Life and the likes of it: Places

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Long long weekends

One might agree that Fall is the best season in the north-east and I have often mentioned that. Though it isn’t yet time for the colors to splash in tandem, the chilliness has been more than punctual this year and a few leaves are already turning yellow. The temperatures have started dropping and hanging in the comfort zone of a light jacket, making one wonder if the summer ended before it began.

In our quest to enjoy the remnants of summer, this long weekend, we spent lulling time with friends doing this and that. Met an old friend; though she had only twenty two hours to spare, we had managed to squeeze in lots of catching up, warming up to the fact that lot has changed since 2001, customary Boston-sight-seeing and a hearty lunch. It could easily be another ten years before I see her again, I am sure.

The remaining days were laid back (though the weather couldn’t have been more delectable), sometimes its long hours of sleep, elaborate brunches, lazy movies and naps on the patio that work better than a plan. However, yesterday we a group of six, headed to Salisbury beach, half expecting to be frozen to death. And like a wonderful surprise, we were met with sunny skies, cool happy waters and lots of fun.

Since we weren’t armed with towels and such, owing to our pessimism of the weather, for a dip in the beach, we had settled to playing Frisbee, amateurish kite flying, gobbling dark chocolate all under the golden sun and brown sands. We followed this by a sumptuous lunch at the Salisbury Pizza – if you are travelling anywhere there, may I say they have awesome food and lots of choices for vegetarians too!

Early evening, stuffed till our stomachs could burst, we headed to Newburyport. We quickly embarked on our new adventure of sea-kayaking. Though not technically in the sea, we were kayaking in the river delta that had rough waters. The experience was a lot different from the lake kayaking we had done many times before; this one was harder and all the more fun! We paddled three miles, until the muscles ached and stomachs rumbled again!

Tiredly refreshed, we went on to explore the Newburyport square in the wee hours of the evening. The canopy of pretty shops, rustic red brick buildings and the bustle of people was more than welcoming to rejuvenate. We feasted yet again at a sweet little Italian bakery, on yummy gelatins, jujups, cookies and more.

Against the setting sun and crimson skies, we headed back on our one hour drive, reminding myself that it is these little moments of nothingness that make a bigger something to look back to!

The moonlight witness

We rarely see the moon in this part of the world. Either it is grim skies of winter or the rains in summer and spring. But some nights like tonight – once in a Full moon – it is moon-beam splattering its way through my window, distracting the sleepers' eye and before it fades away into grayness of the fall season, I wish to capture it in my memory and blog.

Let me rewind a fourteen years; I am witnessed by the moon picnicking with two equally sanguine childhood friends, in the labyrinth of our terrace. We believe to have attained childlike nirvana, being famous five! We are gobbling down éclairs and cream biscuits, imagining it to be aunt fanny’s cooking.

Fast forward a few years, train travelling from a school excursion - vizag to hyd; moonlight streaming through the dirty grills of the Second class Indian train. Dumb teenagers we are; mesmerized and blinded by bollywood, banter hours on about how romantic the whole scene is! Only thing missing for the tittering girls is a music number and the urgency of a crush.

Further a few more years, a friend and I steal the breeze by besi beach at 9 pm, a contentious hour, not even 50 ps in our midst to buy the raw mango snack, warming to a never ending talk, smiling and preserving an honest friendship moment - the moon cheering us against the splashing sea!

And then a three years ago, laughing on the moon washed steps of the Copley church against a bustling Boston city; I harbor a moment to the treasure knowing little that he is the one I am to marry.

Now lying awake; watching the moon shine through my window, stealing my sleep in all its brilliance, I am but contented... For she gave me a lot to b(dr)eam about!

“How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.”

- William Shakespeare

Hot meals and spicy treats

Warning: Even if the title sounds like Padma Lakshmi’s next hip cooking-model book, this post isn’t anything like that!

When I was twelve, my mother was in her cook-with-a-difference phase or so it seemed. I believe it was fueled by the presence of a constantly hungry child and the influence of hyderabadi openness to garner every cuisine and culture as its own. For I am sure, if it hadn’t been for appa’s transfer and my board exams the fervor would have lasted longer than it did.

Back then when new recipes were being doled out by Khana Khazana over lull afternoon channels and internet was the priciest luxury, amma had settled to improvise the kitchen culture by watching the dishes come to life on television. After a particular disaster of navaratan kurma, she realized that watching wouldn’t do and a diary had to be maintained for recording the procedures. Many a times the diary would go missing when a chubby Sanjeev kapoor would be listing the ingredients; and so the recipes would find their way on last pages of phone books, newspapers and scraps of paper. Evidently, half way through a recipe, sprinkled on yesterday’s newspaper and an old bill, one of the bits would be lost, leaving the recipe to be at the chef’s mercy and the glutton’s fate.

