When New York beckons - US Bound 2

It's a year since I traipsed the cleaner streets of the US.

I've been thinking of that trip awhile. Of how I have no record of it other than my photos - much of it in danger of being lost because:

1) I'm technologically challenged and, hence, bad at storage, and have lost my digital photographs over and over.

2) I have no filing system. I'm still experimenting with ideas.

3) In the end, you only have those memories and you will forget a lot. This I know for sure. I visited Jaipur or Jodhpur, in Rajasthan, India, with a friend eight years ago, and thought the trip was seared forever into my psyche. Now when I look at the pictures and see the black-and-white checked tile floors and the turbaned singer sitting in a corner, I can't remember what the hell the palace was called. Jaswantada, I discovered from another friend's pictures.

Last time I wrote about Washington DC. My busy doctor friend Reena put her practice on hold and we tramped all around Washington DC. That's the best way to see a place - with someone who loves to roam a city, loves its history and who'll tell you about its cracks and cranks.

In New York it was Moncy, and Rose - an ex colleague and now friend. In San Francisco, it was Samina, another childhood friend. I didn't do much in Philadelphia, but my cousin Soy and friend Ramya kept things interesting and sane. 

#Ellis Island #NewYork #StatueofLiberty #NewYorkSubway #PennStation #

                                      ******

Clockwise from top left. A silhouette of the Empire State Building. I'm not sure if it was only on the day we went, but the lift wasn't working and we had to walk up six floors from the 80th floor to the 86th floor observatory. After three flights, I had to take a break. It was embarrassing. No one seemed to be out of breath or affected by the climb. Worse, most seemed older and everyone stared at the gasper on the side.
But it was worth it. I had to shove the heavy door of the open observatory outwards, almost wrestling with it, and met some icy cold winds head on for an extraordinary aerial view of New York. There's more on the 102nd floor, but we didn't go there.
My friend Rose, second from right, with l-r, Judy, Dawn and Beryl at my first-ever Writer's Workshop at Rose's home in Manhattan. Rose has a workshop one Saturday every month and adjusted her schedule to accommodate me. I read out a poem. Tried the bagel, my first and only time in the US, with an assortment of chutneys and toppings, at Rose's home. I liked it. I wish I'd eaten it more.
That sandstone coloured building is the Fashion Institute of Technology. If I looked to the right, I could see the Empire State Building.
In the US, I realised how technologically challenged I was/am. Reena had connected me to hotspot - I only figured out I could use the internet with it when I was almost due to go home. I put it down to learning a lesson - one of many.
I learnt some very important lessons in New York, stuff I should have understood years ago - you shouldn't believe everything people say and there's a message in the way people treat you. Trust your first instincts.
In many ways, the trip was a first for me. I used the train and subway on my own in another country. I walked about on my own, etc, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah.
But during my entire stay I missed visiting a post office (mostly the philately bureau) and going for a musical. #EmpireStateBuilding #FashionInstituteNewYork #Bagel #WritersWorkshop (Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise from top left. On the 82nd floor of Empire State Building. Right, the view from the observatory on the 86th floor. You can see Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty in the distance. New York is sprawling, so this is just one view of it. Bottom right, some information about the building's construction. Bottom left, a street scene outside the ESB. (Photos: A. Peter)

The Rockerfeller Centre.  The depressed area (bottom right) becomes a skating rink in winter. #RockerfellerCentre #Skatingrink (Photos: A. Peter)

Anticlockwise from top left: at Rockerfeller Centre. The art installation. A building nearby. Some of the buildings here have interesting frontages.
Picture at right is from the Rockerfeller Centre Lego shop. It seems you never outgrow the  child in you at Legoland. It's like El Dorado for kids... and adults. I saw pieces strewn all over the ground and was not sure who needed to be kept in check - kids or parents. Every now and then staff would sweep the pieces away. #RockerfellerCentre #Legoland (Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise from top left. More street scenes in NY. A building frontage - would this be an art deco building?
A vendor selling interesting signs - so colourful.
A grate at the base of a tree, perhaps meant to let rainwater seep in but keep the dirt off the pavement. Other grates were not as pretty.
St Patrick's Cathedral. I went in and stood awhile to catch part of the service.
NBC also has an observatory where you get an aerial view of the city. Much of the interesting bits of information were because of Moncy and Rose. You can tell they love New York and will never tire of it. #Manhattan #StPatrick'sCathedral #NBCObservatory (Photos by A. Peter)

In Manhattan. Street scenes and billboards. #RadioCityNewYork (Photos: A. Peter)

Times Square, New York. Second photo at left is the Hershey's store near Times Square. Sadly I did not catch a musical in New York. However, I did catch a Malayalam movie in Edgewater. Mohanlal, starring Manju Warrier and Siddharth. #TimesSquareNewYork #Hersheys (Photos: A. Peter)

In New York, walking toward the Village. Anticlockwise from bottom left. Washington Square, scene from the Long Island train on my way back, Chelsea. After I returned home, Google Maps kindly informed me that I had been walking through Chelsea. Here I thought I was walking about Greenwich Village with Rose. The Village is her old haunt. She lived there many years, then moved to the suburbs, and then by an incredible stroke of luck got an apartment nearly next door to Penn Station. The streets confused me. West/East/Upper 3rd etc. I blanked out every time someone said I had to go to this number street or that. I just asked my way around. #WashingtonSquare #Manhattan #Chelsea (Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise from top: George Washington at Washington Square. Caught the fag end of the cherry blossom season. New York University is here. #GeorgeWashingtonSquare #NewYorkUniversity #CentralPark #CherryBlossomTree (Photos: A Peter)

