(A still of Takeshi Kaneshiro from Chungking Express as he contemplates pineapples and life.)

On Wednesday last week, I hit 100 miles over the past 20 days.

Since the first of May, I’ve been running 5 miles every day.

As of today morning, I’m at 115 miles. Rest assured, I have yet another 385 miles to go if I want to hit my goal of 500 miles by this summer.

Separately, so much has happened in the past couple of weeks. From transitioning careers to moving apartments, I’ve kept busy. Yet, during that same time, I haven’t missed a single day of my 5-mile run (or walk, depending on the pain situation).

Today’s entry will be a little short because I have yet to do my 5 miles for the day.

So, for that reason, here’s an erratically organized list of things going on in my life:

1. I’m ‘re-learning’ how to cook since it’s been a while since I’ve truly had the time to cook from scratch. This also includes meal prepping, which I took a shot at in summer of 2024 and miserably failed. Hopefully things change this time.

2. I finally thrifted a grey suit since I’ve been heavily reliant on my blue suit for the past two years. And it was only $20! A huge steal given the quality.

3. Someone finally put me onto John Summit and while I was skeptical initially I finally understand now… ‘Shiver’ and ‘Don’t Believe It’ are AWESOME.

4. Most of my friends are back home for the summer and Berkeley is once more a mostly silent town, the same way it was in the summers of 2024 and 2025. This time, however, I know all the fun spots and feel comfortable around the city, i.e. the good shopping and thrifting spots (see College x Alcatraz).

5. I’m also working on saving some money for the next couple of months since I’m looking to move once my summer lease expires! This means meal prepping is going to come in super handy since I’ll be sure to not eat out as much.

6. I want to get back into filming. Some of you have already seen me out with my GH5 and/or Nikon, so really looking forward to spending some more time filming with friends, as well as editing the many great clips I already have.

Someone recently asked me how life has been—and, in proper Dave Ramsey fashion (yes, rather embarrassingly I am indeed a Ramsey fan), I blurted out something along the lines of “Better than I deserve.”

Some things I plan to accomplish this Memorial Day Weekend:

1. Clean up the kitchen and—as noted previously—finish up meal prepping.

2. Mail some friends back that I’ve been holding off on for the past couple of months just given how busy my schedule has been.

3. Explore North Berkeley/Kensington in the daytime (specifically the area from which you can see the entirety of the Bay Area).

Recently, I’ve been feeling the burnout a little more than usual, but I’ve somehow handled it well. Power naps have really come in clutch.

I was never good at power naps, but I’ve learned that short 1-2 hour naps can come in super handy when you’ve been out the whole day and still have 5 miles to run.

Finally, I’ll probably post more on why I’m actually running the 5 miles every day in a separate post (the entry is actually already complete, but I don’t want to release it until I’m close to completing the challenge for reasons you’ll find out soon).

In the meantime, here are some photos of things I’ve been up to. See you all next week!

(A visit to El Cerrito, courtesy of a Professor and mentor, overlooking the Bay Area.)

(A visit back home to good old Sacramento for my dad’s birthday!)

(A feline friend I made last week!)

Thank you for reading! Feel free to connect with me on LinkedIn or via my personal website.

On my way home with a couple of friends after a quick grocery run one Thursday night, we parked by my apartment and started making our way to the building.

As we walked to the apartment door with groceries in our hands, a girl passed by and looked at the box of Chobani yogurt I was holding, and playfully remarked, “I want Chobani!” She and her friends kept walking by, but I turned around and offered her a cup because, well, why not? Part of me thought it might spark a funny interaction with a stranger.

The girl took one Chobani cup and placed it in her purse.

Then another.

And another.

She had two friends with her that were stopped ahead, waiting for her, and it wouldn’t have been unexpected for her to take one for her and another two for her friends.

Then she reached for a fourth.

My friend next to me immediately stopped her. I’m not exactly sure what my friend said to her, but she said something along the lines of “three is enough” or “no more.”

You should’ve seen the girl’s face. She was devastated.

As she walked off, my group of friends scolded her. “As though the three she had placed in her purse were not enough; she wanted more!” “The audacity!”

While I was disappointed the girl had taken my kindness for granted—taking more than was probably appropriate—I found myself wondering another, different question.

Why did I offer her the Chobani in the first place?

Was it to feel good about myself? Giving is supposed to make the ‘giver’ feel better about themselves Was it out of spontaneity? Perhaps I felt that I would make a new friend or experience. Was I being taken advantage of? On the other hand, it might’ve been a miscommunication. Maybe she thought the Chobani was extra—leftovers from a school club meeting—rather than my personally-purchased pack of yogurt.

In this particular instance, I’m not too sure.

But what I do know for sure is that boundaries are important.

Not just for others, but also for myself.

Respecting oneself means maintaining boundaries. Without boundaries, things go wrong. You might accidentally rush into a relationship that instead requires time to develop. You might spend all night working on a friend’s project, only to harm your health and fall sick. And worst of all, you might let others take advantage of you.

