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Papa in the City: Slinging it to Coney Island!

September 22, 2014 by Navdeep Leave a Comment

August. First day of my classes. Kavya still has three days before her summer ends. It’s ten in the morning. Kavya welcomes me home dressed in her bathing suit. “Papa, the bulb in the corridor is confused,” she says, a feeling I can relate to. I’ve already abruptly shifted out of glorious summer mode, with the usual first week of the semester things to do: creating and updating syllabi, course schedules, grading preliminary essays. Wearing pants, so I can effectively lay down the law in the classroom.

Kavya pulls my face down and adds, “So, let’s go.”

It takes me a few minutes to realize she’s talking about Coney Island. I’d mentioned it in passing with intentional vagueness and a non-committal, “one of these days,” while we were both hanging upside down on the sofa earlier in the week, discussing a range of things, from deep philosophical ideas of such thinkers as Sofia the First, Doc McStuffins, and Daniel Tiger, moving on to our favorite ice-cream flavor (anything with mint). At some point in the conversation, the beach was mentioned, and I must have said that since we don’t have a car, the only beach we could potentially get to would be Coney Island by subway and PATH train. This apparently translated in Kavya’s head to: CONEY ISLAND, NOW!

Things I know about Coney Island: there is a boardwalk with rollercoasters and rides. A beach. It’s accessible by subway. Last stop on the F or D. Two hour commute. No idea how long of a walk it is to the beach from the station and it doesn’t strike me as a particularly toddler friendly place. According to Sona, who has also never been, but has watched movies and read YA from the 80s set in Coney Island, people die there. Syringes on the beach. Panic at the disco.

Sona is working on copyedits of her novel, Tiny Pretty Things at a coffeeshop like some kind of writer, so it’ll just me and the kids. On two trains. At the beach. Getting lost. I mean, not getting lost. I have a split decision to make: stay home with them and attempt to do some work, or go on a beach adventure and decidedly get nothing done. Obviously I make the practical choice: I violently throw my bag on the floor, raise both arms, yell “Beach Day!” and then do a little bhangra in the kitchen, to which Shaiyar Singh lets out his toothless grin, drags his little sausage legs across the floor towards where I am. Kavya jumps up and down excitedly in her frilly swimming costume.

Shaiyar Singh sits up, pounds his fists on the floor. I lift him up and sling little King Kong, his tiny feet dangling on the sides, eyes looking up at me, grinning. I grab the diaper bag, a beach tote bag Sona sorted out before she left for the coffee shop, with a yellow towel, change of clothes for both kids, snacks, and sandwiches for me and Kavya. Thanks Sona!

Proper social etiquette dictates that Kavya change out of her swimsuit and into proper clothes for the subway ride. We’re high society. All so she can change back into her swimsuit as soon as we get to the beach. Before we leave, I half-heartedly ask her to change. “Do I have to?” she says. I ponder this. Most people wouldn’t consider this a quandary and a good parenting response would be Yes, yes you do. “Nah,” I say and off we go, sauntering out onto the streets of Jersey City, ready for a day full of adventure, trains, sand, ocean, and most importantly – fun.

Here’s how our adventure went (Spoiler alert: it was awesome!):

The NYPD making sure all the sandcastles are up to code.

Sand Angels. It's the latest craze. All the kids are doing it. Or maybe just us. . . — Sand Angels. It’s the latest craze. All the kids are doing it. Or maybe just us. . .

Not pleased about this water. — The superheroes will be right here if you need us. Staying dry.

Not happy with the Men's bathroom — Not happy with the Men’s bathroom

Doesn't take much to make this kid happy. Changing Table Lottery! — Doesn’t take much to make this kid happy. Changing Table Lottery!

We couldn't leave without eating at the ORIGINAL Nathan's Hot Dog's — We couldn’t leave without eating at the ORIGINAL Nathan’s Hot Dog’s

Back in Jersey City safe and sound, running on the road. The usual. — Back in Jersey City safe and sound, running on the road.

