Nothing like a trip back home to get your mood out of the gutter! I am flying back on the 2nd and everyday some more energy fills the deepest crevices of my shallow existence. Everyday I plan a little more of the things I want to do when I get home. I chalk out in my mind the places I want to visit with my family. Or where and when I want to just hang out with friends. And all the food I'll savor.
It's the little satisfactions that you find at home that light up everything. That make it all worth the while, and I have always craved and searched for these small satisfactions. Like that perfect piece of cheese cake.
Our ability to associate and then dissociate from things around us astounds me. Traveling back home is traveling to the comfort of all the loving associations you grew up with, and that's very easy to do. Even someone who hated his/her home and moved out before you could say eighteen can adjust back home easily. But we're equally good at dissociating ourselves from our homes when the need arises to pack up the bags and move on to a new frontier, always with the hope of coming back home. I think it's this hope of coming back home that gives a soldier the strength to pursue something totally senseless at the war front.
I leave my home assisted by this energy to pursue something a little less senseless, the pursuit of job satisfaction. See for me a job cannot be just something to make ends meet. It has to be more. Believe me I've tried that work to live approach, but I can't work it. I always lose interest and all willingness to work myself towards anything, and eventually it's not the job that suffers (for if there is a deadline, then it would be met), but my personal life that goes down the drain! So it's this juggling act that needs to be conducted while balancing yourself on a thin rope, crossing the Niagara falls.
But my home calls out to me everyday now, and every night I dream of it. The cool breeze on our rooftop, the comfort of my real bed, the kindness in the eyes of my family, and that comfortable feeling of hanging out with friends who've grown around you, and have seen you grow all the way.
Ever wonder why movies about coming home are always more soothing then the movies about leaving home. Because no matter what happens, unless you live in Jack the Ripper's street, that journey back is always going too be good, sweet, and nurturing.
So depressed by this world (there are still people dying everyday in the middle east, and no one seems to care), and bit by a goose (yes, true story, no one else got bit by a goose at Duke Gardens but me this Sunday), I am actually looking forward to something. Looking forward to the warm embrace of my home...
I'm leaving on a jet plane...
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
The misery of our times...
It's been days now since India was hit by the train blasts accounting for the end of 200 dreams and all the dreams associated with those 200 dreams. And Lebonan keeps on being hit by bombs, killing civilians going about their lives everyday...
I haven't been normal for many days now, but then I haven't been normal for quite some time now. I spoke to Girish about the attacks the night it happened, and all he had to say was don't think about it, there's nothing we can do. And come to think of it he was absolutely 100% correct, what can we do, or rather what can anyone anywhere do, but move on.
But how can one mould himself to not think about this blatant disregard for life, which if anything increases by the day. In all probability it can only get worse from here and we're running out of people like Mother Teressa, and are breeding maniacs in the line of Hitler.
I hate to say this, but very soon we'd have a date for every month to feel bad about, 9/11, 5/7, 7/11 and so on and so forth. And I am not even talking about all the wars that are being waged which practically are just different forms of genocide!
There is this constant feeling of suffocation with me, and I can't seem to break out of a sort of ttrance that's come over me. My work is suffering, and life seems to be dwelling in a gutter. I feel as phased out of everything as that angel from "Wings of Desire" longing to touch and feel, but unable to do so. However in my case it isn't the inability to touch and feel, but the fear of what you'd actually touch, and how you would eventually feel. At times like this being in a comma like daze is a blessing. But there's always a longing to touch and to feel.
There's no more escape in the movies, books feel artificial, and air is just a fabrication, and don't even get me started on TV! Maybe I'll start running again, yes I should definately do that, run off into a new and unknown direction, leaving all the towns and cities behind me, where all I hear is the sound of my feet falling on all kinds of ground, and all I feel is my lungs working over time to make up for all the cigarettes.
To reach that state where the mind becomes devoid of all thought, and just works to create more resolve...
I haven't been normal for many days now, but then I haven't been normal for quite some time now. I spoke to Girish about the attacks the night it happened, and all he had to say was don't think about it, there's nothing we can do. And come to think of it he was absolutely 100% correct, what can we do, or rather what can anyone anywhere do, but move on.