On the other hand, emergencies happen. Friends are going to need you, the same way you’re going to need them. Going out of your way to show up and support them doesn’t mean you’re not respecting boundaries. There are times for giving.

At the same time, overcorrecting can be its own problem. If every interaction is filtered through suspicion or strict self-protection, spontaneity disappears. Some of the best experiences in life come from accepting small risks and small losses.

It’s a delicate balance—one that I’ve only recently become accustomed to.

So, back to the Chobani girl.

What would you have done? Should I have even turned around after her remark? Did I break that delicate balance and overrun my own boundaries?

What I fear most is overimposing boundaries. I don’t want to be The Soup Nazi the next time someone approaches me. Shutting myself off from the spontaneity of the world and all of the experiences it brings sounds like an awful way to live.

That being said, I also don’t want to be the guy to give all 16 of my Chobani yogurt cups over because a random person on the street says they would like some yogurt.

I think the answer lies in the risk.

Are you willing to take the risk of losing four of your preciously earned Chobani yogurt cups if it means you’ll have a genuine chance of making a new friend?

Let’s replay that interaction.

The girl makes her remark and I turn around, offering her a cup of yogurt. She takes one, then asks whether she can take two more for her friends. Our group says yes, and then asks whether their group would like to join us for dinner that night. Maybe we all get to know each other, have a good time, and become friends.

Is the risk of having that experience worth three—no four—cups of Chobani?

If my motivation is to make new friends—I’d say yes, it’s worth it.

Of course, it varies from person to person. This particular person was definitely reaching for more than she should have. That being said, if another person came up to me asking for Chobani, that’s a risk I’m willing to take because that’s the best way to meet new people and experience that very spontaneity of life.

I should also note—if someone isn’t interested in making conversation and becoming friends, that’s okay. The ‘offering’ of yogurt shouldn’t be transactional; instead, it’s an opportunity. Offerings that have strings attached aren’t spontaneous acts of giving.

That spontaneity is how I’ve met some of my best friends in life, and I’m not willing to give that up—even if it means I have to lose out on a few cups of Chobani.

P.S. If you’re reading this, this is NOT me saying to approach me on the street and ask for yogurt!! I am not a free yogurt vending machine!!

Thank you for reading! Feel free to connect with me on LinkedIn or via my personal website.

There’s this line from a deleted scene of Wong Kar Wai’s magnum opus film, In the Mood for Love (2000), that’s stuck with me for a couple years now.

The scene is established in an earlier shot that does make it into the film, where Chow calls Su while she’s at work. She doesn’t pick up, but she does ask him about the call over lunch later in the day.

Su: “Why did you call me at the office today?”

Chow: “I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.”

Later in the film, when Chow is set to depart for Singapore, Su calls Chow.

She says nothing. But she hears his voice, one last time.

She hangs up.

Years pass.

In the now-deleted scene, Chow and Su coincidentally meet each other in Cambodia, years after they first parted ways.

Chow asks Su whether she called him that night.

Su denies it.

Chow knows it was her. And Su knows that Chow knows.

Yet both refuse to acknowledge it.

Tears stream down Chow’s face. Su walks away.

The deleted scene is not known by most fans, but it remains one of several endings Kar Wai captured that are now difficult to find available online. The ending effectively establishes the story for 2046, the sequel to ITMFL, denoting the theme of memories.

“Every passenger who goes to 2046 has the same intention, to recapture lost memories.” — From 2046

In 2046, Chow—now heartbroken, desires to relive his affair with Su. The utopian world, set in the year 2046, allows its citizens to take a train to a “mysterious room called 2046,” where “nothing ever changes in the room, there is no loss or sadness.”

Imagine a world where a museum serves as an avenue for remembrance—a state of time where emotions are felt but are never truly seen or touched.

One cannot truly experience utopias because they are inherently perfect, but one can get close.

The museumization of Chow’s affair with Su reflects feelings that are forever preserved, constant, and felt.

Chow spends his time with three women in 2046—Bai Ling, Wang Jing-wen, and Su Li-zhen (different Su). Yet none of them are able to emulate Su Li-zhen’s presence.

Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, a prof. of museum studies, explains, the “illusiveness of [museums]—not only because of what is felt but not seen, but also because of what was seen but went unnoticed—requires that one return to them over and over again.”

This makes logical sense. Chow returns again and again (both to the women in 2046, as well as to “2046”)—wanting to find more in a memory that no longer exists.

If you’re lost so far, that’s okay. I’ll get to why I love the scene between Chow and Su so much in just a moment.

(Comrades: Almost a Love Story, a film where we do get a reunion and that “happy ending.”)

I watched ITMFL three years ago, after a close friend recommended it to me. It’s stayed with me for much of this time because I can’t help but compare the film to relationships I’ve lost over time. Not dramatically, not bitterly—just quietly, the way things tend to end when life moves faster than people do.

