Rooshna Javed, often argues with her daughter over dating. Photo by Mina Sohail

A Desi is how Indians, Bengalis and Pakistanis refer to themselves, but if you were raised in America, it is common to be called an ABCD or American Born Confused Desis.

The belief among many South Asians is that Desis, who were born and raised in the United States, are alienated from their roots and more susceptible to embracing the American way of life.

RTN.mp3

Mina Sohail reports from Jackson Heights,Queens

Hoimi Bandyopadhyay, 22, of Bombay, studies filmmaking at the New York Film Academy. She has cousins who were raised in the United States and said they are culturally more active than she is.

“My cousins living here speak Hindi, watch Bollywood movies and celebrate Hindu cultural events,” she said.

Bandyopadhyay feels that addressing someone, as ABCD is a bit derogatory as it implies that one is confused about his or her roots. She prefers to believe that the confusion for those living here is about adopting a certain lifestyle, not about one’s roots.

Strolling down the streets of Jackson Heights, Queens is like walking through a mini South Asia. Indian and Pakistani restaurants dot the streets. The streets signs are in both Hindi and English. Tag Heuer Bollywood stars tote products on billboards. Mannequins in clothing stores are draped in saris.

Sultana Tahrin, a 45-year-old housewife originally from Bangladesh, likes to bring her 10-year-old daughter, Maliha, to the stores that offer traditional jewelry, and shoes so she can foster her daughter’s interest in her native land and lessen the pull of American culture.

“I speak with my daughter in Bengali at home,” Tahrin said. “This way she will grow up in America knowing her native language as well.”

Among these restaurants is a Pakistani eatery where Rooshna Javed, a Pakistani housewife, also works there as a cashier.

Javed, of Woodside, Queens moved to New York 12 years ago. She said she has a 20-year-old daughter who wants to date outside of her culture, which she forbids. In fact, she is not allowed to date at all and would be immediately sent back to Pakistan for an arranged marriage if she disobeys.

“My daughter has made it clear to me that she does not want to marry a Pakistani man,” said Javed. “She feels that a Pakistani man will not be accepting of her western clothing and lifestyle and she will find it difficult to embrace a more conservative culture after having lived in New York for so long.”

Javed feels the threats by her husband and herself have managed to keep her daughter “in control.” They get into many arguments over dating and marriage, but Javed’s husband has made the rules clear, as traditionally done so by the men of the house in a typical Pakistani household.

However, a lot of Desis living in the United States feel more American than their parents would like to think.

Mitch Thakron came to California from India when he was six-years-old and no longer feels much like an Indian. He has embraced the American Way from the food to the clothing, but deep inside there is a place that is still very much connected to India.

“It’s the spiritual part about my culture that I want to internalize,” Thakron said. “I rebelled against it earlier, but I respect it now. I don’t think ABCD (American Born Confused Desis) applies to me. If I am going to be judged by my own people for living here, I don’t care,” he said.

Culturally there exists a vast difference between America and South Asia. In the latter region, advertisements often depict women as cooking, cleaning and serving food to their husbands. “Good housewives” are mostly shown covered from head to toe. Women are rarely shown working in the corporate world.

When Desi children are raised in America, they are exposed to a different, progressive media, and this fuels the perception gap between them and their parents. Anything too “American” is inherently in conflict with something too non Desi.

Ali Nobil Ahmad, teaches modern history at Lahore University of Management Sciences in Pakistan. He has published articles and chapters on gender, sexuality and migrant labour. Nobil said there can be a discrepancy in aspirations between generations of Pakistani or Indian Origin.

“It stems from having a different set of experiences and priorities,” said Nobil, “However, all the evidence is that generational ‘culture clash’ is a bit simplistic and assumes that the parents themselves do not evolve in the new cultural context. Most immigrant parents become more liberal over time, and their expectations are different for their first, second and third offspring.”

Ammar Khalid, 26, is an Anthropology student at Columbia University from Multan, Pakistan. After having interacted with Desis in the US, he feels the term ‘ABCD’ is irrelevant precisely because a Desi subculture exists in America now. He feels there is some truth to the fact that people who grow up in the United States mediate between conflicting values or ideals.

Ammar Khalid, a Pakistani student studying Anthropology at Columbia University. feels the term 'American Born Confused Desis is has become irrelevant. Photo Mina Sohail

“I think this idea that people who grow up here are ‘confused’ comes from the assumption that the West is modern and the East traditional, and thus people living here are exposed to conflicting values which they find difficult to reconcile,” said Khalid.

But Khalid questions how their confusion is different from one’s confusion having lived and grown up in Pakistan. He feels the distinctions between ‘modern’ and ‘traditional,’ are conflicting cultural paradigms that people are caught between.