Now don’t get me wrong here. My mother is a great cook, I have mentioned that before and many friends reading this blog would vouch for that. However before hyderabad, she never had a chance to come off the coconut shell of home-(mallu)-land cooking. Her enthusiasm caught on and appa and I were quick to suggest menus that ranged from ice-creams to home-made wine and trust me they were all made, made to perfection (the wine in fact took three cartons of grapes and six patient months). The summer vacation that year, you can almost imagine how the house was, but a conception of the cake house in Hansel and Gretel tale, if not literally.

Old binders of aging black and coffee-colored papers of recipes collections were dusted; new recipe books by Mallika Badrinath and Meenakshiammal adorned the kitchen shelf; a vegetable garden was erected tall and prolific that bore brinjals, corn, beans, tapioca, lemon and many others I don’t recall due to sheer nonchalance. The only thing that was bought in the house was milk and given the playground like size of the backyard, I am sure even the oldmcdonald's farm could have been feasible in the unreal world.

There was not one single instance that triggered the slow down, but a confluence of many- a nagging teenager, who had taken preference to sipping road-side pani puris, moody biscuit-mami (the baking guru of the colony, hence the name stuck) had decided to not share her recipes anymore, almost ten different gardeners calling quits in a year’s time, Sanjeev Kapoor traded for soaps… Whatever it was, she headed homeward again and took with her some of the raving success recipes that are prepared till date (macroni, kadi and 7 cup sweet are my top three favorites)

The only things that remain of that wonderful era are a few photographs of the garden, that thank god were remembered to be clicked, and all those cookery books inherited by me, parked in my kitchen shelf. So, today when I swelled to the tiny bottle green leaves burgeoned from the sown cilantro seeds, I was almost beginning to relive the era; only this time, frightening enough, it wasn’t amma I was watching tending to the plants and digging through cook-book-diaries!

Boston Beautiful

Boston Beautiful

I have often mentioned the bean-town is many of my posts; for its unforgiving weather, lovely Charles stretch, lively streets and even starbucks round the corner. Now that I live a painful fifty miles away from this youthful city, it only makes me love it more every time I visit. She was my first big city in this country and hopefully she’d be the last!

When the weather is a soaring ninety, spring is in the air and the sun doesn’t stop to shine until 8 pm, you can’t help but take the effort to travel the distance, swear about parking space and crowded city traffic, pay an indecent amount of money in the name of event (red Sox game) parking, yet let go all of that in the vibrancy of the winding university streets, comely cafes, beautiful.. beautiful weather and a pang of jealousy for all those enjoying the labyrinth as city dwellers.

Today was one such rarity, when spring was as warm as summer. It almost seemed like the flowers had bloomed overnight, unwanted crab grass and other pretty weeds had sprung in our lawn looming for the soaking sun and the world was buzzing with joggers, kids and outdoor-habitants.

We had headed to the boat rentals along the Charles and begun our day with some scenic kayaking. Cool waters below and sun drenching and later we had been shockingly lucky to find street parking. Next stop was the Noodle street restaurant for lunch on Commanwealth ave. We walked the Boston university teeming street to hunger. It was our first at this place and I’d definitely recommend their vivid menu. Though the ambience was a tad disappointing, the kitchen had succeeded in satiating our stomachs. If asian food is on your cards, this is definitely a nice one to try.

One hour long lunch and after, it was time for reviving old times- dear old Charles! Sun, shade, sunscreens and green, we had settled near the splashing blue waters for a slow evening; watching the Cambridge skyline strewn against the unrelenting sun, trees in pink bloom and tinge of smoke from barbeques burning all around. Time had simply waddled along, as I read, warmed to the sun, played some Frisbee and lulled to the moment forgetting to let the mind think.

Sun burnt and lazed, we called it a day to gear up for the long drive back. And before I began to walk back, I had taken a slow moment to stand by the bridge and take in the arresting view and the life swarmed around this walking city, only to miss her even more than I ever had!

October Happenings

October is a month of transition; preparatory of no season, pertaining to no weather, just hangs in there to let go off the monsoons or fall, giving way to winter. And it may be for giving the month a reason to exist, that it homes festivities that are celebrated around the globe. Back home, it is the fanfare of navratri/dusherra/durga pooja. As a child I would look forward to those delicious sundals, dress up for kolattam and admire the niceties of golu.

