Sunday, 10:00 am, New Jersey: It was a 36-month old boy, an 18-month old girl, a room full of lego blocks, and I. We built a car, an unbalanced bird, and an abstract building and transferred a basket-full of toys into a small box. I happened to look out of the room—the girl’s mom, who had entrusted me with the kid while she had gone to have a bath, had finished and was sitting in the living room browsing through a magazine. I think she was testing how far I’ll go without feeling suckered.
Sunday, 2:30 pm, New York Penn Station: I was at the metro card vending machine when I discovered that I had lost about 80 USD of cash to some kleptomaniac. Damn! Damn! Damn!
Sunday, 3:30 pm, West 49th: Could a hotel room be any smaller? Hell, it was so small that they had a custom midget iron table, no dresser, and a chair, which could be reached only by rolling across the bed. But what a location! Times Square was just two minutes walk away and it was next door to a Broadway theater.
Sunday, 8:30 pm, Eugiene O’Neil Theater: I couldn’t believe that I had spent a bomb for THIS Broadway show. Not even on-stage nudity, explicit hetero-and-homo-erotic scenes, and some head-banging and foot-stomping rock numbers could lessen the utter pointlessness of a musical about adolescent sexual awakening and bourgeois prudery of late 19th century Germany.
Sunday, 10:00 pm, Times Square: I accidentally made eye contact with the black guy who was selling what could’ve been theater show tickets or Obama/McCain condoms (I swear!). I thought he was going to hawk his wares, but what he said was this: “Why are looking so mad beautiful? Don’t be mad! Be cool!” I hadn’t realized that I had been looking what I was feeling about being robbed and the show. I burst out laughing, touched by a New York moment.
Monday, 9:30 am, 32nd and Broadway: The MTA person at the subway entrance told me to walk a block west to reach Penn Station. But which fucking side was west? I walked around in circles for 10 minutes, completely lost, until I remembered the GPS functionality in my swank new iphone. I had to get a route map for a 0.3-mile walk on the same bloody street until I reached the familiar Madison Square Garden-side entrance. I felt justifiably wretched.
Monday 1:30 pm, Saravana Bhavan, Edison: What more could a girl ask for if she gets to have an authentic South Indian thali at Saravana Bhavan on Diwali day? And how did they manage to get the tastes and flavors exactly that of the Saravana Bhavan in Chennai? And Rajnikant hits on the pipe to boot! Hallelujah!
Monday, 8:30 pm, 8th Avenue: Despite the chilly weather, John and I opted to sit out in the tiny patio of this tiny Italian restaurant on a narrow street called Restaurant Row. I looked longingly at the beautiful apartments in the old red stone/brownstone buildings across the street. We watched groups of people walked by, quarrelling over which restaurant to go to, and smiled encouragingly at those who looked in our direction.
Tuesday, 8:30 am, East 52nd: It was a cold, wet, miserable day in Manhattan – it never properly dawned this morning. I watched whiffs of steam, smog, and gloomy rain out of the 27th floor window and wondered what happened to all the fall glory that NYC is famous for. Drat! It was forecasted to snow later in the evening.
Tuesday, 2:30 pm, Mayfair Hotel: As soon as I stepped into the hotel to collect my bag, the guy at the desk asked me: “Did you lose your phone?” I checked my handbag and realized that I had. He smiled and said, “I recognized your picture on it, so I have put it in your bag.” And they say NY is a rude and unfriendly city!
Tuesday, 7:30 pm, TGIF, Newark Airport: I sat wedged in a corner, amidst three old men traveling to Seattle, whose flights had also been delayed by the inclement weather. We swapped travel nightmare stories. The old man on my right smiled calmly and said, “Go with the flow!” I nodded, munching on my Cesar salad.
Tuesday, 8:30 pm, water fountain, Gate 16: I was sitting on the floor, watching other irate travelers waiting for the same flight all evening. Are we going to make it tonight? I am a seasoned traveler, quite used to the vicissitudes, but I could do with a little less seasoning I thought.
(Written at Newark Airport, waiting for that blessed flight to Chicago.)
Sunday, 2:30 pm, New York Penn Station: I was at the metro card vending machine when I discovered that I had lost about 80 USD of cash to some kleptomaniac. Damn! Damn! Damn!
Sunday, 3:30 pm, West 49th: Could a hotel room be any smaller? Hell, it was so small that they had a custom midget iron table, no dresser, and a chair, which could be reached only by rolling across the bed. But what a location! Times Square was just two minutes walk away and it was next door to a Broadway theater.
Sunday, 8:30 pm, Eugiene O’Neil Theater: I couldn’t believe that I had spent a bomb for THIS Broadway show. Not even on-stage nudity, explicit hetero-and-homo-erotic scenes, and some head-banging and foot-stomping rock numbers could lessen the utter pointlessness of a musical about adolescent sexual awakening and bourgeois prudery of late 19th century Germany.
Sunday, 10:00 pm, Times Square: I accidentally made eye contact with the black guy who was selling what could’ve been theater show tickets or Obama/McCain condoms (I swear!). I thought he was going to hawk his wares, but what he said was this: “Why are looking so mad beautiful? Don’t be mad! Be cool!” I hadn’t realized that I had been looking what I was feeling about being robbed and the show. I burst out laughing, touched by a New York moment.
Monday, 9:30 am, 32nd and Broadway: The MTA person at the subway entrance told me to walk a block west to reach Penn Station. But which fucking side was west? I walked around in circles for 10 minutes, completely lost, until I remembered the GPS functionality in my swank new iphone. I had to get a route map for a 0.3-mile walk on the same bloody street until I reached the familiar Madison Square Garden-side entrance. I felt justifiably wretched.
Monday 1:30 pm, Saravana Bhavan, Edison: What more could a girl ask for if she gets to have an authentic South Indian thali at Saravana Bhavan on Diwali day? And how did they manage to get the tastes and flavors exactly that of the Saravana Bhavan in Chennai? And Rajnikant hits on the pipe to boot! Hallelujah!
Monday, 8:30 pm, 8th Avenue: Despite the chilly weather, John and I opted to sit out in the tiny patio of this tiny Italian restaurant on a narrow street called Restaurant Row. I looked longingly at the beautiful apartments in the old red stone/brownstone buildings across the street. We watched groups of people walked by, quarrelling over which restaurant to go to, and smiled encouragingly at those who looked in our direction.
Tuesday, 8:30 am, East 52nd: It was a cold, wet, miserable day in Manhattan – it never properly dawned this morning. I watched whiffs of steam, smog, and gloomy rain out of the 27th floor window and wondered what happened to all the fall glory that NYC is famous for. Drat! It was forecasted to snow later in the evening.
Tuesday, 2:30 pm, Mayfair Hotel: As soon as I stepped into the hotel to collect my bag, the guy at the desk asked me: “Did you lose your phone?” I checked my handbag and realized that I had. He smiled and said, “I recognized your picture on it, so I have put it in your bag.” And they say NY is a rude and unfriendly city!
Tuesday, 7:30 pm, TGIF, Newark Airport: I sat wedged in a corner, amidst three old men traveling to Seattle, whose flights had also been delayed by the inclement weather. We swapped travel nightmare stories. The old man on my right smiled calmly and said, “Go with the flow!” I nodded, munching on my Cesar salad.
Tuesday, 8:30 pm, water fountain, Gate 16: I was sitting on the floor, watching other irate travelers waiting for the same flight all evening. Are we going to make it tonight? I am a seasoned traveler, quite used to the vicissitudes, but I could do with a little less seasoning I thought.
(Written at Newark Airport, waiting for that blessed flight to Chicago.)
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