Settling down to a routine

This post first appeared at Water, No Ice (www.waternoice.com)

In a previous post, I've mentioned a friend whose wife was a child psychologist. They lived in another building at Waterside, and had invited us to dinner on Sunday evening, which was at the same time as the Super Bowl. These folks had recently moved to the US from India, so I wondered aloud whether it was to be a Super Bowl party. "They've called us at 7:30," Sandhya quickly corrected me, "that's too late for a super bowl party."

Thankfully, things were informal enough that I mustered the courage to ask my host whether we could check the score from time to time. He was most gracious and we finally ended up watching the most exciting parts of the game live, in their bedroom.

Other than Sonia and JV (my classmates from business school who live in Waterside), there was a young American couple, lawyers both, who stayed on the Upper West Side. It was initially a bit awkward because the rest of us had a lot of common ground - JV, Sonia and I went to school together; our host and I had worked together. Sandhya connected with the others because of the kids' schools and shared shopping trips. In the Bay Area, most, if not all, of our friends have been Indian, which means our skills at making small talk and breaking the ice were rusty. Sonia showed us how, and conversation flowed quite freely after a while.

It turned out the lady had gone to Columbia, while the guy had gone to a lesser known school in New York. Looking back, I’m embarrassed by how differently I reacted to the two of them – and I immediately began quizzing her about Barack Obama’s digs in Columbia and other interesting aspects of the campus. I have to watch this tendency carefully in future.

Settling down to a routine

Since it was our second full week, we began settling down to a routine. I’d get ready before 8 am and drop Dhruv off at the school bus stop. Sandhya would pick him up at 3:30. I began settling into a routine with respect to work too. I don’t have a formal office in New York and therefore work from home, something I haven’t done before on a regular basis. Getting ready before 8 am allowed me to sit at my desk and begin “working” soon after returning from dropping Dhruv off. I frankly find that the act of getting ready and sitting down to work has a satisfying discipline to it; waking up and thumbing a blackberry and then slipping into work in one’s pajamas somehow doesn’t cut it for me, but is quite often what a lot of people do, I believe.

We also signed up for the gym downstairs. It is really nice, with many different exercise rooms with all the latest equipment, a nice heated indoor pool, and various programs. I have decided not to sign up for a squash club – they’ve turned out frightfully expensive in New York, compared to what I was paying to play at Stanford. I was rather surprised, assuming that the abundance of courts would mean reasonable fees – I figure that it’s probably because the game is ‘elitist’, clubs with squash courts charge a hefty monthly fee, and per-hour court fees on top of that. I’d also have to travel a fair distance to get to any public court, which proved to be another damper. So some days of the week, I go to the gym for half an hour after dropping Dhruv off. That time of the morning is late enough that the office crowd is gone, but not late enough for the late-morning crowd. Perfect. Now I have to figure out how to enjoy working out in a gym (I’ve always hated it).

Sonia and Sandhya drove out to Jackson Heights during the week on an ‘Indian groceries shopping trip’. Also known as “Jaikishen Heights”, this part of Queens is a virtual “Little India”, apparently. It was in the middle of a work day, so I couldn’t join them, but will hopefully do it someday soon.

The last bit of unpacking

We finished unpacking this week, and put away all the boxes that we’d used to bring our stuff to New York. A new experience for me is putting the trash down a “trash chute” in the “trash room” that’s on each floor. We were supposed to leave our boxes, flattened, in that room, and that is what we did. I must say that I’m a bit disappointed in the level of recycling that I see in New York. There’s a small bag for metal stuff, and people are supposed to leave paper and glass on a little shelf in the trash room. Both of these have such little stuff every time I’ve looked that I can only conclude that most people don’t bother. Back in the Bay Area, our “grey bin” of recyclable stuff was always at least equal to the “blue bin” of trash. It could be structural, in that older buildings (this one is 35 years old) are not equipped to encourage recycling as much as newer ones are, but it’s still disappointing, all the same.

I had ordered a pair of speakers for my stereo system, and they were delivered this week (because they were large and heavy, I didn’t bring my speakers from California). There are a few activities that seemed to tie a bow to the unpacking process. Hooking the speakers up and having the house fill with music was one of them. Hanging up the paintings and family photographs we brought with us was another. We were now ready to host our first guests.

