Spring Break in the City: Unscripted

Saturday

Each trip of mine to New York has been very distinct from the previous. In its mood, of the people I meet and of the many things that my brain is constantly grappling with as I scan this city and its people.

J got back from his South East Asian trip so jet lag and grumpiness are threatening the prospect of what I had in mind for this trip. But friends stick up for each other so I am being patient and trying to not feel bummed about the fact that he leaves for SXSW on Monday.

For the first time in the city, Saturday night was a promise of getting wasted and living it up. Neither of that happened. J and Puiya had been drinking all evening so by the time they got home, whiskey was running in their veins.  More whiskey shots followed between the men while I quitely sipped my Kahlua and listened to 'Something Good Can Start' by Two Door Cinema Club (my latest song running in a loop). Puiya pulled me up and we were dancing freestyle jazz followed by THE dip. I have always wanted to be dipped that low with my head touching the floor backwards like they show in the movies, so this was so much fun...after such a long time.

Next, we caught a train to Brooklyn and reached a pub that was clearly a place for 35 and older. The music wasn't snazzy for a Saturday night but I got to meet a cinematographer, more lawyers (are there more legal personnel in this world than we need because  I just meet too many of them!) and a med school student. These days with my low threshold for alcohol, I stick to one gin and tonic but J's whiskey fest left him sick. Over lemon and water and my efforts to make him feel better, I spoke a bit too much perhaps about our common concerns of our friendship and my indecisiveness of moving to NYC or LA . It was nice to be there just talking and listening to someone who's been such a good friend and strong source of comfort in the last couple of months. And in such moments, my heart just spills over. Maybe R was right but her counsel has killed motivation to just be in the moment. I am mad for the first time with a friend looking out for for me, because I think the universe works in such unfair ways. When you want to be carefree and spirited emotions run strong. And tables turn when you least expect them.

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Tuesday

The floor assistant selling me boots today flirted, asked my name repeatedly and claimed he waved tax for me.....freaked me out a bit. Good looking but very starry eyed so I played it cool and walked out fast. Walked a lot betwen 34th and 44th and my feet are killing me in these fancy boots. Met E at Madison and we talked for over two hours about Development and his experience in the industry so far. I love his energy and drive because it reminds me of myself being in hyper-productive mode which E is known for. I then took the plunge and wandered into the Museum of Sex all by myself. The graphic novels were a real catch but as J said, the other stuff was a bit wasted on me. But I still had a good laugh. Net time, I"ll be patient enough to explore the 2nd and 3rd floors as well. Heading back to J's apartment for a quite dinner and efforts to push through my Film Noir paper

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Wednesday

This city's penchant for throwing bizarre things my way is absolutely stupendous.

I am sitting at a  Starbuck's on 46th and 9th to get work done because sitting in J's flat all alone depresses me, besides Micky and Lucy the cats just stare at me with the ''puss in boots eyes" wanting to be cuddled up and there's only a certain limit of cat hair that I am willing to entertain. I think having fat furry cats is an added advantage for struggling young professionals in New York. I suggested that we collect Mickey's and Lucy's fur and make it into cat yarn and then outsource it to knitters. Heard about Mohair? How about feline substitute? Hey, you can sell anything in a big city , especially to New Yorkers:)

So the Indian guy sitting next to me has a very heavy accent and has been talking serious business with people across the country. His fingers move smoothly over his ipad and that's about as expressive he is going to get . I am busy checking out a very very cute 28 something 'hipsterlicious' (as Jack puts it) who's just walked into the cafe and is now by my side when I notice a really grumpy looking stocky woman with a huge Russian nose, yank the chair opposite my nifty Indian business man and plant her big frame squarely across him. She is checking him out and he betrays no sign of surprise or irritation!  Turns out she is not well in the 'sane' category . It's been half an hour and he sits working steadily while she sips her ice tea and mumbles grumbles all around the air....I am impressed. 

