Sai Speak

Our songs

2011-04-19T20:41:00.006-04:00

(I am very tired this evening so please forgive my typos)

When you have spent a substantial portion of your adult life with someone, it is difficult to have to be on your own. It is almost like amputating your arm and then going about life without it. K was not just my arm but substantial portion of my emotional being. I have tried to be brave and deal with it but I have moments of complete despair. Songs trigger off tears and so do random memories. Sometimes I keep long hours at work. About a month ago, I left my workplace rather late and was thinking to myself that I should rush home as K would be waiting for me. I rush to my car to realize that I have an empty home to go to. It triggered off a whole set of emotions…sorrow, anger and despair. I cannot express the pain that went through my heart and goes through my being from time to time. It is like taking multiple sharp knives and slowly inserting them simultaneously all over my body. There is no injury or blood but just excruciating pain. I started crying to myself and asked randomly to no particular person; do you even care what is happening to me? That very moment, my radio played Beatles “And I love her”, which was one of our songs. Then it played a few other favorite bands of ours such as Bad Company, CCR, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, etc. My mood changed suddenly to reminiscing about the pleasant memories of our life together. Then suddenly it played Air Supply! From tears I burst out laughing.

When I was in my teens and early twenties, the time before K came into my life. I used to listen to Air Supply. Initially when K was wooing me, he would woo me with food and music. Of course I used to completely ignore him and blow him off. He would be persistent and offer to give my friends and me a ride up to Dadar train station from downtown area of Mumbai. Those of you, who live or have lived in Mumbai, will know how annoying it is to take public transportation during the peak hours. Therefore I would grudgingly go with them because I was too lazy to take the train by myself. I never sat next to K out of spite and would sit in the back seat. It didn’t matter to K as he used to look at this opportunity to strike a conversation with me. He later used to tease me about how I was an “ice maiden” that he had to thaw!

Anyway on our drive through the crazy Mumbai traffic, we used to always listen to the “Sundown show” on the FM radio. They always played great rock music. I remember gradually falling in love with K over the music. My friend, to poke fun at me, told K that I listened to Air Supply and burst out laughing. I had always put up a front of being such a serious professional that I dig mushy music was almost comical to K. I was annoyed as my friend blew my cover. One time they played Air Supply’s “Two less lonely people in the world.” The others started making fun of me, while K looked at me through the rear view mirror and smiled his mischievous smile. The smile was sort of making fun of my choice in music but rather lovingly and indulgently. I glared back at him determined to never take a ride with them and be made fun of. The next song on the radio was Beatles’ “And I love her.” My eyes met K’s through the rear view mirror and he gave me the sweetest smile. That smile melted my heart and that was the moment I fell in love with the love of my life! Today all I have are memories of the glorious time we spent together. I will always LOVE you my dearest K. You taught me what true love is all about!

Surviving K

2011-03-27T20:28:00.005-04:00

It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. That may be true however it is painful when death takes away the one you loved the most. I lost K, the love of my life, more than a month ago. I am devastated would be an understatement. However I thought to myself that life throws difficult circumstances at you. There are two options available, one is to get completely devastated and whither your life away while the other is to pick up the broken pieces of your life and move on. The former is easy while the latter is rather difficult. I have decided to choose the latter one. I have moments of complete despair interspersed with moments of love and hope. Most of all, I am trying to not lose track of my dreams. Tragedy took away the most important person of my life but nothing can take away the love we shared or the happy memories in this 14 year old marriage.

K died of sudden cardiac arrest. It was so shocking that I had a sense of calmness around me. K and I used to pray to Shakti and especially to Mahalakshmi. I have had tremendous faith in her. That fateful night after I called 911, in despair I was screaming for help and in anger said to her, “Do you even care about me and what I am going through?” That very moment an elderly woman walked towards me and asked me if I needed CPR. I asked her how did she know and she said that her daughter heard my screams. Anyway she came into my home and tried to revive K. The 911 team and first aid squad arrived and took K to the hospital. By that time I had come to terms with the fact that the love of my life may not come back to me. I had lost all my faith and was very angry. I even decided to leave Hinduism and convert to Buddhism to try to comprehend pain and suffering.

The other day as I was reliving the moments of that fateful night, I realized that this elderly woman came to my door walking. I don’t live in Manhattan but in suburban Jersey. What are the odds of people walking? Also the old lady claimed to be living two houses down but it has been more than a month since the tragedy but I have never seen her again! I then remembered that it is said that whenever Mahalakshmi comes to help her devotees, she comes in the form of an old woman! It reinstated my faith and the fact that K’s life on this planet was limited. All of us come with a plan and all of us have to leave. There is nothing we could do to change it. However K died in his own home and with the one who loved him. He died suddenly so it was not painful! I find comfort in that fact because I would not have wanted him to suffer indignities of being incapacitated.

K’s funeral was very intimate and very private. Hindu ceremonies are very morbid. I didn’t want K’s to be that way. I wanted the ceremony to celebrate his life. I had a ceremony with a priest, who actually has a PhD in Physics. It was true to K’s spirit as although he was a Hindu he didn’t believe in the ritualistic aspect of Hinduism. He was more spiritual. I would like to share the eulogy that I wrote for his funeral ceremony. It captures the gist of who K was as a person. The eulogy is as follows:

K’s name in Sanskrit means someone who sees beauty in everything. It also means someone who has beautiful eyes. Your eyes are a window to your soul. K’s eyes reflected the beauty in his soul.

K as all of you know was an exceptionally kind and generous person. He had such a calm and peaceful disposition that one always felt comforted in his aura. At least I did ever since I met him that day in December 1993. We met when I had just finished architecture school and had started working at his father’s ex-partner’s office. They say opposites attract and it was certainly true in our case. He was extremely shy and quiet while I just cannot shut up!

We became the closest friends. Actually we bonded over our mutual love for crossword puzzles that we would solve over the lunch hour. Most men woo their women with flowers and chocolates, K, however, did with food. K always encouraged and supported everything I did. He was a great son to his parents and a great brother to his siblings and cousins.

K was a second son to my parents after my older sister’s husband. My parents always said that they didn’t lose two daughters but gained two sons. K brought joy and happiness in our lives. He came suddenly in my life and left as suddenly on February 24, 2011. He brought joy and bliss for the 17 years that I knew him. He taught me what selfless love was all about so in many ways he guided me.

As all of you know he was reserved, however as some of you know he had a WICKED sense of humor. Therefore although my loss is irreplaceable, we must celebrate his life! K loved life too much and as his best friend Ganesh would agree, K would have said right now in a thick south Indian accent, “What to do? What to do? Enjoy only, no.”

Getting Spooked!

2011-02-19T21:31:00.009-05:00

While flipping through channels I happened to catch a program on Biography Channel on people’s real life encounter with ghosts. I am neither a believer nor a skeptic but have had at least two bizarre experiences that I think perhaps there is some truth to paranormal activities. My first experience was in the summer after we got married. My cousin’s client is a well known Indian jeweler. The jeweler had purchased a palace belonging to the Maharajah. This was the Maharajah’s weekend home and now was the jeweler’s. So the jeweler happened to mention to my cousin, that he could visit his weekend home anytime he wanted. My cousin decided to have a weekend family reunion at the jeweler’s place. So we were about six couples who went to the weekend home. Now we were NOT staying in the palace but the guest house near the palace.

The guest house was pretty large and could easily accommodate six families. Therefore my cousin decided that as K and I were newly weds, we would get the first floor portion of the guest house entirely to ourselves while the rest of them would be on the second floor. K and I were pleased with their generosity and thought that we would slip away, if we thought that my little nieces and nephews were annoying.

The architecture of the buildings in that estate was typical of Indian mansions and palaces from the 17^th and 18^th century. That place had history and you were reminded of it. I had told Kunal that every stone on that wall must have a story to tell. So we spent the day walking and exploring the area but returned to the guest house a little after 4 PM. I felt a heavy sensation in the home and so did K. We couldn’t explain this heaviness and attributed it to an old house. Both of us were skeptics so any paranormal activity was beyond our comprehension. We opened the windows to let in fresh air yet the heaviness in the air seemed to be there. The first floor of the guest house was huge with living area and sleeping quarters. It would have been a great romantic weekend if not for the heavy air that seemed to follow us around. We couldn’t stand being there so fled upstairs to be with the rest of the family. We spent the evening upstairs with the rest of the family. All of us laughing and joking and one of my cousin’s even made a comment about not freaking out if we saw a ghost. K and I just looked at each other. Anyway after dinner all of us sat chatting and exchanging stories and anecdotes. K and I had planned to slip out early but we just couldn’t leave our company. Both of us were uncomfortable to go downstairs and be there by ourselves. We however didn’t want to tell my cousins as we would then be a butt of their jokes. So anyway the evening progressed and everyone went to bed around 2 AM.

K and I went downstairs with a heavy heart. Both of us kept the lights on and tried to sleep. Both of us couldn’t fall asleep but soon drifted off to sleep. I was woken up by the loud howling of a dog. A few yards from the guest house were the servant’s quarters. The jeweler’s staff lived there. We noticed two Dobermans leashed to a tree. These dogs were acting rather weird and were howling in an eerie fashion. That completely freaked me out but still I didn’t want to wake K up. Invariably the howling woke K up as well. We were so nervous and just hugged each other. There was nothing romantic about that hug!

The worse experience was the bathroom. The bathroom was huge but when one walked into it, immediately one felt very claustrophobic. In fact I was so nervous to go to the bathroom by myself that I dragged K with me every time I wanted to use the bathroom. Anyway K woke up and wanted to use the bathroom. I actually was scared to be alone in the bedroom that I walked with him into the attached bath. It sounds silly and childish but to date there is no explanation as what and why the dogs were barking so eerily. Most importantly there is no explanation about the heaviness in the room and the feeling that we were continuously being watched. To break the nervousness I even made a joke to K that perhaps we were being watched from the other side's adult industry. It was the most bizarre night of our lives!

Anyway K and I couldn’t fall asleep and stayed up the whole night hugging each other. Neither did we hear anyone nor did we see any apparition. What we experienced was heaviness and complete discomfort. The next morning both of us looked awful. We got teased a lot by my cousins regarding our “staying up the whole night” but little did they know the true reason! I am not sure if they had any such experience but the fact is that we didn't stay on another night as originally planned...all of us just wanted to leave the place.

Perception and Reality

2011-01-29T19:37:00.014-05:00

When I started my architecture school I had a lot of trepidation. I was 17 almost 18 years old at that time and had heard my school, although one of the best in India had a reputation for being very bohemian. I led a very sheltered and protected life almost verging on being smothered by my very overbearing mother. I always had my own personality and was very independent but you always are led to believe that your mother knows the best. So on my first day in school, I was pretty nervous and intimidated. I believe that there is safety in numbers so I hung out with a bunch of girls to avoid getting hazed by the second year students. Hazing or “Ragging” as they called in India was a part of the process of being welcomed into professional schools across the country.

My school had a substantial student population from other parts of India so we had two distinct groups, one who was from Mumbai and the rest was from all over the country. I being very talkative and friendly and also being especially talkative when I am nervous went around introducing myself. At that time, across the room I saw a very tall dark guy looking lost and a little out of place. He didn’t look Indian and looked very African. I could sense that he was a little sad, lonely and looked a little lost. I thought I might introduce myself to him. So I walked up to him and said, “Hi I am Sai.” He said, “Hi my name is MM.” So I asked him which part of the world he belonged to and he replied that he was from one of the countries in East Africa. At that moment, two other women walked over and introduced themselves. We asked him a lot of questions and welcomed him to India and to feel free to ask us if he needed anything from us. I had never met a person from Africa before and I was fascinated by his culture. I remember asking him questions about his language, what his name meant etc. I am a xenophile so I was thrilled to meet someone who was from a different culture and nationality.

India is a very racist country and makes no apologies about it. An average Indian is complacent in his or her biases. One could attribute that to centuries of casteism and exclusionary behavior of Hindus. However I think the underlying reason is ignorance and fear based upon perception. I remember one of my classmates telling me after she saw me talking to MM that I should avoid talking to “that African guy as who knows what mischief he might be up to.” Then she said that I might get a reputation as being easy. I remember being livid and completely infuriated about people making assumptions based upon their ignorant perceptions. To date I have not been able to comprehend the fact that how do people develop these “reputations”?

After my fourth year and before beginning my final year architecture, I had gone to New Delhi with a bunch of classmates to conduct research for my final year thesis in the summer vacation. I was at the School of Architecture and Planning’s library in New Delhi when by chance I bumped into MM. He had come to New Delhi straight from his country's capital and didn’t know his classmates were there too. He was very happy to see me as he felt like he “saw family in this strange place.” At that time he told me that he might have to take a break of six months from school as his mother was diagnosed with cancer and he didn’t want to be far from home. I remember feeling terrible for him. He was going to be in Mumbai for a week and then fly back home. I came home to Mumbai and wanted to invite him to my place for dinner as I thought he must be missing his home. I asked my mother if I could invite him home. She asked me if I were inviting him with a group of other people. I said that there was no one around as it was summer vacation and that I wanted to just invite him alone. My mother, being the overprotective and overbearing parent that she was, said that she had no problem if he were coming in a group but didn’t want me to invite a guy just by himself! I told her that I thought she was being ridiculous. Then she said, “When you get married, invite him to your husband’s home.” That was the end of the argument. To date I cannot rationalize my mother’s reasoning! If I wanted to do something that she didn’t approve she would end the argument with “do that at your husband’s home.” I must say that I have married a great guy and have been able to do whatever I please at my "husband’s home”!

MM did come back to school and completed his final year with us. Upon completion of our graduation, MM was leaving India to go to London for a bit. I bumped into him on my way home from school. We were excited about graduating and were talking animatedly outside my school’s campus about our career goals and what we were planning to do. I was oblivious to the fact that people were staring at him and at me as well until some random person commented to me in Marathi, “Have all the Indian men died that a woman of your stature is talking to this African.” He actually used a derogatory word to describe my friend, which made my blood boil. This random comment was from a puny five foot tall man who looked barely literate. I was livid and almost wanted to smack this person across his face. MM was blissfully unaware, as he didn’t understand Marathi, and continued telling me about his future plans. I didn’t want him to know about this hateful comment so I did not show any emotion and continued talking to him. We planned to stay in touch but of course that never happened as life takes over. This was prior to the internet days when you really had to make an effort to stay in touch with people.

Years later, I read this article about racism in India as seen by an African-American PhD student staying in New Delhi for a bit. This article reminded me of this above incident. I remembered my classmate who was so young when he came to India. Recently thanks to Facebook and my alumni network, I renewed contacts with MM again. After living in the United States for the past ten years, I am more sensitive about a foreigner’s experience in my country. Therefore I asked MM to give me an honest opinion about India and if he enjoyed living in India. He said that he enjoyed his experience very much as all of his classmates were very supportive. He said that he always remembered me and three of my classmates as the ones who welcomed him on his first day. However outside this comfortable cocoon there were not many Indian people who were nice to him and it was based upon their negative perceptions about his continent and their people. As it is with all perceptions, it was far removed from reality. I suppose he decided to take that in his stride and enjoy his experience nevertheless. He has fond memories and considers India as his second home. He wants to return to India and travel to explore the country and to places that he couldn’t visit when he was living there. I suppose MM is a great person and also we were very protective of him so didn’t let him know the mean and hateful things some ignoramuses said about him.

I have to say that the author of the article is right when he concludes, “In most nations, the path of ending gender, race and class discrimination is unpaved. In India, this path is still rural and rocky as if this nation has not decided the road even worthy. It is a footpath that we are left to tread individually.”

