Three years ago when my mother was visiting me in the summer of 2004 she quoted “I never imagined that green can have so many shades.” It was the beauty of Upstate New York she was admiring. Syracuse, New York is called Upstate New York and sometimes referred as Central New York (CNY). Fall is the best time of the year in North Eastern parts of America, which is commonly known as New England. The serene two months of fall, makes staying in Central New York worth all the pain we go through during the harsh and merciless 5-6 months of winter. At times the temperature goes as low as -30C (-10F), considering the wind chill factor. During the fall season the local channels will be playing commercials to promote tourism, where the governor quotes “I love New York; it is at its best during fall.” The mountains, lakes and the trees clubbed together is a paradise, during this season. The leaves, turn into all possible shades of orange and red in the months of August and September. The streets are covered with dry leaves, flying along with a fast moving car passing through the narrow streets of Central New York forming a spectrum of warm colours. This for me is “yellows and oranges,” the spice.
There has not been a single fall season, since the time I have been in New York State, and not visited New York City. To date I enjoy every minute of the five hour drive on the interstate, highway 81 South (I-81 S), as my car speeds through the western parts of New York state at 65 mph, as it enters into Hudson valley, cruising through on route 17 East alongside the Hudson river, whose banks boasts the beautiful and rich neighborhood of Yonkers. I enter into New York City through the poor, run down, but colourful infamous brown suburb of Bronx. As my car crosses the George Washington bridge to enter Manhattan, I roll down my windows to smell the city, and call one of my dear friends from the cell phone and without even greeting him, I stretch my arm outside and make him to hear the traffic on the 9A West Side highway and hang up without saying a word. For some strange reason this act of mine brings a smile, it is the very strange banal feeling as if I am connected to my home town, listening to the rush and the stress of Manhattan. Manhattan to me is all about the “blues”, the casual, yet stressful life of the city. If I am in the City on the weekend, I have to eat Sunday morning breakfast in Central Park with my friends. I am still unable to decipher this fetish of mine. Yet, it is during the fall season I enjoy my chicken salad sandwich the most, wandering my gaze through the warm pallet fall colours of Central Park and admiring the skyline of Manhattan. The journey back to Syracuse is as intriguing as the journey into New York City. I take an alternate route, passing three states; New York (NY), New Jersey (NJ) and Pennsylvania (PA). I pass through the Delaware water gap on the border of NJ and PA as I enter into the endless mountain rages of Poconos, which leads me to interstate 81 North (I 81 N). The travel experience to New York City in the fall season is almost like traveling through the country side of Switzerland, speeding through narrow highways at the foothills of Alps and enjoying the narrow streams, flowing on the other side of the highway.
It is during the fall season, I miss Bombay the most; as Bombay is the most colourful city I have ever known and seen. It might be little confusing, why I am comparing a season with a city... well here my explanation to the analogy -- The lack of social culture of a small American town, with harsh winter’s makes Syracuse one of the most boring, colourless and challenging places to stay, for a city boy like me. But due to the sudden change in the weather and beauty of fall, some how the people of Syracuse to change, they are more social, colourful, and are always smiling, all this makes me fell at home. As this socially colourful side of Syracuse is merely a temporary illusion, in addition to the fact of not being physically present in Bombay, makes me to miss it ever more.
Bombay to me is “colour.” I say so, for many reasons, ranging from multiracial Bombayiates to structures of the city. The streets of Bombay run into each other in every possible angle, whose banks are closely packed with shops displaying ads in various colours, none of these ads are synchronized and one has to look very closely to identify the actual shop. In Bombay, no single street is similar or can be compared to any other street. As if some post-modernist/ deconstructive architect had planned this urban chaos carefully. This represents the “brown,” the chaos, like the UPS brown van, with “synchronizing the world” bumper sticker. In US every boulevard is similar, with same chain of restaurants, similar looking shopping plazas and huge malls. I am not claiming that it is entirely similar, but the structure and the set up looks similar and it is true in all the states in US. It is very difficult to spot such redundant city planning within a country,as seen very often in US. In countries like France, Germany, Mexico, Spain, and India, where the growth is more random, where every town looks different, every street has its unique flavor, thus making me to believe them to be colourful. It is perhaps their chaotic structure that create such an image in my mind. This observation is expressed to me by many international immigrants like me, about US. I am not implying that American towns are dry, but to some extent I feel they lack the “spice,” owing to their 'too' well planned and organized look. This is merely a perception I have as a foreigner, coming from a city where variation and diversity is a norm.