Meanwhile, my said cute horn rimmed spectacle sporting 'hipsterlicious' friend is talking to another of his kind. Why didn't I realize this earlier. I am in Theatre District. Of course all good looking and interesting men are anything but straight

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Thursday

Today is St Pattie's and it's a really big deal in the city. Mostly an excuse to be drunk ALL day and wear green paraphernalia in the most imaginative manner. I really wanted to make the most of our last day in the city (me, Jess and Jack) so I found a play on Broadway that I really wanted to see with Jack. It's called The Book of Mormons and is written by the creators of South Park. Unfortunately the theatre company wasn't selling discounted tickets and after a half hour wait at the TKTS booth on Times Square I simply abandoned the idea and met up with Jess. We made our way to Central Park arguing about directions and cracking up all the way. The park was off limits but the sunny warm weather was still a bonus so we just walked around, ate hot dogs and ice cream and indulged in people watching. What a city of beautiful people I tell you.

I had an interview lined up on 23rd later that evening with the Producer whose credits are super impressive : Monsoon Wedding, You Don't Know Jack, Iron Jawed Angels, Hysterical Blindness, Mississippi Masala and The Darjeeling Limited. Jess gave me company all the way through Chelsea and we had a fair share of more hen watching but again, Chelsea people so .... straight men are a rarity. Chelsea is so much dirtier than I imagined it to be rather more earthy. Lots of quirky stores, brick red apartments and weird exotic poodle stores (I see lots of men with one of those bizarre midget dogs walking the streets of NYC). One was selling Japanese pups for $1400!

Finally, I get to the Producer's office and wait anxiously. It was a bit surreal to say the least sitting beneath these huge posters, shelves of manuscripts and books in this fancy studio office, knowing that you are just about to meet the brain who put together some of your favourite movies. The meeting went well, I think most of it did. And while nothing is on the cards for now, I am so grateful that people actually make the time for young people starting out. If only I could just get a job and move to the city!

Later that night, the girls and I landed in Grenwich in the village at the Sullivan's Hall. I dug this place out from Time Out, New York because of its promise of a cheap entry, good house and world music and amazing energy on the dance floor. Sadly, that didn't work out too well. By the time we entered the last of the bands was performing and then the techno trance converted it into a club mood so we got out. Jess had befriended a guy who's studying in SVA and he gave us directions to two dance clubs. Armed with maps we set out just the two of us. We barely crossed two blocks when a tall Polish guy   grabbed Jess' map and promised us to find what we were looking for. Another Polish guy joined him and the next thing they were talking in their own lingo convincing us we should be making docus on their lives. Jess came up with "my brother is waiting for us" excuse and we managed to shake the weirdos off. Brrrrrrr. We laughed hard though and another 5 blocks down realized that she had left her credit card behind. When we got back to Sullian's, the SVA kid was still hanging around so we convinced him to join us and again began our hunt for the two promised clubs.

By 1 pm we realized that for some reason the village was dead and that we weren't going to be breaking a leg. The SVA kid treated us to a lot of NYC celeb gossip (including Leonardo Di Caprio's latest disguise at Soho) and finally took us to this little family run Chinese pub called Willle's close to the NYU dorms. It was perfect. Dog tired and barely awake, we downed pork dumplings and chatted up more. 

So New York wasn't exactly what I had wanted from it this time. But, I walked much more, figured out the subway better this time and made new friends. The cabbie who dropped us off the last night was a political prisoner in Chad and once taught Math at a University before he had to leave his country and family and come away to New York.

