bls31
June 25th, 2007, 06:19 PM
I was in New York a few years back . Brig lakshman BLs
NEW YORK-
Impressions of an Indian
After a long uncomfortable and tedious flight from New Delhi to New York the Jumbo jet took a turn and banked sharply and my wife Rosy who was sitting on the window seat shouted there I can see New York. Her excitement was justified, not keeping too well she had still willingly born the discomforts of the flight to see her daughter.
With the carry bags of both of us on my shoulders, and pushing the luggage cart through miles and miles of the exit tunnel to the baggage collecting point, we were possibly the last to reach there. My daughter Kalpana (Kal ) and her husband Rick by now had more or less had given up the hope of seeing us and decided that we had possibly missed the flight. Of course, and as usual with me, our suitcases were the last to emerge on the luggage belt.
Thrilled and excited, all four of us, talking at the same time, stepped out of the airport in to a different world. Every thing itched so sharply, colours so bright, the sky deep blue the foliage of the trees deep green the multicolour facade of the houses of the Long Island. The traffic too orderly to my eyes after being used to the chaotic situation of Delhi
My first shock and impression of New York was that cars and cabs possibly have defective horns, or that horn was not an essential accessory in USA. I did not hear even one single beep from JFK to Rick and Kal’s apartment in Clermont Street.
The Sacura Park, just opposite the apartment, a place to sit and relax, to watch the world go by. The Riverside Church so overpowering both from out side and inside the General Grant’s tomb so imposing. All at the same place combining to make a most powerful impression on a first time visitor.
People smile say sorry and thank you. Every one I meet in New York is from some where else, that is New York.
Strangely cars drive in their lanes, which are meant for cutting in India, here I did not notice any lane cutting. Strangely People stop and wait at ‘Don’t Walk’ signs and so does the traffic.
Very few people on the road just cars and utility vehicles, every where the effort is to minimize the manual labor may be a new building coming up a tree being cut or in the home.
The restaurant in the Columbia University area on the Broadway-lot of activity but very little output. Possibly the waiters (all students, earning pocket money) were more efficient, running and bumping in to each other than the kitchen staff in filling the order.
Every one merges in the crowed except Indians in there sarees and salwars –kameez also possibly Iranians, they both stand out as sore thumbs.
Litter bins every few steps forcing one to use them, small parks with attendents to clear the bins. Grime removing from the face of the buildings appears to be a major operation in the face lift of New York, the oldest city of America, but it does not look that. It is forward looking, improving, improvising and innovating all the time.
Shops full of attractive items, out to break ones sales resistance. Things you never thought were needed become necessities, if you have money in your pocket, more so plastic money, they will soon take it away from you.
Unchanging scenes, changing faces a cosmos of humanity, a melting pot of diverse cultures. Long avenues and tall buildings-sun playing hide and seek with light and shade. Repetitive facade of shops, buildings, restaurants, establishments on Broadway; same again and again, creating a visual overload.
A Hospital that does not look or feel like a hospital, patients who do not look like patients. Sitting, waiting as if on trial in a court. The museums, with some of the most famous and wonderful paintings and artifacts, strangely had more visitors sitting in the lobby, cafe or the restaurants rather than in the galleries enjoying and appreciating the items on display.
Central Park: Nannies with children of super-rich parents. Old gentlemen in fine suits, limping along and alone in the park, others being pushed in wheel chairs. Young lovers too and tourists like Rosy and me resting the tired limbs. Only a super rich country can maintain parks like these.
Indian Mission: Double doors, bells, bullet proof glass faded carpets, dumb receptionist, unflattering picture of the Prime-minister on the wall, the commercial attaché all agog about the coupe, that day, in Pakistan. To top it all, the only not so clean toilet in New York that I had the privilege to visit was in the mission
Sounds of New York. Sirens of police and fire department vehicles whizzing past, Subway trains hurtling between up and down town, the clap, clap of the propellers of the police helicopters, dashing about like grasshoppers, wind-milling all the time and adding their own share to the noise.
A sudden thunderclap, in the middle of the night, activating the alarms of the cars parked on Claremont Avenue, all going on in unison. The varying tones producing a strange cacophony of sound, quite an alarming experience.
Look up any time, a plane is climbing at a steep angle after take off or is descending for landing, all the time.
Fat blacks and some whites too. Blacks dressed better than others in suits and ties. Fat Blacks, smart Blacks, beautiful Blacks. Ditto Whites. Black girls with white husband and vice versa.
