Lots of Birthdays

After 12 weeks in New York, we had begun to wonder why we were having such a different experience here, compared to our time in the Bay Area. Sandhya summed it up in one two-word phrase: Birthday Parties.

Having lived in the Bay Area for 10 years, we had a large community of good friends, and since a lot of them had had children at around the same time as we had Dhruv, we would end up spending a lot of time on weekends attending kids’ birthday parties. In New York, since our circle of friends is much smaller, we’ve had no invitations to kids’ birthdays, and consequently, we’ve had the weekends free to visit the museums, zoos, parks and the like. Until this week, that is…

Return flight snafu
But I get ahead of myself. As I mentioned earlier, I had a business trip to California, and Monday morning found me on the E train making the trek back to JFK. I arrived in the Bay Area on Monday afternoon, and plunged into work-related discussions at once. I had several meetings the next day, and since I found myself in the Fremont area in the evening, I asked Kala to pick me up and we had dinner at her place.

At her home, I tried to check in online, but couldn’t do so, because I had flown into the Bay Area on United Airlines, and my flight out was on Delta, but with a United ticket. Anyway, since I had no check-in baggage, I would have plenty of time to check in at a kiosk and board my 10:30 pm red-eye back to New York.

We left Fremont at around 9 pm, and as we were passing through Union City, Kala didn’t make a left onto Decoto Road like I expected her to…

“Left! Left!” I called out, thinking that she’d missed the turn by mistake.

“I always take the San Mateo bridge.” Kala replied. Given how much she and her husband travel, I knew better than to argue.

The San Mateo bridge always makes me nervous; the long span means that there so much more distance in which an accident can really mess things up. We were making good time, and in a few minutes, we were on Highway 92 heading westbound, when we were suddenly detoured off the Freeway onto Clawiter Road. “Road repairs,” I thought to myself “we’ll be back on the highway in a few minutes.”

Kala followed the detour signs expecting to be routed back on the freeway, but we found that the only route would take us in the opposite direction. I looked out along the freeway and saw a solid line of tail-lights in the distance. Oh-oh.

We stopped by one of the flag-men directing vehicles. “How can we get onto the San Mateo bridge?” Kala asked him.

“Didn’t you hear? A boat hit the bridge, and a big-rig overturned; the bridge has been closed indefinitely. He replied.

We quickly turned around and headed straight for the Dumbarton Bridge. We passed our old home and I looked at my watch – it was 45 minutes to my flight time – and I told Kala “Let’s forget it – there’s no way I’m going to make it.”

“No way, Gunsi,” she replied. “I’m going to get you on the flight.”

20 minutes later, believe it or not, we pulled up at the Delta terminal in San Francisco Airport. I ran inside and tried to check into a kiosk. “We are unable to check you in at this time. Please see an agent.” It said.

I rushed over to an agent, who tried pulling up my reservation. He picked up the phone and called someone. After a short conversation he looked at me: “I’m sorry sir, it’s 25 minutes before the flight, and the flight is closed.” He replied. “If you had checked in online, we would have held your seat, but since you didn’t we gave it to a standby passenger.”

My entreaties were of no use, and I called Kala and asked her to turn around and pick me up. I had important meetings in New York the next day, and I spent the drive back emailing people and having other colleagues cover for me. Kala was really guilty that she had made me miss my flight, but I tried consoling her “It was a one-in-a-million occurrence,” I said.

The only flight I could get onto without a hefty penalty was at 6:30 am the next morning, and so I spent the night tossing and turning, worrying that I wouldn’t get up on time. I had called a cab to take me to the airport, and thankfully, I had no problems in the morning.

I arrived in New York and called Sandhya. Lata Mukundan, her good college friend and our neighbor in Fremont, was arriving in New York’s Penn Station from Philadelphia, where she was spending the spring break week with her sister. I had planned to take the “E” train to New York, but decided to take the Long Island Railroad from Archer Blvd instead. That would bring me into Penn station at around the same time, and we could go home together. It worked without a hitch, and 15 minutes after boarding the train at Archer Blvd., I was pulling into Penn Station.

We took the M16 home, and I arrived by 4:30 pm. Radha and Mahesh were getting ready to leave, to go spend a few days with a friend of theirs in Connecticut. Unfortunately, because of the airline snafu, I had not spent any time with them at all. It sounded like they had had an enjoyable trip, having spent two days using the hop-on hop-off tour bus to see all the sights, and having spent a day at the Met.

Lata and her kids took up residence in the guest room that Radha and Mahesh had just vacated, ensuring the reputation of the Ganapathy-Rajan household as an “open door” was protected! That night, I suggested that Lata and Sandhya go out and sample some of New York’s night life, while I’d stay home and look after the kids. I had slept little the previous night, and looked forward to crashing early on my own bed. Unfortunately, that was not to be – Dhruv and Vishruth slept in our bed, and I ended up on the Air Bed.

Sandhya and Dhruv took them on a “Duck” tour of New York City the next day, and she left in the afternoon.

Concert surprise
It was a Thursday, and since I had been in California on Monday, I went for a make-up music lesson. Michael had given me some really difficult pieces to learn, and because of my travel, I was ill-prepared. I blundered through the lesson, and was somewhat glad when it was over. I have to be more diligent at finding time to play.

