Culinary Cameo!

I made my first appearance on the culinary landscape of bay area two weeks ago.

When I was younger, I loved watching the cooking shows on Indian TV. I never had the good fortune to be present in a cooking scene and hence watching telecasts was all I had to contend myself with.

The cooking episodes were diverse. Always a plump homely woman, with the spatula and the knife appeared behind a wooden kitchen top. The ingredients were ready, chopped, cut, minced, diced as required. The spices, the salts, the condiments were placed in small glass containers in an orderly fashion. A well attired host sidled up to the cook holding a microphone.

"So what's cooking today?"

"It is a very fancy dish which my grandmother handed me down. I am going to re-create it for the benefit of our viewers."

The cook then rattled off an exotic name and the television screen became blue as a slide show presentation started. The dish, its name, its ingredients were written there. The slide lasted less than three seconds before it was removed - anyone without the pen and the parchment ready couldn't possibly have the time to move his or her rear end fast enough to grab one and note down all the ingredients.

The camera then panned the face of the plump cook who pursed her lips in an imitation of smile behind the fumes rising from her frying pan. The host, letting go of the microphone and donning an apron, stood beside her - nostrils extended.

"Ahhh..smells heavenly...this is oh so good!"

The plumpie smiled a little more.

Finally the grandmother's dish came to life after thirty minutes of air time. Throughout the process, the host never volunteered to help, only making inane comments near the stove, the wok or the condiments. However, as soon as the dish got ready, the first spoon that went to scoop up a hefty mouthful belonged to the host. The cook stood by for the final verdict. The host then took her own sweet time, munching through it, savoring every last bite. Finally the viewers got to hear,

"It's simply delicious!"

As I watched the proceedings, ogling the dish that stood just a few feet away from me, I wished for the "Push-Button". A miraculous button that would pause the host right before she dived her spoon, pause the cook right after she lifted her dish and leaned and pause the camera right at the hot savory freshly made dish - while I would "push-my-button" to get the dish come right out of my TV!

Unfortunately that much needed button hasn't still been invented.

It was a Thursday evening when I landed at the scene of my culinary cameo. It was the first time in my bong history that I was going to watch a live cook-and-teach session. Very like the ones I had watched in childhood. (Here I am ignoring all those times in mother's kitchen when she asked me help her and I smugly walked off to watch the latest episode of some K-serial)

As I reached my destination, I noticed my classmates. We were all students in this cooking class. I was the only Indian woman with the zeal to learn "Caravan to Marrakesh Saykout Cous Cous with Dates Lamb Tangine Chicken Pastilla with Vegetables and Almonds". Everyone else was retired American couples. I sat down slowly while uncle and auntys gazed at me. The cook started out with handout distribution, exactly how my professors at UCLA used to do. I stared at the sheet. Ingredients unknown to me were listed out. I stared back at the cook.

She was a very casual, smiling young American woman. In fact she wasn't the plump sort I expected a cook-type to be. She had her girth under control. It made me wonder. Did she not eat what she cooked? Doesn't that adversely speak for her culinary skill set?

As she went into the cooking process, I noticed a few things that were different. There weren't any ready to use, minced, diced, mashed ingredients. There was no order or cleanliness.

I understood that television sets were way cleaner than a real kitchen. The cook asked for volunteers. Two old men and one reluctant old woman got up. They had been sitting and chatting with their neighbors over their wine glasses. I noticed that the students didn't pay much attention to the teacher. Everyone had something to share, unrelated to the dish being made. I was the only person hastily jotting down notes on the handout. I heard my neighbor chuckle as I wrote down, "Cut long slices of onions for fifteen minutes"

The cook tried cracking some culinary jokes which were lost in the multitude of distracted pupils. I would have laughed but then I didn't quite get the joke...

The cook asked for more volunteers. This time she wanted to grill something outdoors. No one budged. It was chilly and clammy outside and moving out of the cozy comfort of the kitchen was too much for most of the septuagenarians. I raised my hand to save the distraught cook. She smiled, dumped the pineapples, the vegetables and the chicken on me and set out towards the grill.

When I returned, frozen and numb, others had been making merry. The two old men and the reluctant old woman had finished baking their dish rather quickly and were happily gobbling it up with those present in the room.

It was the first time I was present live on the scene of a cooking session. First time that a miraculous "push-button" was not required. First time that I realized that cooking classes doubled up as eating classes. To see all my hopes dashed was too much for me. I dashed away from the cook and joined in the gobbling process. I must admit eating it was much more fun than cooking it.

Surprisingly the cook didn't eat any of her preparations. The food had turned out amazingly well despite all her reluctant helpers. I was amazed to be a part of the action, live and actually savoring the delicacies. I felt like the host. I realized that my anger towards the bygone host had been misguided. After all, it wasn't her fault that her face registered heavenly delight when mine looked woebegone watching her on television.

As I helped myself to yet another bite, I gently shut my eyes, puckered my nostrils, held my left hand in mid air, held my right hand with the spoon and paused - there was no need for the button, the food was already there with me!

Radio-logy!

This is all about The Radio and the art of listening and reacting to it!

Recently one of my friends gave me a ride. Whenever I get a ride I sit very peacefully without making too much fuss. Since I hate driving, by corollary I love rides. Back in BITS-Pilani I had sat at the corner of streets leading from the classrooms to the hostels, trying to hitch a ride behind any one's bicycle. Needless to say, those kind hearted souls who attempted to give me "dubs" (short for doubles) on their bikes, ended up with a flat tire or an in stable Center of Gravity! In that respect, I respect cars more. These things are designed for me. Cars know that some people can't possibly balance their bodies between a stick and a pair of thin tires.

Anyhow, my peace was broken when I suddenly heard hindi advertisements emanating from his car sound system. I sat up. Did the new hindi CDs come along with embedded ads? I paused to air my question.

I found out that the rather eclectic CD I thought was being played wasn't a CD at all. It was a radio channel. It was my first brush with hindi radio station in bay area. Have the desi's now successfully besieged the radio tower?

Before long, I started listening to it myself. I couldn't help it. The other channels aired English muzik which most of the time sounded to me like this, "Boom boom, blah blooh, O Baby, blooh blah, boom boom..". Of course my listening skills weren't exceptional and when words were uttered mixed with background noise, I became semi-deaf.

To make matters worse, two years ago I had been gifted with a hindi music CD from my friend. After hearing it endlessly for a couple of weeks, I found that the CD had made it's permanent residence in my car sound system. No matter how many times I pressed the "Eject" button, it just wouldn't budge. After ignoring this breech of tenant rights for a year I decided to visit the mechanic.

The mechanic, instead of fixing the problem, got into philosophy.

"Why do you need to hear CDs? Radios have been invented already you know..."

I made a face of disbelief.

He assumed I really didn't know about the existence of radios.

"You seem to be a very violent creature - why did you jam your CD in? If you didn't like the songs, you didn't have to play it."

If my CD did not like coming out of it's closet, it wasn't my fault. Some people require more help than others in revealing themselves. It was useless trying to make him understand that I was Gandhiji's non-violent disciple and hadn't resorted to jamming.

I left the shop with my CD happily lodged in the track- just like before.

Radio now became my best alternative.

