It is quite fascinating to stand at an intersection, and instead of trying to cross the road, to stand there and try to gather everything at once at your sight’s disposal. But one needs a panoramic view if the intersection is the world’s busiest, The Times Square, New York.

I have always fancied the idea of a camera, a product that helps to capture the ephemeral moments for infinity, yet never liked the idea of treasuring all kinds the memory- good and the opposite.

It was that very pleasant time of the year, right between summer and autumn. I have always admired each and every creation of nature, but the fall, or rather the period leading to fall, will have to be one of the dear ones. Being tired and getting sweaty, as often referred to as the traits found in Indian men, are almost impossible to achieve in this period of cool breeze and dry weather. As the season shifted, I gazed upon the possibility to visit arguably, the greatest city in the modern times, New York City, or NYC, as it is often called. Having already set a foot in the state of New York, on our way to the Niagara Falls, I was keen to go to the eastern border of the state, the island, most famous for its diversity among other characteristics. The history of the city has attracted millions of tourists over several decades, but it was the significance of the people, New Yorkers, that was the most appealing to me (not a big fan of History.. shhh). The possibility turned into reality when my brother pitched an offer to go along to NYC, with him and my sister-in-law. With a backpack full of electronic devices and clothes, and well Indian snacks, I was ready to embark to the second most awaited journey of my life.

Being tired and getting sweaty, as often referred to as the traits found in Indian men, are almost impossible to achieve in this period of cool breeze and dry weather.

Coming soon.. the full story!

From the land of 1.2 billion residents, I started my long awaited journey to the land of opportunities. Scorching heat and sweating humidity of the Indian monsoon complimented my decision to board an international flight in early June. The trip to the airport was always going to be a little hard due to the traffic. Millions of thoughts ran into each other on the slippery, tearful roads of my emotional heart. After all, I was about to bid a farewell to a significant part of my life that molded and defined the person I was about to become on this new land. It took a tiring 16-hour flight, really shitty, pardon my language, Indian food on board, and a heck of a struggling nap with some of the most talkative Indian women discovered by humanity till date, to reach Chicago,IL! If it had not been for my mother’s homemade food, which she sneaked through to the plane, I would have had to live, nay suffer the flight with some peanuts and coke, like some of the other Indian travelers, who not surprisingly denied the so called Indian meal served by one of the most premier Indian airlines. But that one stretch and one slap of the windy city on my cheek got me all cheered up. My parents and I were well received by my brother and sister-in-law and a bunch of relatives. And hence, the saga of this immigrant began.