But how can one mould himself to not think about this blatant disregard for life, which if anything increases by the day. In all probability it can only get worse from here and we're running out of people like Mother Teressa, and are breeding maniacs in the line of Hitler.
I hate to say this, but very soon we'd have a date for every month to feel bad about, 9/11, 5/7, 7/11 and so on and so forth. And I am not even talking about all the wars that are being waged which practically are just different forms of genocide!
There is this constant feeling of suffocation with me, and I can't seem to break out of a sort of ttrance that's come over me. My work is suffering, and life seems to be dwelling in a gutter. I feel as phased out of everything as that angel from "Wings of Desire" longing to touch and feel, but unable to do so. However in my case it isn't the inability to touch and feel, but the fear of what you'd actually touch, and how you would eventually feel. At times like this being in a comma like daze is a blessing. But there's always a longing to touch and to feel.
There's no more escape in the movies, books feel artificial, and air is just a fabrication, and don't even get me started on TV! Maybe I'll start running again, yes I should definately do that, run off into a new and unknown direction, leaving all the towns and cities behind me, where all I hear is the sound of my feet falling on all kinds of ground, and all I feel is my lungs working over time to make up for all the cigarettes.
To reach that state where the mind becomes devoid of all thought, and just works to create more resolve...
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The afterlife and eventual resting place
So after receiving an email from a friend asking me what I thought of the afterlife I started thinking about it all over again. I hail from a religious family, who practice their religion quietly and with minimum disturbance. So growing up I was instilled with strong notions of faith, and as I grew up more they were slowly morphed into a rigid set of beliefs.
Very important among them was to have faith in afterlife, and I think most of my life I liked that particular belief. In more ways then one, it gave purpose to this life, but as I grew up even more, I realized that it also laid life out as a program (not TV, but say C++) and defined it in terms of things to do and not to do. Again I have no qualms about that as most of the “to do’s” agree with the generic sense of morality that I now feel prevails on our tiny planet.
But somehow we have found ourselves in a time where the promise of a good afterlife makes you walk into places and do extremely stupid things, in the name of a goal far greater then life itself. Now that is where I draw the line. Not in a million years can I even begin to feel that, that is a path worth pursuing.
I don’t know what my exact thoughts on afterlife are, but I can at least say what I want. I would want my soul to fizzle away the moment I stop breathing. I would want it to evaporate into thin air and not become part of any cycle. Remember all the cycles we’re drilled with in class. The oxygen cycle, the water cycle, and so on and so forth. And then there’s the circle of life from Lion King (even though even that was more of a cycle)…so no part in any form of a cycle for me, just the quick and peaceful fizzle.
And I am not among those who long for the long infinite, I like the fact the I have a finite existence, just seems more manageable. Would I really want to go on forever in utopia? No I won't! Neither would I want to go on forever in the bonfire of the vanities!
I do however like the notion of being buried. But I would prefer to be buried in a wild rain forest where I can become part of the trees and the weed. No cemeteries for me please, with the well trimmed grass and neatly laid out walk ways within. It just feels so much better to become part of something dictated only by the laws of nature (rain forest) and free from the limiting limitations of mankind! And besides no one would visit to pay respects, and that would be great.
I don’t want the people who have seen me alive and laughing and breathing to be looking at a tombstone and a hump of mud and trying to relate to that in terms of me. So let me just say now, that is not me. The “me” was what you knew, loved or hated, or were indifferent to, but that tombstone and hump of mud…definitely not!
Very important among them was to have faith in afterlife, and I think most of my life I liked that particular belief. In more ways then one, it gave purpose to this life, but as I grew up even more, I realized that it also laid life out as a program (not TV, but say C++) and defined it in terms of things to do and not to do. Again I have no qualms about that as most of the “to do’s” agree with the generic sense of morality that I now feel prevails on our tiny planet.
But somehow we have found ourselves in a time where the promise of a good afterlife makes you walk into places and do extremely stupid things, in the name of a goal far greater then life itself. Now that is where I draw the line. Not in a million years can I even begin to feel that, that is a path worth pursuing.