The city surprises you, overwhelms you and then makes you grateful for all that you have.

~~~~4 feet under: Day 4~~~~

"F^&*!!!!!"

 My pool-mates laughed hard for the next 2 minutes or so but my coach didn't seem amused. I guess Americans are even more conservative than I assumed them to be. Next time, the temperature of the water is not to my expectation, I am going to bite my lip or perhaps mouth another word that I often substitute for the harsher version: "frack" (which I picked up from my Canadian friend). Perhaps even "fish".

So nothing very exciting to report about this time but for the two athletic looking Indian guys who walked in midway through my class and barely even returned my gaze. I guess it's not our culture to be amiable to random strangers and we smile rarely, if you haven't noticed already. You walk down campus and get a smile from almost everyone walking by but Indians. The corners of their lip extend just about .08 mm or so for a sec and then they are back to the straight faced matter of fact look. It's like they cheat you into thinking "yes I'm smiling at you" but they don't land up doing so and as a result you are left grinning wide faced like an ass because your reflex has already jumped into action with that .08 muscle movement from the Indian opposite you.

Anyway, enough love for my brethren. So back to swimming class. Yesterday, I was taught a free hand stroke and forced to be pinned against a wall while I got it right. My hand co-ordination isn't right apparently but as soon I had the pool to myself, I practiced the stroke for close to two hours. 

I find it hard to get out of the water once I get in. That block of time from 7-9 is mine and only mine. All the stress and mind wandering of my professional and personal life completely disappear when I am in the water. 

Every muscle in my legs and shoulders hurts but I can't believe the brilliant work-out this proving is to be. 

Winter, I am sticking my tongue out to you..

Bleah!

 

Say a Little Prayer

I can't remember the last time I prayed. And when I mean a prayer I am not talking of the exaggerated brass bells swinging in a temple with marigolds whipping in a frenzy as a mad storm engulfs the porch of a temple while I prostrate myself on the ground in obesiance to a God/Goddess (if you've grown up on corny Indian cinema of the 80s you'd know what I am referring to)

To me a prayer is the most selfless, undivided and pure essence of your energy, your beliefs being channelized into a single thought, a single moment of a connection with a force beyond yourself. It is often in earnest desire of understanding why a situation presents itself to you or to make sense of something beyond your expectations - sad or happy. It is my little moment of meditating by myself regardless of people around me during day or the comforting darkness of my room at night.

Growing up, I watched my grandfather, a  hard-working and extremely strict man who served the British army to his best for 30 years and dedicated the rest of his life to his garden, his grand daughters, carpentry, writing and a hundred other interests that were beyond comprehension to an ordinary person. He read every single holy text that he could and had the cross, the symbol of Islam, a swastika amongst a multitude of brass, stone, iron , laminated old Ravi Verma paintings of various gods and goddesses crammed into a little 6 foot by 7 foot red cemented floor. This was our shrine or the 'thakur ghor'. Everyday, 'dadu' as we grandchildren fondly called him, spent 2 hours in that shrine reading verses from the Bhagvad Gita, recited atleast three sets of 'jaap' or chants to certain Gods and then cleaned and decorated all his little deities with fresh hand picked flowers from our very own garden. I sat spell bound, dwarfed by his physical and intellectual prowess happy to be infused with a concoction of camphor, frankinsence and basil, listening to his stentorian voice transformed suddenly in rhythmic comforting lilting patterns of Sanskrit words. Needless to say, the overall effect was hypnotizing. I learnt the 'Hanuman Chaalisa' in Awadhi and recited it everyday for 12 years because when I was young it just sounded cool to recite 40 lines of devotional lyrics to the monkey god Hanumaan, penned by none other than a famous Indian poet Tulsidaas. Cool also because every male member of my family recited it after a bath while standing out in the open  in the cupped hand posture thanking the force above. The sun and the sky seemed limitless when my uncle did this. And if it was my father's voice doing so while he got ready for his office, it was a comforting reminder of how gentle his his voice could sound singing hymns.

Amidst such fidelity to the Hindu texts and rituals, my family's stance to religion seemed spiritual. Never was I ever taught that my religion was a certain thing I had to affirm to or identify myself with. My grandparents and parents always emphasized on the philosophy that Hinduism essentially is. Not the set of codes and customs that fundamentalists/eccentrics preach it to be. Over meals, during our summer family get togethers over beer and long walks, they explained the logic or significance of a custom, a religious practice or a day meant. Never was I ever asked to shun other religions for simply their malpractices and never have I ever therefore as a result of endless debates and questioning identified myself as a staunch religious person.  My family's unique method of practising Hinduism was our own alternate religion. 

And yet I won't deny it, I seek out the customs and practices of the comfort that this so called 'religious behaviour' exists at home. Entering the cool recesses of my grandfather's little shrine is the first thing I do when I head home. It has become our family's meditation zone, something we seek comfort from the turbulence of life. Dadu is no longer alive, but his face smiling down from the shelf in the thakur ghor fills up my heart so much that I can barely contain the sadness I feel of his absence. At the end of it all, I feel happier knowing that I had the privilege and freedom as a child to participate with adn question the adults of my family over religion and its ritualistic paraphernalia. 

In retrospect, I may have no higher understanding of God and sometimes in this regard I respect how focussed atheists seem. But I am happy to feel humble, to feel a sense of dependence and gratitude for what comes my way and what doesn't. And it is largely owing to the philosophy that Hinduism expounds. Some may argue, belief makes you weak, that it makes you complacent, accepting all of life's tumultous chaos, resigning yourself to the adage that ''this is my destined share of things'' instead of fighting it out and fighting back. But the power of self- realization and the love for life I have experienced through organized scientific appreciation of religion, mine or others, is something I would never renounce.

Tonight, it's a prayer for J. For coming into my life by happenstance and being the friend that you are in trouble and happiness. Human beings mourn not so much for the loss or sickness of their loved ones but more out of a selfish dependance on this person and the fear of their loneliness at losing them or seeing them suffer. If anything were to ever hurt you or cause you pain, I would hurt as well. I hope there are better, healthier, happier days for you soon and that what you are going through is merely a phase. You have made the last 6 months of my life so much richer, more adventurous and made me wiser in your own little ways

Ameen.

