Good times in life need no tickets!

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Mural on the wall at the World Trade Centre Memorial site, New York city
Good times in life need no tickets!

Perhaps there have been surveys conducted which could support my assumption that most of the seats in a plane landing in the USA from Asia, or even Gulf, are bought by Indian parents going to visit their children/be the support during the birth of a baby/babysit grandchildren, students going for their new academic year/semester or relatives going to attend a family function/avail of the generous offer of amreeka ghuma denge (take you around in US). In that case, shouldn’t the airlines give them some kind of discount or incentives? Sadly, the aviation industry is yet to discover my counselling skills and thus, remains deprived of this wisdom.

Me? I can leave within 48 hours (provided I do not have to break a bank to buy the tickets) to not only escape the extremes of heat and humidity but what it brings with it, those things creeping on the walls and everywhere, which I never take the name of and I do not know why God made.

Coming to the point, we were at a friend’s house gorging on crispy pataud i.e., colocasia leaves coated with chickpea flour, rolled, steamed and then fried (too much effort, naturally I do not make them). This family is God’s gift to me because I can go there any time, eat and talk for hours, but they never expect anything in return. Asking them if this is because they are aware I cannot do a thing for anybody or they are repaying me for some good I probably did to them in some past life (seriously doubt this one) would be stupidity, don’t you think?

Anyway, the sweet lady sitting next to me before dinner and I were talking about her children in the USA whom she was going to visit the following week. After a few minutes, another one joined in as her daughter too lives in the US. I have this growing feeling that it is rare to find a family in India which does not have either - an engineer or a member living in the US.

Soon, they were rattling off names. They mentioned the majesty of Niagra falls, fast pace of New York city, fun at Disneyland, nightlife in Las Vegas, beaches in California, shopping at big brand stores and scores more places that they had visited. By the time they started talking of the fallen, dried, brightly coloured leaves during the fall season, my mind had started a conversation with itself.

I realized how evolved other people are. They have the urge to seek adventure, visit sites, live life at grand scale. There is beauty, poetry, appreciation of luxury in their thought and word.

And here I am with my unfulfilled, lowly vacation dream of spending a quiet, itinerary-free fortnight in a cottage in Himachal/a cabin in snowed-in Alaskan forest/a bed and breakfast in Scotland with my needlework, a book and chai.

My mind went to our summer visit to attend a niece’s wedding, but I thought it wise to keep quiet about that.

How could I tell them that once a manhole cover with Made in India embossed on it caught my attention in Manhattan, I made it my mission to look at every single wrought iron disc that the Indian manufacturers had sent to hide what the New York city-dwellers found unfit for human eyes? I would stop to read the next manhole cover every few meters, or yards as the Americans measure in, on every road/‘sidewalk’ and take a photo. After intense observation for three days in the rising temperatures, I gave up my operation when I finally found one which was made by the Americans themselves to cover their own rejectables. I must have exclaimed loudly at my discovery because my flesh and blood walking alongside, in a voice tinged with sarcasm, said, “The NYC authorities must have noticed there is this random Indian woman taking photos of manhole covers, and decided- let us show her something different for a change!”


I visualized the vast sea of people converging at Jantar Mantar and other such places to protest against a variety of issues, and wondered if the small band of placard-holding, slogan-shouting Insider staff at Church Street would qualify for the term demonstration/protest in our country.

Sorry, without anything for scale
alongside, this baby looks ordinary!

I kept to myself that the common house sparrows fast disappearing from our urban areas are still found in abundance in New York, that it always lifts my spirits if a dog-owner lets me oooh-aah and click a photo of the 150-pound furry, quadruped member of his family.

Should I have shared with them about taking a walk on the High Line? This linear 1.45-mile-long green walkway from Gansevoort Street to 34th Street, is built on an abandoned elevated rail track. There are plants of nearly 500 species looking like wildflowers that decided this is a good place to call home. Besides, outdoor art offers another treat to the eyes. And there is no ticket!  

I could not tell them that like every time, I visited the Memorial Pools at the World Trade Centre searching for more names on the panels, so that in my mind I could offer my condolences to unknown Indians for the loss of a member of their family or friend who had gone there with big dreams of a better life. Surprisingly, across the road stands a dome-like church which I hope offers a moment of peace to the troubled minds.

 Chuppah/Mandap-the sacred fire
was lit in the 'urli'

In stark contrast was the Hindu-Jew family wedding- elegant, joyous, and festive. Isn’t it a wonderful world where people from different colours, races and ethnicities come together; rituals, customs and ceremonies combine; we are open-minded, positive and accepting for what every religion and faith advocates- love? Old and new family, friends, relatives mixing, laughing, dancing bhangra and Hora, eating pudina (mint) naan and bagels, guzzling shikanji and wine, celebrating new beginnings!

So, I made it my business to persuade everyone to try out the ‘safe, organic, temporary Indian tattoo’, we all know as mehndi (henna). Does convincing even men to get the design on their hands count as a success? By the way, putting it on the back of the hand is not because it would last longer, but so that they could hold their glasses for the cocktails to follow, as the paste dried.

                                                                                          -Anupama S Mani


























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