1170 AM was the one I tuned into. The different shows had hosts asking, beseeching, cajoling callers to dial their number. The songs were lively - a blend of god-forgotten-era and yet-to-be-released hits. I enjoyed driving to the tunes of these. I even hummed them to myself. It helped me distract from the honks and the yells from fellow drivers.

I decided to call in one day.

The topic under discussion was, "Would you prefer an arranged marriage or a Love marriage?"

When they received my call and after I had finished the usual reveal-my-name-and-be-welcomed protocol, I said,

" I wish to be married - who cares if it's arranged or love? Just get me married!"

My call got unceremoniously disconnected.

I called the next day.

The topic was, "We go to the doctor only when we are in a terrible shape, do you agree?"

Incidentally I was driving that day to keep my regular doctor's appointment.

When I called them up, I said,

"I totally agree- in fact I am driving at break neck speed to reach my doctor's office!"

Instead of showing sympathy, the host broke down into peels of laughter. His theory had been validated. He thanked me and cut me off before I could say the next line which began with, "Why in heaven's name are you laughing at me....?"

I called again.

The topic this time was, "Who is the most special person in your life and give three reasons why".

After I uttered my name in style and put on my awesome bong-hindi accent, I said,

"The most special person in my life is ME! I am my most favorite person! Even though God has pumped unmeasurable goodness-es in me, for the benefit of the show, I will just list three!

Awesome, AweSOME, and AWESOME!" I waited for a response. There was a pause, a blip and then an irrelevant song started playing.

For some reason since then, my calls never get picked. I seemed to have been placed in their mysterious-phone-spam list. All the hosts have been served with an alert and their system of warning seem to be working perfectly.

But I am not going to give up. I gotta be heard. If no hosts will listen then I will have to do the inevitable - start my own radio show and talk all about myself! Good luck to the listeners!!

Amricaaan Courthouse!

I have been to Amricaan court.

When I was growing up, my parents had embedded me with one of their historical, science-less superstition - NEVER EVER wander around a court! The farther you can stay away from that red and brown colored building the less annoying your life will be. As a child, I swallowed the information without chewing it thoroughly and it caused a stomach upset. Which means, I ended up questioning this belief.

It began in the winter of last year. My car and me were cruising down El Camino Real. There is nothing real about this road. This road has been named thus because it used to be the favorite means of transport for erstwhile Mexican royalty. According to some of my Indian friends it's named because most of the real "kamina-s" live on the sidelines of this road. The name and it's origin is still under massive debate.

I was just about cruising past El Camino and Pomeroy intersection, ogling at a random call that erupted on my Iphone screen when a sound, whirring and disturbing emanated from my vicinity. I have been a communications student - I have learnt the techniques of filtering out white background noise. This one seemed to have high frequency peaks and no matter how much I tried ignoring it, it became more persistent. I glanced around my different car mirrors. The rear- view mirror showed a pair of flashing red and blue lights. My heart stopped - my steering wheel wavered...before I knew it I had stopped right in the middle of the lane. The cop car stopped behind me.

A handsome cop swaggered by my window. I had already rolled it down and sat there petrified. He blinked at me and asked, "Are you alright ma'am?"

I nodded. Words didn't escape my lips.

"What I am confused about is this - why would you run through a red light, when I was in the car right beside you in the adjacent lane? I don't get"

Genuine confusion - I must admit. I figured it out in my fast paced brain. I had not seen this ominous cop and his scary cop car beside me. I had been busy staring at my Iphone. Now I wasn't sure whether I should assist in clearing his muddle or act equally fuddled. I decided to act.

He stared at me for a few more minutes expecting something. I stared right back - as if English was phoren language!

He started again.

"Ma'am could you pull over to the curb please? I don't want you getting hit - we care!"

It touched me. I went ahead and did what I do best - try to pull over. My pulling over skills weren't great and the cop didn't pursue the matter further.

"Your license and registration please"

Dammit! I thought I had the sliver of chance where I could wiggle away from this caring cop without a ticket. There was no way out. But I did try.

"It was yellow".

"What was yellow?"

"The red light was yellow."

"Please hand over your license and registration RIGHT NOW!"

I gave in.

He left me with a yellow looking slip of paper. Two weeks later the ticket arrived. A humongous 410$ were charged against my name. The only way out or in was to see the mighty judge. I decided to make my first American Court appearance.

None of my friends wanted to buy into the theory of me trying to contradict the ticket. They were more inclined in giving me ideas about how to look so moppy soppy that the judge is moved enough to slash my ticket price in half. They had fabulous dressing tips as well.

On the appointed day, right on time I arrived. The traffic court was in Homestead. The session was being convened in one of their underground chambers. A thorough security check followed every new admission. I looked sad but dressed well. Maybe if I looked good the Judge would be more prone to pity me?

In my head I had visions of the court scenes I had seen in Bollywood movies. A old looking Judge, a few villainous witnesses and our mighty yet downcast hero standing woefully at the brown cage-like box. I wondered where I will stand. I rehearsed my woebegone speech a couple of times in my head and then I made my entrance.

The court room was definitely non-bollywood style. It was American. Lack luster people sat around in wooden chairs, lackadaisically. The court was already full. I had expected to have private audience with the Judge but that wasn't going to be. Everyone was privy to everyone else's plight.

I sat down with tripedition. A police officer was busy rattling off different rules. I listened intently. 'How and where and how soon can one deposit the ticket money' was what was being announced. I realized me and money were soon to be parted.

A young looking man stepped in. Everyone stood up in attendance. He was the judge. "Your Honor" was extremely soft spoken and very patient. In fact he went on to say that he knew America was in recession and he would do everything he could to help people who couldn't pay. My heart soared.

Names were called off one after another and people stepped in. Some said "No Contest" and some said "Not guilty".

When I stepped up and the Judge asked me what I chose to plead, I said,

"Good afternoon. I choose to plead No Contest" No contest is equivalent to "I am guilty" but it just makes you sound better in your ears.

He asked me whether I would like to go to traffic school. I said yes.

He was done. He asked me to pay 220$ at the court deposit center. I realized my speech would go un-listened. I started abruptly.

"Your Honor, could you kindly consider reducing my ticket because it is my first violation and I really didn't mean it?"

He looked at me and explained the math. 220$ was lesser than 410$. Hence he had already done what I requested.

220$ less I stepped out into fresh air. Two months later traffic school was done. The memories of the court were behind me. Telling my parents that I was going to drag myself to court hadn't gone very well. They had been sure I was in insurmountable heap of mess. No amount of "I am a free resident", "I have rights", "Courts aren't scary"- seem to pacify their nerves.

When I came out of court, I realized that I didn't want to get back there again. I wondered what my cop was up to. Did his confusion finally end? Who knows...

IGreying!

No I don't have grey hair and I don't intend to have them anytime later either.

I am talking of my IPhone - my one and only I-object.

The story begins in 2007, end September. I had just celebrated my two year relationship with my Motorola Flip Phone and in my thrifty mind, I was planning two more anniversaries. Before I knew it, tragedy pooped my party plans. My flip phone showed it's flip side. The video disppeared. I was rendered blind. I couldn't see whom I dialed. To make matters worse, the audio followed the video - mutely. Now I couldn't hear what the person had to say. Given my indomitable spirits, I worked with my phone to make the relationship last longer. I used speakers for listening and praying for dialing. It lasted a week. My friends gave up on me and hence I decided to part ways with my flip phone.