As I was getting ready to leave, he asked me “Will you be willing to play at a concert of my students? In the first week of June.”

“Why not?” I replied. . I had the Juilliard in mind, and little did I know what I was signing up for.

He brought out a Manila envelope with the programs of his previous student concerts. “Here, this child – she was 6 years old. That boy, he was seven.” Then it dawned on me. There would be a score of children between 5 and 10, and then there would be me, approaching 40!! But there was no going back, and I’m now nervous about the pieces he’s suggesting I play. Charlie Chaplin’s “Smile”, Mozart’s “Lullaby”, A Russian Folk Song by Beethoven, and “Yankee Doodle”. Except the last one, I can’t play any of them halfway properly. And I have 6 weeks to go!!

Sandhya – Birthday # 1
Sandhya turned 36 on April 18th, and given all the guests we had had this week, she didn’t want to celebrate. But we found ourselves free on Friday, and so we called Sonia and asked her if we could leave Dhruv with her. Of course she obliged, and I made reservations at Vatan, a Gujarati restaurant a few blocks away. I had eaten there a few times before, and remember a prix fixe “Thali” of really tasty Gujarati food. You also sat cross-legged in a place that was done up like a village in India, with a tree spreading its branches like the Banyan tree that’s the fixture in any Indian village.

Unfortunately, between the last time I was there and this time, they had extensively redecorated the place, and gone were low tables and mattresses on which you sat cross-legged. We were given a small table in a narrow ‘alley’ upstairs, and while the food was reasonably good, the ambience had done, and the experience was disappointing. One improvement, however, was that the servings were much smaller, and we didn’t stuff our faces like I remember doing the previous times I had been there.

Since our reservation was for 6:30 pm, we were back in Sonia’s place at 8:00. It was also Jai’s birthday, and we polished off a couple of bottles of wine in his and Sandhya’s honor. Unfortunately, he was in India, and couldn’t join us…!

Mythili – Birthday # 2
Nitu’s daughter Mythili’s first birthday was being celebrated in an Indian restaurant in Morris Plains, New Jersey, an hour’s drive away. We reserved a ZipCar, and since we were going all the way there, I had emailed Kannan and Prasanna, classmates from business school who were married to each other, and who lived in that neck of the woods. We left Waterside at around 8:45 am, and a few missed exits later, pulled in their driveway at 10:00 am. They used to live in South Africa, and their lovely suburban home was beautifully and tastefully decorated with solid furniture and African artifacts. We spent a pleasant morning drinking Chai and eating Samosas in their sunlight dining area, overlooking a little wood behind. Their son played the piano for us – he was learning the Jazz piano and was participating in a National Level competition the next day – and he was frightfully talented. I put in a shamefully inadequate performance and Kannan gamely congratulated me on doing so well after just a few weeks of lessons.

We then set off for the birthday, arriving a little before noon. The party was in full swing, and a clown was entertaining the kids. We soon saw Dhruv being chased by, or chasing, a bunch of kids, and realized that the fact that he knew nobody other than Nandini was making no difference to him.

To our pleasant surprise, I found a few people I had known before (and had lost touch with), and spent the afternoon catching up with them. I had never expected to run into people I knew, and this was a pleasant surprise.

Since we had the car till 5:00 pm, we decided to go to Nitu / Ganesh’s place for some time, before driving back across the Hudson. Dhruv wanted to ride in Nandini’s van, so Sandhya and I drove off ahead. As we were approaching Newport, we saw a long line of traffic backing up, a few miles from the Holland Tunnel. We quickly took an exit, and navigated through bumper-to-bumper traffic on city streets to Nitu’s apartment. It was almost 3:30, and I was nervous about not making it back in time. I called Zipcar, and they confirmed that Yes, I did have to return it to the same location, and No, I couldn’t extend my reservation because someone had it after me. Gulp. ZipCar’s Late fees start at $50.

I decided to drop Sandhya off and immediately hit the road to get back to Waterside. I had been using the GPS on my Blackberry and because of the handsfree laws in this part of the world, a Bluetooth headset. My cellphone battery was now down to one bar. I turned off the Bluetooth.

I soon plunged into the bumper-to-bumper traffic leading into the tunnel. I patiently waited behind a long line of traffic in the right lane (which I knew would turn into the tunnel), while traffice whizzed by in the left lane. I knew that they were probably going ahead and then cutting back into the right lane and entering the tunnel, but the law-abiding side of me refused to let me do the same thing. I crawled along, wondering when I should call ZipCar to say I wouldn’t be able to make it back in time. 4:15? 4:30? I decided that if I wasn’t inside the tunnel by 4:30, I’d call them.

At 4:25, I made the final right turn to the tunnel. As I was pulling into the EZ-Pass lane, I noticed an warning light had come on and the steering wheel had suddenly become really hard – almost immovable. I called Zipcar again – and told them what was happening. “Thank you, Sir. We’ll make sure to tell the next member” she cheerfully replied.

