From that somewhere over the rainbow

I arrived in New York with little sleep, some work backlog and a bit of a prejudice against large cities. It was crowded, hot and polluted. The cars were larger than I had seen anywhere else in the world, and along with their large engines, one frequently heard them honk. The city never slept; nor did I that night.

The following day, I encountered everything I dislike about large cities as I wearily took the metro back to my cousin’s after work. I was almost determined to dislike the city, but when asked, I decided to reserve my judgment as my cousin and I sipped red wine on her noisy rooftop terrace. “Why would anyone not want to live in the best city in the world? Where else can you find as much diversity? Where in the world can you travel by subway, and hear virtually every dialect of the world spoken? There is nothing in this city that you cannot do. You have to work hard, but no matter what you love, you will find an avenue to be in touch with your passions,” exhorted my cousin, declaring her true, unadulterated love.

Indeed, there was something that I was unable to clearly grasp about the city that seemed to be making a strong impression on me. It was ethereal, and gave me a greatly heightened sense of being alive. It was familiar, yet I was unable to articulate what it was.

The next evening, I was lost in the labyrinth that almost every new place tends to be, slightly inebriated after meeting with a few friends who now live in New York, as I attempted to walk back to my cousin’s. I walked on streets parallel and perpendicular to it, but unerringly seemed to miss Broadway itself! I asked for directions to the Cast Iron Building, but they sent me to the Flat Iron Building instead. And as I wormed my way through the Big Apple, I stumbled upon Washington Square Park. It was an oasis – quiet at places, art and music in others. I was drawn to the splendorous marble arch under which a young girl was performing with an electronic keyboard for a piano, and a powerful, sonorous voice. A large crowd had gathered around her, some filming with their cellular phones, some with their mouths open. And as we all applauded, two men – apparently a film producer and a director – approached her and gave her their business card. The producer dropped a rather large sum in her collection basket to show they were earnest. The applause continued until she started performing again. As I walked on I had a heady feeling of having been to that somewhere over the rainbow where the dreams that we dare to dream really do come true.

But was it a mirage? I had seen the ample bosom of the city, but was there also a darker underbelly to it? I do not know, but there were far too many police sirens blaring through day to quell the suspicion. Where do the little people who drove the taxis, cleaned houses, swept streets live in this city where the sky was the limit for buildings and rents? Did one feel a heightened sense of being alive because one had to survive every moment? I do not know.

PS: A short clip of the singer at Washington Square Park