You’ll recall that in my ‘Something Different’ piece back in March, I noted the many high school friends I once held close to me that I don’t speak much to anymore.

“I thought a lot about the many friends I’ve held dearest to me, as well as the many scattered interactions I’ve had with them over the past few years (due to college, yes, but it’s deeper than that).”

And while I’ve rekindled many of those relationships, some remain only in memory. Some ended due to a lack of time with one another. Others due to too much time.

Times change, people change.

Now, I’m only left with memories. A museum of sorts, one could call it.

I can be happy with memories, but they can never be a perfect rendition of the real thing. It’s not something I can touch and hold, only something that I can feel.

And no matter how hard I may try to recreate it throughout my life, I cannot replicate what I once had. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been through a dozen Bai Lings and Wang Jing-wens and it still doesn’t hit the same as the real Su Li-zhen.

And if time changes things, then going back to what once was is impossible.

Reaching out changes nothing if that memory no longer exists.

After all, even Su changed after all those years, dismissing the phone call to Chow.

Su calls Chow one last time so that she can hear his voice one last time. To preserve that memory of something that exists, while it still does. Most people don’t get that chance. Even if it was for a few seconds, Su had something she could hold onto.

Nothing of permanence that she could touch, but something she could always feel.

(The final scene in ‘2046’, the third and final part of Wong Kar Wai’s trilogy.)

That leaves one question: How does one let go?

In 2046, Chow doesn’t let go. He “travels” on the endless road to 2046. Onto a “drowsy future,” as is narrated.

Other HK films, like Comrades: Almost a Love Story (I’d love to do a more thorough analysis on this film sometime), show that happy endings do exist. Even years after people spend time apart, there are snippets of common memories that persist. Sometimes, music, other times food—in the case of Comrades, it was Teresa Teng.

I’ve come to the conclusion that letting go doesn’t mean letting go of memories. The snippets are what will remain, forever. No matter how hard one tries to forget, a part of me will always be Chow, reminiscing of what once was.

What I’m unwilling to do, however, is spend my time recapturing lost memories.

Because in this world of ours, 2046 doesn’t exist.

Instead, I choose to preserve the memories that exist in time capsules, or museums. Through this blog post—yes, but also through my diaries and fading memories.

(‘Everything is Illuminated,’ a film on a post-Shoah world and the museumization of memory.)

I get the same emotions I once did when I read them over and over again, never to truly experience it again, but always to get close to what it once was.

And while the ‘stillness’ that existed in the magical room of 2046 has no place in the forgetful human mind of mine, from time to time, I return to the memories, finding ‘new’ recollections I couldn’t quite recall before.

But I will never mistake that remnant closeness for hope.

I cannot hope for a memory that once was, but I can keep trying until I get close.

And once I do get there, I wonder if I’ll be satisfied or not.

The day I am satisfied is the day I’ll forget.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to connect with me on LinkedIn or via my personal website.

(Me with facial hair, pictured during my graduation photoshoot. Credits: @AndrewHiran)

Graduating early from UC Berkeley, while one of the wiser decisions I’ve made in my life, has come with its drawbacks, too. For one, I am unable to apply to many of the opportunities I was once eligible for because I no longer qualify as a student. On the other hand, I am much too young (I was 20 when I graduated) to apply to most job opportunities, which require some post-graduate experience in the working world.

It’s a paradox that much of Gen-Z faces in today’s world, regardless of when they might’ve graduated: employers are unwilling to hire entry-level candidates with no experience while simultaneously wanting candidates with 2-3 years of experience. Candidates are unable to gain experience, however, should opportunities require experience in the field. Internships, for this very reason, are the “in” for most Gen-Zers in their respective fields. I’m deeply grateful and appreciative to say that my long-term college internship not only provided me with practical work experience in the real world, but also connected me to excellent opportunities I never knew existed.

Nonetheless, one minor insecurity I’ve had for much of my life is my youthfulness (I’m rereading this now and noticing just how funny this sounds LOL). Two particularities come to mind: my voice and facial hair. Unlike many young men at my age who are more concerned about their height or max bench press, the aforementioned features provide me more self-doubt than I can express. Without going into detail, I worry that my voice is too low or feminine (nothing necessarily wrong with that), and that most take my youthful, clean-shaven face as an indicator of lack of real-world experience.

(Me clean-shaven, pictured with friends during my graduation party. Credits: The Father.)

I recently joked to a friend that I had taken graduation photos with a beard (despite being clean-shaven for more than 80% of my time in college) because I wanted my kids to see my graduation photos and think I looked older when I graduated. And while that is a partially accurate statement, the biggest reason, perhaps, is because I just can’t seem to feel confident or all that accomplished without “feeling older.”

Worried of being seen as inexperienced, I leveraged my facial hair as a means of both improving my self-confidence as well as supposedly improving the faith of those before me, in me. Otherwise, being clean-shaven means the acne on my face is visible for all to see. Being clean-shaven means I am unable to grow a beard that connects (true story). And being clean-shaven means I am young, naive, and inexperienced (okay, maybe that’s a little harsh, but you get the point).

