sonu kumar
Posted On: 09-04-2019
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Thirty Seven

ACT III
New York
'Name?’ the officer at the immigration counter said.
‘Madhav Jha,’ I said, wondering why he didn’t just read it on my
passport.
‘Mr Jha, what is the purpose of your visit to the United States?’
He flipped the pages of my passport, blank except for my new US
visa.
To find the love of my life, I wanted to say.
'I'm interning with the Gates Foundation in New York.’
‘Documentation, please.’
I took out a plastic folder from my rucksack. It had my internship
offer letter, confirming my stipend of three thousand dollars a month I
also had certification from Michael’s office, the cash advance the
foundation had given me and my visa documents.
The immigration officer examined my file.
‘Where will you be staying in New York, sir?’
‘With friends. On the Upper East Side, 83rd Street and Third
Avenue.’
The officer fumbled with my passport for a few' seconds. He
picked up a stamp.
The ‘bam’ sounded like a gunshot—to indicate that my race to find
Riya had begun.
*
I took a yellow taxi from JFK airport towards Manhattan, the main
island that forms the City of New York. It was my first trip outside
India and the first thing I noticed was the colour of the sky. It was a
crisp, crystal-clear blue; one never sees such a sky in India. I can
understand India is dusty, but why is our sky less blue? Or is it the
dust in the air that prevents us from seeing it?
The second thing that hit me was the silence. The taxi sped on a
road filled with traffic. However, nobody honked, not even at signals.
The silence almost made my ears hurt.Initially, I only saw row houses and brick-coloured warehouses,
nothing quite as impressive as I had imagined. However, thirty minutes
from the airport, the taxi reached the Brooklyn Bridge, over the
Hudson River. One had to cross this bridge to reach Manhattan. The
bridge resembled the Howrah Bridge of Kolkata I had seen on TV,
only bigger and cleaner. On the other side, a thousand skyscrapers
loomed. Literally one tall building after another dotted the entire city.
We crossed the bridge and entered Manhattan.
‘Welcome to The Big Apple,’ said the taxi driver in an American
accent.
‘Are you from here?’ I said.
‘Now, yes. Originally from Amritsar,’ he said.
I looked at the taxi drivers name: Balwinder Singh. Okay, not quite
as exotic as I had imagined.
In Manhattan, I saw people, busy people. Early morning joggers,
people going to office in suits, children on their way to school. The
city seemed like a maze, with criss-crossing streets and avenues. If one
were to get lost here, it would take years to be found again.
‘It’s all arranged in one grid,’ the driver said.‘You going to Upper
East, yeah?’
‘Yes, please,’ I said and handed him the address.
*
‘Madhav Jha. You made it,’ Shailesh squealed in excitement as he
opened the door.
I struggled to catch my breath. I had climbed three floors with a
backpack and a heavy suitcase.
‘These are pre-war buildings’ Shailesh said. He dragged my
suitcase into the apartment.‘From before the Second World War. You
get higher ceilings and more character. However, the lift breaks down
every week.’
He took me to the guestroom of his three-bedroom apartment,
which looked high-end and was done up in an ethnic Indian style with
brass Ganeshas and Madhubani paintings of Krishna. Shailesh haddone an MBA from Harvard after Stephen’s. He had joined Goldman
Sachs, a top Wall Street investment bank. He shared the apartment with
his girlfriend, Jyoti, whom he had met at Harvard. Jyoti worked at
Morgan Stanley, another Wall Street investment bank. The size of the
apartment told me the banks paid them well. Dark circles under
Shailesh’s eyes told me they also made him work hard.
‘M&A, that’s mergers and acquisitions,’ Shailesh said, telling me
about his work. We sat in his living room. I had reached early, at 6.30
in the morning. Shailesh was ready for work, wearing a grey suit and a
dark blue silk tie. He ate breakfast cereal with milk and slipped on his
leather loafers.
‘Sorry I’m rushing,’ Shailesh said. ‘Jyoti and I catch the 7 a.m.
subway to work. Catch up in the evening, okay?’
‘No problem,’ I said. ‘I need to rest anyway. I’m so tired.’
‘Try not to sleep. It will help you adjust to the jet lag,’ Shailesh
said.
The ten-hour difference in time zones meant my body wanted to
sleep while New York City had just woken up.
‘Jyoti!’ Shailesh shouted.
‘Coming,’ a female voice in a thick American accent came from
one of the bedrooms.
‘Shailesh, if you can put me in touch with a real-estate broker...’ I
started to say.
He interrupted me. ‘Are you crazy? You’re here for a short while.
