I had to be in the Garment District by seven to grab a fabric sample before a fitting, which meant catching the 1 train at 6AM. I am not a morning person. In Ahmedabad my mummy used to physically peel the blanket off me, and honestly nothing has changed except now the blanket peels itself off because the radiator in my apartment has two settings: Sahara and off.
But here's the thing nobody tells you about the 1 train at 6AM. It's empty. Gloriously, impossibly empty.
I got a seat. I got an entire bench, actually. A man slept upright with the dignity of a king. A nurse in scrubs scrolled her phone. Someone's coffee steamed into the cold air-conditioned car like a little prayer.
New York at six in the morning is a city before it remembers to perform. No tourists posing on the steps at Times Square. The bodega on my corner near 137th was just rolling up its gate, the cat stretching on the newspaper stack like he owned the dawn.
When I came up at 34th Street, the light was doing that thing — gold pouring sideways down the avenues, the kind of light that makes even a halal cart look cinematic. The whole block smelled like fresh bread and exhaust and possibility.
I thought of that old Wake Up Sid energy, Ranbir on the Mumbai rooftop watching the sun come up after a whole night awake. I always wanted to be the kind of person who saw the city wake up. Turns out you just have to set a very aggressive alarm.
I got my sample. I got an iced coffee I didn't need. I stood on the empty corner for a full minute just letting it all be quiet.
The 1 train at 6AM is a secret the whole city is keeping from itself.
Love,