Needing California

[This was the beginning of an assignment. I didn't like the rest of it, so you just get the intro:]

He tried to walk straight. It was his goal: walk straight along that line that ran between the road and the rest of the world. Walk straight until white, white headlights that started off as a faint twinkle slowly turned into an explosion of rays that blinded him. He stumbled, then steadied himself. He needed the ride. He stuck his arm out, trying to flag down the car. He needed to get out of Chicago, out of Illinois. He needed California.

In Air

[This was an assignment I had for my Advanced Journalism class. We just read John D'Agata's "Martha Graham, Audio Description Of" where instead of scribbling out a regular dance review, he divides his essay into compartments and focuses on different perspectives and backgrounds, like Graham's background and choice of costumes. From that, we had to write our own piece inspired by this style. This essay was the starting point of my final for the class, "On Travel."]

IN AIR

Sound:
Eyes closed. Not humming, but whirring. Engines. Pushing plane through air. No one is talking—it is midnight, New York time—everyone is trying to sleep. Snore. Occasional snore.

Constant whirring.

On thought process:
Because I am confined to this one seat for twenty minutes/four hours/eight hours (pick and choose depending on trip/destination), I need to do something. Magazines and books, while interesting, cannot capture my attention. Preset words are too still for me. I fidget, with papers, pens, chapstick, water bottles...my mind fidgets too. I think about: being on the plane, homework, my hair is too frizzy I should do something about it, I wonder if he likes me, my God look at that mountain, I am going to eat gelato and pasta in Italy I hope it's delicious, I hope I get there soon.

Down below:
I don't hear much about looking through airplane windows, except for musings on clouds. (This is because clouds are up there and we're usually down here so clouds are majestical and when we fly, we are up there with those wondrous, permeable clouds and we somehow become majestical as well.)

Bird's eye view: boxy patches of nondescript land that are various shades of green and brown, winding swirly highways and thinner roads and it is impossible to see any cars, mountaints that look so tiny but you know once you step down there, they are huger than anything you could ever imagine.

I take many pictures.

Don't get me wrong—I love clouds. I love their shape and how they look when the sun hits them at just the right angle and the sky is that perfect shade of sunset-orange and their shadows darken green, green ground.

But this isn't about that.

Where Manholes Begin

Reading and seeing J. Adam Huggins' (& apparently Heather Timmon's) story and photographs about the Indian origins of New York City manholes (which always remind me of my brother's obsession with sewers when he was younger, because of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and all) was fascinating enough. Then, I caught Gothamist's blurb about the story and J. Adam Huggins became one of my journalism heroes. He saw something that interested him and he went out and investigated it. The New York Times even wrote an editorial about it.

And now Con Edison is taking another look at its safety standards. That's journalism for ya.

Bits: Diving into the Gowanus, FDR on Roosevelt Isle, Cyclones in Bangladesh, Hearing from Sharif, Importance of Palestine & Citizen Journalism

1.

"Divers Who Jump in to Take the Mystery Out of City Waterways" by Jennifer Millers, from the New York Times

Ludger K. Balan has the right idea:

"[Balan] wanted to demystify urban waters like the Gowanus to change them from environments that are ignored and shunned to those that are protected and perhaps even loved."

And here's a nice recap by Gawker.

2.

"Plan Revived for FDR Memorial in NYC" by Richard Pyle, from AP

Pyle offers a nice history of Roosevelt Island, a.k.a. Welfare Island, home to fabulous hospitals and asylums. Now, there is two hospitals—the functioning Coler-Goldwater Speciality Hospital and the abandoned Smallpox Hospital which I hope to explore sometime soon.

This article also runs through the proposed FDR memorial for the southern tip of the island, where it is currently home to said Smallpox Hospital and assorted wildlife. This, I think, is a huge mistake. Instead, as paying homage to FDR, they should keep the area the way it is and just open up access. Or, I'll just go anyway. Just don't cement it over, please.

3.

"After Cyclone, Bangladesh Faces Political Storm" by Somini Sengupta (one of my new favorite journalists) from the New York Times

Amidst the aftermath of Cyclone Sidr, Bangladesh still has to deal with its political crisis and state of emergency.

4.

"Back in Pakistan, Sharif Condemns Musharraf" by Jane Perlez, from the New York Times

I thought it was weird how, when Musharraf declared martial law, the media focused solely on Benazir Bhutto's reactions and responses rather than hearing what Nawaz Sharif thought. Now that Sharif's back in Pakistan, he's getting attention.

5.

"News Analysis: Seeking a Mideast Path, Bush Offers a Nudge" by Steven Lee Myers, from the New York Times

"Mr. Bush, for now, seems to have accepted the argument that the Palestinian cause is at the root of Islamic mistrust of the United States—or at least that resolving the Middle East conflict could halt the march of Hamas, the radical Islamic group."

