Adventures of a Quarter-Life Crisis

An Ode to Potter and Ilk

2011-07-24T21:35:00.005-04:00

What does Harry Potter mean to me? This question has come up on a few occasions especially after the last epic Deathly Hallows movie. Yes, i was emotional. Yes, I cried. Yes, I sighed after it finished. Just like everyone else who really gets it (don't you hate it when the non-potterheads try to put their two cents about it, get all frustrated, and then proclaim: HP is so overrated!).
Unlike those who actually grew up reading Potter through their school and college years, i picked it up in my mid-20s, while i was enjoying my first taste of independence at my first job. I still remember reading the books on the train (and maybe a couple coffee breaks at work) or being stuck in a cab on the way to office. There were a few of us in the office who were reading the books... as one finished and passed it on to the next... it was all we could talk about in the summer of 2000. as the years went by and many of us went our separate ways- going to different jobs, cities, and even countries- the lure of Potter stayed with us. When Phoenix and Deathly Hallows came out, the same bunch of us stayed in touch and discussed who had the first pre-order delivery date from Amazon. Just as he was growing up, so were we. Just as he was coming to terms with his fate, in a sense, so were we. Just as Harry defeated the dark forces, we faced our own demons. Could i be more dramatic, you say? But this was a coming-of-age for all sorts of ages, so why not us.
Since i can remember i have been an unabashed fan of science fiction fantasy or any kind of fantasy fiction. If I associate the Enid Blyton and CS Lewis with my childhood, i can just as well associate Star Wars with my pre-teen years, on the heels of Asimov and Tolkein. If we can be moved by epic stories of great human emotions, it is an equal, if not greater, wonder to be moved by sagas of the same emotions played out in mythical places and by mythical creatures. People who don't "get" those places and creatures are sadly living in a dark corner of their own little world instead of the opposite!

Athlete's Feat and more in NYC

2011-05-09T18:08:00.003-04:00

The past month has been a wonderful Spring Break by way of reconnecting with old friends and meeting new ones. After a whirlwind weekend with family in Chicago, I followed it up with a culinary excursion to the Big Apple courtesy my childhood friend. We met when we were in Class 5 and bonded over reading Austen, Bronte and company; watching Hitchcock movies and drooling over Gregory Peck; making fun of our older brothers; eating street fare like gol guppas; and of course, entering puberty and discovering that mysterious species known as boys. Our environments – both family and outside – helped shaped our love for the arts as well. We both learnt, and grew to love, all kinds of musical genres, classical dance forms, as well as the theater, anything that hangs in a museum, and of course, the visual and sensory delights of everything gastronomical.

So anyway, old habits really die a painful death. Almost 25 years later, we still talk books, movies, mothers, and the men in our lives. Only the places and circumstances have changed. And we also talked theater and food. Over a leisurely brunch at the Spotted Pig, we had hot cross buns followed by the Brunch special of the day – I had the salmon with the rye toast and she had the fried eggs with spicy sausage – all this with shoestring fries and a glass of Pimm’s Cup (beer and ginger ale, I think).

I dashed off to see a couple other friends for coffee, and promised to meet her downtown again for a play called My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend. Between brunch, traffic, and catching the play, I was seriously running late. We exchanged frantic text messages which essentially told me to pick up my ticket at the box-office and if I was too late to be let inside, then I would have to wait for 1.5 hours for my friend and a couple of her friends who had come to see the play as well. As I reached the window, an usher hurriedly took me upstairs to the mezzanine section and I couldn’t see anyone remotely Indian looking. She was down below, in fact, with front row seats. All I was thinking was, “I’m so effing late, the show will start at any moment, and I need to get to my seat downstairs.” As I ran towards the door, I tripped down 2 stairs and strained my ankle with a four-letter word in tow. I was secretly howling in pain but managed to sit on a chair when the usher came dashing back upstairs to see what was going on. “Do you need to get help or do you want to see the show?” he asked. “I’ll see the show, but you need to help me downstairs to my seat.” I walked down and sat next to my friend just as the actor was coming on to the stage. In. The. Nick. Of. Time. After suffering through the introduction, the show was funny enough to make me forget my injury for the next hour or so.

Our little play group of four then decided to get an early dinner and so we trotted off to L’Artusi, an Italian joint in the vicinity that would not make me hobble too far. We arrived there close to 5:30ish and there were maybe 2 tables occupied on the first floor. The hostess still made us wait for a few minutes to check if we could be seated before leading us to our table – under which reservations had been made for a party coming around 7:15 or so. We thought we would be done with dinner by then. And it was a splendid meal – we shared the roasted mushrooms (fried egg, pancetta, ricotta salata); bucatini (tomato, pancetta, pecorino); and the cavatelli (butternut squash, pancetta pecorino). Our entrees included the roasted chicken with hen of the woods mushrooms plating the bottom, and we shared the Brussels sprouts. We topped it off with a dessert of bittersweet chocolate budino (vanilla cream, chocolate honey crisp) and panettone bread pudding (orange gelato, phyllo crisp). The latter was so decadent that we wanted to order another round, but were told by the hostess that “I’m afraid we are out of it.” Yeah, right. At 7:30 pm. They could have just told us the other party had arrived.

But happily satiated, we trudged off and went to a nearby watering hole called Employees Only. The mixologist concocted us a few Lazy Lovers (Leblon Cachaça & Jalapeño Infused Green Chartreuse shaken with Benedictine, Fresh Lime Juice & Agave Nectar) and a Quiet Storm (Bulleit Bourbon & Red Bush Tea-Infused Vermouth served tall with Fresh Lemon Juice & Ginger Beer). A different sort of concoction was happening right outside the lounge area. A “resident psychic” was sitting outside and I couldn’t resist giving up 20 bucks from my wallet. I was told I would be getting rich from various business ventures, attracting younger men, and getting married and having twin boys and a girl when I turn 40. Watch this space.

The final pit stop of the night was Casellula – a heavenly wine and cheese café tucked away in Hell’s Kitchen. I thoroughly enjoyed the unpretentious ambience and the roller-coaster conversation topics – hopes and dreams, natural disasters and charity work, Marxism, free market theories, and the general ramblings of any drunken soiree. There are lazy vacations by the beach or pack-in-all-the-sights in 3days or endless buffets on a cruise or see-the-pyramids kind of holiday. Then there are those days which are just as invigorating because of the company you keep.. It was around 2 in the morning when my ankle finally felt the comfort of an ice pack and I could put my feet up again...

Yes, it rained men - just not the right kind

2011-03-01T18:44:00.003-05:00

Badgered into updating my blog again, I am back to regale my fiercest and loyal readers. Thank you again for making me realize that life can get shitty but unless you blog about it, you don’t appreciate how ridiculously insane or hilarious it can get. And last year was pretty high up on the ridiculously insane-o-meter. Contrary to popular belief, I did date outside my race. I was never opposed to it but I made a more pointed effort to going out and exploring the non-brown side. There was the Filipino American who I trudged to meet after a blizzard hit the city. I was more excited about the Italian coffee shop I had heard so much about. Needless to say, the hazelnut cappuccino did not disappoint. As for the date.. sigh. Then there was the WASPy defense contractor who was on a liquid diet. Not a good start to any relationship. There was the Irish Catholic linguist who spoke eight languages but could not communicate in real life. And finally, the African American lawyer who I shall never forget for being so terribly, errm, compliant? My happily married friends cheered me on. “If you don’t have an affair when you’re single, when will you?!” Indeed. I could be detached and think like a man. But I listened to the feeling at the pit of my stomach: Get the Hell Out of Dodge.

And there I was like proverbial driftwood. Until someone conned me into thinking I didn’t have to be alone. I could be with him and I could be happy. Aren’t we all suckers for emotional BS? So there was some happiness, and it was somewhat due to him. But the euphoria didn’t last long. This chap, let’s just call him, The Jerk, was dishonest about something so incredibly precious in his life, it was a wonder he sustained any of his previous relationships. After a solo and liberating Euro vacation, I came back with the heavy burden of making my first grown-up relationship decision. It was time to say goodbye.

I barely had time to recover when I was cajoled into a set up through some mutual friends. The sales pitch was to the point: “If you are looking for a wonderful husband and father, this is the guy for you. If you want the most amazing lover, then not so much.” [PS: Next time any of your friends say this to describe you, just kill them.] After hemming and hawing for a bit, I shrugged and said why not. It’s not like I was busy knitting cardigans. He seemed a bit too eager to please and indeed, was a complete gentleman. In fact, so much so, we never even held hands during our brief interlude together. But I appreciated his honesty and sincerity, traits that are surely in short measure these days. I was rolling up my sleeves to work on the other not-so-appealing aspects of this potential partnership. But before I got to that, The Disappearing Act, shall we say, went missing for 2 weeks. No calls, no emails, no nothing. I finally found out through his friend he was occupied with a severe case of the winter blues. Not that I drove him to it. But it was time to say adieu, yet again.

So there you have it, my personal life up to speed: Whereas, The Jerk, in spite of his negative traits, was still a great communicator, The Disappearing Act made communication an uphill struggle in spite of his positive traits. Oh yes, and they were both Indian, in case it mattered... And now I shall take a hiatus from dating, but I promise to post more non-dating adventures soon!

Post-Romanticism with a dash of Modern Surrealism

2010-06-21T16:48:00.001-04:00

My parents were visiting for about a month but that didn’t mean I could take a complete hiatus from dating (now it really sounds like work!). I just made sure I met the guys in between their other travels or in the second case, the evening of their departure.

The first chap was very nice in a wholesome American apple pie kind of way. An only child from Midwestern Americana, he combined his father’s scientific genius with his mother’s artistic talents. But we were interested in one another on other levels, too and when he brought me chocolate from his recent business trip in Europe, I had to say, “Aww.” So we ate at a Spanish tapas place and he paid (and no, he still hasn’t asked for my portion of the bill). We walked around the charming neighborhood, browsed the Apple store and then had gelatos (“a girl after my own heart,” he remarked after I agreed to that one). On the way to the Metro, we sat on a bench and continued to talk for quite a while before a slight drizzle interrupted us. “It’s one of those things we’ll end up remembering for a while,” he said as we ran towards cover. He even waited for my train to come – even as he missed his own – so we could spend more time together. We promised to keep in touch and texted our thank you messages within the hour. Sounds pretty romantic, doesn’t it? Well, that’s all it was, folks. It was a really nice treat and after that not another peep or squeak from the guy. Do I have time to sit and hold my breath – ermm, I don’t think so. Who’s next?

I was running about 10 minutes late for this one. But he was easy to find in the near-empty Starbucks, skulking behind his Aviators. It turns out he used to be in the Indian Armed Forces, so wearing those sunglasses were absolutely mandatory inside a dark coffee shop. After preliminary introductions, he laid down The No. 1 Army Rule for me i.e. always be on time. Aye, aye, sir. Then he proceeded to inform me that he had flown a plane, jumped out of a plane, scuba dived, parasailed and god-knows-what-else. In other words, he really wanted to make it clear he was really, really cool. Honestly, I would have been impressed if this was an Army dude who had fought in the foothills of the Siachen glacier or had flown a MIG-29. Turns out he had done neither – he was an engineer who was posted in random places before he quit to go to B-school – and I know I’m supposed to say they all make sacrifices, no matter what kind of work they do. He was nice, gracious and seemed to have an edgy sense of humor. He certainly took my barbs well. But, but, but. I could recognize that cloud of desperation hanging over him (been there, done that)… as if he needed someone to fill that void, it could be anybody. There is also the little fact of the matter that as he walked me home, he decided to cop a feel by saying, “Hey! Let me show you a cool self-defense tactic in case someone grabs your arm,” while grabbing my arm. Then proceeds to do some Heimlich Maneuver for the arm. Needless to say, that did not impress me the least bit. Can I go to Court Martial for that?

Myself Bhavra, You Phool? - Part 2

2010-06-11T16:42:00.004-04:00

I swear I did not have the slightest clue what I was getting myself into when I agreed to meet this guy. Let me warn you, that when you hear the phrase "coffee at 7 pm," there is a strong likelihood of things going a bit off kilter. So first off, this guy calls to say he is stuck in traffic from hell. It was fine since the coffeeshop was literally a hop, skip and jump from where I live so I told him to just call me as he was parking in the vicinity. In the meantime, I hung out at home. Sorted my holiday pictures. No call yet. Then I made a new itunes playlist. Still no call. Now he was running over an hour late and I was more pissed than a grizzly got her salmon picked up by some damn tourist. Finally, 80 minutes later than proposed time, the call comes. “Parking was a bitch, man,” he says. You don’t say. But I take a deep breath, walk over, and think perhaps all could be forgiven if he was Just. A. Nice. Lad.

He was nice enough – he held the door, he apologized profusely, and insisted why don’t we have dinner instead of coffee (it was late and besides "finding parking here made me hungry"). So on his insistance I ordered a glass of wine and salad while he settled for a beer and a steak tartare. When I came back from the rest room, he had already got the check. “Let me get the tip, at least,” I said. “No, no. It’s the least I can do for showing up so late,” he said. “Besides, we men gotta do this kind of stuff to impress the ladies.” OK then.

Cue 24 hours, several texts and a voice mail later. He had a great time, wanted to see me again, yadda, yadda, yadda. It was flattering, I admit. But I had thought a great deal about it and the whole experience – well, something did not feel right. I could not say what. I won’t say sparks because I believe you hit it off immediately with some folks and with others it takes a slow, natural course to get to a great place. I decided I didn’t want to see him again.

Since we met through a matrimonial website, and he had been honest about why he got divorced, I felt it would be fair to send him a polite, thanks but no thanks, note. "Thank you so much for the dinner. However, I don't think we're a good match for each other. I feel we have some differences in our upbringing and background. I wish you the very best." The following is his actual reply, word for word:

"I have noticed that you have no desire to be maintain a friendship. That is perfectly fine. If you were uncertain about things then why did you invite me to a restaurant for a meeting. You could have invited me to simple coffee shop. You are old enough and also smart to know that it is not wise to make other people spend money if you are not sure. Your portion of the bill was $28 including the tip. You can send me the check in the mail (address given). Let me know how you want to do or I can come by and collect it from your place."

The next day I sent him 28 one dollar bills in an unmarked envelope. There are 4 critical lessons here:

1. Rejection is always a bitch.
2. For every nice guy that you meet, there are 5 weirdos.
3. It’s a cliché, but your instinct is your best friend.
4. Always have coffee at 11 am or 3 pm i.e. whenever you actually *need* to have caffeine, so you don’t care if the guy is late/no show/boring.

Myself Bhavra, You Phool? Part 1

2010-05-04T15:57:00.001-04:00

My premium membership was about to expire on a particular matrimonial website, and so it came to be [insert dramatic music score here]: The administrators told me I had only 2 weeks left to find my soul mate or my life would be in ruins!! So I went back and checked out all the expressions of interests – and in good measure I accepted a few, refused a few, and sent out a few. One of the benefits of said membership was instant communication over their messenger system and that’s how I got to know about DJ (yes, those are his actual initials). A quick glance at his profile and I saw he was around my age, lived in my demographic area, and for the record, was divorced. It didn’t matter to me but clearly it did to him because his first salvo was: “OK with divorced guy?” After a few pleasantries we exchanged phone numbers and he called me soon after. Here’s how just part of the conversation went:

DJ: I have never dated a Bungaalee girl. I did meet a very nice Bungaaleee girl once, but she was running after her caaareerr.
me: Isn't that nice.
DJ: Have you dated a Punjabi boy?
me: I've dated a Haryanvi. Does that count?
DJ: Why haven't you dated a Bungaalee boy? Like a Bandhopadhya, Chattopadhya, Mukhopadhya.
me: Maybe I haven’t met a nice one I liked. Also, they love their mothers too much.
DJ: So if you marry nice economist Bungaalee boy that would be too serious for you.
me: Not as serious as when you marry a nice fashion designer Punjabi girl from Bhatinda who could kick your ass.
DJ (totally ignores above comment): What about South Indians? Do you like South Indian men?
me: Is this a stress test for my male preferences? Or do you want a threesome? And for the record, I have been attracted to Mallus.
DJ: Do you like American men? or European?

I should’ve picked up on his weirdness right about now, but I found it oddly amusing instead. And that’s when I agreed to meet him for a coffee date. To be continued...

Here I Go Again

2010-03-16T10:42:00.002-04:00

These days I find myself navigating the treacherous minefield known as online dating. I just happen to be living in the only city in the US where the ratio of men to women is skewed very favorably towards men. That’s right, too many women in this town. And this would work really well for me if I knew I was lesbian. But I’m pretty sure I’m not. Some folks still ask why I should bother looking online when I have such a good network of friends and a workplace where there are ample opportunities to meet interesting men. Point well taken. But this so-called network of friends never come through on their matchmaking abilities. The married ones still want to live vicariously through my “happening” single life or otherwise send me pithy remarks such as: “Don’t worry, you’ll find someone” like I’m crying myself to sleep every night (well, one or two nights maybe). One or two friends have at least made serious intentions to set me up, which is better than nothing, right? Single friends are doing their own thing, although I was considerate at one point and would think of other friends who might get along better with the same person I didn't feel the sparks with. Now, I don’t really give a damn since no one has the same consideration for me.

Online dating is not so taboo anymore and I’ve heard far too many couples proudly say they met on so-and-so website. So here I go on this website and that website. Each site seems to offer a steady progression of the kind of relationship one is looking for: casual flings, long-term relationships, or marriage. If you’re smart, you put your profile on more than one website. Between the number of winks, expression of interests and messages you receive, soon your inbox will beg to be transferred to an excel spreadsheet. The analogy to looking for a job has been made before – searching for a job and a partner is a basic fulfillment of your identity and paying the bills on time. This may have been true until I found myself pretty fulfilled and paying for my bills just fine on my own. Now searching for a partner is like going shopping for a dress. You don’t know what fits unless you try it on. Has this thrown that old fangled emotion called love out the window? I wouldn’t like to believe so.

A typical single person’s week day consists of going to work, going to the gym, meeting friends or co-workers for drinks and then going home to watch TV. The weekends are spent doing errands and going to dinners and movies, or other fun activities. So contrary to popular belief, we are not sitting at home just browsing dating sites waiting for someone special to coming knocking on the door! Love can still creep up your backside before you know it, but the idea of meeting someone’s eyes across a crowded room… well, that could be an old fangled notion. You just have to go through multiple clicks before finding someone. What happens after that, like all other things in life, is still not guaranteed.

My Sense of Humor

2010-02-16T13:01:00.002-05:00

http://www.okcupid.com/quizzy/results?quizzyid=17565214125862764376&userid=12693127248792649510

So i just took this Humor Test... and just as I suspected, I am:

the Wit

(62% dark, 31% spontaneous, 26% vulgar)

your humor style:
CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK

You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat.

I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer.

Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion.

You probably loved the Office. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/theoffice/.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais

Dial M for.... You Guessed It

2010-01-12T12:44:00.003-05:00

If you're single and coming to India during peak wedding season, you are guaranteed to get asked the M question. It never ceases to amaze me how everyone thinks, that in spite of all your hard work and achievements, you're a total loser because you're single! Beta, when will you get married? Beta, why aren't you married? And finally, beta marriage is not such a bad thing. All well-meaning aunties - some hobbling in their walkers - because as we know, noone enjoys a wedding more than an aunty who can't walk very well. During this "M" attack I was supported by some other single cousins on the scene but when they weren't there I had to come up with some creative answers on the fly. Here are some samples:
1. Aunty, i have too many boyfriends. I can't choose. One is too cute, one is too rich and one... well he is just too dumb. Think of my future gene pool!!
2. Aunty, i have a rare disease. It's called marriage-question-phobia. I can't answer you until i'm cured.
3. Aunty, you never taught me how to flirt as well as you do! now, now. give me some pointers.
And this gem, after I actually needed to get 7 shots of anti-rabies vaccines after my own pet dog bit me:
5. Aunty, noone will marry me. I am full of anti-rabies shots.
Of course these answers work well with only some folks. Others, i'm unfortunately left to give them the rote response: Yes! Soon!! Definitely this year, Aunty! Get your favorite sari out :)

Home is Where the What Is

2010-01-12T12:42:00.002-05:00

I recently went to Delhi after a gap of 2 years and found myself regarding the concept of home in a more definitive way. After all, this was my parents' home where they chose to retire so it was not the same place I grew up in. I had my own room and loo, and the luxury of being served bed tea every morning. But when more out-of-towners arrived to crash for a day or two, I was shoved into a smaller room to accommodate them. Indeed, I was just another visitor for my parents. A special one, albeit visitor. Was I really turning into the same NRI uncle who used to visit me after a nearly a decade of living abroad? Shudder.