At that point in time when I was debating upon cheap phone options, Iphone had been launched at a discounted price of 399$. For those who have a sharp memory would remember that the initial price of Iphone was 599$. To all my friends, who wanted to play with the Iphone and didn't want to get it themselves, it was an "amazing deal". They pushed and pummeled me until I screechingly halted at the AT&T store. According to unanimous public opinion, getting the Iphone would be a decisive step towards acquiring the "cool babe" look that I never had. How a phone could overhaul my persona was never reasoned upon.

Holding the black luminescent box in my hands, I felt "cool". Flaunting something "touchy" as the Iphone would indeed make others take note of the phone, first and me, next! All those years of sitting and twiddling thumbs on the sidelines were going to end. As the Iphone acquired celebrity status, so would I , 'coz it's my-phone!

I bought it.

First two months, were pure stardom. Even my manager came by to take a look. I could stop people mid-work and click their photos for my contacts. No one minded- in fact colleagues posed. Friends who never called , started paying me a visit. The world was a wonderful place to dwell.

It's 2009 now. Iphone 3G-S has made an appearance and at this astonishing 199$ price.

As I sit and sigh with my Iphone 2G, others around me flaunt their superior speeds and spectacular Apps.

To top my woes, my Iphone suddenly showed creepy grey lines spreading across it's touchy screen. I was flabbergasted! I didn't think my phone had aged so quickly. Why, wasn't it just two years ago that it was born? Was two years such a long time in Iphone years? Even if I had been a little careless with it, might have bumped it about surfaces but that's just showing my "tough love!"

It all fell to deaf ears. I ran to the Apple Store and grabbed a genius at the "Genius Bar".

The genius, being the prodigy he is, took one look at the phone and uttered his prognosis.

" These are grey lines, probably dead pixels - I have seen them before. I don't know how they arise, how they spread and how to fix them."

That was indeed enlightening!

I stared at him for something more.

" Your phone is aged, there is no repair for this. We can give you the same Iphone 2G for 199$ but I would tell you to do nothing. This is your chance to be faithful to your phone. So what if it's ugly now, is your love only screen-deep?"

I thought about it. My love was screen deep but my love wasn't nutty. I wasn't going to spend 199$ to fix an old phone that functions even if it looks shitty.

I left the store- enriched and smiling. My phone looked back at me - I guess he wouldn't forgive me for all those bumps and scratches but haven't I just redeemed myself in his I-es?

Leaky Life!

My roof leaks.

I have grown up hearing stories of leaking roofs. My father used to live in one of the famous small towns/villages of West Bengal. As a young boy, his family wasn't exact the kingly sort. The house was huge but the maintenance was poor. I recall him telling me tales of how during the seasonal Bengali thunderstorm, "Kalboishakhi", his siblings and him took refuge under their gigantic bed. The imagery of this scene mesmerized me. Can the bed suddenly turn into a roof, when the real roof cowered under the storm? Maybe beds are meant to have dual purposes, and only my dad and his siblings were the discoverers of this amazing benefit!

My mother stayed in Calcutta when she was young. They lived in a humongous collection of flats. Obviously the renter did very little for the upkeep of his building. As soon as the downpour of the monsoons started, the leaky roofs emerged from their hibernation. Leaking relentlessly they made my mom miserable. As a child, I remember her telling me, that she used to run into any non-leaky neighbor's apartment. Leakiness symbolized discomfort and refuge for me.

It is unbelievable that I am facing what my parents faced five decades ago.

Just yesterday, as I was sitting peacefully in my cubicle, minding my own Outlook inbox, my colleague from the cube-behind, came up to me. Without much prologue, she asked, " Is your roof leaking?"

I looked up. Right at that very instant, a gigantic drop left the ceiling and bounced on my nose. She was right. The rain outside had found it's way to touch me. Despite all my attempts at sitting tight on my chair, the Rain God had decided on his own that I shouldn't be missing out on all the fun he was generating.

The drop that hit me had got mixed with rust of the conduits it had taken for it's journey. The drop was dirty.

I stood up. I realized that the dampness I had been feeling right on top of my head was not residual from my shower in the morning.

A few more colleagues joined in the celebrations.

"Go home", "File a bug on the roof", "Recycle the water - go green", "That's funny" - were some of the comments I was left with, along with rolls of laughter.

One of my colleagues couldn't stop guffawing. He finally stopped to say, "I hope you know I didn't mean to laugh!".

I stared at him hard - full of understanding. "Yeah right!".

Out of his supreme sense of guilt, he helped me tape a paper cup to the ceiling. The cup seemed to do a good job in holding the dirty rain drops. He left me with his parting comments, " So now all you have to do is watch out for the overflowing cup. Be sure to scoot right before the cup topples on your head."

I sat down with tripedition. I couldn't determine whether my situation just got better or worse. I decided to take matters in my wet hands. I called up Facilities.

They came by in raincoats. Took one look at the situation and moved my monitors away. My blue colored recycle bucket was placed right where my head used to be. I was told I was the 15th leak in the building and apparently I couldn't jump the line to be fixed. My leaky life had to be endured.

I have settled down in my new position. I watch the bucket filling up now, in addition to minding my Outlook Inbox. Colleagues smile and commiserate. Facilities have marked my emails as spam. My dreams of getting a free cubicle upgrade have already been shattered.

I wonder whether I would ever be able to tell stories about this "working" leak to my children?

Dancing Dhamaka

I am a born dancer. Ever since I could wiggle, I jiggled. My chubby arms and small plump body moved about to the tunes of Bollywood mushiness. My mommy stared in disbelief and awe. (More awe I hope) I was pronounced a dancer. My dad grunted through the ordeal. Seeing me jiggle, my sister joined me. Obviously my moves were far superior and she soon decided to let me be the laughing stock of the colony - alone.

School happened. Dancing periods were included. I was all charged up. To the tunes of slow paced Rabindrasangeet my classmates swayed their bodies. I joined them. My swaying had to stop abruptly. My dance teacher realized very soon that my swaying had no rhythm. Beats were ignored, meaning of the music was lost and limbs knew not where they flew.

We used to have a four-year mega event called Spectrum. Auditions were held simultaneously in fields while my dance instructor oversaw from the first floor window. Inevitably my name was announced , on the microphone, distinct and audible, before I was pulled out of the dancing melee. Of course the embarrassment was supreme but my acute wisdom made me realize that my dance teacher was yet to reach that level of higher consciousness to appreciate my dance form. Sigh!

BITS,Pilani happened. In my first year I tried to edge my way once into the fashionable dance club auditions. They gave me a chance to perform. As the seniors looked on, I thumped my feet, flayed my arms, twisted my torso, bobbed my head and then boom! The music stopped. Apparently that was enough to reach an unanimous decision. The next thing I knew I was out of the door, the stage, the dance clubbers.

If you have read my posts previously, you would be familiar with my indomitable spirit. I never gave up. In my last year "Dance Workshop" happened. It was touted as a workshop for people who had two left feet. Obviously I was far superior. I was sure I would waltz my way in amongst the dance-gawky crowd. I was wrong. When names of the selected were put up on every hostel, my name was missing. I wasn't going to be stopped by a mere list. I edged my way in by meeting with student instructor of the workshop, expressing my desire to be allowed to "learn the awesome moves of the beautiful instructor" and coupled with the emotional sadness of it being my penultimate undergrad year. The melodrama worked. I was in.

