He trusts us and we reciprocate

For the longest time, we have thought of ourselves as a crooked country. Signs in crowded places warned us to beware of pick pockets and we did. But strangely, we placidly accepted those who stole from us to deprive us of roads, electricity and clean water as a fait accompli.

Then he came along. This guy called Narendra Modi, who told us that we could be trusted. He told us we didn't need a gazetted officer to attest certificate copies. We could attest them ourselves.

He told us we could make our country beautiful and clean again. We didn't have to wait for anyone else to do it.

Then one night he announced he needed our patience and understanding to clean the country of the scourge called black money. And then he made our 1000 and 500 rupees currency notes illegal. We had to stand in line at the bank and wait for hours in the first 10 days since he made this announcement to get some cash. It definitely wasn't what we wanted to spend our time on. But we did it.

But then, I err. I do not live in India, so I speak with the metaphoric "we". Coincidentally though, I happened to be in India for a week about 10 days after demonetization was launched. The day my husband and I landed in Mumbai, we saw long queues at the foreign exchange counters, which would close one after the other as they ran out of cash. Thankfully, we had enough valid cash to get a taxi to our nearby hotel and didn't have to visit those counters.

Chatting en-route to the hotel, the taxi driver said, "Modi has really started something with this demonetization drive". I asked him if it had been troublesome for him and he was quick to deny that possibility. "We hardly have enough money to be troubled by the demonetization of 1000 and 500 rupees. We operate with much smaller currency notes, so our lives are not disrupted. We know Modi's doing this so all those big crooks who have been cheating us, are exposed and punished." This sentiment was very different from the winding queues at ATMs and the extreme inconvenience that media outlets had been attributing to the lower middle classes and have-nots in India.

Surprised but heartened, we arrived at our hotel, where we were able to pay for everything from the rooms to meals with a card, thankfully! 

The learning didn't stop though.

A couple of days later, at our second pit-stop of Udupi, we spotted an ATM that seemed to have a short queue (my mother, who had become an ATM expert by now, was confident that ATMs without a queue meant empty cash reserves, so short queues were heartening). So, off we went to join the line. And I noticed that the media was being proven a liar again--people weren't withdrawing the maximum amount they were allowed to. No, they were walking away with much smaller amounts, clearly only money they really needed. The same thing happened at our final pit-stop, Margao in Goa. The ATMs weren't jam-packed and people were withdrawing money calmly and as needed.

So, Modi was right again--we could be trusted to take what we needed and was rightfully ours instead of hoarding. We weren't crooks by default. If any previous government had the stomach to take this step, would the situation have been the same, I wonder.

Sadly, as with any trips with my family, this one was drawing to a close rapidly. We had decided to wrap it up by taking a ride back on the scenic Konkan Railway back to Mumbai. As we slowly drew into the Mumbai station after a full day's journey, we overheard a conversation between a young, self-confessed chartered accountant and a middle-aged government employee. As they discussed the impact of demonetization, both agreed that big businesses, especially in sectors like jewellery that traded in "not-so-white" cash, would be hit hard. Both men couldn't stop praising the dramatic yet well-timed move and agreed wholeheartedly that nobody other than Modi could pull it off successfully. Albeit from a different strata of society, the faith and appreciation in their voices echoed that of our taxi driver in Mumbai.

As he rolls out one initiative after other that strikes at the core of the evils that have claimed Indian society since Independence, Modi continues to prove that he trusts those of us who are honest. And increasingly, despite media claims to the contrary, we seem to reciprocate en-masse with love and complete faith.

Minor irritants and missing responses

Three 'interesting' incidents in 5 days -- some weeks are more happening than others! While I responded appropriately to the first, I was too taken aback to respond to the other two, which, if you know me, left me fuming.

Last Friday my husband and I went to a friend's book party. That's pretty unusual for us in the first place. The party turned out to be in a classy, old money type of venue, which is even more unusual for us. Anyway, we were there to toast our friend and a room full of really old, definitely rich people wasn't about to deter us. Since I am fairly social, I decided to go around and introduce myself. After some false starts where the octogenarians in question had zero interest in getting to know me (though deafness may have been a factor), I came upon two people engaged in animated conversation. The woman was a lawyer with African heritage and the man was an ex-MNC executive who had spent time in India. Upon learning that I came from India, the lawyer told us about her women friends of Indian heritage who marveled at being able to travel alone in India, something that locals wouldn't even dream of. This tale was preceded and followed by worshipful exclamations about the opportunities that America offered its people. If she hadn't told me that she was born in the US, I would have assumed her adoration for the country originated from the typical "fresh off the boat" syndrome. Unfortunately for her, I felt compelled to tell her that I had a lot of friends who travelled alone in India regularly. Soon after, she excused herself, never to return to our scintillating conversation. Honestly, I think too many Indians who live abroad bolster this kind of attitude by deriding their oen country while worshipping their adopted country blindly.

