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”.
Tso Moriri, Ladakh
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
In with the New
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!
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!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
An Evening in Paris ... er New York
As I leave for Chicago tomorrow afternoon, I know I will have a really good time. However, I'm also aware that I will not have the kind of experiences that are unique to New York City. So before I forget the little events of this evening, I want to create one more posting.
I’ve been craving an aalu anda (potatoes and egg) kati roll since last night, when I was too tired to walk to 46th and 6th, about a 10 minute hike from my apartment. Since I still hadn't lost the craving, I decided that I must have it for dinner tonight. Except that when I got to the vendor he was making the last of the two rolls from the ‘wraps’ that he had left. I was in half a mind to try and talk the white boy who was waiting for them to be ready, out of eating at least one. But that would have been too crazy.
After much pondering I reluctantly decided to get a biryani. Just then another Indian dude showed up. I asked him if he was looking for kati rolls, which he said he was. “They’re all out,” I said making a sad face. I don’t know if he was making fun of me but he also made a sad face in return.
The biryani was enough to feed three people of my size and I felt bad that it would go to waste since I would be leaving before lunch the next day and wouldn’t be back for a week. It was an extremely humid night. I began walking three blocks to get to the fountains where it would be cooler and more conducive to making my dinner more enjoyable. As I began eating, a normal looking, decently dressed young man came up to me and asked if I could spare a dollar. I asked him what he needed it for and he responded that he was hungry. He spoke very broken English and from his accent it seemed like he was from Russia. Probably living illegally in the city and not able to find a job.
A dollar wasn't going to do him much good so I told him that I’d be happy to share my dinner, the prospect of which seemed to genuinely please him. I motioned for him to sit down while I finished about a third of the rice. I was really glad that the food I had just bought wasn’t going to go to waste and what better use could I have for it than to feed a hungry person. There was an extra fork and napkins and as I handed over the container to him, he gave me a smile of appreciation and a thank you in return. Someone had for sure heard my concern about waste.
It was just 9 pm. I decided not to return to the apartment right away and walk around for a while, soaking out some of the humidity!
I’m convinced that I have ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ written all over my face. While I was whiling away my time two individuals came and asked me for directions and a couple on 54th street wanted me to take their picture. I could seriously make a fortune if I charged a buck for each time I gave directions and took pictures of tourists. I’m really not complaining. On the contrary it actually makes me feel good because I figure that I must look like I belong here.
Finally when I was two blocks away from 'home', I saw the same Indian kati roll customer coming towards me. We waved at each other as I marveled at the chances of crossing paths with the same person among hundreds and hundreds on the streets that I had just been walking.
Time for me to take a shower and prepare to go to bed at a reasonable hour. The rhyming there was completely unintentional!. Tomorrow is another day and I have a flight to catch. Chicago, here I come!
I’ve been craving an aalu anda (potatoes and egg) kati roll since last night, when I was too tired to walk to 46th and 6th, about a 10 minute hike from my apartment. Since I still hadn't lost the craving, I decided that I must have it for dinner tonight. Except that when I got to the vendor he was making the last of the two rolls from the ‘wraps’ that he had left. I was in half a mind to try and talk the white boy who was waiting for them to be ready, out of eating at least one. But that would have been too crazy.
After much pondering I reluctantly decided to get a biryani. Just then another Indian dude showed up. I asked him if he was looking for kati rolls, which he said he was. “They’re all out,” I said making a sad face. I don’t know if he was making fun of me but he also made a sad face in return.
The biryani was enough to feed three people of my size and I felt bad that it would go to waste since I would be leaving before lunch the next day and wouldn’t be back for a week. It was an extremely humid night. I began walking three blocks to get to the fountains where it would be cooler and more conducive to making my dinner more enjoyable. As I began eating, a normal looking, decently dressed young man came up to me and asked if I could spare a dollar. I asked him what he needed it for and he responded that he was hungry. He spoke very broken English and from his accent it seemed like he was from Russia. Probably living illegally in the city and not able to find a job.
