In New York: Being Jamshaid of 'Jackson Heights'

[ziaulislam]

In New York: Being Jamshaid of 'Jackson Heights'
"You’re going to New York?! I am so jealous."
"You are so lucky."
"Three months in the United states? Wow!"

These were some of the excited reactions I received, as I planned my three month-long, purely work trip to the US.

I tried to explain that it was purely for educational purposes, but they wouldn't stop screaming in delight at how lucky I was. For the people around me, it was a dream come true; a dream full of fascination and glory.

Despite the hoopla and fuss, I landed in New York with minimal expectations; just a hidden corner in my heart bustling with a tourist's excitement to witness the city.

After a long ordeal at the airport, tired and exhausted, I finally arrived at the small room that I had rented for the month. I will skip details of the room’s demeanour. At that point, I was happy enough to have a place where I could rest my head. I was already missing Karachi and my own comfortable bed.

The next day, I set out to find my workplace with a fresh resolve and motivation in my heart. As I stepped into the train, the mic announced:

“Dear customers, your safety is our primary concern…”.

My heart swelled with relief. This was a welcome change.

“…please beware of pickpockets as you ride the MTA vehicle. Have a safe journey!”

My heart skipped a beat. A dream come true indeed, but maybe my worst one?

After much ado, I got off the train, walked for miles towards and within subways, to finally discover that I was lost. Frustrated and tired, I took a taxi which cost me a good 50 dollars to reach the hospital. Ouch. I badly missed the auto-rickshaw I took from right under my home to take me wherever in the city I wanted, all for under Rs 200, if haggled right.

Then came work, where, on my first day, I felt like an outsider among a sea of unknown faces. I felt my miniscule existence crumbling in the vast galaxy of stars. I was a nobody. I felt like I had a long month of struggle ahead to prove myself.

The people here are friendly and nice, but a certain and very large amount of different. I sensed I had to bridge a huge gap before I could fit in. I wasn’t looking forward to it. But, I wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Finally, after a day of arduous mental exertion of desiring approval, I went home to find an empty fridge. 'Oh, let's order McDonalds,' my mind buzzed in relief. 'Wait. It’s not halal,' my subconscious nudged.

Distraught and hungry, I finally grabbed a bag of open chips from the plane and decided to hit the sack. Mouth-watering images of my mum’s home-cooked food tortured my mind.

I had had enough for the day. I missed Pakistan. And this was just the first day.

Things moved on. Progress was made. New York was glorious with tall buildings and diverse individuals. I became part of their robotic cult, waking up at six in the morning; going to work; coming back; eating whatever was available; having lots of coke and going to sleep.

Life here took a different dimension altogether. There was no maid to do your chores, you had to mop the floors yourself. There was no fast-food joint at every corner of the city, and you had to travel for miles to find a semi-decent place. For someone like me who wrote strong feminist blogs on how men in Pakistan are scary and keep ogling you, a ride on the NY subway after the sunset was reason enough to redefine the word scary itself.

My entire month was a toned down reflection of my first day; the search forhalal food, the desire to fit in, the outsider tag, the long arduous walks and the torturous pangs of missing home. All this was – is my life. The struggle still continues.

For others, I may have been living a tourist's dream. But truth be told, I felt like Jamshaid of Jackson Heights – lured into the glitter of a jewel only to find out it was not real.


I could completely identify with Jamshaid's struggle of a desi with big dreams; dreams that take you to their end only for you to realise that there is no place like where you started from.

See: Love and longing in 'Jackson Heights'

I guess it won't be so bad after a while when things ease out, friends are made, and halal food finds its way through. But that doesn’t change the fact that when it comes to luxury and quality of life, there is no place like Pakistan, no place like home!

—Photos by author

 

[NaMaloom]

What a useless article. Dawn just using it as a website filler.

 

[mkg00179504]

In New York: Being Jamshaid of 'Jackson Heights'
"You’re going to New York?! I am so jealous."
"You are so lucky."
"Three months in the United states? Wow!"

These were some of the excited reactions I received, as I planned my three month-long, purely work trip to the US.

I tried to explain that it was purely for educational purposes, but they wouldn't stop screaming in delight at how lucky I was. For the people around me, it was a dream come true; a dream full of fascination and glory.

Despite the hoopla and fuss, I landed in New York with minimal expectations; just a hidden corner in my heart bustling with a tourist's excitement to witness the city.

After a long ordeal at the airport, tired and exhausted, I finally arrived at the small room that I had rented for the month. I will skip details of the room’s demeanour. At that point, I was happy enough to have a place where I could rest my head. I was already missing Karachi and my own comfortable bed.
"I am sure you don't have to come next time but if you do yourself a favor rent a room in Manhattan or in other parts of queens i am sure the big chunk of $$ will make it more comfortable for you.Since you come from such luxurious place".
The next day, I set out to find my workplace with a fresh resolve and motivation in my heart. As I stepped into the train, the mic announced:

“Dear customers, your safety is our primary concern…”.

My heart swelled with relief. This was a welcome change.