I don’t know what my exact thoughts on afterlife are, but I can at least say what I want. I would want my soul to fizzle away the moment I stop breathing. I would want it to evaporate into thin air and not become part of any cycle. Remember all the cycles we’re drilled with in class. The oxygen cycle, the water cycle, and so on and so forth. And then there’s the circle of life from Lion King (even though even that was more of a cycle)…so no part in any form of a cycle for me, just the quick and peaceful fizzle.
And I am not among those who long for the long infinite, I like the fact the I have a finite existence, just seems more manageable. Would I really want to go on forever in utopia? No I won't! Neither would I want to go on forever in the bonfire of the vanities!
I do however like the notion of being buried. But I would prefer to be buried in a wild rain forest where I can become part of the trees and the weed. No cemeteries for me please, with the well trimmed grass and neatly laid out walk ways within. It just feels so much better to become part of something dictated only by the laws of nature (rain forest) and free from the limiting limitations of mankind! And besides no one would visit to pay respects, and that would be great.
I don’t want the people who have seen me alive and laughing and breathing to be looking at a tombstone and a hump of mud and trying to relate to that in terms of me. So let me just say now, that is not me. The “me” was what you knew, loved or hated, or were indifferent to, but that tombstone and hump of mud…definitely not!
Friday, July 07, 2006
Serenity now!
So a wonderful little vacation over, and finally back into my working groove...
One would think that I'd be thinking of all the wonderful places I visited, and reliving them in my mind. I guess that'd be what a normal person (per say) would do after a vacation. Think of that wonderful tree in the middle of a park, recreate the peace of mind found in that exquisite chapel! But here I am, thinking about this person I ran into on one of the many local train rides.
Let me tell you about this person first, and then I'll get into why I keep thinking about him. So we boarded a train in Boston to head to Harvard Square, and this person comes in and sits close to where I am sitting. In his late forties, he pulls out a Disk-man (is that the correct word? Or is it CD-man? Doesn't really matter though does it!) and a brand new 50 Cent CD with it, still in its plastic wrapper. He tries to rip the plastic cover and fails, and then asks our friend from Boston if she has sharp nails. At that moment Naufal intervenes and takes the CD to help open it. Finally Naufal and I double team to rip the plastic cover by use of our car keys. And the open CD is returned to the person. Now this person puts on these hi-fi headphones (I think they were Sony), which are supposed to drown out all wordly noises and leave you with the "noise" (sorry no other word in my vocabulary to describe 50 Cent) of the album.
He listens to this album for about 15 seconds, takes off his headphones (irritated), and goes on about why one should never buy expensive headphones. Now I understand that not only did he buy a new CD, he also bought the equipment to listen to this CD on the move. So we are looking at a considerable dig into the pockets. Now with every passing moment this person is addressing us in a louder and louder tone, and the surprising thing is that he gets louder in high-spirits, as if he's chasing his overjoyed puppy around the park! It's as if he's had a few too many happy pills. Anyone who commutes frequently would understand that this particualar situation can get quite uncomfortable, you know when someone barges into your space and takes over like he's known you for ages and you're the best of chums!
So we do the only polite thing, and start talking to each other in Urdu, and block out everything outside. See you don't always need 50 dollar headphones and a 50 Cent CD to do that. And our ploy works. Now this person focuses his energy on a kid sitting across from us, who unfortunately rips the corner of a meaningless advert on the train and starts rolling it into a ball (an action not at all in the good graces of our person). And this person takes on the kid quite agressively. Again in a lively and a "game show host" kind of a way. A minute later he has the kid showing him what he's carrying in this carton he's carrying. And the poor kid is taking out things from a professionally packed box to utilize minimum space with maximum items. The saddest thing is that the kid is doing this to convince this person that he doesn't have anything in the box that would blow up! And you know that once he takes stuff out of the box, he won't be able to pack it in again.
At the next stop the kid gets off, and now I am wondering if this was his actual stop, or did he just get off the train for te sake of getting off! And before we can onbserve any further antics of this person, we also get off at the next station.