A similar view is that of Hafsa Rahman, a 27-year-old medical student at St. George’s University in Michigan. She moved to the United States with her parents from Karachi, Pakistan when she was eight years old.

“It is more difficult to understand which culture one belongs to as that is the primary basis of confusion,” said Rahman, “I think Desi kids in general are confused in their teen and adolescent years but as they get older they learn to form their own diaspora by combining aspects of their native and present cultures.”

Rahman said she and her parents grew up in different cultures, but the difference of opinion is not merely because of a cultural gap, but more so the current times and its influences.

After performing the lead role in the amateur play “Undocumented”, Sahar Muradi, a 32-year old Afghan-American, darted around a buzzing, auditorium-style classroom at New York University, shaking hands with admirers and hugging friends.

Only a few moments before, this classroom-turned-theater had been packed from wall-to-wall with patrons fixated on her performance. Now, with lingering audience members scraping up the last of the post-production hors d’oeurves, Muradi was focused on trying to sneak out to grab some sushi with a few Afghan-American friends that had come to watch her perform.

Muradi, who moved to the U.S. with her family when she was 3 years old, is part of a burgeoning network of Afghan-American artists who are redefining the stereotype about what it means to be an Afghan woman in the United States.

“It’s really so cool to meet fellow Afghan-American female artists in New York City,” she said after her performance.

Many of those artists and writers are coming together to form the Afghan American Artists and Writers Association (AAAWA), a nascent group that Muradi, who is one of the founding members, describes as a “collective,” filled with authors, poets, musicians and performers, all of Afghan descent.

“The idea is to provide a space where Afghan-American artists can find each other and support each other’s work,” she said. “And from the start, there was this great excitement and solidarity about finding kindred spirits and producing great work.”

Muradi’s involvement in the group comes after a lifelong passion for the arts. She moved to Elmhurst, Queens, with her family in 1982, after her father, who worked in his father’s textile factory in Kabul, spoke out against the Soviet invasion in Afghanistan. The USSR was supporting the communist Afghan government in its fight against the mujahadeen.

“My mom had a friend who was in the secret service, and she saw that my father was blacklisted,” Muradi said. “So he had to flee.”

He got a business visa to enter the U.S., and moved to New York in 1981, where his father and brother were already living. A year later, Muradi, her mother, sister and brother followed.

Once here, she developed an early interest in language, essentially out of necessity.

“I (have) early memories about grammar mistakes, and about being bullied about how I spoke,” she said, noting that no one in her family spoke English upon their arrival to the U.S. “I remember one time I hit my cheek and got blood on my shirt, and I kept saying, ‘My shirt is bleeding!’ (The grammatical mistake) was this traumatic experience for me.”

She learned English by watching Sesame Street and All My Children on the couch with her mother. As she got older, she remembers being mentored by English teachers and immersing herself in books when her mom and dad were working late.

“I was really encouraged in middle school,” she said. By then, her family had moved to Ft. Lauderdale, Fla., where her parents opened a café in an office building.

“I started writing poems in 5th and 6th grade, and it was almost like there was no other calling,” she said. “It was just so apparent that that’s what I needed to do.”

Her parents, who both went to college in Afghanistan, encouraged her to pursue her passions. But not all Afghan women would receive the same treatment, particularly back home.

“In general, in Afghanistan, women who act and sing are considered morally suspect,” said Anand Gopal, an independent journalist who has reported extensively from Afghanistan. “In fact, respectable men and women don’t even do things as basic as going to a movie theater. It’s considered a seedy thing to do.”

Gopal explained that there are large differences in what is considered “acceptable” behavior for women in Afghanistan today, with factors such as age, tribal affiliation, hometown and especially class all playing a role. But he said there was very little chance that Muradi would have been able to pursue her love for the arts growing up.

“She wouldn’t have even survived any of this in the early 90’s,” he said. “The Taliban took tanks and destroyed cinemas to demonstrate that women shouldn’t be involved in cinema.”

In New York, where there are about 6,600 Afghan immigrants, according to a 2005-2009 American Community Survey report from the Census bureau, Gopal said that beliefs among Afghan families might not be as extreme as those of the Taliban, because families who are able move to the U.S. are generally from a higher-class, more educated background.

“The type of women who are able to come here are a very specific slice of Afghan society,” he said.

Naheed Bahram, a case manager at Queens-based community organization Women for Afghan Women, agreed with Gopal, but she said that there are also pockets of families who come from more conservative, uneducated backgrounds. Women in those families often struggle to acclimate to life in New York.

“They’re in a different country, with a different language, and it’s very hard for them (to adjust),” she said.