Of Immigrants and Religion

2011-01-23T18:18:00.017-05:00

Yesterday K and I woke up early in the morning and stepped out to do our errands, which also included a doctor’s appointment. We recently changed our family doctor as I wanted a female doctor. Additionally, I wanted a doctor who was not only from India but trained in Mumbai. I was fortunate to find one, ahh the wonders of living in New Jersey! So being Ms. Chatty Kathy, I broke the ice by asking her which part of the City she belonged to. I was pleasantly surprised to know that not only did she grow up in the same neighborhood as K but that she was fluent in Marathi. Those of you who are bilingual will know how great it is to be able to go back and forth in several languages. K on the other hand is reserved and doesn’t like to indulge in small talk or chat with people, which also includes his doctor. So after she examined me, she examined K and spoke to him as if he were her long lost brother. Did I mention that they both belong to the same caste? K shot me a glare as I walked out of the examination room with a broad grin because he would be forced to now have a conversation with her which was not related to his check up. After we were done, we stopped by to eat breakfast at a South Indian place. By far I was enjoying my morning as I spoke my own language at the doctor's and was going for an Indian breakfast! Who says that I am homesick for Mumbai anymore????

K and I go there pretty often when we crave South Indian snacks and I know that the owner is a devout Hindu as the entire day they play CDs with Sanskrit chants set to Carnatic music. In fact NY Times has given rave reviews to this establishment but has commented that it is pretty orthodox that they don’t like people getting their own alcohol to the establishment. So I asked the guy if they were open for business. When he answered in the affirmative, I like a complete smart ass, said, “Today is your lucky day as you are starting your new day with me as your first customer. You know I am like Goddess Laxmi, I bring prosperity with my footsteps.” (To those who are not familiar with Indian culture, they say that women are to be venerated as they bring prosperity. Of course women’s rights in India are a totally different story!) I was only joking but those who are from India will know that there is superstition in India among Hindu merchants about “bohonie” (as they call in the pidgin Mumbai Hindi) or the first earnings for the day. Anyway the kitchen had barely opened but he did not want to turn us away as we were the first customers. While we were waiting to be served, he brought out the hottest soup that ever was. It felt great to soothe our throats in the cold weather.I started asking him questions about when he started this restaurant etc etc. He was first slightly embarrassed and said to me "I am not highly educated as you people are so you will probably judge me." I said, “No but I am curious so tell me.”

He was born in a small village near Udipi in Karnataka. People from Udipi, as a source of livelihood, started Udipi restaurants in Mumbai. This is the equivalent to fast food in the United States. Anyway so this person started earning a living for himself by cleaning tables at a Udipi restaurant in Mumbai as a young lad. He rose to wait on tables and then to manage restaurants. He saved enough money to come to the United States and when he came here 21 years ago, he decided to marry an American woman so he could live here legally by obtaining a green card. He then started his own restaurant and sponsored his extended family who have settled here and now own restaurants all over the country. He said that the one thing he misses the most in his life is the fact that he couldn’t obtain an education. He thought K and I would judge him but actually I don’t. He took whatever opportunity life gave him to make a better life for himself and his family. In many ways his devotion to religion makes sense, because perhaps he must have sought solace in the philosophy. I think the man came a long way from being an attendant at a roadside restaurant to owning one in the United States. Being Chatty Kathy I continued telling him stories about K and my road trip to remote villages in Karnataka and the amazing vegetarian food we had there years ago. So at the end of the breakfast, K asked for the check.

He said that he was not going to take money from us as he felt that I was indeed Laxmi. I was thoroughly embarrassed by this and K was infuriated with me. K told the guy that he had provided a service and we should pay for it while glaring at me the entire time. Of course we walked out by quietly leaving a 60% tip. Still I felt like I cheated him as I was being completely facetious when I said that I was like Laxmi. I was teasing him about his devotion. To be honest, I practice Hinduism as well. I know Sanskrit, chant prayers every morning and also follow certain Hindu customs which are such a part of my so called “good Hindu upbringing.” That being said, my beliefs are very private that no one except my family and closest friends know it. I tend to make fun, albeit subtly, of those who wear their beliefs on their sleeve. For example a couple of years ago, I was working with a very religious coworker, a holy roller if you will. He always spoke about his christian beliefs (almost proselytizing) and when we become friends I used to tease him. Once he asked me, “you should ask yourself what Jesus or whoever is your Hindu Jesus would like you to do?” We were working late and it was almost 10 PM. I was tired and wanted to go home. So I had replied cockily, “I am sure Jesus wants me to go home, have a drink and sleep instead of talking about religion and faith.” So making fun of holy rollers comes very easily to me. However I have to be honest, this person’s naiveté and strong beliefs made me feel awful about my own cynicism.

Loss and Relationships

2011-01-16T19:33:00.012-05:00

As always I had called to speak to my parent’s on Friday night. It was Saturday morning in India. From the tone of my mother’s voice I realized that something was wrong.. She however was assuring me that everything was fine. I goaded her until she finally told me that she had terrible news for me. I asked if she, my father and my sisters were all right. She assured me that they were fine but that my cousin who was in his mid thirties had passed on. It was my father’s older brother’s child. In fact my father’s older brother himself passed on when this child was a toddler.

My father’s family is very close knit and it includes the extended family as well. I have vague memories of my uncle as I was very young when he passed on. I do remember though that he was extremely mild mannered and the most gentle soul I ever knew. Unfortunately he was not as smart as my father. My father and his two cousins were overachievers and therefore were very successful. My uncle on the other hand barely finished high school and didn’t graduate from college. Unfortunately he made a lot of wrong decisions, which I remember used to pain my father. It was especially so as my father didn’t have his parents then. My father always tried to help him but somehow no matter how much you try to help others, it is unsuccessful unless the recipient takes it upon themselves to improve their life. When my uncle passed on, I remember how my father had cried to mourn the loss of his loved one. He must have thought that he was alone but he wasn’t. I, being very nosy, had snooped and was shocked to see this display of raw emotion from a person who always internalizes his emotions. That incident is etched in my memory.

All through my life, I always felt affection for my uncle’s family. I always thought that this particular branch of my father’s family was cursed. After my uncle’s passing his widow didn’t keep in touch with us. My uncle was previously married but had lost his two wives and this was his third marriage. The children from his first two marriages kept in touch with us. They were much older than my sisters and I but we had established a strong bond with them. The children from this marriage however weren’t close to us at all. That being said, I feel really sorry for the mother who lost not only her husband but her child. It is tragic but none of her children survived. All of them went into adulthood and died one after the other. She has outlived all of them. I cannot but imagine what must be going through her mind!

The last time I saw this cousin was 20 years ago when my older sister got married. He was very artistic. He had very shyly showed me his painting and I was surprised to know that he was left handed like me! So there was a feeling of affection because we are of the same blood but no memory beyond this one. Yet I feel sad for the loss of life. I feel sad for the hardships that he endured in his short life. As per my Hindu beliefs I do realize that it is everyone’s karma. They say that when you are born, it is predetermined as to what your life is going to be. However I believe in the law of probability that nothing is set in stone. Life gives you options and you make those choices. The choices you make and the end results is what your destiny eventually turns out to be. I think fate cruelly took away this life even before he got to live it.

I would like to end this post by quoting two verses or couplets (called shlokas in Sanskrit ; the liturgical language of Hinduism and Buddhism) from the Bhagavad Gita related to death:

"The soul is never born nor dies at any time. Soul has not come into being, does not come into being, and will not come into being. Soul is unborn, eternal, ever-existing and primeval. Soul is not slain when the body is slain."

"As a human being puts on new garments, giving up old ones, the soul similarly accepts new material bodies, giving up the old and useless ones."

Nailing Thai

2010-08-18T20:30:00.017-04:00

Before you accuse me of nailing some Thai guy…let me specify that I mean the elusive Thai cuisine. As I had blogged here and here, I absolutely love Thai food. To me, savoring Thai red curry is pure ecstasy. I had made several attempts to try this at home. Although the results were satisfactory, I was not pleased at all. I wanted to nail the exact flavor as you get in a good Thai restaurant. Every time I went for dinner, I would savor every morsel and try to discern individual flavors and make mental notes. Flavors rendered to a dish due to ingredients such as lemon grass are easy to discern. It is extremely difficult to discern other subtle flavors and ingredients that are not common to Indian or western cuisine. One should also have proper recipes along with some explanation regarding the procedure.

Last week my coworker who is a gourmand told me about her unsuccessful attempt at Thai food. She thought that as an Indian and more eastern than she, an American with very a Waspy background, would be able to give her pointers. I told her that although my preparations are edible, I haven’t been able to nail the exact flavor. She came to work with fresh Thai basil from her garden along with lemongrass and handed them to me. She said that they could be of use to me. I took the ingredients with me and decided that I would once again attempt Pad Thai and Thai red curry over the course of the weekend.

I informed K about my plans, who was pleased as a punch and refrigerated a bottle of Reisling for us. The recipe for Pad Thai calls for rice noodles. I cooked it the way I would cook egg noodles or pasta, BAD IDEA! Rice noodles disintegrate fast and less is more in this case. So the dish was a big flop. I aborted my plans to attempt the red curry and drowned my sorrows in the Riesling. K said that I was being too hard on myself and that I should accept that Thai is not my cup of Thai iced tea!

The one thing I will not accept is defeat. I mentioned that to K. K’s response was that if we have access to great Thai restaurants why on earth would I torture myself to try all these dishes from scratch? K will never be able to understand the artistic pleasure I derive from my culinary endeavors. Yesterday I was in a great mood and decided to try one more time Thai Red curry and Pad Thai for dinner. On my way from work I stopped by at the Chinese store to get all the authentic ingredients. I do realize that there is a difference between Thai and Chinese cuisine, but this store is a one-stop shop for all things Asian! I was trying to locate red chili peppers. I approached one of the store workers and asked him in English, “Please can you tell me where I can get chili peppers?” The guy kept on staring at me and then said, “No English.” I saw a Chinese shopper in the aisle and requested him, “Please can you ask him on my behalf?” The Chinese man looked at me and responded in Hindi, “Do you think he understands Hindi?” I looked at the man completely embarrassed, as I guessed that he was either from Nepal or the eastern states of India that border China! I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me! I blushed and apologized and ran to the cashier with the store worker running after me. He asked rapidly in Mandarin (I am guessing, could have been Cantonese) and the cashier said matter of factly to me “Go Aisle 3.” It sounded more like a football warcry, similar to "Go Blue!"...who knows perhaps she was preparing in anticipation of the football season. The Nepalese or Eastern Indian guy was grinning from ear to ear. I just hope I never see the guy again.

I came home and made myself a coconut mojito and started cooking. You know ingredients are important but what is far more important is the procedure. I have to thank my mother for this, because my previous attempts at making Thai curry I heated oil in the wok. My mom advised that I should cook in coconut milk without oil. This was an invaluable word of advice as that was the procedure which gave it the flavor I was looking for. Also typical to Indian food, I would grind lemongrass in my red paste. That made the paste very stringy. My mother advised that I should tie a bunch of lemongrass stalks with a string and insert it in the wok and let it sit during the course of cooking the thai red curry dish. Once the dish was cooked, to remove and discard the lemongrass before serving!

The preparation and cooking time was about two hours but the results were outstanding. I FINALLY NAILED IT!!!! I will share both the recipes tomorrow. Right now I have only the photographs that I took from my Blackberry to share.

Happy Independence Day

2010-08-15T08:53:00.008-04:00

It has been ten years today since I left my home to start my life in the United States. I chose to leave on my country’s Independence Day as it was very poignant to me. I was looking for my personal freedom to lead my life the way I want to; therefore leaving India on August 15^th made a lot of sense to me. The weeks prior to my departure day were rather hectic. I was wrapping up all my professional commitments before making this move. I had also fallen sick so was faced with challenges from all directions. I was very pre-occupied and didn’t have time to think. Therefore I did not realize that I am moving so far from home that I will not be able to see my family and most importantly my spouse for a pretty long time. At that time my frustration with situations in my life was so overwhelming that this really didn’t seem to matter to me.

Due to my illness, I was convalescing at my parents home so I was not able to see K for a very long time. In the interim K was helping me organize stuff and would always tease me, “You will meet new people and forget about me. Perhaps even leave me?” I would laugh at him and joke, “Yes that is my plan…to go there to get away from you!” My mind was so occupied with unfinished tasks that I did not take a moment to realize that I was not only being insensitive in my smart aleck comments but the truth of the matter was that I would miss K too.

Ten years ago airport security in India was not as crazy as today but definitely far more stringent than pre-September 11 America. That particular day however it was worse than the security that we have today. The day being our Independence Day, there was a terrorist bomb scare at Mumbai’s International Airport. My flight was supposed to depart at 1:45AM but knowing the crowd we decided to be there at least three and a half hours before departure. As soon as we reached there, we were told that only the person traveling could go in the lobby. Anyone accompanying would have to leave. So that was it for K and me! That moment it hit me hard that I was actually not going to see K for at least a year. He had promised to visit at the end of the academic year. He couldn’t make it during Christmas and I was not sure if I would be able to as well. That very moment I had tears in my eyes as I realized I had grown to be so attached and dependent on K in our three odd years of married life. K laughed and said, “Are those tears of joy as you are happy to get away from me.” Must say, it was not a great time to make such jokes as upon hearing that comment the tears kept streaming down relentlessly.

I asked K if we should request the cops to let him stay for an hour till I left for my security check etc. K looked at me as if I had completely lost my mind. I was a woman on a mission and completely irrational. Therefore I walked up to the cops and asked them in Marathi, “I heard you are not allowing anyone except those with valid tickets to go in. Is that correct?” The person said, “Yes.” I showed the person my paper work and said, “This is my husband and I won’t see him for a year. Would you mind, if he sat with me for at least an hour till I leave.” The cop looked at his supervisor for an answer. Then I read the supervisor’s name and said that I was a fellow Maharashtrian and probably of the same caste as him…then I again requested if he could let him sit with me. My caste and ethnicity card totally worked in this instance. The supervisor reluctantly agreed and said, “I might lose my job for this but I can understand how difficult it is for you. Yes, I will allow him but you will have to be within our sight.” So K and I sat in the lobby under the watchful eyes of the cops and within their earshot. K thought it was ridiculous as being a very shy person; this made him extremely self conscious. We sat there for an hour holding hands and not speaking to each other. Our marriage was fairly new…only three years and few months old so we realized that it was a trying time for both of us. However we didn’t let such negative thoughts bother us. Today it has been ten years since I came here and sixty three years since India made her Tryst with Destiny as blogged here. My road in our new adopted country has had its bumps but K and I have been together dealing with it.

Of Limca, lost and found

2010-08-10T20:12:00.015-04:00

The past weekend was excellent weather-wise. Today, however, it was hot. Hot summers remind me of India in April and May, prior to the onset of monsoon and invariably my childhood. Funnily today I was craving for Limca, a lime and lemon flavored soda that is so Indian. After India opened her markets in 1992, Coca Cola bought the company that produced this popular Indian soda. I have a childhood story attached to Limca.

My paternal side of the family is extremely close knit. We would go on vacations together and invariably do a lot of activities together. My father is very close to his cousins so our trips included our extended family as well. We would go on vacations and short weekend trips. My parents are polar opposites; my mother was and still is extremely protective while my father always let his kids be independent. I was a daddy’s girl and always used to follow my father like a shadow.