Now one would say, why do I keep thinking about this person. I don't keep thinking about this gentleman for the things he did and said, even though they weren't all to gentle, but it was just the way he did all these things. In a bright as sunshine sort of a way. As if he'd just come out of the Munchkin land of Oz. Or rather he's in some sitcom where even the saddest of moments are dealt with (in)appropriate punch lines.
I keep thinking about him and wondering what needs to happen to you to bring you to that stage in life. Where you're close to hitting the big five O, and are struggling to become beer buddies with the people on a train in a city where everyone is in a hurry to get off the train and head to their own little egg shells.
I think of this as a big tragedy, and a future that might be in store for any one of the people I know, including myself. I tried to ask my friends if you were asked to write a story about this person, that would end with this person sitting in this train, trying to rip open a 50 Cent CD and ripping a kid apart just because he could, what would your story be like? Would it reach this stage with a Scrooge like indifference, with the three ghosts of christmas past, present and future about to make their visits? Or would it be a tragedy of epic proportions, where a person dissolves into oblivion by the incessant cruelties of our just society? A society which is moulded to honour never standing out (remember the Perfect Citizen by WH Auden)!
And I can't stop thinking about this person. I keep making up these different stories in my mind that all end with this person sitting in this train, doing these particular things, and the camera fading away into a night, shifting from a close to long shot of the train, going off into the night...
And with every story comes a completely new set of causes and effects and their very own retributions. But I guess the biggest fear at the back of my mind is that, am I headed in this same direction? With my baggage of failed relationships and failing relationships, would I be sitting in that train, doing these strange and encroaching things, as the camera fades away into the night! How am I to make sure that the choices I make today, don't take me closer too that tomorrow.
I guess I just want the Frank Capra ending over the ending of say "The Black Narcissus"...
As Cosmo Kramer would say ... "Serenity NOW...Serenity NOW...Serenity NOW" ... I would be willing to pay a considerable price to just be thinking about the falls and the food right now, but I guess you are what you are...
Next time then!
One would think that I'd be thinking of all the wonderful places I visited, and reliving them in my mind. I guess that'd be what a normal person (per say) would do after a vacation. Think of that wonderful tree in the middle of a park, recreate the peace of mind found in that exquisite chapel! But here I am, thinking about this person I ran into on one of the many local train rides.
Let me tell you about this person first, and then I'll get into why I keep thinking about him. So we boarded a train in Boston to head to Harvard Square, and this person comes in and sits close to where I am sitting. In his late forties, he pulls out a Disk-man (is that the correct word? Or is it CD-man? Doesn't really matter though does it!) and a brand new 50 Cent CD with it, still in its plastic wrapper. He tries to rip the plastic cover and fails, and then asks our friend from Boston if she has sharp nails. At that moment Naufal intervenes and takes the CD to help open it. Finally Naufal and I double team to rip the plastic cover by use of our car keys. And the open CD is returned to the person. Now this person puts on these hi-fi headphones (I think they were Sony), which are supposed to drown out all wordly noises and leave you with the "noise" (sorry no other word in my vocabulary to describe 50 Cent) of the album.
He listens to this album for about 15 seconds, takes off his headphones (irritated), and goes on about why one should never buy expensive headphones. Now I understand that not only did he buy a new CD, he also bought the equipment to listen to this CD on the move. So we are looking at a considerable dig into the pockets. Now with every passing moment this person is addressing us in a louder and louder tone, and the surprising thing is that he gets louder in high-spirits, as if he's chasing his overjoyed puppy around the park! It's as if he's had a few too many happy pills. Anyone who commutes frequently would understand that this particualar situation can get quite uncomfortable, you know when someone barges into your space and takes over like he's known you for ages and you're the best of chums!