First guests

FaceBook has been wonderful for letting people know what’s going on. Take a holiday? Just post photographs on FaceBook and everyone gets to see them. Simultaneously posting this blog on FaceBook has been surprisingly useful – a lot of people seem to have read it, and know what’s going on in our lives.

A really old friend from University called during the week to tell me that he was in town. He used to live in New York, but had moved to Mumbai a few years ago, and was back in town on business. He therefore became our first guest to dinner, and a bottle of California Pinot Noir was opened in his honor. Sonia, JV and their kids came for dinner on Friday evening – and were our first formal dinner guests. Quite fitting, given the big hand they’ve had in our moving to Waterside, and the help they’ve given us in settling down.

Signing up for Zipcar

One other thing that we’ve done which should prove quite interesting, is signing up for Zipcar. Zipcar, for those of you who don’t know, is similar to other car rentals, but with some major differences – they are mainly in urban areas, rent cars by the hour, have several locations around the city, and have become quite the rage with the urban yuppie set. A few days after signing up, I got a card in the mail, which is supposed to unlock the car you’ve reserved (nobody mans the Zipcar lots – the cars are just parked there). Zipcar has 6 parking slots in the garage downstairs, and it should prove quite convenient if we need to get anywhere – for a short while, or even for a weekend. It’s so convenient, that there is a Zipcar location at the IKEA – you come there by public transit, buy your stuff, pick up a car, drive home, and drop off the car at the nearest return location. You pay for the hours you reserve. How cool is that? I’m looking forward to trying it out soon.

Becoming weather-wise

We had excellent weather this weekend – the temperatures were in the 40s on Saturday and 50s on Sunday. While this week had been clear, it was really cold – I had gone out to run some chores in Wednesday, when it was 24 degrees, but with wind chill, felt like 15 degrees! I’m still trying to calibrate what I wear with how cold it is – and haven’t quite figured it all out. Gloves for example – what seems quite warm when you leave the apartment turns out to be completely inadequate after 10 minutes outside. You dress planning to take a bus / subway, but end up walking, and freezing as a result.

A relaxed Saturday

I woke on Saturday determined not to let the excellent weather go waste. When I asked Dhruv what he wanted to do, I was surprised to hear him say he wanted to go to the “dinosaur museum” – I was really afraid he’d be tired of the museums. When I suggested that this weekend we could go to a “Mummy Museum” instead (the Met), he sounded quite excited, but wanted to go on Sunday.

He and I then decided to go swimming. This proved to be quite interesting in more ways than one. The pool is downstairs, but in a separate building – so you have to step outdoors for 30 feet before you’re inside the warm environs of the health club. So unlike our trips to the pool in California (swimming trunks and flip-flops), we had to bundle up in our warm clothing, get across, then change in the changing room.

We showered and made our way to the pool – the changing room was a short distance from the pool itself, and a cold draft made both of us shiver. We dropped out towels on a beach chair, and I dipped a tentative toe in the pool, hoping that it would be warm (I’ve jumped once too often into a pool in Fremont where the water was freezing, despite the sunshine). It turned out to be a wonderful 85 degrees. It was a really surreal experience to soak in this relaxing warm water, while looking out through the window at the patches of dirty black snow on the ground around. I could see the East River too, and shuddered to think of the cold breeze that’s almost constantly blowing at this time of the year. The pool was empty -- I was really surprised to find just two other people – a mother and son – on a Saturday afternoon.

Eating out

When Sonia and JV came home on Friday evening, we spent quite some time grilling them on good places to eat in the area. Sandhya and I are pretty meticulous about making notes, and we soon had a long list of 2-3 recommendations for each cuisine that we like.

Having worked out on Saturday morning and swum in the afternoon, I felt like I’d earned a good meal. Never one to turn down such an opportunity, Sandhya brought out her list, made a few calls, and we had soon narrowed it down to Café Mogador, a Moroccan Restaurant in the East Village. They didn’t take reservations, so we decided to head out early, before the dinner rush.