A dollar wasn't going to do him much good so I told him that I’d be happy to share my dinner, the prospect of which seemed to genuinely please him. I motioned for him to sit down while I finished about a third of the rice. I was really glad that the food I had just bought wasn’t going to go to waste and what better use could I have for it than to feed a hungry person. There was an extra fork and napkins and as I handed over the container to him, he gave me a smile of appreciation and a thank you in return. Someone had for sure heard my concern about waste.
It was just 9 pm. I decided not to return to the apartment right away and walk around for a while, soaking out some of the humidity!
I’m convinced that I have ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ written all over my face. While I was whiling away my time two individuals came and asked me for directions and a couple on 54th street wanted me to take their picture. I could seriously make a fortune if I charged a buck for each time I gave directions and took pictures of tourists. I’m really not complaining. On the contrary it actually makes me feel good because I figure that I must look like I belong here.
Finally when I was two blocks away from 'home', I saw the same Indian kati roll customer coming towards me. We waved at each other as I marveled at the chances of crossing paths with the same person among hundreds and hundreds on the streets that I had just been walking.
Time for me to take a shower and prepare to go to bed at a reasonable hour. The rhyming there was completely unintentional!. Tomorrow is another day and I have a flight to catch. Chicago, here I come!
The Week that Was
It’s been one helluva week. I have very little idea as to where it went. As I begin to write this on Sunday night, I will try and recollect snippets from it.
Two nights of extreme drinking and staying out late. I actually hadn’t partied hard until this weekend. Wasted today in recovery. Feeling like I will never drink again.
Brain too fuzzy still. Will continue writing on Monday.
Watched the first hour of the three part mini series of ‘Bollywood Hero’ on IFC. In a word, it sucked. Besides it having every cliché in the book, what made it even more unbearable was the poor acting, bad direction, an awful script and inane dialogues. It had not one redeeming factor. And guys nobody wants to see the slum-ridden streets of Mumbai anymore. I already mentioned that it sucked, didn’t I?
I ate one of the best sandwiches of my life. The bread was a rustic baguette filled with delicious hummus, crunchy cucumbers, fresh lettuce and basil, romaine tomatoes and zesty peppers. It looked really big and I thought that I would only be able to get through half of it. Ended up eating the whole thing. Oh, and the best part – it was from an organic bakery.
I was waiting for a friend outside the theater that’s playing ‘In the Heights’ on Broadway. A random person came up to me and asked me if I was in the show. I didn’t blink and said yes. She said that she noticed me even though I was in the chorus. I commented that she was very observant. She replied that she had a really good seat. I said niiicccce. She said I was very good. I said thanks. Her seat obviously wasn't that good, I thought to myself.
I went to an Improv theater performance one evening. It was interesting. But I was extremely distracted by this girl with fiercely hairy arms in the cast.
Attended a 2 evening event called Beyond Bollywood and Broadway where snippets from several plays authored by South Asians were read/performed and then discussed. Very enjoyable. Met some interesting people. And some uninteresting people. Even got interviewed by a journalist of the Mumbai Mirror who was covering the event and who politely corrected me when I said ‘Bombay’.
It was pretty much dry all week. I didn’t need to use my umbrella.
Spotted Regis of ‘The Regis and Kelly Show’ and ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ getting into a cab on 67th street. If you’re not in the touristy part of the city, no one even notices minor celebrities.
Went to New Jersey (gasp) one evening and ate chaat, pav bhaji and channa bhatura. And lots of sweets. It was like being in the mother country. Gave me my India fix.
Walked an average of 5 miles every day except Sunday when I could only manage 3 (yeah, yeah it was the hangover). Making sure I stay in shape. Since I wont be doing any of that during my week in Chicago, I’ll just have to give up eating.