On to Sunday, when we celebrated Diwali with a few friends and relatives. One of the guests, who suffers from the "I am only listening to you because I want to resume talking at the next break in the conversation" syndrome, asked my husband and me if "we had bought our house in the down market". Apart from it being an odd question, we were shocked at the assumption that we would naturally be unable to afford a house like this unless someone were selling it cheap. I still can't get over the fact that you would eat dinner calmly while insulting your hosts. Guess who's never getting invited back again!

And then today, I got a dose of 'mansplaining', a slightly silly term that captures the tendency some men have to repeat a woman's ideas and get credit for them. In a large meeting with clients where I was contributing actively, I realized one guy was repeating most of what I was saying and the others were giving him credit for my thoughts! I couldnt figure out what to say to him today but next meeting he does that, I am using my husband's advice "thank you for repeating what I said...". Ridiculous really!

Three different instances that bothered me enough to warrant a post. Rant over :)

A friendly traveller

We just got back from a beautiful vacation in New Zealand with my sister and brother-in-law, thanks to some amazing planning by my brother-in-law. As I think back over my experience, apart from the gorgeous scenery that seems to paint the land of the Maoris, a recurring theme strikes me -- how friendly my husband is as a traveller.

For someone who's probably the least travelled of my family, my husband has a very open demeanour when interacting with strangers we encounter on our travels. On this trip, that fact came home to me during an impromptu music and dance performance at the Te Papa, New Zealand's gorgeous national museum in Wellington. Always keen on exploring interactive displays, he found a musical exhibit in the Polynesian section of the museum that let one hover over different musical selections to create a 'mix'. As he started to play DJ, a teenaged schoolboy wandered over to the display and began dancing. What started with one kid, grew into a flock of about 10 within a couple of minutes. Clearly trained dancers, the impromptu performance had me both laughing and cheering at a scene that drew parallels to the Pied Piper of Hamlin.

Just a day later, as we boarded the near-vertical Wellington cable car up to the Botanic Gardens, our local (seemingly well-travelled) co-passenger struck up a conversation with my husband. He talked about everything from his travels in the US and Brazil to the similarity in architecture between San Francisco and Wellington. My husband responded easily in a conversation that occupied the majority of the short ride. Just before they started chatting, the same friendly local had attempted to kick off a conversation with me, but my response, while polite, had been fairly short.

So, why, I wondered, did my far more extensive travel experience not help me be as friendly a traveller as my husband?

Well, for a start, I am not Caucasian. And second, I am not American. And I think these two characteristics influence your temperament as a traveller.

From the last few years of living in my adopted home, the US, if there's one thing I have learnt it's that the average American is confident. Equipped with an education that largely focuses on their own country (albeit mostly only on the period following the European occupation of the continent) and a news system that almost exclusively covers stories that touch Americans, s/he tends to assume that the world knows about the US and (allow me this stretch) by extension, them.

A Caucasian American has the added advantage of being Caucasian. So, not only are they denizens of the "world's most powerful country", they are also members of a race that typically only experiences "positive racism". With that in your back pocket, you can't help but be a friendly traveller, right?

Whereas, when you are not Caucasian and travel in a primarily Caucasian foreign country, and (very importantly) are sensitive, you see instances of racism around you. Ok, let's not generalize, I see racism around me.

For instance, when an air hostess seems to behave a little differently with me than she does with my Caucasian co-passenger, I attribute it to racism. Because, to me, that behaviour seems different in a condescending sort of way, whether it's the lack of a smile or greeting or just simple impatience with my request.

So, when I travel, and encounter a relatively friendly Caucasian stranger, my default reaction is to get out of a conversation, instead of using it as an opportunity to get to know a local.

What would you do in a riot?

Yesterday, I watched Firaaq, (yet another) movie about the Gujarat riots of 2002. Like any well-made movie, it made me think, prompting questions and introspection long after the credits had rolled. With Nandita Das as director, I had a hunch that the movie would adopt the popular Leftist lens. And although those shades exist, I think the movie is especially strong because it is ultimately human.

