At home in New York

A delightful Sunday read which appeard in the DNA Sunday edition:

Much has been made about us Indians becoming forces to reckon with globally. Aur jee hanh zaroor, we’re surely represented by rabbit-like-multiplying numbers. There was a honeymooning couple speaking Mani Ratnamish Tamil in the golden walled elevator of the uppercrust Plaza hotel (I was just riding up and down to get the swank feel). A pebbles’s throw away, the mega-fun shop Toys ‘R’ Us is sprinkled with inter-racial couples snapping up Spielbergian rubber dinosaurs, Disney’s Mickey Mice and big grinning panda bears which will have to suffer the ignominy of being scanned for suspected detonating devices by the X-ray machines at the JFK, Newark or Le Guardia airport terminals. Whatever man, whatever. And Asha Bhosle is with me in the yellow-‘n’-black taxi rattled by a Bangladeshi, drowning the police car’s hoots with a tape of the Umrao Jaan classic, “Yeh kya jageh hai doston.” Apt, very apt.

American pals promise to treat me to a sit-down dinner, I want Greek or Vietnamese. They suggest that Indian cuisine is the thing to do, so we do. They’re picking up the tab, after all., The vibrant New York magazine informs that Saravanaas is the table to be at, serving “thalis, round metal trays ringed by small metal bowls are the ultimate combination plate and a great way to experience this spartan southern Indian restaurant’s satisfying vegetarian fare. Dosas are a delight: seasoned crépes made from fermented rice and lentil flours, filled with mashed spiced potatoes, onions, raisins and nuts.” Deliciousam.

Aiyyo, but when we get there, the eatery is more stuffed than the highlighted dosas. No entry. We do Greek then. And next morning it’s back to the run, amigo, run sprint in Manhattan. Incorrigibly, as I ask for directions again, the blonde in a business suit smiles radiantly, “You Indian?”