Sunday evening at Strawberry Fields, Central Park - no sign of the band that played songs of the Beatles, the Imagine circle for John Lennon was bare and undecorated (refer http://fightstereotypes.blogspot.com/2008_10_01_archive.html). Whatever happened in the past year? It was a little depressing. I left in a few minutes.
I can hardly believe that I’ve been in New York for almost 4 weeks. The sad part could be that I have barely a little over a week left in the city since I’m gone to Chicago for a few days. However, I’ve decided that sadness has no place in this trip and I will leave here with a smile on my face. There are still so many things that I need to get done before this year is over with and so all I want to do is to look forward.
The week that will be?
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?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A Day in my New York Life
I was walking down bustling 9th Avenue, restaurants on both sides of the street. There were two women amongst so many others walking ahead of me. Both with shoulder length blonde hair. One had a very feminine backless dress on, the other one in a tank top and jeans. Tall, nice legs, shapely and probably pretty (I never did get to see their faces). The one in the jeans had her arm around the other while the one in the dress had her hand in the other one’s back pocket. Love was in the air and nothing and nobody mattered.
You don't get judged in New York City.
Again walking down the same street when the Heaven’s opened up without a warning. I spotted a little convenient store and jogged my way into it, remembering that I had to pick up sugar and biscuits to have with my morning tea. Once I was done with my purchase, I continued to wait inside, watching the rain come down hard. A woman, probably in her late 30’s walked in, bought a banana and asked for the biggest plastic bag that they had. Very efficiently she made three holes in the bag, one for her head, two for her arms and slipped it on like a blouse. Peeled the banana, walked out of the store, opened her umbrella and continued on her way.
Figure out a way to keep moving in New York City.
I’ve sublet an apartment close to Times Square, which can be annoying because of all the tourists but convenient because most places are either walking distance or a short cab ride away and every subway line has a stop here. I anticipated some minor issues in the apartment a couple of days into it and decided that maybe I should look for other options, just in case. So I began responding to advertisements on Craigslist and made appointments to see three places, all close to my old neighborhood. After I got done with viewing two of them I realized that I didn’t have the apartment number of the third one. So I called the person that I had made the appointment with and after he gave me the information he said, “Oh by the way, I guess I should have mentioned this sooner but I’m a nudist.”
He paused for a moment and continued saying that he wouldn’t be wearing clothes when he was in the apartment. I was at a loss for words and didn’t know how to react. I was still processing what he had just said, suddenly picturing my flat-mate walking around naked in the apartment. Obviously this wasn’t going to work out and as casually as I could, I told him that I wouldn’t be comfortable with the situation and there was no sense in my seeing the room. I had to know though, so I asked him if he would have answered the door in the buff if I had showed up. “Oh probably not,” he said. Probably? That was a close shave!
Bare it all in New York City.
It was a beautiful evening and I decided that I wouldn’t take the subway back to the apartment. Even though it was a long hike back, walking is one of the things I enjoy the most in New York. Besides, I wanted to visit my old neighborhood and walk through Central Park. About 20 minutes later, I felt a few drops of rain. The clouds didn’t look threatening so even though I didn’t have my umbrella, I wasn’t really concerned. As it started coming down a little harder I decided to stop and wait under the canopy of a restaurant on the corner of 73rd Street and Columbus Avenue. The sky got darker and the rain was now belting down. I began moving more and more towards the inside of the restaurant. It was getting windy and the canopy wasn’t helping a lot when two African American ladies with umbrellas decided to take shelter and share my space. Finally because of the winds we moved inside and began making small conversation. As the rain became manageable the ladies decided to head out. I came out of the restaurant with them but the rain was still more than a drizzle and it didn’t make sense for me to continue walking without an umbrella. One of them looked back and noticing that I was still stuck under the canopy said, “honey don’t you have an umbrella?” Nodding my head I said no. She came back and insisted that I take hers. “My sister and I will share one sweetie,” she said. They were both large women and one umbrella wasn’t going to do it for them. But she wouldn’t listen and I left the restaurant with an umbrella over my head and a song on my lips!
