Category Archives: Musings
Musings: When In Hawai’i, Why Not Jump Out of A Plane?
A very long time ago — nearly a decade, I’d reckon — Meena and I were really bored in Switzerland, so we decided to jump out of a plane, much to our parents’ intercontinental horror. (We made the mistake of telling them before we actually took the plunge, and had them stressing via phone for hours.)
I’d like to say that this was a youthful indiscretion, a move made by an earlier, younger and perhaps stupider incarnation of myself. But I can’t. Because a few days ago, I took a similar leap of faith — and this is despite the fact that I have a toddler and no life insurance.
I’d like to blame it all on my brother. See, during our two-week Hawai’i adventure, he was celebrating his 28th birthday. And to take stock, he decided to put his life on the line and jump out of a plane at 12,000 feet. After all, what better place is there to do that than Hawai’i? Veteran skydiver Navdeep, who’d jumped twenty-plus times during his days in the Army, said he’d join him. So how could I resist reviving the latent dare devil in me. It’s been a while since she was roused, but I couldn’t help it. I just couldn’t let them go without me.
This time, though, we played it smarter. Knowing the flack and outright resistance we’d get from our parents, who were on the trip with us, we decided to leave them out of the loop until after the fact. So we told them we were off to Chinatown for a morning food tour, knowing full well no one else on the trip would be interested in such an outing.
I have to confess, I’d given a sleeping Kavi about a zillion kisses before I left.
At 7 a.m. on the morning of the 26th, the day after Christmas, we jumped on a shuttle which took us to Skydive Hawaii, some forty minutes away in the North Shore area of Oahu. As we signed our lives away on Skydive Hawai’i's incredibly thorough waiver form — the footer on each page boldly reminding us that skydiving could lead to injury or death — oddly, none of us were nervous. Just excited. That waned a little bit as we waited more than four hours to jump, but in the end, as we donned our gear and our small but sturdy Cessna aircraft climbed to 12,000-plus feet above the Pacific ocean, it was so worth it.
We flew for a good 15 minutes, the fresh Pacific breeze washing over us through the open door of the air craft. I didn’t know it before I climbed in, but I’d be the first to jump. And I wasn’t even anxious. My tandem diver Lyle and my photographer Rod and their pals were cracking jokes and rough-housing, and when I wasn’t busy gaping at the incredible view, I would turn back to look at Navdeep and Tarun, who were not far behind me.
Then it was time to make the leap. I had done this once before — in the Alps, no less — but if you’re gonna jump out of a plane at 12,000 feet and 120 miles per hour, Hawai’i is the way to go. You can’t beat this view — the ocean roaring before you, Diamond Head and the other Oahu mountains in the backdrop, the outline of the Earth clearly visible. It’s moving. It’s amazing. It’s literally breathtaking.
Checkout the video!
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Musings: Osama Bin Laden is Dead. Now What?
Celebrating the Death of Osama Bin Laden in Time Square.
Over the weekend, Sona had a journalism conference near Grand Central, so I met her afterwards for dinner. And it was a lovely day, so we decided to go for a long walk, randomly ending up in Chinatown. And equally as random, we decided to walk to the World Trade Center PATH station, something we never do. And the only reason we did was because we didn’t want to stop in Hoboken (the other PATH line to Jersey City stops there for a good ten minutes).
Ever since I’ve been in New York, the area immediately surrounding the World Trade Center PATH stop has been fenced up with massive billboards and images of a projected futuristic Jetsons-like renovation planned. We were in a typical New York mood as we made our way to the PATH: happy it had been such a great day, chatty, but tired from all the walking. That changed pretty quickly. Behind us we heard a father attempting to explain to his two young children what the explosion had done, not just to the twin towers, but to many of the surrounding buildings, and what the renovations were going to look like. But the kids just weren’t getting it. We crossed the street just as one of the kids asked why the explosion had taken place in the first place. And it’s a question that we will inevitably have to talk to Kavya about in a few years, and something we don’t fully understand ourselves.
Musings: Closure At A Cost?
Yesterday, Navdeep and I grabbed dinner in Chinatown and decided to take the World Trade Center Path back to Jersey City.