So we do the only polite thing, and start talking to each other in Urdu, and block out everything outside. See you don't always need 50 dollar headphones and a 50 Cent CD to do that. And our ploy works. Now this person focuses his energy on a kid sitting across from us, who unfortunately rips the corner of a meaningless advert on the train and starts rolling it into a ball (an action not at all in the good graces of our person). And this person takes on the kid quite agressively. Again in a lively and a "game show host" kind of a way. A minute later he has the kid showing him what he's carrying in this carton he's carrying. And the poor kid is taking out things from a professionally packed box to utilize minimum space with maximum items. The saddest thing is that the kid is doing this to convince this person that he doesn't have anything in the box that would blow up! And you know that once he takes stuff out of the box, he won't be able to pack it in again.
At the next stop the kid gets off, and now I am wondering if this was his actual stop, or did he just get off the train for te sake of getting off! And before we can onbserve any further antics of this person, we also get off at the next station.
Now one would say, why do I keep thinking about this person. I don't keep thinking about this gentleman for the things he did and said, even though they weren't all to gentle, but it was just the way he did all these things. In a bright as sunshine sort of a way. As if he'd just come out of the Munchkin land of Oz. Or rather he's in some sitcom where even the saddest of moments are dealt with (in)appropriate punch lines.
I keep thinking about him and wondering what needs to happen to you to bring you to that stage in life. Where you're close to hitting the big five O, and are struggling to become beer buddies with the people on a train in a city where everyone is in a hurry to get off the train and head to their own little egg shells.
I think of this as a big tragedy, and a future that might be in store for any one of the people I know, including myself. I tried to ask my friends if you were asked to write a story about this person, that would end with this person sitting in this train, trying to rip open a 50 Cent CD and ripping a kid apart just because he could, what would your story be like? Would it reach this stage with a Scrooge like indifference, with the three ghosts of christmas past, present and future about to make their visits? Or would it be a tragedy of epic proportions, where a person dissolves into oblivion by the incessant cruelties of our just society? A society which is moulded to honour never standing out (remember the Perfect Citizen by WH Auden)!
And I can't stop thinking about this person. I keep making up these different stories in my mind that all end with this person sitting in this train, doing these particular things, and the camera fading away into a night, shifting from a close to long shot of the train, going off into the night...
And with every story comes a completely new set of causes and effects and their very own retributions. But I guess the biggest fear at the back of my mind is that, am I headed in this same direction? With my baggage of failed relationships and failing relationships, would I be sitting in that train, doing these strange and encroaching things, as the camera fades away into the night! How am I to make sure that the choices I make today, don't take me closer too that tomorrow.
I guess I just want the Frank Capra ending over the ending of say "The Black Narcissus"...
As Cosmo Kramer would say ... "Serenity NOW...Serenity NOW...Serenity NOW" ... I would be willing to pay a considerable price to just be thinking about the falls and the food right now, but I guess you are what you are...
Next time then!
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Four cities; Four days - And Go!
And finally I am back, after a small vacation, which I consider was long due for me! So here I am sitting in front of my computer, with soar legs and a stiff back. My head is still a little dazed, and I guess some part of my brain is still at work trying to digest all that happened since Saturday...
So I started out at 3 am on Saturday, with a hot shower and a close shave. Thankfully the cab arrived on time and I checked into the airport terminal on time, for a flight, which was also on time! Everything was so on time, that I nearly missed my flight when I decided to have a little breakfast before boarding the plane. So eventually I had to run out of the terminal, waving my hands furiously, to stop the air hostess from closing the airplane doors. But eventually I made the flight, and when I landed in Rochester, good ol' Naufal was waiting for me at the airport! Again on time!
(This is like describing someone else's trip, as my trips never go on time)
So we drove from Rochester to Niagara, and were at the falls by 3 pm. I guess the gods were in a good mood as the day was bright and sunny (even though the forecast said rain). The Maid of the Mist and Cave of the Winds were great. I guess the ferociousness of the falls can make a believer out of anyone! There were moments of absolute Nirvana on the tracks that flirt with the falls taking you closer and closer (but never any cigar), where the soul is lifted beyond the grip of the worldly realm. I guess a picture of Naufal that would always stay in my mind would be him on his knees, sitting under the spray of the falls (Hurricane point on the Cave of the Winds), for a moment just disconnected from everything, floating away without a care in the world...
