Once Upon a Star

The all too brief time that I spent living in New York City was in many ways life altering for me. This was the city that I always wanted to have as a part of my unwritten biography. Even though I may not have stayed very long in The Big Apple, my time there was significant, largely due to the people that I came across. The Wall Street crowd, that I saw some but not too much of, worked their days and nights with the sole purpose of making excessive amounts of money. When you looked into their eyes, you could almost see dollar signs. This post however, is not about them. 

It was really the others who were of greater interest to me. The artists, the actors, the dancers, musicians, writers, comedians etc. Some of that abundant talent would make it to the Lincoln Center, Broadway or a hip bar in The Village, while many would perform at parks, subway stations and other public places, reaching out to a larger audience, making a lot of folks happy, most waiting to be discovered and some who were satisfied doing just that. This post is about one of those performing artists that I know absolutely nothing about.

A lady, who I’m guessing was in her mid to late eighties, lived in an apartment building close to mine on the Upper West Side. Small in stature, possibly having shrunk a few inches over the years, her companion was one of those pocket sized dogs that she’d have on a tacky jeweled leash while holding a walking stick in her other hand. 

The thing that always struck me was how even on a bustling Manhattan sidewalk, there was no way you could miss her. Although she probably had no specific place to go to, each time she stepped out of her apartment she looked like a million bucks. Not a single strand of auburn brown hair out of place, her face a little theatrically painted, always in the sharpest of outfits with shoes and a purse that looked expensive. I had seen her getting into the neighborhood Thrift Store a few times, so even though she may not have spent much money, she certainly knew how to put herself together. 

I usually made it a point to go up to her and say hello. After a few times, she began recognizing me and I’d get rewarded with a smile. There was this one time when she looked especially sharp in a black turtleneck, black pants, a shocking pink blazer, matching shoes and a glittery black bag. It was a sunny day and her eyes were covered with fashionable sunglasses. When I made a comment that she looked like a movie star, she giggled. Her speech was a little incoherent but I’m pretty sure she told me that she used to be an actress. 

We never exchanged many words during the time that I lived there. It was her presence that always fascinated me. How even in her twilight years, she continued to be a star. I wondered if she was a leading lady in the grand old days, when people would dress up to go to the theater. I could picture her in a shiny gown, cigarette in hand, signing autographs and having her picture taken. Or was she a struggling actor who couldn’t make it past the bit parts, but still performed on stage every night? 

A couple of weeks before I left New York, I followed her into a diner where she would always go for her mid-morning coffee. The diner was in the same block as my apartment and I myself was fairly regular there, usually for a beverage and sometimes a slice of pie. The owner, Mike and one of the servers, Ralph, knew me by name and were also aware that I was heading back to India soon. 

I walked over to the next table in the same line as hers, facing her back. Upon entering the diner, I had told Mike that I would be paying for the lady’s order. It was the only way I could think of establishing some sort of connection with her. She ordered a coffee and along with it Ralph brought her a slice of peach cobbler that he knew was her favorite. When she protested that she hadn’t asked for it, he said that it was compliments of the gentleman sitting behind her, who happened to be a fan. She turned around to look at me and with those lips painted bright red, gave me the biggest smile I had seen coming from her. 

At that hour of the morning, the diner was mostly empty - Ralph brought over my coffee and sat down across for me. 

“That was a nice thing you did,” he said. “I can see how special you made her feel.”

It was an emotional time for me. While I knew that my fling with the city had come to an end, I was in so many ways not ready to let go of it. In fact I was clinging on to everything I could, making new memories and savoring old ones in the little time that I had left. That lady had been a part of my New York adventure, brought a smile to my face several times without her even knowing it and all I was doing in return was buying her coffee. On my way out I asked Mike if he knew her name. 

That was the last time I saw Evelyn. 

The next year when I went back for a two month visit to New York, the economy was in shambles and I was shocked to see that the diner had shut down. I had specifically gotten there at 10:30 am, the time that Evelyn would usually drink her coffee. Where could she possibly be now? I waited around for a while, expecting that she would walk by and show me a glimmer of recognition. 