Thaaaaaank you.

6.

"Storming the News Gatekeepers" by Jose Antonio Vargas, from the Washington Post

A look at the differences between journalism and citizen journalism.

Dan Gillmor, author of We the Media: Grassroots Journalism by the People, for the People, describes citizen journalism as:

"There really is no simple definition for what a citizen journalist is, just lots and lots of examples...It ranges from people who do journalism all the time to people who do what you might call a random act of journalism to people who don't consider themselves journalists but are in fact practicing journalism...for a lot of them, the underlying motivation is frustration with the traditional media."

[emphasis added by me]

Oh Puerto Rico

The beach at Isla Verde. Photo by Catherine Iftode.

Reading this article made me miss Old San Juan and made me wish I appreciated it more. Granted, the trip was extremely last-minute (decided and booked on Thursday night, flew out of JFK Friday night, came home Sunday night), so we couldn't really plan it that well. It was also very well-deserved, after a grueling and trying junior year semester and both Catherine and I had a lot of fun just losing ourselves in those Caribbean nights (nothing too wild though).

I miss that me.

Through the Vias di Roma

Walking through the Colosseum.

March, 2007

Narrow, cobblestoned streets where cars, scooters and people alike make way for each other. Vias e vicolos. Gelato. The seven hills of Rome. Palm trees standing next to fig trees. Hail falling through the ceiling of the Pantheon. Piazzas. The Tiber. Old, weathered, beautiful buildings. Detailed churches and statues. Restored architecture. Throwing a Euro into the Trevi Fountain.


The ceiling of the Pantheon.


The Tiber River through the railing of its many bridges.


Via Della Conciliazion and Via San Pio X, the streets that lead up to Piazza San Pietro, with Rome's logo (featuring Remus and Romulus being nursed by the wolf) in the background.


A Roman street.


Basilica S. Maria degli Angeli e del Martiri, which used to be a bathhouse until Michaelando redesigned it into a church.


View from Palatine Hill.


Bridge into Isola Tiberina on the Tiber River.


From atop the Spanish Steps.


Trevi Fountain.


The streets of Rome during some evening hail.


San Pietro.



And there are more pictures here.

Creative Definition of Yourself

So for Northwestern I have to write something creative about myself and it reminded me of my college application essay for Eugene Lang, where they asked you to write a creative definition of yourself. This was my response(slightly edited, of course):

Right now, I'm approximately seventeen and six months old. 6,385 days have shaped and added to the layers of my life. Every single of those days.

They say before you die, you see your entire life flash before your eyes. Can 6.385 and even more days be summed up in that last nanosecond before you're gone? I think that it's more like flashes of the clearest memories, the ones that stick in your mind and you don't know why—

Like coloring dinosaurs orange in my coloring book the day my sister was born.

Like getting lost on the first day of high school on way back home (it seemed fitting).

Like meeting people who are so different but share similar traits.

My friends and I were liked by experiences and interests. Always, there were things to talk about within the group of unlikely friends.

Now, you're reading this and you know random bits of my life, but you're thinking, "wait, but, who are you?"

This isn't an autobiography. This isn't an exact definition of 'Nadia Chaudhury.' This is just me simply writing about myself.

Who am I?

I'm a contradiction to my astrological sign. The fiery red Aries doesn't even come close to describing me. I'm not effervescent, stubborn or utterly confident. I'm more like the watery blue Pisces—imaginative, selfless and compassionate.

I want to make an impact on the world: a silent one through words, a revolution of words that move people in ways they're not quite sure of.

I get frustrated easily, I do nice things for people because I feel like it, I walk around with a book constantly, I shut myself off when I'm upset, I hop up and down when I'm excited, I like compliments but I don't take them easily, I write and I forget about everything else and I look to the future with expectation and fear.

I like freedom with just a pinch of guidelines, just so I know what I'm doing.

I'm used to writing words with a poetic form, where words are written in s t y l e s that directly affect the way you see them(&feelthem).

I could also adjust and write with more structured forms, using 'one' instead of 'you' and refraining from using 'I.' I could write introductions and conclusions with body paragraphs to elaborate the clearly stated thesis.

I can adapt.

I can learn.

That's what life is for—experiencing and learning from different situations that you go through and how you respond to them. Already, I've learned that ignoring things will not make them better. I've learned that you shouldn't try to live up to others' perceptions of you, but instead, live up to your own.

There's so much more in life for me to learn from. What's better than writing about the things you know, the things you've been through, the things you've seen? Then the readers, my readers, could get a taste of Nadia through my words, because of scattered ideas and dialgoues, of people and situations that came directly from my life.

Every moment has its own effect. Learning how to read led to reading a book a day because I couldn't get enough. Creating my own form of script when I didn't really know how to write while underneath the dining room table led to writing nonstop on the train.