Caffe Reggio, an Italian restaurant. That was Rose's meal. The waitress suggested I have the Sicilian Canolli - bottom right. Not too sweet, very nice. All the waiters are on minimum wage - across America. Please give them good tips.
I met Rose that day at the entrance of Penn Station, ostensibly to do the rounds of the museums and the Natural History Museum. You see, I forgot to carry my presents for Rose the first day I was at her place. Moncy took me there and showed me how to return home. It felt like travelling in Mumbai, minus the extreme crush.
Rose dropped me, via subway, to the Natural History Museum. It has a subway entrance right next to it. It was an effort swiping my subway card and I had to swipe it several times, until, of course, I figured how to do it right. Big smile.
Had a felafel called a gyro and found out the food truck vendors were from Egypt. They first used the Arab word Masr, which I understood. But I found it terribly uncomfortable to eat out on the roadside on my own. So I packed the gyro and took it home. By the way, I don't recommend a soggy gyro - eat it fresh. #Caffe Reggio #SicilianCanolli #NaturalHistoryMuseum (Photos: A Peter)

Around Greenwich Village. Saw Mick Jagger's old home. I won't know where it is if ever I go back to visit. But Rose knows. (Photos: A. Peter)

Scenes in New York - Manhattan, Chelsea and Greenwich Village. Lower right, a tiny police car. A postman on his rounds. (Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise from top right. At Times Square. Through the Museum of Modern Art's (MOMA) windows.
William Jackson, an African artist. I liked him and I can't afford to buy him.
A fruit vendor in Manhattan.
Picasso at MOMA. You could see how Picasso's art evolved at all the museums.
View from a MOMA window.
At almost the end of the NY leg of the trip, I realised the Met Museum and MOMA were two different museums and dashed off to visit the Guggenheim and the Metroplitan museums. You need a whole day at the Met. It is massive and your day would be well spent. Both museums are on a road called the Museum Mile.
Central Park is very near here. Had to take frequent breaks at the museums, sitting every now and then. My feet hurt like crazy through the trip because of all the walking - and it seemed the best time to try free WiFi. (Photos: A. Peter)

One day I walked all about Manhattan. The more I walked the fewer restaurants there seemed to be. Finally, after consulting with a native 'Noo Yokker' - who assured me there were very few restaurants in the direction I was heading - I walked into Burger Heaven. In the late afternoon I opted for the breakfast of bacon and eggs because the burgers I saw were enormous. Burger Heaven is known for its burgers. My bad. The breakfast was enormous too. The only burger I ate during my trip was the one Soy made for me, a beef burger. It was excellent. Don't make my mistake. Go out into Noo Yokk and stuff your faces with burgers!
I spent time at Central Park, eavesdropping on two old ladies politely bitching about others. Watched some Italian tourists trying to cycle around the Park. I discovered a small children's zoo.  (Photos: A. Peter)

Grand Central Station, from outside and inside. I met a Gujarati who lived in Malad, Mumbai, as a child. He was very keen to know where I was from. I was buying nuts from his shop with the intention of asking for detailed directions to the Grand Central Station. I had got into the wrong entrance. (Photos: A. Peter)

The Guggenheim,  top left. Dog walker and mates in front of the Guggenheim. It would be called an architect's delight. Now I can recognise it in the movies. Flowers outside the G. The Metropolitan Museum on the Museum Mile. A sweet European woman smiled at me when I asked for directions. She pointed it out to me - several blocks ahead. And followed me, to make sure I reached the place. What a darling.
I had another such experience the next day or so, looking for the subway. The subway proved elusive, even with directions. Finally a city worker, took me to a corner and pointed it out to me. My experience as a tourist has been good. For sure, everyone and no one is a true blue New Yorker! (Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise from top left. John Ericsson Memorial. This road leads to Battery Park, where the queues are unimaginably long and you have airport-style security checks to get to the ferries that take you to perhaps the most famous of America's monuments.
We are on our way to Liberty Island to see the Statue of Liberty. Finally we get onto a ferry and admire the Manhattan skyline we leave behind us in a tail of froth and sea water. It is recommended one also visits Ellis Island, where most immigrants in the late 1800s and early 1900s landed and entered the country. I met an Indian scientist in the train, a friend of Moncy's, who recommended visiting it. Coincidentally, we lived in the same housing society in Thane many years ago, but I was meeting her for the first time. (Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise fom top left. The Statue of Liberty. You do feel a sense of awe the whole time you approach the island and can see her and when you actually meet her.
The American flag.
The pier or jetty leading to our boats. All along the sides you find coins. People throw them into the water. Many coins don't make it to the sea and lie in the sides or grooves of the pier. (Photos: A. Peter)

There's a small museum where the Statue of Liberty's feet are. The ranger who ferried us up in the lift said that there was a four-month waiting period to go up to the crown. These are original moulds and drawings used to build the Statue. (Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise from top right. The memorabilia, art work and pieces collected and displayed are interesting. Have a good look. Some of it is funny. Some not.
Second photo from top right - the ferries are at Ellis Island.
The Giovanni De Verrazzano statue at Battery Park, near our disembarkation point.
Bottom left. A coast guard boat followed us for a while. Then it moved on to something else.
(Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise from top left. Inside the Ground Zero Museum. Impressive interior. There's a subway connected to the museum too. Apparently there was one before the attacks on the Twin Towers (9/11), and the station was rebuilt.
Bottom right, the memorial outside. A white rose tucked into one of the names.
Some of the damaged structures and a burnt fire engine at the museum. Very sombre viewing. Very sad to see it all.
(Photos: A. Peter)

Fishy Chronicles 21: Love Thy Neighbour

I lay awake on my bed listening to Genie move about.

I didn’t get him. I didn't know what he did. How he survived. Fish and Genie had expressed no plan, so far, to leave. It made me happy and stressed me out – I didn’t want them to go.

I sat up. Genie had told me not to come into the kitchen. That he'd be working.

“Doing what?” I asked.

