Books – Sunlit Prism

Reason #14 Why I Love New York: Stories on Broadway!

If you have ever met me, you know that I LOVE stories. I have been a bookworm since I can remember. I was reading before my parents realized I could, around the age of 4. And it never went away – I am constantly seeking out more stories all day, every day. My day begins with a book along with my morning coffee. I switch over to real-life stories on podcasts while I’m working in lab (after five years of research, I’m fully capable of doing most benchwork on autopilot, once I’ve thought out my experiments). I then segue into binge-watching dramatic TV shows (especially ones with more than 5 seasons. Stories that go on and on!) at dinnertime, and then back to reading in bed before I fall asleep.

A lot of my favorite stories are fiction – because I like to lose myself into something bigger and better, something different and more fantastical. Something grand, with a flourish of dramatic emotions and uncontrollable passion.

However, stories based are reality are often equally strange and compelling. While my preferred format for non-fiction stories is hardly ever in the form of books, I do thoroughly enjoy listening to people narrate their tales, in the way of loud impassioned conversations during lunch in the cafeteria or while catching up over coffee. Some people have the most exciting content, because they live pretty exciting lives, and then there are others whose narration is so descriptive that they make the most mundane events sound fascinating. I’m constantly trying to learn both – to live my life in a way that ensures getting the most entertaining material, but also to pick up good narration skills.

As an extension of my love for stories, I also (obviously) enjoy thinking of my own life as a story. To see myself as a protagonist on my own thrilling journey! See, I moved to NYC in my early 20s, reminiscent of many leading ladies of classic romantic comedies. I came here in search of adventure, and starting a new phase of my life, and what a story it has been! There have been plot twists and cliff hangers, passion and intrigue, butterflies and broken hearts, and lessons I am still learning. There have been several protagonists, arch enemies, supporting characters, and many many plot arcs, such as – the stressed and overworked PhD student. The immigrant struggling to find her footing in a whole new culture. The building of a new support system from scratch, and yes, the eternal quest of the romantic sort. Many plot lines, intricately intertwined – and yet, underlying it all has been another story connecting them all, the love story between New York City and me.

I used to think I already had enough stories available to me, in the form of books and conversations and movies and podcasts – however, moving to NYC has completely widened the format of stories that are available to me: wonderful, tragic, soul-crushing, heart-wrenching stories depicted in the form of tragic Italian operas, gorgeously stunning ballet performances depicting lovely stories like A Midsummer Night’s Dream, spur-of-the-moment improvisation shows – but my favorite mode by far has been via Broadway shows.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone – Broadway plays are universally acclaimed, but it has certainly been an eye-opener for how intricate a show could possibly be. The colors, the music, all the gorgeous set changes, the sweeping emotions – it’s all mesmerizing. I’ve watched classics like The Phantom of the Opera. I’ve watched the grittier ones like A Bronx Tale, and Chicago. I’ve watched laugh-out-loud shows like Mamma Mia and Kinky Boots, and dreamier shows like An American in Paris, and Once, the musical (side note: there’s no point in going for a Broadway show that isn’t a musical). By far, my favorite shows have involved Disney or happy ever afters, which again, should come as no surprise whatsoever. Disney defined my childhood, and I am very used to seeing talking animals as plucky sidekicks, genies bursting out of lamps, and people breaking into song at the drop of the hat (I would like to claim Bollywood to be an influence too, but I was one of those rare Indians who weren’t exposed to Bollywood till the ripe age of 20) – it is safe to say that I’m very comfortable with songs for every occasion. Come to think of of it, this might be what led to my propensity to designate a song for every mood (I mean, everyone does that, right? Right?) Broadway shows are a thrilling experience: the special effects! The dazzle! The glittery costumes, the dance numbers, and just the sheer energy on the stage and the audience!

So thank you, New York. Thank you for Broadway. Thank you for the magic. And for the reminder that incredible stories are always just a subway ride away!

Universal Studios: Mischief Managed!

Let me tell you about one of the happiest days of my life: the time I spent the entire day in The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios in Los Angeles.

It was a day I got to share with some of my closest friends, which was great, both because they enjoyed it thoroughly themselves, and also because they let me fully revel in my Wizarding World glee without thinking I’ve gone crazy. I’ve dreamed, day-dreamed, and pretty much lived in Harry’s world ever since I read the books all those years ago. A lifetime ago. I have traveled by the Hogwarts Express, been Sorted, flown Firebolts, and rode Hippogriffs a million times in my imagination. Was there ever a pre-Harry Potter Pooja? (Yes, actually, but that’s a whole other story.) Newer exciting fantasy series have come and gone, but nothing has ever managed to replace Hogwarts yet.

After years and years of obsessing so, I was finally here in Hogsmeade village! It was just as I pictured it – row after row of tiny shops with pristine snow-covered roofs. In addition there were wand stalls (here, the wannabe wizard chose the wand), and giant barrels full of Butterbeer.