All of this, all 500+ words, it's just the beginning of the answer of who I am.

[And after rereading/retyping this, I've realized how much and how little I've changed at the same time.]

muffled

in         white         spaces
we-full-feel

        under
        cotton
        sheets
light pinpoints where bones curve faces
where hands go on bodies
my hair rests on your's
so comfortable and methodic
we can predict each other's moves

what we feel is
not empty, not lost
but something

something
less         tangible
than         lust
more         immediate
than         indifference

is stretched along the days.

Words of a Song

Most people were born with music--their parents listen to albums over and over again and thereby instilling the same songs in their children. So they grew up knowing who the Beatles and Billie Holiday were, from their parents and older siblings. For me, this wasn't the case. My parents moved here from Saudi Arabia in 1984. They had their own music: Bengali and Indian folk and pop songs, most featuring the strums and plunks of the harmonium.

That was the my background music of my childhood, but it was never the focus of it. Every Sunday, our "home" days, as we called them, my parents relaxed in their room, listening to their music. My brother, sister and I stayed in the living room, watching TV shows.

So the point is, I had no grounding in American music. I was familiar with television because my father made sure I had that special American privilege, but music? They knew nothing at all.

Eventually, I caught on, catching music videos on TV, listening to the radio and then to my major source of music: friends' recommendations and the wonderful world of the Internet.

While listening to my iPod recently at work, I thought about why certain songs caught my attention. There are specific subjects and words that captivate me, and when I can find them in a song, it makes the song just that much better.

- maps

Wilco's "You Are My Face"

I have no idea how this happened
All of my maps have been overthrown

Wilco's "A Magazine Called Sunset"

Let's take a map across your pillow
And breathe the sky in through your window
I'll stay in the riddle and watch your books cave in

- the water/rivers/boats/oceans/anything else water-related

Decemberists' "The Island, Come and See, The Landlord's Daughter, You'll Not Feel the Drowning"

There's a harbor lost within the reeds
A jetty caught in the overhanging trees
Among the bones of cormorants
No boot-mark here nor fingerprints
The rivers roll down to a soundless sea

Wilco's "On and On and On"

Please don't cry, we're designed to die
You can't deny even the gentlest tide

(I love the way Tweedy sings "gentlest")

- traveling

Modest Mouse's "The World At Large"

The days get shorter and the nights get cold
I like the autumn but this place is getting old
I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast
It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most
The day's get longer and the nights smell green
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave

- stars

Oasis' "The Importance of Being Idle"

I don't mind
As long as there's a bed beneath the stars that shine

Bob Dylan's "Desolation Row'

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide

- some sort of act of defiance

Decemberists' "And Here I Dreamt I was an Architect"

And we are vagabonds
We travel without seatbelts on
We live this close to death

- about other places

Arcade Fire's "Cold Wind"

If you're going to San Francisco
Lay some flowers on the gravestone

Spoon's "Chicago at Night"

But then she'd never been to Chicago at night before the fall
And it don't stop, not at all

Sufjan Steven's "Chicago"

Drove to Chicago
All things know, all things know
We sold out clothes to the state
I don't mind, I don't mind
I made a lot of mistakes
In my mind, in my mind

- about the city and New York in particular

Wilco's "Jesus, Etc."

Voices whine
Skyscrapers are scraping together

- dreams

Wilco's "Dreamer in my Dreams"

There's a dreamer in my dreams
Swinging from the beams
With a light shining off the lake

These examples, it must be noted, reflect my current listening habits, therefore certain artists appear more than once, like Wilco. I have to say, though, it's impressive that I still listen to Wilco because I usually tire of an artist after three months. Thank you, Chicago boy.

Bits: Marrying Your Loyal Best Friend and The Cost of an Island,

1.

"Man 'marries' dog to beat curse" from the BBC

So, what this article's about is that this Hindi Indian man, P Selvakumar, thought he was cursed because he killed two dogs because of health problems. In order to remove the curse, he believed there was only one cure: marry a dog (female, of course). The wedding took place in a Hindi temple and was celebrated by the people of the Sivaganga district. The article notes that the bridge wore an orange sari and a flower garland.

And this article demonstrates the perfect way to end an article with a quote (said by a relative of Selvakumar):

"On the advice of an astrologer and others, he decided to marry a bitch to get cured. Then we arranged Selvakumar's marriage with a bitch."

2.

"City Claims Final Private Island in East River" by Timothy Williams, from the New York Times

In a city made up of islands, the New York City government buys South Brother Island, located near the mouth of the Long Island Sound and near Rikers Island.

The island, home to untouched wildlife, was last sold for $10 in 1975. The city, thankfully, won't develop as they have a tendency to do, and will keep the island as a nature santuary.