“Working.”

I changed tack. “Can I help?”

He hesitated, looking at me carefully. Then he smiled and shook his head. I hung around as late as I could and finally Genie ordered me to go to bed. Somewhere things had changed between us. He was no longer my parents’ Man Friday, or took orders from me – we had become equals.

I hung around my bedroom door, trying to listen. Nothing. Finally I lay in bed and thought of my ex, my parents, my job, bad things... and then, I had that recurring thought I always did. I envied no one. I had no sadness except the gaping hole that represented my parents. I had a cousin and some friends who loved me dearly and I was slowly making myself whole.

I stood at the window and watched the neighbours. Some were awake. Two of the neighbours were having an affair. I hadn’t realised until Aunty Glory told me. One neighbour's husband travelled on work often and the other's wife worked night shifts at a BPO.

“How does it work, Aunty Glory – they’ve both got kids,” I asked. We were sitting in Aunty's sitting room, watching one of the parties in question.

“I don’t know, my dear. Maybe they lock the door.”

“Or meet somewhere else?”

“The high isn’t going to last long.”

“We can’t know that, Aunty. Do you think the spouses get signals?”

“Signals, my dear?”

“I mean, that something's wrong. That their better halves are not as good as they should be.”

“Not everyone's the way your ex is!”

“Um... that’s not what I meant.”

“That is what you meant. Marriages are difficult. Sometimes great. Sometimes awful. Sometimes equal parts nonsense and adventure, goodness and wickedness. You can’t say. But everyone wings it.”

I didn’t believe her. I believed in soulmates. Like when she swore like a sailor at Uncle John and he blew her a kiss and tried to kiss her. He bought her cigarettes, even though he was allergic to tobacco. She looked at him, a scrawny, stunted man, like he was the sexiest man in the world. And he never stopped staring at her, his eyes always shining with love.

“They’re both on drugs,” my cousin Roma told me once.

“Yeah,” said Anjali, my best friend. She passed the binoculars and half-smoked Gudang Garam cigarette to Roma. We were in my sitting room, the curtains mostly closed but slightly parted for us to spy on our neighbours. This was a rare reunion. My parents were out of town, Roma had a break from her family and Anjali was visiting. And my parents’ neighbours were more exciting than theirs.

We were spying on the actor who had moved into our society, temporarily – according to the watchman. The actor was living in with a famous older model and they were fast attracting attention for their furious fights.

In the day they had been at my home, Roma and Anjali had only watched the actor and Genie. We hadn’t had much luck otherwise.

“You should spike the drinking water here with LSD. Or something hallucinatory. Would Benadryl work? We’d need several truckloads for just one wing of this society. Maybe Genie can help us with something stronger,” Anjali said. We looked at Genie.

He grinned. My cousin and my best friend had improved Genie's mood vastly. He was mostly smiling, flirting with them and driving us about everywhere. Of course, I had to thrash out the business of ciggies and booze with him. I didn’t want him to expose my evil habits to my parents. His presence complicated things.

“You’re asking me for permission to smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol?” Genie's eyes gleamed.

“Er, no.”

“What are you asking me to do?”

“Not to tell my parents that we're drinking or smoking.”

“Is that wise?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you going to tell them, Genie?” I felt exasperated by this roundabout conversation... and his unwillingness to fall in with my plan.

“No. But I won’t lie to them if they ask,” Genie grinned.

I was terribly annoyed, and had an amused audience behind me – Roma, Anjali and Fish. I could hear snickering from the tank. Idiots!

Roma and Anjali had told me not bother, but they were leaving once my parents returned and, heck, I had to live here. I wanted all my loose ends tied. Clearly Genie would never do anything he didn’t want to... even as a favour!

We realised that we were having no luck. So Roma and I went to bed. Anjali held back to keep watch through the curtains, but I had a strong feeling she wanted to chat with Genie.


                                 ****** 

This is a fictional series about the narrator, her former manservant and now friend, Genie, and five opinionated fish. The narrator is reliving old memories. She helps her cousin spy on a new neighbour, with unexpected results. 

                                 ****** 

I gasped in fear. Someone had grabbed my nightgown's collar and was trying to pull me off the bed. I kicked hard.

“Owww! What did you do that for!” Anjali was saying angrily. “Get up! There’s solid action happening out front!”

I could see Roma running out of the bedroom door. I sprinted.

Genie was wide awake, almost naked and at the sitting room windows too. Our building complex was still shrouded in darkness, except for the weak light from the tubelights screwed into the sides of each building and the few streetlights. There were lights slowly being switched on in some flats and people were opening either their windows or balcony doors to see.

But it was no fun looking at Genie. I could see the women of the society gesturing to each other to look at him. He was only wearing a pair of loose shorts and, I imagine, from where the women of Peaceful Society stood, he may have appeared naked.

It was probably the heat that made him go shirtless at night. Ouch!

“What the f...?” I glared at Roma.

“Look, baby. Look!”

The actor Arushmaan Verma was standing in his balcony, leaning against the door, trying to keep it shut and screaming for help.

He seemed to be bleeding from the temple. Only, no one was rushing to his aid.

I ran to my door and began to unlock it. The ladies followed me. But Genie's hands held mine tightly, making me stop.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked me.

“Going out there.” I could feel my adrenaline disappearing down a hole. “He needs our help!”

“I’ll go.”

“Bullshit. You were staring at him, not doing anything!”

“Get my t-shirt” he pointed at the chair near his bed.

“You get it yourself!”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but he was interrupted by a blood curdling scream. The three of us pushed Genie out of the way and ran down the stairs, into the courtyard, into building C and rushed up the stairs to the second floor to flat 206. Of course all of us knew which flat Arushmaan lived in!

The neighbours were standing behind their doors or peeping through their security doors.