Needless to say I was awesome. On the final day of the performance, I danced waltz, charleston, tango, twist and a random Sholay number. The stage bore reverberating testimony to my heavy thumping feet. When I looked at the videos I realized I was superlatively fat.

In UCLA and in bay area the dancing was limited to some Garba and Dandia.

Just last week, I got the golden opportunity to perform on stage in Campbell Theatre. I joined the Diwali Dhamaka celebrations of IITians. They had organized a dance-drama competition between the seven IITs and I participated from IIT-Guwahati. It was destiny. In helping my friend locate the place of practice, I found myself moving to the sound of music again. The choreographer was extremely patient. I could jiggle, wiggle, to my heart's content! They allowed me to be in one song - the famous "Dhan tanaa" from "Kaminey". I told the world about my dance status. The stage rocked as I went one step ahead to better the moves. My friends and my colleagues found me dancing on my chair, on streets, in my bathroom - I was obsessed with practising the steps. Music wasn't even necessary. My friends were subjected to watching me move , music-less ! Well their trauma ended in a week.

My awesome performance is was put up on you-tube. I saw myself on stage. I even had one line dialog!!! I felt like a movie star!

Well I am going to continue to butt into dances, edge into performances and finally one-day conquer the stage!

Windshield Woes

A common knowledge is "Sun rises in the east". Another such universally accepted truth is "Cars are not my cup of beverage". However I have been able to coexist with my car peacefully. We have a mutual understanding. I get it serviced as and when I remember and he on the other hand endures the pains and doesn't give up on me. Life has been sailing thus for the past two years now. I have started to grow fond of him and once in a while I even do the oil changes on time!

Last week, while I was driving calmly on CA 237, on my way to work, as merrily as I could, something hit the car. The sound it made wasn't joyous. I took my eyes off the road, and looked around to find the result of the thud. I found it.

Hiding out of the driver's side, my windshield had been chipped. The damage size was less than a dime. The heartbreak was priceless.

In general I don't like the way cars function. Why can't you buy one and forget it? Why can't it run miles after miles endlessly, without cribbing or complaining? Why isn't gas enough for it to feel contended? Why are servicing, oil changes, tire changes and timing belt fixing necessary? And if you forget to do one of them, why does these beasts give up on you at the most inopportune moments? Mystery I tell you.

Anyhow, the great deal finder that I am, I found a way to get it fixed or repaired. All Star Glass on El Camino Real. I scheduled my visit. I could get the damage fixed under 40$! I found that a cheap deal considering it was my car.

On the appointed hour I arrived, me and my bruised car. I was upbeat. In under 20 minutes the world was about to become a better place.

The first hint of premonition hit me when they made me sign some obscure PDA documents. Even if I didn't know what PDA meant, what it said was thus, "We can break your windshield while we repair. After breaking it during repairs, you might want to get it replaced. While replacing your windshield we can break it again. None of the above will be our fault. You will pay the price for our ineptitude. Please sign and date below before we touch your car. Kindly enjoy the great 40$ repair service we are about to provide you."

I signed.

As I sat watching the mechanic working on my car, my spirits lifted ever so slightly. The resin, the glue, the glass was looking better. The crack had disappeared to about 80%. I was about to stop the man and shake his hands when he shook the heavy instrument in his hands first. The shaking hit my windshield. Like an earthquake spreading from it's epicenter, cracks crawled out on the surface. Like a spider it sat there mocking. I stood stunned.

Something broke me out of my reverie.

"Oops the windshield broke."

The repetition of the truth didn't make the disbelief reduce. I stared at the mechanic hard.

"Why don't you come inside and see how we take off 40$ from the price of a new windshield , eh? A new one would be only 230$. Come inside and take advantage of this great deal.Come quick!"

I must admit the business plan was amazing. If the windshield breaks while repairing, you manage to make at least 200$ more than if you just repair it!

Needless to say, I bowed to their ineptitude and cleverness and drove off with my cracking windshield. I spent a few moments mourning my windshield woes and then got it repaired at the next best deal I located. This time I made sure I went to a place that didn't ask me to sign any documents.

As the dying wish of my last windshield, I posted yelp and google reviews for All Star Glass , El Camino real, narrating the autobiography of my windshield. This post is a tribute to his soul. May he rest in peace!

Bad-minton !

I have developed a new passion in my company. My colleague sitting beside me, across the cube-wall is an avid badminton player. He plays well. He got into the mode last year where he became enthused of getting together a badminton team representing the company. By law of shortest distances, I was the nearest catch. I was caught.
I believed strongly that I am a badminton player. Afterall hasn't every bong girl, on a hot summer afternoon, with a lopsided hat on her head, hit her friend from the same colony with the shuttle cock? Mostly without the net in between. What is badminton other than making the connection between the racquet and the birdie? I recall laughing and rallying back and forth with my sister on the terrace in a game of badminton. There were no rules except, hit it back, and hard enough so that my sister couldn't hit back! Games always ended with the loser crying back to mother and food. That was chapter 1.
Then came chapter 2 of badminton- in UCLA. I borrowed a raquet from my senior, gathered the few people who claimed their friendship to me and reached the badminton court in UCLA gym. Tuesdays and Thursdays were reserved as baddy days. As I started playing, I realized that people were not playing the same game. What was badminton for me, did not exist in their game dictionary. I realized badminton was not all about standing still at one place and hitting only those shots that came within a hand's radius. It also wasn't about sending shots back anyhow. It involved hitting where the opponent couldn't reach. Surprisingly there were strategies and actual physical exercise involved. It became obvious very fast that I wasn't playing baddy at all. My friends decided to unceremoniously dump me from their future games and I dumped them from my orkut friend's list.
Chapter 3 - Company badminton. Now that I had wizened up from my previous badminton experiences, I decided I was a good raw material to get moulded into the company's baddy team. There was a inter-company competition coming up in Bay Area and it was a perfect opportunity for my hidden talent to surface into limelight! I reached the practice sessions, with a borrowed racquet, hoarded birdies, new Adidas tennis skirt and new sports top. I looked the part I was going to play. People encouraged me as I stepped up and I smiled back. In my head a celebrity had been born.
In the practice sessions, it became painfully clear that work was required. Apparently my talent was very deeply and well hidden. My serve was crooked, my elbows were bent, my birdies were lost, my opponents always won and I panted and fretted just to return a shot. Some of my friends even suggested I join the opponent's team to prove my loyalty! But my colleague held his firm belief in me. Being an Asian, I was predisposed to possess badminton genes.
On an early Saturday morning in May the round robins began. I had 3 games lined up- two women's doubles and one mixed doubles. My partners were all very encouraging. We came up with new strategies and I armed myself to excel. As points rolled by I realized my talent hadn't surfaced at all. Our opponents turned out to be three time champions! They smiled and smashed and then shook hands saying " Good play huh?" Were they commending themselves? All three games were unanimously lost. My talent wasn't deeply hidden, it was non-existent. Round robins ended and I sat down munching my banana and subway sandwich. Around me the qualified teams were playing hard.
I left the scene of the battle , dejected. I later found out that I had missed being in the Team Photograph! Now I don't have any proof of my labour and given the way I have played, I have serious doubts whether I would be summoned again next year.
What did I learn? Bad-minton has "Bad" for a reason.
I haven't given up. The racquet I borrowed still lies with me. Once in a while I smash an imaginary shot in the air to my invisible opponent who invariably can't reach for it. Rows of ghost spectators rise up on their feet in a mesmerized silence. And with that I win the match, the game and the battle!