When I was around eight, my family went on a weekend trip to Lonavla, a popular destination in the mountains. While returning home, my father’s car broke down and we decided to leave it there and take a train back home. My entire extended family, including uncles, aunts and cousins decided to take a train from Lonavla back to Bombay (it was not called Mumbai then). I remember that we had to get off at Karjat, a major rail terminus and take a connecting local train to our respective destinations. Our group consisted of 20-25 people and we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves singing songs, laughing and joking.

Karjat is famous for its vada pav, which is a fast food dish native to my state. My parents were strict and did not like us to eat street food especially food that had zero nutrition. My uncle, however, decided that there were no rules on a Sunday, which is a fun day, and treated all of us to that. After we were done eating, all but my father and I, walked away. The reason was that yours truly wanted another Limca. While my father was paying for it, I smartly suggested that I would walk by myself to where the group was waiting. My father asked me if I knew where they were and I rather confidently said yes. It was on the same platform but in the opposite direction of the cafeteria and I thought I was smart enough to go there by myself.

Unbeknown to me, the station announced the platform from where the train would depart and the group left to go to the correct platform. So I walk out of the cafeteria and along the length of the platform, to find that my group had already left in the interim. I ran back to the cafeteria to find my father gone as well. Before you think my father is irresponsible, he thought that I had reached the group while my mother thought that I was with him. They were in for a rude shock when they didn’t find their second born in the group. Within minutes the platform was deserted and there was not a soul in sight!

Despite my bravado, I was still an eight year old child. I did what any eight-year old would do, which was burst into tears. Suddenly a crowd gathered around me asking me questions as to who I was, where I lived and if I were lost. In that crowd was a group of tribal people, the Bhils, who insisted on taking me to my parent’s home. I had not seen Bhils in my life before and to see strange people speaking a strange form of Hindi was scary. I barely understood Hindi then so started crying even louder. I have to say that a child’s instincts are rather good and I had paid attention when my mother used to teach us to not speak to strangers or take anything from them or go with them. Therefore I stayed glued to the ground bawling on top of my lungs. In all probability the whole town of Karjat might have heard me.

Suddenly in the commotion, which I had caused, I hear a gentle voice ask me in Marathi, “Do you know where you live child?” I look up to see a beautiful Maharashtrian woman with peaches and cream complexion and deep green eyes. She had no make up on and was dressed in a pretty cotton saree, mangalsutra and bindi (I must say the Wikipedia entry has another fellow Maharashtrian of course with a lot of make-up). She was with a boy, probably her son, who was around my age. I was shaking and between my sobs, I tell her that I know my parents address and my home phone number. She asked me if I knew how to get home from the train station, and I nodded my head in agreement. Then she gently asked me if I wanted to first come with her to the station's office as she was confident that my parents must be worried sick and must be looking for me. I calmed down and agreed to go with her, when I heard another gentle voice calling my name. It was none other than my mother! I leapt across the crowd into her arms. She hugged and kissed me and we ran towards our waiting group. In her excitement she forgot to thank the lady. When she realized that, she turned around but the kind lady had already left. My mother for a long time after that used to feel bad that she had not thanked her. You know this incident is etched in my memory, however I don't remember if I even drank the second limca or what happened to it after I got lost.

The course of events of my being lost and found probably occurred in less than five minutes; however it seemed like an eternity in my and my parent’s mind. When I got back to the group everyone was relived that I was safe and sound. When the tense moments subsided, everyone was back to enjoying themselves and did what any self respecting older cousins would do, which is make me a butt of their jokes. To date the nickname “Limca” has stuck on! It is a term of endearment now, but every landmark moment in my life has been, “Oh our Limca is getting married” or “Oh our Limca is going to pursue her graduate studies. Please don’t get lost in the US.” The cousin who helped me set up my apartment as blogged in the previous post, was part of that group then. True to the spirit of the Limca tradition, he made fun of me when I decided to drive to Chicago from Ann Arbor to spend my first Christmas with him! I am not certain about this but knowing my mother, I can safely say that my father must have been in the doghouse for a pretty longtime after this incident.

Bitter-Sweet memories

2010-08-03T13:42:00.006-04:00

Sometimes life puts challenges in front of you and you have to deal with those. If you succumb to the pressure and cannot deal with it then you are weak. The more you face them, the stronger you get. There is a proverb in Sanskrit that brass and gold both glisten, so what is the difference between the two? When put to test under intense heat, brass burns but gold becomes even brighter.

This month marks my ten years in this country. I came to the United States in August 2000 to pursue my graduate studies at the University of Michigan. In my mind this year was a breakthrough, as for the first time in my life I realized my self-worth. When I came here, I was an architect who had practiced for a few years and I was a wife. Most importantly I was extremely attached to my family so it was difficult for me to leave them along with my husband in India. Yes, it was my ambition to pursue further education but I was also facing some difficulties in India. It has been ten years and I have moved on so I will not use this blog for anything negative.

Sustaining a happy and healthy marriage is always work in progress. Sometimes you have your great days and many other times you don’t. K and I have been together for many years. Today I would say our relationship has reached a level of understanding, mutual respect and comfort. This period of separation, I would say, was the most trying period of our life. I have saved all the emails that we have exchanged and I read them from time to time. They remind me of the hardships and the uncertainties we faced then. Most importantly they remind me of how our mutual respect and trust helped us sustain this relationship! There are times when I get very annoyed with K, and reading those emails makes me realize how valuable his presence is in my life.

I came here sometime in August 2000 and started rooming with two other women. K had warned me about sharing an apartment with strangers as I had not done that before and it is especially difficult if one is married and has had her own home. I didn’t want to live alone in a foreign country and preferred Indian roommates because of the shared ethnicity. NOT A GREAT IDEA! Within two days I realized that I was so naïve and lived such a sheltered life in India. I used to miss K a lot and felt very insecure that he might just leave me. I wanted to go back to India and hold on to my life there. I had such conflicting emotions, on one hand I wanted to realize my dreams, but on the other I wanted to hold on to my personal life as well. This was before Skype and Reliance India service so it was expensive communicating with him in India. We still managed to speak three to four times a week.

My cousin and his wife, who live in Chicago, took it upon themselves to help me set up the apartment. I showed them around the beautiful campus. My cousin’s wife, a Ph.D in Physics and a stay at home mom at that time, realized how sad and lonely I looked. She advised that I should enjoy being a student again as very few Indian women, especially married ones, got such an opportunity. She said that not everyone had supportive spouses like I did. Actually that statement made it worse for me as it fed on my insecurity that my supportive spouse could potentially leave me…out of sight and out of mind!

My cousin’s family and I had a picnic at Gallup Park, which is Ann Arbor’s most popular recreation area. My cousin’s mother, i.e. my father’s brother’s widow, was visiting from India so was with us as well. My uncle had passed on a few months prior to that. After lunch my cousin and his wife took the kids bike riding while I sat with my aunt quietly enjoying the bucolic landscape. She asked me how I was faring and I said I was well but missed India and K. Suddenly she burst into tears and I held her close. She is a lady of few words but I realized that she must be missing my late uncle. The last time she was here, he was with her and now she was alone. That is the time I realized that although K and I were separated by two continents and a 10.5 hour difference we were still able to communicate with each other. For the first time I realized how difficult it must have been for her to be alone after 40 odd years of togetherness. My trepidations and worries seemed so trivial then. I realized that I was indeed given an opportunity to do what I wanted to do and that I should make the most out of it instead of imagining the worst! It is weird that I am writing about this now. It is just that I happened to read one of my old emails and all these memories came flooding back.

My Jersey Biases

2010-08-02T20:35:00.024-04:00

(I am very tired, so all you grammar nazis please forgive my typos and grammatical errors, if any.)

Last week was very hectic and intense for me professionally. The weekend before the last was hardly a weekend as I worked for 12 hours that Sunday. I had a deadline this past Friday and I was so paranoid about not meeting it that I worked on a Sunday. The religion of books say that even God rested on Sunday, but being a Hindu I can say that mine does not! Of course they say that it took six days to create the world but I believe in evolution, so why even discuss this. Thank God I don’t belong to the Bible belt because both my color and beliefs could have made me an easy target. I am not sure, just painting everything with a broad brush of generalization. Besides Bobby Jindal, a fellow desi is the Governor of Louisiana, so I am just being silly here. Those who think I am offensive, please stop reading now because its going to get even worse in the following sections.

When I moved to the great state of New Jersey from Michigan, my idea of the state was the industrial landscape of northern Jersey. I was really disappointed to move to Jersey after living in a great town like Ann Arbor. However now that I am here, I have come to appreciate it a lot. Besides I live in a very nice part of New Jersey so the varied landscape came as a pleasant surprise to me. However I had no idea that South Jersey was a different country altogether.

I am always nervous of my olive skin whenever I go to South Jersey, the home of the Pinelands and the Jersey devil. There is a reason for that. When I first moved to Jersey, I had asked my friend who along with his significant other participates in Triathlons about biking in the Pinelands. He looked at me incredulously and said, “You can go but if you hear banjo playing the background….keep pedaling and fast.” For those of you who don’t know or haven't followed the popular culture reference, he was alluding to the movie Deliverance.

Few years ago, I had to go on a site visit to a town in the Pinelands. I was very nervous about it. I was talking to K while I was in my car and expressed my trepidation. He said that I was completely paranoid. As long as I was there at daytime, he couldn’t see an issue with it. I kept the engine running the entire time so I could get the hell out of there if things got bad. I am concerned about the environment and hate those who keep engines idling, but then I want to be alive to enjoy the green earth so I made an exception here. I drove within the site boundaries and sat in the car taking notes. While I was minding my own business, a woman with a mullet and a flannel shirt came up to my window and tapped it. I was startled and jumped up. I roll ed down the window and greeted in my fake Jersey accent, “How you doin’?” She asked me what “youzz doin’ in these parts.” I said that I was there on behalf of *My company* . She said that “youzz people from college with your fancy degrees come in and tell us what to do.” I was nervous and K who was listening to the conversation was somewhat nervous as well. I responded rather calmly, “I ain’t got no fancy degree. I hear youzz…them rich people don’t know nothin’.” She replied, “damn right they don’t.” She smiled a toothless grin and yelled at her six kids, “Don’t y’all harass that nice lady.” NARROW ESCAPE! I thought that she might call me a “damn Benny” with my fake North Jersey accent. Thankfully I was left alone and continued what I sought to do. A few minutes later, as I was pulling out, a shirtless guy with man boobs and a paunch started running towards my car. I had no interest in engaging in a conversation with him so hit on the gas and got the hell out of there. For some reason he reminded me, paranoia personified, of the movie Deliverance. In case you are curious... NO…I don’t play no banjo and I ain't gonna squeal like no pig!

When I went back to work the next morning, I repeated this conversation to my colleagues who were in splits. I was informed that once upon a time KKK was rather active there. Sure enough I ain’t going to no such town anywhere in the United States unless I have my favorite Shiv Sainiks or Bajrang Dal with me! (For you non-desis, these are far-right wing Indian factions. Before you stop visiting my blog...please I am only kidding!) The moral of the story is that there are crazy people everywhere in the world.

Manoj: Telemarketer Elite - Short Film

2010-07-24T18:20:00.002-04:00

This is hilarious! How many of us here in the United States get calls from a "Matt" who sounds more like a "Manoj"....I got this from my friend Lotus. I couldn't stop laughing. Next time someone from my country calls you...this clip will provide you some comic relief. Instead of getting annoyed you might just smile!

Like we say, "Vee are like this onnly...absolutely and pproximately!"

Summer Salads

2010-07-19T19:11:00.023-04:00

This pic was taken by K.

We absolutely love seafood. Until I came to the United States, I had not had squid (calamari) and until I moved to Jersey I had not had Italian seafood salad. There is an Italian restaurant, delicatessen and market near my workplace where they sell the most delectable Italiano fare. The other plus point is the eye candy at the store. Nothing is easy on the eye than a tall, good looking Italian guy and I don't mean the New Jersey kind but the ones from the old country. If anyone is offended, I can only flex my non-existent muscles and respond like any self respecting person from Jersey would... "ehh you got a problem with that?"

Anyway I digress, so this particular place serves the most amazing soups and sea food salad. I love to eat but there are certain foods that I consider "comfort food." Most of them are Indian ones like samosa, vada pav, jalebi etc. Apart from the Indian fare, I would consider pasta fagioli soup and Italian sea food salad as my two other comfort foods. So my favorite Italian restaurant makes the most delectable seafood salad.

Contrary to what my Indian palate would dictate, I love cold soups and salads in the summer. Therefore I ignore the layer of oil and bravely order the seafood salad. Whole foods serves this salad as well but it is not as good as the one that I like. Anyway I tried to discern the flavors and came up with the following recipe, which closely mimics the one from my deli. I am pleased with the outcome and therefore will like to share it on this blog. Of course now that I have nailed the flavor, the deli hold no attraction for me except for the eye candy (just kidding!). Besides I can achieve this in a comparatively low fat fashion.

SEAFOOD SALAD

Ingredients

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 pound cleaned calamari rings and tentacles
1 pound cooked shrimp (I cooked and cleaned it at home instead of getting the frozen one to retain the flavor)
1 teaspoon salt, divided
1/4 teaspoon pepper, divided
1/4 cup chopped oregano
1 rib finely chopped celery
1/2 cup thinly sliced red bell pepper
1/2 cup thinly sliced green bell pepper
1/2 cup thinly sliced red onions
1/4 cup lemon juice
1/4 cup red wine vinegar

Method

Heat 1 1/2 tablespoons of the oil with the garlic and in a large skillet over medium heat until the garlic begins to lightly brown. Increase the heat to high and add calamari rings (you can add the tentacles but that grosses me out) to the hot skillet and cook until tender and opaque, about three (3) minutes. Set a timer to 3 minutes because anything beyond that and the calamari will turn chewy! Transfer to a bowl and season the calamari with half of the salt and pepper.

While the calamari is still warm, mix in the remaining olive oil and salt and pepper along with the cooked and cooled shrimp, celery, oregano, peppers, onions and lemon juice, red wine vinegar and olive oil. Toss together well.

Although the salad can be served immediately, I would recommend refrigerating it for at least an hour as the flavors develop as it sits. Therefore if not serving right away, cover and refrigerate until serving time.

Tip to cook shrimp

I recommend deveining the shrimp, while the shell is on. For that I made a small cut on the shell with a sharp knife and deveined it. I prefer retaining the shell along with the head, to maximize the flavor.

In large pot add water, salt to taste and juice of one lemon. Bring your water(4-6 cups of water per pound of shrimp) to a full boil. Once your water has come to a full rolling boil, add your shrimp (with the shell on) and stir to separate them. Cover with lid. The shrimp should cook in 6 to 8 minutes (for large variety). Turn off your stove burner and let sit. When cooked remove from the stove and drain in a colander, then dump your shrimp into ice water to stop the cooking. Stir the shrimp around in the ice water to make sure they all get cooled. Then remove the shells, while retaining a portion at the tail for aesthetics and flavor.

AMONG OTHER THINGS

After almost 17 years since its publication, I got a copy of Vikram Seth's "A suitable boy" and will start reading it soon. I had put a hold on it at my library. This evening I went to get it. The woman at the checkout counter reminded me of the librarian in that famous Seinfeld episode of the lost book and George getting a wedgie. Anyway she looked at the book and said, "Did you know this is a great book and a best seller?" I looked at her incredulously and replied, "Really I had no idea, I just love to read books that exceed 1,400 pages." I know...I can be quite a biyatch sometimes!

Is ethnicity an essential ingredient in successful relationships?