Muradi, who moved back to New York City after graduating from Hampshire College in Massachusetts in 2002, recognizes her good fortune. She says that had she grown up in Afghanistan, her life “probably would have been very similar” to that of her cousins, who had to flee to Pakistan to receive an education. When they returned to Afghanistan after they had finished school, their school credits weren’t recognized.

But she has taken advantage of the opportunities afforded to her and become an accomplished writer and artist in New York, while also trying to advance the work of fellow female Afghan artists.

She co-edited the book “One Story, Thirty Stories: An Anthology of Contemporary Afghan American Literature,” which was released in November 2010. In October of this year, she helped organize “Afghan Americans: Ten Years Later,” a multimedia exhibit and performance in Long Island City, Queens, reflecting on the 10th anniversary of the American invasion of Afghanistan. And she has been integral in the formation of AAAWA, a group that is slowly coalescing into a more concrete organization.

When she was first introduced to Zohra Saed in 2001, another female Afghan-American writer, she said that she was incredulous.

“All I remember hearing is (Saed saying), ‘I’m a writer,’” she said “And I (thought) ‘Wait, there’s a female Afghan writer? What the hell?’ Suddenly my world multiplied.”

Now, 10 years later, Muradi has found her niche as an artist, and she believes that she and the other members of AAAWA, including Saed, can set an example for other Afghans interested in pursuing the arts.

“I think other young, Afghan women might be afraid of pursuing something because they don’t see examples of it,” she said. “Going into the arts is not common in our community here, even more so among females than males.”

“But I think that’s changing,” she said, citing the work of Khaled Hosseini, author of The Kite Runner, as well as what she calls an increasing number of Afghan-American writers and performers. “And I think it’s important to break stereotypes.”

Over 100 years ago, Little Italy was a neighborhood spread out for over a dozen blocks, stuffed to the brim with Italian immigrant families who lived and worked there to achieve the American dream. But today its size has shrunk from a heaping plate of spaghetti to a mere forkful. The neighborhood stretches only about four blocks, which are filled with tourist shops and restaurants pushing “the best homemade” cannolis and meatballs around.

What was once a home to thousands of Italian immigrants in New York has become what many call a tourist trap. But though the neighborhood has changed, there are some Italian-Americans who refuse to give up their businesses, homes and the true essence of Little Italy. Many believe that those who remain in the neighborhood are what keep its nostalgia alive.

“Little Italy, ain’t only a place, it’s a mind set,” said Ernest Tramontana, a lifetime Little Italy resident.

Hasia Diner, professor and academic chair of Hebrew and Judiac Studies at NYU, said that Italians immigrants moving out of the neighborhood was a positive thing for them because it meant they were making it.

“Little Italy was really the victim of its own success, in as much as the children and for sure the grandchildren of the people who lived there wanted to live in places with yards, if not the actual suburbs,” Diner said.

Vinny Vella, a 3rd generation Italian-American, sat at the little patio outside La Bella Café, at a marble topped table scattered about with lottery scratch tickets, laughing and joking with friends while watching passersby on Mulberry Street.

“Every week we do this,” he said. “We play and then decide who gets what,” he said pointing at the scratch tickets with a hearty laugh, waving his hand adorned with a gold ring on his pinky and chain on his wrist. On the crisp fall afternoon, Vella was dressed to the nines; his black knee-length peat coat and grey grizzly hair toped off the look.

Vinny Vella, 63, is a 3rd generation Italian-American who's lives in Little Italy. He loves New York and the neighborhood because of the hustle and bustle. Photo by Nicole Guzzardi

Vella, 63, is an actor who has lived in Little Italy most his life, and prefers to keep it that way. Though he said the area has changed dramatically since he was young, he can’t seem to bring himself to leave. For Vella, Little Italy still possesses charm and romance.

“I’m still here because I was born here,” he said. “I live here, I lived her all my life, it’s home, where am I gonna go?”

Between 1810 and 1980, over 5.3 million Italians immigrated to the U.S., many fleeing poverty and overpopulation, with over 2 million between 1900 and 1910, according to census information. Many of these Italians settled in Little Italy neighborhoods all over the country, the most famous being in New York.

“For the Italians of New York, Little Italy became the place to go to,” Diner said. “It came to stand for a symbol of authenticity.”

Historically, Little Italy in Lower Manhattan ran north to Bleecker Street and south to Canal Street. It stretched west to Lafayette and east to Bowery Street. Today, the neighborhood has shrunk to a few blocks on a single street. Businesses were once stretched out among the large neighborhood. Now what’s left of the neighborhood lies mainly on Mulberry Street from Broome to Canal streets.

