On July 31st my dad took me to New York City. We had our traditional breakfast together at a local diner, and took a Greyhound Bus together to the Port Authority Station in Manhattan. I was having allergies the whole time, and needed a steady supply of tissues and water. We brought with us a large backpack, a large rolling suitcase, and a big piece of rolling luggage which was essentially a glorified gym bag. Shipping to India is quite expensive, so I carried as much as I could along. In fact, my baggage was essentially bubble-wrapped math books, juggling equipment, a water purifying device, and some clothing.
We parted at the shuttle bus to the JFK Airport. As I boarded the vehicle, it seemed that I entered the world of "International"; the other passengers were speaking foreign tongues and were evidently traveling out of the country. The bus drove along 42nd Street; I looked out and tried to imprint Manhattan's version of melting pot as my last vision of America for a while.
My two pieces of luggage were each about 45 pounds, from the 50 pound weight limit. The ticket agent asked if I had a girlfriend in India; I wonder how much of that reaction I'm going to get. Although long, the flight to India was pretty straightforward. I watched a Bollywood movie, did a couple (Bourbaki) math problems, ate, slept, blew my nose, wrote up a draft of the previous DAI entry, and read a little travel guide to Indian culture. I had trouble understanding the accent of one of the flight attendants, but she summed me up pretty well by remarking, "Studying? Too much, maybe." The kids were running around a bit more than I've seen on other planes. There seems to be a custom that all the Indian kids on a flight go around meeting each other!
I actually had two plane tickets; one from New York to Chennai, with a stop in Brussels, and another from Chennai to Mumbai the next day. The plan was to spend the night at the Institute of Mathematical Sciences in Chennai (IMSc) where an old friend of mine from grad school is a math professor. After Brussels the passengers were mainly Indian, and I started to feel like I was becoming a curiosity, for instance when I made my trips to the restroom (I was still having allergies and was drinking plenty of water for this).
At Chennai the Europeans dispersed and I suppose I was in India's version of "International". Customs was pretty trivial; it was midnight and the agent didn't have the zeal for a rousing interrogation. The baggage claim was moderately crowded, but on the other hand, the person on my right gladly helped me retrieve the suitcase as it was going past. At this point I was pretty tired, and made a slight error. Somehow instead of rechecking my luggage I took a wrong turn and was stuck going to the exit gate before I could get rid of it.
This was when I truly entered "India". There was a mighty throng of animated people on both sides of the exit lane behind the gates, waiting to escort friends and family home. I felt oddly like a Hollywood celebrity walking down the red carpet as I towed all of my belongings behind me (next time I would use a cart). Sure enough, there was a driver holding a placard which bore my name. At the end of the "red carpet" I turned down a few taxi invitations, and boarded the Institute vehicle.
Next: चेन्नई.
We parted at the shuttle bus to the JFK Airport. As I boarded the vehicle, it seemed that I entered the world of "International"; the other passengers were speaking foreign tongues and were evidently traveling out of the country. The bus drove along 42nd Street; I looked out and tried to imprint Manhattan's version of melting pot as my last vision of America for a while.
My two pieces of luggage were each about 45 pounds, from the 50 pound weight limit. The ticket agent asked if I had a girlfriend in India; I wonder how much of that reaction I'm going to get. Although long, the flight to India was pretty straightforward. I watched a Bollywood movie, did a couple (Bourbaki) math problems, ate, slept, blew my nose, wrote up a draft of the previous DAI entry, and read a little travel guide to Indian culture. I had trouble understanding the accent of one of the flight attendants, but she summed me up pretty well by remarking, "Studying? Too much, maybe." The kids were running around a bit more than I've seen on other planes. There seems to be a custom that all the Indian kids on a flight go around meeting each other!
I actually had two plane tickets; one from New York to Chennai, with a stop in Brussels, and another from Chennai to Mumbai the next day. The plan was to spend the night at the Institute of Mathematical Sciences in Chennai (IMSc) where an old friend of mine from grad school is a math professor. After Brussels the passengers were mainly Indian, and I started to feel like I was becoming a curiosity, for instance when I made my trips to the restroom (I was still having allergies and was drinking plenty of water for this).
At Chennai the Europeans dispersed and I suppose I was in India's version of "International". Customs was pretty trivial; it was midnight and the agent didn't have the zeal for a rousing interrogation. The baggage claim was moderately crowded, but on the other hand, the person on my right gladly helped me retrieve the suitcase as it was going past. At this point I was pretty tired, and made a slight error. Somehow instead of rechecking my luggage I took a wrong turn and was stuck going to the exit gate before I could get rid of it.
This was when I truly entered "India". There was a mighty throng of animated people on both sides of the exit lane behind the gates, waiting to escort friends and family home. I felt oddly like a Hollywood celebrity walking down the red carpet as I towed all of my belongings behind me (next time I would use a cart). Sure enough, there was a driver holding a placard which bore my name. At the end of the "red carpet" I turned down a few taxi invitations, and boarded the Institute vehicle.
Next: चेन्नई.
No comments:
Post a Comment