From: kannan@lamar.ColoState.EDU (Kannan Subramanian)
Newsgroups: soc.culture.indian
Subject: Apple, Anyone?
Date: 28 Jul 92 21:40:54 GMT
Organization: Colorado State University, Fort Collins, CO  80523


                               Apple, Anyone?
	                       --------------

"So, that's what you look like!" I said to the vision, as I hopped off the
uptown local. If you want to get to Columbia University from Penn Station, 
one easy way is to hop off at 116th street in the Manhattan underground, where
your hostess may or may not be waiting to escort you to some high rise 
apartment, all depending on whether you've called ahead or not. 

"And you must be a New Yorker!" I ought to have added, to make it clear that
she was dealing here with a being of no mean intelligence, but I found her
beauty distracting. A gorgeous and graceful creature she turned out to be. 
Instead I said, "I think I've seen a photo of you with your eyes closed!" and I 
could see that this line wasn't so hot after all. Not exactly brimming with 
punch and panache - if you get my meaning. And so, I put it down as strike
one. A shaky start at best. 

Anyway, I had arrived in The Big Apple, New York. What a city! 

Crisis # 1 of the visit was precipitated as soon as I stepped off track # 17.
Returning vacationers waddled off towards the exit as I stopped to connect 
with Ms. New Yorker via phone for directions. Minutes later, the station was 
empty and worse, all gates banged shut and padlocked, snaring me underground!
Visions of the story, "Children of Noah" drifted before my eyes as I explored
the maze. (An Alfred Hitchcock tale, where a lone driver is ticketed in a small
town by a cop for speeding, arrested on a technicality and imprisoned in a 
metallic cell with only a small opening for a window; every now and then some
folks with sharpened front teeth peer through the window and give him
evil smiles. Soon the temperature of the room starts to rise and our hero 
realises the full import of the sign outside his cell, "bar-b-que tonite!")

At any rate, as you might've guessed by now, I did not become anybody's dinner
that nite. Found my way out after some 25 minutes of wandering about. Wiped
brow. 

In a city of some 10 million people, one would expect folks to hang out in
subways, just for the fun of it and soak in the atmosphere, as it were. But no! 
New Yorkers like their underground stations to be dark, hot and dungeon like,
and well supplied with steel gates and chains to discourage ignorant visitors
from messing around in all the wrong alleyways. Subway rides are fun and not  
quite as stressful (or eventful) as commuting in Bombay. To a resident of the 
Front Range who sees horses grazing as he rides to work and life never shifts
above second gear, the sheer sight of humanity bustling about was rich and  
alive with signals. To an ex-resident of Bombay visiting this concrete jungle,
a feeling of deja vu is inescapable. 

Scripture has it that one must not accept fruit from a woman, but in a city
called the Big Apple, it should not be surprising that Satan exerts powerful
influences. In other words, one looks for the nearest carpet and having made
sure with a furtive glance (or as many as it takes) that the coast is clear, 
one shoves the said-scriptural-scourge under it, making sure of course that 
the bulge does not show. One then takes the nearest broom and brushes away 
all evidence of the deed, and whistles a sunny tune for that authentic 
non chalant effect. 

And speaking of women, broadly speaking that is, one might categorize them
(again, broadly mind you) into three (broad) categories. (a) Women (b) Wild
Women and (c) Wild Women masquerading as "Chhammathu Ponnu's" (good girls). 
Categories (a) and (b) bear watching but can be handled. However, men are always
getting into trouble because a large majority of the world's women fall 
squarely into (c) and some fancy footwork is needed to survive in their midst. 
Predictably, Ms New Yorker belonged to this dreaded kind. 

Speaking of footwork, again, we saw all of Manhattan on foot. Started walking at
South Seaport and finished at Central Park, some fifteen miles or so, stopping
along the way to take in various sights and sounds and riding elevators to 
the top of such "world's-tallest-thing-if-you-don't-count-mt-everest" type
concrete wonders as came along our way. Immigrants from the subcontinent have
a monopoly on all newspaper and magazine stands in Manhattan. Or so it seemed. 
Across sales counters, rudeness is rife! But the city brims with life and color
and offers entertainment of an assorted variety to just about every section of 
eccentric humanity with tastes to match. Used-book stores are plentiful and 
if one is lucky, one may even catch swindlers selling $15 tickets to "Phantom
of the Opera" for $65, with a free cock-and-bull story thrown in about how
the wife paid too much for it for some charitable cause. Old fashioned black
marketing with some panache. 

Brooklyn Bridge, apart from being a television show it turns out, actually 
exists. An imposing structure and a feat of engineering to be applauded, it 
offers the best possible view of the Manhattan skyline. Bonus points accrue
if you're in the company of a beautiful woman on a mid-summer's night and the 
moon is out doing its thing. 

The New York Stock Exchange is the other phenomenon quite incomprehensible at
first sight. Legend has it that there is some order in the prevalent chaos but
to the untrained eye, it's a zoo. Never did figure out who was buying and who
was selling and what the bustle was all about. Educational, nevertheless. 

Summing up then, the next time life offers you the proverbial Apple, figurative
or otherwise, go ahead, stick your neck out and take the plunge! Be warned 
though, that even Big Apples are not very satisfying fruit. They leave you 
hungry for more. And then, you just might want to lift up that carpet, shake 
the dust off and marvel, if only briefly, at how scriptural wisdom every once
in a while, has it right on the button. Apple, anyone? 


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