People are nice in New York City.
Needless to say, the city continues to fascinate me. Every time I think that nothing can surprise me, something does. From the lesbian couple who aren’t shy to display their affection, the woman who gets the largest plastic bag for a single banana in a grocery store, the nudist looking for a roommate or the friendly New Yorker. It’s just another day in my life here.
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.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
My New York Stories - Part 2 of many
I’ve written quite a bit about my stay in New York, the reasons I love it etc. It’s been almost 9 months since I returned from my 15 month stint in the city and as I get ready to go back next week, there are so many memories and expectations I am taking with me. Hopefully not leading to disappointment. If you haven’t read Part 1 of My New York Stories, this isn’t really a sequel ….
‘Twas the day before Thanksgiving. It had been less than two months since I had moved into my apartment on 75th Street by Central Park West. Although I knew that the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade was a really big deal, I had never been interested enough for even a television viewing during the years that I had lived in Chicago.
My friend Saloni was visiting me in New York for the week and it was past 10 pm. We had just gone through most of a bottle of wine and even though we had had an exhausting day, we were starting to feel like we needed to do something. Saloni suggested that we go out and continue exploring the city. To me ‘going out’ was always a good idea although I did warn her that the city would probably be dead since most people would have left to be with their families to celebrate the holiday.
As we came out of the brownstone apartment building we saw a sight that we were completely unprepared for. There were people everywhere. A sea of people. Swarms of them. Thousands and thousands of humans. Saloni and I looked at each other and burst into peals of laughter. We laughed until there were tears rolling down our eyes. I suspect it was mostly the effect of the liquor that made us laugh at a sight that was so unexpected. I had no clue why there were so many people in my neighborhood and I absolutely had to find out. As we continued to stare at the magnitude of people and realized that there was a line of sorts, there was also no possibility of us getting through the bodies to see what was at the end of it.
A few minutes later, upon questioning, an employee of the NYPD informed me that the floaters and balloons were being inflated for the parade the next morning on 76th Street. And that the parade would be starting just a block away from where I lived. These crazy people around me were here to get a preview of Big Bird, Herbie and Dora. All tourists of course, people I would have nothing to do with. So I grabbed Saloni’s arm and walked towards the opposite direction. I was a New Yorker. I had my pride and I wasn’t about to indulge in any kind of tourist activity! Besides, we were going to be seeing the parade the next morning anyway.
We eventually parked ourselves on a bench outside the Haagen Dazs parlor on Columbus Avenue and began ‘people watching’. Which I may add is one of the most entertaining and fascinating time killing activities in New York City. We decided to play a game where we would segregate the locals from the tourists. We had no way of confirming if we were right or wrong but to us it seemed pretty clear cut. The tourists were dressed in bright colors, clunky gym shoes, wearing coats that were either several seasons out of style or completely not cool. Their children were dressed in pinks and baby blues. On the other hand, the local kids dressed like their parents, in stylish grown-up overcoats, boots and most importantly wearing an urban attitude. No holding their parents hands, no whining for ice cream. Just minding their own business and checking out the sights.
Although the night that I’ve just described may not seem extraordinary, the fact is that it was no ordinary night for me. Just as each day that I spent in the city, I discovered that it had at least one more interesting and unexpected characteristic. All I had to do was to keep my senses focused. And recognize these traits.
There is always a story to tell, a talent to watch, some people to meet or just the city to view. The multitude of races that live in near-perfect harmony. All the things that give New York City the character that it has are endless. It’s up to each one of us to recognize and indulge in them. Maybe my eyes saw things that weren’t really exceptional to a pair in someone else’s head. Maybe my heart made the ordinary seem extraordinary. Whatever the case may be, next week as I go back to the city that I love so dearly, I feel that I will become one with it. I may just be one in a few million that I share the space with. But my experiences will be distinctive and the time I spend with New York will be ‘specially’ mine.