2010-07-13T13:13:00.021-04:00

Yesterday I had dinner with one of my very dear friends; let’s call her “A.” A is of Indian descent but was born and raised here in the United States. Her parents moved to the United States in the 60s, so left behind an image or their idea of India. India, however, has progressed by leaps and bounds since the 1960s; therefore their idea of the subcontinent seems so obsolete today. She is very fluent in Marathi but her speech is more reflective of her parents’ generation than hers! Her parents are her connection to India and all things Indian. She speaks chaste Marathi and it is comical when she uses words that are so reflective of my parent’s generation in her very American accent!

She has an MBA in Finance from one of the top business schools in the US. She lives on the West Coast and was here for two business meetings, one in Philly and the other in NYC. In between those meetings she found time to have dinner with yours truly. There is nothing like hanging out with your girlfriends and having great conversations. She is still single, which is quite a huge deal in the Indian community. Now no matter how liberal ones parents are and no matter how independent one is, they still want their children to get married within the set parameters. Risking broad generalization I would like to add that with Indian parents it is usually a “nice Indian boy or a girl” in their twenties. This then transforms to pleas of “please get married” when the children cross into their mid thirties.

Yesterday she mentioned to me about how her parents tried to set her up with some friend’s son and she was regaling me with stories of their very disastrous first date! She was complaining about not meeting the right kind of a guy. She was on the various Indian dating websites and she was thoroughly disappointed with the kind of men she was meeting. Her biggest peeve was most of the American born Indian men that she met were so bloody confused about their identity that it annoyed her to no end. According to her they try too hard to not associate with anything related to their parents culture. Additionally, quite a few of them were looking for action while she is looking for commitment. The Indian born and raised men, especially in her field of finance, are incredibly smart but socially retarded! I couldn’t but laugh at her broad generalization and told her so.

She then told me about how her mother took her to one of the social gatherings during this business trip in the hope that she could “arrange” a match for my friend. She relayed her mother's exact words while introducing her to the group. The words reflected the so called subservience that was traditionally expected from a girl child’s parents in a patriarchal society. It took me to the time when I had just finished architecture and my mother wanted to get me married. This was the time before I met and fell in love with K. My mother had a very different tone when she would try to set me up. When I used to protest, my mother said that she has to play this game and that I will never understand. I used to always get annoyed because I felt that I was as smart and educated as the guys she was trying to set me up with. If a guy as smart as I is considered a “catch” then why am I not the same? Today I am far more independent than I was then and I still don’t understand the logic. It is inconceivable for me to be subjected to something like my friend.

My friend is a very successful professional. In fact her earnings alone must have qualified her for the special tax breaks during the Bush era. Now if she were a man, then she would be considered a “catch." Perhaps many women would have wanted to be the trophy wife! Why is that rule not applicable to successful men? She is extremely bright, very attractive and very nice person but most men get intimidated by her success.

She has dated American guys in the past but she always felt that they never quite understood the Indian culture. Therefore she wants to marry someone who is from India or whose parents are from India. She is well traveled and very cosmopolitan in her outlook that this really surprised me. What is her idea of Indian culture? I never viewed her as an Indian but as my American friend because that is who she is. Apart from the United States, she has lived in London and Zurich; therefore she has never lived in India. Her idea of India is based upon her childhood summers in the country. The last time she was in India was three years ago. What is Indian about her except her name and skin tone? In fact a few of my friends from India have American spouses and very successful relationships. Therefore I do not agree that ethnicity is a necessary ingredient to make the perfect relationship dish!

Tinariwen, Assouf

2010-07-11T11:34:00.002-04:00

One of my very dear friends introduced me to this track. The first time I heard it, it completely captivated me. I was transformed to a world far removed from my reality or what my understanding of the world is. Luckily the video has english subtitles so I could understand the lyrics. I am not sure but I am guessing that this is a Sufi song, where love could be the love of divinity. The strings are heavenly, I have downloaded this from iTunes.

Maharanis: Not a Book Review

2009-08-21T20:54:00.015-04:00

A few weeks ago I happened to learn that Rajmata Gayatri Devi, the dowager Maharani of the erstwhile princely state of Jaipur, passed on at a ripe old age of 90. She was acclaimed for her beauty and her charity work. I, of course, came to know of her existence by serendipity. I was 12 years old then and was down with measles. I had had to miss a fortnight of school and was confined to my bed, which was quite an annoyance for my hyper energetic personality. One afternoon, my mother, handed me a copy of "A Princess Remembers," which are the memoirs of Maharani Gayatri Devi. I remember being struck by her beauty and completely enraptured by her life. Therefore in my mind, I associate the personality with the book that had fascinated the imagination of a young girl on the threshold of puberty. Years later, a month before leaving to come to the United States, I fell ill. I was married then but still wanted to convalesce at my parent's home. Therefore for three weeks I was staying with my parents. One afternoon, I stumbled across this forgotten book and picked it up to read it. As an adult I read the book and could discern that it was a sugar coated, one sided account of her life as she saw it. Clearly it wasn't a very objective account as she had tried to present the darker side in the best possible light. Of course one would attribute it to her grace and dignity rather than viewing life through rose-tinted glasses.

I have been wanting to read "Maharanis" by Lucy Moore since a very long time. Finally I got around to reading it. To me this was a third person account of their lives therefore would be objective. This book traces the life of Maharani Gayatri Devi, her mother and her two grandmothers. It is a fascinating story of four extraordinary women who lived their lives during the waning years of the British Empire and the Indian Princely States. It is a wellknown fact that Gayatri Devi's grandfather the Maharajah of Baroda was a great man who worked for betterment of his subjects and reforming his state. He was a fierce critic of the British and has always been hailed as a nationalist. He was one of the few, if not the only, ruler of a princely state to openly support the Indian National Congress. Unlike his contemporaries he was not given to leading a licentious life full of excesses. His daughter, Gayatri Devi's mother, became a widow at thirty. However, contrary to Indian societal norms, she did not resign to living an austere life of a widow but instead ruled on behalf of her minor son. She was in fact a merry widow nicknamed by her friends as Maharani of couche partout a parodized version of her title Maharani of Cooch Behar. It also speaks about her two grandmothers, Chimnabai of Baroda and Sunity Devi of Cooch Behar who are potrayed as strong women. They strived for women's education and emancipation. They were married to men different in character, the former was married to Sayaji a nationalist and faithful man (a rarity in that class), while Nripendra an overt Anglophile with a roving eye. The Baroda and Cooch Behar prince and princesses were educated abroad, the sons apparently did not possess strength of character and were given to alcoholism while the daughters were strong and wilful. Gayatri Devi became the third wife of the Maharajah of Jaipur, a handsome polo player whose first two wives were political alliances. She marries him for love and grows from a young girl in awe of her husband's larger than life personna to becoming a politican and celebrity in her own right.

It is full of anecdotes as well as historic accounts of the current events occuring simultaneously in India's struggle for freedom. It highlights the fact that how British used the princely states for their machinations to spread and continue their imperial power over the subcontinent, and completely disregarded the princely states during the process of transferring power to India.

It is an interesting account of these four extraordinary women who broke the tradition of purdah (being veiled and not seen in public) and used their position to better the lives of the less privileged. Their lives were extraordinary with immense luxury juxtaposed with harsh reality and tragedies that really made them human. They experienced extreme joy along with such tragic events. One would think that such a position of priviledge made the male members ill-equipped to deal with the sea of change that was occuring within the Indian subcontinent. Those who follow Indian history must be well aware of the horrors of Emergency and the dark period of Indira Gandhi's rule in which democratic values were held to ransom. This book reveals that aspect as experienced by Gayatri Devi who was then into active politics and in opposition to Mrs. Gandhi. These two women, born into priviledged backgrounds, two years apart and studied together in Shantiniketan, had a strong dislike for each other. However they were bound by the tragic events that occured in their lives. When Mrs. Gandhi lost her son to an airplane accident, Gayatri Devi with all her grace and dignity called her to offer her condolences, which were not accepted by Mrs. Gandhi. It speaks volumes about their individual personalities; grace of one and the petty-minded behavior of the other.

This book traverses across three centuries; the nineteenth, twentieth and the beginning of the twenty-first,and chronologically traces the lives of these four extraordinary women and their families. This book is an interesting read, however it is not a testament to feminism. These women were in privileged positions and were therefore an exception than the norm. The majority of women in the country did not afford the luxury of freedom of choice.

Random Rant

2009-07-26T00:04:00.009-04:00

This summer I have been planning to catch up on my reading. I get a feeling that I am regressing and that my brain is atrophying because the only reading I do is related to my work. The only writing that I have done is very technical and related to my work. When I emailed from work to my spouse the other day, I began by writing "Pursuant to our conversation, attached please find....," and almost ended it with the cursory, "Your truly." This caused me to wake up from my reverie and realize that I am turning into a robot. I feel like my vocabulary is almost non-existent these days. I don't believe that I am turning into Paris Hilton by describing everything as "That's Hot." Fortunately, I have not yet started using "like" to fill in the void left by my atrophying brain and inadequate vocabulary limiting my articulation. However I feel that I should spend my evening rather constructively by reading than vegetating on the couch.

I decided to proactively address this and therefore made a trip to the library and borrowed a few books. In addition, I requested via interlibrary loaning services some non-fiction books that were on my to-read list but weren't been tackled due to procrastination. As soon as I got home with a stack of books, I started reading them. I spent a quiet evening in the park, lazing by the lake and reading for a two to three hours. Life was perfect until Monday morning two weeks ago. I have been swamped with deadlines and I am back to work related reading, which has now extended on to the weekends as well. My only wish is that soon I shall be able to deal with my overwhelming deadlines and get back to catch up on my reading. Until then my blog entries will continue to be very technical and uninspiring….that is what I am doomed for…a life of mundane existence.

I am back.....

2009-07-22T20:53:00.002-04:00

After a few months of hiatus and completely escaping from the blogosphere...I am back. I missed coming home and writing minutiae of my mundane existence. Anyway I missed interacting with my other blogger friends and the wonderful conversations that we used to have. Of course out of all my blogger buddies two of them actually became my “friends” on facebook. So overall it has been a great experience and I want to continue that.

Happy New Year

2009-01-02T22:49:00.003-05:00

It has been a very long time since I wrote on this space. It is getting very difficult to sit down and write. However, I don't want to bid adieu yet as I find it very difficult to let go. I have grown to love this blog and all the wonderful bloggers that I met on this platform. From my end, it has been my work and commute that is making it practically impossible to sit down and write. Therefore here is wishing you all a very happy 2009! Hopefully I shall be able to start blogging and interacting through this medium.

Movie Jodhaa Akbar

2008-04-06T14:29:00.014-04:00

So I finally saw Jodhaa Akbar last evening. Everyone that I have been speaking to have been raving about this movie and how it is a "must see." I am not a fan of Aishwarya Rai and really don't care much about Hrithik Roshan except for the fact that he is serious eye-candy. I had seen his debut movie "Kaho na Pyaar Hain" in India quite by chance on cable in early 2000. At that time I was living in India and had a total disdain for "masala" movies. K's parents have a couple who works for them and also lives with them. This couple had (probably still do) a tradition on Friday evenings, which was to collect their friends and watch the latest Bollywood movies on Cable in K's parent's home. K and I along with his parents would escape on Friday evenings to their weekend home by the Arabian Sea therefore the couple would have their weekend off to do whatever they pleased. One particular Friday evening, K and I stayed back in Mumbai and returned home after midnight to see the group completely hypnotized and glued to the screen. I was curious to see what they were watching with such rapt attention, to notice a very handsome guy dancing the typical Bollywood dance moves on screen. It held my attention and I asked them, "Who is he?" So I must confess that I watched "Kaho Na Pyaar Hain" mainly for the eye-candy factor that is Hrithik Roshan. Anyway that was more than eight years ago and that movie was a huge hit in India then.

So coming to 2008 and “Jodha Akbar,” K and I wanted to see the movie "Married Life." I was on the internet checking the timings for the movie in local theatres when I noticed that the multiplex on Route 1 in North Brunswick was playing "Jodha Akbar." I asked K if he wanted to see it and he replied that he didn't have the patience to suffer for three hours. I lied to him that Hindi films are always reduced to two hours to cater to the North American audience, to which he grudgingly agreed. Actually the movie is 3 hours 30 minutes long....so after two hours I saw K getting terribly bored and restless and giving me hateful looks. Despite its length, I thought it was a very entertaining movie.

I did not go to the theatre anticipating any substance and historic veracity....I went there for the entertainment value and I can say that the film guarantees that. The cinematography is excellent. The sets and costumes are opulent and the colors appeal to the senses. The music is not spectacular except for the Sufi song “Khwaja Mere Khwaja,” which is very spiritual. This particular track although with a classical base, has a very contemporary feel and beautifully captures the mood. I must say that Aishwarya was very good in this movie. Her acting was subdued and she has displayed maturity. As always she looked ethereal. The costumes and jewelry were opulent. It captures the grandeur of the Moghuls as well as the Rajputs. Hrithik looks phenomenal.

There is nothing intellectual about this movie and was definitely made for its commercial appeal yet the film has many positives. Given the communal tension in modern day Indian subcontinent and the negativity associated with the period of Moghul rule in India, this movie portrays and presents Akbar's rule in a rather positive light. It drives home the fact that it is secularism and religious pluralism that defines Indian society and is the cultural fabric defining modern day India. So those of you who can understand Hindi/Urdu and/or have interest in the Indian subcontinent, I would definitely recommend this film.

I am sharing the link of the song "Khwaja Mere Khwaja"....enjoy. I must say that A. R. Rahman has outdone himself in this score.

Kolhapur

2008-01-21T20:53:00.000-05:00

Kolhapur is a historic city nestled in southwesterly portion of Maharashtra. It is famous for its architecture, cuisine, footwear, jewelry and also has religious significance for Hindus. It houses the Mahalakshmi temple, which translates as the temple of the "Great Goddess of Wealth." This post is not Hinduism 101 so there will be no lesson in theosophy. This post will share photographs I had taken in Kolhapur two months ago.

The Mahalaksmi temple complex belongs, architecturally, to the Chalukya empire and probably built around 700AD. The Chalukyan empire ruled the central and southern part of India. What is interesting though is that the architectural style of the temple is not Dravidian, which is so characteristic of temples in the southern part of the country.

The above structure is located in the vicinity of the temple complex. I am not certain what the building is being used as. But one does get a feeling of being in a time warp.

This is a close-up of a gate in the vicinity of the temple complex. Don't miss the modern sign next to the traditional architecture.

This is a view from the other side. There is a clock on the facade and it actually works! It was indeed a little after 3PM that afternoon.

This is one of entrances into the temple complex. There are stores here selling ritualistic stuff and offerings to the Goddess. I was highly amused to see these two women sit right at the entrance and gossip.

The guy in the foreground is selling flowers to offer to the Goddess. He had a beautiful garland of lotuses.

The complex is strewn with tiny shops like these. I particularly loved the way this vendor had displayed his wares.

The pillar in the background holds oil lamps. When lit in the evening the sight must be spectacular.

This group of pillars also hold oil lamps.

The temple building. I totally dislike how they have painted the spires called "shikhar" in Sanskrit. It takes away the natural beauty of the building and its massing.

Another view of the temple structure and its vicinity.

JUNO

2008-01-05T11:39:00.000-05:00

I had taken a hiatus from the blogging world. I was in India during Thanksgiving break and returned a little before Christmas. I missed writing my random nonsense hence I am back to the blogosphere. Last evening K and I went to see the movie "Juno." Here is the review from New York Times. We went to the Princeton Garden Theatre in downtown Princeton. I prefer that to the multiplexes because it takes me back to my childhood and young adulthood and reminds me of the theatres back then, which was a more family experience than these crazy multiplexes with 24 movies playing at a time!