I’ve told a couple of close friends regarding my ongoing dilemma. They have mostly pushed back with graciousness, often claiming either that (1) I look fine both with and without a beard, or (2) I’m overthinking it.

And to them, I say: You’re right. I probably am overthinking it. In fact, I cannot choose whether to keep or maintain the beard so much so that every week my style changes. Those close to me know that it’s become somewhat of a running joke that I can’t settle on one or the other. One week I’ll show up to lunch with a full face of hair, and the next, without a single bit of stubble on my chin. Oh, what to do…

I should also note that as far as I’m aware, most of the men in my family do not grow facial hair (some, even hair, for that matter—I’m looking at you, Dad). As such, I’m still in the process of figuring out just how to maintain my beard properly.

All of that is to say, I have yet to resolve this quandary of mine. I’m writing this on Wednesday, April 22nd, after just having shaved the beard I’ve been maintaining for the past two weeks or so. I’m certain that I’ll grow it back within a month—but I know that that beard too, won’t survive longer than two weeks tops.

Perhaps the solution is to find comfort in this dilemma of mine—establish that the norm should be change rather than stability, which is all so “seasoned” and “aged.” After all, one’s youth is the time for growth, risk-taking, and transformation. Years of experience may give me the stability I so crave and desire, and I wonder whether I’ll be content when I receive it; or whether I’ll long for the other side that I always just knew was greener than the side of mine. By then, I might not have an option to change sides. Unknowingly, this dilemma might just be a blessing in disguise.

During my senior year of high school, a close friend retorted that I was able to grow so much facial hair while he could barely manage stubble. He argued that I, at the very least, had options, while he had none. In his words, my self-conscious concerns were “a good problem to have.” In hindsight, he might’ve just been right.

Thank you for reading! These stories have been on my plate for a while, some listed as diary entries and others stored in my mind palace, so I’m glad to finally be telling them. It’s an excellent way for my to self-reflect all-the-while putting pen to paper.

Feel free to connect with me on LinkedIn or via my personal website.

(Imaged in Udaipur, Rajasthan, for my friend’s graduation trip.)

Just over three months ago, I made a snap decision to travel to India for the second time in one year (another $1,400 in flights!!) because my friend Rish was graduating from Cal and hosting a graduation trip in Rajasthan. I was close to Rish and had gotten to know him quite well over the past couple of months, but to be invited to a group trip to India (especially with a tight-knit group I wasn’t all that familiar with) was something I wasn’t expecting. I still pulled the trigger because I feared missing out. I had been to Rajasthan’s ‘touristy’ sites with Mom and Dad before, when I was much younger, but this was different.

This was very different.

I met Rish’s mom and dad, his maasa/maasi, his daadi, and all of his extended family from Rajasthan. We danced together, broke bread together, celebrated together, and spoke broken Hindi together (the broken Hindi was mostly me). I had conversations with Rish’s friends and family from across the world, and learned that—despite living halfway across the world, he maintained his contact with everyone. I should probably clarify something here. Rish isn’t just any guy. He’s one of the smartest and most talented guys I know. He’s also one of the busiest guys I know. Despite this all, I heard time and time again from all of Rish’s Berkeley friends, Rajasthan friends, and extended family that Rish’s strongest skill set wasn’t being able to pitch a business idea or write some code, it was his friends. His friends and family were the core of who he was, and everything he accomplished was through and with their support.

Long story short, this common theme I saw in every interaction I had in Rajasthan really had an impact on me. Family was everything. I thought a lot about the many friends I’ve held dearest to me, as well as the many scattered interactions I’ve had with them over the past few years (due to college, yes, but it’s deeper than that). Whenever I’ve had something I’ve truly cared about that I felt was important to me, they’ve shown up—whether it was making a 2+ hour round trip trek for an event I was organizing, or supporting my fundraising efforts online from hundreds of miles away. And I should add, most of my friends are much better with birthdays and graduations. All that is to say, I haven’t been the ‘bestest’ of friends. It’s great knowing that I feel comfortable around my friends the most, but what good does comfort do if one can’t set aside the time to enjoy it?

(The letter in question. Partially blurred for privacy:) )

Family is everything. One of the things I’ve regretted the most over the past 2-3 years is not making an effort to spend time with family. So when a childhood friend wrote me an incredibly introspective letter in December (about our relationship, and more), after my graduation from UC Berkeley, it stuck in my mind in Rajasthan, then Bengal, and eventually back in California where it has grown and grown and grown.

And so I’ve tried something I’ve never done in my life.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve started making time for my friends and family. I grabbed dinner and caught up with my second year roommates. I made plans with my new Rajasthan friends in Oakland. I visited the SF Symphony with an old friend from LA and someone I hope to stay in touch with for a long time. I texted my mentors and kept in touch with them despite it having been some time. And for the first time in my life, I asked my older sister if we could hang out instead of the other way around (her asking me), which felt weird because it’s something I’ve never done.