We walked slowly, nervously, to the Verma flat. The door was closed. We were stupid for sure. I saw Shahbaz Pasha's mother. “Give me Shahbaz's cricket bat.”

“Give me your rolling pin,” Roma said.

“Give me a chair,” Anjali said.

A minute later, Mr Pasha threw everything out and closed the security door quickly. I could hear the lock turn.

Genie overtook us and was at the Verma door. “Stay in the corridor,” he ordered us.

We stood behind him and he rang the bell. After a few minutes, he rang the bell again, pressing the button for an eternity. We heard swearing from inside, and he pushed us back. The door opened and an overweight older man leered at us. Genie moved in front of us and asked for Arushmaan.

The man straightened, swore at Genie and moved into the flat, kicking the door shut. But before it could lock, Genie put his foot into the doorway and held onto the door.

The man didn’t notice what had happened and was already on his way to an armchair in front of the TV.

He looked irritated, but in a second all our attention was on the two people sitting on the sofas. They - the model and another woman - had passed out.

The man, who unknowingly let us in, was now sitting in the armchair in front of the TV, with the volume on full blast. We waited for him to turn and see us. A shattered bottle, and some blood, was on the ground. From a side room we could still hear Arushmaan screaming.

Genie went to the man near the TV. He didn’t turn. His head tipped forward – the man was falling asleep!

Genie stepped into the bedroom and knocked on the balcony door. “It’s Genie here, from building A. You want to come out?”

“He’s still screaming. Let me talk to him,” I said, pushing Genie out of the way and not succeeding. He stepped away from the door.

I banged the door with my fist, “Arushmaan, I’m your neighbour. You’re safe now.” I tried to pull open the door, but Arushmaan was still holding on to it, keeping it shut and crying.

After a while, his hold slackened and the door opened. He saw me and started coming into the bedroom, but stumbled on the doorstep and fell on me. Genie quickly pulled him off and dragged him to the sitting room, where he proceeded to scream again when he saw the others.

He quietened as soon as he saw Roma come in through the front door. She crouched near him and told him everything was going to be fine. The other man was still sleeping, his beer bottle balanced precariously in his lap.

Anjali pushed a chair near the actor and started tending to his wound. She had managed to get a First Aid kit. “You’ll need to get this checked. It's deep and may need stitches. Shall we take you to a hospital?”

Arushmaan shook his head. Genie stood in front of him, “We need to go to the hospital, boss.” But there was another commotion and Genie made way for a police constable. Now, many neighbours were crowding the doorway.

We hung around for a bit, only because we were ordered to by the police. Towards sunrise, they let us go.

                                 ****** 

Who could sleep after that tamasha.

We had endless cups of tea, each of us taking turns to make it. When Genie protested our tea-making, Roma brushed him off and said, “We’re partners in crime. Take the day off. Enjoy our company.

“What do you think it was all about?” I asked no one in particular.

“They're on drugs,” Roma said. We laughed.

Roma shrugged, stretched out on the floor, her arms supporting her head, dreaming. Every now and then she rose slightly and turned to take a sip of her tea.

That glassy look – she was in a good place.

“What are you thinking about, Roma?” Anjali put my thoughts into words.

Roma took a deep breath and smiled. She stared at the ceiling and said slowly. “For a long time, I though Arushmaan Verma was the hottest man in the East.”

We laughed, but Roma sighed and continued to stare at the ceiling.

“And?” Anjali prodded.

“And even though I married, Arushmaan was the man that crept into my dreams.”

“Join the club.”

“But...”

“But?”

Roma turned onto her side and propped herself up on one arm, her eyes moving to Genie.

“Just so it’s clear, Genie, I hope what I say doesn’t offend you or sound condescending. I’m going to shoot my mouth off.”

Genie blinked quickly, “Okay.”

“Yesterday, I hated what I saw. Arushmaan was cute, but if I have to holler and swear at my sexy man toy from another balcony and see him crying and snot coming out of his nose – he’s going to fall off a very tall pedestal fast!”

We laughed.

“It's not Aunty Glory that’s on drugs,” Roma continued. “Those buggers in C-206 were up to their eyeballs in some serious shit. I don't know how Arushmaan got hurt, but that relationship is in deep trouble.”

We were quiet for a long time.

“Is he off your list of hotties, Roma?” Genie asked. He grinned when we looked at him in shock.

“Yes.”

“For good?”

“Like a nightmare I want to dream about,” Roma said.

Genie laughed and stood up. “Excuse me, ladies. I need to have a bath.”

We watched Genie walk away. He was still in the same blue shorts and grey sleeveless t-shirt he was wearing when we charged into C-206. He had the good sense to slip it on before leaving our flat.

“Really, Roma? Is Arushmaan finally off your list of dream men?” Anjali asked. He had been Roma's crush since he’d surfaced in TV commercials many years ago.

I was curious too. Roma had insisted we catch up and try and meet Arushmaan. But he had fobbed us off rudely two days ago.

I had wondered why we needed to spy on him, but he was the only interesting soul in our colony. Actually, scrap that. That was not true. There was Zeba, the married lovers, Glory and John Gonsalves, Mr Duggal, etc, etc.

“Must be all the tea...” Roma stared at the ceiling, smiling.

“What is?” I asked.

“I could get used to it,” Roma murmured.

“For goodness sake, what?” Anjali growled.

“Get used to a sexy, hot guy like Genie, tending to my every need. And not a grumpy moment. The last two days – bliss! After a while, I found myself watching Genie. I can’t blame the women in this society – even Aunty Glory loves him madly.”

We heard a vessel topple in the kitchen and all three of us straightened. I could feel my heart in my throat.

I looked at Roma. Shit. What if Genie heard.

We sat still, listening for a sound. Fish watched us, but offered no opinions.