For this post, I am not going to dwell upon why riots that massacre Hindus, Sikhs or other non-Muslims in India do not become a fixture in public (read media) consciousness. Instead, I am going to wonder aloud about the one thing that has been pounding away inside my head since I watched this movie -- what would I do in a riot?

And my question is not about whether or not I would participate in a riot but about my role as a bystander. In the movie, it's about Deepti Naval's predicament. A meek housewife, married to one of the rioters, Deepti is haunted by a desperate face begging to be let in to escape the rioters. As far as the viewer can tell, Deepti does not let the woman in, and continues to be shaken by the memory (and presumably, guilty conscience) a month or so after the riots are over.

And I have been asking myself - what would I do? If helping a stranger puts my family's life in danger, is it worth the risk? Clearly, this was the question that many non-Jews answered in Nazi Germany one way or another. And one that many people continue to be forced to answer across the world today.

I guess the question is important to me because for some reason, I came away from the movie feeling that everyone's vulnerable -- riots and violence can hit any of us. As an Assamese, I have never really been the member of a 'majority' community wherever I have lived. Today, living in a Western country that continues to be racked by race, I have an honest (possibly, irrational) apprehension of being lynched, because I look different. To counter this, I choose to live in a 'diverse' neighbourhood, instead of the homogeneous ones many of my compatriots prefer. To me, the only safety net that humans have, is living with others who are not a replica of ourselves.

My Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, who continues to be blamed for the Gujarat riots, said in a recent TV interview that international relations today are not just about governments but also about people-to-people relations. I think that applies within a country as well, especially one as truly diverse as India. Whether it's religion or language, caste or race, humans don't really need a reason to build barriers.

But getting to know individuals who are different from oneself and recognizing that other perspectives exist, is probably the only chance we have of saving ourselves from annihilation at our own hands. And maybe if we do this long enough, one day, that stranger won't be a stranger any more and we'll never have to ask ourselves the question I pose to myself today.

To feel powerful again

The other day I was talking to a colleague who's spent some time in India. As always happens with our conversations, the Indian political scene and Narendra Modi popped up. When she asked me if I thought Modi had made a difference in the two years he's been Prime Minister, the answer, surprisingly, came easily to me.

"I don't think anybody can change India in two years or even five or seven. But I think Modi's biggest attempt and potential for making a difference is changing our outlook on our country and ourselves", I said.

Every speech he gives, each 'Mann ki baat' he uploads, he always focuses on the small things that individuals can do to make a difference. Whether it's a kid who suggested setting out a dish of water for birds in the hot Indian summer or another who wishes his parents would celebrate his exam score instead of lamenting it, Modi singles out instances where individuals can and do make a difference. He seems to be sending us a clear message -- "this is your country. You are not victims and the government is not here to rule or dole out justice (or injustice) to you. It's here to serve you but you will succeed only if you help yourself, and very importantly, your country. And it's not a tall order. There are others just like you who are making a difference in simple ways every day. Pick something small and do your bit and you will see how you can change your country and your life."

When Papa told me about a news program on Doordarshan called Good News India, it almost felt like an extension of what Modi seems to be doing. One of the news stories on this program was about an ordinary Indian who shared the water from his borewell with the rest of the village during a mean drought. Something most of the 'bigger' media channels wouldn't touch with a barge pole.

Stories like this give us hope -- that our country's not full of cheats and criminals. And that it doesn't take money and power to make a difference. That each one of us, however poor, however insignificant, has the ability to make a difference in society. That hope gives us power to choose action over despair and propels us towards a sense of belonging to something bigger than ourselves. As human beings in a world that seems to be composed of individual digital islands moving away from each other at a rapid pace, this powerful sense of community is probably the most beautiful gift a leader can give us. And one, that only an uncannily perceptive leader would know to give.

If Modi is indeed trying to do what I think he is; that, above all policy and international relations he succeeds in building, will likely be his single biggest contribution to my country. And, contrary to what the media may have us believe, we, the people of India, will be grateful, Narendra Bhai.

When standing up to Goliath means having faith in yourself

I went to schools that gave me the freedom to think for myself despite being situated in the uber-structured Indian educational system. But these were also schools that tried to teach me to be a good (read obedient) student. And as I was telling my husband the other day, that usually translated into trying to be the angelic, teacher's pet whenever possible.