Over the past three months, I’ve had countless conversations with family, friends, and peers. Sometimes over mail, and sometimes over coffee. These conversations have been difficult—many forced me out of my comfort zone. Especially due to my natural introversion, I sometimes find reaching out to people difficult. But the past couple of weeks have been fascinating. I’ve met government attorneys, public interest lobbyists, litigation assistants and secretaries, start-up founders, partners at big law firms, and more. I’ve also mailed family that I would otherwise usually only reach out to for a birthday or anniversary here and there. Suffice to say, I’ve learned a lot. I wanted to use this opportunity to list the three biggest lessons I’ve learned over the past couple of months, as well as a “call to action” for both myself as well as anyone else reading.

“Try to take some time to smell the roses as you continue your search.”

This is the collective version of several variations of advice close friends as well as attorneys I’ve met over the past couple of weeks have offered. The quote above, however, is from a government attorney whose down-to-earth phrasing of the advice I really appreciated. Even while “searching” for the next best job, opportunity, and journey, it’s critical to not miss out on the many genuine joys that are currently presented. Neglecting them is risky, for they may not come again.

“Take some time in the mornings to do some reading.”

A well-read lobbyist in Sacramento suggested this advice as I (acknowledgingly) over-lamented in my despair of not finding enough time to finish my long list of books I’d accumulated over the year. Since then, I’ve made a couple of practical and technological changes to my reading schedule. For example, I’ll take the time to listen to audiobooks on my morning commute if reading is a hassle on BART. Although I haven’t quite figured out waking up early just yet, I’ve gradually increased my reading capacity as I’ve taken on books that are relevant to my workplace (i.e. The Federal Bail and Detention Handbook), which has proven quite useful in my day-to-day tasks.

“I honestly feel (and have noticed) that sometimes you’re underselling yourself'; you are capable of more than what you are currently aiming for, and people around you can see it!”

This quote is from my Dad (so maybe I’m cheating with this one), though it is more difficult for me to fully grasp, and perhaps the most important of all to learn. Though my ambitions are strong, my “reservations” (so to speak) can be a struggle. If the past few months have been a testament to anything, I hope the genuine connections I’ve built are the foundation for growth. Learning about and meeting people from various walks of life builds perspective (as one of my mentors noted), and I hope that I can spend my few years prior to law school building that very outlook.

Finally, I hope I can look back on some of these lessons at the end of the year and reflect on whether I’ve met the (relatively) high bar I’ve set. We will see :)

Feel free to connect with me on LinkedIn or via my personal website.

Written in my personal diary post-travel to Kerala, from August 22, 2025 (Navi Mumbai, Maharashtra) to September 16 (Berkeley, California).

The past couple of days in India have been incredible. I want to use the next couple of pages to document my trip and experiences. This was my first time paying for my own international travel, as well as traveling in India alone. I visited Kerala and Goa, as well as a couple of places around Mumbai (Colaba, Bhuleshwar, etc.). Generally, there were a lot of things I was able to do in two weeks, but there were also a lot of things I wanted to do that I didn’t get the time to do. Perhaps not “regrets” per se, but at least motivations for the future. For two weeks, not bad… That being said. I don’t know when I’ll be returning to India (full disclosure: I ended up returning four months later lmao), but maybe I’ll try to be back at least once before law school. We’ll see…

“Eggs in One Basket”

With the Parents at SFO, prior to Flying to India.

We arrived in Mumbai well, received by my uncle and grandfather at around 5 or 6 am. I was more stressed about my Jurisprudence paper due at 12:30pm, so I worked on that till late. Later, I visited the Inorbit Mall, Optics Store, Airtel Store, etc. with Mom. Iconic mentions include the Shravan burger at McDonalds (I had the BK Makhani), money conversions in shady back rooms (and the suspicious customers that came with it), being unable to get an AirTel number because I did not have my OCI on me, and getting “India, That is Bharat” from Crossword. I should add, I was disappointed that Crossword— my favorite bookstore in Navi Mumbai, had shifted both locations as well as layout. They now follow a “bright and modern” layout in the Inorbit Mall which I found rather unappealing.

The Kerala trip begins days after. My intentions are simple. I want to bring closure to my A.B. Salem research with the Magnes. I had spent nearly one year researching the history of Kochi and its Jews. This was my opportunity to actually exhibit and see what I had been reading about for all these months. Little would I know, the Kerala trip would end up opening only more questions rather than answers. I also meet a lot of interesting characters along the way… Here’s the story of how it all happened, as well as what I learned.