It was about 11 p.m., and the place was as crowded as it always was with tourists and travelers and locals making their way home through the crowd and the construction on the World Trade Center Memorial, which has been in the works for nearly a decade.
We were walking hand-in-hand toward the Path stop, and we overheard some parents “explaining” 9/11 and its impact to their kids, who must have been around eight and ten. And it’s weird, thinking that you can just explain something like that. Because really, it’s been nearly ten years, and I still don’t get it.
Tonight, I woke up from an extended post-ASJA conference nap to see major news breaking on Twitter. Yes, I found out about the death of Terrorist Number One Osama bin Laden on Twitter, via my iPhone.
The news shook me. Even to this day, almost ten years after the fact, I can’t go to the World Trade Center Path without pretty much tearing up. That’s sort of pathetic, but I think it’s understandable. This was perhaps the defining moment of a generation, the one that will stay with us — the one where we’ll always remember exactly where we were when it happened. It’s left a gaping hole in my city, and also somewhere inside me.
And yet, I can’t get into the crowds chanting and cheering at the WTC or the White House. As much pain and suffering the man caused in so many lives, it still feels odd to celebrate a death. It does, though, bring a sense of closure.
But also, ten years later, it brings more worry. I have a baby who is 14-months old. We live across the river from the World Trade Center. All the patriotism that’s being shown on TV and the Internet and all over the media will no doubt reignite some of that anti-American sentiment that has always been simmering. Will we face the wrath of that again. I worry for my family and my country in the wake of this celebratory night.
The impact of Sept. 11 is still with all of us — whether you were in New York, California or watching on TV from across the planet. I hope this closure doesn’t come at an even bigger cost.
Photo: WTCProgress/Flickr
Musings: Independent Travel . . . With Children?
I finally got my computer in good enough shape to edit this video and the last bit made me smile. Watch it and you’ll see what I mean. We were staying at this coffee plantation in Madikeri, Karnataka, and took a side trip to see the Dubare Elephant Camp. On the ride there, we met Paul and Kirsten Thompson, a couple from New Zealand, who we instantly took a liking to because we thought they were absolutely bonkers in the best way possible.
They were on a 10 week holiday in India with not one kid, not two, but three. And the names of the children were just brilliant: Merlin, Felix, and Rumi. Merlin, the youngest, was 2, and looked like I’d imagine Merlin the magician to look like at that age, complete with long, wavy blonde hair. Rumi, the eldest was 7, with Felix smack in the middle at about 4! And I remember thinking that this is really encouraging. The spirit of independent travel need not be crushed just because you have children.
Rumi and Navdeep
I got on famously with the eldest kid, Rumi, who we got on camera hosting this video. He did a bang up job too in his cape! What I was really impressed by was how adaptable these kids were, and as cliched as it sounds, how worldly and intelligent Rumi and Felix were. Felix had this really funny way of asking questions. His mum and dad had told him to stop interrupting people and to say “Excuse me,” before speaking. So, armed with “excuse me,” he would interrupt every conversation by repeatedly saying, “Excuse me, ” followed by, “I have a question.” Some of the questions were really interesting, some were entertaining, but most went absolutely nowhere. Rumi was much more reserved and poignant in his observations, and asked really incisive questions. Merlin enjoyed just traipsing about in shoes much too big for him.
Sona was particularly fascinated with what the kids ate and we were both duly impressed that they ate plenty of Indian food, from dosas to dhokla, but stayed away from the usuals: street food using potentially unsanitary water. Although eating unsanitary street food is the most delicious part of India (or any country really), I can’t imagine traveling for a limited amount of time, with three kids who have dodgy tummies or worse! The reason Sona found it so interesting is a) unbeknownst to me, she was thinking about this baby business in “at least a year.” Notice my nervous laughter at the end of the video and the abrupt blank look on my face when Paul mentioned the word, “quantity.” That expression should be right next to a visual dictionary definition for the word “gobsmacked.” And b) Sona’s travels to India never involved street food. This rule about no street food, inflicted by her parents, extended from infancy all the way till past her twenties! Sona’s mother used to pack food like Macaroni and Cheese and cereal for Sona’s brother because he refused to eat Indian food in India. He was nine years old!