It’s an internship, right?’
‘Three months. I can’t stay with you that long.’
‘Why not? You relax here. I have to go to London tomorrow but
we are definitely catching up tonight.’ Shailesh finished his breakfast
and took the plates to the kitchen sink.
‘You’ve changed so much, Shailesh. We sat in shorts doing adda all
day in Stephen’s. Now, suits, hi-fi banker life, New York City,’ I said.
He laughed.
‘Times change, lives change.You have to move on, pal.’I thought about Shailesh’s statement. I nodded, even though in
half-agreement.
Jyoti, a thin, five-feet-six-inches-tall girl, appeared. She wore a
formal black skirt and shirt with a jacket.
‘Hi, Madhav. Have heard so much about you,’ Jyoti said and
extended her hand. She sounded like Samantha, except she had brown
skin and black eyes.
"Me too. Sorry to bother you until I find an apartment.’
'Stay as long as you want. Work keeps us so busy. At least
someone can use the place,’Jyoti said and turned to Shailesh. 'You
ready to go, honey?’
Shailesh nodded.
*
l unpacked my clothes in the guestroom while making plans for the
next couple of days; the internship did not start until the day after. I
wondered if any live music bars would be open now.
I lay down for five minutes and woke up five hours later,
disoriented. Jet lag had made me lose track of time and space. I needed
a local SIM card. I checked the dollars in my wallet, picked up the
house keys and left.
*
Manhattan has a grid-like structure. Numbered streets run north to
south. The wider avenues run from east to west. Shailesh’s home on
Third Avenue and 83rd Street was close to Central Park, which had its
eastern side on Fifth Avenue.
The park, a landmark of the city, is three-and-a-half square
kilometres in area and runs all the way from 60th Street in the south to
120th Street up north, and Fifth Avenue on the east to Ninth Avenue
on the west.
The park helped me orient myself. Its southern tip had shops
where I could buy a SIM card.
I walked west from Third to Fifth Avenue, and then down south
twenty-three blocks from 83rd Street to 60th Street. In twenty minutes,I reached the southeast corner of the park. I found a row of shops,
including a store called ‘T-Mobile’.
*
The T-Mobile salesperson offered me a SIM card with a 3G data
plan, ‘If you take a two-year contract, l can also give you a free
iPhone.’
‘I’m not here that long,’ I said.
I agreed to rent a touchscreen phone along with a voice and data
plan.
‘It’ll take twenty minutes to activate,’ the salesperson said. I left the
shop and walked back north towards Central Park. I had not eaten
anything for hours. I scanned the various cafes and delis, each
displaying their lunch specials. Most dishes cost close to ten dollars
each. A van parked outside Central Park sold bagels, a doughnut
shaped bread stuffed with cream cheese or other fillings. It cost only
three dollars, including a cold drink.
I got a bagel with cream cheese, tomatoes and onions. A giant-sized
Coke came along with it.
I sat on an empty bench outside Central Park and watched tourists
walk past. New York City looked beautiful and clean.The first day you
spend out of India in a developed country takes a while to sink in. The
swanky buildings, the smooth roads, the gleaming shops and the lack
of noise (nobody blares horns for some reason) make you feel like
you have entered a fairy tale where nothing can ever go wrong. I ate
my lunch on the park bench.
A 3G sign on the corner of my phone screen indicated I had
network. I typed in my first Google search: ‘Live music venues in New
York City’.
The Internet worked fine. The search results weren’t fine. Literally
thousands of places popped up. The first link directed me to the
website of Time Out magazine. That site itself had a top-100 list of the
best live music venues in the city. In Patna, you would be lucky to find
one place that played live music. In Dumraon, the only way you couldhear live music at a bar is if you yourself sang. In New York City,
however, there is an endless number of places. I sat on the Central
Park bench and examined the tall buildings around me. I felt small and
insignificant.
It’s a live music venue in one city, how difficult can it be? is what I
had told myself before coming here. Now it didn’t seem easy at all.
I went to Google Maps. It showed my current location as 59th
Street and Sixth Avenue. It also showed me to be a three-kilometre
walk away from Shailesh’s house. A cold breeze penetrated my Bihar-
strength sweater. I crossed my arms and held them close to my chest.
You are so stupid, Madhav, I said to myself as I walked north on
Fifth Avenue, along the edge of the park. On a whim, I had packed my
bags and come to this cold city. A gust of wind left my face numb.
'I can’t do this,’ I said.
I took deep breaths. I reminded myself of old basketball matches,
which I had won with sheer willpower.
One street, one avenue, one bar at a time, Madhav.

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