SPJ:Jackson Height-a struggling immigrant's requiem!

[Sean`Paul`JR]

[b][size=4][color=Black]Jackson height – a popular desi bazaar in heart of Queens sits beneath a railway track bolstered by patina-greened iron pillars. The track follows a serpentine route all over Queens borough until it finally reaches Grand Central, Manhattan. The pillars tremble fervidly and almost seem to buckle under the pressure of 7 train that comes every five minutes. Its arrival creates such a nasty deafening discord, my little daughter, who is incessantly verbose otherwise, is suddenly muted. She clings on to my legs as closes her ears as if it would stop the speeding train. Surprisingly it halts, to her pleasure, for fifteen seconds, only to disembark hundreds and board even more.

Welcome to Jackson height, I snickered looking at my wife – her eyes in complete disarray trying to find almost everything, from phone cards to pomegranate. I am always surprised at her significance in visiting Jackson height on our every trip to New York. She loves the place so much, she prefers spending hours at Patel Brothers and other Grocery stores than spend a good dinner somewhere in Fifth Avenue.

I see a large billboard of Abhisekh Bachchan sporting a fancy Tag Heuer and staring right at me. Last time it was Shah Rukh khan, before him was Hrithik. Rivalry aside, all Indian actors had the same taste when it came to watches or perhaps - a chuck of dollar bills. Jackson height, in fact, has an appeal of its own. Unlike a long streak of humdrum desi stores at Devon Street in Chicago, it was more eventful, ramified and raucous.

My wife stops at a dvd store and shuffles few discs battling her decision. Aware of her protracted shopping timeline from our previous experiences, I leave the store holding little Urvi. My wife would call me on a cell phone when needed. I reiterate - that tiny smart phone is undoubtedly a devil.

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"Namastey", I greeted the waitress with much alacrity.
"Namastey", I am Shanti, what may I get you?" She asked in her typical marketing charm
"Just get her some Pakauda's and a cup of tea for me". I ordered the most suitable entrée alike any other Desi patron.
She looked at tiny urvi in little disbelief with a muffled "are you sure?" and left with a calculated gait. Little Urvi watched her walking away until she disappeared around a corner.
She suddenly asks, "Mama?"

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Urvi burped aloud after consuming six six Pakauda's, her onion infested breath made me recoil as I handed out a small piece of halls towards her.
"I want an icecream too", she demanded after freshening her breath, it was my turn to look at her with disbelief now.
Miss Shanti returned after a few minutes, eager to take additional orders. I refused - much to Urvi's dismay and asked for the check.
"You have a lovely daughter, where are you guys from?" She asked as I handed over my credit card.
"We just moved in from Virginia, how about yourself?" I asked back.
"I am from Bombay, I have been here for over a year now, me and my husband were qualified for a DV lottery, he works for subway down the block." She kissed little urvi before leaving.

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Five diligent years in academia with two graduate degrees under my belt, I was still an alien in the land of America, my situation had not been better than that of a nomad in past few years. Despair of never finding a suitable job coupled with an impossible scope of permanent immigration status was so agonizing, I almost left for India in anxiety once. With a lingering hope of soon to come better days alike many other immigrants, I somehow survive despite being ill-at-ease.

For people like Shanti, success as a green card, came with very little struggle. I am perturbed, vexed and frustrated with such disparity of fortunes. I consider myself as an educated person who deserves a modest income and is allowed to live life without any immigration issues - which, unfortunately never happens effortlessly. If I believe everyone deserves a better living, then I also believe living better should come only after a minimal struggle. Shanti, although lacking academic qualification, beats me in every other aspect as long as living in America is concerned.

As I walk down the uneven sidewalks of Roosevelt holding Urvi against the chilled evening zephyr, I happen to recall a quote from an unknown magazine.

"Welcome to America, Land of the free, Soon to be dead."

[chicano_desi]

[veena125]

I went to JH to eat some samose( )and do some gold shopping...

[chicano_desi]

Speak softly, love and hold me warm against your heart
I feel your words, the tender trembling moments start
Were in a world, our very own
Sharing a love that only few have ever known

Wine-colored days warmed by the sun
Deep velvet nights when we are one

Speak softly, love so no one hears us but the sky
The vows of love we make will live until we die
My life is yours and all becau-au-se
You came into my world with love so softly love

[Sean`Paul`JR]

[chicano_desi]

Originally Posted by Sean`Paul`JR

dear santa, you are a bitch *****.
scratch that
dear santa, you are a bitch ass *****.

[Sean`Paul`JR]

Originally Posted by chicano_desi

dear santa, you are a bitch *****.
scratch that
dear santa, you are a bitch ass *****.

scratch what
Ur Butt lmao

[ssjasper2003]

Ok.