I was quite surprised at just how kid friendly Coney Island is, and how easy it is to get to on the subway. We took the PATH train from Jersey City into Manhattan, grabbed the D train and went all the way to Coney Island. Inside the station, there are little shops selling sand buckets and other beach gear, a mock lifeguard station setup with sand all around, and artwork on the walls using shells. As soon as we walk outside, we can smell the beach, salt, sea, and plenty of fried food. Kavya is conflicted between the large Nathan’s Original Hot dog place on our right, and an ice-cream shop to the left. “Ice cream lunch?” I say, and that’s that.

We take the short walk towards the boardwalk, pass a massive roller coaster, take a turn and before we know it, we’ve got sand in-between our toes. There’s a little playground thing as soon as we enter the beach. It’s got a slide, swing set, and other things to entertain little kids who don’t want to go in the water. On the other side is a palm tree with a little kiddie oasis: there’s sand, and manageable water splashing from the top of the tree. Kavya was on a mission to go to the beach, so we skipped right past it, went all the way to the front row, plopped our things down, and went into FUN TIME MODE, starting with playing with sand, making sand angels, running, swimming, and smashing ourselves against the waves.

On our way off the beach, we stopped by the palm tree oasis, where Kavya proceeded to clean her feet, get them dirty again, clean them again, and by the end of it, they were sandier than they had been at the beach. And somehow, Shaiyar hoisted on my shoulders, managed to get sand in my beard, which Kavya gleefully pointed out to me, Shaiyar, and anyone within earshot. The men’s room was a bit of a madhouse, but in a corner was a changing table, and hoses and things outside to wash your feet right outside.

We’re across the street from the subway station. Shaiyar is in the sling, fed, and grinning at Kavya. We have another telepathic moment. “Hot Dogs?”she says.We walk to the Nathan’s Original Hot Dog place, which is massive, and large beers. Kavya gets on her tip-toes to squirt ketchup, decides she loves mustard, adds some, decides she hates it, then insists me and her “exchange” hot dogs.

Coney Island is very easily accessible, and surprisingly it’s kid-friendly. This was very much a fly by the seat of our pants trip. Next time, with a bit more planning, we’ll definitely hit up some of the Russian food in the area. Beach and BORSHT.

Anyone been to Coney Island with kids? How was your experience?

Date Night in Union Square, Where We Discover the Lost Art of Sitting Down and Doing Nothing

October 14, 2013 by Navdeep Leave a Comment

Whenever we’ve had the occasional date night, it’s usually been for some specific event in the City, and it’s always family we trust who has watched Kavya: her Massi in Manhattan. Sona’s parents in New Jersey. So when Sona bought a groupon for Project Playdate near Union Square, we were both a bit skeptical about whether Kavya would stay there for the entire time, even though it’s run by professional nannies (whatever that means). It sounded reasonable enough: “a three-hour pajama party filled with activities such as arts and crafts, story time, dancing, and a feature film. A dinner of all-natural, whole-food pizza is included.”

Kavya is excited about the pajama party and thought it was funny she was dressing up in sleepwear to go out. We find the place without any problem. We sign in, linger around for a few minutes, until one of the nannies leads Kavya up a short set of stairs and into what I’m presuming is the playroom. It’s the strangest feeling leaving Kavya there without either of us on hand. At night. It’s like the first time we dropped her off at daycare and peered through the window like street children. This time, there is nothing to peer into. We leave the stroller there, walk outside, cross the street, and look at the building. We have no idea what to do with ourselves without the stroller. It’s night time. There’s a glow of street lights.

The only logical thing to do is to walk the couple blocks to Union Square. It’s familiar stomping grounds for Kavya, and of course, us. Always daytime or early evening. She’s been coming here since before she could crawl. She knows where the park is, can point out where the Hari Krishnas are supposed to be doing their bhajans,and became animated when she saw white Sikhs doing yoga. “Just like Daadu,” she’d said as soon as she saw the familiar turbans, even if my father isn’t the most traditional yoga practitioner. He watches CNN or FOX in the background as he “meditates” and does headstands in the living room.