This year too I was part of the fête, but of a mixed nature. My Sunday had begun with some experiments at making the sweet kesari. It was followed by efforts to replicate the customs for appeasing the goddess of knowledge saraswati. Her blessings were perfunctorily obtained by engraving all the known alphabets on a plate of raw rice with my finger tip. Like a novice, I had even tried out the few new tamil letters that I have picked up.

Contrastingly, the day had unwound over a finger chips lunch and ended with a huge cotton candy. We had decided to indulge in the do of Halloween, the navaratri counterpart of the west. And unlike the festival back home, Halloween is all about eerie awakenings, costume parties and making everything scary a happy ending. To enjoy the celebrations at its best, we headed to the town of Salem, following our little rendezvous with vijayadasami.

Salem is known for its association with the sixteenth century witchcraft trials, where the magic of broom stick dames and haunted house sagas come alive. The five blocks in the center of the town, were buzzing like a fair and the sunny crisp weather made it all the more fun. Having behaved like characteristic tourists, clicking snaps and posing for many, we had interlarded to taking the tour of the many little attractions the town harbored.

It began with the dark dungeons of the ‘Frankenstein’s laboratory’, where the monsters in black robes keep popping their devil heads through the winding horror movie styled alley and I had screamed and screeched myself silly. The next sojourn was the museums which told the history of the town and the witchcrafts through wax models. We also got to experience the ‘casting of spells’ first hand through a witching hour gimmick, put up by the practicing witches of the town.

Apart from these ghostly partaking, what I loved the most was the cobble stoned streets, lined with vividly decorated shops. They housed many ‘charming’ ingredients, witch hoods, pebbles, perfumes of unknown flavors, dry flowers, moonlit wall hangings, carved mirrors, mmystery chocolates and everything of a magical world. For many a moment it was like reliving wizard of Oz or incepts from Hogwarts.

I picked up a few souvenirs and made up my mind to come dressed the next year to blend into this little world away from mundane life. Before we knew, it was dusk and time to leave. It was with contended hearts and a fun day to remember we headed to the muggle world.

It’s all about the city

Last weekend I had been to NYC for the umpteenth time in two years. And like every trip, I am engulfed by the urge to move there and like every other time, I don’t let it get past my hometown-ish love for the bean town *. It is one of those most comprehensible feelings we share as an urbane human being, to never leave ones abode and the world around it.

The city that never sleeps has a passion for crowd, a swirl of glamour, a restaurant at every corner and a shelter for the many homeless. Amidst it outrageous resplendence and the tendency to never slow you down, can be the most chronic allure that any ardent new-Yorker can experience. And it is this tempo of life and the callousness that comes with it, which drives me away from living there.

I have, over the past many years, been a dweller of many cities and fallen in love with a handful. And yet like a hurt teenager, I have moved on to make the next city of appa’s transfer my new love. Amidst these transitions of six schools in thirteen years, I couldn’t, but wonder what makes a city more affable than the other?

On one hand are cities like Hyderabad, which in its distinct tastes of culture, harmlessly harassed ‘hindi’, ever crowded Charminar markets and a spicy unconventional cuisine; easily turned into my first love. However, seven years away, I am bound to be lost in the zillion changes a fast growing city like her is metamorphosing into.

On an uncanny contrast is the unfathomable stagnation of cities like Trivandrum, which still lives in the eighties. On my last visit to TVM, a month ago, I felt an ineffable guilt combined with joy to be in my home town and to see her senile and pastoral like I had always known her. Even the pace of life and the modes of them have remained untouched to distraction. And in her retiring age she will always remain beautiful to me.

And there are cities like ‘singara chennai’, so apt to be disliked, but can win you over in no time; a city still cultural with every aspect of a sixteenth century tradition, lined by the splendid marina and unblessed with heat and untimely monsoons; making her an aged beauty of changing times and everything old.

A class apart is addictive cities like Bombay, which amidst the grime and clamor makes an impression so bold that it is unquestionable. And going by is the city’s womb to hold its variegated population, a pedestal slum, lifeline metros and BEST buses; all contrasting the commendable yet magical fairy tales of bollywood and charming capitol.