Several minutes later, I went into the kitchen. I saw a thermos, with three cups next to it, on the platform, pieces of cake arranged on a plate on a tray, along with cut fruit in a container and three forks beside it.

I stood still. I could hear Genie taking a shower. I listened for several minutes. When he turned off the shower, I hurriedly put the cups on the tray, shoved the thermos under my armpit, grabbed the tray and jogged into the sitting room.

There was not a chance I wanted to know if he had heard Roma or not.

Good riddance to sexy, unrelatable toy boys. As long as Genie kept his mouth shut and didn’t tell my parents about our midnight adventure, we were good.
                                    ****** 

Fishy Chronicles 20: The Strangeness Of Happiness

I stumbled against a flower pot and felt Genie's tight grip steady me. I don’t know which was more painful, his fingers biting into my fleshy forearm or my stubbed toe.

“Why are we crawling about in the dark? I’m going to my house. I’m not doing anything illicit! Going home in pitch dark feels like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to,” I grumbled.

“Shhhh,” said Fish.

“I’m saying...”

“Too much,” Genie said. He grabbed my bags, went up the stairs in a flash and I heard the faint sound of my door being unlocked.

I wheeled the fish tank toward the lift and glared at the sleeping watchman. Our racket hadn’t woken him up. Some people were blessed. They could sleep through storms. Even though I had slept in the best beds in Cambodia, I had tossed and turned. I had heard strange noises and had had strange thoughts and only near the end of my holiday had slept long stretches, mostly because I was tired each day.

Genie loomed in my face. He picked up the fish tank and moved swiftly up the stairs. I saw a light in an upstairs window. Old Mrs Glory Gonsalves was smoking in her balcony. She only ever smoked at night and out of sight of our neighbours from the Dark Ages. She blew me a kiss and I blew one back at her.

I walked up the stairs and stopped. Genie was leaning against the wall near our home, ostensibly waiting for me, his arms crossed, his thin white t-shirt clinging to his muscled arms and torso, his nipples showing and one of his legs in front of the other, with the ankles crossed – like those middle-aged society madams trying to look thin and hip. Really, Genie, a minute and you got tired waiting for me?

I entered the flat. I sighed. It was so good to be back home. Fish were already rushing about their home tank, moving furniture, hiding their eats and trying to find their comfortable spots. Their luggage was strewn at the bottom of the tank. Five fish, so much luggage. So materialistic.

A throat cleared behind me and I turned. Genie smiled. “Good night. Your suitcase is in your room.”

                                     ****** 

This is a fictional series about the narrator, Genie, her former manservant and now friend, five opinionated fish, a devoted mosquito called Nobby and a visiting North Pole elf called Donny. They have just returned from a holiday and are now face to face with a neighbour who is in love with Genie.

                                     ****** 
I heard the doorbell ring.

Ignore, ignore, ignore! It was the weekend. I tried to shove my pillow into my ears. Then I heard a familiar voice. I immediately jumped out of bed and tiptoed to my bedroom door and listened.

It couldn’t be! I listened for several minutes. Nothing! What a time for a door to block out sound.

I tiptoed into the corridor off the hallway to hear better, but Genie caught sight of me.

“Oh, look, she’s awake,” Genie stood, smiled and gestured at me to sit near him on the sofa. I felt grubby and shabby in my long loose nightgown, especially as Zeba was looking her best in a tight, flower print halterneck dress.

He took my arm and led me toward the sofa. Genie sat next to me, leaned back, put his arm along the back of the sofa, stretched his legs and smiled expansively at Zeba.

My eyes bulged the minute I felt his arm behind my head. What was Genie thinking! His smile was cool, and hovered only around his mouth. 

My head whipped around. Zeba's smile had faltered and it was clear she was making an effort to keep smiling. 

“Zeba was asking about our trip,” Genie’s moustache said.

“Yes, Cambodia. How exciting. What did you both do?” Zeba's eyes bored into me.

“I was on a yoga retreat. But they,” Genie's free hand gestured at me, and he instantly corrected himself, “she, had the time of her life. Didn’t you, my love? Tell Zeba about your adventures.”

My love? I could feel a stake through my heart already. “E-Er... H-h-had an excellent guide and all. Went to the temples, Angkor Wat, Bayon, Ta Prohm. Y-you must go, it's a traveller's delight, for sure."

“I’m sure.” Zeba said, her eyes feasting on Genie and him smiling back at her lazily. Shit, shit, shit! I turned, desperately looking at Fish. Where was Donny, my dear elf?

I spotted them, pressed against the fish tank’s wall, watching us with no expression at all and very still. Nobby was watching from atop the tank. I turned around and saw Donny hiding behind a large potted plant on my sitting ledge near the window. I felt a little confidence creep into my being.

I looked back at Zeba and was startled by an angry look, quickly replaced by a fake smile. I felt Genie's arm fall onto my shoulder and him saying loudly into my ear. “Go get our present for Zeba. It’s the bag on the kitchen platform. Go on. And some of those chocolates.”

I got up. There were about six mangoes tied up in a fancy gauzy bag, a big red ribbon tied neatly around its neck. I opened the fridge and found two large bars of liquor chocolates in a narrow checked gift bag, sitting on a shelf. Genie seemed to have thought of everything.

When I returned, Genie and Zeba were standing and kissing each other's cheeks. I handed Zeba the mangoes and chocolates and she thanked Genie effusively and ignored me. 

He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the door. She attempted to hug him but he held back. So she threw her arms around his neck and then moved back, out of the door and out of my line of vision. Genie waved and nodded and smiled and then closed both doors.

“What's going on, Genie?” I asked.

Genie shrugged, sat on the sofa and shook out the newspaper he had been reading before Zeba rang the doorbell.

I stood in front of him, plucked the newspaper out of his hands, shoved it into my left armpit, crossed my arms and waited. 

