NYC : a Retrospect

March NYC 2006

My first visit to the US of A, why haven't I been before? Never really had the desire to see a gaudy extrapolation of westernism (I don't mean 'Cowboys') and even on this occaision it was for business (family) not pleasure... My younger cousin, who is only 18 is enduring the ritual of marriage. "Bhaiya*, you must come, I'm getting married!". She of all is the most excited yet relaxed about the whole affair.

*Bhaiya. Meaning brother, in (any of the 17 odd) Indian languages there is no word for cousin, hence we're all brothers and sisters. Bhaiya or Paaji is what I'm addressed by younger cousins, out of respect they do not use my first name. That's reserved for the elders.



I spent 10 days in New York, staying in Queens (LL Cool J's stomping ground) venturing out to Manhatten most of the time to catch the numerical oddities that are the roads "don't get lost" my aunt calls just before I leave...

"How could I? I'll just count my way around!"



My luck would hold for me mostly unpleasent yet tolerable stay in the Big Apple, there are a few issues I would like to take up, with whom I know not but I'll mention them anyway...

[1] Tax. It's as simple as this, if I have $10 in my sky rocket (pocket) and something in a store costs $10, I still cannot afford it. Tax will make it an illogical amount like $11.48... Go figure as the locals would say.

[2] J-wallking. When on excurison with (another) one of my (numerous) cousins we wanted to cross one of the main roads near Broadway, probably named 'Main St.' or something simple along those lines, we had to trapse a good 400 metres to the next crossing.
"Why can't we just cross here?" I ask
"You can't, it's called J-walking, it's illegal" my cousin Karan responds. "Do you do that in England?"
To which I respond "we cross where we like, providing there aren't any oncoming vehicles, your safety is your responsibilty"

[3] The fake realsim thorugh the pretence of 'politeness'... I ask a cop/store clerk/bum for directions and 'thank' them ("Thank you") to which they respond, usually through gritted teeth without eye-contact "you're welcome". If you don't mean, don't say it! Am I just behaving like a neurotic tourist? Could you blame me when everywhere I went I got 'you're not from around here, are you?'... What gave it away? My stupid accent or my stupid clothes?!

[4] Being unable to find clothes that fit me. According to the American way, my clothes are too tight (no, I don't wear leotards nor are my clothes painted on). I Asked Karan, what would my clothes denote? With little hesitation he responded, not to my surprise, "fag". Thanks for the vote of confidence, at least I admire his honesty. Anything I found, to my very discerning taste, was only available in XL as the smallest size, the one place where clothes are in 'European' sizes? Hennes and Mauritz, that's right, H&M. I flew x thousand miles to shop at H&M?!



Every cloud has a silver lining, be it only silver plated... Although with family, I was mostly alone. After 5 days spent in the family wedding what was one to do with the remaining 5? Armed with a copy of TimeOut (and lack of company, all my cousins were 'minors', not the ones with pick axes) I set out to discover the streets of New York, in my days there I managed to see

- The Spanish Harlem Orcheastra at the Blue Note (the Apple's equivelant of the Jazz Cafe), they were amazing though the experience was dampened by having to pay $30 to stand in the bar.

- The Whitney Gallery... One of the installations I saw was large room with a dividing drywall, this wall had a huge hole blasted through it with that section set a metre away from the wall. I was looking on the white walls for photography, paintings, something... the hole was the art. How post-modern!

- The Galapogas Art Space, Brooklyn, hosting a Burlesque night called 'Free Smut', just the name enticed me into these jaws of sleaze. It opened with a monologue from a man that looked remarkably like Philip Seymour Hoffman displacing the desires of a woman who sleeps with men depending on their materialistic value... their cars, their TVs, their bonuses. In turn she uses their assets to turn her on and ulitimately uses them as a sexual commodity. The lyrical prowess of this man was astounding, considering he introduced me to a new word... 'Spooge'... use your imagination...

I also had the pleasure of meeting a burlesque queen and the host for the evening, The World Famous *BOB*, she noticed I was alone and we spent the evening drinking Whiskey* together.

check her out MySpace
THE WORLD FAMOUS *BOB*

*Whiskey, I never drank this before but since my arrival in New York the 'men-folk' of the family have taken me under their wing and it is the birthrite of every Punjabi to drink if he wishes. I've grown a taste for whiskey since, but the finer examples for I have exacting requirements. It must be at least 12 years matured. While in New York Mr. J. Walker and Mr. C. Regal became very good friends of mine!