Be it my favorite *Boston, or the sultry Madras or the million other cities I have not lived to be fervent about, there is always a warmth in the city’s alienisms and sense of belonging to its novelty. For the city is always open and over the years, she nurtures and grows with you. And when its time to move, it’s like leaving an old companion for a new one, who had always been your best listener who was generous enough to let you take her for a walk or a ride when you please. For the city is always permanent, it is we her cohorts who change.

West Coast Travelogue

It is summer and no better time of the year is this fruitful for making those scale of sojourns to various spots in this country; some truly worth the hype and others a mere replica of places of fun. I, carrying the zeal to mark my foot-prints as far as I can, as long as I am here, took me to the five days of beguilement to lands six hours away from Boston.

Enthused amidst the sore feet, ill fitted seats of delta, we were welcomed by the captivating resplendence of Las Vegas. This city carved out of a measly desert truly seemed to hold the saying right – “Money is always there. It is the pockets that change.” The unrest due to the one hour wait for check-in baggage was soon melted away on the night-out visit to few of the many lavish Casinos that adorn Vegas.

Yet, as it is about the vagaries of even the most planned trips, the heat of this land, with temperatures hovering around forty degrees Celsius made me experience Chennai all over again in its wildest summers. Hitherto, the materialistic magic of Vegas lingered on and we marched our way to the fantasy land of casinos in the burning sun. The way the vision of romantic places around the world (Paris, Rome, NY, Venice and many more) were captured in the architectural themes of the Casinos in the Strip Street was indeed an gawking experience.

How can Vegas be complete without gambling? The safe-players like me stuck to slot machines only to lose the inconspicuous sum I threw into them. An exorbitant lunch buffets; rounds of black jack and poker for the strong hearted; exhaustive casino hopping; fun road shows and fountain dances and later we had called it a day to retire early.

The much anticipated and advertised Sky Walk on the Grand Canyon was the plan of day two. The mini-van seating eight gave way to a two hour road trip of many monkeyshines and relentless laughter owing to Ambi’s spontaneity and Mithra’s unremitting efforts to get better with each new kadi. However the kaccha roads or the lack of them, leading to the sky walk, made the last hour of the journey a dusty and bumpy ride.

The heat had no mercy and this time we bore the brunt of soaring forty eight to brave not just the anvil of the sun but the dizzy walk on glass top, built right above 4000 feet of Grand Canyon. It was indeed a different experience to feel the picturesque Canyon in its majestic height; but the half constructed area around the Sky Walk and path leading to it did cut a sorry figure. It simply boiled down to my belief of USA’s business strategy to turn every habitual location to a place that mints money. Nevertheless, barring the heat, Grand Canyon was truly one of the wonders.

Day 3 began on a different note with comfortable temperatures and one hour flight from the LV to Los Angeles. We headed early to the Universal studios and moved on from one show to next, one ride to the next, dilly dallying our way through the winding infinite file of tourists like us. With the amiable sunny weather, our day unwound over 4D theatre shows, drama, visit to the set of all those awed movies like Jurassic Park and some imperative pett pooja in a timely fashion. I had particularly loved the shows of Shrek and Water World and the exhilarating ride of Mummy. Nevertheless, stealing the show was the house of terrors when the horror heroes came to life and made chicken hearts like me yell away! Many standard pictures taking and later it was time to catch that pending beauty sleep.

Saturday was a relaxed one and considering the trip was almost over, the inertia to return hung in each of us. Apart from the much talked of star walk and clay imprints of hands and feet of stars like Brad Pit, Hollywood didn’t seem as magical as portrayed. Nonetheless, the promenade in Santa Monica with good restaurants and classy shops was a pleasant one. What followed was the ever awaited swim in the beach and the shenanigans that go with it as a bunch of pals.

Being a first time for all of us, we had decided to indulge in some Persian food combined with Belly Dancers for the dinner at the end of the jaunt. The treats were done, expenses split, fun had; the voyage had come to an end. It was with heavy hearts that we returned the next day, half minded to work.

I, owing to some bad service, had to take the longest flight back home, traversing almost 12 hours with wait times included. The junket had left an impression on each of us, something I had felt a long while ago during school excursions. As I jet lagged and cribbed being back, I truly felt rejuvenated after the sought after break and the wonderful company of friends.

Boston – Sands of Time

Its summer-time; Boston is beguiling and beautiful as ever! It is a welcome respite from the light-thick-layers of warm clothes and the cottons and coolers are back. Though I love being in this “Bean Town” all year round, reticently I prefer the three summer months for reasons beyond the weather!