The falls seemed very different from what I remembered. I really don't think they could have changed the falls that much, so it must be the difference in the pictures a boy retained in his mind in the year 1989, and the pictures the pudgy bald guy stored in his head come 2006!
Another interesting person I came across there was this spray-paint artist, he had a disability in one hand, and was working with his son. Using stencils, blades, and hands, he would make quick pictures of the falls, interpretted in different lights, and I guess even on different planets...I bought one of his pictures for Alina, let's see what her artist bearings say about the hurried work of art!
So completely drenched, a little cold, and totally exhausted, we left for Syracuse. I remember that by the time we got there, it was an extreme effort to head into Naufal's dorm of sorts. I say dorm of sorts because it isn't a dorm, just a little house, practically on the SU campus, packed with "gaanjed up" (I think that's the latest expression) students, going through education at its best!
So after barely 2 hours of sleep we left for Boston. This time the drive was much longer, and in bigger patches of inactivity, where you just get on a highway and struggle to stay awake!
Now Boston was a surprise for me. It's like one of those towns you find in fairytales, with uneven roads, and little homes popping up here and there. At least that's what I got from the place where our hotel was. It was like we suddenly drove into those little spots they talk about in Europe, where life is preserved against time...
This is when we met up with our guiding angel in Boston. Now our angel didn't really know the exact routes and roads but she always had an idea of where we were headed. See she hasn't been in Boston for long, and I guess when you're doing your masters in some form of multi-media, you don't get much strolling time! And if ever there was a strolling town, it's Boston.
So led by our angel we took a self guided tour of the Freedom Trail, walked though a serene park, ate in the hustle and bustle of Quincy Market, walked on the harbour where you can taste the water in the breeze, and had a nice little meal sitting out in the open in some nook of Harvard Square where this guy played songs out of the 60s and 70s on his guitar. O and we also visited a lot of churches, with amazing windows laden with Gothic art. To sum it all up, I think I fell in love with Boston, and all it took was a day.
What's so great about the town, well hundreds of small restaurants that aren't part of any big chain, history going back to the time it all began in this part of the world, uneven roads with unplanned construction, glistening harbour, and a small city breathing life in general!
Very reluctantly we left Boston the next day for Syracuse. At least this time we were able to sleep for at least 5 hours. The drive back to Syracuse was followed by a quick university tour provided by Naufal, whose every third sentence was "I don't know what that is". I guess Syracuse is the kind of a campus that grows on you after a while, but I wasn't there long enough for it to have had any real effect on me.
So this short tour was followed by a long bus ride to NY City, which as expected was packed with people from all over. Times Square was the same as I remembered, even got the exact same feeling I used to get there, and Gray's Papaya hot dogs were still the best in the world. The trip to the Guggenheim was very refreshing. Even though Zaha Hadid's architectural scketches didn't make much sense to me, paintings by Kandinsky, Pollack and Van Gough were as entralling as ever. This was the first time I saw the works of Kandinsky, and his "Landscape near Murnau with Locomotive" is for me one of those painting that can draw you in, and then not let you go. It's like the landscape explodes out of the canvas.
The trip was eventually concluded by our missing the bus, and in turn my missing the floght back to Raleigh! And of course we only missed the bus by just 5 minutes, so the missing of the bus was preceeded by mad dashes into and out of subways, running madly on the roads, bumping into everyone, requesting people to let you through, and so on and so forth...
So here I am eventually, after an 11 hour bus ride, still a bit dazed, but more relaxed then I've been in a while...all in all, a great holiday comes to an end!
Next time then...
So I started out at 3 am on Saturday, with a hot shower and a close shave. Thankfully the cab arrived on time and I checked into the airport terminal on time, for a flight, which was also on time! Everything was so on time, that I nearly missed my flight when I decided to have a little breakfast before boarding the plane. So eventually I had to run out of the terminal, waving my hands furiously, to stop the air hostess from closing the airplane doors. But eventually I made the flight, and when I landed in Rochester, good ol' Naufal was waiting for me at the airport! Again on time!
