Showing posts with label NYC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NYC. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Saturday, May 09, 2009
And just like that...
It all started much like most things do; a seemingly distant dream. The dream, while rosy, did not consider the distance that one would have to travel even to get to the starting line. A long laborious road ensued. Then, as the flowers blossomed radiantly one final time before grudgingly yielding to autumn, we made our way to the City.
The City was vibrant, as at any time of the year. Skeptical faces surveyed through the conundrum, looking for familiarity in an expansive sea of the unknown. Enthusiasm ran high, as did the tabs at every conceivable bar in the neighborhood. Ever as slowly through the mist appeared, half a pint at a time, the new kids of the block.
The unknown beat a hasty retreat to accommodate the evolving bonds. Time flew by in the blink of an eye. The first act was on and the appearances changed to suit the occasion. While the circles remained, content was conspicuous by its absence. The mission: not to kill, but rather to not be killed. The alcohol had quickly sunk, allowing the water to float above. While conversations were aplenty, interest was left at the door. The song and dance was quite elaborate, just as the wine and cheese were cheap.
As time passed by, the race was getting clear. While the thoroughbreds pulled through to gain a lead, the also-rans watched with a sense of awe and bewilderment. Nevertheless, in true Hollywood-esque manner, the odd dark horse nudged through the crowd to make it a true photo finish. While the winners painted the town red, the mere mortals were left to clean the mess. Lessons were learnt and backs were broken. It was the inevitable truth and yet none of it was spoken. While many chose to blend into the background, a chosen few rose through the ashes, a phoenix at a time.
Elsewhere, the Trojan horses snuck through the gate, the guard opening his eyes too late. The enemy emerged from within the Trojan, attacking all in sight with toxic waste. And as they attacked the heel of Achilles, the mighty fell one at a time. The king saw the writing on the wall, change was plotting a mighty fall. The world as we knew it saw change; we doubled as unpaid targets at the shooting range.
When we thought we weathered the storm, another one rocked the boat. Life has taught us many a lesson, none as many as the time here. There was suspense; there was drama, a pinch of romance and some action. Why, there even was an elaborate Bollywood song and dance. Preached we were by the god and the soothsayer. We even learnt that greed is good. Some made us laugh, some made us weep. Some made us listen, others put us to sleep.
We look at the mirror, where we are today. We reflect on how things were two years back. And we notice the change. Change beyond just the debt and the long list of Facebook friends. Change in the attitude and the knowledge. Change in the attitude towards life. A few friends made for life. The number of bars visited in NYC. Change was the flavor of the season and that is what we saw.
Along the last mile, few moments away from walking down the river quay, we wonder whether it was a good dream, a nightmare or just another two years of life. The answer would be different for each of us. In many ways, it may be all of the above. All we know is that we spent a good time of our life here and had a great time whilst doing so. We leave with a mixed emotion of exhilaration and disappointment. Like all great journeys, this too has come to an end. It started one windy morning in August… and just like that, it will all be over.
The City was vibrant, as at any time of the year. Skeptical faces surveyed through the conundrum, looking for familiarity in an expansive sea of the unknown. Enthusiasm ran high, as did the tabs at every conceivable bar in the neighborhood. Ever as slowly through the mist appeared, half a pint at a time, the new kids of the block.
The unknown beat a hasty retreat to accommodate the evolving bonds. Time flew by in the blink of an eye. The first act was on and the appearances changed to suit the occasion. While the circles remained, content was conspicuous by its absence. The mission: not to kill, but rather to not be killed. The alcohol had quickly sunk, allowing the water to float above. While conversations were aplenty, interest was left at the door. The song and dance was quite elaborate, just as the wine and cheese were cheap.
As time passed by, the race was getting clear. While the thoroughbreds pulled through to gain a lead, the also-rans watched with a sense of awe and bewilderment. Nevertheless, in true Hollywood-esque manner, the odd dark horse nudged through the crowd to make it a true photo finish. While the winners painted the town red, the mere mortals were left to clean the mess. Lessons were learnt and backs were broken. It was the inevitable truth and yet none of it was spoken. While many chose to blend into the background, a chosen few rose through the ashes, a phoenix at a time.
