It had been a while since I had visited the US, or New York for that matter. The pandemic and a few other factors had played spoilsport. My Air India flight landed at 7am, having just flown through a glorious sunrise. A gust of cold wind welcomed me into Manhattan. I rolled down the window of the yellow cab, breathing in the cold autumnal air with relish.
At Lisa and Arnab’s charming Harlem Brownstone, I dug into my Ilish Biryani with gusto. And this was before I gulped down some Jaali Kebabs and a delicious helping of Chicken Biyebari Roast. One does not expect to eat Bangladeshi delicacies in New York, but such is the power of true globalisation that friends who are intent on feeding you the best food now have the world’s cuisines to choose from. With home delivery having acquired new dimensions during the pandemic, Bangladeshi women now deliver scrumptious items to your doorstep. This is what makes NYC cosmopolitan and grand — its multiculturalism makes room for intimate details.
After the meal, we walked to the nearby Columbia campus, cutting through Morningside Height. Autumn, I could see, was announcing its arrival in a big way. New shades of red and orange were rubbing shoulders on still-green trees. I did not know that one of the world’s largest cathedrals stands right here. Looming over Columbia, the part-Romanesque, part-Byzantine, part-Gothic and partly unfinished Cathedral of St John the Divine was, well, in every way, divine. We toured the library and Barnard College before walking to The Hungarian Pastry Shop for a delightful cup of hot chocolate. Under an unreal turquoise sky, surrounded by students, we sat talking at our wooden tables. The trees, I remember, had begun shedding their leaves on us.
Cathedral of St John the Divine Wikimedia Commons
Lisa’s elder daughter was visiting from London. Seeing her film producer mum busy on a call the next morning, she took off with me for breakfast. At the corner of Central Park, a Spanish-speaking woman runs a café called Amrita. Here she serves delicious croissants and bagels for breakfast. The atmosphere at Amrita was wholly casual, genial and non-judgmental. The air grew nippy as we walked past a street photography exhibit in Morningside Height, but the stories we swapped were warm. They seemed to have been drenched in the light of the morning sun.
In the afternoon we walked to Lee Lee’s Baked Goods, Harlem’s last old-style rugelach baker. Alvin Lee Smalls, 74, had come to New York from South Carolina in 1962, and at his bakery he serves apricot, chocolate, raspberry rugelach and so much more. To keep a Jewish tradition alive, he makes pastry with only flour and water. It is sheer magic. We ended our afternoon at Silvana on 116th Street, having cha and telebhaja. (What else can you call deep-fried fat potatoes?)
The next day, I shifted base to stay with my friend Laura McPhee. Laura is a renowned photographer and scholar. The Kolkata project she and I had worked on for 15 years is now part of the book Home and the World (Yale Press). Laura lives on the Upper West Side, also within walking distance from Columbia. The large airy rooms in her 110-year-old building come with high ceilings and they overlook the Hudson. Every morning, while making breakfast — sunny side eggs, raspberry jam and dark rustic slices of crusty, chewy mahogany sourdough miche — the kitchen became my viewing deck. After a run on Riverside Drive, my mornings were made idyllic by the Darjeeling tea I had found in Laura’s treasure tea chest.
Where Sabyasachi is in fashion
The Greenwich and West Village area, a Bohemian stronghold, has always been the heart of the LGBTQ movement. Surrounded by hip bars and taverns, Sabyasachi (Mukherjee)’s store, on 160, Christopher Street, takes over 6,000 square feet of a century-old building.
The Sabyasachi store on 160 Christopher Street Modhurima Sinha
The store’s opening party on October 12, 2022, saw a very sizable turnout. The champagne flowed. Fans and customers only stopped for the gourmet spread that was laid out in the accessory section. It is hard to describe a space that seemed in every way indescribable, but one thing seemed clear — the grandeur, the silk, the wallpaper and the sparkling champagne had all added up. Manhattan now has one more unmissable destination. (A tip for those visiting New York: do not miss the jewellery section at the Sabyasachi store. It evokes a magic that is pure India.) For the next few days, the store had long queues, and as the crowds jostled here, almost everything sold out. It was such a thrill to watch and experience Kolkata go global.
The Brandade de Morue and (right) ‘dauphinois’ at Buvette Modhurima Sinha
The food in this area deserves its own guide. Buvette, a restaurant with branches in Paris and Tokyo, serves delectable French food. Its tagline — ‘gastrotheque’ — seems wholly justified. If here, do not forget to sample the classic ratatouille, Brandade de Morue (house salt cod with olive oil, cream and garlic), dauphinois (creamy baked potatoes), betteraves (beet) and the classic coq au vin. As you take your table on the pavements, the fairy lights will only add to the distinctive French flavour.