Genie grinned broadly, stretched his legs, for which I had to move out of the way, and relaxed, staring up at me, his head tilted to one side. “Fraternising with a beautiful neighbour.”

“A hateful woman.”

“Tut, tut. A human being. And an esteemed member of this Society.”

“Bullshit.”

Genie laughed. He looked at my angry face and laughed again.

I looked up. The top of the tank had slammed against the wall behind it, and against the laws of physics stayed upright precariously. 

“What the fork, Genie! What the hell are you playing at!” my dear, dear Penaaz shouted. Water splashed out of the tank, as the other fish first flew around the tank and then jumped to the top.

“Yeah,” Portas and Pervez shouted together.

I could see Genie was surprised at Fish's reactions. What did he expect! They hated Zeba as much as I did.

I remembered Nobby. He was now sitting on the bookshelf. “Why didn’t you bite Zeba, Nobby?”

“I have renounced violence.”

“Bullcrap and bullshit!” 

Genie and Nobby burst out laughing. I threw myself at Genie, but I was no match for him. He pinned me against the sofa with an arm and continued to laugh while I and Fish shouted and swore. Finally Genie put his finger on my lips and said, “Shhh. We don’t want darling Zeba to return, do we?”

I wanted to call him a name, but mostly I wanted to bounce the hardest, biggest Cambodian mango we had on Zeba's fat, hairy head. When he didn't take off his hand from my mouth or stop pinning me to the back of the sofa, I nodded angrily. After an eternity, he let me go. The idiot!

I stood up. “What is going on, Genie?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit!”

Genie laughed.

“Stop playing around with me, Genie! Are you fooling around with her?” I demanded. 

Genie stopped laughing, but continued to smile. He shrugged one shoulder.

“Out with it, Genie,” Gregory said from the tank.

“I didn't expect Zeba to visit. So soon, in any case,” Genie said.

“We're listening,” Gregory prodded.

“And I’ve been thinking these last few days... especially after her phonecalls while we were in Phnom Penh...”

“And?” I pressed.

“And I think I’ve been handling things... inefficiently.”

“Meaning?” 

“We’re going about Zeba the wrong way.”

“So all the mangoes you bought in Phnom Penh were for Zeba?” 

“No. The mangoes and chocolates on the kitchen platform were for Ms Glory. Zeba just beat her to it.”

“But you’re sending Zeba the wrong signals!”

“I’m just trying to do the neighbourly thing. Sharing fruit.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” I told him.

“Good to know.”

I had a thought. “Are you two going to be coochie cooing on a regular basis?”

“I can’t say."

“It would make me sick,” Portas said from the fish tank.

“I second that,” Gregory said. The lovers, Penaaz and Pervez, had retreated to a corner and were murmuring to themselves.

Genie patted the seat next to him. When I didn’t move, he pulled me onto the sofa. “I’ll make some tea. I offered yours to Zeba.”

I was going to say something rude when I remembered. “Did Nobby...?”

“Yes. He had the first sip. Happy?” 

I shook out the crumpled entertainment supplement of the Bombay Sentinel. What I wouldn’t give for Zeba to know a mosquito had dunked his proboscis into her tea, especially one who often chugged her blood. I struggled not to chuckle.

Papa was right. Happiness came from the strangest things. 

                                    ******

Fishy Chronicles 19: Hello Again

Dear Me,

It’s our last night here. I’m done packing. Fish are silent in their tank, bobbing up and down, their eyes wide and staring, mouths moving in a silent collective monologue. For sure, they will hate me for this depiction.

Our days in Cambodia were hectic, driving around the country, visiting Genie's old haunts, meeting some of his very interesting, and dubious, friends, eating at stops on the way to finally packing sandwiches and fruits or searching for Indian restaurants and Bread Talk every where we went. I thought we were of  adventurous palate, but after our third bowl of unfamiliar nosh, we stopped trying and ate what Genie did.

Everything has been an ‘otherly' experience. I have promised myself I will have a more open attitude to travelling and other cultures. I found the Cambodians a warm race, unsullied by development, though I saw many high-end cars – more than in Mumbai. I saw more in one square kilometre here than in most of Mumbai, though Mumbai is a huge metropolis with more people than the whole of Cambodia, so maybe not a fair comparison.

                                  ****** 

This is a fictional series. The narrator, Genie, her ex manservant, a former underworld don turned world traveller and now friend, and a school of vocal, irascible fish are at the fag end of their holiday in Cambodia.

                                  ****** 

The last few days have been chilled. We have been the focus of Genie's full attention. Genie moved us in to a service apartment next door to his friends – Indian expats and surprisingly good fun.

Most evenings we sat by the swimming pool with them, drinking tea and feasting our eyes on the sunset, catching the occasional drizzle and looking at the tranquil city below us.

Evenings on the terrace.
(Photo: A. Peter)

Genie wouldn’t let Fish into the swimming pool because of its chlorine content, but I screamed and waved from its depths. I only piped down when I knocked my head against the pool steps. From underwater, I could hear Fish screaming with laughter.

Each day was filled with outings with Sindhu, our de facto guide and expat friend, taking us to the palace or temples. Dimitri has a special corner for her daughter Adi who took us to most of the markets in Phnom Penh – Russian, Central, Orussey and the Night market.

We went to the Siem Reap Silk Farm and followed the process of silk making. Despite feeling sad about the number of silk worms dying, we bought beautiful silk objects from the shop.

Gregory and I went to buy stamps, which is strange because I don’t know where his stamp collection is. But I do know he visits post offices around the world. I bought a few too. The Cambodia Post building is charming and old world inside and out.

Cambodia Post, where we bought limited edition stamps. The stamp business isn't what it used to be.
(Photo: A. Peter)

The young lady manning the philately bureau seemed surprised at our interest. She seemed reluctant to part with Cambodia Post's wares. But eventually the department came away with a tidy fortune. We bought most of the stamps – limited edition, the young lady assured us.