I studiously avoided the NRI label because of the basis I went abroad in the first place: to get experience and take it back to India or wherever else a door might open for me. I have resisted the green card queue (rather stupidly as some of my friends would say) and attainment of U.S. citizenship nirvana. This is not because of some latent jingoistic fervor to serve my country. I am a capitalist at heart and I know where I can get more bang for my buck. Not necessarily in the U.S. But I live here out of choice because this is where I have made my home in the past 9 years.

So coming to India has finally become an exercise in pure, shameless nostalgia. There’s no doubt I will make a new home there someday but until then it unequivocally falls under the category of the place I grew up in. Am I turning into a character from one of Jhumpa Lahiri's stories? Shudder.

Is it Mid-Life Yet? The Story So Far...

2009-10-08T14:35:00.006-04:00

I finally felt compelled to blog after ages because I felt I had something to say. No more blog posts about unemployment, thank you very much. Instead we’ll get back to the topic at hand: my adventures of a quarter-life crisis.

After much couch-surfing I landed on my feet and spent 6 months at a group home with my wonderful roomies who believed in everything organic: food, religion, sex. In other words, they were my first hippie friends. I acquired a taste for veggies like kale and quinoa, exercised 6 days a week, worshipped nature and all things beautiful (including myself), enjoyed listening to bluegrass while cooking, and NPR’s "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" on Saturday mornings, and finally started thinking like a guy i.e. I could have fun with no strings attached (it's another story I never executed that thought although I did get asked out by a 60-year-old man and I actually thought about that for good half a second). Then I moved into my own apt. in August and started the whole business of setting up a place again. I had cable again after nearly a year - small victories.

But it truly was an exuberant time and I was on a constant high. At first I thought it was all those workouts and healthy eating or the amazing weather or something equally crazy. It was neither. I was just happy being me. I didn't give a hoot about pleasing people or trying to attract anyone. When a friend told me: "There's no excuse not to look good. Why shouldn't you look fabulous for yourself?" I had to agree. Lipstick, a nice pair of earrings and a great pair of shoes do amazing things for the soul. But no more crazy dates, please. Call it a sign of old age stubborness but I just don't need to put myself through that torture!

But this year a lot of friends around me got attached, married, became fertile or gave birth. Happiness can be terribly infectious. But not everything was a bed of roses. Shit happened to me and around me. As I approach my mid-30s, I don't want to take stock yet again of a) here's my success and compare it to b) here's my failure. My journey has been uniquely my journey. The only difference is that now there is this calm, settling notion in my head and it's not such a bad sound. I can stop running at last... but I can still keep walking, at least.

Some More Fundas

2009-03-26T18:13:00.001-04:00

I just came across this article in the NYT and I agree that when you’re laid off, it really helps to talk to folks who were in your position before. Basically, someone who really knows the meaning of the words: “I know it’s hard, and I know you’ll find something.” In my case, I had the whole visa situation to deal with and my living situation. So, several things besides the whole unemployment bit. But I was lucky I had several people who understood all the shenanigans and really walked the walk with me.
However, I also tried to listen to folks who kept saying this is the only break you’ll ever get to really try and do the things you always wanted to do – after all I didn’t have a house to refinance or a family to bring up, I really could do whatever I wanted in between jobs. Except go on some exotic holiday, which I couldn’t afford, or if I could, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy so well. So here is not-so-exhaustive list of things I attempted to do in my “down time” (pun intended):
1. Patronize independent coffee shops instead of Starbucks – most of them have free wireless and fair trade coffee, a perfect combo for job search.
2. Adopt exercise as my new religion – when you don’t have health insurance for a couple months, you are your only insurance. This plays into feeling good about yourself, which plays into your confidence when you give those interviews.
3. Catch a matinee – OK, I only saw one called Nick and Norah Infinite Playlist, but I had the theater all to myself and it was one of the best treats I gave myself.
4. Try a new hobby – I walked into an art store and decided to be Monet for a week. Oil on canvas was messy, the abstracts were just that – abstracts – but I vented my emotions here more than anywhere else.
5. Volunteer – the intention was clearly there to give a new purpose to my days or one day of the week, at least, at an old age home or my pet favorite, the animal shelter. I consciously volunteered not to be bitter about my situation.
6. Introspect – since an idle mind is a devil’s workshop, why not take all that time on your hands and figure out really what the hell is it you want to do? I read some neo-age spiritualism (e.g. “The Power of Now”) which got me thinking about the right kind of questions to ask myself.
But everyone has their own personal journey and story to tell. Good or bad, or just plain traumatic, it’s a process that does make you better for it. Karma can be a bitch but I also believe “you sow what you reap” – because you never know when you may need someone’s help or the kind words and a smile of a random stranger will make your day.

Inauguration Day

2009-02-18T13:09:00.002-05:00

Obama’s Big Day turned DC into the biggest party town ever! I trudged out on the morning of Jan. 20, 2009 at 6 am and walked 2 hours to be near the Smithsonian under one of the many big TV screen spread out over the National Mall. I continued to stand in the freezing cold for the next 6 hours. My feet couldn't bear it much longer so in between I warmed up inside one of the museums, which was resembling more like Nizamuddin railway station with people sprawled out on the floor and resting their weary feet in all directions… but what a beautiful morning it was! People were in such high spirits that in spite of bad organization in certain places, everyone was remarkably tolerant and civil towards each other. The best part was talking to complete strangers from all over the world (a lot of French people for some reason) and joking about the weather and the politicians on the TV.
I don’t want to sound cheesy but one of the reasons I, like so many others, found a personal attachment to Obama’s message of Hope. It may seem vague and ambiguous but it’s a great thing to put your mind towards when everything is spiraling down.

End of Couch Surfing, As I Know It!

2009-02-18T13:09:00.001-05:00

Well I planned to formally sublet my friend’s apt. but as I have learnt time and again – things NEVER happen according to plan. So stop making them and enjoy life now. I can’t begin to emphasize that over and over but it’s hard to heed your own advice sometimes. My friend broke up with his girlfriend and moved back to his place. Naturally, I wanted to give him his space back. I looked for other sublets but everything was booked for the Inauguration weekend and there was nothing available before Feb. 1 so technically, I needed a place to crash for 3 weeks – plus I was starting my new job at the end of the month. I managed to find shelter in two of my friends’ places – a couple who generously opened up their big home – and another friend in his small one-bedroom apt. There were all good friends of mine but for different reasons, I wondered if my stay would change the dynamics of our friendship. Needless to say, I think I had an impact on both the homes, and our friendships. And unless I am mistaken, it was a positive one.
In between, I went off to Ottawa for a few days to get my new visa and visited my Aunt and Uncle. It was freezing cold but I always love spending time with my extended family – besides the home cooked food, the warmth and sense of humor that comes with common history.
Now, I have finally moved into my own place in a group house with 3 other women. Again, having my own space with my own loo and closet is something I will always appreciate.

Joining the Workforce

2009-02-18T13:08:00.000-05:00

One of the many, many things that have transpired since the elections has been the good news that I am now gainfully employed. After nearly a decade as a journalist, I went over to the Dark Side and have become a communications consultant… ironically, as part of a special project on the financial crises! The same thing that got me unemployed got me employed again. I was pretty much ready to pack my bags and move back to India when I got the offer a little before Christmas. What a way to end the year – an Annus Horribilis, indeed.
As I go back to the routine of waking up, getting dressed, taking the bus/train/cab to work, and interacting with others in another environment, I appreciate it far more than I could imagine. Talk of stimulus packages and rising unemployment and yesterday I found myself the task of counseling a friend who was laid off. I gave her all the sage advice I accumulated during my journey – but everyone has their own story to tell.
Is fortune smiling on me finally? I don’t know. When people say I have handled myself really well, I can say perhaps I just didn’t have public breakdowns. Or perhaps I had a wonderful support structure. Or perhaps, like any situation I had never been exposed to before, I just didn’t know any better but to live and try.

Post-Election Syndrome

2008-11-12T13:55:00.001-05:00

If you don’t count the time I went to buy undergarments at Filene’s and the salesperson behind the counter loudly yelled at her colleague: “What’s the code on this Calvin Klein?” or the time when I was coming home late from a Diwali party and I got semi-attacked by a drunken Polish guy (there goes any stereotype on would-be drunken sod attackers) who claimed diplomatic immunity to the cops outside my building, or the time when I thought it would be pretty fun to boil an egg in the microwave and guess-what-happened, or the time when a creepy old man at my swimming pool asked, “how’s the water?” while checking me out, I have had a relatively uneventful past few weeks. Oh, there was that thing called the U.S. election which was bigger than any of us, and even the President-elect seemed to know it.
I was at a bar in Dupont Circle with some friends and like the rest of junta, we were glued to Wolf & Gang on CNN. Every time the dramatic music came on to reveal “Projections” we cheered. Then those Star Trekky holograms which was just so random and ineffective. But oh, every time John King came on to point at the electoral map, I swear my heart skipped a beat. By 10 pm I knew history was in the making. The 2 African Americans sitting behind our group were already in tears. By the time, Obama came to make his acceptance speech, the rest of the bar became overwhelmed too. One guy standing next to me kept saying “Yay! David F-ing Plouffe!” or “Oprah, we love you, too!” and towards the end it was: “Work it, Michelle. Lookin’ hot!”
Then we spilled out in to the streets where everyone was marching towards the White House. It felt like a revolution and there was true mass euphoria. I must have hugged at least 4 random people and shouted “Bush, pack your shit!” and then “This is Obama’s house, get out!” and a sign which said: “Why Wait Evict Bush Now.” Besides the smell of pot, cigars, champagne and beer around us, there was the sense of a nation finally breaking from its past.
We finally headed home sometime in the early hours, honking our cars in joy and settling in to watch NBC’s Brian Williams and ABC’s George Stephanopoulos give their final accounts of the day. It was bliss to be alive, and we were all Americans that night.

The Operating Word...

2008-10-16T17:59:00.000-04:00

... is not "Dull." In spite of all the unexpected and living the proverbial “one day at a time,” I have been exuberant about life and hopeful in its potential. If you must talk of feelings, I can say I have felt the usual range of emotions under the given circumstances – from the insanely depressed to the drunkenly ecstatic – but never, for a moment, have I felt dull or bored. Someone asked me once what I did all day to which I replied: “Why, I just spontaneously combust around 4 in the afternoon and then I have a cup of tea.” But, seriously, looking for a job is a full-time job in itself and taxes a lot of emotional energy besides giving you carpal-tunnel syndrome (all those mouse clicks, you know).
However, as things stand, I am doing fine. I have a part-time job and thanks to a dear friend, I’m living in an amazing apartment in the heart of the city. There’s an oddly liberating feeling not knowing what’s going to happen next and I like it. Relationships have been invariably tested and perhaps a few may have fallen by the wayside. Some passing acquaintances have evolved into meaningful bonds and, conversely, some past meaningful bonds have devolved into passing acquaintances. And some bonds just grow richer and sweeter with the passage of time.
Perhaps the best lesson in all of this has been to irrevocably give up all expectations. How many times have I been advised, or counseled others, not to have any expectations? Whether it’s a promotion, a vacation, or a stupid date – so much easier said than done. It’s not a technique you can master over time, it truly is a life lesson. And for that, I am glad. Never a dull moment!

Order of Inventory

2008-08-25T00:10:00.005-04:00

OK, I just had another 30-something birthday last week. Time for another life inventory:

No job? Check.
No home? Check.
No significant other/pet/fish tank/visiting mice? Check.

For some godforsaken reason, the universe is giving me the biggest bitch-slap ever and I am supposed to get The Lesson from it. What it is, I am still figuring it out. It's been more than two months since I've been unemployed and a little more than two weeks when I received two job offers which did not work out for whatever reason. On top of that, I will not be able to commit to signing a year's lease on my apt. so I have to sell off my furniture, donate the rest, pack up the essentials and shuffle between charitable friends and relatitves. It will be a soulful purge of excess baggage, to say the least.
So I have had the wind knocked out of me. But I've also literally gotten back on my feet again. I know I'm doing much better than a lot of other people might under these circumstances. And perhaps I will look back on these days with wonder and pride at how I managed to pull through it. But for now, I have to keep my head above water and keep swimming to the shore. And make sure to remember another life inventory:

Loving, supportive family? Check.
Amazing friends? Check.
Great resources for my general well-being? Check.

If there is more crap on the way (and there will be), I can take it. And then some.

This, Too, Shall Pass?

2008-07-15T12:26:00.006-04:00

My quarter life has probably left me behind but the adventures and the crisis, continues to regale both me, and you, dear reader. The latest episode hit me like a ton of bricks a few weeks ago when I was laid off. Being unemployed in this economy is nothing radical, but definitely a test of things to come for me.
Initially, as I contemplated my future and what it held for me, it was interesting – and exasperating – to see how others reacted to this piece of news. My family has been largely supportive in spite of the occasional hypothetical plea of “if only you were married.” That argument, in hindsight, was a momentary cry of frustration but unfortunately does no good under these circumstances. But I would not have been able to hit the ground running with my job search without the positive reinforcement from my parents. I could always go home, yes, but first I had to give it my best shot.
As for friends and acquaintances, while some had already gone through a similar situation or knew of someone who had, they gave me a pragmatic insight of the days to come and the decisions I had to make, while helping me land my next gig. There were others who empathized well enough without being too patronizing. But I think many people projected their own fears and insecurities on to me – as if it were truly the end of the world. I agree that your job, your work, your passion, defines who you are to a very large extent. But it should not be the only thing that defines you. However, it is true that most people relate to you depending on what you do and not who you are as a person. How many times have you been a little more friendly to someone you just met because you thought his/her work was interesting or glamorous? It all adds up to the rigmarole of the social hierarchy we choose to live in.
In any case, unemployment certainly has its benefits. You can wake up late, have your pick of a coffee shop with free wi-fi, and garner sympathy drinks from your friends. But as I walked around the city during the day, I was also envious of the people walking about with such a sense of purpose - going to and from their work place - until I realized that I did have a purpose: finding a job, exercising, believing in myself. It is the only thing I have and yes, at the moment, it defines me.

An Unkindness of Ravens and Other Assorted Birds

2008-06-11T13:37:00.002-04:00

Adventures have been happening but they have been unrelated to bad dates... there is only so much I can take just for the sake of a blog post! But here are some random entertaining tid bits from the past few weeks.

I was merrily walking one morning towards the metro on my way to work. It was a lovely spring day, not much sun, just a hint of breeze. In short, a perfect day for a long walk without your shirt getting soiled. As I passed one of the houses, I noticed a raven. Of course, I had seen all the horror movies related to that bird species: “The Birds,” “The Omen” and “The Crow.” So that’s what I thought of, as I passed it by. The bird must have known something about my thoughts, because the next thing I knew I felt a swoosh above my head as the bird flew to a tree in front of me. Then, again, I just thought the raven must have a low flight trajectory like many birds [have you noticed that lately, it must be something to do with climate change or something]. But the blackbird was clearly after me, and me only. There was noone else on the street! Once again it flew right over my head and I let out a small “Aaaaak! Scheisse” for some reason, I thought German profanity would have an impact on the bird. No, because it came after me a third time and made sure I was out of that street. I ducked my head and ran across the street towards a nanny or mom walking her 2-year-old. It may have been the anti-Christ (there was even a church nearby), but I am officially going to state my preference for birds in cages, thank you very much.

Here’s my gunshot review of Sex and the City: Great clothes and shoes, one amazing bridal montage, four aging but still gorgeous friends whining about their men, bodies and babies and of course, doing anything and everything with an unlimited expense account. Ah, the good life. SATC has struck a chord with so many women, it’s a wonder how so many so-called independent, urbane and progressive women relate to this overly antiquated notion of feeling inadequate and incomplete without a man, a marriage (or a divorce) and children. But you would think when a bunch of women sit and watch The Ultimate Chick Flick in sheer voyeuristic fashion it would instill some sense of congenial sisterhood. So it was rather amusing to see two groups of women fighting over seats — of all things — at the theater where SATC was showing. I had gone for the midnight show and expected a pretty big crowd. There were women in all kinds of clothes (shoes and gay friends were legitimate accessories) and came in sizeable packs. One group of 10 girls had sent one girl to stand in front of the line so she could reserve seats for all of them. She went and reserved nearly an entire row and kept shooing away the hijackers. Until finally, another group of women proceeded to ignore her and sat in the seats anyway. It would seem like hell broke loose. The manager was called, so was the security guard, and accusations of someone hitting someone flew around. My group of girls and the gang of gay men sitting near us took bets about which team would prevail. They finally resolved the situation outside and the girls who took over the seats continued to sit there. Amen, Sistah. Now, can we watch the movie, please?

Getting There

2008-05-08T14:39:00.002-04:00

We all know why we’re on social networking sites. No, it’s not because we want to see what so-and-so is doing after so many years. Well, maybe we do and maybe we don’t. But we really want to check out the guy/girl we had a crush on in class 9 - where, what are they upto and most importantly, who are they with? And do we really want to add them as our “friend?” were we ever friends in the first place? And should we send a ever-so-casual note, saying hi and hope all is well (i.e. look where I am, look where you are!).
But have you ever googled anyone and smiled in sadistic pleasure? A very informal and unscientific poll among some friends has revealed that more guys than girls like to do the web trolling for the “looking up old flame” thing. They say they just want to see how she’s doing. Yeah, right. They just want to make sure she really has gained 20 pounds post-school and post-kids so they can go, “Phew. Thank God.” The girls say they just want to see if the guy is doing well and happy and stuff. Yeah, right. They just want to make sure he really has gained 20 pounds and is still secretly kicking himself for losing The One That Got Away.
Anyhoo – have you ever got one of those emails from a random classmate or school acquaintance where they attempted to catch up with EVERYTHING in your life with ONE sentence about theirs? I just did. It went something like this:
“hi i am in Bangalore, did my b.com from LSR and then masters from uk fell in love got married and have 2 kids what about u what u guys upto?"
Talk about a shot-gun fairy tale ending. I had to read it several times because a) could this person’s life be more predictable? and b) she led a fairly straight-and-narrow path and couldn’t have sounded more happier capturing it all in one sentence. I thought about an appropriate reply and I couldn’t come up with much because a) it really is more complicated than a sentence could deserve and b) although I want the fairy tale (once I start believing in it!) as well, it’s comforting to know I have my own, unique way of getting there.

Making Up for Lost Ground

2008-04-03T17:24:00.003-04:00

So I have been procrastinating on the blog front but I will try to update with an abridged (but detailed, I hope) version of events from the past few weeks before I get too foggy.

Why Fierce is the New Fabulous

Imagine being feted and dined by one gorgeous man with the best fake Indian accent this side of the Atlantic. Then imagine his four other gorgeous men friends surrounding you and discussing everything from sharp cheese to bad mortgages in a wonderful ritual that surely every girl must go through – intellectual stimulation by your gay friends while watching Top Chef. Don’t get me wrong: Although I am quite used to “being one of the guys” on occasion but to be a double minority – the only straight girl in a room full of gay men – that was definitely a first. But post 2 bottles of wine, the conversation gently, and naturally steered towards sex. It was inevitable. Just when I started feeling so special, I felt kind of left out. But I enjoyed listening... after all, sex, religion and politics are the only three things that everyone has an opinion on. Oh, and did you know Key West is the latest vacation spot after Providence, Rhode Island?

A Holi Mess

Another year. Another potluck. It was even more chaotic than last year – more people, more food, more booze, even more non-Indians! And definitely more singing. Some memorable quotes from the day (as far as I remember):
“I made at least 60 balls last night.”
“What’s South Indian lassi?” “Anything below Bombay is South Indian. Lassi is North Indian though.”
“You’re asking me too many questions. Please mingle.”
“What’s that stuff in your teeth?”
“I want my chai before it runs out of steam.”
“I work in consulting. That’s code word for pimping.”
“I can’t understand what you’re singing but less volume, more harmony, people.”
“Is it 8 pm already? That was a long brunch!”