We enjoyed the movie thoroughly especially for a humorous take on a rather grim situation, which is teenage pregnancy. Neither does it have a high handed moralistic take on this situation nor does it trivialize it. I especially loved the humorous writing and dialogues. I love sarcastic humor and people who come with sarcastic and intelligent retorts make me laugh....hence I enjoyed it for that. On a deeper note the fact that a 16-year old girl is sexually active and gets impregnated by her 16-year old boy friend is very disturbing. What was more disturbing in the beginning of the movie was that her father and step-mother were totally unaware that she was sexually active? One would think that it is a highly dysfunctional family but then they rally around her and support her makes you tear up. Initially Juno seemed like a precocious teenager who irritates you but then you end up loving the character for the maturity she displays. You watch her grow from the cocky teenager into this mature young adult and find true love with the boy friend. She puts up her baby for adoption with a yuppy couple in their thirties and you watch how the facades are dropped and their true personalities are revealed. The ending is very sweet and therefore makes the movie very enjoyable.

PS: I cried at the ending and even sobbed. I think K might have been a little embarassed when we walked out of the theater as my face was all puffy and red!

Got Pulled Over!

2007-10-29T19:17:00.000-04:00

After several years in this country, I got pulled over first time this evening. I was driving home from work. My daily commute I have to take a County Road before getting on to the Interstate. The route I take is invariably crowded but today was exceptionally busy with stop and go traffic. I take a detour to avoid the rush hour traffic but I guess a lot of people know about this route too. I was starving, tired, had worked over the weekend therefore didn't catch up on my sleep and also had not slept well last night so again....was DEAD TIRED!!!! Anyway I have to make a right from the County Road onto a local road. It takes forever to get on to that right lane. Normally I patiently wait but this evening I didn't have the patience and gingerly stepped on the shoulder to drive up to the right lane *sheepish look while typing.* The light was red and there were few cars ahead of me who definitely were not making that turn and most importantly the right lane was EMPTY and looked so inviting! Hence very carefully I stepped on to the striped shoulder and went ahead at a speed of 10-15 mph. Yeah people even if I make an illegal turn yet I am a very careful driver! I drove defensively anticipating the move of those drivers ahead of me and therefore did look into the rear view mirror. Just as I stepped on to the right lane, I checked the rear view mirror to see a cop car following me. I was talking to K on the phone and was too scared to tell him what I did. As soon as I made the right turn the cop followed me and I saw the flashing red and blue lights! I told K that I had to go as I needed to concentrate on the road.

Anyway I stopped and a tall rather handsome man walked up to my car and asked for my license and registration. I was a little nervous but keeping my composure asked him, "Is something wrong officer?" He said, "Yes M'am you were driving on the shoulder." I didn't say anything and gave him the required documents. He came up to me and said that he was not going to give me a ticket and that I should be rather careful and not repeat this. He said that he had observed me and noticed how I was gingerly treading across the shoulder. In fact he chuckled while saying this. He then told me that I looked rather tired so he assumed that I wanted to get home as soon as possible. Then he looked at my license and said, "Wow is this where you live? You do have quite a commute. Please drive safely." I smiled and thanked him but was really surprised. Then I realized that sometimes a persons appearance matters a lot. With my serious clothes and glasses I looked more like a boring librarian or a very studious person than a miscreant OR maybe it was just my lucky day. Anyway I am planning to hit the sack rather early this evening and catch up on my sleep.

MORAL OF THE STORY: No matter what do not drive on the shoulder and if you insist on doing so make sure you are wearing glasses and rather boring clothes!

Almost Dying

2007-09-30T16:05:00.000-04:00

Help!!! This blog is almost dying. It has been a month and a half since there has been any activity on this blog. It has been more than a year since I started blogging. My first anniversary came in quietly and went completely unnoticed. There were far pressing issues that took my time. I have had an extremely stressful month. It is far too personal to publicly share but everything appears to be sorted out (typing with fingers crossed) now. Also my office has moved so my commute is even longer now. This along with long hours at work and other stressful issues have totally overwhelmed me. I love blogging and love writing funny stories and love interacting with a lot of my online blogger buddies. I hope that I shall be able to resurrect this blog and stay in touch with the wonderful fellow bloggers. Meanwhile please bear with me. I shall visit all your blogs soon!

Tryst with Destiny

2007-08-14T21:44:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow....well it is 9:47EST so it is 7:15 AM Indian Standard Time, August 15, 2007. Sixty years ago on this date we made our tryst with destiny. I would like to quote part of the late Jawarharlal Nehru's , our first Prime Minister's address to the nation.....

Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially. At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance. It is fitting that at this solemn moment we take the pledge of dedication to the service of India and her people and to the still larger cause of humanity......

It has been sixty years since India's independence from the colonial rule of the British. The Indian flag is a horizontal tricolour in equal proportion of deep saffron on the top, white in the middle and dark green at the bottom. The ratio of the width to the length of the flag is two is to three. In the centre of the white band, there is a wheel in navy blue to indicate the Dharma Chakra, the wheel of law in the Sarnath Lion Capital. This center symbol or the 'CHAKRA', is a Buddhist symbol erected around 250 BC. It's diameter approximates the width of the white band and it has 24 spokes, which intends to show that there is life in movement and death in stagnation. The saffron stands for courage, sacrifice and the spirit of renunciation; the white, for purity and truth; the green for faith and fertility. There are rules for the display of the Indian flag. Therefore when I first came to the United States, incidentally I left India on August 15th, I was really surprised to see the American flag displayed on private properties.

To all my American readers, July 4th is typically associated with fireworks, barbecue and drinking beer. August 15th, however, is a "dry day" in India. Dry day does not mean no rainfall or no water or no wetting beds but instead means that no alcohol is sold anywhere in the country as in restaurants, liquor stores etc. Of course there are certain states like Gujarat that are considered "dry" states in India, where alcohol consumption is prohibited (famous last words). India has certain days in the year that qualify as dry days, which includes certain festivals, Gandhi's birth anniversary, Independence day, Republic day etc. Of course that means no alcohol in public places....you could get sloshed at home with your friends! So the warning of dry days means....please stock your bar the previous day and get totally wasted on the "dry" day! With that to all my Indian readers...have a wonderful Independence day!...hic hic hic.

Being Left Handed

2007-08-02T18:18:00.000-04:00

I am left handed and as you may very well know that people like me are in the minority. We are only 10 percent. It can be a handicap if you are not ambidextrous. As my mother is left-handed, she has trained me to use my right hand as well. I use my left hand to write but can operate machinery or equipment with my right hand therefore I don't face that much a handicap as other left handed people.

It has been reported that the gene most closely linked to left-handedness has been found. HURRAH!!! Now we, the minority, can peacefully continue our lives but wait a minute....the article also says the gene, called LRRTM1, is also associated with a slight increase in developing certain mental illnesses such as schizophrenia. Didn't we have enough negativity associated with being left handed to learn something additional? I do find relief in the fact that we are not living the 18th and 19th centuries where there were prejudices associated with being left handed! Can you imagine adding left handedness to the other prejudices that still exist in today's world like race, religion, and sexual orientation? Of course the research further states that there is no cause for alarm and that there are many other factors contributing to schizophrenia than being just left-handed. In addition, Australian research published last year states that left handers can think faster than right handed people. Furthermore left handers are able to multi-task, which is an ability I always thought came with being a woman than being left handed.

All my life I have had this experience where say for example I had to write an exam, I would have to request for a desk which wasn't against the wall to my left. When I started using computers in the early nineties, especially the AutoCAD program in DOS (do you remember the dark ages before Windows), it took me a while to get used to a right handed mouse. With the advent of Windows 95, there was an option available to adjust the mouse for left handed people but by that time I had already got used to the right hand one. So one adjusts to life and learns to live with their left handedness. I have lost count of the number of times when random people have mentioned to me, "Oh....you are left handed?" I have always felt like responding, thanks for noticing as I have never realized that typically others don't write with their left hand.

Yesterday I had a meeting with seven people to discuss work. Six of us were left handed. The one person who was right handed was our client and was using our professional service and diverse expertise! Funnily none of us noticed that the others were left handed till the client pointed out that he was a minority in a group of left handed people and that this assured him that he is dealing with a bunch of bright people. To this comment my only response is that appearances are deceptive and there is little utility in stereotyping because I am a complete dolt who piggy-backs on my rather intelligent counterparts!

First Female President

2007-07-25T21:24:00.000-04:00

I was supposed to write this post yesterday but got home rather late last night. I am quite tired hence please forgive my typos and probably grammatical errors.

Those who are from India and those who aren't but read newspapers must be aware that yesterday, Pratibha Patil took reins as the first female President of the country. This is a landmark as next month, on August 15th, India will complete 60 years of independence. Last night Jay Leno made a crack about this by saying that India has the first female President and George W called India not to congratulate her but that he had a computer query. It is funnier when Leno says this than I recollecting and typing the punch line.

First of all the role of the President of India is largely ceremonial based on the model of the British monarchy. On the other hand the Prime Minister is elected by the electorate. Our first female Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi, was elected in 1966. She was in power from 1966 till her brutal assasination in 1984, except of course the dark era of Emergency and the subsequent change in rule. So there is no big deal that there is a woman President. Does anyone even remember who all the President's were since the first President, Rajendra Prasad and the last President A P J Abdul Kalam? So incidentally this position is largely ceremonial and if I may say so, a token post. In fact this particular nomination has been riled with controversies as well which I don't want to get into especially since I am a simpleton with no aptitude for politics.

The BBC website states that her supporters suggested Mrs Patil's election would prove to be a landmark for women in a country where millions routinely face violence, discrimination and poverty. I take an exception to this assumption that this would empower women as incidentally India is a culture which worships women. There is this concept of worshipping Lakshmi (Goddess of wealth) and that a birth of a girl child should be treated like the arrival of Lakshmi in the parent's home and the newly wed bride is called "Griha Lakshmi" as she brings wealth into the house of the in-laws. Yet in parts of the country sex selection is being practiced where female foetuses are being aborted and there are dowry deaths as well. There are laws to protect women yet they are treated as secondary citizens. Therefore as this exalted status of women is just a token and not practised therefore it is hard to believe that a token female President would change this in any way and would aid in empowering women. Most importantly the status of women did not change drastically since the election of the first female Prime Minister 41 years ago!

PS: I would also like to note that India is a paradox and it would be incorrect to paint it with broad strokes of generalization. The status of women is more a socio economic situation which is not going to change overnight! Also women in urban and upper middle class situations are most certainly not disadvantaged or face the proverbial glass ceiling. Case in point being CEOs like Anu Aga, Lalita Gupte of ICICI etc.

DMV

2007-07-22T13:22:00.000-04:00

Those of you who live in New Jersey already know this but those who don't live here might be aware that in Jersey one has to get their vehicles inspected every two years. This is required pursuant to the 1990 Clean Air Act. Jersey being such a tiny state and so densely populated, I think, this requirement is a good thing. I am however not certain how efficient measure it is. Anyway like a true Jersey resident all I can say is "You gotta do what you gotta do. There ain't nothin' that you can do about it."

According to the DMV website, this is what they do:

The inspector will determine your car's engine type and prep it for testing.
Your brakes' suspension, steering, wheel alignment and safety features (headlights, taillights, tires, horn, windshield wipers and turn signals) will be checked.
The inspector will perform the appropriate emissions test based on the year, make and model of the vehicle.
The final stage of the test will assure that your gas cap is stable and limits the escape of fumes into the environment.
Upon completion, the inspector will place a new two-year sticker in your windshield

That sounds fairly straight forward and simple, doesn't it. But no, nothing is simple or straight forward in life. If you don't know this then you are living in a vacuum and please may I join you there. So on friday evening, I take my car to the inspection facility hoping that all is well and that I will pass the test with flying colors. I have terrible test taking skills so I am always nervous. This friday however I was cheerful and life could not have been better. I pulled in the facility in Mercer County. There weren't that many cars so I was pleased as a punch. In fact they called me and few others into the reinspection line, which is a seperate one than the one for cars being inspected for the first time in two years.

I pulled in, the guy checked my registration, license and insurance policy and asked me to step out in the waiting area, which is air conditioned. The temperature was in the lower 80s but the waiting area was freezing cold. After a 15 minute wait I am informed that my car failed the test for safety reasons because apparently the rear braking was uneven. I look at my car like a parent would look at their errant kid when he/she screws up in the school exam. The inspector informed me that some minor work was required and that I had 45 days to get it done. I really didn't have the patience to wait for 45 days so instead called my mechanic right then. I had got some brake work done a month ago to the rear brakes and informed him so. Of course he didn't remember me or my name despite being from India (Gee I wonder why!) and asked me to come in first thing in the morning. So last morning, when it was nice and sunny, I took my car to his facility at around 8:00 AM. He fixed the problem within 45 minutes and assured me that I should pass the test.

Anyway I reached the Inspection facility about 9:30 AM and drove through the seperate reinspection lane. I was very confident and knew that my car will pass with flying colors. Well, it didn't and failed the inspection because the rear brake light was not working. I asked the insepctor that I had come to the same facility less than 24 hours ago and why they hadn't noticed it at all then? He told me, "My bad....they probably missed it. You know that you have 45 days to rectify this." I am seething but keeping my calm tell the guy to please check if anything else is missing because I didn't intend to make it a habit to spend all my time in this facility over and over again! The guy was embarassed and told me to run to Sears, which is located literally next door to get the bulb.

I went to the Sears Auto Center and found that there was a long line with probably just one person in attendance. All I needed was one small bulb, which I was going to replace myself. I went to the aisle and noticed a small booklet explaining what type of bulb would work depending on the make and year. I did not find anything for my car. I saw an employee walk by and requested him to guide me. He said that I should wait in line, which incidentally had six people waiting ahead of me, and someone would then tell me what bulb I would need! Of course I walked out of the store sans the bulb and decided to go Autozone, which is located a couple of miles away. I walked in the store and noticed that were a few people waiting but there were quite a few very helpful attendants as well. I was not sure which bulb would be the correct one so took whatever I thought might work to the checkout lane. The cashier very efficiently pointed out the correct one for my car. I replaced the bulb rather quickly, as thanks to K, I had a swiss army knife in my glove compartment, which incidentally has a screw driver as well. K had kept this in the glove compartment in case I ever needed it. I never required to use it until last morning so I made a mental note to thank K for his thoughtfullness.

So I returned to the facility at around 11AM and found that there was a rather long line of cars waiting for inspection. All of them were first timers! I wanted to get on to the seperate lane but found that the idiot waiting before me, was plonked right in the middle of a two-lane driveway! I was in no mood to sound the horn and ask him to move because that doesn't work with Jersey drivers. So I negotiate gingerly next to this moron, who is playing music rather loud on his system, partly into the grass and dirt hoping that my wheels don't get stuck! Luckily the other drivers are better and have parked in the their lanes, so I finally got to the reinspection lane. The inspector recognized me because as soon as I pulled in, he said "Hey I noticed that your brake lights are working just fine now so don't worry I shall replace your sticker right away. You might have to wait though because there are two cars ahead of you." I gave him the most beatific smile I could manage and thanked him. He promplty replaced the sticker and apologised for the trouble. I smiled and thanked my stars that I have to inspect my car every two years. Therefore I should be fine until July 2009 and not have to deal with the DMV, of course unless my license expires prior to that.