Elsewhere, the Trojan horses snuck through the gate, the guard opening his eyes too late. The enemy emerged from within the Trojan, attacking all in sight with toxic waste. And as they attacked the heel of Achilles, the mighty fell one at a time. The king saw the writing on the wall, change was plotting a mighty fall. The world as we knew it saw change; we doubled as unpaid targets at the shooting range.
When we thought we weathered the storm, another one rocked the boat. Life has taught us many a lesson, none as many as the time here. There was suspense; there was drama, a pinch of romance and some action. Why, there even was an elaborate Bollywood song and dance. Preached we were by the god and the soothsayer. We even learnt that greed is good. Some made us laugh, some made us weep. Some made us listen, others put us to sleep.
We look at the mirror, where we are today. We reflect on how things were two years back. And we notice the change. Change beyond just the debt and the long list of Facebook friends. Change in the attitude and the knowledge. Change in the attitude towards life. A few friends made for life. The number of bars visited in NYC. Change was the flavor of the season and that is what we saw.
Along the last mile, few moments away from walking down the river quay, we wonder whether it was a good dream, a nightmare or just another two years of life. The answer would be different for each of us. In many ways, it may be all of the above. All we know is that we spent a good time of our life here and had a great time whilst doing so. We leave with a mixed emotion of exhilaration and disappointment. Like all great journeys, this too has come to an end. It started one windy morning in August… and just like that, it will all be over.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Down to Business - I
“Promise me that you won’t become a Yankee fan” he said. As Ted Sullivan laughed at his own joke, Rohan was not sure if he was serious or whether he was joking. Ted was from Boston as he told him later. A manifestation of a deep-rooted rivalry, Ted did not want to be the recruitment officer for the rival camp. Rohan did quip guardedly, “I am a soccer fan and I am not much into baseball. So, I guess I will not be a Yankee fan.” As Ted proceeded to stamp the visa and told Rohan about the amazing times he had had in New York City, Rohan realized that he was two more stamps away from the big apple.
Rohan had never doubted the fact that he would get the visa. He had been to the US before, travelling to New York and Los Angeles for work. That was a fun trip. He work hard and partied hard. While most of his brethren thought of spending frugally in the US, Rohan had gone all out. This time it was going to different. He was in pursuit of his dreams; something he had dreamt of every night for the past two years.
Picture Source: NYU Webpages
The tie came off, as did the jacket. As awesome that he felt, it was a hot June afternoon in Mumbai and the sweat was slowly trickling down his forehead. Realizing that he would soon miss the small things in life back home, he stopped for a cold glass of sugarcane juice. One glass quickly turned to three as sudden pang of hunger made him realize that he had not eaten since morning. As he sauntered down the street in search of a taxi, his mind wandered again. Rohan could see a bagel with cream cheese in front of his eyes. He wondered whether it was the heat, the hunger or the call of the City.
He still had two months to go, but Rohan was already thinking as though he had to leave the following night. He decided to make the most of the next few days. The first stop was a roadside vendor where he picked a couple of wada pavs to fill himself up. The juice had left him pretty full, but he coaxed himself into gobbling them down. It was almost as if this was his last chance to appreciate the staple fast food of the city. The city that he had come to call home for three eventful years.
Picture Source: George Koshy
A few blocks further down the road, Rohan found that elusive taxi. Torn between taking the taxi all the way and hopping onto the train, he knew he had lost it when he mumbled to the driver, “Bhaiya, Mahalaxmi chalenge?” Mahalaxmi was the closest train station to the American Consulate. While the trains would not be crowded at this hour, it was not exactly wise to travel suited up. The crowds, the heat, the humidity and the ensuing sweltering feeling were not entirely conducive for the formally dressed traveler. Rohan stood at the door, half to beat the heat and half to feel the wind in his face. And as he felt the cold breeze rustle his previously well-kempt hair, he could not help but wonder whether these were the winds of change…
This is a pilot for the book: Down to Business
Rohan had never doubted the fact that he would get the visa. He had been to the US before, travelling to New York and Los Angeles for work. That was a fun trip. He work hard and partied hard. While most of his brethren thought of spending frugally in the US, Rohan had gone all out. This time it was going to different. He was in pursuit of his dreams; something he had dreamt of every night for the past two years.