Operation Beagle Rescue

I was coming home when I saw a little beagle wandering around my street intersection. I thought it was from one of the houses nearby so I said hi and went on my way... and then he started coming down my street and followed me, right into my gate! He sniffed around the yard, and when I shooed him off, he looked a bit scared. I noticed a collar but without any name. I decided to go after him in case he wandered into the street… when I finally caught the little fellow in my arms, he happily started licking my face :)
So I carried him back towards the intersection and asked a friendly face if she knew anything about a missing dog. Luckily, another lady popped her head through her door and asked what was going on. While beagle boy stared at us with his adoring eyes, we talked about whether to call the animal shelter or report him elsewhere. Finally, it was decided she would keep him – since my landlord doesn’t allow pets – and she eventually had to take him to the shelter. I miss my pooch and hope he finds a good home soon :(

Going to Disney

Orlando was literally a trip: kids, old people and swaying palm trees everywhere. I just didn’t get to see Disneyland since I had gone on work. The highlight was meeting these two precious girls, who were 2 and 6, respectively. They decided to befriend me and barrage me with a bunch of questions. From the demanding “Do you like chips or pretzels?” and “What is your favorite color?” to the fairly insightful “Do you still talk to your childhood friends?” and “What color are they – brown or peach?” Sydnee and Avery were a treat to talk to. I gave them conference goodies like chocolates – which they enjoyed – and a stuffed white tiger – which they were not willing to share or part with. At the airport they fought over who would hold my hand, while my other hand held on tightly to my bags. Finally they agreed to take turns. The younger one asked my name again and repeated it to herself a dozen times. “So I will never forget you.” And the older one decided to ask me what I thought of her mommy and daddy (who I work with). “They are both very, very nice,” I said. She thought for a minute. “Yeah, daddy is a bit weird but he can be nice, too,” she said. Amen to that :)

Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses... And We All Fall Down

2008-02-21T16:43:00.004-05:00

The Ides of March are upon us – the U.S. primaries are not even over and the mud slinging has gotten as harsh as Old Man Winter. Ruthless. Relentless. Soooo good.
I’m surviving my own version of a brutal season. It’s called Post-Traumatic Dating Syndrome or when you think you might be on a god-forbid perfect date with a good heavens! an almost perfect guy (because we know the perfect guy doesn’t exist) and then reality hits you with a ton of bricks – it was all an illusion.

I met Mr X at one of those suburban jungles — homes with mini vans and a lawn sprinkler lurking somewhere — with barely any intention of getting to know him. We were introduced by a common friend and ended up exchanging info. A few days later I found myself agreeing to meet him for a coffee somewhere in my hood. [Damn, I should’ve met him at the Lincoln Memorial. At least we could have discussed history and the lights wouldn’t be as harsh.] We chatted amicably for a bit before he plunged headlong into an intense treatise on relationships, men, women, exes, and everything that came with it. Couldn’t we share a few laughs and talk about how Cheney and Obama became related? We traded accusations instead.
“You need to be more spontaneous,” he said.
“You just want to kill time before going clubbing with your friends,” I said.
Like a Woody Allen movie gone wrong, this rather testy conversation went on for a while, after which I got tired and wanted to go home. I offered to walk him to his car. He offered to give me a ride home. There were, umm, a few minor distractions on the way. Not terrible. Not great. I reached home and gave him The Side Hug and “I’ll call you soon” line.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come up?” he asked.
Absofuckinglutely.

The only thing my friend had told me about Mr Y was that he was “a nice guy.” Go figure. We were to share a train adventure and meet up some other folks for dinner and a show in Baltimore. Little did I know it would really be an adventure. But he lived near my house, walked over to pick me up and we struck up a fairly cordial conversation. Then we saw the crowds and the fire trucks outside the station. Union Station was evacuated and all trains were put on hold. While I scrambled for other options to get to our destination, he was already laughing and saying, “This could be a movie script!” Then he added, “Should we grab a beer in the meantime?” We did. And that’s when I saw it. The ring. Less Frodo, more Committed Husband. He was wearing it on his right hand but who cares. It was a ring aka don’t-even-think-about-it unavailable. So once again, I had to do the whole You’re-a-Cool-Guy-in-a-Buddy-Sort-of-Way (you know what I'm talkin' about).
We had a wonderful time talking about everything under the sun (except his marriage, I wonder why) and then on the train – when we were finally on it. It was definitely one of the most pleasant journeys I’ve spent with a relative stranger. No weirdness, nothing. Just. A. Truly. Nice. Guy. Only I wish he had mentioned his wife during the oh, 6 hours I spent with him?! At one point someone else asked, “Who do you live with?” and he said, “One other person.” So he may be going through some tough times but seriously, why the shady behavior.
Unfuckingbelievable.

P.S. I just found out Mr Y is NOT married after all. However, the ring is still a mystery. Watch this space :)

My Nano Second of Fame

2008-01-16T10:17:00.000-05:00

Ah, finally. My days of toiling away for an undisclosed audience of Web surfers, perhaps 6 loyal readers and other curious onlookers were coming to an end. My blog was about to hit the big time. Millions would track it down to voyeuristically follow the bumblings and mumblings of yet another single woman in some city in some corner of the world. They would search in anticipation of those sexy, glamorous posts that make every 32-year-old journalist living the inevitable life of Carrie Bradshaw – who cares if you’re not in NY, not working at Vogue, not screwing multimillionaires, or not owning a single pair of Manolo Blahniks. This blog could still get its 15 mins. of fame, damn it! Oops. Make that a nano second, please.
I was tracked down by an intrepid reporter from a mainstream Indian newspaper to be asked that profound qs: what is a quarter-life crisis? It is apparently the "it" topic being covered in hazaar places these days to take the pulse of desi youth and all that. But coming from the same tribe, I was happy to spew, umm, some profundity and help out in her quest. Would I be willing to be quoted as a 32-year-old singleton? Would I be willing to give out the name of my blog? Would I be willing to eat cheese and crackers for an entire day? The answers to all those questions were yes. And then the article came out and I clicked on it and scanned for my name, or my blog’s name, at least – wait! Where was it all? Missing. Where was my profundity? Missing. I wasn’t too disappointed, though. For two reasons:
1. Since it was about the QLC (did this acronym exist before?), there were too many people in their 20s in the piece. The very judgmental editor pushed me to the bottom of the copy. And I don’t know who made this decision – writer/editor – but the quote they finally did use was the least interesting and had no context to the rest of the story! But of course I understand sadistic journalists. I’m one of them.
2. And since I do have a blog to air my rants, perhaps you, gentle reader, might care enough to read my Original Pearls of Wisdom for Fascinating Feature Sunday Piece:
“What is a quarter-life crisis? A quarter-life crisis is supposed to be when you hit a wall and you don't know what the future holds for you or what exactly you want from life. If you take it more literally – if the average life expectancy of a person is 75, you hit a quarter-life crisis at 25. But with life expectancies growing, so does the age of the crisis. For today's youth in India it could mean getting everything you want by 30 – job, marriage, kids, house, car, world domination – and then hitting a wall. What next? So it doesn't matter if you're single or not, I think everyone goes through this process. The crisis may be more magnified if you are single and face societal pressure to "settle down" in the more conventional sense. Will I ever get over this crisis? Unlikely. I need to sustain my blog traffic.”
Oh, and please don’t ask me the name of the newspaper or a link to the article – totally irrelevant, and if you’re that curious, I’m sure you intrepid types will find it!!

Why DC Ain't So Bad, Y'All

2008-01-11T14:30:00.000-05:00

Now that I have been back in DC for more than a week, let me do a brief fifth grade summary of why I like staying here instead of whining about how much I miss India… especially since I have been extolled the virtues of London and NY on more than one occasion this week…those comparisons are totally unfair! Those are cities. Let's not compare apples to oranges.
So anyway: I like DC because I see history everywhere I walk, because I see dead Christmas trees waiting to be collected in January after the fuss of being lit and surrounded by presents, because I do bump into the same people at the same 5 places and I don’t really mind, because I see at least four different skin colors on the metro who are reading books like “Freakonomics” or “Confessions of a Video Vixen,” because there are a lot of smart people who take their work and fun in equal seriousness, because you can get a very good crepe for $7, because nothing beats Bush bashing when you’re in a bar a mile away from where he lives, because I don’t have to live in a house behind a picket fence in the suburbs and spend my weekends at Home Depot, because even though people recycle relationships, there are still enough crazy singletons and crazier married friends who keep it interesting, because there are at least SIX Scottish terriers who live on my street, because I can still walk home at 12 a.m. and feel relatively safe, because even though nobody cares what you’re wearing, they will say you look nice if you do or not say anything at all if they’re indifferent, because nobody here is totally indifferent to the world around them and for the most part they do know what’s happening in sub-Saharan Africa, because for every cabbie who has conned you there are two cabbies who are pretty decent, and because this year, I might, I just might be convinced to run a marathon in this cause celebre-fitness obsessed capital.

Back Home - Update 3 or The AA Wedding

2007-12-25T00:37:00.000-05:00

Everyone knows desi weddings are huge and this was no exception – my Bengali friend got hitched to his Sardarni girl, and it promised to be The Wedding of the Year. After months of hype, I can say it did live up to it… the dancing! the clothes! the open bar! the food! the flowers! Everything was fabulous. It was great to see most of the DC contingent out in full force in Delhi. Some highlights from the three main events:
Sangeet: There was some Arabian Nights theme going on with the tent decoration….minus any belly dancers…but with some cool flaming torches surrounding the premises. There was a huge dance floor and the DJ had a funky blonde look going on but he played really good music. As the drinks flowed and we continued to scan the crowd, much to the disappointment of the guys, there were errr… too many guys! But what stands out is groom’s dad dancing with bride and groom cuts in to say: “Daddy, yeh mera.”
Wedding: It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning. The groom wanted to dance more than stay on his ghoda… after much band-baaza, we went in for our hellos and chai-paani and waited for the ceremony to commence. The Sikh ceremony was short and sweet so no wonder the couple looked totally thrilled by the end of it. Then we moved from the bride’s house to the nearest five-star hotel for lunch. With a prelude to some gin and tonic ;) Once again, our friend, the groom, gave the quote of the day when he stepped down from the stage to dance with his wife… he winked over at us and said, “Aaj toh suhaag raat hai.” I think at 8:30 p.m. he was saying something like: “Very tired, going to sleep.” Bride nodded in agreement.
Reception: It was definitely more low key than the sangeet but just as much fun. The evening was hardly chilly for Delhi standards so we chilled out in the lawn…another old DC-ite turned up to enjoy the festivities and after some dancing (the venue stopped the music at 10 pm for some reason) we grabbed some awesome Kashmiri grub and sat around for general gup shup. By the time I left though, the party had moved somewhere else. It’s a wrap!

Back Home - Update 2

2007-12-20T05:20:00.000-05:00

Just got back from Kolkata last night and it was quite a trip! I went there after almost 12 years (we don't have many relatives there so didn't find a chance to visit) and it was something... unlike Delhi which has undergone so many facelifts and plastic surgeries, Cal is not in the crazy madness of change yet. There are lots of changes, yes, and there will be more to come, but the city hasn't lost its character. There were the Communist Party rallies, the French shutters of the old homes and the omnipresent smell of food everywhere. Some culinary highlights were: steamed prawns bathed in mustard curry and wrapped in a banana leaf at Sonargaon, mutton kathi rolls at Nizam's and mishti doi and kachauri at Mithai.
No trip down memory lane would be complete without taking a look at my old school Modern High School for Girls (MHS) where I spent 3 very impressionable years. This was the only school I actually walked to from home, which was about 15 minutes away. Home was 44, Ironside Road, a leafy secluded compound near Ballygunge road, which holds too many memories of My First Best Friend, My First Crush, My First Great Book I Read, etc. etc. It was definitely one of those places that defined my childhood... in a blessedly good way!
So back to Delhi, my present home, and where preps for the shaadi tamasha (not mine, chill!) are well and happening...

Back Home - Update 1

2007-12-15T23:22:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday morning and am munching a neatly diced guava peppered in chaat masala. Delhi's winter sun is playing hide and seek but in a couple hours I'll hop onto the nearby metro to walk the streets of Chandni Chowk at the other end of town. Ah! it's good to be home :)
Got in a few days back and have happily caught up with some of the ol' faces... A who finally got hitched after what seemed like The Eternal Courtship (8? or 10 years something like that). C, a recently returned expat and school chum, who was the same as ever... went to one of her famous parties and got introduced as "the journalist from Washington, DC." haha. And S, a former colleague, and Cuban Cigar Convert, who clearly hasn't stopped his brand of madness.
Since my folks have moved into this suburban multi-storeyed haven called Dwarka, getting anywhere into the proper city takes at least 45 mins. to an hour. Thank God for Delhi Radio to keep me company in the traffic, even though the music is constant Bollywood. Not that I mind, but every tune seems to have the same dhin-chak beat!
I went to SN Market and South Ex. They both keep getting bigger and flashier each time. But the aaloo chaat and juice guy at Sarojini has held on tightly to the same corner. Lots more fake jewellery and shawl walas too. Need to go back and get me some...
Tomorrow am off to Cal (or Kolkata if you were born in the 90s) for more reunions, shopping and food adventures!!

Haunting Memories

2007-11-06T12:55:00.000-05:00

Halloween has come and gone but the ghosts of some events linger. Last year I remember a certain tow truck driver who was trying to charm me with peppered questions such as if I had the pleasure of seeing a male stripper. At that time, I had vigorously shaken my head and rolled my eyes. I wasn’t exactly dying to see a naked man gyrating in some itsy-bitsy thing (much to the chagrin of said tow truck driver). Until I was invited to a bachelorette party recently. My friend, who is getting married next month, had generously donated his condo for his fiance’s stripper party! That’s one healthy relationship.
“So bring your dollar bills!” said another common friend, who was organizing it. “It’s going down, Vegas style!” Admittedly, there was a lot of nervous excitement. All the invitees were new to this sort of entertainment. Some girls who could not make the actual event still managed to make a cause célèbre out of it analyzing the workplace hazards involved and why it could never be a question of choice for those who do it. Suffice to say, I wasn’t impressed. It’s not that I was lacking for a point of view (no pun intended), I was just curious.
Well, the evening in question arrived. And as we chugged down our wine and discussed the numerous possibilities of embarrassing our bachelorette – who was squirming in anticipation by now – our stripper kept calling to ask for directions. That’s right. The stripper was lost looking for a place to park in the rain soaked street. Talk about an anti-climax. Finally he showed up in mandatory police uniform, ready to “arrest” us with boom box in tow. He turned out to be yet another white boy who couldn’t dance to save his life from hip-hop. But he managed to redeem himself by doing a headstand and giving everyone lap dances. Later, he even informed us that he was college-educated and had a real job. “And if any of you want to get coffee or just want to chat, here’s my card,” he said. Umm, sure. There’s the door.
We called the owner of the condo – our friend who was at a watering hole nearby with his buddies – to say it was safe to return. After laughing about it with us, one guy said it was clear we were novices. Why? “Because you took pictures,” he said. Point noted.

Happy Dussehra

2007-10-22T17:28:00.000-04:00

This past weekend was my multi-culti desi-connecting back-to-the-roots extravaganza. Never having gone to garba fests in India, I tagged along with some enthusiasts here and went the whole hog – joining the Gujju community in their own version of country line dancing – replete with a live band and a hall packed with sweaty, earnest and might I say, some very aggressive, dancers. But we put on our desi gear and our enthu smiles and went to expand our cultural horizons. Only thing missing was Falguni Pathak.
Never having been a regular temple-going devotee here or in India (lack of spiritual cravings, lack of mode of transportation - take your pick), I tapped into my outer Hindu shell and inner Bong pride to sniff out where Durga Puja was being celebrated. The trail led me to a high school auditorium somewhere in the suburbs of Maryland. After having seen pujo in Philadelphia, Boston and Chicago with my cousins there, it was my first time to check out how opulent/crowded it was in the DC area. The one I went to was very simple and well organized by the Ramakrishna Mission. The Goddess Durga was not a huge marquee idol but just a large painting with pictures of Vivekananda, Sri Ramakrishna and Saradava Devi at her feet. There were 2 priests – including an American – who convened the gathering, much like a church. There were some bhajans and rabindrasangeet songs devoted to Maa in between the chants and prayers.
But we know the second-most important reason why everyone celebrates festivals: it is a great time to dress up. You come to pray and you must wear freshly minted new clothes. It’s nice to check out what others are wearing and do the customary ooh and aah or in some cases, what the heck? As for me, although I did want to use this ocassion to wear a sari, I ended up with the more practical salwaar kurta, which thankfully, generated some positive reaction. Then after the prayers or anjali, when the food was blessed, it was time to eat bhog. Or for some fasting devotees, a time to attack. The line began to snake around the hall and before you knew it, you could feel the pushing and the pulling. One gentleman behind me was practically drooling on my shoulder with his kid in toe while expressing angst at the slow-moving line: “People are talking too much, that’s why the line is held up,” he told his wife. The wife muttered, “Why are you so anxious? The food is not running away.” How could I feel homesick under these conditions?
Of course, this was nothing compared to the frenzy and excitement of the festivals I grew up seeing in Kolkata and New Delhi. The endless adda sessions, the pandal-hopping, the mughlai parathas and the khichadi, the month-long rehearsals for the dance drama or music session, and of course, finally wearing those 10 outfits in those 5 days. It was our very own Christmas and Mardi Gras combo.

High School's Over... Or Is It?

2007-10-16T16:18:00.000-04:00

No matter how old you get, you can’t shake off the high school years. All around us, there are the jocks, the class clowns, the fashionistas, the punks, the nerds and the gossips. Even as we leave our high school years behind, within our friends circle, it’s easy to identify the Monicas from the Chandlers, the Rachels from the Rosses. And whatever the stereotype, each one of those characters loves to gossip. Who was so-and-so dancing with? Did they go home together? They are together. They’re not together? They broke up. Or did they? The rumor mill is constantly churning and some, more than others, keep their minds occupied and tongues wagging with trivial details of other people’s lives. Don’t deny it. You may not always participate in it, but if there is talk, you don’t mind listening.
I don’t deny I’m one of those people. I like hearing stories, I like telling stories, and guess what, I write stories too, for a living! But for others to perceive that I am the only one who likes telling stories would be a complete fallacy. Since I started the blog, trust me, there has been enough fodder in my own life – let alone anyone else’s – to write a soap opera. But this is not what this blog is about. It is not a forum to air anyone’s dirty or clean laundry.
I’ve been told often enough that I like talking, or that I was the resident “gossip girl.” I was fine with those labels only because I knew the gossip was never malicious and it was mostly about me – my silly dates, my run-ins with the opposite sex. But to be labeled as The-Friend-Who-Cannot-be-Trusted-to-Keep-Mouth-Shut, I was amused and frankly, mystified. People who indulge in name-calling are gossiping about something else as I write this. People who choose to ask “so what’s going on?” instead of genuinely asking about my well-being, shouldn’t be fooling themselves. You are looking for a story and I know it. People who give me these labels should not be calling me their friend.

On the Beach

2007-09-13T15:25:00.000-04:00

I think it was a brick-colored umbrella that shaded us from the omnipresent sun,
As it baked eager tanners — the shirtless and the hairy, the skinny cats and the curvy hens —and other beach bums.
We frolicked in the high tide with families, friends and other fearless devils,
As a preening beauty walked over and made her intentions almost vocal.
We dozed among shifting sands and medieval castles in mid-construction,
And amicably people watched before rudely getting cut off from a baby-cooing session!
Food was there aplenty: bagels, boardwalk fries, smoothies and funnel cake,
Plus a Thai lunch which gave us plenty of other options to forsake.
A mild distraction on our way back proved a little ominous —
An amusement park; it left one of us positively reeling in a shape that was circuitous.
Finally, homeward bound in our Bhangra Bandwagon ie. the suburban mini,
It shook and heaved as the skies parted but gave us radio waves for company.
Then, there in the distance amidst the pouring rain, was the Golden Arch —
We could eat a non-nutritious dinner and wait for the storm to pass!
A little after midnight we silently rolled back into the city, to our homes, to our beds,
Twas a wonder five crazy women spent the day together without killing each other dead.

It's Mah Birthday!

