Bostonians and Washingtonians

There are obviously some differences between the two groups.

Washingtonians adhere to a military-style system of lining up on the escalator. It makes plenty sense, with people who want to allow the machine to carry them to a floor queuing up toward the right, leaving a clearly marked aisle to let people in a rush, jog past. But my question - why is everyone always in such a rush?

Bostonians - "What line? Huh? What, are we in Britain, now?"


Washingtonians - "I am a lean, mean driving machine. I will not stop or slow my car even if I see a pedestrian a mile away. I will brush past inches of them even if I run the risk of a lawsuit. I will charge forward and honk. 'Get outta the way you neanderthal on feet. Can't you see I have wheels and a motor and I intend on using them! '" (Blows raspberry)

Bostonians - "The pedestrian is our friend. We will not turn them into roadkill. We will let them cross, always. Read: always. Whether there's a zebra crossing or not. Whether the pedestrian cross signal is on or not. We will even let them cross if the traffic light has just turned green but we see them running toward the T which they will miss if they don't instantly cross the street. The pedestrian is our friend. We will not turn them into roadkill."


Washingtonians - "We are very important and very busy. We are after all, the nation's capital. This is where the president lives and all the rules are made. I have a lot of work and don't have time to chat. I wear high heels all day and change into flip flops on the Metro because I have a very long commute. I make lots of money and it's been two months since I spoke to my mother."

Bostonians - "We are New England! What could possibly be stressful here? We like our jobs but work a strict five-day week. We're historic and picturesque, intellectual and fun. We wear one pair of shoes all day and my mother will be making pot roast this Sunday for dinner. Any other questions?"


Washingtonans and Bostonians are spirited, American people. Fascinating and addictive.

Dancing to a tune called Boston

And so I finally did it. I made the big move. With four very large overweight bags in tow and 12 brown boxes in transit with the U.S. postal service, I moved out of Boston. The city that was a stranger to me not so long ago turned into home for the past year. I knew the streets, was familiar with the public tranpsort system, had worked out the pedestrain clock for the traffic signals outside my apartment.

When I think back to a year ago, I remember the gripping pangs of uncertanity that knawed at my insides. I stepped out of one of my first late night classes at COM and remember feeling petrified at the night that seemed to swallow me in this new city. I was scared of getting lost, scared of speaking to new people, scared to try anything different. And now it feels like I've known the Bay State almost forever.

Boston is a great place - large enough to feel like a city, small enough to make you feel a part of it. The people smile, when the sun is out, it's the best, the air is clean. Boston's spirit is warm and fuzzy, welcoming and accepting of a largely migratory population that flock to its borders for a world-class education at one of many colleges. And when a student finishes their course and begins to move out of the city, Boston gives them a pat on their back, nudges them along their way and reminds them they always have a friend on the east coast. No strings attached.

I'm extremely excited about beginning a new chapter. But I love Boston. Always. For taking me in and making me one of its own. Yes, love. Not just like. I intend on being back for commencement. Until then, Boston, and the neighborhood in which I lived, Brookline, will be missed. Sorely.

My day in the sun

The sun was out for one the few times since November and I wasn't about to give up the chance to enjoy it. At around lunchtime, Italian food cravings translated to Mediterranean pizza at the Prudential Mall food court. Seated at the outdoor terrace overlooking a busy street, I bit into olives, feta cheese and tomatoes.

To be in Boston and not sample some of New England's finest ice cream, and possibly one of the most famous in the world, is a crime. Although, the brand is now available in India, if you are willing to put down more that Rs. 600 for a family-size tub.

I bought a cone of two scoops of Ben and Jerry's ice cream in a waffle cone. The flavors I chose were chocolate macadamia fudge and the signature chocolate cookie dough ice cream. I have to admit, I enjoyed the chocolate macadamia fudge better than the cookie dough. Somehow, the name seemed like too close an interpretation of the actual flavor, large doughy bits embedded in vanilla ice cream. Not such a big fan.

Then, I turned into a true local and found a cool marble bench, slipped off my footwear and alternated placing my feet on the green grass or the marbletop, as I read a book. When I had soaked in as much Vitamin D as I could handle, I took the T to nearby Longfellow Bridge. I walked, gazing at the blue Charles alongside. Sigh, Boston looked so beautiful. Here's what I mean.

Saturday

I'm not the biggest fan of gushing. Okay, who am I kidding, yes I am!