Summer Cocktails

2007-07-18T20:43:00.000-04:00

I had a very long day today and right now I am unwinding with a fuzzy navel. This is such an excellent summer drink and is so refreshing. In case you don't know the ingredients or the recipe here goes:

Fuzzy Navel

3 oz. Peach Schnapps

3oz. Orange juice.

Of course this is stirred and not shaken. It is served in a highball glass with lot of ice. Speaking of cocktails let me share two other favorite summer cocktails.

Blue Lagoon

2 shots Vodka

2 shots Blue Curacao and

Top this with Lemonade. Garnish with lemons. This is also served in a highball glass

Peach Martini

2 oz. Vodka or Gin or White Rum

2 oz Peach Schnapps

Mix the two in a shaker with ice. Strain into a martini glass. Garnish with a thin wedge of peach. I also prefer cherry garnish as it renders a cool color to the drink.

Like they say in all alcohol commercials....please drink responsibly and do not drink and drive. Cheers!

American Visa

2007-07-12T21:52:00.000-04:00

My blogger buddy Lotus has reviewed a book titled "American Visa," by Juan De Recacoechea, which you can read here. It reminded me of the time I had applied for my student visa to come to the U.S. for my graduate school. I had to go to the Consulate in my city. At that time it was really chaotic as one had to go there at an unearthly hour and wait in a long line. Then they would let a few people go into the building where one had to go through the arduous security screening, much worse than airports, to finally get into the room where they conducted a visa interview. The interviewers were on the other side of a window pretty much like the ticket windows you see at the subway stations in NY or the NJ Transit Ticket windows. It is high time they have vending machines for the visa applicants like they have for tickets at train stations.

I remember our driver had taken me to the Consulate at an unearthly hour. On reaching there I noticed that there was a huge crowd of people who had come from outside the City and from other parts of the country, patiently waiting in line. There were stalls outside selling water, cold beverages and even snacks! Then there were a few enterprising people who had set their tables and chairs to sell bank drafts in the event that the visa applicants had forgotten to get the requisite amount. I couldn't imagine anyone doing that but was surprised to find that quite a few people were buying the drafts from them. I think the way these visas get denied, this non-refundable fee must be providing enough revenue, not just to support the personnel and other overhead expenses but also to make a handsome profit (I don't know but I am just guessing).

So anyway I went through the painful wait along with the oppressive monsoon heat while G, our driver, was napping comfortably in the car. I must tell you at that very moment I had wished that he were applying for the visa and I was napping in the car, without any care, instead. Finally I was ushered in and went through the security check and into the room where they interviewed people. After about an hour or was it two hours.....I cannot remember....they called my token number to the window.

The guy who interviewed me had such a thick accent and might have been from the deep south. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He asked me a lot of questions and I kept asking him to repeat himself while struggling to hear him across the glass window. I was tired, hungry and so bored and the guy was making it worse by asking me totally ridiculous questions. Finally I told him that I didn't understand a word and that if he didn't want to grant me a visa, he shouldn't be wasting my time. He looked at me totally shocked and said that I am supposed to convince him that I can afford to go to the U.S. He told me that since I am not answering these questions properly he was forced to deny and that I should apply again. So I went back home totally confused as to what was so hard to understand from all the documents that I had given him to review. They looked pretty clear and self explanatory to me and thought that someone who interviews visa applicants for a living should have known this by now.

Anyway I went back after three days and went through the whole routine and was finally ushered in the room with the ticket windows....oops.....visa office. Since I was applying for the second time, I along with a few other people, had to wait and after about three to four hours I was called to the window. This time the woman had very clear speech and asked me where I was planning to study. I answered and she smiled, wished me luck and told me to go and pay my fees. That was it, the interview was over in less than two minutes. Now couldn't the first guy have done that instead of wasting my time and money?

I must tell you though that I entertained myself watching other visa applicants and wondering about their lives. I also noticed some of the visa guys gloat over crushing some poor blokes dreams of going to America! It has been quite a few years now but I still remember it so vividly.

Surviving in a man's world

2007-07-10T22:19:00.002-04:00

I am in a profession which is predominantly male. Of course my previous avatar as an architect was essentially in a male-dominated profession in a country which is perceived in the West as typically patriarchal. I have never felt limited or conscious of my gender at all. Perhaps this could be due to the fact that growing up my father was such a positive influence in my life. I owe a lot of things to him and have always been a daddy’s girl. He always made me believe that I can achieve whatever I wanted and that nothing mattered as long as I was determined and worked hard.

When I started working as an architect in India, I was the only female professional in my office. There were other women there but they were support staff. After a year of working, I was given my own project to manage. Of course this came to me by default. The firm had moved to this very swanky office building that the architect was building. When the building was almost complete, his eccentric associate moved there on site with just one draftsman and two architects, which included me. The remaining staff was at the old office. One morning the architect needed someone to quickly design something for the client based on his concept sketch. I volunteered to do it and worked non-stop to complete it. I had the drawings ready by about 8:30PM in the office, two hours after the normal office hours, when the architect walked in. He was surprised to see that apart from the cleaning people, I was the only one working and that the rest of his staff had gone home. Before that the architect always thought that I was killing time working for some pocket money till my parents got me married! So when he realized that I was serious about my career, he offered me this project to manage. Before that I had worked for him for a year and he didn't even know my name!

It was a substantial sized project for me as a young architect but rather small for him because he is an eminent architect in India and his clientele included who’s who from the country. I had to deal with a lot of bias on site because they were not used to taking directions from a woman, especially someone so young. One day the client, being a very traditional Indian man, complained about the fact that my boss was sending a “mere woman” to the site. My boss was furious and gave him an earful about his gender bias and told him that I was better than the ten male architects in his office! Of course since the architect's name and projects have a lot of prestige associated with it, he pretty much dictated terms to his clients no matter who they were. Therefore this particular client had no choice but to accept me as the project architect. Later the client was proved wrong and funnily wanted me to mentor his “poor little rich girl” daughter who wasn’t motivated in life, which is a totally different story. Anyway I was furious at that time, for one because I was in my twenties and had led a very sheltered life and didn’t know what gender bias was until then.

Later I married K, who like my father has always let me be and we have a relationship based on equality. I had completely forgotten about this incident until last morning. I am in the U.S. for the past seven to eight years, two of which were spent in graduate school. I currently have a female boss. Incidentally she is a year younger than me, has had an Ivy League education and is incredibly smart. A client complained to her that he didn’t want me to work on his project and preferred a male who wasn’t a foreigner! She was livid and told the person that how dare he make such lame comments to her and that he had no choice in the matter. She told him that I was not just qualified to work on the project but was in fact over-qualified. She told him that he had no credibility and to not waste her time with such nonsense! When she told me what transpired, this time around I was not livid at all but felt pity for the man. In fact I burst out laughing at his ignorance and even made jokes at his expense. I have reached a conclusion that no matter where you go in the world there will always be losers like that who unfortunately make a fool of themselves by putting their foot in their mouths. Such people deserve pity or perhaps not pity as much as a kick in some place rather painful!

Lost in Joisey

2007-06-30T12:44:00.000-04:00

Have you ever watched Chevy Chase’s movie National Lampoon’s Vacation and thought to yourself that it was so far fetched to even be true, especially the scene when they get lost in the desert in Arizona. You must be wondering where I am going with this story, trust me, I do have a story. A few days ago I was driving to work. Quite like this morning it was a nice crisp morning, the birds were chirping, the air was romantic but of course I was going to work! There is nothing romantic about going to work and basically doing geeky stuff.

I usually take this particular Interstate for about 20 miles and then take the County roads. As I slowed down on the exit ramp, which incidentally curves rather sharply, I saw this woman standing beside her car waving furiously. It was about 7AM and she looked like she was dressed for an important meeting or a job interview. She looked completely distressed. I had cranked my window open so heard her scream “Please stop….please stop and help me.” She almost ran in front of my car which freaked me out but like a Good Samaritan I stopped to ask her what was wrong? From her accent, she appeared to be a foreigner though not from my part of the world or continent. She asked me where this particular interstate led. I said that she was traveling to the east and that it eventually led to the Jersey Shore. She panicked and said that she wanted to go to Connecticut! I told her that she was driving in a totally wrong direction. At the same time I checked in the rear view mirror to see two cars waiting behind me rather patiently. I told her to move away so I could pull into the shoulder to allow the other cars to pass and not get delayed like yours truly.

So then I told her that she had to take the NJ Turnpike but that she missed that exit and she had driven almost 15 miles in a different direction. While I was explaining how she could continue and take the northbound Garden State Parkway which eventually met with the Turnpike in North Jersey, she looked past me and loudly yelled, “Don’t worry I am only asking for directions.” I looked through the side view mirror to see an unmarked cop car with flashing lights parked right behind my car. The cop got out of the car and asked me if something was wrong. I told him that she was lost and she had stopped me to ask for directions. The cop smiled and told me that he thought from a distance that we had an accident and that the other woman was aggressively intimidating me! At that very moment, the cop and I asked her simultaneously, “Where are your maps?” She explained to us that she had her windows open and the printouts of the route map just flew out of the window and she didn’t have her bearings and being out of state had no idea where she was! So I requested the cop to give her proper directions so I could leave. The woman was so overwhelmed that she told the cop, "This lady is an angel….was the only one who stopped to help….God Bless you etc.” (I said to myself….stop you are embarrassing me but do go on)

After I left I couldn’t stop laughing and called K to tell him what happened. For some reason that woman’s predicament reminded me of Chevy Chase in that movie. K’s first reaction was that I shouldn’t randomly stop like this as it might not be safe as I didn’t know who the woman might be. I replied that it was 7:15 AM and from her overall appearance that woman, wearing a business suit, clearly didn’t look like someone who would mug commuters!

Moral of the Story: It is worth investing in a GPS System if your car doesn’t already have one OR the cheaper aternative would be to not roll down the windows on a windy day!

Biking

2007-06-14T22:32:00.000-04:00

After almost two weeks K and I took our bikes this evening to the park. We went late at around 7:30 PM and biked for about 10 miles. It was a glorious evening with the temperature around 65 degrees. We were wearing track pants and a jacket. Everyone was dressed similar to us except this group of extremely fit cyclists who looked like Lance Armstrong’s clones and probably were training. That was a very nice sight and so easy on the eye…of course my eye. Poor K didn’t have much eye candy this evening.

This evening was such a welcome change weatherwise from the heat wave two weeks ago. We were in the park then and I saw this guy jogging shirtless with very short shorts. He was pale and peeling and had such a flabby body. It was the most disgusting sight I had ever seen. He reminded me of the Seinfeld episode of “bro.” He needed to be jailed for indecent exposure. Perhaps he could be Paris Hilton’s cell mate. That would be punishment for both albeit a more severe one for Poor Miss Rich Girl. The media needs to give the poor girl a break….like all she did was like get a DUI or something and like drive with a suspended license. She probably thought that "suspended" was some new hot accessory like suspenders, which by the way aren't hot except only when Larry King wears them!

By the way for someone as shallow as Paris, it is “so not hot to see someone so like faaat” while for the guy….well perhaps not so much a punishment for him except of course if he is a language nazi and has to face Paris’s severely limited vocabulary consisting of exclusively expressions such as, “that’s hot” “that’s not hot” “it so like not hot.”

By the way I cannot understand why people who are not in the best of shapes like to show off their flab. Is there is secret competition as to who is flabbier or has the most cellulite? Is there an award for it and is it any good? If so, someone please let me know because I may stand a chance too.

500 Years of Women in Art

2007-06-09T10:45:00.000-04:00

This short video, obtained from Youtube, is an animated compilation of potraits of women from the West over a period of 500 years and as captured during the different Art movements, starting from Renaissance and ending with Cubism and Surrealism.

My boring life

2007-06-02T13:20:00.000-04:00

A few days ago on my morning commute I was listening to this piece on NPR about a war widow who lost her husband last year in Iraq. She moved with her child to her late husband’s hometown in New Hampshire. She spoke about how she kept his memory alive and made quilts out of his shirts etc. It moved me to tears and I started crying. At the signal a car pulled beside me and the guy was staring at me with a very quizzical look. At that time I realized that it must be really strange to see a grown woman behind the wheel, dressed clearly to go to work but crying like a child. Maybe I am a petulant child who still refuses to grow up. Who knows? By the way, I hate commuting and would rather prefer telecommuting at least once a week. Given the soaring gas prices and the associated price hikes; in my opinion this would be an environmentally as well as an economically win-win situation.

Speaking of driving, I must tell you that people in Jersey even after the governor’s horrible accident and miraculous recovery, haven’t learnt their lesson. They still drive like maniacs. Just the other day I was driving to work when some idiot in a sedan changed lanes without looking and caused a pick up truck to drive off the freeway into the grass median separating the east bound and west bound traffic. Thank God it was a grass median and hence a very horrible accident was averted. I was an eye witness albeit at a VERY SAFE DISTANCE. I slowed down to let the poor guy enter back into the freeway, when the idiot behind me slammed on his horn. In case you are curious, I had gradually slowed down to 65 mph from 75 mph…IN AN 65 mph ZONE!!!!! Then the ass flips a bird at me and zooms off only to be stopped by the cops for speeding….AHHH SWEET REVENGE!!!! Being a daily commuter I kind of know where the usual hiding places are and there are a whole lot of them on that particular stretch. These days they don’t drive the typical cruisers, but instead I have seen a few SUV’s patrolling the highway. By the way the guy, who flipped the bird at me, looked like a love-child of Rosie O’Donnell and Donald Trump. In fact I am not even certain about the gender as it seemed very ambiguous….like the character in one of SNL’s sketches.

So then I got off the freeway on to the County roads with a posted limit of 50 mph. I was doing around 60 mph when I noticed a cop car make a turn and follow right behind me. I panicked and slowed down to exactly 50 mph and actually turned cruise control on, a function I seldom use! If you are driving through safe towns where the cops have nothing to do but hand out speeding tickets like they were going out of fashion, it makes sense to use cruise control. I am followed by the cop for at least 10 miles and then he makes a turn….YIPEEE.

Most of the times I am in the zone and talking to my husband, not anything romantic but mundane stuff like, “We need to clean up our place,” OR “We really need to cook these days,” etc., sometimes I am complaining about how things suck while other times he is complaining about how I suck, which makes me tell him how the whole world except him sucks! So this has been my life so far. How about you? Anything exciting you might want to share in the comments section…..please do….this way I can live vicariously through you.

Noo Joisey...you dunno nothin' about it

2007-05-12T21:04:00.001-04:00

This is an old photo and as you all know that Corzine is the present governor who had a horrible accident last month and is now convalescing.

New Jersey gets such a bad rap from the rest of the country. When I got a job here, I used to be teased by quite a few of my classmates from grad school that I will be moving to “The Garbage State” instead of “The Garden State.” I think this phrase is due to the industrial sites located close to New York, which are such a part of the landscape of North Jersey. I chose to work here because there are quite a few urban planning initiatives in this State (after California). I hate writing anything about my work or profession on this blog as it is supposed to be irreverent and a platform to pen my thoughts. Besides I am not really all that smart to have anything intelligent to say or write and I don't want any of my readers to know that.

Anyway I had to work this Saturday morning. I know it sucks but it is a choice I have made so I am not going to complain at all. I had to drive to South Jersey for a meeting. As per Mapquest I could have taken two interstates but instead of following a route that is like the two sides of a triangle, I preferred to take the diagonal, which were two County roads. Who knew that the boring elementary school geometry would have such practical applicability? Anyway I woke up early in the morning and drove a total of 100 miles. At this time I could go on about lack of public transit and the environmental costs of driving but then again I really don’t want to bore anyone with all this nonsense.