‘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.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The Memory Bank
It was about 2:30 in the afternoon when I started making my way to the New Alipore branch of the State Bank of India. Even though it was cloudy and I was afraid that I might get caught in the rain during my 20-minute walk, I nevertheless decided to take a chance. I was on my way to make a deposit for my dad at the afternoon branch of the bank and in spite of so many years having gone by, I still remember the day as if it was yesterday.
New Alipore is one of the nicest residential neighborhoods of Calcutta and I was lucky to have grown up there. On two ends of it were two bridges, one was the Kaat pul translated from Bengali to ‘wooden bridge’ that was basically a short cut for the walking population to go towards Tollygunj. The other end had the more majestic Majerhat Bridge , bustling with traffic connecting New Alipore to the centre of the city.
Although the kaat pul was replaced with a safer concrete bridge while I was still very young, the name stayed.
To get from one end of New Alipore to the other, it was at least a 30-minute walk if you were a brisk-walker, which I have always been. The portion from where I lived to the bank, which was right by the big bridge, was a very pleasant walk on well-maintained tree-lined streets with broad sidewalks. On the way were a few ‘general’ stores which generally sold most things you would need on a day-to-day basis, my favorite Chinese restaurant called Kowloon, a Yoga school and some fast-food places that served a smattering of American and Indian fare.
Considering that I had left at 2:30, I expected to be at the bank by 2:50. Figured it would take me about five minutes to make the deposit and I would be home by 3:15. This is a little game I've always played. Timed my activities and tried to be on the dot!
It wasn't very busy at the bank. There were a couple of people ahead of me in line and the five minutes I had estimated for being there, would in all probability be just right. I handed over the cash to the teller and waited for him to finish counting it and hand me back my receipt. As he reached out to give it to me, I heard gunshots and saw four men in masks entering the bank, holding guns commanding everyone to stay where they were. A few moments later one of them, a tall, well built guy came over, shoved me aside and barked at the teller to hand over all the cash. One of his accomplice’s was at the next window. Another robber was going around making people stand against the wall with their hands up in the air while the fourth was in the Manager’s office holding a gun to his head, obviously asking for the keys to the vault. I also noticed an unmasked puny man with them, walking with the manager moments later towards the vault.
I remember being completely calm through the entire incident, very sure that they wouldn’t harm me or anyone else. Unless of course we tried to be heroes and as I looked around, I didn’t see anyone that fit the part. I also remember being terribly excited that I was witnessing a bank robbery and was almost licking my chops about the fact that I had such a great story to tell. And nobody I knew could possibly top this one!
Probably all of three or four minutes would have passed when we heard police sirens. A few seconds later, we saw the four masked men, running out of the bank with their bags. I wondered where the little guy was and found out later that the manager, a true hero, had managed to lock him in the vault. The other four had escaped and suddenly the bank was full of cops.
The rest of the story isn’t very interesting. Everyone that had witnessed the incident had to stay back and was questioned. The entire process took several hours. This was before the age of cell phones and for some reason we weren’t allowed to use the phones at the bank to make any calls. I knew that my folks would be worrying but there was nothing I could do. The grapevine in the neighborhood was very strong and before long my mother heard about the robbery. She in turn immediately called my dad at work, who rushed home. Soon neighbors and relatives heard that I, the only son of my parents, the apple of their eye, who had me after giving birth to four girls, was in the bank when it was robbed. Was I hurt? Was I safe? Was I alive? Some close friends and relatives came over to provide my parents with moral support. My dad and uncle stationed themselves as close to the bank as they were allowed to.
Finally at about 7:30 pm, we were allowed to leave. I came out and saw my dad standing by the car, the obvious relief on his face as he spotted me walking towards him. I was welcomed at home by my mother who was in tears and hoards of other people who were acting as if I had come out of some near-death experience. I seriously couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about. Those few bank robbery minutes were some of the most exciting minutes of my life. I couldn’t believe my luck when I was witnessing the incident.
