‘J
17
FK, please,’ I said to the cab driver.
I sat in a yellow cab to the airport. It was almost 5 in the evening. Finally, the movers had left
and I had surrendered the keys to my Tribeca apartment.
My new job offer had come through, with only one brief call with Neel as an interview. Given
Jon’s recommendation, Neel said this was a formality and more a ‘welcome to Hong Kong’ call.
Human Resources sent me a new offer. Given the high rents in Hong Kong, they added a housing
allowance of 60,000 dollars a year to my base salary.
I had decided to quit and go back to West Delhi with a zero salary. Maybe I would have
yielded to my mother’s badgering about getting married. I should have been serving tea and mithai in
trays to prospective grooms. Instead, I had a welcome brochure from the Goldman Sachs Asia-Pacific
Relocation Group in my hand. I might not have love in my life, but I did have Uncle Goldman Sachs
taking care of me. The brochure said I would be staying at the Shangri-La Hotel in Hong Kong until I
found a new apartment.
The cab passed the Tweed Courthouse near the Manhattan side entrance to the Brooklyn
Bridge. From a distance, I could see the skyscrapers of the Financial District. Even though I had
wanted to get out of New York at the earliest, I felt a tinge of regret. I had become attached to the city
of my firsts—first job, first boyfriend, first independent home and, well, first break-up.
‘Could you stop here for a second, please?’ I said as the cab reached the bridge.
The driver slowed down the cab.
‘Can I walk across the bridge? You can meet me on the other side.’
‘The entire bridge? That will take you half an hour.’
‘I have time. Can I have your number?’
He gave me a business card with his name and number.
‘I am gonna have to keep the meter on,’ he said, chewing gum.
‘Sure, I will call you when I reach the other side.’
I stepped out of the taxi and climbed the steps up to the pedestrian walkway of the bridge. The
Brooklyn Bridge is an old cable-stayed-cum-suspension bridge in New York City. Completed in
1883, it connects the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn by spanning the East River. Around a mile
long, it has a pedestrian walkway in the middle, above the automobile lanes.
If you have seen movies set in New York, you would have probably seen scenic shots of the
Brooklyn Bridge. I began my walk. The orange-coloured sky at sunset and Manhattan’s skyline on my
left seemed like a perfect last memory of the city. The peak hour traffic passed below me. I noticed
that the bridge with its trusses resembled the Howrah Bridge in Kolkata.