(This is like describing someone else's trip, as my trips never go on time)
So we drove from Rochester to Niagara, and were at the falls by 3 pm. I guess the gods were in a good mood as the day was bright and sunny (even though the forecast said rain). The Maid of the Mist and Cave of the Winds were great. I guess the ferociousness of the falls can make a believer out of anyone! There were moments of absolute Nirvana on the tracks that flirt with the falls taking you closer and closer (but never any cigar), where the soul is lifted beyond the grip of the worldly realm. I guess a picture of Naufal that would always stay in my mind would be him on his knees, sitting under the spray of the falls (Hurricane point on the Cave of the Winds), for a moment just disconnected from everything, floating away without a care in the world...
The falls seemed very different from what I remembered. I really don't think they could have changed the falls that much, so it must be the difference in the pictures a boy retained in his mind in the year 1989, and the pictures the pudgy bald guy stored in his head come 2006!
Another interesting person I came across there was this spray-paint artist, he had a disability in one hand, and was working with his son. Using stencils, blades, and hands, he would make quick pictures of the falls, interpretted in different lights, and I guess even on different planets...I bought one of his pictures for Alina, let's see what her artist bearings say about the hurried work of art!
So completely drenched, a little cold, and totally exhausted, we left for Syracuse. I remember that by the time we got there, it was an extreme effort to head into Naufal's dorm of sorts. I say dorm of sorts because it isn't a dorm, just a little house, practically on the SU campus, packed with "gaanjed up" (I think that's the latest expression) students, going through education at its best!
So after barely 2 hours of sleep we left for Boston. This time the drive was much longer, and in bigger patches of inactivity, where you just get on a highway and struggle to stay awake!
Now Boston was a surprise for me. It's like one of those towns you find in fairytales, with uneven roads, and little homes popping up here and there. At least that's what I got from the place where our hotel was. It was like we suddenly drove into those little spots they talk about in Europe, where life is preserved against time...
This is when we met up with our guiding angel in Boston. Now our angel didn't really know the exact routes and roads but she always had an idea of where we were headed. See she hasn't been in Boston for long, and I guess when you're doing your masters in some form of multi-media, you don't get much strolling time! And if ever there was a strolling town, it's Boston.
So led by our angel we took a self guided tour of the Freedom Trail, walked though a serene park, ate in the hustle and bustle of Quincy Market, walked on the harbour where you can taste the water in the breeze, and had a nice little meal sitting out in the open in some nook of Harvard Square where this guy played songs out of the 60s and 70s on his guitar. O and we also visited a lot of churches, with amazing windows laden with Gothic art. To sum it all up, I think I fell in love with Boston, and all it took was a day.
What's so great about the town, well hundreds of small restaurants that aren't part of any big chain, history going back to the time it all began in this part of the world, uneven roads with unplanned construction, glistening harbour, and a small city breathing life in general!
Very reluctantly we left Boston the next day for Syracuse. At least this time we were able to sleep for at least 5 hours. The drive back to Syracuse was followed by a quick university tour provided by Naufal, whose every third sentence was "I don't know what that is". I guess Syracuse is the kind of a campus that grows on you after a while, but I wasn't there long enough for it to have had any real effect on me.
So this short tour was followed by a long bus ride to NY City, which as expected was packed with people from all over. Times Square was the same as I remembered, even got the exact same feeling I used to get there, and Gray's Papaya hot dogs were still the best in the world. The trip to the Guggenheim was very refreshing. Even though Zaha Hadid's architectural scketches didn't make much sense to me, paintings by Kandinsky, Pollack and Van Gough were as entralling as ever. This was the first time I saw the works of Kandinsky, and his "Landscape near Murnau with Locomotive" is for me one of those painting that can draw you in, and then not let you go. It's like the landscape explodes out of the canvas.
The trip was eventually concluded by our missing the bus, and in turn my missing the floght back to Raleigh! And of course we only missed the bus by just 5 minutes, so the missing of the bus was preceeded by mad dashes into and out of subways, running madly on the roads, bumping into everyone, requesting people to let you through, and so on and so forth...
So here I am eventually, after an 11 hour bus ride, still a bit dazed, but more relaxed then I've been in a while...all in all, a great holiday comes to an end!
Next time then...
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