Experiences

The Ford Theater (a.k.a. Oriental Theater), a Broadway in Chicago theater, is a very entertaining building to be inside of. It was built as a movie theater in 1926 and is said to have been inspired by the temples of India. Its lushly gilt-edged art-deco interiors are a riot of South Indian temple architectural motifs: lattices, peacocks, swans, the south Indian version of the dragon called the Yali (I read somewhere that it was inspired by the sphinx of Egypt), lotuses, and decorative columns. But what amuse me most are the statues, which clearly represent a western interpretation of “native” Gods. The designers must have gotten their inspiration from the paintings of condescending Raj painters, some of whose work are on display at the Victoria Memorial in Kolkata. So, right above the stage on the roof is a sexually indeterminate divine who sits in the most unnatural pose, kind of squatting while bending his/her arms out, all of which look pretty uncomfortable. And at his/her sid...

She didn’t have a phone. In order to find each other easily, we decided to meet at the northwestern corner of the Bean at Millennium Park. I told her: “I will have a white carnation pinned to my lapel and be carrying a back issue of the Wall Street Journal. Ask me this question: ‘What is a unicorn?’ My answer will be: ‘A unicorn is just a horse with a long—ay vey!’ Make sure that they don’t follow you.” She replied: “Roger that Betty Boop. Look for a juvenile delinquent in a green shirt. Ask, 'Aasman mein kitne taare hain?' If you hear, 'Hum sab tumhare hain,' start jogging in the north westerly direction. Stop near the Inn of the Frantic Frog. I'll see you there.” It was a nasty day to meet someone at a house of ill repute like the Frantic Frog Inn. Storm clouds hung ominously overhead, darkening the sky so much that at 10:30 a.m., it looked like it was 7:00 p.m. There was a mixed crowd on the train. While getting down at Union Station, I made eye contact ...

I believe that there is no other city in the world that is as embracing to the alienated and broken as Mumbai is. I sensed it in 1999 when I first washed up on its grimy shores, tottering on a fine line, in a state of primordial soup than a fully formed person. It enveloped me in its fragrant bosom, pooh-poohed my self-pitying whining, told me in its no-nonsense way not to wallow, and placed me in the middle of the unrelenting rat race with a twinkle in its eyes. Exactly 10 years later, in 2009, when I went back to being the primordial soup, it simply held my hand and waited patiently for me to form myself again. It let me maraud its congested alleys like a Genghis Khan gone rogue, giving me a sense of belonging among the heaving masses. It offered me newer surprises, like the graceful flamingoes on the viscous waters of Sewri or the multitude of birds in the entropic disorder of Powai lake. Its denizens offered their brand of casual and kind support. I was thinking about all this...

This July 4th weekend, kids ruled Chicago. I surrende r it to the little five-year old guy at the dolphin amphitheater at Shedd aquarium, who casually turned, encountered this unbearably cool thing called a prosthetic leg belonging to the cheerful man sitting behind him, and proceeded to spend the next five minutes in wide-eyed, fascinated wonder. His dad looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, but not my little champ. He was trying to decide whether the man possessing a half-metal, half-plastic leg was a super hero. I genuflect before the three-year old girl at the Navy Pier bus terminus who stood her ground against the press of humanity trying to get into the CTA # 66 after July 4th fireworks. There were at least a million people on Navy Pier that day and at least 25% of them lined up to get into the popular # 66. It was an elbow-to-elbow, cheek-by-jowl, survival-of-the-fittest run to the bus. “Hey! Excuse me!” my Joan of Arc protested from somewhere in the region below our collec...

Did you hear about ero-tourism? It isn’t as bad as it sounds. Its etymological root is a combination of the Greek god of love, Eros and tourism – the idea is to discover love while traveling. It’s a new fad in experimental tourism, advocated by Joel Henry. It’s all about two people going to a destination separately and using their love/knowledge of the other as a GPS to find each other. I discovered this concept in an in-flight magazine and was thoroughly excited by it (oops, pun unintended!). And last weekend, I synthesized the concept and pushed it to a new level. My travel plan went something like this: Destination: Chicago Knowledge of city: Almost none Bio-compass: Non-existent Ability to read maps: Laughable Travel companion: A new friend Plan: Explore Budget: Shoestring Well, it was a thrilling experience, to say the least. We randomly got down from the CTA train somewhere in downtown and ran into a Halloween Day parade, complete with several bands, hundre...