Growing up, I was always some sort of a school 'leader', whether it be class monitor or house prefect. But, I rarely challenged adult authority openly, much preferring the comfort of agreeing with those in power.

As I started to work in communications, traditionally seen as a 'support role', this tendency continued. My job was to write and do what was needed to make the company and bosses look good. So, I did that to the best of my ability. As I changed companies, I also came across a variety of bosses, from very good ones who wanted to teach me 'the trade' through plain crazy to those who cleverly took the credit for my achievements. True to self though, I continued to stay away from challenging my superiors at work.

Until about a year ago, when I volunteered myself to manage communications for a client, who has since turned into my favourite client of all time. That partnership was my professional turning point. From a communications support person, I transitioned to becoming a communications partner; able to advise and brainstorm ideas with a senior executive who is both intelligent and genuine, a rare combination in the shark tank that is the corporate world.

So, recently, when I was asked to take on another senior client, I had the skills and more importantly, the confidence to start the new engagement with a high-profile assignment. But as I was preparing for this assignment, something strange happened -- I had to challenge somebody over numbers -- a topic I try very hard not to argue about. When I saw some numbers that made no sense to me, however, I politely asked about their accuracy. The owner of the information was taken aback but agreed to look at the content more closely. Apparently that did not reveal any discrepancies and I was asked to explain my question. Not quite sure of my own footing, I ventured to provide more detail, all the while trying to be as polite as I could. At the end of the exchange, the owner of the information understood and accepted my perspective as accurate. Also, very sadly, admitted that nobody had ever questioned that content.

The admission made me both sad and happy. While it made me sad to think that there are those of us who do our jobs and consume content numbly, it made me really happy to know that in a good workplace, standing up to Goliath is about having faith in your convictions. Especially when those convictions stem from common sense and are in an area you don't necessarily consider your strong suit.  

Do our roots come from our language?

As I write this, exceptions start popping into my mind. But I think it's worth writing about it anyway.

Yesterday, we had some friends over for a very fun evening. Among the many things we talked about, the one that stuck with me was 'the feeling of home'. The U.S. is a country of immigrants and rarely do you get to meet someone that really belongs to this land. It's a strange thing to hear but two to three generations in, people still cite as their heritage, the nation or nations that their forefathers had come from. And even though one is born in a certain state, the 'allegiance' to that state is minimal.

To me, as an Indian and an Assamese, that is a very strange thing. Wherever I may live, I will always feel Indian and Assamese. When asked, I always differentiate between where I live and where I come from. And yesterday's conversation brought those feelings to the fore. When a friend commented that a town they had lived in for over a decade did not quite feel like home, I had to stop and wonder why.

Do human beings feel rooted to a place because of a certain kind of bond -- the bond of their mother tongue? Maybe that phrase exudes a power that we don't typically think about. And maybe the fact that language does not distinguish one part of the U.S. from another, removes that critical element, rendering many Americans unable to feel rooted to any one city or state.

I wonder if people in England feel that way too? Or France? Or any other country which is not like mine, where your language is a distinct marker of your ethnicity and your very being? Not that there aren't markers in the U.S. This is after all a country that has created its current heritage after having obliterated almost all signs of its native people. The sports teams of a state seem to be the clearest markers of state pride that I see in this country. Young or old, you swear your allegiance to your home state via the team it hosts.

But what if there isn't a state team? What is your marker? Other than a handful of cities, each town and city in this country carries a thread of homogeneity, with the same shops, restaurants and man-made landscape. The natural terrain feels like it would be the strongest mark of difference between one part of the country and another, but do the citizens of this country see it that way? Does that terrain root them to a certain part of their land over another?

Or does the fact that they speak the same language, overpower any need to have those roots to a certain part of the country?

Politics Trumps writer's block

As I write for a living and try to stay creative at work, sometimes I struggle to be creative outside of work. This is one of those times and I scratch my head about a topic to write about.

Most of my personal writing's inspired by the contrasts I see around me, which probably explains why the bulk of my inspiration comes from the queen of all contrasts, my country, India. Or when something in my adopted home strikes me as a contrast with India.

A lot of people I know are currently agog with interest in Trump. The namesake of the towering Trump towers in downtown Chicago is apparently shocking the world with political incorrectness. And my only response (that stifles conversation) to any questions about Trump is, I honestly have better things to do with my brain than fill it with nonsense. Of course, I freely admit, I will sing a different tune if he comes into power and increases my taxes.