Meanwhile Chinatown, Little Italy’s touching neighborhood, continues to grow in size and numbers, engulfing areas of Little Italy as Asian immigrants continue to flow into the United States. Stores once owned and run by Italians have been sold to Chinese management.

Diner said Chinese immigration was big in the 1960s and still continues to be today.

Vella has his own theory on why the neighborhood changed. Back in the 1940s and 50s when many Italians immigrated to New York, they bought up a lot of buildings for a little money, he said. But as time went on and rent increased, many were forced to sell, or wanted to take the money and make a new life.

“All of a sudden someone comes around in the 70s and 80s and says they’ll give you two million dollars for the building, and they take they money,” he said. “They neva had that kinda money before.”

Many Italians left Little Italy, moving to other parts of New York, like Staten Island and Long Island, he said.

Vella’s father, Louie, started his own fish market on Mott Street in Little Italy, and ran the business for years before selling. Louie was born in New York, but was taken back to Italy with his parents, who were born in Italy, when he was nine months old. He grew up in Italy and came back to New York at 17. He started working as an ice man, saved money, bought a pushcart to sell fish from and eventually opened his own market.

Louie ran the market 41 years before selling. Vella said his father didn’t sell because he needed the money, but because he had to retire. Louie didn’t want to sell the business to anyone but an Italian, Vella said.

“I said ‘Pa, there’s no Italians gonna buy this store. It’s all Chinese right now, you have no choice,’ ” he said.

Eventually he couldn’t keep it up anymore, Vella said, and his father sold the business to a Chinese family, who still runs the market today.

Over the years Vella has watched the neighborhood change.

“There are more tourists now then there were before. Canal Street was the borderline. There was Italians on one side of the street and Chinese on the other,” Vella said.

While there is no doubt the neighborhood is not the size it once was, others believed it hasn’t really changed all that much.

Tramontana, an Italian-American who was raised and still resides in Little Italy, said there are still plenty of Italians living in the area. Tramontana, 30, is president of Sons of Little Italy in New York, an organization dedicated to promoting tradition and culture. He believes the changes the neighborhood has seen are just a natural part of immigration itself.

“This was a Dutch-Irish neighborhood,” he said. “The Dutch-Irish moved to the outer boroughs; it became an Italian neighborhood, the Italians moved to the outer boroughs. It’s the American way.”

Tramontana himself said he too will eventually move from the neighborhood, because when he has a family, he wants to give them a different life, the yard.

Among the Italians who still own space and run businesses in the neighborhood are Italian-American brothers Frank and Nick Angileri. The Angileri brothers have run La Bella Café on Mulberry Street for 41 years. The brothers were both born in Sicily, Italy, and Franky moved to New York by himself at age 17. A few years later his brother Nick came to live in Little Italy as well.

Frank Angilieri, 68, owns La Bella Ferrera Cafe on Mulberry Street in Little Italy. He was raised in Italy and came to New York at age 17. He opened this business with his brother Nick Angilieri 41 years ago. Photo by Nicole Guzzardi

Franky Angileri, 68, thinks the neighborhood changed partly because the younger generation of Italians went to school, became educated and moved out of the neighborhood for more comfort and space. With fewer Italians, the neighborhood began to change, he said.

“Many years ago, Italian people used to control the neighborhood and make sure no other nationalities came; they wanted to keep it Italian. Unfortunately, those kinda people aren’t around anymore,” Angileri said.

“They sold out,” Tramontana said. “They didn’t sell to their own kind. The Chinese came through with shopping bags full of money.”

Tramontana said that organizations in Little Italy have to step up promotion and public relations to bring the “bridge and tunnel” people back to the neighborhood.

“That’s the future of Little Italy, having your locals come back,” he said.

There is no way of knowing how long Little Italy will withstand the economic challenges and overflow of other neighborhoods, but some Italians will stay to keep its essence alive.

“When they stop making a good lasagna, I’m outta here,” Vella said.

Sofia Naouia, 27, and her son, Christian Hunter, 5, await their father and grandfather, respectively, who was among Sunday's last runners in the annual New York City Marathon. Photo by Louie Lazar.

Carrying sacks overflowing with their belongings, the evening’s final batch of competitors – with only moonlight and faded streetlamps to guide their paths – limped towards their respective welcoming parties, like wounded soldiers returning from the front. Wrapped in blue and orange aluminum-looking “heat sheets” that floated behind them like capes, they walked amidst the roars of garbage trucks and the clanging metal of cleanup crews, while a cheerful male voice repeatedly boomed from a nearby speaker:

“Congratulations on completing the New York City Marathon. Please keep moving and exit using the nearest street.”