2007-08-23T13:10:00.000-04:00

After one turns 30, any expectation of celebrating one’s birthday in some mad frenzy ie. partying till dawn is quite low. Especially when it falls on a Monday and Hurricane Dean is smashing its way across the American continent. So when the celebrations started from last week, it was a special treat to see many of my friends actually show up at the happy hour at the basement lounge of Saint Ex, a nice downtown bar/restaurant. The DJ was not in the house but the bartender promised to play my ipod playlist. And with hardly any other patrons downstairs, it somehow managed to become our own private space. That had a lot to do with the insane amount of fun we all had. If you don’t count the amount of alcohol consumed.
My road to intoxification began with two quick glasses of white wine, followed by an amaretto sour, a whiskey and tequila shot and generous sips of gin and vodka tonic from whoever was standing next to me. I think I kept saying in my head – must not puke, pass out or make out with anyone. As long as I stuck to that credo, I considered myself pretty sober! But, of course, I was sloshed. Sample behavior:
1. Dancing to “Big In Japan” at least 5 times.
2. Waving a chainsaw-type knife that was going to be used to cut the cake.
3. Saying “I love you” or “I’ve known you for 5 years” to anyone who cared to listen.
4. Singing Spanish songs – without knowing all the words, of course.
5. Stumbling out of the loo, and getting asked if I needed help climbing down 1 step.
6. Taking off my heels, sitting on the sidewalk to eat pizza. New black dress be damned.
7. Telling some random redhead that she was so “brave to carry off those streaks.”
8. Trying very hard to read some menu card on a display window.
Phew! It’s another year… and it’s already off to a brilliant start with news of friends getting engaged, expecting babies and what not. The celebrations continue this weekend on the beach.

No Impasse Here

2007-08-14T17:17:00.000-04:00

Recently, after walking for what seemed like an eternity in the hot and sticky mess known as The Outdoors, I was welcomed into the cool environs of a Capitol Hill joint, appropriately baptized the Recess Café. I wanted to grab a quick brunch before dashing off to do some errands. It was one of those self-service places where you get food by the pound in a box, dump it on a weighing scale and then pay at the counter. Only when I flashed my debit card, I realized I had to eat at least five bucks worth of food for the card to be accepted. Anything less than five bucks, they would only accept cash. With a shrug, I turned around to pile some more stuff on my plate. But I was stopped. An old lady with a string of pearls (a vision that conjurs a name like Eleanor or Gloria) decided to pay for my $3.95 scrambled eggs, hash browns and sausage with coffee. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to,” I said embarrassed and took a quick look in the mirror to make sure I wasn’t looking like a homeless wreck. Nope, I didn’t look too bad for 11:45 a.m. “It’s my good deed for the day,” she insisted and proceeded to pay for me. I couldn’t believe it. She was such a doll. And I had to write about her. God Bless!

Packed Week

2007-08-06T13:59:00.000-04:00

A lot can happen in one week and a lot has happened in the past one week. Let’s see, where do I begin? For one thing, my roommate and I discovered a huge infestation of flies in our apartment. A few of them had sneaked in through the porch door at the back and then steadily reproduced – like flies. And apparently they reproduce every 4 days. So after spending a couple nights at some good samaritans, it was time for the fumigation. I got the defoggers and placed 3 cans around the whole house. For extra precaution, I also got a can of Raid for those pesky ones that didn’t die quickly enough. It was time for the extermination process. My friend and I sealed off the cupboards before placing the cans in strategic corners before locking up the place. On my return the next day, the mission was accomplished: dead flies everywhere. Didn’t stop to count but all I knew was that those flying insects were better dead than alive.
I also went hiking to Shenandoah National Park for the first time. It’s a beautiful park with a lot of nice trails and when some friends made a last minute plan to go, I was a fool not to say yes. Unfortunately these friends, who are pretty frequent hikers, failed to mention we would be tackling the second toughest trail in the park. Anyway, I huffed and puffed my way through and enjoyed the amazing scenery. On our way down, however, we had to help a partially blind man navigate the rocks and crevices of the trail. Not only was he blind, he was having some averse reaction to his medication and we got quite worried. While the rest of his hiking group had clearly abandoned him to go off and set up camp at the base, it was left to us (especially one of my friends) to guide him down, carry his backpack and make sure he was not getting too sick. Where was the National Park Police when you needed them?? We weren’t even getting cell phone signal. Finally we got him down near his “buddies” before taking off.
And finally, in a week punctuated with news of heartbreaks and tragedies, the weekend was a time for renewal and healing — with dinner soirees, clubbing and potlucks, of course! My friends A&P had gone on a 7-week tour of Asia and they decided to put up a power point presentation of their adventures. I can only imagine how creative they will get once they start having kids :) But it was a lot of fun. More fun was a sort of impromptu cooking fiesta we had at our place – 7 friends, 6 wine bottles, 5 entrees, 2 desert dishes, 1 broken glass, and just a whole lot of crazy fun. It’s going to be quite a while to live that down!!

Spellbound

2007-07-24T14:24:00.000-04:00

HP is over. Long live HP!! I finished reading book 7 with a sense of relief, sadness and slight confusion. I couldn’t believe JK had written such an amazingly fast-paced finale and ended it with such an overdose of nostalgia. But I suppose some of us Muggles will be senti fools for the wizarding world for quite a while... otherwise the book is deserving of all the hype and if you’re not a HP fan then too bad. It’s like if you were around in the 60s and never heard of the Beatles. How could you not read Potter?? But it is evident there are enough Potterheads everywhere. I saw at least three heads buried inside the book at the Metro this morning. And there were a few more heads when I went out to grab a bite last night. Of course I felt like shouting, “I know what happens in the end!” but that would be bloody unfair, right. You feel such a kinship with Potterheads… no matter where you’re from or what you look like, you have that one thing in common… like being part of Dumbledore’s Army of Resistance… It all started 10 years ago when the Asian Age gang in Bombay became Potterheads… I read the first three books at home, on the train and even at work… basically whenever and wherever I got a chance! Then, it was time for the post-mortem. Endless theories and arguments over why, what, when things would happen to who and You-Know-Who. As the novels became more violent with near-Nazi undertones, it became apparent why the series had got a grip on us. In spite of the fantasy and the spells and the charms, there was always something everyone could relate to… friendship, love, betrayal were just the obvious themes. But JK’s greatest feat has been to expose everyone from a 70-yr-old literary critic to a fourth grader to bigotry, death and loss. It’s never too young to know and never too old to be reminded of those themes.

Pub Crawling

2007-07-20T17:23:00.000-04:00

As part of Japanese style team-building exercises, the whole lot of us from work went bowling to Lucky Strike. This was maybe my third or fourth time bowling in my entire life so I didn’t feel all that lucky. However, with an open bar I was hoping that my strike rate would improve in proportion to the number of beers I was guzzling down. By the time we finished our practice round and got around to playing an actual tournament with 3 teams, it was time to test my skills of speed and accuracy in relation to my sense of gravity. My team came in a respectable second place, plus I managed not to score the lowest and provided a dramatic finish towards the end of the game: I got my lucky strike! People, welcome the new bowling protégé.
It was almost 4 in the afternoon, nobody was planning on going back to work, so what to do next? Proceed to next watering hole. Fado was the Irish pub down the street with the requisite Guinness on tap and some shady contractors in Hawaiian shirts. But our table was soon haunted by Al, a random guy in a wife beater and ponytail. “Are you from Greece?” he moseyed over to ask me. “Err, yeah, sure,” I said. “How about you?” he asked another colleague. “Oh, I’m from the Seychelles Islands,” she said. “Where is that?” he wanted to know. “Google it. Just Google it,” she said. In the end, Al preferred the attention of another gentleman and got a bit too friendly. "Al kissed me on the cheek at least 7 times," he said.
Our next watering hole was La Tasca where the sangrias flowed just as easily as the beer. It was here that I realized I was on a slow, but irrevocable track, to the land of intoxicated suspension. This is also where some of us finally bonded – alcohol has that affect – and it was surprising to find kindered spirits (pun intended) where one would normally think none existed… By the time we moved to our third watering hole at Zatinya, there was no doubt that the remaining troopers had become a solid team. Mission accomplished. Coming to work the next morning was a whole new story.

It's Over Already!

2007-07-13T13:16:00.000-04:00

Back in 1982 when I lived in the former Soviet Union, state sponsored television had nothing to offer for a 7-year-old like me. Except for two things: the 8 p.m. cartoon and Wimbledon. So out of sheer curiosity, boredom and fascination I religiously watched my tennis with a side of strawberries and ice cream. The tradition has continued and even though the fortnight is over, I promised some "loyal" readers my two cents about it…
So can I just say this was the best Men’s Final I’ve seen since the 86 or 87 Becker-Lendl final??? Besides an amazing match and all the records it has made, I think am officially falling for Nadal… although the tears from Fed obviously made me melt. As one of my gay friends put it: "I wouldn’t kick either of them out of bed, although I’d prefer to put Federer’s face on Nadal’s body."
And why, oh why, does Fed have to be so gracious in victory and defeat? What a sportsman. Sigh.

White Only, Please

2007-07-06T14:50:00.000-04:00

July is here which means I should start sweating about turning a year older next month. But who cares about a number when other symptoms of ageing are more obvious. Stress is doing a number on me and it’s showing, my friends. Grey hair has started sprouting in all directions and when I went to a “wear white only” party recently, I was pretty sure I was wearing it from head to umm, let’s see, below the waist. I could blame it all on genes (dad’s side has a healthy crop) but that would be too easy. Instead, I will go to the mirror and search frantically for some new ones… like waiting for the birth of amphibians waiting to attack in short, sporadic moments. There’s one! And another one! Ooh, I think this is a pretty long one there. At last count, there were about six strands. Maybe I will get my hair coloured the next time I get a haircut. But I don’t see a big deal in keeping it au natural because technically speaking, white is also a colour, right?

One Year Later...

2007-07-02T14:03:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday while Princes William and Harry put together a concert for their mother’s 10th death anniversary with Duran Duran, P.Diddy and other stars in attendance, my cousins and I put together something small, but equally significant, to celebrate the life of our cousin brother Raj, who passed away last year before he turned 32. Behind his one-bedroom apt. on Chestnut St. in Philadelphia was an open alley. There, in front of a few dumpsters and next to a shuttered establishment was McGillan’s, the oldest Irish pub in town started in 1860. Raj would frequent it often with his friends on hundreds of occasions. “It was our place,” as one friend told me. Some of us wondered if it would be right to commiserate in a place which helped him in his downfall – but in the end, it was about being at a place where he made some happy memories with his friends. And so we remembered him: we watched his childhood videos, drank Guinness, ate chicken kababs, laughed out loud, danced all night and sang to Bon Jovi, Chris Isaak (he once played “Somebody’s Cryin’” 30 times on a loop) and U2 (Bono was his God). I’m sure he was with us cheering us on.

'Allo, Are You There?

2007-06-22T16:08:00.000-04:00

In the pre-Internet days I didn’t think twice whether I would actually keep in touch with certain people. [In the case of my Class 2 crush, Thomas Hulings, who made solemn promises to meet me “one day.” Do you see me holding my breath?] I did my best to keep in touch and if it worked out, it was great. If it didn’t, it didn't. But now, like it or not, you’re all of a sudden confronted with people from your past thanks to the web. For the most part, it’s fun to see how people have grown and changed. Sometimes there are a few who serve as ugly reminders of the person you used to be (terribly naïve) and you wonder, “Could I possibly connect with this person beyond catching up with our lives?” But good or bad, it’s always a surprise.
And so once again, I was gobsmacked with some bizarre moments that say how incredibly small the world can be. I reconnected with at least 4 people from my wasteland of youth.
First, S got in touch with me over IM. She was visiting DC and would I be around? We were in that Group of Eight or the cheesy “Glo Friends,” as we liked to call ourselves, and outside the group dynamic, we bonded over some of our greatest fears and heartaches. Now, I was going to see her in her latest avatar — working on a brand new degree and a brand new marriage. How long has it been? More than 5 years.
Then, I needed to ask a random favor so I got in touch with A. He used to live in my colony in Delhi and studied in the same section as me for about 2 years. We would wait for the school bus and strategize over the latest debate topic. Now, A is still debating in his law offices and a doting dad. How long has it been? Around 14 years or so.
And then Orkut connected me with A who asked not only if I lived in a certain colony, but also if I stood in that Mother Dairy line! As it turns out, when my family first moved to Delhi from Cal in circa 1989, we were living in a temporary housing colony before moving to our home. And yes, there was a Mother Dairy where I would often go to fetch milk. Standing in line and keeping me company was A, who also went to school with me, but was in a different section. Now, A lives near DC and is thinking of doing research on the social implications of networking websites (kidding)! How long has it been? More than 15 years at least.
Finally, on a whim I decided to join a friend for dinner the other day. From there, I tagged along for a drink. S introduced me to her friend visiting from out of town. I stared and asked him if he ever lived in Ironside Road? He did. It was surreal – R was in the same colony in Calcutta in the 3 years I lived there. He hadn’t changed much and good grief! even remembered my nickname. My friends and I, who were then aged 10-12, practically looked up to him (he was soo tall, right), and now here he was, digesting the fact that I was over 30 and chatting with me in a pub in DC. And how long has it been? Close to 20 years. Geez, we’re almost fossils.

Diplomatic Relations

2007-06-19T13:22:00.000-04:00

This past Saturday I found myself in one of the most scenic places (kidding) of the U.S. called New Jersey to attend a friend’s wedding reception. As my cousin sister and I played “spot the desi” from the car and passed road signs which screamed Princeton, I did my own version of the Munch painting. Oh, yes, memories of yet another strange meeting with another marriage/Ph.D. candidate from the Ivy League school. Apart from a long trek to the lake and an insipid snow fight, I didn’t take much from there. That was January 06. Was I going to meet another charmer at this said wedding? Err, no. I was perfectly happy to go for the food, drinks and the bhangra. In fact, I was more than eager to see my cousin network her way through the Bongdom of East Coast.
The couple – who just got back from a honeymoon in Disneyland (yes, better believe it) – had seated us at a table with a couple of other couples. But seated on my right was a guy who used to live in DC and moved to Manhattan. We chatted amicably for a while about people, places, work and the weather. He was interesting but in a boring sort of way. My cousin nudged me, “he’s cute.” I nudged her back, “so what?” Besides, he was too busy trolling his BlackBerry. Finally I had to tell him what was nagging me since I saw him: he looked oddly like someone I knew.
Me: “Have you ever seen a picture of the Indian ambassador?”
Him: “Who?”
Me: “The Indian ambassador to the United States. His name is Ronen Sen.”
Him: “Oh, and does he live around here?”
Me (trying not to sound impatient for my first Diplomacy 101 lesson): “He lives in DC and basically he’s like the official representative of India. Every country has one of them... unless it’s Iraq or Cuba, I suppose. So anyway, you look like you’re related to him, almost like a younger version of him.”
Him (finally getting it and smiling): “Oh, is that so. Thanks.”
Now, I don’t know if that did it or if he was generally taking precautionary measures but all of a sudden he strategically places his left hand on his face to show his wedding band. Like, whoa! don’t hit on me, woman! I’m good married boy and my wife is not here doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself, ok! I don’t know what he was thinking. But seriously, he should have chilled out. If defining the role of the Indian ambassador was his definition of flirting, it was a good one. Maybe I should try it next time with someone else. And hello – why didn’t he bring up his (missing in action) wife in like, the first 10 minutes of our conversation? There were numerous ways he could’ve done it and I don’t want to get into that. But clearly he thought showing his wedding band was going to banish off any evil designs I was apparently making on him. Relax dude, even if you knew how to spell "diplomat" backwards, I couldn't be sure about you!
So a word of advice to married men: please don’t think every other woman is making a move on you. We understand that your hotness/coolness/cuteness makes you totally desirable and totally unavailable. And although there are some women out there who don’t care if you’re married or not, for the most part we usually comply with respectful resistance.

Capri-cious?

2007-06-11T13:44:00.000-04:00

Third time's a charm! The Fed is depressed again (remember Ivan Lendl and his Wimbledon trauma?) but what do we make of Rafa's capris?? An informal/totally unscientific survey:

1. He can wear what he wants as long as he's playing tennis.

2. Finally, a male tennis player who's not afraid of being a Nike design team guinea pig.

3. Eww... so terribly... gay.

4. Who cares?

Vote now!

pic courtesy: AP

Gay Assortment of Things

2007-06-10T17:21:00.000-04:00

It’s one thing if my roomie and I are acting like a couple but it’s another thing if friends start treating us like one. Last week the two of us were invited to meals by common friends. I couldn’t make it to one of them and M opted not to go, either. Then both of us wrote individual sorry-can’t-make-it notes to the invitee with the word "we" jumping out of the message. This is too much. I feel so.. so stifled.
As it happened, Gay Pride Day was on in full swing at Dupont Circle this Saturday and it was great fun to see the different kinds of floats in the parade. With the number of jolly same-sex couples carousing the streets, we (see, just can’t help it!) could pass off another pair. Just the holding hands part was missing. In India, there are plenty of straight men holding hands or putting their arm around each other in affection. Somehow, if two straight people of the same sex dare to touch each other here, people start raising eyebrows. But I digress.
So our friend A had just topped her French cooking class and in that honor, she had cooked... an assortment of things. But I knew we were in for a treat anyway. Her boyfriend J had gifted her a pasta-making machine and she made ravioli from scratch. It’s a really tedious process and no wonder people get the readymade stuff. J and A’s friend S from Boston acted as her sous chefs and did the chopping and frying. There were shrimp pot stickers with a tangy ginger and soy sauce; spinach salad with balsamic vinegar dressing; beef ravioli with tomatoes and olives; and finally, blueberry tarts with light cream. Really good flavors. We stuffed ourselves silly and talked about everything related to food... and recounted how our families have the habit of sitting down for a meal and discussing the menu for the next meal while eating!
J also has this very cool fish tank, but I wondered how can a Bengali girl live in the same place with a shrimp floating around without wanting to eat it? "It has long tentacles, so no point," she explained. Both M and I also stared in quiet wonder at J’s super efficient cleaning abilities, which explains the German in him. What else did I learn? Not to underestimate the collaboration of 3 MIT grads in the kitchen. It definitely produces amazing results!

Peacemeal

2007-06-05T14:34:00.000-04:00

Can 4 cooks spoil the broth? There is potential for a lot of tension but you can still manage to put together a decent meal.
It was supposed to be a relaxed Monday night dinner where A would show off his desi cooking talent to me and M. The menu was discussed and the ingredients were debated. We were told to show up anytime after work. When I turned up, I was informed that chilli powder – that essential ingredient for desi cooking – was missing from the pantry. I trudged to the store and sneaked a peek at the “list of stuff” A had made. It included ginger! garlic! cilantro! More do-or-die ingredients. Grrr. Would there be enough time for all the chopping and cooking? A is totally unperturbed - so what to make? Aargh. Did I get conned? Again?? This time M was coming to help, but she mentioned work delays – smart move. Oh, but K was visiting – he would definitely kick ass in the kitchen.
When K came, he let out a diatribe of four-letter words (in a good way) to describe his third honeymoon since his Dec. marriage.. but this was only an adventure trip to the Amazon. “I haven’t slept in 4 days man,” he says. “And it was because of the snakes and bugs.” We told him to chill out... help out in the kitchen... another spew of four-letter words (not in a good way) followed. Oh, the poor thing is missing his wife.
The menu was finally decided: okra, chhole, daal, chicken. Some leftover peas and mushroom and baingan ka bharta (spiced eggplant) which M claimed – “Don’t touch it! It’s ALL mine!!” Then the tamasha began. A’s chopped okras became a joke, I burnt the onions, K started swearing about chicken not being marinated properly. We finally simmered down over wine and Yanni. When it was time to chop chop, the boys did a good job. K marinated and cut the chicken in such loving fashion we didn’t know what to do with it next. M made noises about the lack of whole masalas (which were eventually found at the back of the cupboard) but salvaged the okra and chicken. I made my standard chhole (slightly low on salt) and A made the daal (slightly high on salt) but when we finally ate… at some 10:30 p.m. … and listened to the soundtrack from Fanaa, it was quite good, subhan’allah!