It was a beautiful morning and was such a wonderful drive; I passed a winery, few farms, stalls selling fresh produce, horse farms, lush green expanse of lands and then the beautiful New Jersey Pineland areas. South Jersey is such a contrast to North Jersey. The people are lot friendlier, laidback and also drive very slowly, which can be annoying especially when you have to reach on time and have to follow a Sunday driver on a two lane highway, waiting for the two solid yellow lines to become a single dashed line! A lot of people were on their bicycles and from their overall appearance seemed like serious riders. Although there are road signs, you have to pay close attention in order to not miss your turns.

Last month I went to that part of Jersey for the first time with my coworker. He came along with me to introduce me to the people as I am a brand new addition to this company. We decided to drive together in my car and I had taken all the directions and maps. Since I was behind the wheel, I told him that I preferred taking the back roads and that he might want to navigate. We had never spoken to each other during office hours so were more like nodding acquaintances. We started chatting and found that we had a lot of things in common. We were so engrossed in our conversations that both of us missed a turn and got lost and landed up middle of nowhere but had so many maps in my car that we managed to reach our destination albeit five minutes earlier than the scheduled time! We had nicknames for all the landmarks we missed, which were basically a WAWA, a WAWA with a gas station and then a strip mall. I must say Suburbia is a curse that New Jersey hasn’t been able to shake off.

This time, I was by myself and I was very conscious of my skin color in a homogenous white population, so I didn’t want to get lost and hear “Them foreigners don’t know no American roads.” I am just joking; no one ever said that to me. However I have been told this by someone, “Them foreigners with their fancy education come and take our jobs.” Yes, this was said to me four years ago by a burly man with a mullet, a tattoo, flannel shirt, jeans and BO that was accumulated due to weeks of not bathing! I wanted to laugh out loud at the comment but was too scared that he might just punch me in my face. Instead I pretended to not understand no English and needless to say that I am alive to write this post! Anyway I didn’t get lost today and had a wonderful drive as I knew from my previous experience at which Wawa to go through the light and at which WAWA to make a turn to the right.

For some reason this reminded me of the time that K, his friend A and I had taken a road trip to the Southern part of India. We went through all the inside routes of Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka where the milestones were in Telugu and Kannada respectively. Of course none of us spoke any of those languages and none of the villagers spoke any Hindi (India's national language), Marathi (language pertaining to the State of Maharashtra where we belong) or English. Yet we found our way around with them pointing furiously to the left and telling us, “Go right and then straight sir.” I must add that we knew one sentence in Telugu, “Bhassha iley,” which means we don’t speak the language. Of course K knew quite a few colorful phrases which were generously bestowed on the bus drivers and truck drivers depending on the license plates of the vehicles. At that time I looked at my husband with renewed awe because I did know that he could speak quite a few Indian languages but I didn’t know until then that he could cuss….not to mention the fact that he could cuss in so many different languages!

Thai Red curry

2007-04-29T14:49:00.000-04:00

I have previously blogged about how much I love Thai food especially their red and green curries. I am a reluctant cook but when I do cook, I absolutely love cooking from scratch as the entire exercise is very therapeutic for me. I hate buying readymade sauces and curry pastes.
Anyway I made the red curry at home and modified the recipe a little for our Indian palate. It turned out quite well and hasn’t lost its original flavor therefore I am sharing the recipe with you.

Ingredients:
1 ½ lbs boneless chicken cut into thin slices

1 cup finely chopped lemon grass (I couldn’t find lemon grass hence opted for the extract that I found in the supermarket. It is the closest that you can get to the fresh ones. I cannot stand dried lemon grass. I used about half the tube as seen the image)

2 onions finely chopped

1-2 green bell peppers

½ tomato, cut into bite-size pieces

1 Japanese eggplant or 2-3 baby eggplants, chopped (leave skin on)

2 cans of coconut milk

1 tsp tamarind

As I couldn't find Thai basil or lemon grass, I used the above versions. It has not compromised the flavor or taste of the curry.

CHICKEN:
Marinate the chicken with thai basil readymade marinade, juice of one-half lemon and salt. Leave it in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. This is not necessary but I prefer marinating meat to neutralize any odor.

RED CURRY PASTE:
1/2 can coconut milk (reserve the other 1/2 can for later)

1 medium sized cooking onion, quartered

1 thumb-size piece ginger

3 cloves garlic

3 Tbsp. fish sauce (I used Oyster sauce)

1 Tbsp. chilli powder

1 Tbsp. cumin seeds

1 Tbsp. coriander seeds

2 tsp. shrimp paste (I didn’t have this at home so didn’t add it. My experience has been that it does not compromise the flavor at all)

1 tsp. regular dried chilli flakes (I avoided it because neither K nor I can tolerate much hot peppers in our food)

5-6 peppercorns

1-2 tb sp fennel seeds (I couldn’t find thai basil therefore added this, as the difference between regular basil leaves and Thai is that the latter has fennel like taste. A friend of ours, who is a chef in a five-star hotel in India has recommended this to me years ago)

1 Star Anise

1 Cup fresh basil leaves (I couldn’t get Thai basil)

Grind them to a fine paste. I have a grinder for my spices. If you don’t then you could use a coffee bean grinder OR buy powdered version instead of the whole seeds.

METHOD:

I took this picture, as you can see I don't have patience for presentation. Since I went very easy on the red chilli powder, it is not as red as it otherwise would be.

Heat oil in a Wok and add asafetida (excellent digestive and I cannot make any curry without it). Fry the finely chopped onions till they become colorless. Add the red curry paste and the lemon grass and sauté it. Add the vegetables and the chicken and sauté it very well. Add ½ cup of water and leave it to simmer. After about ten minutes, add the coconut milk and the tamarind paste. It takes about 20 minutes to cook the chicken.

Serve it with jasmine rice. Of course we didn't have that but instead used the very aromatic Basmati rice.

We had mangoes with vanilla ice cream for dessert.

Harmless Peck and Foot in the mouth

2007-04-22T20:36:00.000-04:00

I am back in the blogging world except that there is nothing to write about. I know this is old news but Richard Gere gave a harmless peck on Shilpa Shetty’s cheek (or rather series of kisses) and Shiv Sainiks got their knickers in a twist. Give me a break….that was the most harmless series of smooches and Shilpa surely was having a good laugh and most certainly didn't appear to mind. Of course I wasn't present there and I am commenting based on the footage that I saw. So who the hell are these morons to care about what two consenting adults are upto? If Shilpa were to protest then it is totally different. Besides compared to all the ubiquitous vulgar item numbers in Bollywood movies, this was totally PG13.

I am most certain all the rickshaws and taxis in Mumbai were told by the Sena to not run for a day in protest. Maybe some over zealous Sainiks vandalized some shops in protest….I don’t know….just guessing here. Aarghh...I remember the dreadful Shiv Sena bandhs when I lived in Mumbai. I think Richard Gere needs to give a friendly peck to all the Sena bigwigs and end the matter peacefully! Why doesn’t Shiv Sena just take a look at all the Sun temples in the country and all the other sculptures in the various architectural heritage sites? Isn’t that a part of Indian culture? What next, cover up all the sculptures in the country?

Speaking of politics, Rahul Gandhi needs someone to tutor him about modern Indian history OR cure him of foot in the mouth disease. The one week that I had so much fodder to make fun of and I was very busy at work. Knowing the Sena and the Gandhi scion, I am certain there will be other occasions.

Will be back soon

2007-04-14T21:43:00.000-04:00

I have been really busy at work for the past week. In fact I am also working this weekend....Weekend....what weekend???? Anyway so blogging has taken a back seat. I miss you guys and I am so tired right now that the only alphabet I see is Z.

The good news is that the weather is going to suck tomorrow so I won't feel bad about not enjoying spring!

American Idol

2007-04-07T21:22:00.000-04:00

I do not watch American Idol and didn't really care about the show. I do know, however, that American Idol makes an excellent water fountain conversation. The other day at my workplace, I saw a group of people discussing American Idol and complaining about the guy “Sunjee.” Someone wondered where the hell did the name “Sunjee” come from while some other person corrected the others and said that it was “Sanjaaya.” Someone else noticed me and nudged the others and they all dispersed with sheepish grins. I was really curious and wanted to know who this “Sunjee” guy was and therefore that evening tuned in to watch American Idol. I found that "Sunjee" is Sanjaya Malakar. How come there is no big hoopla about him with the desi tabloids, who pretty much cover anything about the desi diaspora in North America?

I thought that Sanjay Malakar was Maharastrian because a lot of Maharashtrian last names have the suffix “kar” which basically translates as “belonging to,” and it is generally a certain village. Like the legendary Indian singer Lata Mangeshkar or the legendary cricketers “Gavaskar” and “Tendulkar,” who all are incidentally Mumbaikar like yours truly. His sister, who also auditioned for the show, is named Shyamali which is another very common Maharashtrian name. Enquiring minds wanted to know so just to be certain; I did some sleuthing to find that he is not a maharashtrian but a bengali from his father’s side. Who knew? Anyway the guy cannot sing to save his life but I think is surviving on the show because of the appeal he has with teenage girls all over the United States.

As an Indian I have been asked a lot of stupid questions from random people like,
“Don’t women get beaten a lot by their husbands in your country like when they don’t get dowry and all?”

I have answered in the past, “No not really but we have a day in the Hindu calendar called “Punchami” which is celebrated nationally as a day where women get punched by men. Men randomly target women, not necessarily their wives and beat them black and blue.”

To my non-Hindu readers Punchami is indeed a day in the Hindu Calendar and means the fifth day after the waxing or waning moon and has got nothing to do with getting punched!

“Don’t women like always wear a red dot?”

I have answered, “Yes they do but only on days they are seeing red.”

These days I don’t have the patience to come up with creative answers and tell people that Wikipedia is a good resource for finding information and “google search” is another useful tool as well.

Therefore I was asked the other day, “Wow that Sanjay Malakar is hawt….like… are all Indian guys hot?” I had a half mind to tell her to check the Edison area in New Jersey and find out for herself!

I told K that it was such a welcome relief to see a lousy but hawt Indian singer on primetime television than seeing perverted desis getting caught at a sting operation, on NBC’s “How to Catch a Predator?”

PS: I am hooked on to Idol now. It is not for the show but to see for how long the miracle that lets Sanjay move on from one level to the other lasts!

What Cartoon Character Are You?

2007-04-05T21:02:00.000-04:00

I have nothing to write these days hence I am sharing the following quiz. The Administrative Assistant from my old job keeps in touch with me via email. She is a very nice person and for four and a half years was my "Office Mom." She always sends very interesting and funny emails to me. Most of her forwarded emails make fun of men! There is nothing like making fun of men in your free time. Actually I am a mean and a bitter person who makes fun of everyone in her free time so that I can feel better about my own pathetic life! Anyway I digress....she sent me this email quiz about what cartoon character closely resembles your personality. Why don't you take it and let me know?

Everyone has a personality of a cartoon character.
Have you ever asked yourself what cartoon character do you most resemble?

A group of investigators got together and analyzed the personalities of well known and modern cartoon characters. The information that was gathered was made into this test.

Answer all the questions (only 10) with what describes you best, add up all your Points (which are next to the answer that you choose) at the end and look for your results.

Do not cheat by looking at the end of the e-mail before you are done.

1. Which one of the following describes the perfect
date?
..a) Candlelight dinner (4 pts.)
..b) Fun/Theme Park (2 pts.)
..c) Painting in the park (5 pts)
..d) Rock concert (1 pt.)
..e) Going to the movies (3 pts.)

2. What is your favorite type of music?
..a) Rock and Roll (2 pts.)
..b) Alternative (1 pt.)
..c) Soft Rock (4 pts.)
..d) Country (5 pts.)
..e) Pop (3 pts.)

3. What type of movies do you prefer?
..a) Comedy (2 pts.)
..b) Horror (1 pt.)
..c) Musical (3 pts.)
..d) Romance (4 pts.)
..e) Documentary (5 pts.)

4. Which one of these occupations would you choose if you only could choose one of these?
..a) Waiter (4 pts.)
..b) Professional Sports Player (5 pts.)
..c) Teacher (3 pts.)
..d) Police (2 pts.)
..e) Cashier (1 pt)

5. What do you do with your spare time?
..a) Exercise (5 pts.)
..b) Read (4 pts.)
..c) Watch television (2 pts.)
..d) Listen to music (1 pt.)
..e) Sleep (3 pts.)

6. Which one of the following colors do you like best?
..a) Yellow (1 pt.)
..b) White (5 pts.)
..c) Sky Blue (3 pts.)
..d) Dark Blue (2 pts.)
..e) Red (4 pts.)

7. What do you prefer to eat?
..a) Snow (3 pts.)
..b) Pizza (2 pts.)
..c) Sushi (1 pt.)
..d) Pasta (4 pts.)
..e) Salad (5 pts.)

8 What is your favorite holiday?
..a) Halloween (1 pt.)
..b) Christmas (3 pts.)
..c) New Year (2 pts.)
..d) Valentine's Day (4 pts.)
..e) Thanksgiving (5 pts.)

9. If you could go to one of these places which one would it be?
..a) Paris (4 pts)
..b) Spain (5 pts)
..c) Las Vegas (1 pt)
..d) Hawaii (4 pts)
..e) Hollywood (3 pts)

10. With which of the following would you prefer to spend time with?
..a) Someone Smart ( 5 pts.)
..b) Someone attractive (2 pts.)
..c) Someone who likes to Party (1 pt.)
..d) Someone who always has fun (3 pts.)
..e) Someone very sentimental (4 pts.)

Now add up your points and find out the answer you have been waiting for!

(10-16 points) You are Garfield :
You are very comfortable, easy going, and you definitely know how to have fun but sometimes you take it to an extreme. You always know what you are doing and you are always in control of your life. Others may not see things as you do, but that doesn't mean that you always have to do what is right. Try to remember, your happy spirit may hurt you or others.

(17-23 p oints) You are Snoopy:
You are fun, you are very cool and popular. You always know what's in and you are never are out of style You are good at knowing how to satisfy everyone else. You have probably disappeared for a few days more than once but you always come home with the family values that you learned. Being married and having children are important to you, but only after you have had your share of fun times.

(24-28 points) You are Elmo:
You have lots of friends and you are also popular, always willing to give advice and help out a person in need. You are very optimistic and you always see the bright side of things. Some good advice: try not to be too much of a dreamer. Dreaming too big could cause many conflicts in your life.

(29-35 points) You are Sponge Bob Square Pants:
You are the classic person that everyone loves. You are the best friend that anyone could ever have and never wants to lose. You never cause harm to anyone and they would never not understand your feelings. Life is a journey, it's funny and calm for the most
part. Stay away from traitors and jealous people, and you will be stress free.

(36-43 points) You are Charlie Brown:
You are tender, you fall in love quickly but you are also very serious about all relationships. You are a family person. You call your Mom every Sunday. You have many friends and may occasionally forget a few Birthdays. Don't let your passion confuse you with reality.

(44-50 points) You are Dexter:
You are smart and definitely a thinker... Every situation is fronted with a plan. You have a brilliant mind. You demonstrate very strong family principles. You maintain a stable routine but never ignore a bad situation when it comes. Try to do less over thinking every once in a while to spice things up a bit with spontaneity!

PS: In case you are curious, I am "Charlie Brown." By the way, I don't call my mother every Sunday but call her every other day. I am a family person, which really means that I am needy and lean on to them. I had a lot of friends when I was growing up but I remember each and everyone's birthday and anniversary.