Vanessa Crooks (left), 27, and Carolina Sato, 23, try to locate their friend via iPad using a marathon app that helps track runners. Crooks and Sato, whose friend still hadn't appeared at the finish line by 8 PM Sunday night, are both from Panama. Photo by Louie Lazar.

Standing outside a security barricade at 72nd Street and Central Park West at around 8 PM Sunday, people initially held up signs like “Go Dad” and “Good Job Grandpa Mickey!” but many soon turned hungry and cold from all the waiting and shifted into survival mode, wolfing down hot dogs or bouncing in place. Others, like 27-year-old Vanessa Crooks of Panama, stared at an I-Pad, attempting to locate their friends’ or relatives’ whereabouts via a marathon website (a tracking chip, planted within the runners’ numbered bibs, was supposed to isolate runners’ geographical position). Crooks said she had “no idea” what had happened to her friend, who’d been having knee problems in the days leading up to the race.

“What has she gotten herself into?” lamented a shivering Crooks, who, unlike most marathon cheerleaders, had neither signage nor clothing aimed at pumping someone up.

“I wanted to get [celebratory] balloons but I didn’t even know where to find them,” Crooks explained.

Most of the late finishers had been relegated to walking the course – either due to cramping, or to more serious medical problems. The latter category would apply to Sofia Naouai, 27, whose 55-year-old father was still laboring in the dark park somewhere.

“He had a kidney transplant and is a diabetic, so this is major,” said a worried Naouai. “And his hand is swollen.”

Added Naouai: “He’s also blind in one eye.”

Historically, last place finishers at the New York event have gone on to achieve esteemed status. Zoe Kolowitz, who completed the 2007 marathon in over 28 hours and finished several New York City marathons in last place, is now a motivational speaker and author who has appeared on CNN, The Today Show, and ESPN. She has multiple sclerosis, diabetes, and uses crutches to achieve forward motion. Bob Wieland, who lost both his legs in Vietnam, “ran” the entire 1986 marathon on his hands over the course of four days. Following a White House meeting with President Reagan, he too went on to appear on the motivational speaking circuit.

At approximately 9 PM on Sunday, admittedly exhausted security personnel abandoned their posts at the park’s exterior fence and allowed spectators access to the finish line, where, nine hours earlier, Kenyan speedster Geoffrey Mutai had – under a cloudless sky – shattered the marathon’s all-time record in front of a nationwide TV audience. Now, volunteers and several dozen men, women, and children awaited the evening’s final runner: a 36-year-old, severely-disabled Venezuelan economist named Maickel Melamed, who’d started the race at 9 AM. The faithful, most of whom had flown in from Caracas for the occasion, waved Venezuelan flags, wore shirts proclaiming “Vamos Maickel” and clutched balloons featuring the same slogan. A television crew from Univision conducted interviews; the mood was electric.

Esther Puerto, of Caracas, Venezuela, and her daughters, 12-year-old Victoria and 11-year-old Rebeca, wear shirts in support of disabled Venezuelan runner Maickel Melamed, the last expected finisher in Sunday's New York City Marathon. Louie Lazar.

“[Melamed’s] a celebrity in Caracas,” said Juan Carlos Garanton, 42, a Venezuelan tax attorney who’d come to the park with his family. “He’s an inspiration for many people, let me tell you.”

Soon it was 10:30 pm, and Melamed still hadn’t materialized, but the faithful remained confident that he’d arrive soon. Especially Garanton, who noted that the famous Latin American holds a secondary profession in addition to economist.

“Motivational speaker,” he said.

(From left) LaRue Marlow, Isaiah Seward and Andre Rainey of the BURN U Movement welcome runners to the Bronx with hip-hop beats. Photo by Alexa Mae Asperin

Upon crossing Willis Avenue Bridge, runners in the 2011 ING New York City Marathon celebrated their 20-mile victory by waving to the crowds, putting their hands in the air, and bobbing their heads to the swift sounds of hip-hop music that infiltrated the air as they invaded the Bronx.

“They’re running straight into the place where hip-hop was made,” said spectator Annie Ruiz-Martinez, 26, from Pelham Bay, Bronx. “It’s great that they’re being welcomed to the borough with this upbeat music to keep them going!”

Widely recognized as the birthplace of the hip-hop subculture, the Bronx welcomed thousands of runners from all over the world and attracted even more cheering fans hoping to give marathoners a boost on the 26.2 mile-long journey. Some passed out water bottles, others yelled tidbits of inspiration, and many extended their arms for a friendly high-five. But the BURN U Movement gave runners a taste of entertainment native to the borough they had finally reached.

“We’re getting such a positive response from the runners and the crowds,” said founder LaRue Marlow, 37, of Co-op City, Bronx. “We want to bring excitement to the runners and as soon as they pass that bridge, they hear us and get inspired to keep moving.”