She knows the best place to take naps, and loves dancing to the musical performances in the middle of the square. Bagpipes and drums, folk songs, some guy juggling. She will dance to anything. When the weather is warm, music abounds and sometimes there are people with massive, soapy bubble contraptions. When it becomes colder, Kavya knows it’s hot chocolate season at the farmer’s market, followed by, or preceded by an outing to the Strand Bookstore.

As we’re walking towards Union Square, for once, we don’t have to consider what Kavya wants to eat. And yet, we still decide on tacos, one of her favorite things to eat. We go to a brightly colored restaurant on our way called Tortaria. They make the guacamole fresh. We pop into the place and it is packed, with reddish lights inside and outside. We decide to have a little night picnic date by getting our food to go and sitting on the steps near the Subway station, where everyone plays chess and congregates. Sona ruffles through the bag and takes out the tacos, a mix of beef, chicken, and fish with spicy guacamole. And boy was it spicy!

There’s this guy sitting next to us by himself with a bag from Duane Reade. He starts ruffling through it and scarfs down cherry tomatoes straight from the box. A girl sits down next to him. They talk about a friend who lives in Sheepshead Bay, whose commute into the City is hell. He offers her a cheese stick. She declines, so he rips through the packaging and eats through four in a row. He moves on to the celery, which is more of a challenge, but he manages to gnaw through it like he’r ripping apart a small animal, freshly killed. Then he takes out a huge can of beer and they both share swigs of it. Me and Sona are just finishing our tacos. A bloke sets up shop near the statue of Washington. He walks by us with a sign that reads, “6’7” Jew will rap for you.” I never got to hear him rap, but I was pleased to see a crowd amassed around him, mostly just chatting with him.

Meanwhile, Sona is fidgeting about, trying to figure out what else to do, now that the food is all gone and our objective is unclear. There’s an hour left before we need to pick up Kavya. Rather than traipse around somewhere else, we decide to just chill out. She doesn’t have to dig anything out of Kavya’s bag, or be in Mum mode. She isn’t thinking about deadlines, or interviews she has do. And for once, both of our phones are put away. The moment is entirely ours. I’m enjoying the fresh, breeze, and just sitting down and doing nothing. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t thinking about deadlines, grading, emails, or being in Papa mode. Or just sat down.

People often assume that New Yorkers are always in the on position, busy, rushing to and from places, unfamiliar with the act of sitting down and relaxing. It’s undeniably a part of City Life. When we first started dating years ago, we’d take the subway all over the City, and like clockwork a full five minutes before our stop, Sona would tense up and leave a perfectly good seat, just to be closer to the doors, regardless of whether it was completely empty of crowded. It was instinctual. Then she’d bolt out of there like a marathon runner. The first few times I followed in panic, afraid I would lose her if I didn’t hustle. But slowly, the mosey along Californian in me emerged, and she’d always get grumpy when I’d sit sprawled out on the seat until the doors actually opened. Now she’s much more relaxed about that sort of thing. If she manages to get a seat, she’s not moving from it unless she has to. When we can, we even take the train going in the opposite direction just so we can get a seat and sit next to each other. Nobody enjoys taking their time more than Kavya, or yapping it up with anyone.

Power-walking is often one of the most cited characteristics of a New Yorker, contrasted with the obnoxious tourists who walk incredibly slowly and abruptly stop in the middle of busy streets. Sona’s brother and sister powerwalk everywhere in the City and have a specific objective in mind when they leave their flat.The first time I went out with Tarun, my brother-in-law, it was the oddest, most organized beer run I’ve ever been on. We didn’t talk much, just power-walked to the liquor store that he’d found exact directions to with his iphone. We came back to the flat and then relaxed. In that order. But there are certain parts of the City that lend themselves to lounging about more than others.

It always astonishes me to see people relaxed amidst the circus of rush hour. There’s no room to move or breathe, yet somehow people manage to pull out paperbacks, hardcovers, or ebooks and start reading through like it’s perfectly normal. I have yet to master this New York skill. I usually just glare during my commute, and elbow my way out the doors to freedom above ground.

Trust us, there’s a water tank up there!

After we got used to the idea of Kavya doing her own thing, we looked up at the sky to try and see the stars. No luck. But Sona did spot an oddly placed water tank above the Whole Foods. We just sat on the steps, enjoying each other’s company. And most importantly, sitting and not doing a thing.

