“What? You go to Manhattan every day? Ayyayayay!” my New Jersey taxi driver shakes his head in total disbelief.
“You sure you want to commute every day from New Jersey?” My Madison Avenue project manager asks with something bordering on pity.
It’s not an emotional divide that one crosses so nonchalantly every day, you see. It takes a special kind of madness and loser-ishness to choose to go back to NJ after seeing the splendor of Upper East Side everyday.
I do it because I like being part of the commuters’ sub-culture. It’s like a covenant, with arcane rituals, rigid rules, and unspoken demands for conformity.
You pick up the rules by subconscious osmosis—within 24 hours, you know which part of the train you should get in to get down at the most convenient spot at the destination; you pick up that the correct etiquette of traveling in jam packed trains is not to make physical or eye-contact as much as possible; you understand that on the narrow escalator, the right lane is slow and left lane is fast; and you know how to pace yourself so that you don’t run over people or get run over by them.
I also like the drama with which I get delivered into Manhattan. First, the train that has been chugging happily along the tired and slightly depressing suburbs of NJ suddenly gets into a long, dark, and mysterious tunnel. It is so long and deep that your ears pop due to the pressure difference.
Then you are thrown into the utterly chaotic, bewildering, and labyrinthine maze of the NY Penn Station. There, you are borne by the jostling crowd, attacked by competing aromas from different eating joints, startled by the sporadic announcements interspersed with (for some really strange reason) classical instrumental music, and made to climb up/down at least 100 steps (I counted) before finding yourself on the street or on a subway platform.
Then of course there is the quintessential NY experience of subway travel. Filled with the regulation junkies, musicians, sharply dressed professionals, individuals talking to themselves, school kids and tourists, it’s a melting point of everything that you have read and heard about New York.
Finally, I just love the way Manhattan bursts on me as a revelation and a reward after almost 90 minutes of commute. As I walk past the decrepit panhandler, past the old newspaper vendor, past the hot dog cart, past the shop specializing in nylons, and on to Madison Avenue, I always feel like a million dollars. Because as my friend succinctly puts it, “It doesn’t get bigger than this, baby!” At least not in the Milky Way.
(Priya Thiagarajan is Deputy Head – Instructional Design, Products & Skills Training Practice at TIS, and a recently besotted NY fan)
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