A Hearty Breakfast

2007-06-01T15:51:00.000-04:00

9:15 a.m. I am just getting my daily fix of coffee and croissant. I catch an old lady talking to a young girl from the corner of my eye but turn to pay for my stuff. Suddenly, a voice behinds me says: “Do you mind getting these things for me?” It was the old lady. She didn’t look homeless and was holding a glass of orange juice and a bowl of hard boiled eggs. “I’ve stopped receiving my disability checks,” she explains. I couldn’t see any form of disability on her. “It would be so kind of you,” gently – no, liberally – spooning out the sucker in me. Obviously, the young girl she had spoken to earlier had not been so kind. I offer to get the juice. “I have a weak heart, I need the eggs,” she whines. “Eggs are not good for your heart,” I reply and fish out a little more than 3 bucks for the juice. For that much money, she could’ve got a gallon of juice at the supermarket. Anyway, I request the nice lady at the counter to give her the eggs for free and she agrees. A brief thanks from the old lady and I dashed off. It’s probably better to get food/drink for someone than randomly shelling out cash, but I wonder if the word “sucker” is written all over my face? I really didn’t mind helping her, but someone who needs a good meal and a disability check is the homeless man with elephantiasis near 17th and K. He can barely walk to the nearest coffee shop.

Ce'st Magnifique

2007-05-30T15:56:00.000-04:00

Overheard on the Orange Line.
Confused Gay: I think I’m going to break up with him.
Bored Girlfriend: Shut up.
C.G.: yeah but I don’t know when I should. I mean, we’re going to Paris for god’s sakes!
B.G.: oh yeah, Paris.
C.G: not just Paris. Roland Garros for god’s sakes!
B.G: oh yeah, French Open.
C.G.: who am I talking to? When was the last time you played tennis?
B.G: Bitch, I played tennis with your grandma. Shut up.
C.G.: So I guess we’ll have a good time in Paris... but what if we get back together?
B.G: You’re going to France! f*** him, f*** FedEx and stop f***ing with my brain.
C.G.: I guess that means I shouldn’t break up with him now.
Speaking of which, FedEx almost cruised to the third round by beating Ascione 6-1 6-2 7-6 (8). At least the Frenchman put up a fight in the third. It could have dragged on but Fed hammered in some aces as if to say, “let’s just get it over with…”

Memorial Update

2007-05-29T12:30:00.000-04:00

Sometimes you read about someone like Barbara Holland and think hmm, I hope I’m living a full productive life even if it’s not as smoke-filled or Scotch induced as hers. But even though the weekend was lazy and chilled out, it was well lived. There was lots of sleeping (what’s new, you say?), good eats and drinks (kathi rolls! truffles!! bloody marys!!!), impulsive shopping (that brassiere was dying to go home with me) and some escapist interludes courtesy Shrek and Pirates (some cheesy lines, all good fun).
The soaring temperatures also made me run to the pool. But imagine having to swim in a lane with 3 other men who are all super competitive. I quickly realized that a) it was like driving on a freeway (and I know all about that one, right) and one must stick to the right side if you’re slower than the others and b) if someone wants to overtake you, keep maintaining same speed and distance or else you will be hit. After 45 mins. of this madness, I was all but ready to get out and collapse when some random dude who is just learning how to swim, says – “Oh, that’s it?” Oh, Shut Up.

Feat of Clay

2007-05-21T14:54:00.000-04:00

Over the weekend, I did some strength training by carrying 4 bags of groceries over 6 blocks and cooked some pretty decent chhole and met a dear friend who felt I had made great strides in my personal growth. All fine achievements, wouldn’t you say? But all that was nothing compared to some serious tennis action. According to the ramblings of an old, old man: Rafael Nadal runs his clay court win streak to 81 (81!!) matches. Then Roger Federer fires his coach, Roche. Then, Rafa and The Fed Express meet in the Hamburg Masters Series final. Then Rafa wins the first set 6-2. Then Federer evens things up with a 6-2 set of his own. Then, Federer ends his personal clay court losing streak to Rafa (0-5) by blanking him in the third and deciding set. And then, the 20-year-old Rafa says, "Well, I lost against the number one and one of the best in history." What a gracious guy! Man, I can't wait for the French Open! Can't wait! http://tinyurl.com/243s3k

Georgia State of Mind

2007-05-15T15:58:00.000-04:00

I wish I could post the pics from Atlanta but of course something is up with my camera. But I did see Dr. Sanjay Gupta, the chief medical corres at the CNN Center for all of 20 seconds before he stomped off looking v.busy with a production assistant. He is short and cute and presumably very smart (doctor, na). He is quite a rock star down there… huge billboards of him all over.
I also saw Margaret Mitchell’s apt. which she shared with her husband, John. She was a reporter for all of 4 years at the Atlanta Journal, which she called the Black Hole of Calcutta because soot from the nearby trains would make the walls dark. When she had to sit at home with a foot injury, John would bring her books from the library but she would finish them so fast, that he finally went and got a typewriter for her and said, “Write your own goddamn book.” She did and called it Gone With The Wind. I remember it as my First Big Fat Book ie. more than 200 pages, before I moved on to the Biography of Charles and Diana at age 12. Mitchell seemed to have fashioned Scarlett after herself (stubborn, pretty and rebellious) and Rhett after her first husband (dubious profession, charming, alcoholic).
Later I dragged my friend’s sister to the Botanical Gardens. We huffed and puffed our way over, thinking it wasn’t a bad walk. Big mistake. Anyway, 45 mins. later we entered a real oasis – the gardens were not just lush and green and full of all things blooming (except the roses, they looked so sad), there was also some sort of exhibit of Big Bugs… ladybugs, caterpillars, ants, spiders, etc. that were made by some artist and scattered all over the garden at strategic locations so you could jump out and say ‘Ooooh! There’s a bug.’ Other highlights were the beautiful orchid conservatory and some bullfrogs that were enjoying the lily pond.
Atlanta doesn’t have the best transit system – the MARTA – but parts of it reminded me of Boston and Chicago. Perhaps it was the old geyser platforms or the marble stone carvings that were being passed off for artwork. But what’s a big city without a dirty subway system? Sadly, the subway also has remnants of the Old South... where segregation still exists and some surrounding counties don’t want the subway to be built for fear of “bad elements” entering their localities.
What Atlanta does have is classic Southern hospitality and food. The people are really warm and friendly, saw the women with pearl necklaces and the church lady hats on, saw the porches and swings that spoke of a lazy summer's day, and of course I had the best chicken and biscuits. I’ll be back for more.

Soul Sistahs

2007-05-09T20:27:00.000-04:00

I was going to write about my Atlanta trip after returning to DC but so much happened in the past 2 days, it was hard to keep it all in my head! A few highlights from the show:

First, a taste of history. Spelman, one of the oldest historically Black colleges for women founded by antislavery activists, played host to a dialogue betweeen Anne Roosevelt, the granddaughter of Eleanor and FDR, and the Rev. Mazie Ferguson, the great-grandniece of Mary McLeod Bethune on race, class and gender. Both agreed those 3 things were artificial constructs and gave some insights into their foremothers' great friendship. One story was how Bethune went to visit Eleanor and was told that she had to take the stairs, not the elevator. She went up and Eleanor took her back down in the elevator and then said: "Oh, I forgot something, we need to go up again." They forgot to have tea :) Roosevelt, a vice president for Boeing, and Ferguson, seemed to show the same concerns as their relatives. "If they were alive today, they would be fighting for the same things," said Anne. "Amen," said Ferguson.
I met some cool grandmothers. They were in their 60s, running corporations or contemplating retirement and all very passionate about education. There was Patty who was into designing e-learning tools and crazy about hot rod cars, there was Ann a former CEO who talked of how a trip to [the former] East Berlin changed her outlook and made it possible for her to go to HBS after having 2 kids at 22. The word they used often was "intentionality." If there is intent, or a will to do something, the stars align themselves.
And finally the American Indian tribal leaders. Fierce and proud. And still carrying wounds of the past. Someone asked Beverly, a tribe member from Martha's Vineyard (yes, they were there before the Kennedys) "What kind of an Indian are you?" All of us were stunned into silence. Brenda, the first woman chief of an Indian tribe - the Houlton Band of Maliseet Indians in Princeton, Maine - spoke of still existing rascism and finally, Sharon from a Texas-based tribe ended on an emotional note: "We just want to be included in the conversations. When you talk of Hispanic, Asian, Whites and others... don't forget about us.. we're human beings, too and we want the same respect."
My media panel went off pretty smoothly... I was a kid compared to the veterans surrounding me and the lady to my left was this publisher honcho who kept plugging her magazine (and i refuse to plug it here for her benefit). anyway, she forgot to switch off her cell phone!!!! ugh. thank god it was ringing while she was speaking. and then at some point she was in the middle of telling some anecdote and it required her to take off one of her shoes - aren't they cute?, she says - and i didn't know whether to duck my head for cover.

Market Value

2007-05-07T12:42:00.000-04:00

After much serious dancing and revelry on Friday night, I was looking forward to a relaxing Saturday morning walk (think 11 a.m. not 6 a.m.) with my former roommate’s husband’s ex who was somehow fated to be my neighbor. Angie and I subsequently bonded over random things like the key change to a 16 track song, where to find the best burritos in town, and the ability to speak in a Maldovian accent while picking apart the Paris in Prison sentence. Eez veree good, no?
Since Eastern Market was still quite gutted from last week’s fire, we decided to trek to the RFK Stadium Parking Lot No. 6 for another version of a farmer’s market. Less hip, more hick. Less quaint, more urban chic. After about 40 minutes of walking past New Orleans-style porches and Tudor facades, the rose bushes and the jasmine trees, we obviously crossed some sort of “invisible line” where the gentrification stops. But the smell of barbecue from church stoops and the stares from the barbershops kept us going. We reached lot no. 6 to see a football match in progress in a baseball stadium parking lot. The match clearly attracted a large South American crowd and I was reminded of those lechy Delhi men. Luckily, we managed to find the market towards the other side of the lot.
There were the sunniest of oranges and the reddest of potatoes and the greenest of spinach leaves. It could be so pretty in a cobbled lined street with overhead umbrellas. The only thing below was a layer of concrete asphalt and an overhead bridge where metro trains periodically kept rattling over. We ogled at the produce before making a bee line for the food van emanating smoke signals. But first, a sign that read: “Candy Man’s Candy Shop This Way.” Oooh, that’s what 50 Cent was talking about! More like Willi Wonka methinx... a dollar for all kinds of tasty treats... but we resisted the temptation and moved on. At the food pit, we ordered up our rib sandwiches and looked at each other and said – “Well, here we are sittin’ at the parkin’ lot and havin’ some barbecue.” How country do y’all wanna get? Since rain was imminent, we took lunch back home where her two Black Labradors were waiting with wagging tails. Since the hubby was out, the girls – Java and Laska – had patiently entertained themselves by watching Squirrel Reality TV in the backyard. Now they sat and cuddled with us, blissfully napping. How do you get a life like that?

What Was I Thinking?

2007-04-30T14:17:00.000-04:00

As I went through the particulars of yet another gentleman sent by the efficient matchmaking services of Parents’ Network & Co., I thought to myself why not? It’s been a while since I had allowed myself to get set up like this and I kept telling myself: “It was time to step out of my comfort zone, take chances, if not now, when, etc. etc.” Besides, how bad could he be? My friends were already excited about him.
Older? Check = mature, knows what he wants.
Gainfully self-employed? Check = sitting on shit loads of money.
Spouting Shakespeare, showing off French? Check = incurable romantic.
Extra bonuses? Check = enjoys cooking, speaks with a lilting British accent and (claims to have) read Lord of the Rings.
Hmm, all quite intriguing. However, for a change, my mum wasn’t enthusiastic. Are you sure about him? Sounds bit shady. Forget the money, forget the cooking and the faux accent – is he a nice person? Well, if I don’t meet him and try to find out, I’ll never know, right. Reverse psychology was at work here…. aaaaaaarrrrgh.
So on my trip to NY this weekend, I finally decided to see what the fuss was about. Get it over with. Oh! Wait, gotta stay positive right… he could be The One and all that jazz.
Sunday, 1:30 p.m. lunch at Bukhara on 49th and 3rd. It’s 70 degree weather and he’s wearing a black turtleneck. And a scarf. And a jacket. Anyway, we get seated inside and he recommends the lamb chops and the chicken tikkas. He orders up a Scotch and I need a masala chai. It’s 2 p.m. and it’s down to the nitty gritty. The nitty gritty is all about him, his vision and his post-retirement plans ie. next year when he turns 40 and wants to travel the world twice over. zzzzz… what time is it already? Where are the lamb chops? Oh, here they are. Ummm, wonderful. Now about me… I haven’t got a 401k yet and retiring is not on my agenda for a while. I love traveling too but I need something to return to ie. some form of work. Great lamb chops, by the way. The man is sweating profusely now, because duh! the black turtleneck. On top of that, he asks if I am feeling too hot in my jacket. It’s cotton, so I’m fine, thank you very much. Great lamb chops, by the way. I ask him about his other interests. Music? Movies? Star Trek conventions? The poor chap hasn’t had the time to take a vacation in the past 15 years, forget about cultivating a hobby. He has seen 3 cities in all of India and they were all terribly dirty and so, so crowded, you know. Ah well, moving on… did I mention the lamb chops were excellent? I did.
Finally the time has come. For goodbyes. It’s 3:15 p.m. at Penn Station and after a fairly not-interested-in-that-way kinda hug, I promise to email and say I reached DC in one piece. Which I have and I can’t stop raving about the lamb chops. They were great, did I even bother saying that here? Tchah, silly me.

WW II... Well, Not Really

2007-04-25T15:26:00.000-04:00

I had to put this one up after a recent chat about good ol' DPS (RKP) days... Meeta and I were in the same section in class 11th and 12th. btw, when I talk about nationalities mixing i mean the kids who were learning the language. the "overflow" refers to the 20 kids learning German who couldn't fit into the original "G" section for the German kids. "F" had the French kids and clearly, there was no way they could accomodate the Germans.
Meeta: what section were you in before the 11th? H?
me: I don't remember.. think the one with some Germans and Russians mixed
Meeta: ahh..overflow :)
me: every day was like coming to the Polish front.. but not.. haw haw haw

Bizarro Week

2007-04-20T16:54:00.000-04:00

As if coping with this week's tragedy was not bad enough for everyone, NBC decided to air all the images and the video of the madman's rant. I'm sure they must be gloating about how they nabbed the "exclusive" but networks seem to have a double standard about what they should or shouldn't air. If you want to air the manifestos of psychos, why just stop with this one. Why not air the suicidal video rants of bombers and every other terrorist act. The last time they decided it was "ethically fine" to air disturbing images in the name of educating the public were the pics from Abu Ghraib. You can argue the video would land up on YouTube anyway and if you're in the news business, you wouldn't blink an eye to question the news value. But if the major media outlets even pretended to be a little responsible about this instead of going ballistic about ratings, it would be a far more different, and even more compassionate, story. And speaking of compassion, I was surprised to see Paula Zahn's complete lack of it. She was practically forcing students to admit how screwed up the university admin response was... NYT has more on the TV coverage here.
On another note, Sanjaya Malekar was finally booted off Idol for singing "Let's Give Em Something to Talk About .. other than hair, yeah yeah." Watching that cheesy show will not be the same again. I think Simon said it best somewhere: "He was like a good horror movie." And a quick mention of the Big Fat Bollywood wedding production which has captured the hearts and and wrists and minds of people everywhere. It was interesting to see that both of Abhishek's exes were there.. in spirit.. Karishma's grandma and uncle as well as Rani's current beau, Adi Chopra. No appearances of Salmaan in court or Vivek holding a press conference.

Mid-Week Stupor

2007-04-12T15:21:00.000-04:00

Like going home again, up the flight of stairs
And met with the familiar banter of so-how-was-your-day and stuff.
There were the suits and ties and frazzled hair,
That spoke of a day’s work gone by in a fluff.

Daniel was his name and he made key lime martinis,
For the birthday boy’s drink of choice was a gin and tonic.
But the girls gushed over and some got the freebies,
Between talk of whether Gonzales and Wolfowitz were truly apologetic.

In the middle a furry creature was found sitting in calm composure
Amidst the din of who did what to whom when and where.
“I think I’m drunk” was a tossed around phrase of guilt and pleasure,
But the usual lovers of all things malted surprisingly stayed (mostly) sober there

Finally, the troops remembered the curfew – we all had jobs to keep after all,
Trudged down into the pouring rain and the sleek wet streets -
To munch on Julia’s hot empanadas and mull over other birthdays to recall,
Before our knights in yellow armor drove us home to be tucked under the sheets.

Culture Vulture

2007-04-10T12:36:00.000-04:00

Recently I went to two DC institutions for very different reasons. No, I'm not talking about Ben's Chilli Bowl or the Soviet Safeway. The Kennedy Center showcased the Spinning Wheel Film Festival where I saw 3 documentaries based on the Sikh experience. “My Mother India” was about a mixed marriage – an Australian woman comes to Delhi after marrying a Sikh and through historical and personal events, becomes more Indian than her daughter thought she could be. Very Sonia Gandhi-type story. Gurinder Chadha’s “Acting Our Age” was about a group from an old folks home in London who film and talk about their generation’s struggles. Lots of entertaining humor, especially a folksy song on taking to Guinness. Finally, Ali Kazimi’s very powerful “Runaway Grooms” which chronicled the stories of two women from Delhi and Punjab who met and married their NRI husbands, only to be abandoned by them in a matter of weeks. According to the film, there are 10,000 brides who are abandoned by their husbands (mostly from Canada) because they fail to pay dowry.
The other place was the 9:30 Club, which has been around since the 80s and is known for supporting alternative bands. So my first time there and a bunch of us went to see a UK band called the Kaiser Chiefs. The experience was complete with the mandatory club brawl, spilt drinks and the random crowd surfer (who fell down but got back up again with a triumphant woohoo!). I could hear a lot of different accents around the place and it was just cool to be around people who really knew their stuff on music. The band finally came on and put on a super energetic performance. The lead singer had very Bryan Ferry kind of vocals and the audience lapped up the curtain call number and yelled out the chorus: "Oh My God I can’t believe it I’ve never been this far away from home." Someone said that song should’ve been on the soundtrack of The Namesake!
Speaking of which, how many times can you see that film? Definitely not more than twice. Someone bought me a ticket by mistake and I had to run out after 10 mins. and snuck in to see 300 instead… not sure how accurate it was historically (did Persians have African slaves at that point? and did the more liberal-minded Spartan women dress like the Roman women?) but it was a wise choice if only to check out Gerard Butler’s very fine abs. So worth the ticket price!

Cups of Joe

2007-04-03T18:20:00.000-04:00

I rolled out of bed on Sat. morning with a familiar crisis from the past few weeks: no milk for my java. As I set off with the intent of picking up said dairy product, I found myself instead wandering in to a place called Jacob’s Coffeehouse between D and Maryland Ave. I couldn’t believe such a nice place existed so close to where I live! The menu is classic café with baked goods, breakfast sandwiches and soup, all freshly made instead of plastic wrapped. While outside they have a nice patio space, I loved the inside, too: the freshly painted walls (the place only opened last October) was decorated with very nice art work – not the usual paintings of scenes from a café – and some interesting black metal stuff. Also dotting the premises were some beautiful bonsai plants and a dark wooden bookcase with a pretty decent collection… think PD James jostling for shelf space with Margaret Atwood… however, at 1 pm what won me over was a nice cushy single seater next to a glass top table on which was spread the latest issues of Vanity Fair and US Weekly. Nothing better to kill an hour with.
The next best cup of joe this weekend came from Café Bonaparte. I had gone to see my pal K who recently got married and had come down for a visit with his wife. We had intended to go for Sunday brunch but the hour-long wait turned it into some sort of mid-afternoon starvation exercise. At the parking lot across the street, a few of us ended up singing to Tom Petty songs wafting from the Marvelous Market next door and taking goofy SLR pictures of each other. But the wait was worth it: the crepes were yumm and so was the mocha cappuccino. I just didn’t understand the pictures of Italy in a French bistro... or the Russian waitress, for that matter. But the food and company was excellent.
Later in the evening, we decided to cook dinner at A’s place in Foggy Bottom. First a pit stop for the groceries where it was shocking to see A picking up chicken curry paste as opposed to making the real deal from scratch. He promised it would turn out well and there wasn’t much time to protest as we were literally herded out by K… he wanted to catch “Planet Earth” on the Discovery Channel and there was no way a convoluted dinner menu would get in the way. But we managed to get back on time – not only to watch the sad polar bears swimming for survival in the Arctic but also to make that chicken curry, daal and aaloo gobi for the junta. And actually, that curry paste wasn’t too bad either!
Finally can I just recommend anyone reading this to see "Blades of Glory." Best Will Farrell movie ever. 'Nuff said.

