Sense & Nonsensibility

The kid stares at me, staring at my hair and my dress, and then his face changes. He spots a ball in the distance, behind me, and stretches out his arm to touch it. I squirrrmmm, his greasy fingers straight out of a Lays bag are coming for me. “Ohhhhhh no!!!!! Where is the damn security guard when you need him? Shouldn’t he be here? Isn’t it his job to protect me? And the several of us French women, so old? It’s not like we can protect ourselves, we are left permanently at the disposal of these galleries now.” The loud beep goes off, the laser sensor activated by somebody coming too close to me. I heave a sigh of relief, it is slow and nobody can really see me gently blow out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding! Heavens! Can you imagine, it’s only Wednesday yet, although it feels more like a Saturday. It always gets crowded here on Wednesdays when it’s free entry to all. People rush in to get their bit of culture in, without having to spend the $25 it usually costs to enter

You can’t hear it right now, but I can. The pattering of the rain drops outside my window. First time since I have moved to my new place-  a rainy day- warm and welcoming- trying to entice me into stepping onto the fire-escape outside my window and feel the drops on my skin. Few other things can take you to another time-.. Like a time capsule it can take to a cold rainy day in New York. It’s a November day in New York- chilly and dark. As I strap into my boots and warm jacket, I pray that the wind and rain don’t ruin our weekend here. I am a visitor to this city and am hoping that the weather would be more forgiving than in Boston. It is not. But we are here for the weekend- so we’ll make the most of it- we head out into the rain- the gray sky an evil promise of unrelenting rain throughout the day. As we duck in and out of the subway, navigating umbrellas and gloving and ungloving hands, we alter our itinerary to be indoors most of the day and somewhere the grayness is forgotten,

The second part of this extended vacation was one angle of America’s Music Triangle. As you enter NOLA, you have just entered one of the last places in this country where you can have an authentic experience, where you can dip your soul in the unique stew of people, geography, history and weather that buubles out its pot and brings us music – the cultural currency if the South. Jazz, blues, country, rock ‘n’ roll, bluegrass- akk the distinctly American music that’s been sent to every corner of the world, seasoned with new ingrdients- they were all born in the triangle. If you listen, you can hear Cajun melodies, Afican rhythms, a Latin beat and Saxons. Whatever the form, its all cooked in the southern heat and humidity informed by the lessons of survival- hurricanes, poverty and pride- always moving like the Mississippi. It was here that the great musical giants of American history rose. All the neon signs of the music clubs lining Frenchmen street making you think-  what magic

Dear dreamers ! Its been so long since we chatted! I know this happens every year, that I start on a good blogging score for the first half of the year, then fall off the wagon. Lets hope this year, I sign off in time and start the next year with some great blogs! This year we put travelling high on the list of priorities and saw places and cultures I had never seen before. Between London in May ( I have talked about this endlessly), San Diego/ San Fran in September ( I’ll talk about this later), Chicago in November and New Orleans in December, This thanksgiving I headed over to Chicago to see a city that’s been on my bucket list for 7 years. Sudha, my partner in crime for most of my travel adventures met me there. I’ll be honest with you, I didn’t expect a major city like Chicago to be so shut down on thanksgiving day. I got there in the middle of a chilly, rainy day prepared with my best gear to brave the windy city and found the one Indian restaurant that was actually o

Hadley Richardson is a 28 year old living a quiet slow existence tills she meets the Ernest Hemingway, a 21 year old, charismatic, tortured, up and coming writer. What starts of as a vacation romance, ends up with the two getting married and whisking to Paris to spend their early years. Paula McLain is an adept writer who gives voice to Hadley as a charming yet quiet girl who is in awe of the fact that Ernest loves her back. The Paris Wife is the journey of Hadley – and Ernest- from their early years of Jazz age Paris to the crisis of faith that their marriage faces. I picked up this book at an airport because when I was running out of the door on my absolute last minute flight to my cousin’s wedding and I forgot to pack a book. And I never board a flight without one- so I come across the Paris Wife at the airport book shop and amidst the ‘ How to be successful in 15 minutes’ and ‘ Twilight-ish’ streak of books,  I’m instantly attracted to the Paris wife because it promises the