Picture Source: NYU WebpagesThe tie came off, as did the jacket. As awesome that he felt, it was a hot June afternoon in Mumbai and the sweat was slowly trickling down his forehead. Realizing that he would soon miss the small things in life back home, he stopped for a cold glass of sugarcane juice. One glass quickly turned to three as sudden pang of hunger made him realize that he had not eaten since morning. As he sauntered down the street in search of a taxi, his mind wandered again. Rohan could see a bagel with cream cheese in front of his eyes. He wondered whether it was the heat, the hunger or the call of the City.
He still had two months to go, but Rohan was already thinking as though he had to leave the following night. He decided to make the most of the next few days. The first stop was a roadside vendor where he picked a couple of wada pavs to fill himself up. The juice had left him pretty full, but he coaxed himself into gobbling them down. It was almost as if this was his last chance to appreciate the staple fast food of the city. The city that he had come to call home for three eventful years.
Picture Source: George KoshyA few blocks further down the road, Rohan found that elusive taxi. Torn between taking the taxi all the way and hopping onto the train, he knew he had lost it when he mumbled to the driver, “Bhaiya, Mahalaxmi chalenge?” Mahalaxmi was the closest train station to the American Consulate. While the trains would not be crowded at this hour, it was not exactly wise to travel suited up. The crowds, the heat, the humidity and the ensuing sweltering feeling were not entirely conducive for the formally dressed traveler. Rohan stood at the door, half to beat the heat and half to feel the wind in his face. And as he felt the cold breeze rustle his previously well-kempt hair, he could not help but wonder whether these were the winds of change…
This is a pilot for the book: Down to Business
Monday, April 06, 2009
The Stern Dog Millionaire
So what happens when you take a bunch of creative students in a premier business school? You get the SternDog Millionaire, a parody on the highly successful movie Slumdog Millionaire by Danny Boyle.
The entire video has been worked on by NYU Stern students [and Dean Frasier]; right from the concept, the story, the screenplay, the lyrics, the vocals, the actors and the entire production.
More than 50 students worked on this project. Let us see whether any of the schools have a decent enough response. The only one that comes to mind is Rammy Babaji from Fuqua who created the 'Damn it feels good to be a Banker'.
Enjoy the III part video
Part I
Part II
Part III
A fitting memory to the two years in school.
The entire video has been worked on by NYU Stern students [and Dean Frasier]; right from the concept, the story, the screenplay, the lyrics, the vocals, the actors and the entire production.
More than 50 students worked on this project. Let us see whether any of the schools have a decent enough response. The only one that comes to mind is Rammy Babaji from Fuqua who created the 'Damn it feels good to be a Banker'.
Enjoy the III part video
Part I
Part II
Part III
A fitting memory to the two years in school.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Sutli Bomb and more
It is the festival of lights. It is Diwali time. There is just one problem. It hardly feels like it is Diwali. There is no buzz in the air or a sense of purpose that you see on most minds. Well, there is a reason... this is the US of A and not India. And while I live in arguably the 31st state of India, New Jersey, it is still not the same.
For one, there are no firecrackers, diyas - earthen oil lamps that dote the landscape. There are no adhoc sweet-shops or elaborately dressed individuals heading to their friends house or better still, to the temple. You will find the odd dot-head draped in a saree covered by the warmth of black Ralph Lauren over-coats. But that is all. For a community that boasts of the number of South Asians that it has, it is entirely strange and quizzical.