A Special Tête-a-Tête

2007-03-28T12:35:00.000-04:00

Maybe it was something about the amazing weather we've been having lately here that people on the streets are being super friendly... and so I found myself lo! and behold! bumping into my landlord and exchanging real, actual, you could even say near-geniune, pleasantries. In the past, I often passed T on my way to the metro or coming home late one night when he too, would umm, be opening the door for his boyfriend. The conversation would be stilted due to several reasons - me knowing T hates me for still occupying his flat (why? see blog entry on "putting out kitchen fires"); T being generally awkward and unsocial; and me silently cursing him for getting action and at the same time praying that he would not say something, anything about the flat. or why I was still in it. But inspite of the banalities, I could still get hurt as it happened once when he totally ignored me on the street while walking home with the bf and so we couldn't even have that little awkward conversation which makes a landlord-tenant relationship so special. More reason to blame the new bf, I say!
Any-ho, Monday was the kind of day when the right temperature met the right gust of wind and decided to spread a general warmth and cheer around everyone. As I was yakking on the phone and about to cross the street, I saw T approaching. "Just a sec," I told my friend.
"Hi there.. long time. How are you?" I smiled at T.
"I'm good. It's a lovely day, isn't it?" he said, smiling back.
"It is indeed. We haven't seen you around. Have you been well? Out of town?" I asked.
"Yes I was in Chicago for a conference," he said (still smiling).
"Ah, well you know M is going to India next month. If you need anything, please let her know," I said.
"Thanks a lot but if I did tell her what I wanted I might give her a pretty long list," he said (STILL smiling. wow!).
"Oh I'm sure she won't mind," I said. "OK, well have a nice day."
"You too, enjoy the weather," he said. (OMG.. still smiling)
I called M and shared the brilliant news - he TALKED to me. what's going on? Daylight Savings Time, perhaps? I'm pleased as punch.. he doesn't hate me anymore.. does he?

So Sick of It

2007-03-22T15:49:00.000-04:00

What are the high and low points of being stuck at home with the flu?
High:
1. the bed/couch is your best friend. you get to sleep really, really late or just nod off during the middle of the day not because you can but because you're so drugged up you can't help it.
2. you discover daytime TV. besides looking forward to Oprah, I finally caught up with the loves and lives of Ridge, Brooke and co. on "The Bold and the Beautiful." amazing how they still recycle those affairs.
3. the bad throat makes you acquire a certain something in your voice which in turn makes you call everyone you possibly know so they in turn can make appropriate sympathetic noises and give you all the home remedies they know about bad throats but finally say what you've been dying to hear all along: "you're sounding terribly sexy!"
4. can't taste a damn thing. can't eat much of a damn thing. lost 3 lbs!! best diet ever :)
Lows:
1. idle mind is a devil's workshop... figure that one out!
2. a stuffy nose just snuffs out all sensory pleasures, especially nice-smelling food... which is kinda good because then i'm not eating it, right.
3. made the mistake of going out to cover a Hill event... trying to cough v.discreetly inside a packed committee room is the most painful thing I've done since.. since.. since.. my gums were giving me trouble last week. plus couldn't shake hands with 22-yr-old cute congressional intern coz i would make him sick too. bah.
4. no booze while you're sick.. but the alchohol content in the throat syrup is making me feel pretty good!

A Tale or Three

2007-03-18T12:21:00.000-04:00

Before I say anything else, let me report that there are 2 doves right now sitting on my porch railing who are shamelessly canoodling away to glory... one of them is definitely more aggressive and the other is happily accepting the pecks without any untoward complaint. i have recorded the event with several pics.. as you can see.. i don't think they will mind a little paris hiltoneqsue kind of fame. aww, the loveburrrds.
what else? friday was freezing rain here in DC and in the middle of all that action, I had to pay an emergency visit to the dentist. basically I was told (and I quote): "you've been a bad, bad, bad girl." and I need my wisdom teeth pulled out asap otherwise I will be damned in hell. since I had the fear of god put in me I made hasty appointments with the oral surgeon, etc. but the whole wisdom teeth thing in the U.S. is such a con game.. anything to serve the interests of the dental community. hrrmpf. but those who've had it removed say it's made a difference so let's see what happens. watch this space.
I think my folks have some sixth sense about what I'm talking about here. so I think baba felt sort of left out and guess what! he just managed to do something that warranted his presence here. and the story goes that he was coming back from kuala lumpur on a business trip and one of his hand bags got switched with someone else's. baba's hand bag contained: 1 bottle of Black Label, 2 bags of sweets. someone else's bag contained: 3 bottles of Black Label. who profits? your guess is as good as mine :)

Birthday Loving

2007-03-15T18:16:00.000-04:00

I don’t want to get all senti, but I’m definitely going to miss throwing a nice party for my mum who turns 60 in the next few days and is finally retiring from a long, and highly rewarding, career. So I’ll do the next best thing: write about her crazy adventures! :)
It’s easy to describe your mother as a traditional caregiver, slaving away in the kitchen, a self-sacrificing woman with multiple roles who does everything to make home, hearth and everything in between complete. I’d like to think of Maa through a series of vignettes: as a 12-year-old, sitting on the rooftop of her family home, legs dangling and freshly-applied oil dripping from her hair, the clothesline behind her as she bites into an apple and frowns at the camera because the sun is getting in her eyes. Or at 16 when she aces her class and wins the basketball trophy at school, she gets a call from the principal’s office: not to be cheered or to be chastised, but to be asked if her parents would be interested in a certain boy who happened to be a relative of the principal’s? Then a stark studio picture circa 1965, wearing one of those tight kurtas of the day and a shy smile, but a confidence that perhaps came from riding the rickshaw with her best friend to Allahabad U. and enjoying the whistles and filmi songs along the way. Finally, the Sadhana fringe and the dark sunglasses and the crowded rides on the local train that came along with her move to do a master’s at Bombay U. She was always cool and she didn't even know it.
But Maa is basically having a party wherever she goes and no matter what the age. And just last week she was having another one at a friend’s son’s wedding. They were the bong baraatis going with every intention of having fun at the expense of a punju bridal party. Maa stuck to good old Coke and watched as two of her pals happily headed towards the bar. As Aunty #1 and Aunty #2 gulped down their Old Monks and JW, the intensity of laughter increased. The good times were rolling so well that Aunty #1 craved a fag after nearly 10 years of quitting. Aunty #2 told her to shut up and breathe the tandoor smoke instead. The three 50-somethings continued to comment on the food, the lovely bride and why Sonu Nigam was still as cute as ever and considering “these times,” how he had not managed to split up with his wife, a bengali, of course.
“We were sitting in one corner and just laughing so loudly, after a while your father had to come and shhh us up,” she said. “So after that I had to look after those two properly.” Will somebody grow up, please?! :) Nah, why bother.

Sightings and Musings

2007-03-12T11:18:00.000-04:00

Spotted: Hardball’s Chris Matthews walking in a daze near Zara’s in Georgetown.
Spotted and Giggled: One squeaky Blue Jay bird circling one frustrated grey cat behind the Federal Judiciary building. Cat loses the old fight. Again.
Spotted and Observed: An Abercrombie & Fitch-type couple on the Orange Line playing curious flirting game: Boy (imagine blonde version of Christopher Reeve) enters train and sits down. After 5 mins. a girl (imagine Margot Kidder with hazel eyes) enters same train car and sits in seat across from boy. Boy looks down, pretends he doesn’t know her. Girl delicately places purse in empty seat next to her. Looks at boy and smiles. Boy smiles and shakes head. Girl pretends to undo jacket button, tosses hair and makes hand movement to say how hot it is. Boy, fairly amused by now, laughs and looks down. Girl rolls her eyes and sends text message to boy. Finally, boy goes over and sits next to her.
Spotted and Glazed Over: A silver hybrid Volkswagen Beetle with some snazzy wheels in Arlington ie. one of my dream cars.
Spotted: At least two women near Chinatown wearing a red and black keffiyeh ie. the Palestinian scarf. It did not look they were making a political statement.
Spotted: Man strolling in red kilt and sweater at Union Station (did not stop to spot lack of underwear)
Spotted and Consumed: Another near-perfect cappuccino at Bagels and Baguettes on the Hill. The coffee and sandwiches are to die for – on weekdays you can see the line out the door – but it’s perfect to fix a hangover on a late Sunday morning!

Stop Press!

2007-03-08T15:13:00.000-05:00

The news is not that it’s international women’s day and how we must celebrate our womanhood by avidly following Elizabeth Hurley and Arun Nayar’s nuptials in a castle and then a palace with Parmeshwar Godrej and Shilpa Shetty’s air kisses at all the parties thrown in between. It’s not even news that the Cricket World Cup is starting next week and the cup itself has become slightly damaged thanks to overzealous fans (in Kolkata, where else?) and for a change we don’t have to stay awake at odd hours of the night to see the matches. It’s not news that I. Lewis “Scooter” Libby has been found guilty of lying and to say that everyone is disappointed not to hear from Karl Rove instead of Richard Artmitage, would be mildly putting it. And it’s certainly not news that Daniel Radcliffe aka Harry Potter is now making love to horses on West End.
The news IS that Steven Spielberg has started pre-production for Les Adventures de Tintin. And it’s not going to be an animated feature. Blistering barnacles! 10,000 thundering typhoons!!! Captain Haddock, Professor Calculus, the Thompson Twins and of course Snowy and Lady Bianca's parrot... all coming to the big screen... can you tell I’m excited? Some might think that Hollywood will ruin a good thing but I think Hergé would approve of Spielberg taking a shot at it. After all, worse movies have been made of other franchises. But the Batman (OK only the ones with Christian Bale) and Spiderman movies are doing their fans and creators proud.

Holi Sunday

2007-03-05T15:40:00.000-05:00

My roomie and I had a really fun potluck this Sunday afternoon. Some highlights included M cooking kadai chicken till 3 a.m. and waking up 4 hours later to make appetizers; playing antakshari and singing horribly out of tune, of course; C brings guest who brings another guest who knocks over furniture; D’s guest falls off papasan chair! Sits right back up to sing Rafi melodies; U brings bloody mary mix without the vodka…duh! Takes out trash to compensate; G makes cutting chai sans sugar. Su steps in for second round, makes kick ass adrak chai. And props to most women who turned up in desi outfits and the 2-3 men who obliged as well :)

Some random quotes from the afternoon:

“I really can’t look inside his brain right now.”
“I might gag if she dances on the table.”
"I look like Punju aunty on her morning walk."
“If your landlord evicts you now, you have enough people here to help you move.”
“The heat is on, yaar.. umm, sorry I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
“What’s funny is you state the obvious and then make it worse by explaining what you just said!”
“Did you just say hermaphrodite?”
“The irony is you women can have it anytime but you don’t have the desire. Not always at least.”
“Can you please stop announcing I look like Michael Jackson?”
“Last time I had a potluck at my place you slept over, remember?”
“I am going to rediscover my roots... on Palace on Wheels.”
“Start by losing your American accent.”
“Yeah my room is cosy. It’s definitely not Starbucks or Kramer’s.”
“Am I supposed to know where your room is?”
“I’m getting a feeling you like flan.”
“How come I don’t get introduced to her… because I’m not from MIT?”
“Look at your shoes. What’s your size?”
“Of course I have talked about you… just not very good things.”
“There’s a lot of talent in this room.”

Thanking You Very Kindly

2007-03-01T15:47:00.000-05:00

There are kind people and then there are those who actually perform random acts of kindness without knowing what they just did.
I woke up carrying a headache the size of the erstwhile U.S.S.R. (ie. very big) and almost couldn’t turn my head without a piercing throb attacking my central lobe system (ie. freakin brain in general). But I dutifully trudged to work and tried to gulp down my coffee without burning myself, hoping against hope it would work a miracle in 90 seconds or less. Clearly, it did not. It continued to get so bad, in fact, that I had to call a friend: “So what exactly is dizziness a symptom of?” Stupid question. “It could mean a lot of things,” he said in clipped medical tone. “But sit down, or lie down, somewhere.”
So there I was on the Metro, trying to have a quiet shut eye while listening to Norah Jones and commanding caffeine and central lobe to meet harmoniously for my sake. I didn’t really notice when some dude got in to the seat beside me. And I didn’t really notice when my eyes started watering up… just a trickle and before I knew it, I was wiping away a tear! No, the music wasn’t as moving as the train (except for tracks 5 and 13, but more on that later), the dude next to me didn’t smell of onions and I don’t think I was PMS-ing. Maybe I was stressed about a deadline or mourning my dead plant or missing my dog. No, I was just having a random emotional outburst. Anyway, this dude also has his music going on but he finally notices the silent sniffler next to him. And I can definitely feel he’s getting uncomfortable because he’s getting very shifty (not in a shady way, though). Finally he taps me on the shoulder and asks, “Would you like me to move?” I could’ve started howling – but then it would scare everyone out of the train – but I managed to shake my head and smile. He was kind enough to ask and that’s all I needed. Besides a couple aspirins and more coffee. Sanity, at last.

Such a Pansy

2007-02-26T20:43:00.000-05:00

Union Station. 6:30 p.m. i'm sitting on a bench minding my business when a homeless dude comes up and presents me with a flower.
dude: pretty flower for pretty girl
me (rolling eyes): huh. thank you
dude (shaking finger): do you know what that flower is called?
me: yes. it's a pansy.
dude (really shocked): gee, most girls don't know that. so could you spare me some change?
me: sorry i'm all out of change... would you like to give the flower to someone who does?
dude (shaking head): it's fine, just keep it. i can't believe you knew the name of the flower.
me: umm, sorry!
he goes off looking for other victims in clueless flora world.

It's Over

2007-02-22T14:49:00.000-05:00

my no-alchohol diet for this month is officially over... i had two glasses of wine in the past 2 weeks with the excuse that it was for some celebration or the other... but yesterday under the nose of extremely judgmental bartender, i succumbed to a mango mojito (it was OK) and decided to put the final nail on the coffin of Stupid Pretentious Diet Which Was Never Going to Last, Anyway. yes, yes all of you who've been dyyyying to say "i told you so" can start singing in a chorus. and here i was thinking 28 days couldn't be so bad?! pshaw.

A Few New Friends

2007-02-19T11:46:00.000-05:00

While I’ve been carefully navigating the slippery sidewalks lately, the dogs in the hood are having a field day in the snow. What is it about the snow that makes kids, animals and everything in between so playful? In the past 4 months since I moved to my new place, six dogs or 3 different pairs have started to recognize me as I start making these high-pitch squeals (something like “heyyy!”) which turns into a conspiring whisper (something like “yesh yesh, show me ze love”) when I approach them.
The black Labrador pair next door are called Java and Laska, named after the software program and the dog in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Whenever I go over, they come bounding to the door together and compete to see who gets to jump first on top of me. Laska is definitely the tamer one but the minute I start scratching Java’s belly, she’s looking at me with those me-too-please kind of eyes. Soo irresistible :)
Mimi and Gigi are the pair of Scottish terriers who live around the corner from my house and are apparently retired show dogs. They still seem to be very obedient and don’t even require leashes when they go out for their walks. And having to live up to their French names and fine pedigree, they like to waltz around wearing these fine looking highland coats, too! Gigi is getting on with age and doesn’t care too much for socializing. But when Mimi comes over to sniff and say hi, Gigi will slowly hobble over to see what the fuss is about.
Recently I’ve started seeing a lot of Duncan and Macduff, west highland white terriers or more commonly known as westies (as shown in picture). The pair of them – named after the characters in Macbeth – love frolicking around in the snow and Duncan is the more excitable of the two. The other day he just hopped up to lick my face, snow and all. Macduff sniffed around my boots for a bit before looking up to declare “hmm, you’re not so bad.” I scratched his neck to show my gratitude and silently prayed my dog back in Delhi was not shooting telepathic rays of utter disdain and contempt.

Post-V-Day Thoughts

2007-02-16T12:57:00.000-05:00

That's the pink and teddy bear saccharine-infested manufactured holiday that's stuffed down everyone's throats by the card companies and not the World War II commeration i'm talking about. everyone's feeling some sort of pressure (overtly or otherwise) to do something. quite unfair given the fact that christmas and new year's just happened and come on, do you really need an excuse to buy chocolates?? hell no. well, since i spread the love so generously throughout the rest of the year, i randomly picked on some other emotion... such as total indifference. haha!
i decided to trudge to work in a miniature snow storm that hit the region. in case you didn't know, DC-area commuters are weather wussies. there's a little rain and people forget how to drive. there's some 2 inches of snow and it's a federal holiday. not that i mind! :) but there were like 6 people who made it in and we had a pizza party. a colleague's husband sends these huge long-stemmed roses to work every year. and every year she sighs, "when will he learn that tulips are my favourite?" and passes the hershey's chocolate kisses on to us.
later on at night, i'm at Union Station and this woman is walking down the hallway and yelling -or screaming like a banshee - into her phone, "you bastard, you can't do this to me! i can't believe this." her hair is totally disheveled, she's pacing up and down and she looks like she is going to throw the phone at someone or do something really, really bad. so psycho and so scary. "i'm going nuts!! i don't know what i'm going to do!!" she's still yelling. a lot of people stop dead in their tracks to get out of her way, but someone starts laughing at her. i mean this woman was clearly a mental case. and getting dumped by some jerk. on valentine's day. over the phone. the phone???! have a heart... and how pathetic.
On a lighter note, check this out. A math formula for the perfect parrallel dating scene. don't some of you do this already? Thanks, Chhav :D

Butt Fatigue and Other Tales

2007-02-12T09:42:00.000-05:00

First off, this is going to be a long, but fairly entertaining post considering it was a weekend of many firsts. So brace yourself :)
We were celebrating the birthday of another friend who has joined the ranks of the fabulous Thirty Decade. So in the afternoon, 5 of us girls kidnapped her from home (covering face with ski mask et al) and took her roller skating. It was quite an adventure. The Skate-and-Fun Zone is around 45 mins. outside of DC in a town called Manassas. Naturally it was full of suburban mom and dads with their screaming little tykes rolling around in skates to the cheerful tunes of Who Let the Dogs Out? Surprisingly, the DJ refused to play even the clean version of 50 Cent’s In Da Club, but he was fine spinning “clean songs” like Tempted to Touch, Naughty Girl and the redneck anthem Sweet Home Alabama. Surrounding the rink were gumball machines, a laser tag room, a pizza joint, and just a lot of cheerful and colorful stuff. Did I mention the strobe lights and fog machine? It was like being transported back to your childhood… which was the entire purpose of taking our friend there. I got my pair of rollerskates and bravely entered the rink. Unlike ice skating rinks, this rink did not have a fence surrounding the entire periphery. My friends tried helping me a bit before I fell on my butt for the first time. But kids were falling all over the place like flies – there was no reason I couldn’t do the same, so no fear. Two more butt falls happened, but after a pizza break, I got much better. Like ice skating, I learnt the trick to keep my balance and keep moving… just don’t look down all the time!!
The birthday celebrations continued in the evening with a sumptuous Indian dinner at Heritage. There was too much wastage of food since it was a pre-fixed menu. I also made an exception to my no-alcohol diet and had a glass of red wine. I didn’t drink anything else after that. Then we moved the party to a club called Andalu, also in the Dupont Circle area. The music was pretty decent and we all had a great time dancing. I don’t know at what point the boredom seeped in. I turned to a friend and said, “I think I want to hook up with a random stranger.” And I did. Some desi dude (and it's not that i was looking for a desi in particular, he just looked as bored) was hovering around and we started dancing. He tried to make conversation but I wasn’t obliging. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Doesn’t matter. Any name you want it to be,” I said. Really, there was no point in talking. Then suddenly another girl wanted to dance with him. He clutched my hand tightly – don’t go yet. Err.. ok, so what am I supposed to do? The girl turns to me and says, “You know, he’s a total whore.” I was amused and touched his six-pack. “Of course, he is.” But then she starts dancing with me… nothing wrong with that, it was nice music until whoa! she touches my butt. Umm, thanks but no thanks. I excused myself to go to the bar. Suddenly, six-pack guy grabs my hand, pulls my face towards him and before I knew it, there I was making out with him as my friends watched in shock and awe. As I came up for air, he said, “You must be a Punjabi.” But for a Punjabi himself, he did these weird Karate Kid-type dance moves. Also he thought he was being funny by saying he worked at a 7-11 and his wife (i know, what???) was waiting for him at home. “Goodbye, have a nice life and oh… keep working on those pecs,” I said. We ended up exchanging digits, but he blew it when he asked, “Is your name Deepali?” I stared. “Something like that.” Not that i was planning on marrying him anyway!
So first time 1) rollerskating 2) got hit on by a girl and guy simultaneously and 3) made out with someone without the influence of alcohol in a public place.