Marlow, who came to the marathon with six other Movement members and has been involved in the music industry for the past 20 years, said the group’s mission to “bring unity through hip-hop culture” brought them to perform at the marathon for the first time, engaging crowds and runners with everything from rap and gospel to R&B.

“Why not encourage runners with upbeat music at a time where they’re probably needing it most,” Marlow said.

Rapper Isaiah “Saiah” Seward, 29, of Albany, NY, who performs both as a solo artist and with the Movement, was inspired to organize the group’s involvement with the marathon because of his passion of giving back to the community.

“I would never be able to get through this race,” Seward said. “So the Movement and I get to keep them going through music and remind them they can reach their goals.”

Seward, who has been performing for nearly 10 years, said entertaining runners in the Bronx was the perfect place not only because of its reputation as the hip-hop motherland, but because the location is a fundamental point for marathoners.

“At the 20-mile mark they’re probably reaching that point where they’re getting tired but people here are yelling, ‘Welcome to the Bronx!’ and we’re engaging the crowds,” Seward said. “We just want to give the runners energy and inspiration to get to the end.”

Runners are welcomed to the Bronx with signs like these and cheering crowds to boost their spirits during the ING NYC Marathon. Photo by Alexa Mae Asperin

As for involvement in future races, both Marlow and Seward agreed they would love to be part of the marathon – not by running but performing again.

“Next year I’m going to try and get a stage down here,” Marlow said. “It has been an amazing first experience and we hope we accomplished something today by showing others that there’s more to hip-hop than what you may see or hear.”

Spectator Cherise Gonzalez, 35, of Melrose, Bronx said the Movement’s beats helped her continue cheering, which she said may not be as strenuous as running, but requires just as much energy.

“It’s uplifting and helps me to help runners,” Gonzalez said. “They really get a sense of not only the Bronx but New York as a whole in that we welcome people from all over and take care of each other especially on days like today.”

The Bello family has been flying in from Caracas for nine years for the New York City Marathon. They set up an elaborate camp flying the Venezuelan flag and cheering on their friends and relations at two points along the 26 mile route. Photo by Edna Ishayik

At 7 a.m., Gustavo Bello and a cluster of his friends and family set up banners, donned foamy red, yellow and blue hats and smeared their faces with paint.

They were preparing for an hours-long celebration of their team of more than 25 Venezuelan runners in the 2011 New York City Marathon. Brothers, sisters, husbands and wives were there to make some noise as their relations undertook a massive feat of physical endurance.

For the ninth consecutive year, the crew has parachuted in from Caracas to be part one of New York’s biggest sporting spectacles.

“It’s become a tradition,more and more runners have been joining us for this, some [have been participating] for 10 years some for the first time,” said Bello, a surgeon.

Every year, the Bellos and their extended family station themselves near the corner of Fourth Avenue and 37th Street in Sunset Park. This stretch of the course is lined with spartan bodegas, laundry services and fast food joints. It’s only several miles from the glitzy strip of Fifth Avenue marathoners will run later in the race, but in terms of socio-economics, it couldn’t be further.

But for the Bellos, the location serves not because of its diverse mix of Latino and Asian residents or its vibrant immigrant community, but because of its convenience.

“It’s easier. We’ve talked to the owner of the McDonalds. They let us park our cars,” said Adriana Vincentelli, one of the family members.

And it’s also easier to get a prime view. Unlike other neighborhoods further along the track, here the crowds are sparse.

The Bellos’ strategy, perfected over the years, allows no time for sampling the culture or cuisine of the taquerias and dumpling shops in the neighborhood. After the last runner in their group passes by, the plan calls for piling into rental cars and speeding up to the Upper East Side for a second round of cheering.

“The fifth mile is early enough that we get to see every runner—the slowest one and the fastest one,” Bello said. “It allows us then to go to the mile 18 and join them again. My dad is probably at the end. He’s 72.”

This year the group has a special motivation. Their long-time trainer, Marisela Diaz, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and missed the race for the first time in six years. Usually she gets the team into shape over half a year and then jogs along with them on the big day.
Her absence is palpable. Her image looms large on a sign strung between two poles and several family members wear her name on their shirts.

“We are doing this for her,” said Vincentelli.

Team Bello did their best to make Diaz proud. One by one, or in small clumps, the runners dash by the family’s festive encampment. Some give a simple wave, others stop for photos, hugs and even some small energy snacks. The group is exuberant—beaming with pride at their clan-members effort.

When the race is over, the celebration continues at the Mariott Marquis in Times Square.

“It’s fun to hear every one of them,” Bellow said. “There’s always a story. People rushing to the restroom, shoes with holes in them, people with bad cramps. All kinds of stories.”