Greggy and I, giddy with our purchases, sat at a nearby café, hoping for anything resembling a cutting chai but settling for an iced tea, and made each other promise not to tell the others how much we spent on the stamps.

I don’t know why we did that though as Genie gave us spending money every time we stepped out. We returned the change every night. He just put the change on his bedside table and gave us fresh notes the next morning. From being so independent, it felt unsettling to take money from Genie.

But Dimitri put it in perspective for me. “He's in charge. Let’s just humour him. Besides he’s so happy we're enjoying ourselves.” Genie certainly was happy. He smiled most of the time, and nothing seemed to faze him – even the odd kerfuffle in the fish tank.

Most days we spent Genie's crisp 100 dollar bills on museums, roadside food, souvenirs and tea and eats at posh cafés.

Genie even let Dimitri, the lovers, Donny and I take tuktuks about Phnom Penh. You see, we figured out how to bargain. And Fish are not afraid to voice their opinions. They bargained at the markets, with the tuktukwalas and even wrangled some freebies at a small supermarket. They didn't let me ogle the cute expats, but hurried me into some shops and proceeded to buy me silk and silver.

We bought lots of stuff at the markets. I bought a fake Rolex for my cousin Roma and shoes and clothes. Genie assured me we could take about 60 kgs back with us. He’s already accounted for 20 of those. He’s taking mangoes and some stuff for his friends. He wouldn't say who for.

I couldn’t close the suitcase I bought here, and finally filled the knapsack with some junk.
I’m feeling sad to leave. I fell in love with the peaceful Cambodians. I even searched online for English newspapers in Phnom Penh – there are quite a few. You never know, they may need experienced journalists.

I went to the palace twice, to look at the treasures there – the room filled with the gifts the Kings got over the centuries. I stared at the silver floors, about 6000 pounds of it, and then stood in a spot where the diamonds in the statue's eyes and forehead winked at me. I stared until another tourist bumped into me and unintentionally dislodged me from my trance.

I saw headless cross-legged Buddha figures in glass cases and wondered how only the heads had disappeared. It’d have been easier on the stone artefacts, but harder for silver. Was there a method to the madness?

Genie took us to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. I’m glad he was around. It was depressing. So many people visited and the only sounds we heard were of the boisterous groups of schoolchildren leaving the museum.

It’s an old school that Pol Pot converted into a prison cum torture unit. There are some graves on the lawn outside, and according to the signage, the last 14 of the victims at this place are buried here. Most of his victims were very young, many ranging from their teens to 30s.

The rooms are empty except for metal beds and pictures of dead prisoners with blood pooled on the ground. These poor prisoners were tortured for long periods. You can’t help wondering if the stains on the ground are blood they couldn’t get out.

Other rooms show many photos of executed prisoners. There are small biographies. All deeply disturbing. While leaving we saw one of the survivors of Pol Pot's torture. He was the artist made to paint all the gruesome details of torture. Some of his paintings hang in the museum. He lost his wife during that period. That day he was trying to sell his book.

When Genie asked if we wanted to visit the Killing Fields, a little outside the city, we said no. I felt sick at the idea of not going, but distressed at the scale of wickedness some could perpetrate on the majority. These were a people brutalized in modern day. It still continues all over the world.

I look at Fish, Genie and Donny and feel comforted. Nobby is on my shoulder, part reading what I write and part slumbering.

We are set to make our way back to Mumbai tomorrow. We won’t be returning in a small plane this time. We stop in Kuala Lumpur and then land in Mumbai in the dead of night. I'm wondering if this was intended to avoid a certain neighbour.

Genie even had a haircut. Or a tender trim. We dropped into the high-end salon to watch a young man gently massage Genie with cream, wash his hair and trim his hair and moustache. The salon happened to be unisex, so I got similar treatment and more – manicure, pedicure, foot massage, the works.

I feel like a million bucks. My holiday straightened out the kinks. I didn’t think of work or Peaceful Society. Tonight, when I rest my head on my pillow, I will sleep well.

Good night.

P.S. I have not weighed myself since my last interaction with the scales. Watch this space.

                                       ******

Good Luck, Keema Pav And Memories

We were chasing visas today and finished earlier than expected. Our first breakfast was tea and biscuits at 4.30am - to make sure we left at 6am and made our appointment in time.

I'm guessing each person has a different experience with visas. After checking various sources, the husband said the whole process would take 3-4 hours. I'm happy all those sources were wrong. We were done in 45 minutes and had time to kill.

Food is always on our minds, so Bossji pulled out his phone and said, "Do you want to eat a five-star meal?" all the while scrolling down his phone screen.

I replied with a much-delayed, "Yes," which really meant 'no'. But a few minutes later, he said, "Do you want to eat Iranian food? Good Luck is supposed to be one of Mumbai's top five eating places."

"Yes!"

We went to Good Luck, in Bandra's Hill Road, just opposite Mehboob Studio. I am sure management didn't mean anything when it named the restaurant so. It is partially hidden by a dusty, disabled, blue tempo. The inside didn't look five-star, though the furthest wall was an etched mirror of some sort, with a fern design repeated along its length and breadth - the only thing glam. I wasn't impressed - until the food came.

We ordered without a menu. Since it was an Irani restaurant the Bigger Half ordered two keema pavs. And it was great. Like my mom used to make it, but with a generous helping of masala-suffused oil. Interestingly, this was a beef keema. Most Indian restaurants sell mutton, chicken or soya keema. My mom's keema, always beef, tasted better the second or third day - the beef softer and masalas more flavourful the older it got.