My exodus to this ‘walking city’ was a year ago, when my summer sojourn was made possible by the much unanticipated internship. Boston was my first big city and I had instantly fallen in love with the felicitous and serene pace of life, much unlike New York. Though my first month here had sans company, I had found a myriad of things to do and places to see and revived ‘me’ from ‘I’ walking the lively streets.

As the promenade was accompanied by a bunch of wonderful friends, Boston had smoothly transitioned to a second home. The jog by the scenic Charles, tranquil evenings by the reflecting pond, an office cube by the window on the majestic Prudential, lumbering tour of the museums, coffee shenanigans and poker, shopping for hours at Lechmere, dining at the gamut of restaurants, rocking the hard rock café were the little big raison d'être for making my rendezvous with Boston a very happy one.

This year, though living a few train stops away from the hub of the city, I have been making avail of the sunny weekends to horse around, owing to the never dying wont to stay out of house as much as possible! Last weekend we had lazed at the Carson beach and stayed in the sun enough to be tanned ten layers deep. What baffle me more is our voracious appetites to glutton French fries, muffins and onion rings at the beach; and later dine at P F Chan’s for that early supper.

As it is with all Asian restaurants we fare, the fortune cookies enclose those little notes of wit and morals. What ironically morales our dinner is reading out those notes to the table, footnoting it with “in the bed”. The ones from the last dinner simply marked the day –

Div: Every person is the architect of his or her own fortune …………….

N: An exciting opportunity lies ahead of you …………….

Size: Adventure can be real happiness ……………….

San: Two small jumps are sometimes better than a leap …………..

I guess nothing beats the facetious moments of sheer joy and mindless laughter and this was one of those.

Tryst with coffee

I don’t recall when the frothing cup of aromatic java had become an imperative part of customary mornings; but I do reminiscence the times as a child, when I would be refused the coffee stating it as a grown-up’s cup of tea! However, beyond disceptations of “coffee will turn u coffee-skinned”, I had turned myself into one among the gazillion lovers of the brown beverage and places that brew it.

My first encounter with coffee places was the rustic ‘Madras coffee house’ in Trivandrum. The much habitual pale steel dawara pedestal to the brimming tumbler of incense kapi was sipped amidst sultry ambiance and raucous ceiling fans above. As the commercial value of this vestigial drink gave way to Barista, Coffee day, Starbucks and a whole lot more I am unaware of, I too took to the much unanticipated coffee cupping of the sundry flavors that darn ‘hang-out’ with java.

Conversely, over the years, coffee places had woven pieces of a lifetime together, midst the warm cups. Going back to the appositely located coffee-day in Ispahani center at numgambakam, I am but traveling to rudimentary days of college life and how the mundane conversations over the obscenely priced cold coffee had shaped friendships that have come a long way. It makes me wonder why being the ever-broke student, sharing one cold coffee among a group of five and digging out crumpled notes and coins to share the brunt of the fat bills; had always made these little coffee-sojourns so very special.

Last evening I had spent a good hour, hiding from rains and sharing some laughter with friends at the regular Starbucks around the corner. It was not just the balmy ambience and the vagary of friend circle that made the experience different; I was ironically at a loss, though, each of us had grown beyond sharing one cup among us, to be able to afford a cup each. It made me realize that the only time one enjoys being bankrupt is the unmatched student life.

As I walked out, tarrying the smooth tang of cappuccino, letting the rainy weather take over the gripping nostalgia, I couldn’t but understand the uncanny relationship the brown beans and ever-lasting friendships shared; yet, in everyway my tryst with both of them is one of unparalleled joy.

A Niagara vacation

A Niagara vacation

The long weekend had begun with some customary practices by the MA traffic police. Having succumbed to the exorbitant speeding ticket, on the eight hour drive to Niagara, we were forced to keep to the speed limits on the temptingly empty roads. Upon reaching Niagara, flocked by a gazillion tourist, we too bore the brunt of long lines for the various ‘attractions’ on this man-intruded fury of nature.

My last visit to this place was almost a year ago, when we had foolishly settled for the go-to bus guided tour, a cheaper alternative provided by the enterprising Chinese immigrants. Sadly all I remembered about that journey was the annoying two hour wait in the claustrophobic bus for micturition; while Niagara from the last weekend had other surprises in store.

A zillion non-resident aliens and immigrants from India were swarming Niagara and its ambience. I was subtly reminded of the Russel Peter’s show, where he cued quite comically that the earth will soon be taken over by the multiplying Indian and Chinese population. I was further victim to the foreign feeling of the very hypocritical desi mentality, to irk at a junta of our own, conveniently ignoring the fact that the feeling is mutual. The sari, salwar-kameez clad, every second face in the crowd and streets laden with pani puri stalls, tediously made me feel at home, a feeling I didn’t want to have!