I continued to wait at the corner of 75th Street and Columbus Avenue, which is where I would see her most often, hoping I’d get a glimpse of the star making a special appearance just for me.

Corner of 75th Street and Columbus Avenue (Picture Google Maps)

The Quest(ions)

Another piece I recently wrote for my Writers Group where the topic was Quest.

It had been 9 months since I had quit working and 5 months since I had moved back from New York City. Here I was sitting literally at the edge of a cliff in Himachal Pradesh, wondering what life had in store for me next. Not for a moment was I worried or concerned - the emotion I felt mostly was ‘excitement’.

The Big Apple was actually the beginning of my quest. On a lark and without giving it much thought, I turned in my notice at a job in Bangalore that was not just paying me extremely well, it was convenient and relatively less demanding than my previous positions. Making a lot of money had stopped being of interest to me for a while.  ‘Convenient’ and ‘undemanding’ translated to boring and a waste of my time. Having just lost my last surviving parent, being single and responsibility free, it was time to make a change, get out of the rat race and experience a life that I never had time for. 

I turned down a senior management, high paying job that was first offered to me in New York. They couldn’t understand why I wanted a pay cut and a lower position when I didn’t have to take one. I tried explaining to them that I wanted a balanced life, a job that would allow me to have time to build a relationship with the city. If I had to spend my life at airports and inside buildings or on conference calls, I was better off in Bangalore. They continued to look puzzled and I could almost read their minds which said “who turns down more money you idiot”. 

Outside my apartment building in New York

The eighteen months in New York City were life changing for me. I moved into a one-bedroom apartment by Central Park and within a week it had everything new, from the largest piece of furniture to dessert spoons. Anybody walking into that apartment would find it hard to believe that I had just moved from India. I had never fallen in love with a city until then. A city that gave me the option to do as much as I wanted. I became a member of a Journalists Association, which organized events with authors, big names in media, folks in the movie industry among others. I attended film festivals and workshops conducted by famous Hollywood directors, went to concerts, the Opera, dance performances, watched shows on Broadway, off-Broadway and off-off-Broadway. I took culinary lessons, ate street food as well as ate at the snootiest restaurants. I celebrated Thanksgiving, Christmas, Diwali, Cinco de Mayo, St. Patricks Day, Easter, Halloween, you name it. I watched the US Open, NFL and NBA games at the stadiums, threw a Super Bowl party and celebrated on the streets when the Giants won. I probably did more in that year and a half than most people do in a decade. 

While I wasn’t quite sure what I was searching for, I also knew that it was time to move on to look for something else. A purpose for the rest of my life? Possibly!

The cottage in the clouds in Himachal where I spent a few months

So I did the cliched thing and decided to spend some time in the foothills of the Himalayas. Thanks to the generosity of a friend, I had a cottage to myself at the edge of a cliff. Once there was a huge storm and I was certain that the pre-fabricated home I was in was going to be blown away and I wouldn’t have to worry about a quest any longer. However, that didn’t happen so while I was there I enjoyed a variety of seasons, I made an effort to teach the local kids English, I read, I wrote some short stories that are still sitting in my old Macbook, I travelled some and trekked a lot. What I didn’t do was meditate, which may be the reason that I didn’t get any answers. But then I wasn’t even sure what my questions were any longer, since I was in such a happy place.

One of the homes in Navadarshanam

Recently I caught up with a relatively old friend and we went over to this place called Navadarshanam to spend the weekend. In all the years that I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her so happy. It was as if she had found herself, living a vegan sustainable lifestyle in a little community, planting vegetables, playing with the newborn calf, making chappatis in the communal kitchen and singing bhajans at night, she was completely in her element. Her school kid like excitement was infectious and I was so happy that she had made this discovery.

My friend Uma with Gauri the calf in Navadarshanam

As much as I loved spending my weekend there, I was happy to be home. A while ago I gave up ‘questing’ because I realized that I already had what people quest for. It was my life and the answers had come to me during the course of my adapting to not having a routine, not earning a salary and not conforming to a ‘normal’ lifestyle. 

Never in my life have I had as much as I do now. 

