The music is playing

The first of our classes ended for the Spring semester. So Prof. Mills took the class to O'Leary's. M and I sipped on a coke and dove into a basket of french fries with ketchup. Nabeela was a little late coming in, but caught up on the conversation. I stayed till the end and chatted.

I can't believe this phase of the B.U. experience is already coming to an end. A couple of months ago, all of this felt so new and unfamiliar. Now...I can imagine little else.

Shruti and I went for a super early dinner to Bertucci's. I hade Fettucine Alfredo chicken with asparagus. Good stuff.

It's late. And I'm sleepy. And happy. And hopeful.

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.

Wunderbar!

After class, M and I went for lunch to Shalimar of India in Central Square and then shopping to H&M on Newbury Street. Mm, mm, good! :)

Into the future...with you

Read about why these couples chose to keep their love alive for 50 years and beyond.

http://www.wickedlocal.com/brookline/archive/x1931053704/Brookline-Senior-Center-celebration-honors-marriages-that-last-50-years-or-more

And it's all good

What does a foodie do when her editor announces that instead of spending the afternoon discussing journalistic practices in the office, they're going out for a "taste test?" She flips out, of course!

Today, my editor and I, along with another intern, spent the afternoon in Roslindale and West Roxbury. The weather was nice after so long and we just walked the streets stopping at pizza parlors and sampling their cheese pizza.

In four hours, we covered five places. The original plan had been to go to six. But one place didn't open for a while longer. And it also looked a little sketchy, so we were happy about the opportune timing that the food wasn't available. Heavy wood-paneled interiors, only one aged waiter and two old women sitting at a booth, complete with a martini in the middle of the afterrnoon...this place definitely gave us the creeps.

It was a sort of sneaky exercise, heading to the counter and asking for a slice of cheese pizza without identifying our reason for being there. Once we got our hand on the delectable (although not always) slice, we took pictures of it. The next few minutes were spent rolling the food in our mouth, investigating for saltiness, oregano falvoring, texture of the cheese, crispiness of the crust, color, feel, look, taste! Phew...exhausting, yet heavenly.

After the fifth pizza sample we were ready to call it a day. But I wasn't done yet. A friend and I headed to Sweet, on Mass. Ave and sampled the famous red velvet cupcake and another coconut flavored one. Never a fan of coconut, my opinion did not change today. However, the red velvet was a pleasant surprise. Moist and sweet, but not in a cloying way. And the interiors were interesting. It was easy to imagine that you had gone back in time to the 60s, when roller skates were still cool and you couldn't wait for the captain of the football team to take you to the drive-in movie theatre in his vintage red Ford Mustang. Done in shades of pink and brown, it was a convincing match for the fare served there. However, I doubt I'll make the effort to return. Just doesn't seem worth the effort.

A day when the sun is out and features freinds and pizza while working...it's hard for that to turn out wrong.

New York, New York!

There is nowhere in the world quite like New York. Period.

It's not just the insanely tall buildings or how every aspect of public life is larger-than-life. The money, the h, the city in geographical terms. No, those are periphery factors. It's that New York is a world in itself. And once within it's five boroughs, it ensures you understand that. Allow the world to fade away into oblivion, it whispers in your ear. And although the tone is gentle, you know it's an order. So you obey and allow the outside world to slip away. Because it's when you allow New York to flow through you, do you regain control.
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Or something to that effect.

New York is wonderful, in every sense of the word. Stare down the aisle of a crowded subway car mid-afternoon and you're likely to see people of atleast six ethnicities. It's anyone's guess what the landscape of your surroundings will be when you step off the next subway station. I've been told that there are so many restaurants in the city that even if you were to eat out for all three meals in a day for an entire year, you wouldn't be able to cover all. And new ones are constantly opening.

Get the picture?

This time in New York, I got off at Penn Station at headed to Columbia. G was in class so I read The Wall Street Journal at the student center until she came and picked me up with a big smile and a warm hug. We headed to dinner with two more friends, uber nice people I hope I meet soon again.