I may have been an extra, a nobody in the crowd scene but for me it was the role of a lifetime!
New Alipore is one of the nicest residential neighborhoods of Calcutta and I was lucky to have grown up there. On two ends of it were two bridges, one was the Kaat pul translated from Bengali to ‘wooden bridge’ that was basically a short cut for the walking population to go towards Tollygunj. The other end had the more majestic Majerhat Bridge , bustling with traffic connecting New Alipore to the centre of the city.
Although the kaat pul was replaced with a safer concrete bridge while I was still very young, the name stayed.
To get from one end of New Alipore to the other, it was at least a 30-minute walk if you were a brisk-walker, which I have always been. The portion from where I lived to the bank, which was right by the big bridge, was a very pleasant walk on well-maintained tree-lined streets with broad sidewalks. On the way were a few ‘general’ stores which generally sold most things you would need on a day-to-day basis, my favorite Chinese restaurant called Kowloon, a Yoga school and some fast-food places that served a smattering of American and Indian fare.
Considering that I had left at 2:30, I expected to be at the bank by 2:50. Figured it would take me about five minutes to make the deposit and I would be home by 3:15. This is a little game I've always played. Timed my activities and tried to be on the dot!
It wasn't very busy at the bank. There were a couple of people ahead of me in line and the five minutes I had estimated for being there, would in all probability be just right. I handed over the cash to the teller and waited for him to finish counting it and hand me back my receipt. As he reached out to give it to me, I heard gunshots and saw four men in masks entering the bank, holding guns commanding everyone to stay where they were. A few moments later one of them, a tall, well built guy came over, shoved me aside and barked at the teller to hand over all the cash. One of his accomplice’s was at the next window. Another robber was going around making people stand against the wall with their hands up in the air while the fourth was in the Manager’s office holding a gun to his head, obviously asking for the keys to the vault. I also noticed an unmasked puny man with them, walking with the manager moments later towards the vault.
I remember being completely calm through the entire incident, very sure that they wouldn’t harm me or anyone else. Unless of course we tried to be heroes and as I looked around, I didn’t see anyone that fit the part. I also remember being terribly excited that I was witnessing a bank robbery and was almost licking my chops about the fact that I had such a great story to tell. And nobody I knew could possibly top this one!
Probably all of three or four minutes would have passed when we heard police sirens. A few seconds later, we saw the four masked men, running out of the bank with their bags. I wondered where the little guy was and found out later that the manager, a true hero, had managed to lock him in the vault. The other four had escaped and suddenly the bank was full of cops.
The rest of the story isn’t very interesting. Everyone that had witnessed the incident had to stay back and was questioned. The entire process took several hours. This was before the age of cell phones and for some reason we weren’t allowed to use the phones at the bank to make any calls. I knew that my folks would be worrying but there was nothing I could do. The grapevine in the neighborhood was very strong and before long my mother heard about the robbery. She in turn immediately called my dad at work, who rushed home. Soon neighbors and relatives heard that I, the only son of my parents, the apple of their eye, who had me after giving birth to four girls, was in the bank when it was robbed. Was I hurt? Was I safe? Was I alive? Some close friends and relatives came over to provide my parents with moral support. My dad and uncle stationed themselves as close to the bank as they were allowed to.
Finally at about 7:30 pm, we were allowed to leave. I came out and saw my dad standing by the car, the obvious relief on his face as he spotted me walking towards him. I was welcomed at home by my mother who was in tears and hoards of other people who were acting as if I had come out of some near-death experience. I seriously couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about. Those few bank robbery minutes were some of the most exciting minutes of my life. I couldn’t believe my luck when I was witnessing the incident.
I may have been an extra, a nobody in the crowd scene but for me it was the role of a lifetime!
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