The day my friend almost gave birth in my apartment

The beautiful mother-daughter pair

I remember it being an unseasonably warm Friday in November. It was the day of the week when I worked from home and didn’t have to worry about getting out of my pajamas. Quite obviously, this incident is from a few years ago when I was a corporate slave in New York City. 

My morning had just begun. I had turned on my laptop, responded to a couple of emails so it would look like I was working and was in the process of figuring out what I was going to eat for breakfast, when the phone rang. It was Aparna. 

“Hey,” she said. “Can I come over and hang out at your place for a while?”

An unusual request for a Friday morning. Fortunately, being a dear friend, I could ask her why. 

“My contractions have started,” she responded. 

So you’ve obviously figured out that Aparna was incredibly pregnant. 

And what good would I be in this situation?

“My doc wants me to come to the hospital only when the contractions are about 5 minutes apart,” she continued.

Suddenly I had lost my appetite for breakfast. 

I should probably give you a little background about why my apartment was a good place for her to hang out at, while she waited for her contractions to be more frequent. Aparna lived in Hoboken, New Jersey  while her hospital was in Manhattan, a 10 minute taxi ride from where I lived. 

A short while later I buzzed her in and she made herself comfortable on my futon.

“Carry on with whatever it is that you were doing,” she said. “Just pretend that I’m not here.”

Ha! In addition to pretending to work, I was now going to pretend that there wasn’t a woman about to give birth in my living room. Piece of cake! I sat down at the dining table, staring at my laptop, worrying about the ‘what if” scenario. 

What if she actually had the baby in my apartment? I had seen some movies and knew that I would need blankets and warm water. Except I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with them. Was I going to have to get rid of my almost new futon mattress if the baby was born here?

“How far apart are your contractions now?”, I asked.

“I’d say about 10 minutes,” she replied, seeming remarkably cool about the entire situation. 

“Don’t you think you should call Ankur?” 

The husband, who should be by your side. 

“He had a really important meeting today,” she responded dismissively, as she began leafing through the New Yorker. 

Was it stress or was it getting really warm? I cracked open a window. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked turning towards her. 

Her face was completely scrunched up and she was holding her stomach. 

“Ow” is all she said, while I looked at my watch to begin timing the contractions for myself.

The television went on. There was no sense in even trying to pretend to work. I began loudly chopping crunchy vegetables. May as well make lunch, I thought

“You’re freaking me out,” she said. “Sit down and relax.”

Words that I thought I should be saying to her.

Seven minutes later the face scrunched up again. Once the pain had passed, I decided that I now had to take matters into my own hands. 

“I’m calling Ankur even if you aren’t” I said sternly. 

She gave me an exasperated look and began dialing his number. It went to voice mail and she began leaving him a message.

“Ratan’s insisting that I let you know that the contractions are about 7 minutes apart. And that maybe you should come over. But I really don’t think there’s a need for you to rush.”

‘Maybe you should come over?’, ‘No need to rush?’. What kind of a message is that to leave for an expectant father from an expectant mother who is very close to having a baby? And what's the deal with the father who lets his wife's call go to voice mail at a time like this?

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” she said hanging up.

Except that I wasn’t so sure. It was time to change into my street clothes and prepare to take her to the hospital myself. I was pretty sure that the baby was rolling her eyes wondering when her parents would understand the urgency of the situation. 

The contractions were now 6 minutes apart. Or maybe I had mistimed them and it was really 5 minutes. 

“Okay,” I said commandingly. “Let’s go jump into a cab.”

Funny picture - a 9 month pregnant woman ‘jumping’ into a cab. 

As she began slowly lifting herself up, the phone rang.

Saved by the bell.

It was the husband. He was downstairs. 

“Grab my stuff,” she said. 

“Gladly!” I replied, ecstatic to see her leave!

So it turns out that there was no need for me to panic. Aparna went through a pretty long labor and little Mira didn't make an entrance into the world until 2 am. I dropped by the hospital to see her the next evening and Aparna, Ankur and I had a good laugh.

“I wish you could have seen your face,” Aparna said looking at me. “Can't believe I didn't think of taking a picture!”

Wasn’t funny then but yeah, it was funny now.