Famous Last Words

2007-02-08T16:26:00.000-05:00

My new diet may have already come to an end. I was at Sash's place for dinner last night. There were candles, nice wine, great music, and the smell of tender lamb shanks cooking happily - but ever so slowly - in the oven. Sash and Denn (pls bear with the 4-letter names now) did a brilliant job of feeding their friends... of whom, i have to add, were 2 other couples, besides me. apparently the 6th guest was m.i.a. so of course i had to fight off Bridgetty feelings before it hit me they were not a) smug marrieds and b) did not in the least bit make me feel like a loony singleton who did not partake in drinking alchohol. speaking of which, i started off drinking Coke and then at some point i was informed it had been spiked with vodka!! it could have been a convenient deviation of topic - from dogs and all things wonderful related to them - or it could have actually been done. whatever the case, i knew something was odd. but i think i'll try to continue this endeavour for as long as i can... only 3 more weeks till the end of the month!!

Prohibition Time

2007-02-05T18:42:00.000-05:00

So inspired by Oprah's fitness guru, Bob Greene, i am abstaining from alchohol for a month. According to Greene, when you are on a healthy diet and trying to increase your metabolism, it's important to keep the body as hydrated as possible. Alchohol doesn't help the cause so it's best to avoid it for a while. So no liquor and that includes beer and wine. And since Feb is the shortest month of the year, i thought i might as well grab the bull by its horns, etc. etc.
Not that i'm an alchoholic, but i was rather worried about how i would survive social situations where if one does not drink, one is not having fun or is gently reminded by friends for being a hopeless old fart. But despite the taunts, I survived the past weekend and drank water at the clubs and avoided the beer on Super Bowl Sunday. It sort of feels like the time i was 14 and wanted to be vegetarian for a while (animal rights, etc.) and miserably failed in that venture after just 10 days. So let's see how long this lasts... it's Day Seven.

Don't Worry, Chicken Curry

2007-01-30T18:04:00.000-05:00

I know this isn't a cooking or recipes blog but i had to share this. It is my version of chicken sans tomatoes. Take 4-6 chicken drumsticks and marinate in yoghurt, salt, turmeric and chilli powder. Chop an onion and a half and fry them in saucepan. Add some garlic and coriander (jeera) seeds. Dump a little MDH chicken masala for good measure. Now, take a bottle of Maggi Chat Pat Tomato Sauce and add a couple of tsps. into the pan. Stir nicely. Then add the chicken, let it cook for around half hr or so till done. Chatpata Chicken Curry is Done in a Hurry! Yumm. It was so good, i tell you.

No Bra-vado for Me

2007-01-29T12:04:00.000-05:00

A recent article on intimate wear got me rolling my eyes on the number of exhaustive bra excursions i've had. Back in Delhi's Sarojini Nagar Market, there was a male sales shop assistant who sized me up with one look and proceeded to whip out wholesome cotton designs like he was showing off the latest designer kurtis. when i arrived here, i ran to the nearest vic's secret to get myself all properly measured by helpful female sales staff - only to learn that to afford the best for the twins, one must go on a rameen noodle diet for at least 2 weeks. while i've learnt to acquire some decent innerwear without getting too broke, i did refrain from touching certain apparel which i knew - for the lack of a better term - was going to be a bust.
anyho, when a friend got me a gift cert recently, i finally decided to invest in that strange engineering malfunction known as a strapless bra. imagine begging a piece of material with some metal hooks to come together for a good cause. they tend to oblige but only for the sake of it. what happens when they do is a complete disaster. along with my boobs, my self-esteem plunges into this abyss until i start crying: "please, lord, give me back the straps!!"
yes, life does go on without a strapless bra... but it would be nice to have one that works. for me, at least!

Hot Salsa, Cold Weather

2007-01-17T17:54:00.000-05:00

Old man winter is pounding the door as I type so I’ll try to recall the unusually warm spell of weather we had recently instead of the freezing temps outside. In fact it was so pleasant, I finally wore a skirt to let the breeze in and let my hair hang out. This weekend my friends and I went salsa dancing at this café where the music was as good as the mojitos. I think the five salsa lessons I had taken 2 years ago did me some good, but it’s equally important to have a good lead. At least 2 out of the 3 partners I had were having some coordination issues! But it was a lot of fun.
Also watched a couple of good movies: one was the Spanish film “Pan’s Labyrinth” which I can’t stop raving about. I think it had a lot to do with the fact I saw it from the third row in the hall (it was house full) and it reminded me of the time I saw “Forrest Gump” at Chanakya... think large screen, super special effects and a very craned head staring straight ahead. But it was also how the movie brilliantly intertwines the horrors of the real world and a fantasy world through the eyes of a 10-year-old. The second was “Guru” which was surprisingly good. Coinciding with the news of their engagement, I think the AB-Ash pair did a nice job… plus we had a highly entertaining post-movie debate about tax laws and licenses that went on till the wee hours (think 4 a.m.) over pancakes and coffee at Ihop… ooooh!

Hold Your Nose

2007-01-12T19:23:00.000-05:00

Imagine sitting next to a cute teenager, someone who looks like a tree-hugging surfer dude type straight out of "The O.C." He's actually sitting really pretty close to you... because the chairs are really pretty close to each other... and he's telling you about how new he is to the city and how he bagged a super competitive internship and how he is studying comparative literature at Berkeley... and the only thing you can really think of is, dude you are umm, like, totally adorable but you have to do something about your bad breath. that's right. he forgot to pop the mints. or something. while i am enjoying his attention and i admit, flirting just a tad bit, at the same time i was just praying for him to basically shut the hell up. i fiddle with my phone, rustle my papers and smile ever so sweetly and say, "that's awesome!" to pretty much everything he's saying. but that doesn't stop him. finally i am forced to play the age card. i am a professional woman in a decade-i'm-coming-to-terms-with and you, young man, need to do whatever interns do... of course i didn't say all that... i had to "act" all grown up. how irritating!
anyway, back to the stinky breath.. and i know everyone has it at some point... but it's different when you're just getting to know someone vs. someone close you can be frank about it with. so once i was dating this guy who usually smelt v.good. but one day we had gone to a concert and of course you sit next to one another at a performing arts event. he had terrible breath. i was tortured for 2 hrs as he talked and talked. and talked. of course i'm not dating him anymore.

Edge of Reason and Beyond

2007-01-02T12:51:00.000-05:00

This year's New Year's Eve was so low key and mellow from last year's madness at Times Square, i had to pinch myself a couple times. ouch! like that only :)
A couple of my friends - and i literally mean, a "couple" - had a house party to break in the new year and their new apt. I love house parties but when there are too many married couples in the mix, i start having my Bridget Jones moments. There were around 14-16 people and i was probably one of 3 or 4 single people in the crowd. At first, it really didn't matter because everyone chatted each other up and stuff. Then my wise-cracking friend (and party host) inevitably starts poking fun at his wife and she gives it back, and the whole "My Spouse is Crazier Than Yours" routine gets the room rolling in laughter. However, for us singletons it starts to become a bit annoying after sometime. Alright, we get it. You married folks are besotted, especially when you tease one another in your marital bliss.
We also played a round of "Taboo" which was good fun but... and you know there's a huge BUT... it was so remniscent of the whole "When Harry Met Sally" thing when couples in their sacchirine sweetness are always fighting over points to keep score. aaargh. No couple envy, just that the last time i played board games on NYE was ages back with my family i think!!
And finally, I know we all get a bit senti as the clock strikes 12 and the new year dawns (help! i'm on a metaphor roll here) but after all the hugs and kisses got over, we singles were the only ones on the dance floor. I'm sure not all married folks are like that or perhaps some of them didn't dig the music but that night it gave you people in coupledom quite a bad rap. C'mon you guys, i shudder to think what'll happen when you have kids!! Don't tell me...

Christmas Crazyness

2006-12-26T16:33:00.000-05:00

So this is Christmas, what have you done? I had a fun festivus of eating, drinking and general merry-making with friends. And watched a brilliant Penelope Cruz in Volver and a pretty funny Rahul Bose in Pyar ke Side Effects. But being the holidays, my family has once again provided some priceless hilarity to the occasion.
Somebody suggested putting in a matrimonial ad in the Times of India for my eligible brother who is visiting India. But apparently my parents forgot when the ad was supposed to come out and as Ma likes to pointedly say: “We’ve stopped looking at the classifieds or putting ads there… what’s the point?” So what is the likelihood that my uncle sitting in Lucknow – who already has 2 sons married/committed to someone – scanning the classifieds instead? Probably killing time checking out the grooms for his lovely niece(s)? Fair enough. But what is the probability of Lucknow Uncleji coming across the same bloody ad about my brother and not recognizing it as my brother’s? Highly unlikely. He calls up my dad and says this could be a probable match for your daughter. That's right... yours truly, y'all. Dad diligently takes down the details and tells mum – you know where this is going, right? In the meantime, charitable well-wishing uncle does not hear from dad for a few days. Hmm, wonder WHY… the family tree is still shaking in laughter.. haw haw haw!

Putting Out Kitchen Fires

2006-12-18T17:22:00.000-05:00

My roommate and i were looking forward to a mellow Sat. evening enjoying her boyfriend's gourmet cooking. We sipped wine and traded gossip as he diligently carved out bell peppers. M and i were on the far side of the house when he yelled at her to come. She lazily replied: "yaaa coming." he yelled again: "come NOW.. it's kind of an emergency." i didn't like the tone so i went along, too. there, in the kitchen oven was a fire burning and it wasn't about to cook our food. he had set it to 400 degrees and started smelling something weird and when he opened the oven, there were flames dancing around. As he used the fire extinguisher, smoke and the yellow powdery stuff enveloped us. I decided to call 911. It was my first 911 call and I tried to be calm but when the guy told me to "get out of there now" i was pretty freaked out. we ran out of the house and within minutes there were 3 fire trucks racing down the street. I tried calling my landlord next but got his answering machine.
The firefighters went running in with hoses and a smoke blower. A ladder went up somewhere. My roomie was nervously asking if we should tell the pros it was an electric fire. I nervously giggled in my tweety bird slippers (it was the only pair i could slip into quickly) and her friend nervously lit up a cigarette. was this an appropriate time to light another fire? Meanwhile, some neighbors had come out and i told them what happened. I looked at a couple from next door - they seemed vaguely familiar - but shook my head and thought it was a bad time to socialize. Soon, one of the firefighters called us upstairs and said the fire could have been caused due to leftover grease. I went back down and said hi to Angie and Jake, whom i had met at my former roommate's wedding last year. Surreal, but true.
Back at home, the kitchen was a mess and the oven is still out of commission. The landlord has promised to get us a new one but till then microwave meals will have to do! I also have a newfound respect for firefighters but i have to admit, there is a reason why they have so many sexual innuendos associated with them :)

More Spooky Coincidences

2006-12-14T13:28:00.000-05:00

In my latest so-weird-but-kindacool experience: A good ol' (and v.lazy, admit it) blogger friend from Mumbai asked me to look up her childhood friend who had recently moved to DC. We finally met at a crowded bistro where our friendship was cemented as she surreptiously passed me sips of wine (my ID had expired) and mentioned her boyfriend's name was Jeff. Hmm, i said, i have another friend - coincidentally Bengali girl like you - and she is married to one fellow - also very coincidentally called Jeff. Also - coincidentally, of course - both live in Cambridge. And yes, after the Harvard-MIT connections were confirmed, it was also confirmed that the Bengali babes with the Same Significant Other Names had met and knew a common academic circle.
In the meantime, my rooommate's boyfriend decides to pay a visit. There is much hype about his gourmet cooking skills and i'm more than willing to be a guinea pig. I mention said visit and casually remark, "oh, he's bong phd physics candidate from UM-Wisconsin" while making plans to meet my new friend from bistro-expired ID-fame... but she said it was just the phrase i used to describe him that made her think of an old childhood friend. yes, my roommate's boyfriend grew up with good ol' blogger friend from Mumbai and the girl in DC.
in yet another strange and inexplicable turn of events, i have weaved my magic wand and brought people together :) ta da!

Never Forget

2006-12-06T12:51:00.000-05:00

The Babri Masjid in Ayodhya was demolished today in 1992. The mosque was built by Babur in the 16th century, India's first Mughal emperor. So Hindu fascists led by the saffron singing Bharatiya Janata Party came out to destroy the mosque since it was alleged that the mosque was built over a temple to commerate the birthplace of Lord Ram.
I was only 16 but i remember feeling sad, angry and deeply secular. The newspaper pictures showed rubble and what promised to be utter chaos in the days ahead. And what followed was one of the bloodiest communal warfares in recent Indian history.
First, there was a Muslim backlash and then a Hindu backlash resulting in the Bombay Riots. Around 1,000 people killed before a commission was appointed to investigate who did what to whom when and where. It was found that the right-wing Shiv Sena party incited the riots but till date none of the commission's recommendations have been acted on or implemented.
That's secular, democratic, 21st century, call center, multiplexes, so-sexycool-yaar, dosa and tikka loving, nuke dealing, IT revolutionary India for you!

It's Fun to Stay at the Y...

2006-12-05T12:40:00.000-05:00

This year I am not waiting till Jan. 1 to make the resolutions. The most consistent one I make is not to make any. And the most consistent one I also make is to make an effort to exercise more frequently. That resolution sticks for a while – hmm, 2 months – before whimpering out like a scared puppy.
So on Dec. 1, I finally joined the YMCA. I was partly inspired by my roommate who is very disciplined about her running schedule and also because it would be good to have someone to go with. The Y in DC sits in the heart of downtown and has lots of cool facilities spread over 7 floors. I was especially excited about the Olympic-size swimming pool and the racquetball courts. However, Friday was not a good day to join because the women’s locker room was a real stink joint. The smell of sweaty socks was simply overpowering but I held my breath through it. Then there are the showers. I haven’t used a communal shower in ages and I think there is some sort of unwritten locker room rule: if you’re naked, look up and if you’re not, look down. I also thought the older naked women had to be German because they seemed to be the most uninhibited about letting it all hang out. It’s not as if there weren’t any towels available, people!
Finally as I was about to leave, one of the "happy smiley staff members" asked me to write a postcard note for a U.S. soldier in Iraq. The Y sends these notes to soldiers during the holidays and as she forced this on me, I really had to think about this one – why should I, an Indian, write a note to an American soldier in a country where a conflict seemed totally unwarranted. But I was going to reach out to another person in the end so I wrote: "Have a cheerful holiday and come back home safe."
As for the work out, that was really good. I felt great and hopefully I can break the resolution jinx for the new year this year.

Little Miss Sunshine

2006-11-29T15:06:00.000-05:00

Here she is - my cutie pie Candy!! Missing her tons these days because so many people are going to India except me... sniff sniff... but she does woof on the phone when i call on weekends :)

She is a pom and lhasa apso mix but has more of the apso temperament ie. fiesty and friendly. We used to have another dog, Wendy, and she had a litter and we gave away all the dogs except Candy... she was an adorable pup and really naughty, so we had to keep her!! Candy likes to eat good old home cooked meals, but she has a thing for Nizam's mutton biryani.. because whenever there's a party with biryani on the menu, Candy doesn't leave my mum's side.

We try not to give her sweets because of the fur shedding issue but birthdays are an exception and usually my parents bring her a pastry of some sort. I think my grandma also surreptiously feeds her chocolate sometimes. She sounds awfully spoilt and she is. But she is the building sweetheart and nemesis (the postman is petrified of her) and the best thing i love about Candy is when someone is sick or feeling sad, she somehow knows it and and will come and cuddle up next to you. I could go on and on and ON about her but i'll stop.

About the pics: She's out on a mid-winter morning stroll with my dad. Above, she suffers silently in booties i got from Petco. She promptly took them off after i took the pic.

Back in Beantown

2006-11-27T17:02:00.000-05:00

As I packed my bags for the annual glutton fest that is the Thanksgiving holidays, i thought about any impending family strife: around 16 family members were coming under my uncle and aunt's roof in North Andover, which is 30 mins. outside of Boston, and the possibilities of a clash happening between any 2 headstrong Banerjis was very likely. But first we indulged in the East-West fusion of turkey and stuffing/malai chicken and kofta, cranberry sauce/achaar, corn and mashed potatoes/biryani and dahi vada. We were stuffed. Then we split up into 3 groups of movie watchers who went to see Dhoom 2 (3 aunties, one Abhishek-crazy sister), The Departed (2 uncles, 4 brothers and 1 Jack Nicholson-crazy aunt) and Casino Royale (3 James Bond-crazy sisters). Watching Danny Craig in speedos was definitely one of the highlights of the holidays.

The weather was such a tease but it really lifted spirits by Sunday when i headed into Cambridge to see some old friends. I was seeing one of them after at least 3 years and she is now a brand new mommy of little munchkin of 4 months. It was so admirable to see how she's put her dissertation on hold for the kid and really putting in so much time to actually be with him.

Before i met her, i was trying to find a decent present for the baby and ventured into a "Curious George" toy shop. So it's not the first time I've bought a present for my friends' offsprings, but they have lazily been bought through online registries or the Baby Gap or Baby H&M collection... all fabulous, btw... but I was really having a tough time figuring out what to get a new-born (esp. since her in-law visits just got over and she must've got a ton of stuff from them) in this toy store. I was filled with amazement about what a kid actually sees for the first time... everything from colors to letters to animals is new for him... i eventually ended up getting a Curious George monkey and the book "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" (i love singing that song).

The other hard thing was finding a decent coffee shop in Harvard Square (no Starbucks, please) so we eventually ended up at Dado Tea, a specialty tea house on Church St. which has a nice variety of Asian teas, and was apparently started by a couple of Harvard Ph.d. students who complained about the lack of chai in the vicinity. Needless to say, they have chucked their academic careers and are doing booming business.

Later, I met up with some high school friends in Davis Square at a Tibetan place and of course, I had momos :) Chhavi put me up for the night and i had to make friends with her new housemates - two cats with two different temperaments - and even though i was told they would be all nice and friendly, Mini jumped me like a dog in the morning. i think she just wanted my chai. or so i tell myself...

Dancing in the Dark

2006-11-13T14:17:00.000-05:00

What is it about some desi men that makes them hover on the peripheries of a dance floor at a nightclub and then try to make a grab for any random woman? Apparently, a strategy they invented called “Identify Target and Impress With Mithun Moves” from I am a Disco Dancer days.
On Sat. night my friends and I noticed this trilogy hovering around trying to do just that. They seemed like regular, nice geeks at first. One was in a suit and all; the other in a studly black and red leather jacket; and the third was in cargos. You couldn’t miss them because they were everywhere and trying extremely hard for any action.
First, the Suit Guy danced with a bachelorette party and got his hands all over the bride-to-be posing for various pictures. Next, he zoomed in on the frat girls trying to be a kabab mein haddi. Meanwhile, Leather Jacket saw his Holy Vision: the modern Bhartiya Nari with long tresses and shy dance moves, albeit accessorizing perfectly with her cosmopolitan and cigarette. She spurred him immediately – but only to provoke him further, since he figured a ‘no’ means ‘yes’ – and as he tried to whisper sweet nothings, he just grabbed her arm. I swear I could hear her say eww! Cargo Pants was just dancing around, minding his own business, until he saw this unfold and did his bit by telling his friend to chill out.
The Suit Guy later discovered our Brown Crowd and thought hmm, 6 women, 3 men, surely I have a chance here. He slowly started to infiltrate – dancing with one of the guys and then coming on to a couple of us girls. At some point when Suit Guy and Leather Jacket were suitably drunk, they were almost coming to blows about some random thing. Again, the tension was diffused in classic Bollywood fashion by Cargo Pants who came between them and told them to stuff it. I don’t know how long they stayed or if they got lucky, but the last thing I saw before I left the place, was Suit Guy desperately trying to make conversation with one of my friends. She looked pretty bored herself, but even she wasn’t that desperate.
On another note: I saw “Babel” and was pretty moved and confused. But it was still a very good movie.