However, the picturesque falls with its roaring green waters, made this tryst with nature very special, away from other hiccups. I had thoroughly enjoyed the cave of the winds an innovative tourism gimmick when one pays to get wet in the Niagara. Various other conventional sojourns followed along the trolley ride, circumscribed within two miles of the majestic cascades. And not to forget, the tiresome trip was intermittently treated to some cliché dhaaba food.

As we prepared to leave this land woven out from rocks, forests and nothingness, a few facts about why the falls stand where they are took me off-guard. Man had controlled the gripping land slides to prevent further erosion of these imposing falls. Though carefully preserved as myths and notes of history, it made me wonder how is it that we humans had evolved to control the whims of nature and when is it that we have to give it up?

Drenched in New York

A brief five hour demanding and gruelling car ride and later, I was in for a surprise amidst the incessant thunder storms ; Last friday was my graduation day scheduled and conducted in the sea wolves football ground, allowing our crisp blue graduation robes to be sufficiently soaked in the unremitting rains lashing the east coast. The red plastic make-shift rain coats, titled 'State University of New York at Stony Brook', were hardly a respite for the frostiness of the weather. It made me wonder if the eeire murky skies and the outdoor ceremony was the last straw to my meagre attachment to the institution.

However, as the unexpectedly gelid rainy day in spring unwound over the graduation spirit and friends and family made the day a special one, I was contended with the twenty second walk down the aisle accompanied by the silly enthusiasm to smile for the camera. It was a satisfied me, who drove away from the infamously memorable and bathed graduation, carrying in my heart the eulogy delivered at the observance " The students have braved the dark clouds to make the sun shine at the graduation !"

What followed over the weekend was the tuckered out sojourn of NY city and equally humdrum subway rides. Though boasting of being an eighteen month dweller in NY state, I had never done justice to the concrete wonders of the man-made world of NY City. Unable to wean away from the rains, an awashed expedition of the commiserate WTC site, rich wall street, thirty second ride up the elevators to the zenith of the Rock-a-feller center and the gawking walk along the respledent times square, made a safe harbour of the NY City trip.

Continuing the zealous journey, I had the chance to visit a wonder of the world, 'The statue of liberty' on Sunday. The cleared skies and warm weather availed my tourist spirit after two doused days. Having clicked a gambit of pictures and treated myself to some oily pipping hot onion rava dosa at 'Saravana' on 26th street, I burped placatedly on my way back from the captivatingly callous city to the one that makes me feel at home.

An evening at the Charles

It was a perfectly facetious evening I spent yesterday with my friends over a cup of tea. As I cautiously dipped the parle-G in the piping hot tea, tacitly removed the biscuit before it softens enough to sink, and let it smoothly crumble in my mouth; I couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of neutrality and peace the cold evening, blue skies, the shimmering yellow sun through the window, the lazy couch, the munch-able potato chips and the company of friends provided!

As a torpid hour or two of levity passed, we decided to take a stroll to the scenic Charles River. Thanks to the birth of spring, the sun continued to shine late upto 7 pm, prolonging the evening with ease. The promenade extended over the street laden with shops and restaurants that told anecdotes of my stay in Boston in the summer of 2006. It brought a freezing smile on my face, owing to the biting wind that had engulfed the city after the latest snow storm. We trudged our way through the icy footpath, enjoying the chillness a pile of white snow emanates, which to my experience offers softness, much unlike a cruelly cutting breeze.

I had never experienced Charles and the pathway for joggers next to the river, this white and beautiful before! My memories race back ten months ago, when my attempts to jog were accompanied by the greenery and gambit of joggers flooding the tracks. The ducks that waded smoothly on the little streams of the river that I loved watching from the bridges connecting pathways were now missing due to the frozen waters. The yellow sun was now scintillating the semi-frozen river with an orange-ish tint that reflected to envelope the sky crapes lining the river bed with atmost elegance. I stepped on to the wooden dock, now smothered with snow, fondly remembering the summery warm weather when I spent many hours waddling my feet in the waters below, seated on the wooden dock. I breathed in the nothingness, the crystal clear purity of the waters below, the line of dazzling tall buildings erected on the other side, the crimson sky succumbing to the fierce sun and the soothing chillness … I wondered only if life was just as perfect as an evening like this one!!