Three perfect days

Writing home from the Big Apple:

by Aditha Dissanayake in New York

Landed at the John F Kennedy airport like Oscar Wilde, with nothing to declare except my genius. I really had no choice. Except for the knapsack on my shoulders my other two bags had not landed at JFK with me.

They had got lost somewhere between Heathrow and Washington, or Washington and New York. 'No worries' said the lady with the weird hairdo at the Lost Baggage counter. 'We will send them to your residence within the next 24 hours.'

I took her word and walked out of the airport with only the clothes on my back to see me through the next few hours. After all, as the pilot on the flight said when we got stuck in a traffic jam on the runway at the airport, this was JFK where anything could happen.

And it did happen. By eight in the morning, my bags were on the doorstep of the red brick apartment in Georgetown Mews, Flushing, New York, my home for the next few weeks.

First things first. A wash to get rid of all the dust and grime accumulated through one whole day of flying.

No need to worry about the water bill here, unlike in the UK where water comes at exorbitant prices, and where your hostess would not want you to help her with the dishes after dinner because she is worried you will use too much water, here in Flushing the gamut of everyday expenses are covered with a monthly payment of US $ 600.

'This includes water, electricity, clearing the garbage, maintaining the garden etc' The Russian lady next door would explain to me later when we exchange our views about the cost of living in our two countries and life in the USA.

From a clean refreshed new me, to clean clothes. With a can of washing powder in my hands and a bag of dirty clothes I make my way to the launderette.

Renting a medium size washing machine for $3, while my clothes spin and ping I go through the New York Daily Mail and gaze in amazement when I see the cover page with just one headline on it. No photos. No blurbs. No text. Just the words THROW HER BACK IN JAIL. Little do I know that while watching news on TV in the evening I would be even more amazed for the media here in New York on Sunday, focused completely on Par pet shop.

A white Macaw, perched on the hand of the proprietor is priced at $ 1,100. There are cheaper exhibits too. Fish, geckoes, turtles and hamsters. A Hamster costs $ 12.99. They look so much like mice to me I can't help but shudder when a lady buys one to take home as her pet.

Strolling along the well-paved pavements, when all of a sudden I get the smell of dhal makini, on yet another boulevard, it is hard not to make further investigations.

Newly opened, and with almost no teeth to cut yet, the Khana Khazana, wedged between the supermarket and the neighbourhood barbershop offers delicacies like Alu palak, chicken masala and tandoori rotti.

Not surprisingly, it is here that my first encounter with illegal immigrants from Sri Lanka takes place. In a characteristically Sri Lankan manner, Paul (name changed) forty two, born in Kandy and living in Flushing for the past nine years, begins the conversation referring to my visit to the UK last week. 'How is England these days?' (engalanthe me davas vala kohomada?) though it would take three or four hours to explain how things are at the moment in the UK I know he doesn't really expect an answer.

'When I was there in March the weather was like the weather in Nuwara Eliya?. Point taken. Paul wants me to know he too has been there, done things etc. Even though his wife too is an illegal migrant he is happy his baby daughter who was born here is a US citizen.

He confessed having lived away from his motherland for over eighteen years now, he doesn't know much about what is going on in his own country. When you get used to this life you will never want to return. Everything is so well organized here.

It will take eons (kalpayak) for Sri Lanka to achieve at least half the things that are here. Out of all the countries in the world USA is the best'. I try not to gag on the tandoori rotti in my mouth. Sure we still have only one fly-over in Sri Lanka, sure our roads are polluted, sure we can't even dream of buying a car with one month's salary, in short, in spite of the material poverty, no country in the world can give the kind of spiritual peace we know in Sri Lanka.

Thus ends my two days in New York. Enough of the ordinary life, the kind Tolstoy describes in The Death of Ivan Ilyich as 'the simplest the most ordinary and therefore the most terrible'. Time to move on, to catch a plane to Las Vegas to see if my wheels of fortune will turn in the right direction for once. Who knows I might return a millionaire. Anyway, folks catch you next week at the Grand Canyon.

[email protected]