Booker Sightings

2006-11-06T17:54:00.000-05:00

The South Asian Literary and Theater Arts Festival was held on Saturday at the Museum of Natural History. At the Booker Winner's book signing, i was sorely reminded of the Vikram Seth signing last year where i self-consciously stumbled my way through, blinded by his 500-watt smile. Kiran Desai was sweet, too so i gushed something like, "it was really good, just finished and still recovering." She smiled sweetly and said thanks. When i mentioned my father was also one of those people in "Inheritance of Loss" who suffered from a colonial hangover, she laughed and said, "oh i have plenty of those in my family, too." [Maa, who has digested all of Anita Desai's novels, gave me the entire spiel on Desai family and which relatives were in the IAS and who had a house in Mussouri]. But when she was reading passages from her book at the literary panel, she wasn't the best reader. Later, i discovered she had signed my book with the wrong date. Ah well, could've been a lot worse.

Uhaul and me dead

2006-10-29T16:13:00.002-05:00

This was the final move from my old apt. to my new one and it has finally led me to realize that it's not worth doing it by yourself. From the very onset, it seemed the day was just going to get from bad to worse. The line at the Uhaul center was not too long but the wait was. When my cousin brother finally got the keys to the truck and we made our way to the apt. for loading, it was a little well past noon. And we had a little over 4 hrs left to return the truck!
Once there, we were joined by a friend - who had agreed very nicely to come at the last minute in spite of his hangover - and the poor thing did not hold the sofa properly and hurt his back. both the sofa and the friend had to be abandoned.. he was in pain. but no love lost for the sofa. but by the time I huffed and puffed my way to help out, someone had lost control of the dresser and as it went rolling down the loading dock, i had become completely hysterical. i was in splits actually. then my cousin and i got in to a spat. so the two of us moved stuff silently for the next half hour. when it came time to go to my new apt., the truck refused to start. sputter sputter sputter for 15-20 mins. Uhaul hotline to the rescue - mechanic would be on the way in 45 mins., oh but after 45 mins., they said they might as well send a tow truck. great!
So while i went to grab a sandwich, I conferred with some friends and decided on movers to unload the stuff at my new place next day. there was no question about it. Finally, the tow truck (which was stuck in traffic as usual) arrived around 8 pm. did i mention we called the hotline around 4ish?? it was a big-ass thing and stalled traffic on Connecticut Ave. for a while to get the truck on the truck basically. while i was watching this unfold, one of my friend's parents were in one of the minivans stuck behind the tow truck and waved to me. they were like hey, Shilpa is that your Uhaul? you look fabulous with it. haha.
Anyway, the next plan was to drive to Capitol Hill with the tow truck driver as my cousin followed behind in his car. As you know, in life there's a first time for everything. I can say this was the second time I got a ride inside a tow truck but as far as tow drivers hitting on me, this was a first. Rodney was his name. When he said i looked 25, I was happy as a fiddle. Of course, questions about India and could he come "knockin' on my crib for Indian food" followed. "Where do you hang out with the girls?" U St. sometimes, I said. "You go to U St.?? Girl, you like to drop it like it's hot!" Then a rather strange qs: "Do you go to male strip clubs?" Umm, no i must confess. I've never been to one. Considering the kind of crrrazy day I had, this line of questioning was pretty hilarious!! But everything is fine now.. the movers came the next day and Rodney went back to his next gig. Maybe moonlighting at one of those strip clubs?

Spooky Coincidence

2006-10-20T16:58:00.000-04:00

So this is the crazy, small world we live in because even at a really crowded bar halfway across the world from your home, a random dude can walk up and know a bit *too* much already -
he: i know you from somewhere. did you live in chanakyapuri in new delhi?
me: yes (eyes widening in tepid surprise)
he: did you go to delhi public school?
me: yes (eyes widening in shock) how do you know?
he: i was in the same colony. and i'm good at remembering faces, i guess.
me: i think i saw you on the school bus (proceeded by name-dropping frenzy of teachers and classmates).
he: what house no. were you in?
me: well, we were in 193 and then moved to 137.
he: you were in 137?? the house with the mango tree in the back?
me: yes! (eyes popping out now)
he: we lived in the same house!!
me: what! how?
he: you must have moved in after we got transferred. but we came back later and lived in a different house, but in the same colony.
me: this is crazy... are you sure it's the same house? the one near the temple and..
he: ...yes, yes and the big garden and the lane with 2 garages
me: OK but which room were you sleeping in?
he: i was in that middle room... the one with no privacy at all!
me: hah! i got the room out in the back. by the way, that middle room has senti value - my dog gave birth to her pups there.
he: my dog may have done worse things... and we were there before you guys.
me: ohhh that's why my dog was acting all funny when we got there!!
It's not even Halloween yet and i got spooked. shudder.

Fall Colors

2006-10-16T18:01:00.000-04:00

I’ve been procrastinating a bit on the blog side, no thanks to lack of DSL services at my new place. Also blame it on my current sleeping conditions: an air mattress, till my furniture comes in 2 weeks, which certainly is not as romantic as it sounds. It’s not like I’m on some suspended piece of cloth floating on air. It feels like a water bed (and those are terrible too, reminds me of cheap motels) and it’s not the best for my back. There are these weird bumps on the mattress – caused when air is pumped in – and in spite of the cosy, campy feel, I really can’t wait for my bed to arrive. Soon.
I’ve also been discovering the joys that come with living in a proper house instead of an apt. building where the management takes care of the smallest stuff. In the past couple weeks, there have been issues with a door lock, a window blind and the kitchen exhaust fan. Not to mention the weird purple stain I saw in the bathroom sink yesterday, caused by a marker on the back of some cheap tag. I had to spend a good 10 mins. getting rid of that one. Also just confirmed the lifestyle choice of our dear landlord when we were woken up to the sounds of Cher’s “Believe” blasting through the walls on Sunday morning.
But other than that, it’s been a beautiful fall weather weekend, my friends. The holy trilogy of crunchy leaves, crisp air and brilliant sunshine are definitely keeping everyone in high spirits. It feels great to look out the window every morning and just see this huge tree turning colors.
Speaking of seeing, I also saw “The Departed” which was wicked good and checked out Henri’s Rousseau’s “Jungles in Paris” at the National Gallery of Art as part of a friend’s birthday celebrations (I know, so culturally astute) and reminisced more about Boston/Cambridge with some transplants from there. Anyway, I had seen “Jungles” at the London Tate Gallery earlier this year but completely forgot about it until I saw the Tiger in a Tropical Storm (Surprised!) painting. On second — and longer — inspection, the tiger looked scared more than anything else. Rousseau was also a graphic illustrator for the newspaper Le Petit Journal. There were many satires depicting man vs. beasts and one was pretty interesting and comical – showing a man and lion in a jeep together, the man trying to control the beast with chains, but the lion sits upright with his mane blowing in full glory and pride.

O Mommy Dearest

2006-10-06T13:04:00.000-04:00

As we all know the Mother of All Matrimonial Sites is shaadi.com. As the name implies, the site means serious business. From the “quick partner search” to the “astro” columns and “success stories,” it’s a marketing triumph that’s brought all kinds of different people together. I know at least 3 friends who got married through the site and although it’s inspiring, I’m not exactly holding out a candle for The One in Cyberspace.
Anyway, till now I was safe in the cocoon of knowledge that my parents’ use of the Internet was confined to rediffmail.com – nothing more, nothing less – unless you count Maa’s obsession with playing spider solitaire and some game involving wolves. So imagine my surprise when I get an e-mail from Shaadi.com Customer Relations with the subject line “Profile for you.” The body of the mail went on to say “Your friend maa (her e-mail id) wants you to check out this profile.” Needless to say, I was highly amused. Two thoughts crossed my mind: How did she start surfing this site? And besides standard job, family factors, what other qualities was she looking for in a potential son-in-law?
It was time for the weekend phone call, which went something like this:
Me: How did you learn how to surf this site?
Maa: This is so much fun. Your kakima taught me (this is my aunt from Ottowa who is like a pal to me and who I thought, till now, was super cool about not putting any pressure!!!)
Me: and who are these guys you’re choosing?
Maa: I think that chap from Texas is quite handsome.
Me: I thought you said looks weren’t important.
Maa: I’m also looking at this boy in California. He says he is very close to his family.
Me: How touching. And where in California? I am not moving to Sunnyvale.
Maa: This is not funny. By the way, he also has a sense of humor.
Me: Are you going to stop playing solitaire now?

Oh, I do miss my mum :)

Tease of the Bureacratese

2006-09-29T14:53:00.000-04:00

Probably a good 60 percent of this week was spent in Babudom and the intricacies of Babuspeak. Yes, I am talking of the bureaucrats in DC that are absolutely no different from those of Delhi. In Delhi, whether it was the old and dilapidated Shastri Bhawan (Ministry of Coal) or the swanky new corridors of Rajiv Gandhi Bhawan (Ministry of Civil Aviation), the same type of clerks pushed files, carried chais and played teen patti on the lawns. It’s a bit different here but you can’t help noticing some similarities: the same old bored security guards to the person who issues the visitor pass.
Basically I had gone to procure some public documents at the Department of Education for a story I was co-writing with someone. On Day 1, I managed to get a pass and went to the specific room where said documents would be. Of course, there was this long corridor with the sterile cubicles on both ends. The room was there but the babu was missing. He was on vacation. A nice lady tried to help me but no luck. Totally unacceptable. On Day 2, I decided to show up but there was nobody even to issue me the damn pass. I was also told that I needed to make an “appointment” to get such information! My co-writer and I were livid and since he was up in Boston he couldn’t really help. But he was a pro and having also worked in Delhi as a Post correspondent, he knew the dealings of Babuland. In other words, he pulled some strings. Talked to the man upstairs. Whatever.
And suddenly I got a phone call from some contact who very sweetly and promptly offered to help in every possible way. So third time was a charm. On Day 3, I went there with the “appointment” and got a decent treatment… a nice quiet space to work, use of phone, computer, loo, soda machine, etc. Except when I wanted to make copies of the documents, this lazy ass babu told his boss (my contact) that it was “almost lunch time” (it was only 11:55 a.m., I swear) and he was working on “something else” (yeah, his personal e-mails/blog I bet). So after shooting looks of death at him, I made the copies myself. It's another story how i got the copy machine to work in my favor. But i finally left the confines of Babudom to return to the confines of my cubicle.

Moving - Again!

2006-09-25T13:15:00.000-04:00

This is my last week living by myself in nice little cubby hole in Cleveland Park. I found a roommate and after putting in major walking hours exploring the city for a suitable apt. to suit our needs, we finally got a place on Capitol Hill that we really liked. This is the first time i actually put in some physical effort to find a place and i may have lost a few pounds in the process... called the Apt. Hunting Diet :) will be shifting with some bags and baggage this weekend and the furniture will go end of Oct.
So i lived by myself for 2 out of my 5 yrs in the U.S. and both times i got harsh lessons in independence and self-sufficiency. but most imp. lessons have been in the "how-to" department: how to use a can opener (by holding can steady), how to hook up the dvd player (by reading the manual), how to react when a stranger walks in to your apt. by mistake when you leave your door unlocked for the first time (that scream that never comes out of your mouth), and of course how to enjoy my lovely company :) going back to living with someone won't be easy but Malini is highly amusing... just as normal women carry lipsticks or chapsticks, she carries around a Tide marker pen to remove food spills on her clothes!!

Steve Irwin R.I.P.

2006-09-21T14:03:00.000-04:00

I thought i didn't care about Steve Irwin's death too much, until i saw his memorial service yesterday. In case you were in a cave Irwin is the crocodile hunter who used to do programs on the Animal Planet. I saw him a lot on The Tonight Show. He was totally fearless and loved all sorts of creatures. His little daughter Bindi - yup that's the Indian connection - gave an amazing eulogy in front of millions of viewers without any waterworks. "He was working to change the world so that everyone would love wildlife the way he did. Daddy, I miss you and whenever I look at crocs I will always think of you." Perhaps the most touching tribute i saw since Harry left his "I miss you mum" note on Princess Diana's hearst. And yes, i do watch mass televised memorial services at every given chance.

Metro Musings

2006-09-19T16:18:00.000-04:00

Metro riders continue to surprise... a GWU professor asked my views on Camus (yes, existential angst is written all over my face), another chap offered me a piece of chewing gum (great, i smell bad too) and yet another chap hungrily took my mint breakers when i offered him one (my very own version of a soup kitchen). but the best strangers on the train are still in the metros of Paris and Moscow. so a trip down nostalgia lane...
it was circa 1983 in former Soviet Union and i was waiting for a terribly irresponsible parent to pick me up from swimming practice... tired of waiting till pretty late in the evening, i went down to the metro and headed home. this nice old lady in the train must've seen the tears coming on this 8-yr-old and offered me the best piece of chocolate ever.
in Paris, i simply lost the whole family in the crowded subway (the question of who let go of whose hand is still debatable) but had the good sense to get off at the next station to wait for them. again, this college kid just wanted to stand with this 10-yr-old until my parents came to fetch me. in hindsight, he could've been a totally shady guy but i was reassured by his company. maybe these were all just elaborate plots by my parents to get rid of me... but i think their wish finally came true a few years ago!!! :)

The Day After

2006-09-12T15:55:00.000-04:00

Yes, I remembered. Saw “Path to 9/11” on ABC and Frontline on PBS… both intense and interesting. In spite of the big, bold messages warning viewers it was a dramatization and not a documentary, I fail to see why the network tied up with Scholastic to distribute the movie as a “learning tool” for school kids… will kids even know the difference between the two? PBS had too many shots of people falling from the towers… It felt kind of sadistic to even watch.
Anyway, today morning I had this weird dream about Jon Stewart telling some joke about how washing machines affect marriages. The two musketeers were snickering on the sidelines. Dream over. Then as I was stepping out to work, some woman literally accosted (that’s the only word to describe it) me on the street and said, “good morning.” She scared the crap out of me… I don’t know why… she looked mean and sinister, could’ve been a ghost. Who knows? or maybe she was just a nice, old lady who wanted my earrings. I might have been dreaming again. But I managed to stutter "morning, gggg-gotta go."

The Curse of Kramer's

2006-09-07T22:07:00.000-04:00

Once again i found myself at the mercy of a "DC institution" which has consistently wreaked havoc on my so-called dating life. Yup, all the dates i have had here have been consistently bad, if not disasterous. Since it is a nice, well-populated place with the option of coffee/drinks/dinner, the first date can go on as long as you want to. Anyway, none of the men (?) i've met there have matured into anything resembling fruitful.
So tonight i met - on a very last minute invitation - this chap at Kramer's. At first, i thought we weren't going there, but since he suggested it, i rolled my eyes and said, "why the hell not?" I met Mr B online only 2 days ago (maa and married friends told me to be more proactive!!) and he was so insistent on meeting me i thought OK, i've handled other freaks, i can do this, too. I talked to him briefly on the phone and immediately dismissed him... did not sound confident at ALL, had a very saaad desi accent (and i have one, too but i'm a snob about the *type* of desi accent... something more coherent then what he was saying for sure) and just seemed too pushy for my liking.
so we ended up getting dinner there and it occured to me during the course of the conversation, he was getting a soft corner for me. this was due to 3 reasons (i think):

he was very new to the city and i was being nice and friendly to him. wanted to meet more people, asked me about what to do, etc.
i talked about his hometown in Bhopal which i had visited back in 1992 and he got this glazed look in his eyes. later he mentioned nobody in his 7 yrs in the US of A had talked about Bhopal like i did. what can i say?? i just have a damn good memory!
he offered to show me his apt. (i mentioned my woes). "you should move into my apt.," he said. "err, that won't be necessary or even possible," i said. "nono, i meant my apt. complex. it's super nice," he said. hmm. don't think so.

But before all of you rush to his defence and yell, "what's wrong with him? he sounds sooo nice!" let me make it totally clear i'm really not attracted to him. it's not looks, though it is def a factor. it's not his accent, either. though that really bothers me, too. he has zero personality!!! also very full of himself coz he works for the govt - pshaw! so? - and has no inclination to visit India in near future. plus he's got no interest to travel or do anything fun that i like to do. so let me sum up my quandry: nice chap, but i can't date him. i also don't want to pull the "let's just be friends" crap on him. i have lots of friends already :) right now, i have a legit excuse... my cellphone charger is lost... seriously... but is it better to tell the truth?? or should i just ignore the whole thing? he did pay for my meal.

Breezy Weekend

2006-09-06T15:38:00.000-04:00

So i was in Chicago this labor day weekend and for a change it wasn't too windy. i met my lovely cousin sisters and my crazy ol' brother. one of my sisters has just invested in real estate and it looks like she will stay in that city for a long time. i looove the city - lake shore drive, the beautiful buildings always take my breath away - but i might get tired of living there forever. probably the thought of being surrounded by land and nutty Cubs fans :)
anyway, i also visited Evanston, which is home to Northwestern Univ. and where Joyee is slogging away for her ph.d. in math. she was also doing something crazy like car-sitting for a classmate and managed to lose the keys! in the midst of this drama, we grabbed desi lunch at mt.everest. this is the 3rd place i've been to which is called everest. at least the other two had something to do with Nepal... in DC and one in Davis, Calif.
On Sunday, we headed towards Peoria which is about 3 hrs west of Chicago. my uncle and aunt have a massive home there and my cousins and i are always reminded that it's the best place to have some shaadi party! but we had a pretty good party ourselves... watching Maria Sharapova's black dress (and game, i suppose) at the U.S. Open; bbq in the garage (it started raining) and shopping at Steve&Barry's (everything $6.98). but no family reunion is incomplete without someone getting on someone's nerves... ah well, what matters is that we all said our goodbyes in a civilized fashion!

The Demise of a Celestial Body

2006-08-31T16:55:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Kanika who found this on the BBC comments section. Hilarious!!

Some observations:
1. An American discovered Pluto. This proves most of the world is anti-American.
2. Dwarf is insensitive. We must refer to Pluto as Planetoidally Challenged.
3. Could this mean Mickey Mouse's dog is really a chihuahua?
4. What if folks on Jupiter do not regard Earth as a planet?
5. Do astrologers have to erase the parts that refer to Pluto's influence on our behaviour?
6. Pluto is the Roman god of the underworld amd judge of the dead. It's not a good idea to annoy him.
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How many other planets will leave the federation in sympathy now that we've pushed out Pluto?And if they all join the Romulan empire then where will we be? I'll tell you. Working as slave labour in the acid mines of Rygel 7 while Darth Vader and Sadam Hussein are lying on sun loungers on Venus sipping Pinocoladas laughing at our sorry acid burn't asses. Probably.
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Holy Astro-Bodies, Batman! Now they're discriminating against planets! What's next? Will Jupiter be an "Obese Planet"?
Planet, once was I, Laughing in the dark.
Uttered it was, I am too small,
Together they sealed my fate.
Orbit in the darkness now, my status is no more.
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Pluto you are the weakest link, Goodbye!
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News just in ... Plutonians have just reclassified Earth ... official report describes the Planet Earth as nothing more that a large blue cauliflower covered in creatures that think they're important.
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This planet is no more! He has ceased to be! 'e's demoted and gone to meet 'is maker!'e's a stiff! Bereft of gravitational pull, 'e 'angs 'is 'ead in shame! 'is planetary processes are now 'istory! 'e's off the twig!'e's lost 'is title, 'e's shuffled off 'is planetariness, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir comets and icy objects!!
THIS IS AN EX-PLANET!!
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To Move or Not to Move

2006-08-28T14:01:00.000-04:00

A friend who is shifting cross-country to LA to start a new job was waiting for her moving truck to arrive only to discover in horror that the truck was soooo huge it could not turn into her street!! so another truck had to be booked, etc. while she guarded parking spaces with her dear life. i was woken up at 10 am on a Saturday to come over and give her company... and take on any jacks who wanted to evict us from the sidewalk. we hung out there for nearly 3.5 hrs on the sidewalk till the replacement truck arrived!! thank god it wasn't too hot. we munched on cereal, walnuts and figs. spent some good ol' quality time chatting about everything under the sun. it was just as well before she left and stuff... sniff sniff!!!
also met up with alpana and her family later in the evening and did the whole national mall walk.. another exhausting trek but it was fun hanging out with them, of course.
in other depressing moving news, i may have to start looking for a new place because my landlord just hiked up my rent. bah! and i may have to get a roommate this time. again. double bah!!