of the guys I had worked with on the show (called Around the World in 85 Plates) that it was now being aired. I had been meaning to google it and see if I could watch an episode on the net. Finally on Tuesday I got the laptop out in my hotel room and did just that. I could hardly believe my ears when the anchor began the show by saying that he was in Liverpool outside the Beatles museum! The entire episode had the Beatles as a backdrop! And while the show in itself was strictly okay, I was tickled pink watching my favourite band making an appearance so soon into my life again!

WEDNESDAY – Day tripper
Wednesday was a non-Beatles day although their songs periodically would make their way into my head. Sometimes I would just break into one at my desk and get ‘a look’ from the guy who sits next to me followed by ‘a grin’.

THURSDAY – Eight days a week
Thursday was just a miserable day. I had been fighting a cold for the past week and was getting tired with all the fighting. So I wasn’t in the greatest mood which my co-workers who sit around me noticed right away (they have 4 of us consultants sharing a large open cubicle area). Mike, of the ‘look and grin’ fame, suggested that I should borrow his MP3 player (not an iPod) and listen to some music to get me out of the funk. ‘I have 3 CD’s of the Beatles in there’ he said. He really didn’t have to say more. As I listened to Abbey Road, the last album recorded by the Beatles I felt like here comes the sun into my life. As Maxwell’s silver hammer came down my demeanour started on an upswing. Because was soulful as was Something, probably the best song written by George Harrison. No surprise that the album was on the Billboard 200 for 149 weeks! And on my charts forever :)

FRIDAY – A hard days night
Woke up in the morning and began going through my mail. As usual there were 2 movies from Blockbuster and as I looked at the first one, I broke into a smile. My Beatles week hadn’t quite come to an end. I was going to be watching ‘Across the Universe’, a movie that has songs from the Beatles and characters named after their songs - (hey) Jude, Lucy (in the sky with diamonds), (sexy) Sadie, Max(well’s hammer), (dear) Prudence ….you get the drift. The movie had got great reviews when it came out and I could hardly wait to watch it. I popped the disk into the player early Friday evening, singing all their songs and loving every moment of the movie. A must-own by the way!

SATURDAY – Good day sunshine
The week was coming to an end. I was meeting a friend who was in the States from the mother country. Since I live one block from Central Park, I give everyone the grand tour of the park when they visit. We walked past the Dakota building where Lennon lived and walked into the section of the park called Strawberry Fields dedicated to the memory of John Lennon. The memorial consists of a mosaic, a gift from Italy, with ‘Imagine’ etched in the center. This part of Central Park has become a pilgrimage site for Lennon fans who place flowers and incense on his memorial every day.

It was a perfect end to my unplanned Beatles week. And as I continued to head away from Strawberry Fields, I thought it would be so cool if Lennon’s dream portrayed via his song ‘Imagine’ could ever become reality. Imagine all the people living life in peace … imagine that!

Coming to a mailbox near you ...

2008-02-13T17:04:00.000-08:00

Today I decided that I was going to add blogging to the list of things I do.

The next time I meet someone new, which could possibly be in the next hour, and we begin talking (happens all the time) and when they finally pop the question…uh... the question of course being ‘what do you do besides work?’, I can add ‘blogging’ to my list of being a big foodie, a travel buff, a sports follower, a movie watcher, a book reader, etc. etc.

There are a lot of uninteresting people blogging out there. They write about their mundane lives and I bet can barely stay awake proof reading what they’ve written.

I, on the other hand have a very interesting life (or so I would like to believe)! How many people do you know that have been in a bank robbery, almost got thrown out of a train by a group of insane people being transported and not supervised, survived a vertebra fracture, been off salt and sugar for 2 years due to a rare blood disease, travelled across most continents, baked scrumptious desserts, thrown away a well paying, low stress, close-to-home job and moved to New York City...... Ah NYC … a lot of my writes are going to be about this unique metropolitan urban rollercoaster ride.

I’m certain I’ve perked up your interest. I’m positive you can hardly wait to read the next thing I post. I bet you’re going to be sending me fan mail pushing for more. However, be patient gentle reader because as we all know, the best things come to those who wait. And as much as I would like to entertain you on a daily basis via my more than exciting life, educate you with my pearls of wisdom and make you laugh with my uncanny sense of humour, I have many other things that I must do. Being single dimensional is not one of them.

However, I WILL be back. So much to write, so many ideas to share … do what you need to but you can't stop me now.