“Day One”

Eighteen is the legal age one becomes an adult, but if you ask me, the age one becomes an adult is when they begin working and traveling solo. Rose up early for Kerala, took an Uber, barely boarded my flight as I was running late through security (mistakenly took the Digi Yatra line), arrived at the airport in Kochi (I prefer “Kochi” over “Cochin”). Picked a hotel on the fly, booked an Uber, and took the water ferry. Also learned that many cars in India use CNG, which works differently from U.S. gas. Arrived at the hotel, where the staff asked me to wait for a little. I took a rickshaw to the Kashi Art Cafe and had a MASSIVE meal with a chicken omelet, watermelon slices, peanut butter, bread, water, etc. Genuinely THE biggest meal I’ve both been served and have successfully consumed. I then saw on Google that their chocolate cake was iconic… so I ordered it. Barely ate half of it and took the rest home to the new place. Hotel allowed early check-in by one hour, so I got my room early and took a nap in lieu of waiting in 3-4 hours and meeting with a friend from JNU in Jew Town.

My meal at Kashi Art Cafe. Looks can be deceiving— this really was a huge meal.

After waking up, I purchased lotion at a nearby store (because India’s humid weather hates my skin!), took a rickshaw to Mattancherry Palace, and walked around. My connection from JNU, whom I more properly refer to as “Anna,” showed up and we learned about each other’s work while conversing. Anna is a PhD student from Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi, India, and was currently researching the museumization of Kochi and its Jews. We connected after one of my mentors in Berkeley received a cold email from her regarding the Magnes Museum, which was forwarded to me given my impending travel to Kochi.

We visited several sites together: Paradesi Synagogue, Mocha Art Cafe, Sarah Cohen’s house, old and rundown synagogues on Jew Town Lane that are VERY easy to miss. Each had their own quirks, but two stood out. First, I had an opportunity to have a conversation with Thaha—Sarah Cohen’s caretaker (more on him here)—at the Mocha Art Cafe. The language barrier and my tinnitus-infested ears made the conversation difficult for me, but Thaha drew interest in my work on A.B. Salem and noted his knowledge of artifacts from Jew Town being sent to the Magnes Museum in Berkeley many years ago. More inquisitively, he covertly paid for both Anna and I’s coffee— a fact we only realized as we were leaving the very beautiful establishment. Second, while I was in Sarah Cohen’s room, there was an old cabinet with a lot of old documents. I noticed S.S. Koder’s book and wanted to search further, but chose not to out of respect of privacy. I very well could’ve asked Thaha’s assistant who was present in the room at the time, but (much to my regret) chose not to due to my nervousness with the situation and environment (I was in a new country after all!).

It is at this point that I should add that some folks in these tourist areas, quite understandably, HATE museumization. Museumization, especially from Western institutions, is heavily looked down upon. This is because western institutions like the Magnes have legal rights to many of the ephemera the Cochin Jews once held, but chose to let go as they made Aliyah. While these objects were sold consensually and—through one way or another—made their way to the West, the descendents of many of the original owners of these “artifacts” felt that the objects should be in their possession rather than the museums’. Compounding this concern was the worry that the “over touristization” of every day folks (calling items “artifacts” rather than “possessions,” one might argue) was seen as disrespectful and an inaccurate portrayal of the Cochin Jews’ history. This is one area where my colleague, Anna, had much knowledge on, given that she was from the Kochi region and her research focused on this very issue. All that is to say, I was wary of going around telling folks I was “doing research” and that I was from “Berkeley” where many “Cochini artifacts” are located.

“A BUSY Day”

Did not eat the entire day… party due to just how much I ate at the Kashi Art cafe, and also because I was tired at night and just wanted to go to sleep. Three stops: Parur (Paravur) Synagogue, Chendamangalam Synagogue, and Mala Synagogue. These three stops were amended to also include a visit to the cemetery of each of these synagogues.

We contract a driver and make our way to Parur. Parur Synagogue is beautiful and has many old Hindu stones and Jewish headstones. Creaky upstairs with old and rotting wood (the wooden floorboards have gaps and holes!), but a thrill nonetheless. The cemetery is in front of “Excellence College” and was rather difficult to find, but our quick-thinking driver asked every passerby he could until we landed on someone who knew where this college was located. Eventually, we were able to find two of the three tombstones, which were covered by bushes and vines.

The well-maintained pathway to the Paravur Synagogue

Headed to Chendamangalam Synagogue. Noted so many CPI flags along the way. Normal here, but certainly culture shock for me. The Chendamangalam Synagogue is also quite beautiful, with even some European tourists there during the off-season. On the way to find the cemetery, we stumbled upon a relatively isolated 400-year old Krishna temple which was just breathtaking… it looked like there were people there at some point so I don’t believe it was entirely abandoned. It sits behind a small street, with a hidden (and very deep) lake/pond located right behind it. It’s a quite dangerous area for reasons noted later.

400-year old Krishna Mandir sitting on the hill.

After visiting the temple on the hill, we continued the trip to the cemetery. Our walk through the Kerala streets was just incredible. Old, yet colorful houses sit behind the plains, with the woods as their backyard. There are very few houses and they are dispersed. The road to the cemetery goes toward the houses but then abruptly cuts leftwards toward the lake (we are now on a lower elevation than where the Krishna temple was located). On the way, the road becomes more of a trail alongside a slight clearing where a pond/lake is visible. I later find out that this pond is 100+ feet deep and that 3 people have died there. Once we near the cemetery area, we have difficulty finding it because much of the area is covered by forest and overgrown plants and trees.