Well, we wouldn't let our brethren dampen our spirits would we? With all the enthusiasm befit of the festival, we decided to take the trek to the local temple. Well, local is two hours away. We got up bright and early. Ummm... errr... not entirely. With no mom or grand-mom to wake us up, we managed to get up at a leisurely quarter past six. That is, after seven snoozes on the alarms. I showered in the traditional manner with coconut oil and the works. Why? For the kicks. I don't think I appeciated it back in India. Apparently, I now do. Wearing the new janevu - sacred thread, I offered whatever prayers that I knew. It is a shame, given that my grand-dad can read and recite all the hindu religious books in chaste Sanskrit and often performs religious ceremonies.
Finally, dressed in new clothes and super charged up, we set out for the temple. The temple is in Flushing, NY. I live in Jersey City, NJ. That is the meaning of a local temple. The average time for travel is typically 90-120 mins. To get a sense of the travel, click here. Anyway, this was my first time and I was super excited. After four train journeys [yes, four], we finally arrived in Flushing. Well, not at the temple. This was now a bus ride away. I asked myself, why on earth would anyone build a temple so far. Again, I reminded myself, we are not in India. We are in NY and its sky-rocketed real-estate prices. I should hardly be complaining. I wasn't.
We had to take the MTA bus. The problem was that we got confused and took the wrong bus. Next, we got off at the wrong stop. Actually, we realized that we were lost and decided to get off. Thank god for friends, google maps and hopstop.com. After fifteen minutes of help from friends, who directed us in the right direction, we got to the temple site.
The temple was under construction. There was a shiver down our spine as we wondered if the temple was in fact shut for construction. Luckily for us, it was not. As we entered, we saw tam families enter with exquisite sarees and other Indian fare. We on the other hand were dressed normally. My friend gave me a don't blame me look: don't look at me, I have to goto work after this. We convinced ourselves that god would appreciate our sacrifices in coming all the way out there and ignore any irrelevant details.
The temple - a Ganesh temple, was a nice temple. There was some good artwork and despite the constuction activity and NY location had the aura of a temple. We were in time for aarti. After praying to Lord Ganpati for a good job and other things, we prayed to the other deities there as well.
We then went to the famed cafeteria [Hindu temples generally have great food] for some food. True to its reputation, we had some wonderful South Indian food. As was expected, my South Indian tam-bram friend didn't think too highly of the food. Yet, it was appreciated given the circumstances.
Tangent: South Indian tam-brams will hardly appreciate anything other than their own mother's cooking. Understandably so.
We also picked up some chakli - spicy Indian snacks and some barfi and halwa - Indian sweets.
Happy with our journey, we decided to get back to the city and back to our lives in school. And while I had an exam on the day of Diwali and another the day after Laxmi Puja - festival of the goddess of wealth, we did try and enjoy our diwali. It is interesting to note that both these exams were conducted by Indian professors. B-ah! Bloody Indians!
Diwali night was capped with a wonderful and stuffing-oneself dinner at the Tiffin Wallah, a fine Indian vegeterian-kosher restaurant.
All in all, it was a wonderful Diwali experience. I still do miss the Sutli-bomb, the lights and the sweets. But, it was a good experience, given the circumstances.
For the record, Sutli-bomb is not the same as a Sultry Bomb. I am sure everyone likes those. A Sutli-bomb is a fire-cracker with a fuse called the sutli. It generates a loud explosion and is standard fare for Diwali. Just for the record, these crackers are handled by children and peace-loving individuals, not kalashnikov-totting terrorists.
The next plan is to have a taash [poker] session on the weekend. Plan is to start in the evening and go through the night. Diwali, I would say was well enjoyed.
Parting notes
Mr. Landlord: Do not worry a bit. As instructed, we did not light any diyas at home. I understand your fear of fire. Especially given that you have chosen not to repair the fire-alarm.
Mr. Obama: Thank you for your wishes. They cut no ice. Not that I can vote, but that does not mean I cannot have an opinion. Go McCain!
ABCDs and Socialists: Don't be so shocked. Obama is no good. And get that Bloody Indians! look off your face.
Finance Guys: May Laxmi Puja mark the start of an economic revival. May things look up again.
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