By 12:15 p.m., the sidewalks of Sunset Park were quickly emptying out. Flashing police cars crawl down the avenue, trailing some of the very last of the 47,000 marathoners. The Bellos were long gone before the patrol cars pass 37th Street—they’re already on their way to catch their top runners cruise past mile 18.

Raquel Mendez, 75, of East Harlem at the NYC Marathon waiting for her friend Maria Lapetina to cross the 19th mile so she can cheer her on. Photo by Ebony Montenegro

Handing out water bottles and pastries Raquel Mendez, 75, of East Harlem and a native of Puerto Rico, stood outside the Jefferson Housing Projects in East Harlem with her organization Union Settlement to cheer on the 2011 New York City Marathon runners and walkers, including a few Union Settlement members.

“I live right there, “ she said pointing to one of the apartment buildings in the Jefferson Housing Projects behind her.

“And I come her everyday,” she said pointing to the James Johnson Weldon Senior Center, one of the places Union Settlement provides senior assistance.

Mendez has been watching the marathon for years.

“How long has the marathon been going on? That’s how long I’ve come out to watch it,” she said.

This year Mendez has something more to cheer about, her friend Maria Lapetina, from the Johnson Weldon Senior Center was participating in the marathon. For Lapetina, 80 years old, this is her first marathon and according to Mendez “she is very active. “

“I’m happy for her. I have two screws in my knee I can’t run too much,” she said.

Mendez has lived in East Harlem for 55 years. Years ago she said there was a lot of crime, but those memories were far away today. The East Harlem vibe was jovial with colorful banners lining the fences of Jefferson Park, a hip hop group performing a few paces away and blue ribbon fencing off the spectator areas.

Mara Haddock cheers on the NYC Marathoners at the 19th mile. Photo by Ebony Montenegro

“She is famous,” Maria Estelle Haddock, 67, a friend from the senior center, said of Mendez with a sly wink. “for the trips to Atlantic City. I’m just messing with her so she can give me another donut.”

For both ladies their favorite part of the race is seeing the first runner pass by.

“I get excited when I see the first runner. I like the energy for winning the prize. Some winners need the money to by themselves a little house,” Haddock said.

As a wave of runners approached the 19th mile a few ladies from the Union Settlement cheered them on.

“Keep going. Keep running. Keep walking. You can do it!”

“Que viva la raza, Puerto Rico!”

“Estan alimentando la vista (they are feeding their eyesight),” Haddock said of the ladies sitting on the sidelines.“There are so many handsome men running from all other the world.”

As a wave of mostly male runner made their way to 116th Street encouraged by the ladies, Mendez shrugged and continued to hand out food and water to the locals.

“I’m too old for that,” she said.

Rita Padua and Brigette Beerli, native Swiss women, were decked out in their country's flag so the runners they came to support would know where to find them. Photo by Kait Richmond.

In a sea of black and brown winter jackets, it was hard to stand out on 59th Street. and 1st Avenue, where spectators of the 2011 ING New York City Marathon waited for runners to exit the Queensboro Bridge and take their first steps into Manhattan. Amid the densely packed crowd was the red Swiss flag, emblazoned on shirts, hats and backpacks, in hopes of catching the eyes of the Swiss athletes who would run by.

“Today is a great day for my friend, and I’m excited for him,” said Brigette Beerli, who came from Switzerland with her friend Martin so he could run in the race, and she could cheer him on.

Beerli came to New York City with a travel agency in Switzerland that organizes an annual trip to the city for the marathon.

Esther Roth, a tour guide who lives in Astoria, Queens but is from Switzerland, said the company runs trips to many of the world’s biggest marathons, but New York is a popular destination.

“Some clients come almost every year, for many years, and everybody tells me that basically New York is the greatest experience of all the marathons,” said Roth.

Crowds swell at the Queensboro Bridge where NYC Marathon runners will take their first steps into Manhattan. Photo by Kait Richmond.

She said that their group numbered almost 200 people, and that the Swiss clients enjoy New York because of the diversity of people participating and cheering.

The Swiss spirit could be seen throughout the crowd that surrounded the bridge, a Swiss flag popping up here and a red shirt showing up there. The Manhattan side of the Queensboro Bridge is the 16-mile mark, and one of the most popular cheering zones along the 26.2-mile route.

Roth said she’s picked this spot for many years, because she thinks the runners must feel excited to run out from under the bridge and into a crowd of cheering fans.

“Our Swiss participants know that we are in this corner, so they will look for us here,” said Rita Padua, who was with Roth’s tour group.

Originally from Switzerland, but currently living in Washington D.C., Padua said her sister chose to run in this marathon so that Padua would not have to travel so far to see her compete.