- RJD2. I managed to catch the end of his set at this venue (the name I forget) which is a converted church. Inside, over-21s are given armbands to allow purchase of drinks, this was a tasty luminous pink that complimented the colour of my eyes. The alter is where the DJ is staged, stained glass is backlit overbearing at almost 12metres high. It literally embodied the phrase, God is DJ.

- Basement Bhangra @ SOBs (Son of a Bitch, I assume). Over a week in 'Nu Yoik' (phonetics for the locals) and my nearest experience to a good old Punjabi get-down was the family wedding. "Maybe you'll find a nice girl" says Mother, but the wedding offered about 3 girls of which 2 were with their (peculiarly) groomed (shaped eyebrows and coloured contacts) boyfriends. The other was my mother, and I'm no Oedipus Rex. A random glance in the TimeOut highlighted a Bhangra night, right here in New York! Due to lack of fake IDs, none of my cousins could come along, did that stop me? Hell no, I'm a Lone Ranger a skill I have developed through a year of networking and 'bar-flying'. It forces you to meet new people, and others approach you when they see you're alone. I arrive at SOBs, before I continue, allow me to say grace for the Subway (not the sandwiches). The subway allowed to venture out until whatever AM because I was safe in the knowledge that I could get home. We need 24hr public transport in London, and I don't mean more rapist taxis. SOBs, the bar/club had a Cuban Latino feel with amber lighting and cane (not ratten) furniture. Firstly they didn't let me in, on account of my Timberlands... well I would have rocked some All-Stars but it was sub-zero out there with inch thick crunchy cornflake snow on the sidewalks. They gracefully 'let me off' after noticing my accent and that I was prepared to walk away if they continued to act like pricks. Now I'm inside, the evening began with a Black Label, no ice.

I befriended a fellow drinker, he was a Brit too so we shared a collective moment of internationalistic happiness. Peter, charming chap, worked for some IT company in Manhatten. He'd been before, and what he was telling about the evening was a little far fetched but when it began I was in awe. Rather not disimilar to the Salsa nights we have in England, in NY the have Bhangra nights were novices can learn moves and sequences to rock it like the ethnics do. Flailing arms making shapes in 'Big Cs', 'step to, step side' and 'bouncing shoulders' in a sea of mostly white Americans dancing in the old Punjabi way brought the largest smile (and almost a tear) to me. The tutor was brilliant, not particularly amazing in his execution of moves but more the way in which he engaged the crowd. It's a collective theory, be stupid on your own and you look stupid, all be stupid together and it transcends to a level of coolness. While observing the dance tutorial, I was approached by DJ Rekha, the organiser of this night and we got talking. She's listed by CNN as one of the 10 most influential women in NY. Bhangra Basement isn't a fad, it's celebrating it's 10th birthday this April. After the tutorial, Rekha took to the decks with devastating effect and turned out the classics as well as the future, accompanied by a VJ who visualised the American political events affecting Indians. That week George dubya Bush was on a state visit to India, a pop-art esque, cut 'n' paste, Pingu inspired sequence between George and Manmohan Singh (India's PM) ensued: slapstick yet satirical, with undertones of Commedia del Arte. The evening continued drinking and dancing away with Latinos, Jews and White Anglo Saxons... Certainly a lasting memory.

This guy was called Prince, as soon as I snapped him he started playing with more fervour. He emplored that I join him on Tour (of all the Subway stations I imagine) as his 'Official' photographer, I humoured him, took his number and bid him farewell.

- Random Son of Random Aunty, back in London before leaving for New York while boarding the plane, I saw an 'aunty'* struggling with her hand luggage. I extended an offer to help her and placed in the overhead compartment, and she thanked me in that aunty way by placing a motherly hand on the side of my head and smiling. Later in the flight, my mother and random aunty got talking. She gave the number of her son who was staying in New York, an actor performing off-broadway for a one week run. I called Adil, her son on the last day and we met up for a chat, he introduced me to the little known Vietnamese area on the edge of Chinatown and the Italian quarter where we had the most amazing sandwiches (the size of your forearm) for under $3!!!



*Aunty. An Asian woman of similar peerage to your mother so out of respect you do not address her by her first name.

* This blog is a tribute to Adil Akhtar, the random son of a random aunty I helped on the plane. Respect is due for those $3 sandwiches. peace.

The awkward pose is actually Adil demonstrating his theatrical skills that will propel him to stardom. "Shall I pose like a freshie, you know that perplexed look of excitement when they get off the plane"