I drove slowly through the tunnel and got out on the other side. It was 4:35. The steering was worse. I navigated the narrow streets of SoHo, too nervous to take in the beautiful buildings in the area. The streets were crowded with tourists, most of them too busy taking photographs or taking in the scenery to notice when they had a “Walk” signal. The steering was really awful by this time. I decided that Zipcar needed to know that the car would be effectively unusable by the next member. Consequences be damned. I called then again.

“There’s this alarm light on the dash, and the steering is really hard.” I told ‘Wayne’ from ZipCar. I had the message well-honed by this time, and my battery was really low. I was also in a part of town that I didn’t know well enough for me to turn off the GPS / Maps to conserve batter. I was hoping this would get me off the hook and I wouldn’t have to return it by 5:00.

“No problem. This happens with the Mazdas,” he replied. “Just turn off the engine and start it again.”

I had just pulled up at a red light, and decided to try. Hoping that it wouldn’t fix the problem, I restarted the car. Just my luck – the light went out, and the steering was wonderfully free again. “Yes, it’s working now,” I said. “I’ve been driving slowly because of the steering and hope to make it back by 5 pm.”

“Oh, I can give you another half-hour” He said.

Whew!! What a relief that was. My drive back was trouble free after that, and I got to Waterside at around 5:10.

My cousin Murali came in from India that night, and Dhruv dodged sleeping in his own bedroom on one more night. Lata was supposed to come and spend Saturday afternoon with us, because she had a flight to catch the next morning, from JFK. However, she changed her mind and stayed on with her sister – I don’t know what we would’ve done if she’d come with her two kids – even the Air Bed might not have been enough.

Anya – Birthday # 3
On Sunday morning, Lata called from JFK airport.

“They’re asking for volunteers to take a later flight,” she told Sandhya. “Can I come and spend some time at your place and catch a flight in the evening?”

“Of course,” Sandhya replied.

We had a birthday to attend, and rushed off to the Upper East Side, hoping to back quickly so that we could spend time with Lata and the kids. To our pleasant surprise, we again met people I had known before, and despite not knowing anyone other than the hosts, we spent a pleasant morning at the birthday party. We even met someone who was Lata’s sister’s classmate at Engineering School, and who knew Lata well!

Staten Island Ferry
We got back and hustled Lata and the kids out of the house, to make the most of the few hours they had left. Given that we were seven of us (Murali, Lata, Us and three kids), we took an M15 bus down to South Ferry, to take the Staten Island Ferry out to Staten Island and back. I had figured out the right subway for her to take to get to the airport in time for her 7 pm flight.

“You have your boarding pass, don’t you?” I confirmed with Lata.

“Yes, I do.” She replied.

The bus meandered around Chinatown, and finally got us to South Ferry by 10 minutes to 4. We quickly ran inside the ferry building, and boarded the 4:00 pm Ferry outbound. I verified that there was a ferry coming immediately back – we didn’t have any margin of error and I didn’t want to be stuck on Staten Island.

The ferry ride was uneventful. We enjoyed spectacular clear and warm weather, and a lovely view of the Statue of Liberty. Best of all, the ride is free, the boat is large and comfortable, and the children had a free run of the place.

We docked back by 5:00 pm, and we walked quickly to the Broad Street subway station. I had planned for her to catch the J or Z line to Jamaica, and then the AirTraain. We shot off a quick picture in front of the NYSE and then went down the stairs to find the subway station locked. I checked a few other entrances, and they were all closed.

“Where can we enter the subway station?” I called out to the policeman on duty at the NYSE.

“The station’s closed on weekends.” he replied.

Uh-oh. Not a cab in sight, and I had no idea which way to walk. I decided to walk towards the water, figuring I’d hit FDR drive sooner or later. Thankfully, we found a cab a couple of blocks away, put Lata and the kids in, and had them off on their merry way.

We then boarded an M15 bus back to Murray Hill, where we planned to have dinner at Ali Baba, which was Zagat’s top-rated Turkish restaurant in Manhattan.

While we were on the bus, Lata called.

“I’m crossing Flatbrush Avenue,” she said “do you know how long it takes from here?”

“What does the driver say?” Sandhya asked her.

“He’s busy talking on the phone so I can’t ask him,” she replied.

I quickly pulled up Google maps and tried to find where she was. Thankfully, she seemed no more than 15 minutes from the airport. As we got off the bus, she called back to say she had arrived in time. Whew.

We had dinner and then went home. The dinner wasn’t as spectacular as we thought it would be – although we were pleasantly surprised by the number of vegetarian options they had.

The story doesn’t end there. Lata called the next morning, from Salt Lake City. It turned out that she hadn’t had a boarding pass, something that was pointed out to her when she tried to go through security. She dashed back to the counter to find a long line. She frantically searched for, and found, a supervisor, who told her it was too late. She was then put on a flight to Salt Lake City, spent the night there, and then went on to San Francisco on Monday morning.

Sandhya remarked that my “Airline Karma” was really bad this year. First we missed our US Airways connection in Charlotte. Then I had problems boarding a flight to Thailand because my passport didn’t have 6 months validity. Then I had missed my flight from SFO, and finally this. I’ve got to be more careful this year, just in case she’s right.