That place called home:

Only Between Us

Aditha DISSANAYAKE in New York

Yet another historical moment. Watching the first African American president apologising on TV no less than two weeks after taking office.

Appearing on NBC’s “Nightly News with Brian Williams”, proving humility is simply another form of magnanimity, he confesses “I screwed up.” and goes on to add “It’s important for this administration that there aren’t two sets of rules - you know, one for prominent people and one for ordinary folks who have to pay their taxes.”

A loud cheer goes up in the Pizza Professor, where my partner (no, not in crime but in everything else in life) and I are, at the time the news is on.

The customers pat one another on their backs and say “now that’s the spirit of a good leader. He is not afraid to accept his mistakes”.

One gentleman turns towards the two of us and grins “You are here at the best of times. This here is a president who will pull us out of this mess”, quite forgetting that the president had, only a minute ago confessed he too was in a mess at the moment.

What were we doing at the PP nibbling two muffins we could barely afford at 6 in the evening on a Tuesday? We were on the first leg of an epic journey trying to find an affordable apartment in New York.

Our optimistic goals were modest. We were looking for one bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen anywhere close to a subway, and an Indian or Chinese supermarket for this was where we could buy familiar vegetables like spinach, egg plants and okra.

Having seen the apartment on Craigslist and feeling it looked picture perfect we were now waiting for our future landlord to show up so that we could physically see what would hopefully turn out to be our future home.

By the time he arrives, thinking he never would, we were recalling how, even the current president of the US had slept in an alley and washed himself at a fire hydrant on his first day in New York.

The Age of Anxiety, when it comes to finding good lodgings in New York ends for us with the advent of Newton Oliver West who gives us the usual ready-made excuse every New Yorker gives for being late (heavy train traffic).

“You folks are going to be the best tenants I have ever had. Please call me N.O.W, that’s what everyone calls me”, he introduces himself.

Ten minutes later, after a short walk to a red brick block of apartments he pushes open a door on the third floor. I recall Dante’s Inferno as I cross the threshold “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here...”

We are standing in the middle of a big open room. Is this it? Yes. But where is the bedroom? “Folks! Folks! Folks! Use your imagination. Put a mattress in this corner by the heater and there you have it. Your bedroom.” Where are the windows? “Nah! You don’t need windows here.

Believe me you are lucky not to have them. There are lots of ambulances cruising along on the street below, every five seconds a day and you wouldn’t want to hear every single one, now would you? Trust me, you don’t. Lets have a look at the kitchen”.

The kitchen looks good except for a clicking sound from inside the oven. Rats? “Don’t mind them. They’ll help you create wonderful new dishes like in the movie Ratatouille... Where is the bathroom? “Here.

No its not a closet. No, its not something brought over by Christopher Columbus. Well....uh! If you don’t care much for antiques, there is a McDonald and a Starbucks just round the corner. You can use the bathrooms there, anytime you like.”

Before we have time to protest he says “Excuse me, my phone is about to blow off. Uh! Uh! OK Good Bye!” He turns to us and explains “That was another client he is ready to pay $3000. But I like you guys better. I will give this to you at half price. $ 1500, send a check every month to my address ...but you must tell me your decision straightaway. You have got three seconds to decide”.

He stares at the digits on his mobile phone and begins to count.

“One, two...just great! You are going to like it here. Enjoy your stay in New York”.

People sure live up to their names. With N.O.W it will always be now or never.

As for us... who knows one day you might come across a book of memoirs written by us that has the same kind of opening lines as found in President Obama’s book, Dreams from my Father. “We were living in an uninviting block in New York...

The only consolation is, ours looks slightly better than President Obama’s on 109th Street, Manhattan Valley .

Catch you again next Sunday with more news of life in New York.