But honestly, when one's workday is packed, I would rather devote the rest to reading something intelligent, cooking something creative and talking about something that matters. And Trump and his ilk don't fit into any of those categories.

End of the day, irrespective of whoever comes into power, the lobbies will continue to move and shake the world, the Indian Parliament will be stalled into perpetual inaction and Biblical creationism will continue to be taught to school students as a parallel theory next to evolution.

So, why spend time discussing Trump?

Insulation is cosy

When I first moved to the U.S., I went to a large public University in the country's third largest city. Having spent most of my life in the metropolises of India, I didn't for a moment expect to have difficulty adjusting to life in Chicago.

And, while the cold is something else, to me, a place is mostly about its people. And I was in for a rude shock. Since I was here to get an M.A. in Communications, the program was not dominated by Indians (unlike most technology-related higher-ed degrees offered by American universities). So, for me it was truly a foreign exchange experience, with classes populated mostly by Americans and a sprinkling of Europeans and East Asians. As the weeks went by and the very different body of literature became a little more familiar (my Bachelors is in Sociology), I began to sense a very peculiar social trait -- people in this country love to talk about themselves and better (or worse) still, they have very little interest in knowing about the 'other'.

Before I proceed, I will admit that there are exceptions. I am married to an American and have some very good American friends who are exactly the kind of people I would have been friends with anywhere in the world. However, my conviction stands. As I have gone on to work in a large global corporation and attended networking, social and volunteer events, I continue to find the same attitude. Here's how a typical conversation goes -- I start with a question, which begets a long-winded answer. And that's it. Typically, there is either no attempt to ask me a question in exchange or if one is asked, my answer, however short, prompts glazed eye-syndrome.

I could guess at a few reasons -- ranging from a social and cultural system that promotes a very strong sense of national pride and an educational system that largely focuses on the U.S. While the former is likely the legacy of having built a new country after scratching out all traces of the past, the latter is a powerful tool to promote the sense of 'us', bringing about a very cosy sense of insulation. And maybe that unwillingness to take the time to understand other cultures is responsible for the range of fiascos that have been U.S. foreign policy for a while now.

I don't know if my guesses are correct but I do know that the end result is a culture that's extremely difficult to navigate. 

Because "every single child matters" no matter where they are born

One always knows, doesn't one that different people and by extension kids have different lives?

I recently watched Oranges and Sunshine, a beautiful film that talks about a vicious child deportation racket from the UK to Australia and other countries in the Commonwealth, which spanned decades. Many of these children were forcibly taken from single mothers and sent to Australia to build churches, work on farms and perform other forms of child labour. The movie rests on the shoulders of the protagonist, a social worker who stumbles upon adults who were deported as children and skeptically at first, starts to investigate.

Armed with her department's support and funding, she heads to Australia to find these children, who are now adults and scattered all over the country. She leaves behind her children and husband for long periods of time to help these deportees, who, albeit in varying stations of life, seem scarred by the forced labour during their childhood.

While, according to the movie, the UK government tried to brush the deportations under the carpet for the longest time, it finally issued a belated apology to the victims. And one can't imagine this crime occurring in modern-day Britain. However, whether it's slavery in their own country or human trafficking to those countries that judge the rest of the world on human rights, children in India and countries with large populations in poverty live this reality even today. According to the Kailash Satyarthi foundation, about 78 million, nearly half of all child laborers, are in Asia and the Pacific followed closely by Sub-Saharan Africa. And their cries go unheard by their own governments as well as the armchair intelligentsia that pontificate about the ills in these countries.

But, as I said to a friend recently, to complain is not enough. For, many of us are fortunate enough to be able to do something. Whether it is to contribute our time and expertise or donate money to organizations that are fighting this unfairness, each one of us can do something. While things will not change overnight, the more we join hands to force that change, the greater the hope that we can make the change happen.
   

Homeless and welcome in Austin

When you walk the path in Austin's Ladybird park, you see dogs (lots of them), people and some interesting artifacts. While a statue commemorates American musician Stevie Ray Vaughan, there is also a different kind of shrine -- one that I don't believe I have seen anywhere else -- a shrine to the homeless.