I saw moving Wanted posters of Sirius Black. There were Gringotts ATMs to withdraw Muggle money. How considerate! I saw adults walking around in full wizarding robes, and children running around brandishing functional wands. Yes, the wands are interactive and you can actually perform certain spells in specific locations in Hogsmeade! There were little Pygmy Puffs you could adopt. Owl post that you could mail to yourself or to friends.

20171228_152358 — Owl post – lots of parcels to be delivered still!

The Frog Choir was in full form, with occasional dances and gymnastics by the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang visitors. There was old Mr. Ollivander, demonstrating how the wand chooses one very lucky wizard. I was really hoping to be picked for the demo, but I suppose the 9-year-old who was picked instead can maybe appreciate the experience just as much?! Oh, and Honeydukes! You could see why it’s a top destination for Hogwarts students. Fudge Flies, Sugar Quills, Peppermint Toads by the dozen – in candy stores like these, everyone is like a toddler on a sugar high!

And of course, there were all the Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans and Chocolate Frogs you could buy, complete with Famous Witches and Wizards Cards. Do you know how big those Frogs actually are? I was stopped at the LAX airport for extra security later on, because they thought the giant frog-shaped figure in my bag looked very suspicious through the X-ray scanner!

The Three Broomsticks was incredible. The sheer attention to detail was impressive, from a little sign with three little broomsticks on it, to stern notices from the Ministry about underage wizards not allowed to be served alcohol. We had to stand in queue for lunch for nearly an hour, but it was worth it. I almost cried when I had my first mug of Butterbeer. I was worried it would be too sweet, too overwhelming, and I’d be disappointed. But it was sheer perfection. It reminded me of butterscotch ice cream, but in hot molten form – creamy and delicious.

And then of course, we got to wander through Hogwarts castle to get to one of the theme park rides. The ride was quite realistic, as we got to follow Harry on his broomstick above the castle grounds, swooping, soaring, and barely escaping being hit by the Whomping Willow. But before we got on the ride, we had the time of our lives walking through Hogwarts castle. I kept squealing with excitement as we wound through the greenhouses outside, walked underneath the talking portraits, and saw Dumbledore’s office, the Gryffindor common room, and the classrooms. It was quite surreal to finally, finally be physically present in the very place my heart has resided for the last 17-odd years.

20171228_144952 — Look how glorious Hogwarts Castle is!

I wish I could explain how I felt. I could use phrases like ‘magical’, ‘incredible’, and ‘dream come true’, but that’s not nearly enough to capture what I felt. Words are not enough. What I can tell you is that I walked around in a happy daze, happy but almost painfully so. My breath was caught in my throat, my face warm, and my heart pounding away, a big ball of emotion lodged just so, waiting to be released in the form of loud squeals, helpless laughter, or a tempest of I-just-can’t-believe-I’m-here tears.

You see, Harry Potter isn’t just a children’s series. It’s a beautiful glorious world, a fantastical one, sure, but also one that teaches us so much about our own reality, with incredibly visual examples. The Dementors, such a chillingly terrifying representation of fear and depression, and how the only way to keep them at bay is by intensely focusing on your most powerful happy memories. And by eating a lot of chocolate, of course.

The Mirror of Erised, showing the deepest, most desperate desires of one’s heart. What would you see? And how would you react to see it laid out so clearly? Would you get obsessed with that image and fade away to nothing, longing for something that can never be? Would you hide it from everyone, like Dumbledore did (at least so far – but The Crimes of Grindelwald isn’t out yet!), and claim all you can see is a pair of socks?

We learnt the lesson that evil can never truly be eradicated, but if we fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, we can delay its return. How love is the strongest power of all, even in a world of Fidelius Charms and Protego spells and Felix Felicis.

The characters, so complex and wonderful – we see loyalty in the form of 14-year-old Ron Weasley standing up on a broken leg and defiantly telling a presumed murderer that he’ll have to kill him before getting to his best friend. We see that heroines need not be classically perfect – that bushy-haired book-toting know-it-alls are incredible friends to have, and can rise up to save the day, over and over. And Harry. Headstrong impulsive Harry whose instincts are almost always right, and who learns the subtle difference between being dragged kicking and screaming into a battle to the death, and walking into the arena with his head held high. Why wouldn’t we love Rowling’s world?!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the best part of being a Potterhead – apart from all the wonderful source material and the movies, and the tweets, and the cursed play I refuse to consider canon, and the newer fantastic movies, and Pottermore, and more, always more – the best part of being a Potterhead is the community. All those diverse Muggles united by a common love. The ships, the fanfics, the head canons, the fervent debates about Snape’s redemption, whether Umbridge was worse than Voldemort, and which Hogwarts house we truly belong to and why – I love the way these books have inspired countless works of creativity, sparked endless friendships, and fostered a sense of community and belonging in the world. Because no matter who we are or where we come from, we know that Hogwarts will always be there to welcome us home.