Water and Ski!

I have never skied in life.
When I imagine skiing, I imagine pristine snow capped slopes, with adept individuals moving graciously in between, at slow or rapid pace. They fall sometimes, but snow doesn't hurt, does it?

When I skied for the first time in my life, it was on water.
This water activity called jet skiing takes place on a motorized scooter-look-alike that moves at tremendous speeds on water bodies. One, two, three people can sit at a time atop this thing, while one person drives it. The number of bodies is directly proportional to its instability.

On a chilly windy morning in Lake Tahoe, I decided to go for it. To dampen my beginner's unsuspecting spirit, the jet ski rental owner tried scaring me. "It's cold you know - the water itself isn't that bad, but when you topple in the water, which obviously you will given the lack of expertise, the winds will chill you to the bones". He paused after this , for special effects.
I stared back at him.

During the long stare, I pondered.
I was here already, I had never done this thing before, I would never come this close to bringing myself to do it again , and once I manage to get over with it- I can boast about it for life!
Next I knew, I was renting the boat, the sun goggles and the wet suits from the owner.
Dressed and armed, I ventured out into the lake.

I am not a great driver. The closest I came to driving something resembling a jet ski, was a bicycle. My Indian bicycle didn't have those fancy gears. As I started out in the water, trepidation set in. I recalled "fun facts" I had read about Lake Tahoe. It was the second deepest lake in United States. This fact were not fun any more.

Wobbling away, and moving at snail speed, I headed out to the water. I was told to stay away from boats, humans, steamers, and coast. In plain terms stay deep and stay out. Turning the jet ski in the direction I wanted, almost made me topple! (They charge 50 bucks extra when you topple their jet ski)

My friend sitting behind, wanted more speed.I tried. For a whole one minute I moved at 5mph and stopped suddenly coz it was making me nervous! After spluttering for what-seemed-like-eternity, in the water, getting chilled and numb all over, I decided to head back. We had booked it for an hour - I felt I had gone way past it.
When we went back, I was told it had only been fifteen minutes!

My friend decided to take matters in his hands this time. Sitting behind felt much better. As we went out into the lake, much smoother, I appreciated the beauty of Lake Tahoe from such close quarters. I recalled movies I had seen of people astride on a jet ski. They looked so cool! Chattering in my teeth, wishing for the wind to stop, I felt extremely cold- a degree ahead of cool! This time the jet ski was actually moving and at much faster pace. I wasn't comfortable with speed, and I made my point clear.

Next I knew, my friend left me at the coast and went off to have some "real fun" all by himself. As I stood woebegone on the sand, I tried concentrating on the positives of my situation. I had been able to enjoy a whole 40 minutes of my one hour rental!
Standing on the beach, I was definite he was freezing in the water. I was definite he would have toppled. I was definite he would be back, any minute. He did come back, right when the hour was up; extremely exhilarated by his experience!

Jet skiing was the most memorable part of my journey to Lake Tahoe.The feeling of cutting through water on a jet ski was amazing. Taming nature in such adverse conditions, with such skill as mine, made me proud of myself!
I doubt I will do it again too soon.

:)

The Lonesome Lockout!

In my pursuing attempt to remain fit that ceremoniously began six months back, I join anyone making hiking plans. The few people who make them invite me - in their words, "they don't have the whole day for it!"
Last Saturday, I got invited to one such hike. To garner additional brownie points for myself, I volunteered to drive all of them there. The idea was to drown them in gratitude. It didn't quite work that way. The mountaineous roads and my super-awesome driving didn't go well together.

We started early - by Indian standards. 10am. On a weekend that means getting out as soon as you have gotten up. It also means hardly any breakfast. "The hike won't take that long and we would have plenty of time to fatten ourselves at lunch".
The closer I came to the destination, the worse my fears got. I suffer from acrophobia - in plain terms I am afraid of heights. On the narrow steeply climbing mountain road, with one side ending in a deep gorge and the other a tall stone wall, I chose to stay close to the wall. That meant driving on the wrong side of the r0ad. The passengers panicked! The choice was simple - getting hit by incoming car or falling off the cliff. I chose for them.
As soon as we reached, everyone jumped off the car. I followed slowly. We gathered our bags, energy bars, water bottles and were about to start the hike. At that precise instant I had a brainwave. "Why carry my heavy purse? I won't need it." Boom! I shut the trunk on my purse with my car keys in them!
My friend realized my folly before I did. He wanted to keep the car keys in a safe place. With very little to do, we decided to continue on the hike. I could hear muttered mumbled indistinct voices all around me. I didn't dare look at them directly.
It was a strenuous hike. We took 3 hours and were completely exhausted.
This remote place had no cell phone reception. The nearest one was at the base of the mountain. I hitched a ride from a fellow departing hiker, went to the base, made a phone call. I was told to get back up to my car, in less than an hour. Hitching a ride back was tough. I almost asked fire fighters to help me out when an old lady with a dog took pity on me. As soon as I reached the top, the wait began.
What was to take less than an hour, took more than two hours. We had no food, no water and sunlight was fading. Meanwhile I sent another friend down and never saw him back!
Finally, the car got unlocked, my friend was found and food was eaten. We combined breakfast, lunch and dinner into one meal. I paid for it - hoping it would alleviate stressed nerves. The hike that was to last 3 hours took 12!
Since then I have been thinking of ways to make myself lock-out-proof. My friends have suggested strapping the key to my body, strapping the key to the car, strapping the key onto a friend and million like that! I am still looking for a sustainable solution!
:)

Safar to Swadesh!

After one and half endless years, I reached Swadesh. I am no Mohan Bhargav, but I do miss mom's cooking.

The moment my flight touched Mumbai International Airport, I woke up. The long flights make me sleepy. What I don't like is the fact that attendants push me awake and deliver me food. No exercise and constant feeding- it starts in the flight and ends only in the flight back.

My parents were standing at the gates, at that wee hour to receive me. They recognized me instantly from my dishevelled looks. I was all smiles. Dad looked older but mom seemed the same. I expected them to gush and fuss over me. (I had been religiously visiting a nearby gym to look better). They didn't. My parents nodded their head in disapproval and uttered unanimously, "You need more exercise!" No amount of convincing from my side helped. I gave up and morosely munched on the delicacies laid in front of me.

Mumbai - the land of dreams and Bollywood. Everyone here seems to be in a rush. Early morning I went to Marine Drive with Dad. Joggers, walkers, idlers flocked the area. Surprisingly it was very clean. Breathing in the ozone rich Arabian Sea air, felt great. Except a few super slim runners, the rest were plump married housewives waddling along the drive with their chattering friends or spouse.

Having a driving license(after enormous struggle) I paid more attention to traffic rules and driving this time. The traffic lights in Mumbai stop functioning from 12am to 8 am. God help you then. And perhaps your luck. The concept of lanes exist but are never followed. When rushing to the Mumbai Airport in the busy evening hour, I saw how our driver maneuvered through cars, bikes, autos, men and animals to get us there. Indian lanes always make room for more - for more than what it was designed for.