When we went to pick up Kavya, we asked her all about her pajama party and she couldn’t stop yapping about what she did, or about how it was the weekend, which in her mind is anytime she gets to stay up past her bedtime. We walked around Union Square in the evening, when she should have been knackered from the activities. Of course she was brimming with energy, so we took the really long way back to the train station, talking the entire way about deep things, like the issues facing Strawberry Shortcake this week, or belting out renditions of opening theme songs from shows Kavya watches. With all those calories being burned, we had to stop in and get some gelato. Had to. I ordered the stracciatella. She somehow heard crackers, and was quite jealous of my gelato the entire ride home until she passed out on my shoulders, and we carried her in. Everyday should be the weekend.

Deciding to Go: Instead of Traveling Around Greece, We Are Going On A Babymoon to an All Inclusive Resort in the Dominican Republic. Same Thing, Really.

August 30, 2009 by Navdeep 3 Comments

Sometimes, all you want to do is take a nap. In a different country.

We’re in the midst of planning a two month trip to Greece when we find out we we’re pregnant. Technically, it’s just Sona, but this “we” being pregnant is how you’re supposed to phrase it, to convey unity, even though I’m not the one with morning sickness.

We try to rationalize how it’s no big deal to be two months pregnant and stay in a cave, in an area known for being in the path of an active volcano, or how going up and down the steps of Santorini on a donkey is totally normal. “I bet pregnant women in Santorini do it all the time,” I say with much confidence. The case is dismissed. Clearly, we need to work on this whole unity thing.

It is a difficult decision to axe our mini adventure because it signifies our official entrance into the world of being responsible adults. We’re in our early 30s, we shouldn’t have to think about things like that. I bet we’re still on some mailing lists for warehouse parties in Brooklyn and San Francisco. Pretty sure.

A few weeks after the only way I know how to travel goes splat, Sona introduces me to the term, “Baby Moon.” The way most parenting websites define it, it’s your last opportunity to spend time as a couple before the baby arrives and everything goes to hell. Except the magic of life and all that. We’ll keep you updated on how that goes. It’s a very depressing way of looking at it. I’d rather look at it for what it is: a lovely new beginning, a chance to introduce a little human being to the world through our eyes.

Then Sona brings up the idea of a fucking all-inclusive resort and the “everything goes to hell” part makes perfect sense. When Sona first brought up the idea of an all inclusive resort package in the Dominican Republic for the baby moon, I thought she was making one of those American jokes she sometimes makes. I laugh. I even hold my belly to indulge her. Then terror strikes at my core. We do some research on alternatives, but ultimately I am faced with a terrible dilemma. Go on an all-inclusive. Or sit at home.

After much research, we decided on Majestic Elegance Resort in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, which we bought from Costco of all places, along with a year’s supply of butter (not really). Mainly because it seemed like a good deal. And we’re all about good deals. The flying time was short. The deal: $699 for flights per person, including taxes, transportation to and from airport (no public transportation for us fancy people!), a fancy room, with a beach, two swimming pools, cabanas, all within steps of our room. Restaurants of all sorts, and alcohol is included. While Sona eats for two, I’ll be drinking for two.

This is the strangest Deciding to Go post because technically we’re traveling to a different country. If we did lists of places, we could scratch off the Dominican Republic. But really there will be no cultural immersion, not any sights, not even Dominican food, unless it’s some watered down resort food. It’s more about me and Sona having a relaxing holiday. If we’d put in a bit more effort, I’m sure we could have planned something with a bit more of an adventure. But I’m oddly looking forward to not doing anything and just hanging out. Still. This isn’t the end of days is it?

Short url: http://goo.gl/hgNCeH

Anyone been on a baby moon?

Papa in the City: Slinging it to Coney Island!

Date Night in Union Square, Where We Discover the Lost Art of Sitting Down and Doing Nothing

Deciding to Go: Instead of Traveling Around Greece, We Are Going On A Babymoon to an All Inclusive Resort in the Dominican Republic. Same Thing, Really.

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