The crowd erupted with cheers and blow horns when the professional women runners went by. Padua, who wore an oversized top hat with the Swiss flag on it, shook the cowbell she decorated and cheered loudly.

It’s Padua’s first time at the marathon, and while she waited to catch a glimpse of her sister come off the bridge, she enjoyed the electric atmosphere.

“It’s wonderful,” she said. “The weather helps a lot. I find it is very important for all the participants, and we also try to cheer everybody up.”

Claude Jay, a Harlem-based performer and business owner, acted as emcee of the Gospel Station singing and welcoming runners into the 21st mile of the race. Photo byJoann Pan

Long-distance runner and ING NYC Marathon’s top female finisher Firehiwot Dado turned onto Broadway in a blaze of red causing Harlem to come alive in the roaring of cheers and slapping of thunder sticks, welcoming the first stream of runners to the race’s homestretch.

“You can do it,” the soulful voice of Claude Jay said, rolling over the crowd’s applause. “Harlem congratulates you.”

With his mouth to the microphone, Jay’s was the first voice the athletes heard upon entering the Harlem Miles—mile markers 21 to 23.

On the corner of 135th Street and 5th Avenue, life-long singer and Harlem-based business owner Jay sang a gospel song, “Mighty Mighty Mighty God,” interrupting himself several times to cheer on the athletes.

“Congratulations. Welcome to the Harlem Miles,” Jay shouted, as Dado ran down Broadway with police escorts on motorcycles as the first woman to enter Harlem and eventually win the 2011 ING New York City Marathon.

Crowd at 135th Street in Harlem, welcome marathon runners into the race's homestretch. Photo by Joann Pan

Harlem has always had great energy and presence at the marathon, according to Jay who has been coming to this race “since they started it” in 1970.

This morning’s crowd is a mix of children, parents and the neighborhood’s senior citizens with walkers or sitting in automated wheelchairs.

“The energy is so exciting. Harlem is a big part of New York City,” he said. Crowds lined the sidewalks on 5th Avenue from 135th to 125th Streets, prepared to cheer on about 50,000 runners to follow the pack leaders.

“This is awesome,” Jay said. “This is a Gospel stage. It’s like a sermon in motion because the will and the determination you see here today. It’s an honor to welcome them into Harlem, to New York, to Manhattan.”

Jay is no runner and doesn’t have the urge to give the marathon a try, he will always be on the sidelines welcoming runners to Harlem.

“The best part of this is watching the people on the sidelines and kids respond.” he said. “People really leave here inspired.”

Rosalind Leslie, 53, of Ottawa, Canada cheered for as many runners as she could at the NYC Marathon, at Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. Photo by Charles Li

On the corner of Bay Ridge and 4th Avenues in Brooklyn, Rosalind Leslie, 53, grinned as her husband Don Leslie pulled a yellow, jagged-edged sign out of a kitchen garbage bag. The sign read, “Trip to NYC $1000 – Watching our beautiful daughter run NYC – Priceless.”

The Leslies flew into New York from Ottawa, Canada on Thursday to support their daughter Heather, 29, who had been picked by a Canadian lottery to run in her first ever New York City Marathon. The Canadian parents rented an apartment near South Ferry for four days – at the price of $255 per night – because “Heather wanted to live close to the Marathon’s starting point on Staten Island,” said Rosalind Leslie.

“My daughter’s kindergarten teacher wrote on her first report card that she’s a leader who likes to run, and I thought that was really cool,” she said. “I’m going to support her competitive spirit no matter what the price tag is.”

On Saturday Rosalind Leslie made the yellow, jagged-edged sign with hope that it will help Heather find her parents during the 26-mile endurance race. This morning the Leslies took turns holding up that sign on the sidewalk, from the instant they saw the first group of runners appear over the horizon on 4th Avenue, until Heather Leslie appeared in front of them two and a half hours later.

Rosalind Leslie cheered as though every competitor was her family member.

“Way to go John,” she yelled, “and I love New Zealand!” A runner with New Zealand’s national flag embroidered on his tank top waved both of his arms at her.

“Good morning handsome,” she called out to a handicapped man laboriously jogging with an artificial leg. “You’re doing an awesome job!”

“It might be the cold weather,” Rosalind Leslie whispered to her husband, who was jovially waving little Canadian flags. “I have almost no voice left.” She put on a pair of white, woolen gloves then covered her mouth while she coughed.

She said a lot of runners experience a bad zone at this distance, but would break out of it if they heard loud cheers.

But Rosalind Leslie had no interest in heading to the finish line after the runners past the mile three marker.

“It’s hard to watch because they just look like they’re dying by then,” she said.