Watching a movie at Eros theatres, I observed the college kids. Their fashion sense seem to have been directly lifted from the movies. I wonder when all these kids do their home works, or was I too studious? Everyone carries a cell phone -from the roadside tea seller to the rich businessman. It's a necessity. And it's not just any cell phone, it is the latest gizmo out on the shop. I hardly saw kids come in with their parents, except myself.

Mumbai appeared advanced - in the rich tea restaurants, mocha cafes, super malls, discos, clubs that have cropped up all over the place. Smoking and drinking are ubiquitous among all sexes. Life moved fast.

Kolkata was a stark contrast to this advancement. People, routine and rituals were as I had left them before. Change creeps in slowly and stealthily, not interrupting or taking anyone by surprise. People are mild and tempers mellow. I met a Jadavpur University professor this time. From pin to politics to Einstein and Tagore - he discussed everything. What was going to be a 15 minute thing became a 2 hour discourse. People love to talk in Kolkata. They ask questions, they take pride in your achievements and flaunt theirs in return. It's missing in US. No one really cares or takes up so much time.

Walking through the streets of Kolkata, I finally felt at home. Watching kids with heavy back-packs brought back fond and heavy memories. Eating egg rolls from the unhygienic side stalls at Gariahat tasted delicious. Shopping from the street hawkers honed my bargaining skills. The lights, the sounds and the delights of Kolkata amazed me yet again.

Coming back to an empty apartment and joining work with jet lag wasn't easy. If technology could advance so far as to take me home in one second, I would embrace it. Till then lemme imagine.

:)

Boot Camp

The original name referred to young men training for battlefield-readiness.
I am not going to war in US, but it feels much the same.

A vacation to India (yes! I went back home after so long) changed the way I live life. It reduced me to a eating and sleeping machine. Of course the food was filled with glorious calories and delicious taste. While my mother's cooking rocked, my calories mocked. They had a field day. They made home in the nook and crannies of my body and by the time I caught the flight back, I resembled a rolling ball!
I took matters in my own plump hands and registered myself to this Boot Camp. When asked by the online form, why I wanted to join it, I wrote, "From fat to fit!" It sounded nice and catchy. Who knew what lay beyond.
It begins at 6:30am in the morning, which forces me to open my eyes at 5:30am. That struggle is mild compared to the regime itself. Two trainers, clad from head to toe, to keep the cold away, train the 10-12 women who registered. The cold is always there. Only recently rain added itself to it. However that doesn't deter the spirits of the coaches or the campers. I am not talking about myself here.
The boot camp is enlightening. I have realized exactly how fit I am. Before I can start any of the excruciating exercises, others move on to the next. Every run around the block, ends with me. While people run their second lap, I find myself struggling midway in my first. The coaches are relentless. They make sure you get your money's worth. Every cent I have payed them, they return it to me in sweat!
Wednesdays are Track days. We gather around in the tracks of a school and timed laps are run. Needless to say, I take the longest. Every now and then, the coaches become sympathetic to my plight and utter, "Are you OK Meena?" Oddly, that doesn't make me happy or relaxed.
In the weight training, I discovered, while I carry a total of 6 lbs, others happily lift twice as much in one hand! While my muscles start hurting almost as soon as I begin, others can go on endlessly. Sometimes I wonder. "Did these people come to the Boot Camp just to show off?"
Honestly, I think boot camps should be filled with people like me. Gyms should be filled with overweight and unfit people too. But it's just the opposite in life. I have hardly seen more than one obese person frequenting a gym. Am I to believe that every fat person loses the adipose tissue as soon as he joins the hallowed gym?
Jogging, running, crunching and stretching, I have managed to survive two whole weeks of this paid torture. Two more remain.
Hopefully I shall survive it to tell more tales in my blog spot!

Driving Away!

When I was a kiddo, I got chauffeured around.
Either Dad or driver was always there to take care of me and my outings. Hence I never realized what went into driving on the roads...especially Indian roads.

It was in Los Angeles, in late April when I figured out that surviving my professional life without a car or driving experience would be next to impossible. Thus enlightened I set out to discover my latent driving talent.
I found that it wasn't latent. It was non-existent.

The driving instructor I hired to coach me in LA had "the time of his life" on the first day I touched his steering wheel. "Have you ever driven before?" he asked me before we set out."No, never." I honestly replied as I belted myself tightly.He gave a benign smile and added, "That's why I am there to teach you." And smiled a little more.I smiled back, not so confidently."Lets go", he said and off we rolled.
I am not sure what happened first. Him screaming or me going zig-zag in my lane. Sticking to your lane comes intuitively to most people-like drawing a straight line. To me it sounded impossible.Holding a steering wheel to keep yourself going straight!!! -how could that be done? Hence I wavered merrily about.
We practised turns in an empty parking lot next. "Right...left...right.....right...left..straight...right!" and the drone went on. He was satisfied after 10 minutes. We hit the busy road. I took turns, I went straight, I stopped in the middle of the road, I came close to other cars, I wavered in my lane, did everything a first-timer could think of and more, while holding onto the steering wheel for dear life. When the session ended, not only was I tired, my coach was tired too. He heaved a sigh of relief to hold his steering wheel.
If he didn't love his job, he probably would have given me up.

These sessions continued, After 3 of them I felt confident that I could drive a normal car. (The learner's car are usually fitted with an extra pair of brake and accelerator). I convinced my Chinese friend to trust me to drive her new car.She did. The very fact that you and only you are in control of the car and the fate of the other passengers - makes your task heavier.To top it, I didn't realize how bad I was until I was driving in my friend's car. My turns were terrible. Making a left turn I almost hit the oncoming traffic lane.Wavering in my lane I was about to hit the curb. She decided she had the "time of her life" as well and hence I had to quit.

I experimented my driving with a total of 4 licensed instructors and numerous unsuspecting colleagues. The instructors wished they got more students like me 'coz I was a source of steady income. You keep practising till you get it and if you don't your instructor earns!
My colleagues valued their lives, their work, and their family more dearly. They looked at nature with greater respect, life held new meaning for them, once they had a driving session with me.

Then came the driving test. California allows you to take 3 road test for every written test. I flunked 3 road test with ease. While in the first written test I had 3 mistakes out of 40, in the second I had none! Brilliant performance - one would say. Uncannily I failed the driving test almost periodically. Every time it was a right turn at a red light that got me.

Finally, the examiners at DMV gave up. On my fifth day, the rather plump disgruntled examiner, grunted away for 20 minutes of my test and finding inadequate grounds to flunk me- declared me "Passed!" Wow what a joy that was - for them.

When I reported it to my colleagues, everyone unanimously vowed that they wouldn't ride my car now as I was a "viable and licensed threat to the road!"

Funnily I had bought my car without a license almost 2 months before I finally got my license!
My driving adventures continues and I always end up with the weirdest things that can happen to one.

Commencement Pictures!

The Department Head of some department congratulating everyone who survived the ordeal!

There's an awesome me, sitting somewhere in the Pauley Pavilion, in my black gown with black hat, a yellow hood (a speck in the pic) and a "07" tassel hanging from my head.

A True Graduate indeed!

After a long time.

I am back. Hopefully for good.