Seated at a Chinese restaurant close to campus, we chatted over noodles in chicken. Mine were unlike anything I had eaten before. The noodles were dumpling-like. Good stuff. And then we shared coconut ice cream flambe. Baked goodness encasing a cool creamy inside.

On the way back I saw a Bombay frankie place. The wave of nostalgia rose and I was ordering the Masala Unda (yes, that is how New Yorkers like to spell it) before I had digested my dinner. But totally worth it. The even cook it the same way. An open stove on which they crack open an egg, flip a chapati (Indian flatbread) and generously sprinkle spices on the cooking egg. Wrap it up and we're good to go.

We passed by a pub called 'Pour House.' I thought that was hilarious and the name so apt because the beer there is only 1$. It's not uncommon to find inebriated undergrads there, soaking up the affordable elixir, I'm told.

I spent most of the next day on my own on the subway system. I got lost a couple of times, would have been doomed without google maps but eventually found my way to my destination. The Channel Thirteen Tower by Penn Station. The tower also houses the Associated Press office. My appointment was with Maria Hinojosa. Incidentally, I ended up bumping into her in the restroom before the interview. She was dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans, her clear skin comlimenting the outfit quite nicely. She just laughed at my suprise and said, "It's okay, everyone does it. I'll see you in my office." I spoke with her and also had a chance-meeting or 'chat' with David Brancaccio of PBS. I came out of the office with a big smile on my face.

I finally managed to find my way back to the Morningside campus, exhausted and hungry. So G took me to a lovely Italian restaurant closeby. Camille's is cool and somewhat dark inside, but not in a creepy way. I ordered the Lemon Chicken that was the most heavenly poultry preperation I've had in a while. The flavors came together to create a smooth, creamy dish of succulent meat and a side of salad. In the evening, G and one of the friends I had met the first time headed to The Living Room on the lower east side. I sipped on a large orange juice, complete with lemon wedge, and listened to some really great music. We ate pizza and headed home.

The next morning, G took me out to brunch at The Kitchenette. I had a turkey omelette and cheese grits (cornmeal). It was so fantastic and filling, that became my only meal for the day. I made a mad dash for Penn Station to catch my bus only to learn that it had been delayed by a half hour and my gut-wrenching cramps were in vain. It could have been worse though.

The Bolt Bus is an extremely convenient and affordable way to travel the north-east. There's plenty of legroom, it's really clean and the drivers are the nicest. Did I mention it also has free Wi-Fi on board for people married to their iPods/laptops and other passengers are curteous? I met a history of science graduate student at Harvard on my way to NYC and a prospective international relations graduate student at Tufts on the way back. Nothing like good conversation to keep restlessness at bay on a long drive.

New York is close enough to Boston, a four-hour road trip. It allows me to sample the city every few months while running back to the Bay State, where I feel a little safer. A little less vulnerable. But my appetite more piqued than before. Always craving more.

I've had my fill of The Big Apple for the moment. But I have a feeling that won't last long.

Because Facebook just wasn't enough

There are no rules. There are no formulas. It is what you make of it. Deal with it. FYI, "It" is whatever you want it to be.

If not for google, youtube and basically the Internet, there's a strong possibility mankind would be doomed.

If I hear one more person tell me about the future of journalism or how the print medium is dying, I may just physically injure them. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Despite popular opinion, blogs can be constructive too.

It costs nothing to be a nice person. Go ahead, try it and get addicted.

There's too much that's right with the world. So stop complaining about everything that isn't.

You're worth it. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

There's a song for every mood.

Love is the gift that keeps on giving.

"If it's healthy, it's not dessert." - Daisy

The sky really is the limit. If you think about, even the sky is just a layer of atmosphere. So, technically, even that's not the limit. Go figure. Go soar.

Don't ever the light in your head or the fire in your soul go out. It's what keeps you alive.

Hush. There's a reason we have one mouth but two eyes and two ears.

Now go ahead and open that big mouth. Isn't verbal diorrhea a blessing?

Like I said, there are no rules. No formulas. Break 'em. It is really what you make of it. Deal with it.