The road to the Chendamangalam Jewish Cemetery

A local woman, Sheela, assists us in finding the location of the entrance, but Anna is reluctant to enter because of the risk of snakes (despite the lady saying there are no snakes present) and I make it no further than 30 feet in when I’m hit by multiple thorns all over my back, neck, and arms. After a gruelling few minutes of agony, we end up backing out to be safe, say goodbye and thanks to Sheela, and make the walk back to Chendamangalam Synagogue. I am somewhat frustrated that we do not get to see the tombstones, given that I heard online that there is a slight clearing in the forest once the bushes/thorns are cleared. Snakes in India, Anna advises, are dangerous. Snakes bites can kill, and hospitals with proper medication are difficult to find in this region. Thus, frustratingly, we make our way back up the trail.

During this time, we meet a villager who owns quite a large property nearby and tells us about the concerns with the pond nearby. As we walk away, Anna remarks that— based off of names and the visible wealth of each of the villagers, she originally thought that Sheela was from a lower Muslim caste while the male villager we later met seemed to be from a higher Hindu caste. This was partially based on the fact that the male villager seemed to own a bigger home while Sheela owned a smaller one, albeit prettier in many ways. Anna subtly brought religion up during her conversation with Sheela in Malayalam; she tells me, and notes, that Sheela clarified that she was Hindu— not Muslim. I outline these facts to show that (1) looks can be deceiving and (2) relative deprivation occurs both inter-caste and inter-religion. Conclusions can be made, but we must be careful in not drawing gospel from anecdotes.

The hot and enduring trek continues. Anna and I make the long walk back to the Chendamangalam Synagogue, near where our car is stationed. The walk back on the hot black pavement of the streets surrounded by forrest is tiring. We walk on the center of the street when possible, though occasional rickshaws and school busses keep us aware of our surroundings. We’re both tired, sweaty, and thirsty, but the beauty of the trip made it quite worth it. We make it back to the car. I am reminded that on-the-ground fieldwork is 100x much more enjoyable than a traditional western tourist’ trip to, for example, urban Kochi. We make the trip to the Mala Synagogue. Our driver, like us, is aware that his contracted time is quickly expiring. He takes no issue, however, and I note that I will pay extra to cover any additional fees.

By the time we reach Mala, it is the evening and the synagogue ends up being closed due to heavy rain in the last couple of months that had destroyed its roof. After grabbing some water, Anna spoke to the lady at the synagogue outside near the fence in Malayalam for quite some time, and we eventually decided upon seeing the Mala Synagogue Cemetery before calling it a night. The massive expanse that is the cemetery is (surprise, surprise) poorly maintained and is quite overgrown.

Entrance to the Mala Jewish Cemetery

At first site, it seems as though there are no longer any existing headstones in the cemetery. The cemetery is locked, and looking through the grates provides no visual success. Everything is bush, leaves, and thorns. Since we came this far, I decide to walk along the left side of the fence, starting from the entrance, for a better view. I pass some residential houses and eventually stand on the side of a fence staring into the bush. After some time, my eyes grab hold of a tombstone. Then, another one. We were able to see the first headstone from the 9 o’clock side, with the second being just barely visible from that same respective side. We walked around the fence to the right side to get a better look from the 3 o’clock angle, but I got yelled at by some nearby shop owners to get down from the fence because there are known to be snakes in the area. I obliged. Nonetheless, I was able to just barely steal a glimpse of the second headstone, which I quickly filmed on my iPhone. There is apparently a third headstone located in the cemetery that we were unfortunately not able to find.

Headstone #1 visible from the 9 o’clock direction.

Headstone #2 visible from the 3 o’clock direction.

One interesting point to note is that there is an old photo of there being 3 headstones on the burial site, with another photo a few years later only showing 2. Many questions arise: Where did the 3rd headstone go during this time? Where were the many people of the Mala area buried? Why does such a humongous cemetery only have 2-3 headstones? Is it possible that there are more buried, but that the cost of headstones was too expensive? Did Jews assimilate and begin cremation services, as opposed to burial? I was left with these questions as we made our one-and-half hour journey back home. We paid the driver extra as anticipated, but I was somewhat taken aback when the driver only asked for a meager amount in addition. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that I wasn’t getting scammed as a foreigner in India, especially since the driver was quite good— not pushy and genuinely helpful in directions. The day-trip ended up being around 4,000 rupees all said and done, including the tip. Said my goodbyes to Anna and I slept despite not eating the whole day!