~~~~~~~4 feet Under: Day 3~~~~~~~~

It's official and I am announcing it the whole wide world.

I can float. Finally.

Today is important and it will stay etched in the aqua tinted recesses of my brain. A sense of accomplishment and a really big one if you ask me since I never had the opportunity to learn how to swim or simply been afraid. I could have gone on, the misery of not overcoming this fear and instead made excuses for lacking the gumption and simply blame my parents for not taking any interest in my extra curricular activities. Or been miserable whenever I was tin an exotic paradise where surfers and bikini clad women made me feel like a ninkompoop. OR worse faced the end of my life if ever caught in a flood.

However, I don't want to find myself in any of these scenarios and so it's been pretty much sink or swim attitude that's taken over.

It paid off.

It didn't happen easily though. Between several half baked attempts at gliding from one end of the pool to another,  forcing myself to breathe under water and finally letting go, there's been the sense of absolute misery for wanting to chicken out yet again. I did this when I was 14 years old and I think growing older beyond 25 gives you a checklist of things you want to feel proud of. Being lousy in water amongst a family of swimmers ( and mind you my parents swim in the sea, lakes and ponds. Pools weren't even a luxury to them) isn't what I wish to be stuck with when I am 30. 

Subconsciously though, this push to learn swimming began when I struck up a seemingly perfect and too good to be true relationship earlier last year.  I realized what great joy it would be to be able to swim next to this person. Our little plans of traveling..maybe Goa first, the beach and the sea, that talk must have done something. 

Perhaps distance does change equations. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be. 

But hey! I am on my way to finally enjoy nature's liquified bounty. With or without a companion.

By the way, this was my third swimming lesson and my instructor has turned out to be really patient so far. However,  I have a friend and stranger to thank much more than anyone else for getting ahead.

All that I could think of in those 3 hours in the pool today, kicking , floating and enjoying every minute of my new found skills, was the big lake in Ma's village and wanting to go swimming with her and Baba.

Pardon this abrupt jump ahead, but Day 2 was really a lot of paddling around and getting the kicks right. I also spent 2 extra hours by myself teaching myself to stay under water longer. In comparison, today is just more exciting to write about :)

Next class will undoubtedly be more exciting, if I manage to get the stroke right