Its been sometime since I scribbled here. Loads happened in between - mostly good things and some bad!
I left my LA far behind. I am a professional now - or trying to be one. Life's different! From waking up whenever I had a class, to waking up to be there on time, from running home whenever I felt sleepy or hungry to sitting still and looking busy, from staying up as late as I wanted to- to sleeping as soon as I can, from having weekdays as fun as weekends to struggling to make a weekend fun, from being surrounded by friends all the time to being alone now - life did change a lot. And along with it I learnt.
Just two weekends back was my commencement. That was perhaps one of the best weekends ever for me. The journey back to LA felt like going home. As I stood still with a huge smile in the Pauley Pavilion, the Dean said, "With the power vested in me, I proclaim you ....Master of Science!" And then I attained it. It isn't like the enlightenment thing that Bodhi tree in Gaya gave to Budhha but it comes close.
My chinese connection housed me happily. I looked quite a graduate in my huge black gown, yellow hood, black hat and long black tassel which had "07" written on it. In my own biased words - "I looked awesome!" :-)
My commencement ceremony was scheduled for 12:30 in the noon. You were required to assemble before that in queues wherever you found your department placard. EE was perhaps the most populated. First the PhD hooding, then the MS walking and finally the BS marching endlessly - sums up the event. Not to forget the speechs and jokes thrown in by the professors and the chief guest. The event was huge. My family didn't make it but those who did cheered endlessly for that brief time 'delta T' when their kid came walking by on the stage. Cameras flashing eveywhere, I felt like a VIP.
I had entrusted my chinese friend and one Mr.N (the other Mr. N was graduating with me) with my camera to take as many pics as they possibly could of me. To my consternation I later discovered that my chinese friend was busying taking pics of her long time crush instead! :-P
Nevertheless I ensured that my pic was taken - after all no one does a second MS from the same Univ again!
After a while, I ran to find my advisor. A thorough search yielded him in the Alumni centre. Just when we posed to smile and take the pic of a lifetime, my cam died. Never to give up as I was, I forced my senior to run and get hers! And then the memorable pic was taken :)
At every statue, every corner, every flower I stood - insistent that my picture be taken . My friends were thoroughly tired at the end of the day and seemed joyous when I finally parted with my gown.

Flying back was tough - coming back to a life thats so remote from being a carefree student always is. The only bright part in my gloomy trip back was the fact that somewhere in my luggage, lay my black hat with its "07" tassel - a sign that I was a Graduate!

Happy Birthday!

It was my Birthday yesterday!

My earliest remembrance of my Birthday begins with my mommy kissing both of us awake in the morning with a "Happy Birthday" song! My dad smiling gaily beside. I remember him teasing us as to "how old" we were getting! I felt thoroughly adult in my small kiddish life at his remarks!
I dunno much about what took place on that day, except for the gooood food I got to gobble! Sometimes my aunties came over and decorated the rooms with balloons, sometimes we got friends of the building coming over and celebrating with us, and sometimes we just celebrated by ourselves. No matter what I had a good time!
The funny thing about our birthday was the fact that there were always other kiddoes in school or in BITS, who had their b'day on the same day. That distributed the fun.
It was fun wishing each other "happy birthday"! There is always someone who would remember it was my b'day (without alarms and reminders!!) coz it was theirs too! :)

This is my second American B'day. I must admit it was as rollicking as the first one. Thanks to my best buddies who have distributed the workload among themselves of making me joyous !!
Since my birthday was on Monday which is right after a Saturday and a Sunday, I actually had three days of Birthday fun! Ofcourse, I left no stones unturned on my part in reminding my friends that my b'day was approaching by subtle and not-so subtle hints! :P
A sponsored shopping spree on Saturday, a double-scoop ice cream on Sunday, cards, cake, flowers, food and friends - I had them all! I loved the scarf that my Chinese friend knitted for me, I loved the jacket that I am wearing now, and above all I love the feeling of being taken care of!
My sister had a different b'day. So far away, with her own friends and her own circle. It feels weird that the time difference makes her celebrate her b'day 12 hours in advance! Does that kind of relativity make me younger than my twin???

I just wished to thank everyone who made me so happy on my b'day. And Orkut for reminding my friends to wish me!

:)

Jazzing up my life!

I am learning Jazz.

When I was a kiddo, I loved flinging my arms and legs around with music. My parents and other elders doodled upon me and exclaimed in unison, " Wow this kiddo is a real dancer!"
It made me happy and I just swayed myself more vigorously.
Needless to say I didn't remain a kiddo for long. In school I recall how my dance teacher pulled me out inevitably among a bunch of kids and made me stand and stare at the rest. I attributed her behaviour to her and not to my dancing abilities!
Then came BITS, Pilani. Most of my time there I was happying writing aritcles, stories, poems and notes for my classes. But in my last sem, the dance bug bit me again. I took part in DW - Dance Workshop. I learnt Charleston, Twist, Tango, Jive, Waltz and performed on stage with other workshopers. I loved the experience.
In UCLA there are myriad opportunities to express yourself. Classes are held from rock-climing to caring-for-herbs and encompasses dance from all over the world. There are Bharatnatiyam lessons too! I learnt hip-hop for a while here and then my classes became too hectic for me to dance comfortably. And I left.
This being my last quarter here, I decided to be more serious. I took up Jazz.
The instructor is a man who dances so beautifully that it makes you want to do the same. He moves his body with such ease in such painfully difficult steps that it makes you wonder whether you are made of wood while he is made of rubber!
The dance and yoga classes or for that matter most other classes are populated with girls. No wonder then, in our class there are 15 girls and 2 guys. My friends say thats the case with any other dance class here. Thankfully it isn't a pair dance and so the ratio is unimportant.
The class begins with fluid yoga, moves on to balancing acts and then the Jazz routine. By then everyone is sweating away to glory.
I like Jazz and I am hoping that by the end of the quarter I will be able to raise myself from the depths to the heights and justify those elder's comments!

:)

Illuminating young minds!

I am a teaching assistant this quarter.
I am teaching Circuit Analysis.

Its funny feeling to see people come to listen to you. And actually jot down notes on whatever you blabber! I remember myself as a student - writing down every word that left the professor's mouth, but its a different feeling to observe others do the same to your words! To be honest, its a little unnerving!
The first class I had to take, took place at 8am. Crawling around the campus at that early hour, I was pretty surprised to see people actually show up for my class! My class began with a smile.
"Good Morning, I am your TA", and then started my first formal lecture.

It's easy to convince yourself when you are understanding something, but it becomes equally tough when it comes to presenting something so that someone else can understand. Especially students who expect you to explain to them in their own language.
It funny seeing my hands all white and chalky after writing on a board and not on paper. Its funny to have office hours. Above all its rewarding to see the smile of comprehension on the faces of the students after your explanation.
Lets hope my blabbering gets these kiddos through their course!

:)

Six Flags and still alive!

I am not referring to international convention of 6 countries.
I am referring to dare-devilry.

I went to Six Flags. In a small Santa Clarita city, resides this deadly attraction. Its a theme park meant only for the hot-blooded creatures. I am not one of them and it took me a trip there to realize.