“A Marathi Surprise”

Day 3 started slow. I was tired from the long trip the day prior. I checked out of the hotel, was again followed by a persistent rickshaw driver. I ended up finding a different one via Uber who made the incredible achievement of outdoing the former in being the worst rickshaw driver I have ever had in all of India. He drove me to the Kashi Art Cafe and proceeded to argue with me for the next 30 minutes for extra fare. A lot of abuse followed and folks had to get involved, but the important thing was that I was safe.

After starting on the food at Kashi, Anna showed up and I complained about my crappy experience with the drivers in Kerala. The tourism off-season seems to be bringing the worst out of Kerala rickshaw drivers. I do not recommend.

My flight back to Mumbai was in the evening, and Anna and I decided to make one last stop in Ernakulam to see the Ernakulam Kadavumbagam Synagogue. It was conveniently located in between Kashi Art Cafe and the Kochi airport. So, we took an Uber straight to the synagogue. Anna guided me to a fish shop that was owned by Babu, a Jewish caretaker of the synagogue. The synagogue is interestingly situated behind the fish shop, requiring entrants to visit the fish shop in order to access the synagogue. This wasn’t even the most surprising part yet…

Babu spoke Marathi. This was because he had grown up in Mumbai and had done his schooling there. Furthermore, his wife was Bene Israeli, from Maharashtra. I had a long and fruitful conversation with him in a mix of Marathi and English. I drafted Instagram stories on my page that summarize the interaction quite well, so I will quote those at the end of this entry with additional comments from me. After speaking to Babu, he graciously offered to open the synagogue for us ahead of opening time. The site is quite dark while the windows are covered, and I would argue even prettier than the Paradesi Synagogue (not covered in this journal entry). Upstairs, there is some construction going on behind the women’s section, where there are windows to which a room can be seen behind the balcony section. Interestingly, I noticed that one of the many panels strangely face toward the synagogue rather than away from it, which seems to be an oversight no one noticed. Took a photo with Anna for the memories and subsequently left for the airport.

Photo with Anna at the Ernakulam Kadavumbagam Synagogue before leaving for Mumbai.

As I left, I had to cancel and restart my Uber trip at least 1-2 times due to just how crowded yet narrow the streets in Ernakulam were. I walked past several “suburban” areas with schools, temples, and houses. Kerala is beautiful in many ways.

Finally, I reached the airport in one to one-and-a-half hours. I was tired, but thankfully security lines were quick. I spent much of my time in the airport sharing parts of my journey online as my Air India flight to Mumbai was delayed twice. Once I was seated in the plane at the window seat, I was glad to see that the middle seat was empty and that I would have some personal space on the 3 hour journey back. To my far left, in the aisle seat, was an older gentleman coming back from a business trip. Imagine my genuine surprise when I heard commotion near the front of the plane as a lady in the aisle was complaining to the flight crew that she had “sit in between two men” (one of them being me). It is not appropriate for me to judge whether a woman should or should not feel comfortable on a flight sitting in between two men— especially in India, but I will say with utmost honesty that when I heard those words my face turned incredibly red. It was one of those situations where it was like “damn, what did I do?” Anyways, I tried my best not to take it personally, and later found out that the woman had specifically booked an aisle seat but was shifted by the airline to the middle seat, which was the cause for the commotion. Regardless, the middle seat remained empty after a good samaritan decided to switch with her, and we all made our merry way to Mumbai!

After three hours of ATLA, we arrived in Mumbai at around 1 am. After helping an aunty carry her bags, we took the long, sweaty, and “chitkun” ride in the bus back to the terminal. Reached Bombay Uber/Taxi and holy shit that place was PACKED for 1am. So busy I didn’t get a ride with the normal Uber car and had to upgrade to find a driver. I got a very fast driver who brought me to Vashi at 2 am. It was quite dark and all of the streets were empty, which was a strange and different sight to see in India. I had to bang the gate to my apartment complex a couple of times until the Bihari watchman woke up and asked me who I was. I bring up Bihari because (1) he did not speak Marathi and (2) his Hindi was heavily accented and difficult to understand. What followed was me yelling “Manish Shinde” (my uncle’s name) like ten times until the guy got the message: I was related to Manish Shinde. I was subsequently let in as he noted in Hindi, “Oh, you’re Manish’s sister’s son.”

“Some Keralite Reflections”

I desperately want to go back to the Chendamangalam Synagogue’s cemetery in the next couple of years and want to come back more prepared so that I am able to access the gravesites more easily. Furthermore, my conversation with Babu shocked me.

Babu had a lot of dislike for A.B. Salem’s descendants. While he did not say anything negative about A.B. Salem himself, there was a lot of pent up anger for the Salem family. Another angle to Babu was his emphasis and outspokenness on the distortion of misrepresentation of Cochin Jewish history by the Paradesi Jews. There might be more opportunities, in this regard, to incorporate this experience into my paper. For now, I’m choosing to engage in “research” in the field by helping Anna with what she might need. But beyond that, who knows? I will be be meeting with my mentor in the next two weeks, so it will be interesting to see what he has to say regarding all of these thoughts… However, for now, my research on the Cochin Jews is laid to rest.