My friend Sunanda then took me to Mermaids Inn on MacDougal Street, a fun spot for oysters, calamari, and, of course, ‘Happy Hours!’ After I’d had my requisite fill of oysters, we went over to Cheli in the East Village. Here I sampled the most lip-smacking prawns. Seeing me yearn for some good jazz, Sunanda later took me to Arthur’s Tavern in the West Village. Having opened in 1937, Arthur’s Tavern is today one of the oldest West Village bars. It was once frequented by the likes of Charlie Parker and the legendary Roy Hargrove. Music lovers do not have to pay any cover charge here, and if you are in luck, like we were that day, the band, you’ll find, is fabulous.
While still on the subject of food and eateries, I must make mention of the Greek joint Thalassa that Sabyasachi took me to in Tribeca. The place was swank and full of cheer. We ended up tasting a wide range of what they had on offer, but the scallops were my favourite. The best I have eaten in a long time. In the end, it was the fragile, crusty Greek treatment that felt unique.
A melting pot of the world’s cultures
Friends and family can both be equally critical to us humans. The pandemic reminded us of this in a rather melodramatic way. When I went to Lauduree to catch up with Cesare Belier, erstwhile consul general of Italy in Kolkata, he sometimes ignored his tea and gooey dessert to enquire after everyone in Calcutta, rattling off at least a hundred names. He also dropped in at Laura’s for her famous apple pie. Friends, it seems, overlap with food all the time.
Another Kolkatan in New York, Ruchira Gupta of Apne Aap and Emmy fame, has a habit of dragging light into any conversation she has with you. Ruchira took me to the Chelsea Film Festival, for a special screening of Shaunak Sen’s breathtaking All That Breathes. The one-and-a-half-hour documentary tracks three young men who save and tend to injured kites in Delhi. Unusual and beautifully shot, it was a privilege to have seen this film which really cannot be slotted in any one genre. In October 2022, weeks before the film was nominated for an Oscar, a review in the New York Times read: “Neither a nature documentary nor a political lecture, All That Breathes is a subtle, haunting reflection on the meaning of humanity — on the breathtaking kindness and heartbreaking cruelty that define our wounded, intrepid, predatory species.” The film, it was clear, deserved all the awards it had received at festivals like Sundance and Cannes. Meeting Sen at the end of the screening felt like both an honour and a privilege.
At Ruchira’s home, we were served a flavourful Indian meal — mixed dals, paneer and potatoes. We were four girls that day — Lisa (Samia Zaman) from Dhaka, Laura from New York, Ruchira and I from Kolkata. As we began discussing topics that would otherwise be thought of as ‘taboo’, I felt a great relief. It felt so good to be among human beings who had not forgotten the value of kindness. For once, I felt glad to be an intellectual, or, as Kolkatans would have it, an antel.
A walk down Times Square and (right) Tom Stoppard’s Leopold Stadt at the Longacre Modhurima Sinha
My arty side still needed satisfaction. I couldn’t miss Tom Stoppard’s Leopold Stadt at the Longacre. Set during World War II, the production’s themes — loss and torture, displacement and narrow-mindedness — all felt relatable. For me, Broadway and the West End are two of our greatest successes. The exorbitant rates here might sometimes seem shocking, but what is truly surprising are the number of people ready to shell out big money only to watch art. Supriya, a Kolkata friend, was visiting her daughter Sania, a designer who had recently shown a new line of clothes at the New York Fashion Week. She took me to see Hamilton on Broadway. The three hours of music felt a touch underwhelming, but the energy of the young crowd was infectious.
For those who want to acquaint themselves with the American city, its architecture and solitude, the work of artist Edward Hopper can, at times, be an ideal entry point. He is one of my favourite painters, and I have always been captivated by the way he captures light on each of his canvases. For a true-blue fan like me, the opportunity to attend a special preview of his show at Whitney was a source of some giddiness. The exhibition collected his New York work, giving viewers a peek into his process. You could see how his sketches became the astounding art they did. In particular, I loved Hopper’s theatre series, his rooftops and the view you see from his windows.
‘Girl at Sewing Machine’ by Edward Hopper Modhurima Sinha
New York is a city where art, history, politics, theatre, music and food all blend into one exhilarating experience. Kolkata motifs pop up everywhere. On my flight back, I was reading Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend. I was so engrossed in the novel’s story, I almost missed the pilot’s voice. He was alerting us to a breathtaking sight. We were crossing the Hindu Kush. Sparkling snow peaks stretched out for miles, and we were crossing Tirich Mir, the highest peak of the range. I looked out to the left and there, just below me, were the peak’s unravelling paths that the mighty Alexander might have once navigated. I was on top of the world, literally, but also because my bite of the Big Apple was juicy enough to keep me flying high for a while.
The writer is Director, Public Relations, Taj Group (Eastern India)