Today was perfect in so many ways. I woke up on a Saturday morning to go down to the Charles River for a cleanup organized by the graduate society of my school. We spent two hours scrounging the banks of the blue Charles for litter. My most interesting finds? A single windshield wiper and two used alcohol shot testubes. Two hours later I was hungry and walking toward Copley.

An impromptu call to M turned into a lunch invitation. So I pushed thoughts of impending hunger as I browsed the shelves of nearby Marshall's. Headed to campus and then headed to M's place.

M had made kadhai chicken! Homecooked kadhai chicken all by herself! We love you M! And by we I mean Puneet and I. It was the most scrumptious lunch, don't take my word for it, here's a picture.

Did I mention that M even baked a cake for us?

Then we gabbed in M's room for the next three hours. It was 73 degrees outside. In Indian terms, that means Bangalore weather. For the first time in months we were able to go out without jackets. The sun on our face and being out in a T-shirt...the joy is known only to someone from a tropical country who has lived in frigid New England for two semesters. No offence Boston, we love you.

In Transition

While walking through dowtown Boston the other day, the answer finally hit me.

I love this new city which I've spent the last few months in. The public transport is great, the people are friendly and in many ways it's like my hometown of Bangalore. There are no rigid rules, no one cares if you wear trousers or tracks to class, there are plenty of interesting places to eat if you only know where to look for them. So what was has prevented me from falling hopelessly in love with the place, apart from the fact that it's not home?

I miss the chaos! I miss the unruly traffic and blaring horns. I miss the pulse of a Southern Indian city gasping for breath everyday as hordes make it home, IT capital and more. I like to belive it actually enjoys it, all the attention. I miss the buzz at the local supermarket as opposed to the polite chatter at Trader Joe's (although I looove Trader Joe's!). Pedestrains actually have a pavement to walk on here and the right of way! Who would've thought such a think exists?! And the taxis actually take you exactly where you want to go without the question of "one and a half meter, madam." I must be dreaming.

All of the above used to drive me insane in Bangalore. And the newly-developed Metro, that is still under construction, meant that a slew of trees on M.G. Road had to be slayed. That hit a raw nerve. I was irritable and short-tempered because of all this confusion which I thought was completely unecessary. But somehow, strangely, I miss it now. I never thought I'd find myself saying that. I guess I need that madness albeit in small doses. A theory I will still firmly stand by.

In Boston, everthing is neatly divided - the financial district, the business district, south Boston, the harbor area. It's so orderly. I miss setting out two hours to get from Jayamahal to Jayanagar. And getting caught on the flyover when I thought I'd take a "short-cut" on the Koramangala Ring Road. Sigh, come to think of it, it's probably easier to miss these things when the exhaust pipe of the BMTC bus in front of you is not causing mild asphixiation. And the luna sandwiched between the manic Cititaxi and your car decided he would achieve world notriety by proving he could fit his narrow vehicle in all of three inches of space. Which he did, but then he knocked the sideview mirror of your car. And while you were busy muttering curses to his ancestry under your breath, he was already busy trying a similar feat with two other behicles further up in the traffic mess.

I miss you Bangalore and I like you Boston.

Above is Brigade Road, Bangalore all dressed up for Christmas and New Year - an annual, much-loved schindig.


Above is a picture of dowtown Boston by night.

Today

Today was so interesting, I felt like documenting all of it.

I'm working on a story about alternative healing techniques in Boston and interviewed an acupuncturist. Initially, I thought I'd ask my questions and be done in under half an hour. But I stayed for close to two hours listening about the fascinating method and finally got pricked with my first acupuncture needle too. Not as bad as I had anticipated. A slight tingling pain, but that's about it.

Tomorrow I try out a yoga class in Cambridge.

Then my friend from Shanghai who lives with an American family invited me for dinner to their house. Wonderful people, with the cutest dog (who I took on a walk). In keeping with their faith, they had a traditional Sabbath. Since this wasn't my first, I wasn't so much of the wide-eyed tourist this time round. But it was still a new feeling, allowing the prayer to engulf the dining room and fill the guests with a soothing calm, the sonorous notes dancing off the walls.

We ate roasted potatoes, baked cod, Muligatawny soup (made espcially for me) and carrot cake with frosting. Simply divine.

A thought that crossed my mind during dinner. Photographers depend so much on light for the right picture yet spend so much time in the darkness developing the perfect shot.

Noam Chomsky visited campus a few days ago and I had the privilege of hearing him speak at the law tower. It was a provocative discussion which sparked tempers.

My story made it to the front page. Check it out here.