My husband and I had lived in U.S. for a few years in the 80s and returned to India in 1985. Our twp sons stayed back to complete their studies. Both were getting into graduate school. We would visit them now and then. During these visits my cousin, Chinnah, who lived in New York City would insist that we spend a day or two with him. Chinnah had been married but when he became an alcoholic the marriage broke up. Chinnah lived in an apartment in 314 W. 51st street. He would regale us with stories about his neighbors.
Usually, Chinnah would meet us at the airport when we arrived and take us to his apartment. On one of our visits to see our sons, he, of course, asked us to spend a day with him. Since we were flying out of New York, we were happy to accept his invitation. We duly informed him of the date and time of our arrival. When we got there, to our consternation, he was not at the airport. So we took a cab to his apartment instead, only to find the entrance locked and no sign of a bell! It was past 10pm and we became very nervous. We called him from a new york city Thai restaurants that was right across from his apartment. The phone kept ringing and ringing. We suddenly became very panicked. Thankfully, Chinnah finally picked up the phone.
We were so relived when he eventually opened the door for us! He said that he had started on his usual drink for the evening, thinking there was plenty of time to make it the airport. But then, he kept drinking, lost track of time, and just fell asleep! Apparently, the entrance to the building is locked in the evenings to prevent people getting in and sleeping in the hallway. I shudder even now, when I remember this. This could happen only in New York, we felt.