I, on the other hand, didn’t know any better. I didn’t know there was another option. I was 2 weeks old when we left England to go to Tanzania, and from there Nigeria, the U.A.E., and of course America. Having been raised in several different countries from such a young age, I thrive in being put into a situation I might not be familliar with. This made traveling in China and communicating with people for things like toilet paper, or cold water using dodgy sign language, not such a big deal. I am very adapatable to different food and customs. My sister, who was much more cognizant of how different the places were from “home,” likes to use the word “adventurous.”
Before travelling with Sona, it was something I’d taken for granted. I don’t get cravings for comfort food and I don’t get nostalgic for that sense of home.But these days, a sense of home is much easier to come by than it was even a few years ago. You’re constantly connected to some version of the familliar. There are bars in Tibet, discos in Nepal, Pizza Hut in China, upscale dining in India, and internet cafes (not to mention wireless cards) all over the world.
Sona and Navdeep Have a Baby!
As a father to a one-year-old, I often think of Paul and Kirsten, and about our next big adventure. Our six month backpacking adventure was a lot of fun, but it was much different to my solo travels. My solo travels were a lot more dangerous, although we did take a really sketchy 15 hour local bus ride in the middle of the night to Srinagar. Travelling with Sona, constantly being together day in and day out, really deepened our understanding of India, of each other, and much later we realized, of ourselves.
I always thought of getting married and having kids as an end to independent travel, exchanging that backpack for a nice carry-on, and being one of those geeky tourists that think they’ve travelled to a country because they booked a ten day tour to the “best” sites. But getting married certainly didn’t have that effect, and thanks to Paul and Kirsten and their trio of swashbucklers, neither will having kids. So, as to the question of quantity? Three sounds like a nice number.
Musings: The Six Oddest Places We Slept in India
Imagine waking up to this view everyday!
Traveling in India for six months, we had our fair share of odd experiences — but the most interesting seemed to be when it was time to rest our weary heads. From bumpy buses and crowded trains to a thatched hut on the beach, here’s a round-up of the six oddest places we slept in India.
The Beach Hut In Goa
Honestly, it was as awesome as it sounds. A thatched-roof hut with poles sunk into the warm beach sand. It contained just a bed and a chair and a functioning, American-style bathroom (very necessary). As soon as we stepped outside, we could see, smell, and even taste the ocean! It was perfect for lounging, swimming or having a casual, Goan Feni-soaked afternoon. Dinnertime was a candlelit meal of fresh seafood and locally grown veggies, a picnic right there on the sand. It was the first time we discovered, even dinner could be haggled for! (And breakfast was chocolate corn flakes for Navdeep. But only once. Turns out, it was regular old corn flakes with chocolate syrup on them! Ew!) Can’t wait to come back.
The Tree House In Periyar
We may have missed the elephants and tigers and bears on our safari in Periyar, but the three nights we spent camping out in the treehouse at Carmelia Haven made the trek worth it. It was amazing — an actual tiny little one-room house in a tree, with little windows overlooking the garden, and a giant bed taking up most of the space. Sure, we didn’t have our own bathroom and it wasn’t nestled in the middle of the forest, as some within the grounds of the conservation area were, but it was a unique and amazing experience just the same.
The Barracks at the Golden Temple
We have family in Amritsar, so we didn’t really need other accommodations there. But once we learned that you could actually stay at the Golden Temple, we had to experience it for ourselves. So, we showed up in our Indian attire at the reservations booth and Navdeep asked for a room in Punjabi. We were given one, sure, but it was not quite what I was expecting. It was dormitory style without lockers, and squat toilets. Shared squat toilets. I saw a rat scurrying about and looked pleadingly at Navdeep. Did I mention that we were there for my birthday? Navdeep took pity on me (not that he had much choice), and we gave it another go. This time, we dressed as backpackers, him in jeans and T-shirt, me in a long flowy skirt and we both wore bandanas. We were immediately given another room, this time a large, airy suite with a private bath and balcony. All for 50 rupees a night! And right at the foot of the Golden Temple. It was an absolutely magical experience.