“…please beware of pickpockets as you ride the MTA vehicle. Have a safe journey!”
well, this is something quiet surprising which i have never heard in 13 years about "pickpockets".It is not the duty of MTA to tell you about pocket pickers.What their responsibility is i ll quote it from the MTA transit website "Audio from R142 car: Ladies and Gentlemen, this is an important message from the New York City Police Department. Keep your belongings in sight at all times. Protect yourself. If you see a suspicious package or activity on the platform or train, do not keep it to yourself. Tell a Police Officer or an MTA employee. Remain alert and have a safe day". They have far bigger and better things to do than telling you about your empty pockets.
My heart skipped a beat. A dream come true indeed, but maybe my worst one?

After much ado, I got off the train, walked for miles towards and within subways, to finally discover that I was lost. Frustrated and tired, I took a taxi which cost me a good 50 dollars to reach the hospital. Ouch. I badly missed the auto-rickshaw I took from right under my home to take me wherever in the city I wanted, all for under Rs 200, if haggled right.
How can you walk for miles within the subway?Please let me know the NYC should arrange the marathon within the subways then.The subway stations are almost everywhere.If you cant travel in NYC MTA which is the best in the US and even in the world then i ll say get yourself a scooter.
The taxi cost you more then RS 200 because the taxi driver went to the taxi school to get license.He pays about $800 weekly for night shift,he has to pay MTA surcharge, health care tax,and other taxes that your "comfortable auto-rickshaw" do not have to.

Then came work, where, on my first day, I felt like an outsider among a sea of unknown faces. I felt my miniscule existence crumbling in the vast galaxy of stars. I was a nobody. I felt like I had a long month of struggle ahead to prove myself.

The people here are friendly and nice, but a certain and very large amount of different. I sensed I had to bridge a huge gap before I could fit in. I wasn’t looking forward to it. But, I wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Finally, after a day of arduous mental exertion of desiring approval, I went home to find an empty fridge. 'Oh, let's order McDonalds,' my mind buzzed in relief. 'Wait. It’s not halal,' my subconscious nudged.
Why would you want to order McDonalds when you come from such awesome place?McDonalds are considered 3rd class places to eat.There are tons of places which are far better.

Distraught and hungry, I finally grabbed a bag of open chips from the plane and decided to hit the sack. Mouth-watering images of my mum’s home-cooked food tortured my mind.

I had had enough for the day. I missed Pakistan. And this was just the first day.

Things moved on. Progress was made. New York was glorious with tall buildings and diverse individuals. I became part of their robotic cult, waking up at six in the morning; going to work; coming back; eating whatever was available; having lots of coke and going to sleep.

Life here took a different dimension altogether. There was no maid to do your chores, you had to mop the floors yourself. There was no fast-food joint at every corner of the city, and you had to travel for miles to find a semi-decent place. Yes there is no "maid" to clean up after your lazy shit.You learn to do everything by yourself.I know its surprising for you because mommy's little angle never cleaned the room but honey the world is a real place where you do clean up after your self even the animals do.
The fast food place is the most ridiculous thing i have ever heard. Were you living in the Roosevelt island somewhere in a prison.You are saying that a country which is home to fast food, does not have enough fast food places in its biggest city?I think by your standards 10 meters is equal to 10 miles.
For someone like me who wrote strong feminist blogs on how men in Pakistan are scary and keep ogling you, a ride on the NY subway after the sunset was reason enough to redefine the word scary itself.
Really? How about a ride on the awesome transportation of Karachi at 6 in the morning.Does it make it you any safe?A person from the worst city of Pakistan Karachi talking about safety issues in other cities of the world. Wow it does not get any better.
My entire month was a toned down reflection of my first day; the search forhalal food, According to Zabihah there are 169 halal restaurants, and 77 halal markets Just in Queens alone.This does not include those food carts that sell halal food.I am not including 4 other boroughs of NYC.This is not Denmark, Swedish border.Not finding halal food in NYC is like saying i went around the world and couldn't find drinking water.NYC has any kind of food that you want. Just name it and its here.
the desire to fit in, the outsider tag, the long arduous walks and the torturous pangs of missing home. All this was – is my life. The struggle still continues.
You mentioned long walks many times, I know this must have been very hard on you because what you are used to is a car right in your home which drop you off right in front of a shopping mall and then coming back the same way.Its not only you, its actually the culture in Pakistan.
If you were missing home why did you stayed.

For others, I may have been living a tourist's dream. But truth be told, I felt like Jamshaid of Jackson Heights – lured into the glitter of a jewel only to find out it was not real.


I could completely identify with Jamshaid's struggle of a desi with big dreams; dreams that take you to their end only for you to realise that there is no place like where you started from.
True, should have stayed at a place where you started and also end it there.It actually suits your personality.
See: Love and longing in 'Jackson Heights'

I guess it won't be so bad after a while when things ease out, friends are made, and halal food finds its way through. But that doesn’t change the fact that when it comes to luxury and quality of life, there is no place like Pakistan, no place like home! Ahan, finally you found some halal food, good for you. So you were eating chips and drinking coke for such a long time or you really were eating that so called halal food.Not finding Halal food in Jackson Heights is like not finding water by a sea.
Yes the luxury and quality of life is better, because in summer you sweat like a pig due to no electricity and in winter no gas, but hey don't give up on luxury because the luxury of target killing is always available.And if it gets a little better then of course how can you miss bhata khori which makes sure that your business is at the mercy of criminals which is hard to get in other countries. But i guess that is a quality of life by your standards.

—Photos by author