We took a bus from Westwood early in the morning. The bus was huge and we were the only passengers. Through 405 and 5 Freeways the bus drove on.Mountains with hovering clouds and green valleys passed by. Los Angeles is beautiful - it felt more so during the early morning ride.My Chinese friend was busy taking photos through the bus window!
We reached Santa Clarita Transit station and awaited another bus. According to someone in our group, that wait was the deadliest part of our trip. It was unusually chilly and windy. We froze to the bones. No amount of joking, jumping or juggling with bus options, helped our cause. We kept freezing. Finally our bus arrived and we landed at our destination. For the uninitiated, it helps to know a little about American Theme Parks. Here they try to make it a wholesome experience for the guests. It's not as crowded as Indian ones and yes definitely neater. Food stalls flood the place and cartoon characters populate the road.

The first ride, or "starters" as my friend put it, was called the "Gold Rush". It was a roller-coaster ride. As soon as you were seated, you screamed. In a span of 3 minutes, daylight was knocked out of my senses. Up up up up and then swoosh it fell down- I grabbed onto my seat-belt. I felt weightless, couldn't scream (sign of being totally scared), shut my eyes and prayed. In afterthought, I feel it was really a starter. Worse was yet to come!
Next came "The Riddler's Revenge" - another roller-coaster ride. It had ups, downs, twists and turns. The seats were different, and the safety belts even more. I took a deep breadth and away I went at the speed of sound. All the centripetal and centrifugal forces that I hardly paid attention to in my physics class, came back to extract their pound of flesh! I felt the forces pressing down against me. Add to that the chilly winds that tore at my face - you have an ideal setting for a horror movie.
As if getting down from it alive wasn't enough, I went walking towards "Colossus". White structure and white toy train. "Wouldn't be that scary", said my fearless friend. I smiled weakly and sat straddled between multiple belts. Someone announced that people with motion sickness and weak heart are advised against the ride. Before I could contemplate my condition, Colossus took off. By now I knew what I had to do........ or so I thought. Hold on tight, shut your eyes, pray and oneday the thing will stop. However, Colossus had different plans for me.
It started off slowly and safely, lulling me to believe that things were great and before I could shut my eyes, it tilted sideways and fell...literally. In other rides, if they fall they do stop after sometime...Colossus only knew how to fall at different angles. It twisted and shook- trying its best to shake off the passengers - while I hung on for dear life! Its moves and shakes shook me to the bones. Meanwhile my fearless friend N, was having the time of his life. While people gritted their teeth to stop the fear, he took snaps, smiled around, lifted his arms to show his joy and generally had a good time. I must admit, I admire his bravado......or whatever that was!!!

That was the end..for me. The moment I touched Mother Earth, I promised I won't take a step towards another roller-coaster. My fearless friend went on to enjoy crazier rides like "Batman" and "Psyclone" and came back smiling. It was his second trip to Six Flags - in the first one he had already been to all these.
There were only two rides that I sat in after that. A swing called "Bucaneer's Boat"(populated mostly by kids) and a small car driven on ground in "Go-carting". Those were my type!
Our day ended with a bus trip back home.
I suddenly realized that I had been really brave that day. Atleast I had survived through those rides I took. Maybe many years from now, when I look back at myself, I can ask with awe, "How in the heaven's name, did I sit on those?!!!"

:)

New York and back!

I have been there!
New York is three hours away from Los Angeles. But the entire process is highly time-dilated. An unearthly morning Culver City bus coming honking at me from the amidst the foggy night, with a driver that reminded me of Santa Claus, took me to the LAX airport. Half dazed, half hungry when I finished the new and improved extra-stringent security checks, I found that I had 2 hours to kill before my flight left. Hmmmm...not good I said to myself and ran to the the previous flight which was due to leave in less than 15 minutes. A mini-drama was taking place there. A girlfriend was yelling at her beau for being extremely irresponsible. Unlike India, where idle passer-bys would encircle the couple to enjoy the circus, people at LA maintain a discreet distance.
While the drama was taking a break, I got my new boarding pass - just in time. Away I flew on an early flight. The flight reminded me of Deccan Airways. Meals for buy, water for free, screen was up for a movie but the headphones had to be bought! All I needed was sleep.
The plane landed and so did I. New York terminal is very clean - much better than crowded LAX. After a series of escalators and moving paths(something I never saw in India) I reached the airport door.
New to New York - I caught hold of a security personnel for directions. He wished me Happy Diwali! He was from Jackson Heights and knew Indians and their illuminated festival pretty well. I had to reach Wall Street and he gave me Plan A, Plan B and Plan C to reach there. I forgot A, confused B and resorted to C. I took a yellow cab.
Near the JFK Terminal, I found the streets reminding me of Mumbai. It was as unkempt as India. Except for the trees - they were in their fall colours. The traffic was messy, the winds chilly and my cab driver was in perennial hurry. Goodness knows why he thought I needed to reach early. Then I understood. It was not me - it was him who wanted to hurry.
A few moments is all that is needed in NY for a person to know how hurried and harried people here are. Everyone is rushing. Everyone is running - either to reach work or home. Their lives are as dynamic as New York Stock Exchange(NYSE).
Highly car-sick, I landed in Wall Street in the evening. Skyscraper's surrounded me. Being in UCLA, I was unaccustomed to concrete jungles.
Wall Street has its own landmarks. Crowds of people milled around NYSE, a protestant was protesting, Trinity Church loomed in a distance, and Wall Street itself bore the pain of multiple running footsteps. Every building had tight security. Outside the building there were mini mobile shops with snack bars to cigarettes and much more. Very like the paan-walas in India.
Not-surprisingly these are managed by Bangladeshi-s and Indians.

I saw the South Sea port pier with my senior. The lights and the dark waters of of the Hudson River made it beautiful.

I saw Ground Zero. The area is still cordoned off and pictures of the ruin hangs on the makeshift fence. New Yorkers move on with their lives.

A PATH train brought me to New Jersey City. Seeing the Hudson river from here is an entirely different experience. The entire NY lighted sky crapper skyline looms up. Every movie captures this image - and so did I.

Kolkata has had Metro Rails for a long while now, so the PATH ways and SUBWAYS of NY was nothing new to me. To my surprise I found them as crowded as they were in good old Kolkata.

A backbone of Subways connect the length and breadth of NY. The entire system is laid out on a grid. Its easy to learn and its the cheapest means of transport in costly NY.

Early next morning I rode a ferry on Hudson River and saw a speck of Statue of Liberty. In the evening I met my school friend who was as jolly funny as 8 years before. She took me through multiple subways to Brooklyn Bridge. As we walked on the bridge, the evening sun was setting. The lights on Brooklyn and adjoining Manhattan Bridge turned on. As chilly winds froze me inside my coat- I felt happy.

At night it was time for Times Square. Neon lights blared bright. My friend said that no matter what the hour, a crowd will always be there. Shops, streets, people all seem happy. It was something like the Durga Puja in Kolkata with elaborate street lighting. From the streets of Gariahat to Times Square, we realized we came very far- both in time and space. But we managed to remain the same. Times Square mesmerized me. ....for a while.

We had dinner in a narrow mobile FALAFEL shop, with the chef giving us what he wanted to instead of what we wanted!

A subway, where we missed our stop and had to re board, and then separation at Ground Zero.

A promise to meet again, we boarded our separate trains.

My senior and I cooked dinner and it felt like home. We talked as long as time would permit me. Jet lagged and sleepy I landed in LA the very next day!

My whirlwind tour made me want to see more. New York I will come again!

:)