The Beach-Front Cottage In Puri
We were only in Puri for one day — we stayed there overnight when was stopped to see the amazing Sun Temple in Konark Bhubaneshwar, which is intricately carved with poses straight out of the Kama Sutra. Once we arrived at the lovely, airy, immaculately-kept Z hotel, a old, rambling palace, we wished we’d given ourselves more time in the area. We wandered the storied beach at the Bay of Bengal before settling into our, which was huge and breezy, with a four-poster bed and a view of the sea. One point to note, though: this is a tourist hotel, which means when we called to reserve a room and spoke in Hindi, there was no availability. However, when I called five minutes later and spoke in English, with a clear American accent, suddenly a room was available. Go figure.
The Bumpy, Stinky, Squishy Bus to Jamu-Kashmir
If you think sleeping on a plane is rough, you’ve clearly never tried 0vernighting it on a non-deluxe bus in India. We spent 15 hours stuffed into a 15-inch two-seater on a shock absorber-less clunker that sputtered more than 1000 miles from Pathankot into Kashmir. The bus — on which I was the only female — made an unexplained late-night stop for several hours in the middle of a bridge, with water on either side of us. And there was no bathroom, so, I awoke from one fitless stretch of sleep to several men, lined up in a row outside my window, peeing on the bus. That’s right, on the bus. Fun times. Later, of course, we learned that the equivalent flight would have cost a mere $50 and run 90-minutes. So obviously, we winged it back to New Delhi.
The Houseboat in Kashmir
The houseboat experience in Srinagar, Kashmir, was amazing — though very different from the one we had in Kerala. This was more like a literal home on a boat, one that was docked at one edge of Dal Lake. It had a real bedroom, dining room (complete with china cabinet), terrace, the works. We stayed for four nights and enjoyed traditional Kashmiri curries and biryanis, lounged on the terrace as salesmen on shikaras floated by with their wares, and watched locals row by in their shikaras, going about their business, selling veggies, shawls, or heading off to school.
Musings: Maybe Baby? In Response to That Ticking Clock
I should have known when I hit 30 that it would start. In fact, given that my own mother handed me that scary New York magazine cover story about freezing your eggs—you know, just in case — I should have expected it a lot sooner.
Still, considering the place that Navdeep and I are in at this moment in time, the floaty, fleeting nature of both our careers, trying to establish ourselves as writers and get published, and even just trying to figure out which coast to live on, I was hardly ready for it.
No, I’m not pregnant. But it seems like everyone around me has babies on the brain. Navdeep may not have noticed it, but while we were traveling in India, meeting new relatives, the question came up a lot. We’ve been married for about a year-and-a-half now, and by Indian standards, that’s plenty of alone time. People just didn’t seem to grasp what we’re waiting for.
Sometimes I wonder, too. After all, the proverbial clock is ticking away. And you always hear people say that there will never be a right time. But there is a such thing as a very wrong time, isn’t there? We had the adventure of a lifetime with our honeymoon trip to India, but now that we’re back in the U.S., it’s time to sort ourselves out. We’ve got big plans to get moving with our writing, but we’ve also got to figure out basics, like where to live and how to pay the rent. I’ve already got a short-term gig at People, and by May, Navdeep will don his Professor Dhillon persona once again. We’ll get back into life the daily grind, get our act together, and start to feel like real adults.
But yesterday another pal-o-mine announced that she was pregnant, bringing the count up to four friends at once. And it makes me feel a bit wistful, pause and think ‘Maybe…” But I know that, for us, now is not the time. Not only are we not settled — as much as Navdeep and I hate the word — we still haven’t had enough couple time. We’ve got big dreams, and we’ve got the ambition, intelligence and drive to achieve them. And one day, soon enough, we’ll have our own big, happy family to share our successes with.
Neither of us are strangers to travel, but we are very different travelers. Navdeep can brush aside a cockroach from his food and continue eating. Sona flies into hysterics at any creepy-crawlies (real or imagined) within a ten mile radius. 
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