Nieman 2009

The three-day 2009 Nieman Conference on Narrative Journalism ended yesterday. One of the most invigortaing three days.

I had no idea what I was in for when I signed up to volunteer. But to say that "it blew me away," would be an understatement.

From the moment Connie Schultz, Pulitzer-prize winning columnist began speaking at the keynote address, I knew I was in the right place. The Grand Ballroom at The Sheraton in Boston was filled with journalists and writers from The Chicago Tribune, The New York Times, Columbia University and The Poynter Institute. It would be hard to find a larger gathering of like-minded people who made a living from telling stories.

In the next 72 hours, I was swept away with Schultz speaking candidly about her family and how her personal ties affect her writing career. It was lively and upbeat, an uplifting talk. I heard Mara Schiavocampo, digital correspondent for NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams, talk about telling a story through video while making it sound so simple. And I heard Amy O'Leary, multimedia producer for The New York Times talk about doing the same through audio.

There was a "networking" lunch on Saturday afternoon where I munched on a turkey sandwich while in conversation with a travel writer for The Chicago Tribune. Did I mention that lunch was delicious, that came packed in a pretty cardboard box, complete with pasta salad and brownie? The writer was super nice too.

I had a chance to meet health editor for The Times of India, Kalpana Jain, who is a 2009 Nieman Fellow and such a lovely person.

I listened with wide-eyed fascination, wrote feverishly until the white pages of my notebook were covered in black squiggles and then sat back and smiled, partially happy about the fantastic event and partially to digest the four varieties of cheese and strawberries I had eaten during refreshments.

I can't wait until Nieman is back again next year.

On another note, Ying and I went running yesterday despite the temperature being all of 1 degree celcius, according to Indian standards. Bundled in sweatshirts and tracks, we pounded away at the pavement before we ready to call it a night. We headed back to my place, shared a dinner of palak paneer and naan (yeah, yeah, who's counting the calories anyway?) and then kicked back with ice-cream sandwiches to watch the latest episode of Desperate Housewives. Sigh...the simple joys of life.

On an entirely different note, I also made it all the way out to Gardner, Mass. and back all on my own today. That would be the equivalent of going between Bangalore and Mysore and returning. Sure, it's no major feat, but when the whole thing is planned on google maps using public transport, I think it accounts for something. Reason for going out to the industrial town was to interview the president of a federal credit union who was extremely warm and coopertative. Since we had to cut short the interview because of a "webinar" (I love that word) which she had to tend to, there's a possibility I may be Skyping with her in the future. Yes, I may succeed in convincing the president of a federal credit union to Skype with me to finish the interview.

I love the creative freedom(s) journalism allows.

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.

A teacher's story

The student-teacher relationship has long been an interesting one and which is percieved differently among world cultures. Some are taught to fear their teachers, adulate them like gods, bow down in ultimate obedience. You get the drift. And in others it's quite the opposite, where the establishing of an equal relationship is encouraged. To share ideas and learn from each other.

But what possibly doesn't change is that all teachers have lives outside school, just like their students. which often isn't given much thought. Every morning, when we walk into class, there's the professor, waiting to begin another class, surrounded by all the symbols that give them that status - pens, notes, slides. Ever thought what they ate for breakfast? Who's their best friend? Where did they go on their last holiday? The characteristics that make them people, not just teachers.

Recently, I've been discovering the backgrounds of my professors based on what they share in class and their work which is available online. So many of them have fascinating existences beyond the premises of 640 Commonwealth Avenue.

As mentioned in some of my previous posts, one has Parkinson's and fights the disease everyday with a beautiful, undying sprit. Another had a rough childhood, rougher marriage and emerged from both, stronger and sparkling. And some share lifetimes with the same person, cherishing their spouse whom they're glad to have by their side as their teenaged children head off to college. I feel like Matilda in Roald Dahl's book by the same name, who learns of Ms. Jenny's life outside school.

The next time you're in class, let your mind wander just this once. Try seeing your teacher as a person rather than a professor, for just a couple of moments. You may gain an education rather than a lesson.