I locked up the apartment and found Sandhya in the elevator in conversation with an elderly Indian-looking lady. Turned out she stayed on the same floor and had been there for the past 29 years! And here I was complaining about being in the same zip code for 10 years! Her husband had been with the UN, and was now retired. They were from Pakistan. She generously offered to help Sandhya settle down, since she knew the area well, and we promised to drop in sometime, before saying goodbye in the Plaza. I’m looking forward to meeting her again, and also meeting her husband. She seemed really friendly, and interesting.

We took a bus down to dinner – it’s funny how I can’t think of any other way to get around. I have to be careful, however – we’ve occasionally caught Dhruv trying to flag down a cab – he hasn’t quite got used to this idea of walking and riding in a bus yet. The more we travel around by public transport, the less I feel like we need a car here. We decided to leave our cars in California, since we’re planning to go back there in a year’s time. However, at the back of my mind, I always said to myself “We’ll go to New York and see if we need it or not.” After two weeks, the needle is swinging further away from “Yes, needed”. And with the weather getting better, taking public transit is going to become easier. Zipcar’s always there for those times when we really need a car.

The restaurant turned out to be delightful -- a few steps down from one of those classic East Village streets, with beautiful walk-up buildings on both sides. It wasn’t quite crowded, and we got a table easily. We were really thankful that we came when we did, because 15 minutes later, there wasn’t an empty table in the place.

Two Japanese couples sat between us and the street window, and the table next to us had a really gorgeous African-American woman and a white (female) friend. The guy at the table behind us was explaining how he uses Slingbox to stream stuff from his Mac to his TV. Academic types (elbow patch and all) sat across from us. Our waitress had a strong accent – Irish, I think, completing the scene.

The prices were reasonable, there were some nice vegetarian options on the menu, and the staff were friendly and nice. As recommended, Sandhya had a Pistachio Martini, which turned out excellent. I had a Mango Martini, which was good, and then a glass of Spanish red wine. Two hours later, we had worked our way through a wonderful meal of Red Lentil Soup, Moroccan Grilled Cheese, Falafel, Cous-cous, and a lovely dessert of Khadaif.

We took the bus back (of course), and walked the last two blocks home. A heavy meal was well digested by the time we got home. No wonder people in the city seem so fit – I don’t think I’ve seen a single overweight or obese person here.

Sunday at the Met

We got out of the house late on Sunday, and reached the Met by around 12:30 in the afternoon. There’s something wonderful about going to one of the greatest museums in the world without the pressure of “seeing everything worth seeing” in the 8 hours that you have. As we were leaving, I suddenly remembered to take a camera – the previous weekend, I had forgotten to take a camera to the Museum of Natural History, and wondered why. I guess it’s because when you’re in the same city, have taken a membership to the museum, and intend to visit it frequently, it becomes an educational outing more than a “touristy” one. Ergo, camera forgotten…

Walking to the Met from the 77^th Street Subway Station, we passed these wonderful old Upper East Side houses – the quiet elegance a testimony to the “old money” that resides there. Then you suddenly come up on 5^th Avenue, Central Park and the Corner of the Met. A bright and warm day put the Cherry on top of this Apple Pie.

We quickly signed up for a family membership, grabbed a map of the place, and went into the Egyptian Art section. We spent an hour there, sampling things here and there, showing Dhruv the mummies and sarcophagi, and boy, did he enjoy it.

We then had a quick lunch in the cafeteria and headed over to the European Art section – we had decided to do only this and the Egyptian sections this day.

It turned out to be everything I’d hope for, and more. I didn’t know where to look or sit. Van Gogh’s brilliant Self Portrait in a Straw Hat, where the small dabs of paint come together for amazing effect as you step back? Or the brush strokes in Wheat Fields and Cypresses? Or Monet’s Lilies, or the Regatta at Sainte-Adresse? Gauguin’s Tahitian women? Renoir’s Girls at a Piano? Picasso’s Blind Man’s Meal? Truly, that one section of the Met has so much that I can spend each weekend of the next one year there and yet not be satisfied.

 

A quiet week ended on a high note with a very satisfying weekend. Dhruv is keen on going to the Museum of Natural History again next weekend, so we’ll probably go back there. The MOMA and Guggenheim beckon, and of course, we have to return to the Met. So much to do, and so little time! I fear that our weekends will become so hectic that we’ll begin to dread them. We must pace ourselves so that everything is digestible enough to not become a chore. We have to settle down to a routine that's anything but!!