Reason #713 why I love New York: The Strand

I want books piled on my coffee tables, I want window sills stacked high with stray books. Books lining my staircases, books forgotten behind cushions and fleece throws in cozy armchairs. Books snoozing under my pillow, tottering on nightstands, balancing on the edge of the tub. I want to live in my own little oasis of books, a little world in which my kids can grow up surrounded by witches and wizards, dragons and Shardbearers, boarding schools and midnight feasts, one-legged pirates and snarky Greek demigods. It’s a vividly colorful world, this second world I inhabit, and is a world I will welcome all my descendants into.

All bookstores are magical treasure troves, but the Strand is pretty much my version of Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders.

At the corner of 12th and Broadway, the Strand has a gigantic collection of rare books, classics with their quintessential leather-bound covers – so solid and indulgent, like books who mean business, alphabetized tall and narrow little stacks you can lose yourself in, all organized by genre and alphabet, an entire collection of cleverly-named candles, witty magnets, mugs, bookmarks, gorgeous journals and totes, humorous socks and other Strand paraphernalia, a banned books section, and a whole row of staff recommendations with detailed notes about how and why this book demands to be read this very minute – and while all those features make the Strand a terrific bookstore, what puts it over the top is the racks and racks of discounted second-hand books lined outside. Starting from as low as 48 cents, these books are wonderfully haphazard and disorganized – and it’s especially thrilling because you never know what you might stumble across. Old copies of Pride and Prejudice crammed against The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, mixed in with German folk tales, stodgily standing next to the rules of Hindi grammar, lined up with parenting help books, just adjacent to the single girl’s guide to NYC. I’ve found old yellowed books with notes inscribed in the margins (literary, as opposed to vandalism – there’s a fine line), as well as books fresh and heady with that gorgeous new-book smell. The sheer variety delights my heart!

I’ve always felt more at peace with books as opposed to people. Those who saw me growing up can attest to the fact that whenever they came to visit, I’ve always had my nose buried in a book, and will only remove it with the greatest reluctance. I like to think I’ve changed a bit over time, become more of a people person, but maybe it’s just that I compartmentalize better now. Growing up, I’d collect books at stores and book fairs, I’d stack them, organize them by genre, author, frequency of re-reads, and caress them lovingly, read them over and over, trying to keep the pages un-creased and the spine intact (what kind of monster ruins book spines?! Or folds down pages?!). My books should remain as new as they were on the day I bought them.

At some point I realized that I don’t just like books, I need them. What started off as an indulgence has morphed into a necessity, and now I need extra ‘hits’ when I’ve had a bad day. While ‘going to the bookstore’ has always been the norm for when I wanted to celebrate some accomplishment (e.g. finished my annual exams and survived!) right from a young age, and getting books as gifts would make me happy in a way new clothes never did – I eventually figured out that a trip to the bookstore would also cheer me up immensely when I’ve had a hard day. Tired, stressed, lost, heartbroken – all these states of mind have been soothed over the years by a mere couple of hours in a bookstore. I feel at peace – like all the internal and external turmoil is held at bay by the hard covers (or paperbacks) of books. I’d go to a bookstore, pick up a novel, and curl up in a comfy armchair, surrounded by books and bookworms, and the quiet rustle of turning pages – it’s like a warm cocoon that wraps me up cozy and tight, a silvery force field of sorts, deflecting the world and all its troubles away from me. It’s my safe space, and nothing can hurt me while I’m there.

Books are something I take for granted, but whenever I stop and really think about it, I feel incredibly grateful to all the authors around the globe who pick up their pens and pick out the best words to share their stories, based in reality or imagination or both. I’m grateful to my parents for loving books themselves, and encouraging me to read more, explore more, as much as my heart desired. Reading is such an integral part of my identity that it’s hard to imagine a parallel universe in which I didn’t care to read. That universe seems colder, harsher, bleaker. My life is so much brighter, because I can choose to live multiple lives, think from varying perspectives, empathize better, and dream more resplendent dreams, all because of all the stories I get to read.

While e-books have revolutionized the ease of reading, I am determined to have a gigantic collection of physical books you can touch, see and smell (oh, that smell! Did you know that the Strand actually sells scented candles called Aged Page, and Cafe Au Library?). My dream house has a giant room full of books – wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, many lifetimes worth of books. But apart from my very own personal library, I’d love to have books spilling over in other areas of my life, quite literally. I want books piled on my coffee tables, I want window sills stacked high with stray books. Books lining my staircases, books forgotten behind cushions and fleece throws in cozy armchairs. Books snoozing under my pillow, tottering on nightstands, balancing on the edge of the tub. I want to live in my own little oasis of books, a little world in which my kids can grow up surrounded by witches and wizards, dragons and Shardbearers, boarding schools and midnight feasts, one-legged pirates and snarky Greek demigods. It’s a vividly colorful world, this second world I inhabit, and is a world I will welcome all my descendants into.

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