Having arrived in Austin a day earlier for a quick trip, I had been remarking to my husband about how strange it was to see the largish homeless population on the streets. Even though I have spent quite a few years in the U.S., it is tough to accept that the cities in one of the world's wealthiest nations have such a visible number of homeless people. Without delving into the reasons behind this phenomena, I also had the strange sense that Austin took a different view of this phenomena. While there are soup kitchens and shelters for the homeless as well as fantastic non profits that work for their cause in my adopted city of Chicago, I continued to feel that Austin somehow almost welcomed the homeless.

When we came upon this colourful shrine in Ladybird Park, my hunch was confirmed. This shrine was meant to commemorate the homeless who died in anonymity and mourned the loss of these lives. And this odd gesture, more than any other aspect of Austin gave me the feeling that this city has a heart.

A red man spreads Christmas cheer all the way to Austin

Christmas to New Year's Day, the time when the western world shuts down. And if you reside in this part of the world, a wonderful time to plan an escape from work. So that's exactly what we did--the husband and I. Our destination? Texas.

When I told friends about the plan, reactions ranged from 'that sounds like fun' to guffaws. But the constant theme was -- ''Why Texas? Do you have family there?" And my answer remained the same, "Nope, no family. Just another state to cross off our U.S. travel list. Plus I hear they have great food, so hopefully that will cancel the gun-love!"

So, after surviving the pre-Christmas work week, we arrived at the airport along with hordes of similar geniuses who thought travelling on the day of Christmas was easy. While the traffic was probably a tad heavier than usual, I loved the Christmas decorations (though I still maintain that NOBODY does festival decorations like India). But both of us were a little worried that we might not quite make the flight.

As the Security Check line snaked on, and I watched a woman whose flight had been cancelled throw a minor tantrum, a red man appeared and told us to follow him to a different line. Like lambs, we set off behind our piped piper. And lo behold, he led us to a line which had about 10 people in it. And thanks to this kind soul, our worries vanished and we arrived at our boarding gate well in time. Maybe he was our Christmas miracle :)

We landed in Dallas a little earlier than expected and headed straight for Austin. Having learnt that a long drive on the day of our return flight is not our thing, we had planned to stop in Dallas on our way back. Our first stop therefore, would be the city that our friends unanimously seemed to love -- Austin. So, off we went on our 3-plus hour drive to the 'most liberal' city in Texas, also home to University of Texas, Austin.

Apart from wisdom learnt on the way to NEVER eat at a Jack in the Box, we arrived uneventfully in Austin and checked into the downtown Hilton. And immediately fell in love with the adorable gingerbread village made by the hotel chefs and decorated by patients at a children's hospital and our 22nd floor view of a surprisingly non-homogeneous array of rooftops. As darkness fell, we walked through a fairly-shuttered downtown in search of Christmas dinner at a new Asian fusion place, which was much-loved on Yelp. Interestingly, the only other people we crossed on the darkish streets bore signs of homelessness. After a short walk, we discovered a 2.5 hour wait at the hot new place and resolved to continue to stay away from fancy restaurants! Fortunately, Ra (a Sushi and Asian fusion place), only a few blocks away, was open and had no wait. Destiny had us down for an Asian Christmas dinner after all ;)

We had heard of the Austin live music scene and decided to go to a Jazz performance at the Congress Ave. basement club Elephant Room. Incidentally, this music club draws its name from the elephant head lampshades that adorn its walls. With an hour to kill between dinner and the performance, we

strolled up Congress Ave. in the direction of the Texas Capitol, the largest state capitol building in the United States. On our way, we crossed a mix of old and new stores, which would likely make for a very vibrant main street in the light of day. At about 8:30 p.m. on Christmas however, two excellent drummers seemingly locked in intense competition, were the life of Congress Ave. The tourist numbers swelled as we arrived at the pretty Christmas tree outside the Capitol gates and it was easy to mistake this stately government building for Austin's favourite Christmas destination. Surprisingly, the windows to the building were left open--not sure if that was a welcome sign or just forgetfulness!

Photos done, we headed back to listen to Jazz and gained entry despite a surly doorman. As the crowd grew for this Texas-born Jazz band and people started to offer seats at their tables to those who were standing, the city charmed me a little more. At a table near us, someone paid the tab for a set of strangers who had invited them to their table. This definitely seemed like a city with a different kind of heart. While three members of the four-people band were older Caucasians, the drummer was a slight Asian woman. Despite the standing room-only crowd, I think she and I were the only Asians in that room that night!

The next day would bring more sights of Austin. But for now, it was time to say good night to this lovely city.