Cycling along the river in fall, one saw scalding hues of crimson, gold, rust and ochre rustle in sharp contrast with the steely water, the crunch of dry leaves under my tyre treads heralding a time for hot chocolate and pumpkin pies. Winter along the Charles was always dramatic.

A one-time Bostonian campus association has Mumbai businesswoman, Leena Gandhi Tewari, reminisce affectionately about the elegant New England city that gracefully balances big metro aspirations with small town comforts

American cities can be so predictable. The ubiquitous golden arches (Mac attack oasis), the massive granite and glass structures, the perfectly planned downtown areas populated by glazed-looking yuppies scurrying about like gerbils in a mad scientist's maze. So where does one unearth a city that's interestingly different?

Ask the Pilgrims who, 200-odd years ago, landed in this northeastern corner of the country, planting the seeds that grew into the vibrant city of Boston - the hub of Academia with America's oldest and best-known university, Harvard, a commercial haven for IT and Biotech industries and home to old moneyed American families. A 'small big city', as resident, Dr Subhash Lathi, calls it, with all the traits of a large metro cushioned by the softer edges and accessibility of a smaller town.

The Freedom Trail meanders around the city, directing energetic tourists à pied to places of historic interest such as the Bunker Hill Monument immortalising soldiers, the ancient warship, SS Constitution, popularly dubbed Old Ironsides and Beacon Hill where the senators live. Quincy Market by the waterfront is a quaint spot where it is fun to spend an afternoon browsing for curios, sampling a variety of ethnic foods and, finally, straying into that famous watering hole, Cheers Bar.

Ducks and dogs are à la mode in this city. Dogs reveal the mental make-up of a city more accurately than its two-legged residents. The large numbers in which they are seen on a sunny New England day speak well for a harmonious blend between stressed city life and old-world values. Caring, affection and an unselfish interest in seemingly trivial pursuits are essential qualities of veteran dog owners. Every breed, from the garden variety Lab to the esoteric Chinese Shar-Pei, can be spotted. Of course, the son-of-the-soil Boston Terrier is a magnificent specimen, black and white, with upright ears and a face that looks like it has had several close encounters with an ice hockey puck at a local Bruins game. He is the mascot of the Boston University ice hockey team, the Terriers.

The Boston Marathon is another indication of the city's passionate and compassionate personality. The young, old and physically challenged all take part in it, cheered and encouraged by spirited crowds who turn up in massive numbers. Onlookers goad their effort, offer water or wipe sweat off the weary, creating a truly Bostonian way to celebrate the characteristic camaraderie and warmth the city exudes.

One can sniff culture and class in the discreet but elegant doorways overlooking the Boston Commons (America's oldest beautiful gardens) or those bordering Commonwealth Avenue, an arterial road modelled after the Parisian Champs-Élysées. A bronzed mother duck and her brood form the centre of attention in the Commons as a large mechanical imitation glides around, carrying saucer-eyed visitors through the city. At Cambridge, graceful as its feathered counterpart, it slides into the meandering Charles River. Bobbing along it, one sees the MIT and Boston U campuses, the Prudential and John Hancock buildings towering over the red brick townhouses…

Wistful memories of college days float into my mind. Of roller skating with my boulder-busted dorm pal Phyllis whose bent-kneed, yet upright, posture was brazenly defiant of all of Newton's gravity laws. Like the lead cyclist in a racing pack, she would charge ahead, confronting the wind drag as I happily trailed in her sheltered wake. Cycling along the river in fall, one saw scalding hues of crimson, gold, rust and ochre rustle in sharp contrast with the steely water, the crunch of dry leaves under my tyre treads heralding a time for hot chocolate and pumpkin pies. Winter along the Charles was always dramatic. Not a time to amble any more, the piercing cold never failed to bring tears to my eyes, no matter how many woollen layers encapsulated me. A light snowfall usually created crackling icicles in my waist-length hair. A few brave souls attempted to skate on the frozen top layer of the river. Then, in spring, as green buds emerged from seemingly dead branches, the river hummed in delight, echoing our sentiments. In May, the cherry blossoms bloomed for their all too brief but breathtakingly glorious life span and the city appeared delicately feminine, all pink and perfumed like a debutante at her Coming Out ball. The palate is never bored in Bean Town, starting with good old Boston baked beans or clam chowder, that thick seafood soup tasting just divine on a frigid day. Gastronomically, New Englanders, as Bostonians are known, are open-minded, experimenting with every cuisine. There are Tibetan, Afghani, French, Vietnamese and, of course, seafood restaurants - unthinkable to leave this city without eyeballing a succulent New England steamed lobster! The unforgettable No Name Restaurant (yes, that is its name) is as popular as it was 25 years ago. A hole in the wall where you sit on benches and hearty portions of delicious seafood are thumped on the table. No fuss, good food, great wine, so who cares if the glasses are plastic?

Pomp and ceremony are at their superlative, come Graduation, when proud parents travel from across the seven seas for the Convocation ceremonies with a grand bash at the Four Seasons or L'Espalier with their freshly crowned Harvard or MIT graduate. Whereas in the '70s Boston was completely bereft of an Indian restaurant, the spice brigade has more than made up. Today, there are over 70 such eateries here, ranging from Punjabi dhabas to fancy Indian fusion.

Commonwealth Avenue and Beacon Hill once boasted elegant residences monopolised by the Boston Brahmins - the moneyed WASPS (the Kennedys included). The city and its environs have now made way for a whole new invasion of the Indians. Pleasant surprise, one stylish doorway on Commonwealth Ave even carries the name of the Hare Krishna clan. Desh Deshpande, the richest NRI, Dr Dinesh Patel, the renowned orthopaedic surgeon practising at the Mass General Hospital, Mister Surround Sound Bose - practically every other industry too, be it construction, jewellery or consultancy of various kinds, sports a prominent, if not dominant, Indian name.

The Lathi family makes, what I consider, the Boston Brahmins of today. Both successful doctors, the Lathis have highly accomplished sons. All three boys are from MIT, now young tycoons, jetting across the country, surfboarding in Hawaii or under Golden Gate Bridge in their spare time. These are the new true-blue Bostonians who make me feel proud.

Viva Boston! One more reason I find your shores so endearing, unlike the Pilgrims who were greeted by a bunch of wild turkey. Hey, Bean Town.... Maybe you should be rechristened Biryani Basti!