Before, heading to Bombay, I asked my Indian friends in US, “What is that you miss the most about Bombay?” The unanimous answer was “colours of the city.” To some it meant the diversity –“reds.” To some it meant the chaotic structure and life style of the city –“browns.” To some it meant the spicy food, traditional colourful dresses, the Indian Hindi upbeat music –“yellow.” To some, including me it simply meant Bombay city – “blues.” To few socialites it meant the poverty –“blacks” To my religious roommate it meant the temples, churches and mosques – “whites.”
The day I landed, I had to attend by sister’s wedding, one of the many reasons for my planned December trip. The long flight of over 30 hours including the 5 hour delay and the non isles seat had made me very tired and frustrated. As the flight was approaching Bombay, my biggest concern was my mental and physical fatigued body. I was thinking, I will pass out and will miss the wedding, due to fatigue. But to my surprise, my tried body recuperated within a minute, by the warmth, love and hugs I received from my parent and bothers who had waited at the airport all night to welcome me. It was early morning on a week day and Bombay’s Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport was already packed with hordes of people waiting to welcome their family members, guests and visitors. It was truly a colourful welcome sight. As I rushed towards the exit of Terminal 2, I could not help reading the bright and colourful ad displaying a picture of Gateway of India, boldly quoting “Welcome to Bombay” . I was Home!
I was so jet lagged, I could not sleep for that whole day. Today in retrospect, it was the excitement of meeting my family that kept me awake alert. As the day unfolded and the morning hours passed with no sleep and excitement, our family left the house and headed towards my cousin sister’s house to help them for wedding preparations and the evening reception. I kept meeting my relatives, with a warm hug, and sense of belongingness. Though, I could not help noticing the surprised looks they exchanged whence meeting me. All my relatives and family members remarked “you look different and good.” It took some time to decipher, what they meant. It was the 20 pounds lighter me that prompted such a response. My candid answer to them was “what you see is what you get.” The answer was meant to be taken in sarcasm, which selected few replied with a smirk and “yeah… right, we will see,” rest replied with a smile and a confused perplexed look.
The amazed admiring compliments continued at the marriage reception, where I met my entire extended family, which included another 50 more relatives. Every member of the family was delighted to see me which left me wondering, how looks can play an important role in people’s perception. As I met my relatives and cordially welcomed new members, my brother-in-law’s family, into our family, I started my quest to observe the colours and diversity of Bombay. At that evening reception, I made a number of interesting observations, none of the dresses people wore where repeated, none of the sari’s worn by the ladies where same in both colour and design; none of the guest spoke in the same language, even though the marriage was between the same Maharashtrian community and spoke the same native language, Marathi; every dished served at the reception was different, differed in taste and spices; none of the conversations had lasted for more then one minute. The open air reception venue was transformed into a warm violet colour spectrum with the blues of the city, mixed the bright shades of yellow and red, indicating the diversity. For a moment I kept the red and blues aside and started focusing just on the yellow, the bright and colourful dresses and the glow those dresses brought. For a moment I thought about Syracuse Fall season, but the then I decided not to compare Bombay with Syracuse, or rather I chose not to compare… I just wanted it to be uniquely a property of 'Bombay'.
By the end of the first day in Bombay, I had a feeling of complete satisfaction and I knew that I am going to have one of the best vacations. It is this feeling of contentment, filled with love and joy of meeting my family after 4 years; I carried with me to bed, that night, when I finally got a chance to sleep after approximately 48 hours. Today this colourful memory of my first day in Bombay has become the center piece of my bedroom. A huge picture of my 14 cousins surrounding my sister and bother-in-law, is hanging on my bedroom wall, and every night since I am back to Syracuse, I sleep with same feeling and say to myself “I guess I am just lucky to be in born and raised in colourful city of Bombay…..”
Salam Bombay!