First Subway ride : Pretty girls, ugly girls, thin girls fat girls. Ditto Boys. How do the really fat manage to pass the turnstile? Boys and girls, young some very young, Old ,very old holding to one another. One wonders who is supporting whom! Don’t look, admonishes my daughter. Rosy helping to tie my shoe laces. The matrons around us, amazed and nearly choking with shock and surprise at this strange act of Rosy . Was it women’s lib or cross -culture shock.
Every one in hurrying, one wonders as to what for and where to! At Subway junctions the moving mass of humanity is in fast forward mode. All busy, all involved, Reading a book or Newspaper, while eating, in bus or subway standing, sitting, hanging. So much of energy. Health freaks, running and cycling all the time any time.
Rick’s office colleagues scandalized with In- law’s staying, as house -guests never heard of such things. Not Done. Waiting for a blow up and exodus any day, which never came, possibly due the Indian culture of adjustment and Rosy’s constant monitoring of my acts of commissions or omissions.
Long drive out of New York. The month of October ushering fall, breathtakingly lovely views, every where a riot of colors. The leaves changing from green to brown, violet, yellow, and red. How does one appreciate beauty if it is so much and all the same?
Clean Roads, Road Signs at every turn, traffic all moving in same direction, at a fast clip, cars, utility vehicles, tractor trailer combines all at same speed. No bulls, no buffaloes on the road. It looks that the roads are for cars and the cars the R Rs the Bentleys the Jaguars ,the Fords and GMs and the Japanese are for the roads. Now one can understand the politics of oil. The US economy, its energy needs all being so oil dependent. No oil, the engine of economy, it will all come to a grinding halt.
A planned visit to Ricks’ family in Cherry-hill throws every one in panic. Indians are coming, Indians are coming let’s circle the wagons. Daily telephone calls regarding the likes and dislikes, the food habits of the Indians. A gracious family we were received with open arms and made to feel as part of the whole. The food was delicious, even for a vegetarian like me who had been starving all this time.
Our six weeks of planned holiday was soon over and we were back home, as a matter of fact we were back home the moment we took our cramped seats in the Air India Jumbo Jet. A number of young mothers with howling children, indifferent cabin crew, overnight messed up cabin, advice for special meals for Rosy, a cancer patient not receiver the air hostess assigned to First Class reluctant to serve soup to Rosy, provided after special request to the Commander. Well we took it all in our stride. India will be India. However, we would still like to remain in India.
NEW YORK-
Impressions of an Indian
After a long uncomfortable and tedious flight from New Delhi to New York the Jumbo jet took a turn and banked sharply and my wife Rosy who was sitting on the window seat shouted there I can see New York. Her excitement was justified, not keeping too well she had still willingly born the discomforts of the flight to see her daughter.
With the carry bags of both of us on my shoulders, and pushing the luggage cart through miles and miles of the exit tunnel to the baggage collecting point, we were possibly the last to reach there. My daughter Kalpana (Kal ) and her husband Rick by now had more or less had given up the hope of seeing us and decided that we had possibly missed the flight. Of course, and as usual with me, our suitcases were the last to emerge on the luggage belt.
Thrilled and excited, all four of us, talking at the same time, stepped out of the airport in to a different world. Every thing itched so sharply, colours so bright, the sky deep blue the foliage of the trees deep green the multicolour facade of the houses of the Long Island. The traffic too orderly to my eyes after being used to the chaotic situation of Delhi
My first shock and impression of New York was that cars and cabs possibly have defective horns, or that horn was not an essential accessory in USA. I did not hear even one single beep from JFK to Rick and Kal’s apartment in Clermont Street.
The Sacura Park, just opposite the apartment, a place to sit and relax, to watch the world go by. The Riverside Church so overpowering both from out side and inside the General Grant’s tomb so imposing. All at the same place combining to make a most powerful impression on a first time visitor.
People smile say sorry and thank you. Every one I meet in New York is from some where else, that is New York.
Strangely cars drive in their lanes, which are meant for cutting in India, here I did not notice any lane cutting. Strangely People stop and wait at ‘Don’t Walk’ signs and so does the traffic.
Very few people on the road just cars and utility vehicles, every where the effort is to minimize the manual labor may be a new building coming up a tree being cut or in the home.
The restaurant in the Columbia University area on the Broadway-lot of activity but very little output. Possibly the waiters (all students, earning pocket money) were more efficient, running and bumping in to each other than the kitchen staff in filling the order.
Every one merges in the crowed except Indians in there sarees and salwars –kameez also possibly Iranians, they both stand out as sore thumbs.