Only we called it minced meat then - so no-nonsense, like my parents. That earthy, wholesome, rich, filling dish, came out of a plastic packet with the mugshot of an annoyed, horned-bovine. My mom cooked the minced meat for some hours, usually with peas. I don't know how, but it lasted for probably three days. I usually had it with kubz, Arab bread.

In Mumbai, it's called keema. At one point my go-to dish was keema gotala (keema with egg) at the tiny Iranian restaurants near our hostel - Pandita Ramabai Hostel in Gamdevi. It was the only dish I was aware of in my first year in Mumbai. I was then untrained in every way and had so much to learn, literally.

I find it strange people would want to make keema with chicken and personally would not eat it, especially after eating the stuff in the office canteen. Yes, an office canteen can kill whole food categories for you. Stay away from them!

Well, we rounded off the keema with an omelette pav and bun maska (butter) and bun maska jam. I had Iranian black tea. It tasted like any other black tea, luckily without the bitterness of tea brewed too long. The Mappalah restaurant at Fountain makes a good black tea but uses a tea bag in a glass.

I debated whether to have brun maska, a hard version of the pav that Parsis seem to favour. Then I remembered a friend, married to a Zorastrian, telling me her Alsatian loved to eat brun. By then Boss had placed the order. The bun maska gave me a buttery stare, begging me to photograph it before it died.

You have to love places that lash and smother their buns with Amul butter. Like Yazdani at Fort. A friend once had an interesting story to tell about Kayani Bakery in Pune. Whenever her husband visits Pune, he is ordered to bring home cakes. These cakes are made with Amul butter, which is salty. Some years ago there was a shortage of Amul butter and Kayani chose not to make its cakes rather than use another butter.

The meal at Good Luck turned out to be excellent. A very decent Rs382. I didn't get why the restaurant used paper cups, rather than cups or glasses, to serve its tea.

The area near the cashier was old-fashioned and quaint - very large old cupboards with wide clean glass doors. The restaurant also sells cosmetics, snacks, biscuits, chocolates, perfumes, deodorants and more.

There was one young waiter, running the whole place, though I saw others in the kitchen. I saw beef samosas on the menu. It wasn't available at breakfast. Red T-shirt (waiter) did warn us the morning fare was limited. I must go back one evening for the samosas, maybe with greedy, fat friends.

I eyed Red T-shirt's jewellery - two silver rings with semi precious stones. For a busy young man, he was amiable and relaxed. Please tell me the secret of your calm. And how do you stay thin in a restaurant like Good Luck?

Breakfast at Good Luck restaurant, Hill Road, Bandra. Clockwise from top left - beef keema, omelette and pav maska (butter), Iranian black tea and pav maska jam. It was a very busy place with a wide range of clientele. People waited patiently for tables to free up.
(Photos: A. Peter)

The store cum restaurant reminded me of an eatery in Philadelphia. It was similar in no way except for the sale of provisions.

My cousin wanted me to try Mexican food. I shuddered at the idea because the food I tried in Mumbai was awful and I didn't want to repeat the experience at any cost.

But having lived in Mexico, my cousin insisted I trust her choices. She was unsure of her husband's reaction because the restaurant was in a low-income neighbourhood and at the back of a store. The store was filled with Mexican provisions and knick knacks. I was reluctant to photograph any of it in case I offended someone.

But the food was awesome. Not overloaded with masalas or spice, just great cooked beef, simple wholesome food. And everything she ordered was new to me. Plus aqua fresca, which literally means fresh water and is an extract of fruit. It was not juicy or overly sweet, but very light on the senses.

The lunch at El Primo Taqueria in Philadelphia. From top left, 1) the restaurant at the back of the shop. Almost feels like someone's home. That's the entrance to the shop. 2) Yummy beef tacos. I think that's what it is. Unless it's a tortilla. 3) Aqua Fresca. 4) No idea. It's a lot. Meant for hearty eaters. Contains beef, cheese, beans, onions, capsicum and rice, among other foods. 5) Chicken Flautas. Another super yummy dish. 6) Nachos. These are starters and they come with a bland bean sauce that is quite tasty. Even the nachos taste different from what we get in India. All this comes with salads and sauces and there's a self-service section in a corner.

The nachos were nothing like in Mumbai. Mexicans be warned. Eat Indian food while in India. Maybe a five-star restaurant will be able to replicate what you want to eat. Avoid it at the theatre and malls. You don't know how funny I find this.

Many hugs, darling Soy, for introducing me to Mexican food. I'm a fan now. I'm not going to eat it in India though.

Thank you also for feeding me the kind of American food I wanted to eat - steak, mashed potatoes and vegetables, beef burgers, pork ribs and more. And for drinks I'm unlikely to try again, only because I'm not going to remember what it was and find it here. Bending over backwards for me, with a smile, despite all your tensions. And mostly for not talking about how fattening the food was going to be and letting me enjoy eating.

Soy at the grill. It is pulled out on pleasant days. This was in May 2018, the cold replaced by a slight summer warmth and beautiful colours in the trees. 

When I arrived in the third week of April, I caught the fag end of cherry blossom season, including souvenirs at gift shops - like cherry blossom chocolates and keychains at the Senate gift shop in Washington DC. I have a cherry blossom keychain.

This is what Soy fed me - steak, lasagna with delicious ricotta cheese, split wine and ginger ale. 

(Photos: A Peter)

Giant mushrooms. A whole area just for wines and liquor.
(Photos: A. Peter)

Clockwise from top left, a souffle - my first ever. A cereal/muesli breakfast, range of food for sale, coconut water in a bottle, ginger ale and lasagna.
(Photos: A. Peter)

Formerly pork ribs. Eaten clean here. Only remembered later to take a photo. Hamburgers - juicy, beef burgers. I followed Soy to a supermarket and was stunned by the range of food and size of the vegetables.
I also got called her mother by the cashier. It took me down several notches, considering she's only five years younger than me.
(Photos: A. Peter)