Glub, glub. More updates coming up

~~~~4 Feet Under: Glub Glub Chronicles~~~~

I wish I had something more original to quip. But the TV series, two numbers more, that bowled me over in high school always inspired sad one liners. And here's mine :P


I force myself 4 feet under....water. Every Wednesday night, I walk half a mile across the campus at about 7 pm into the gym. A couple of minutes later, I am trying my best to work on my fear. Yes it's swimming.


I love bathing in the sea and splashing around in the pool but never have I ever swam and I'm getting frustrated letting my fears grow stronger over the years.


When in Hawaii over winter break, I felt like an idiot waddling around with a tube in a 4 feet pool.


And SO It's my New Year's resolution to learn to swim this year and for a change I am sticking to mine. Only that it's pending from 2010.


'High time'. Ha ha!


Glub glub chronicles begin here :)


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Day 1


"Give me a dead man's float".


I splutter through the chlorinated water barely able to say "How?" because my teeth refuse to stop clattering and here my 21 year old coach is asking me to simply let go on my first day of swimming lessons!


"I have control issues DUDE!" I yell back furiously.......in my head.


 I mean, when in water, I am freaked out of letting my feet float off.


"Take a leap of faith", he adds promising to spot me.


Right!


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More to come!

Hop- Scotch

My mind plays little games
Amidst friends over dinner
In a crowded pub brimming with laughter
Over long walks in the snow by myself


It's trapped in blurry lines
Of the future and the past
Of memories threatening to fade out
Faster than the only picture of yours that I have


Tonight I said no
To another and to myself
Happy going solo
Happy to be with myself


And yet my mind skipped thousands of miles
To the second day at your house
I noticed the little blue book of Jeet's collected poems
And smiled to myself that afternoon all along


In its own little way
Undistracted by my departure at hand
And what you felt for me
We were perfect


Over long walks in the snow by myself
Fleeting emotions now and then
Your smile and our conversations through the sleepless city
My mind plays little games

The Rainbow Spotter

It's a Friday night and I am fishing for new martini recipes while soaking in the orange glow of my little flat. My little nest this home has become, comforting me with its 70 F temperature while the Tundra outside threatens me with arctic frostbite like symptoms. I am waiting for someone to join me and I am so happy that I came home tonight to share my single-hood with Q instead of falling asleep to yet another night of an episode from Mad Men (don't get me wrong, it's a finely written and brilliantly directed series but sitcoms make bad bed-fellows. You know...they are addictive, you feel miserable falling asleep alone, so you watch one more and then one more until your eyes hurt with sleep. You then wake up next morning looking pathetic)

I have travelled two continents and I still stand by this solemnly: no one in this world can compete with your women friends when it comes to companionship in times of joy and sadness. Yes the cliche stands true that we do blabber our heart's content about EVERYTHING. I see my male friends and how clammed up they can be, denying their inner feelings to be vented and thereby building layers and layers of emotions suppressed unhealthily. God knows what that self-inflicted silence hides beneath the tough exterior of most XY species.

I am privileged. Yes I am....to meet the confident, independent, funny and inspiring women who befriend me wherever I go. JJJCQ....I look at these women and I wonder if there's a larger cosmic reason we all are yet to be found by worthy companions.

I say "found" and not "we are yet to find". We chased - in some cases relentlessly - men whose intellect fascinated us. Normally, I am all for the new order of courtship that my generation of women practice. Woman spots/meets guy, tests his sense of humour and intelligence, checks to see if he is compatible and then zeroes in to lock herself emotionally. But, of late, I get a sense that maybe the old order of courtship needs to be revived. I am not suggesting you play coy and wait for a man who is IT. But why not give them an opportunity to seek us out. Someone I knew very well used to say "It's all about the chase". I finally get it even if I want to deny it.

 If only all of us can resign ourselves to this: fate and timing often have more to do with meeting people. Not "right" or "perfect" but individuals who are confident of themselves yet humble and up for a challenge.

It must be a bit of the wisdom that my professor shared with me tonight or the good Hendricks drink she fixed for me...but I think I can see myself a bit clearer today. Being a woman, an Indian and turning 26 , in this country is sparking off the epiphany that all of us have parallel identities, co-existing and supplementing the extremes of the other. And if we all managed to live the most honest and healthiest of each of those identities, ONLY then would we be truly doing justice to ourselves.

Enough diatribe! I shall now sit back, cross my feet and enjoy my chilly lemon martini. Cheers Q! Your presence really brings out the zany side of me...albeit in a good way. Now only if I can find a guy who does the same.