Litter bins every few steps forcing one to use them, small parks with attendents to clear the bins. Grime removing from the face of the buildings appears to be a major operation in the face lift of New York, the oldest city of America, but it does not look that. It is forward looking, improving, improvising and innovating all the time.
Shops full of attractive items, out to break ones sales resistance. Things you never thought were needed become necessities, if you have money in your pocket, more so plastic money, they will soon take it away from you.
Unchanging scenes, changing faces a cosmos of humanity, a melting pot of diverse cultures. Long avenues and tall buildings-sun playing hide and seek with light and shade. Repetitive facade of shops, buildings, restaurants, establishments on Broadway; same again and again, creating a visual overload.
A Hospital that does not look or feel like a hospital, patients who do not look like patients. Sitting, waiting as if on trial in a court. The museums, with some of the most famous and wonderful paintings and artifacts, strangely had more visitors sitting in the lobby, cafe or the restaurants rather than in the galleries enjoying and appreciating the items on display.
Central Park: Nannies with children of super-rich parents. Old gentlemen in fine suits, limping along and alone in the park, others being pushed in wheel chairs. Young lovers too and tourists like Rosy and me resting the tired limbs. Only a super rich country can maintain parks like these.
Indian Mission: Double doors, bells, bullet proof glass faded carpets, dumb receptionist, unflattering picture of the Prime-minister on the wall, the commercial attaché all agog about the coupe, that day, in Pakistan. To top it all, the only not so clean toilet in New York that I had the privilege to visit was in the mission
Sounds of New York. Sirens of police and fire department vehicles whizzing past, Subway trains hurtling between up and down town, the clap, clap of the propellers of the police helicopters, dashing about like grasshoppers, wind-milling all the time and adding their own share to the noise.
A sudden thunderclap, in the middle of the night, activating the alarms of the cars parked on Claremont Avenue, all going on in unison. The varying tones producing a strange cacophony of sound, quite an alarming experience.
Look up any time, a plane is climbing at a steep angle after take off or is descending for landing, all the time.
Fat blacks and some whites too. Blacks dressed better than others in suits and ties. Fat Blacks, smart Blacks, beautiful Blacks. Ditto Whites. Black girls with white husband and vice versa.
First Subway ride : Pretty girls, ugly girls, thin girls fat girls. Ditto Boys. How do the really fat manage to pass the turnstile? Boys and girls, young some very young, Old ,very old holding to one another. One wonders who is supporting whom! Don’t look, admonishes my daughter. Rosy helping to tie my shoe laces. The matrons around us, amazed and nearly choking with shock and surprise at this strange act of Rosy . Was it women’s lib or cross -culture shock.
Every one in hurrying, one wonders as to what for and where to! At Subway junctions the moving mass of humanity is in fast forward mode. All busy, all involved, Reading a book or Newspaper, while eating, in bus or subway standing, sitting, hanging. So much of energy. Health freaks, running and cycling all the time any time.
Rick’s office colleagues scandalized with In- law’s staying, as house -guests never heard of such things. Not Done. Waiting for a blow up and exodus any day, which never came, possibly due the Indian culture of adjustment and Rosy’s constant monitoring of my acts of commissions or omissions.
Long drive out of New York. The month of October ushering fall, breathtakingly lovely views, every where a riot of colors. The leaves changing from green to brown, violet, yellow, and red. How does one appreciate beauty if it is so much and all the same?
Clean Roads, Road Signs at every turn, traffic all moving in same direction, at a fast clip, cars, utility vehicles, tractor trailer combines all at same speed. No bulls, no buffaloes on the road. It looks that the roads are for cars and the cars the R Rs the Bentleys the Jaguars ,the Fords and GMs and the Japanese are for the roads. Now one can understand the politics of oil. The US economy, its energy needs all being so oil dependent. No oil, the engine of economy, it will all come to a grinding halt.
A planned visit to Ricks’ family in Cherry-hill throws every one in panic. Indians are coming, Indians are coming let’s circle the wagons. Daily telephone calls regarding the likes and dislikes, the food habits of the Indians. A gracious family we were received with open arms and made to feel as part of the whole. The food was delicious, even for a vegetarian like me who had been starving all this time.
Our six weeks of planned holiday was soon over and we were back home, as a matter of fact we were back home the moment we took our cramped seats in the Air India Jumbo Jet. A number of young mothers with howling children, indifferent cabin crew, overnight messed up cabin, advice for special meals for Rosy, a cancer patient not receiver the air hostess assigned to First Class reluctant to serve soup to Rosy, provided after special request to the Commander. Well we took it all in our stride. India will be India. However, we would still like to remain in India.