Random Thoughts and a Painting

2007-03-31T13:58:00.000-04:00

Last year I picked up painting after a hiatus of six years. I painted very regularly during the entire spring and summer season. I was planning to start oil painting this spring. I can spend hours painting and totally lose myself to that imaginary world. I paint my feelings, anger, frustration and passion. Sometimes I paint my innermost feelings that I cannot articulate in words but it is well articulated in colors and forms. Now those of you who know me are going to start laughing because I talk non-stop, sometimes sense but most of the times nonsense. Anyway I am glad my livelihood doesn’t depend on this because I would have been starving right now. The last painting I did was way back in November of last year.

As I had mentioned earlier I have started a new job and one of the administrative staff member is an accomplished artist. She holds exhibitions and even takes commissions. She has a day job because that offers her a steady income, health and other benefits like 401K. I could go on about health care issues and retirement issues faced by the aging population but then that defeats the purpose of my blog, which is to be irreverent and write inane nonsense. Of course her style of painting is totally different than mine and so are her subjects. I however love her passion for it and the ability to do that ceremoniously every weekend.

Last evening before leaving work she came up to me and asked me if I had done something lately. I told her that I just don’t get into the mood these days and also I don’t have the time. She asked me with an incredulous look that how could I go on without painting? She said that I am wasting my talent by not doing it. I thought about it and realized that out of all my hobbies I have consistently painted. As a child I would paint everyday after I got home from school. My mother had with great affection collected all my work. When I got married, she had given it to my husband who in turn had kept it very carefully in his parent’s home. The infamous 2005 floods in Bombay destroyed all that. I was a little sad then but really didn’t think much about it because I still can paint and the floods did not wipe my ability. Last evening after speaking to the lady at my workplace, I realized that I have taken a lot of things in my life for granted including my art. I always took my parents and my sisters for granted and I realized their value after moving thousands of miles away from them. I have to find time now to paint. I did it last year so why should it change this year. I think it is all about efficient time management. Besides I don’t want to have any regrets later in my life.

I am sharing the above abstract painting that I painted in India several years ago. It was a hot summer day and I was particularly frustrated about a certain situation. I took my colors and randomly painted this piece. At the end of the exercise I was exhausted but my mind was at complete peace.

Movie Review: The Namesake

2007-03-24T22:08:00.000-04:00

We went to see the film “The Namesake” this evening. This post is not a review as I don’t claim to be an expert in cinema. I am, however, an admirer of Mira Nair’s work and have seen most of her films. "Salaam Bombay" was the first film of hers that I saw way back in the early nineties, when I was studying architecture, which is based on the street children of my city. Subsequently I saw “Mississippi Masala.” I had absolutely loved her film “Monsoon Wedding,” which was released in 2001. If I am not mistaken, her background is in documentary and her films are faithful to that genre.

I also love Kal Penn who is the main character in this film. The first film that I saw of his, was a small budget film called “American Desi,” where he had a supporting role but really stood out. I also saw his movie, “Harold and Kumar go to White Castle,” which pokes fun at stereotypes. He was hilarious in both the movies and it was very refreshing to see him play a rather intense character in this film.

Moving back to “The Namesake,” this movie is based on Jhumpa Lahiri’s book with the same name. The movie is the story about a Bengali family, the Ganguli family, consisting of Ashoke and Ashima and their two children Gogol and Sonia, and their journey from Calcutta, India to New York and eventually to Boston. Ashoke is played by Irfan Khan and Ashima is played by the incredible Tabu, who is a very talented Indian actress. It spans between the three cities and talks about the conflict of Gogol, played by Kal Penn. Gogol has an identity crises and is trying to find himself. In addition his name “Gogol,” which is given in the honor of the Russian author his father reveres is also the cause of the conflict. There is a story behind it which unfolds as the movie progresses. Gogol dates a Caucasian Manhattan socialite but then eventually marries an Indian-American with the same Bengali heritage. That does not solve his problem either and a family tragedy brings him closer to his roots. The other inter generational conflict is the fact that most expatriate Indians think that their children must marry into their regional and cultural background. Doing that is not necessarily the formula for a happy marriage, which is highlighted by Gogol’s situation. Also the fact that the Indian community is so insular and they socialize only with “their own.” This can be very conflicting for a child who has one life in school and whole other in the parent’s home.

Mira Nair is a sensitive film maker and her films are very poignant and capture intense emotions which are interspersed with such humor. The other thing I have noticed is Mira Nair’s ability to spin her very own special cinematographic magic in her movies. She always shoots on location and paints a very realistic picture of an Indian life. She makes very ugly landscapes and cityscapes look very beautiful. As an artist I see beauty in the old dilapidated buildings, in the crowded streets and in the amalgamation of different cultures that is India so I completely identify with her aesthetic sensibilities.

All I can say is that it was an enjoyable evening and I would definitely recommend this movie to you.

Among Other Things:
There were other things in that movie that I could identify with as Bengali culture is not dissimilar to Maharashtrian culture.

The one thing that I identified the most was with the concept of pet names. Bengalis tend to have two names for their kids, a pet name and a registered name. One of my Bengali classmates had a nickname “Rana” and my friends and I used to mercilessly harass him by calling him “Rana Tigrina,” which is the scientific name of the Indian bullfrog (I know it is not funny at all but it was quite funny at that time. Thank God my sense of humor has matured with age). Gogol is the character's pet name while his registered name is "Nikhil."

My sisters and I have registered names and totally different pet names too. My pet name is rather weird sounding and if translated in America would be considered a "racial slur," when in actuality it is a very common term of endearment in India. Till today my parents, sisters, brother-in-law, and old friends call me by my pet name. Even my 13-year old nephew refuses to call me and my younger sister by the honorific Marathi/Indian term “Mavshi” (which means mother’s sister) and instead calls me by my pet name. For quite some years of my life my pet name overtook my actual registered name and it can be very annoying when acquaintances start calling you by it.

I couldn’t really identify with the need felt by Ashoke and Ashima to hang out with other Bengalis but it is true with a lot of expatriate Maharashtrians as well. When I first moved to New Jersey, my cousin asked me if I joined the “Maharashtra Mandal,” which basically is the cultural group of all Maharashtrians. I said that I did not and he replied that since I don’t have children I might not feel the need. I wondered if it would change when I become a parent but then since K and I never made friends based on ethnicity I don’t think it will ever matter to us.

As an Indian woman who lives in the United States, I couldn’t identify with Ashima perhaps because she belongs to a totally different generation than me. I could however identify with her love for her family in India as I am part of a very close-knit family. Although I live here with my husband and have lived here all by myself as well and despite being well integrated and comfortable with mainstream American society yet I still miss my home and family terribly.

Last but not the least, the character is an architect who gets inspired to study architecture after visiting the Taj Mahal. When I was 13, I visited Agra on a school trip and was completely awe-struck by the architectural splendor of Taj Mahal and Fathepur Sikhri. It sounds very cliched but I attribute my architecture and planning education to that trip!

PS: I also love Bengali sarees and despite being a person who seldom wears sarees I own (K calls it "hoard") quite a few Dhaka, Tangail, Kantha and Baluchari sarees. So I enjoyed looking at all the beautiful sarees as well.

Monsoon in Panchgani

2007-03-22T21:47:00.000-04:00

(To maintain anonymity on this blog, I have cropped off my name. This painting belongs to Sai Speak)

I had mentioned in my previous post that I have been cleaning up and organizing my stuff. I found this landscape that I had painted way back in August 1999 in Panchgani, which is a small hill station near Mumbai. This town is a plateau in the Sahyadri mountains that run across the State of Maharashtra. This town runs along the river Krishna. I had painted this early in the morning, using gouache and watercolors. I remember we were staying in a hotel overlooking the river. This was painted on a day when it was raining a lot and the river was very turbulent.

Panchgani is very close to Mahabaleshwar, which is another hill station. Both these small towns were developed by the British and have quaint colonial style architecture. It also has substantial Zorastrian (Parsee) population. This town is famous for their elite boarding schools as well. Speaking of which, one of my father-in-law's friends had their son studying in one of the schools. On this particular visit of ours, the friend was visiting her son as well. We bumped into her by chance and she insisted that we go and see her son and check out his school. K and I made up excuses but she didn't get the hint and literally dragged us to her son's school. The entire time K was grumbling to me about having to meet people and be forced to make small talk and hang out with them. I told him to grin and bear it. But as soon as we reached the school we were totally taken by the beauty of the surroundings. The school is nestled at the end of one mountain range and has the magnificent panoramic view of the mountains. The school had an ampitheatre which took advantage of the natural contours and dropped down to the stage that overlooked into a valley.

Monsoon in Panchgani is relentless. It doesn't rain heavily but there is a constant drizzle and the temperatures go as low as 50F (which is cold given the tropical location!). Anyway so we were at the top of the amphitheater and K wanted to check the view. I told him to not go further because I feared that there might be moss on the steps due to the moisture.

Typical K ignored me and ventured down the steps when he slipped on the moss, went for a toss and went tumbling down the steps. In full view of the principal of the school, our friend, her son and a few of his classmates, K screamed involuntarily "Mother F****!!!!! Oh F***!" The velocity with which he slid down the steps scared the hell out of me and I feared that he might just go over the railing and into the valley. Helplessly I along with the others watched him slide down the steps all the way to the bottom of the amphitheater. Miraculously he pulled himself up with minor bruises and screamed from the bottom of the steps, "Don't worry I am OK." He was fine the only thing bruised was his ego and few scratches on his arm! He was embarassed not only because of his fall but also the fact that he cussed! K rarely cusses and most certainly would watch his language in front of people he doesn't know at all! After ascertaining that he was indeed well I started laughing. I told K that he was concerned about making small talk with his father's friend, but after hearing him cuss and that too in front of her eight year old son, his few classmates and her son's school principal, his father's friend would most certainly not want to socialize with him for a pretty long time!

Spring cleaning....a painting and an anecdote

2007-03-18T20:40:00.000-04:00

This year has been quite crazy season wise. It was rather warm in January and we had storm on last friday. Anyway this weekend I decided to clean up and organize my stuff. As I was rummaging through all my nonsense, I found this painting that I had painted about ten years ago.

K's father owns a weekend home by the sea in a small town near Bombay called Alibag. We used to spend go there every other weekends with our friends. His father's house was situated right on the beach but was seperated by sand dunes; therefore you couldn't see the sea from the home but could always hear it. Their house was designed in such a way that there were no proper doors or windows in the living and dining area so anyone could walk in and out! I always used to be nervous about the fact that the house could be easily be broken into but it was close to the village and those who are from that area will know that it is very safe place.

On one of our visits I set out early in the morning with my easel, paper and colors to paint the above landscape. While I was walking back home I saw a cobra slither past me into my father-in-law's property! I stood in my tracks frozen with fear, which was a good thing because I surely would have had a lethal dose of the venomous poison had I reacted. At that very moment I was trying to recollect the first aid tips that we were taught in school in an event of a snake bite. It is one thing recollecting first aid tips for your school test and another thing recollecting while watching a poisonous reptile slither in front of you, whose bite incidentally is very fatal! That night I slept with my one eye open.

Tea

2007-03-09T21:21:00.000-05:00

Sanjay mentions “tea” as the Friday word in his blog and has written a lovely poem. I suck at poetry so decided to share an anecdote instead.

I absolutely love tea and once upon a time could drink innumerable cups per day. Those who are from India can identify with the ubiquitous chai-vallas present all over the country. When I joined my architecture program at Sir JJ School of Art, my best friend’s older sister took me under her wing. She took me to the JJ canteen. This place was famous and reminisced by all famous alumni for being the place where they got “inspired.” Anyway it served the most decocted and therefore rather strong masala tea and batatavada with pav. She told me that if my stomach can take that I am ready to face the five years of undergraduate study. I survived that test and spent my five years of architecture eating all the street food in South Bombay. That has worked wonders on my immune system!

JJ’s canteen was run by a very kind gentleman called Laxman who had kids from his village working as chai-vallas. These boys used to go to school at night and work during the day. The architecture building had these two boys, Sitaram and Ramu, bringing in innumerable cups of chai to give us, teetotalers a good caffeine buzz. I for one cannot go without sleep, so survived sleepless nights on hundreds of cups of chai. The vada-pav was so sad and the tea was equally bad yet I got hooked on it. I always used to tease the guys in Hinglish (mixture of Hindi and English), “Arrey Sitaram jara adulterated chai aur vada pav lana,” which translates as please get me some adulterated food from the canteen. Sitaram, barely spoke a word of English but would always give me a beaming smile and say, “Thank you very much Madam,” without even realizing what it meant. Laxman was extremely compassionate with all the students who lived away from home in the hostels. With the rest of us who lived at home he was pretty particular and saw that we paid our chai tabs on time. The kids had photographic memories and would remember how much we owed them and when we ordered what. Despite the fact that we lived with our parents and not in the hostel, we were equally broke as the students living in the hostel.

One year my college hosted the national convention of all architecture schools in India and everyone’s parents came to visit. My parents were not at all interested but I felt so left out. I called them up from school and threw a huge tantrum so they were coerced into attending it! As I showed them around the campus and introduced them to all my classmates, I asked my dad if he wanted to have chai at the canteen. He said “why not” and we walked up to it. At that time I remembered that I had to pay Sitaram and didn’t want my father to know how much I owed. So I told my father, “Never mind, the tea here is rather bad.” At that very moment, cheeky Sitaram ran towards us and asked my father, “Do you want tea?” and ran back with two cups. My dad asked him how much he owed and Sitaram said “Rs. 200.” My father looked at him with a very surprised expression as chai was only Rs 1.25 then. Sitaram then said that I owed them around Rs 200. My dad scolded me as to why I didn’t pay these guys right away. I said that I always paid regularly. So my father asked me that since when was this tab due. I was embarrassed and said that I didn’t remember but the precocious kid Sitaram squealed saying that it was since the previous morning. Then he rattled of how many cups of tea and vada pav I had since the previous morning. My father chuckled and joked that I had an iron stomach to endure all this and not fall sick but my mother gave me one of those looks that makes you want mother earth to open and swallow you! I really wanted to kick myself for even inviting them over. Anyway I learnt my lesson and decided that if my parents don’t want to hang out with me it is just fine by me!

Nothing Substantial to write about

2007-03-05T20:47:00.001-05:00

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post I have started a new job. It is a group of companies with different office locations and I work in one of the branch offices. I must confess that on my first day when they set up my computer and email, I checked to see how many desis were working in that company. Then I found, out of how many of those belonged to Maharashtra. I know it sounds pretty provincial but what the hell….enquiring minds want to know. So I started stereotyping to find what they were doing in that company. I found that all desis, including myself, were pretty much doing geeky things. Maybe there is some truth in painting with a broad brush of generalization. I was also pleased to know that there were other foreigners working and I am assuming it is a pretty diverse place. This was such a contrast to my old job where I was the only Indian and foreigner. I was asked a lot of ridiculous questions, which used to annoy me. Sometimes I would make up things just for fun! I would come home and regale K with anecdotes of all the nonsense I have been telling the ignoramuses at my old work place. He always laughs at my imagination and my ability to poke fun at myself! Anyway that’s all I am going to write about my work place, old as well as new.

Anyway on Saturday I took a train to the City at an unearthly hour, to meet one of my dear friends who was visiting the City. I thought I might peacefully nap the entire time. I was sitting in the second car and was peacefully napping until when the train pulled out of Newark International Airport Station. I was rudely awakened by a male voice yelling in the first car, “Hello….Hello can you please not talk on your cell phone. People are trying to sleep here.” The guy had a distinctive foreign accent, to which ethnic group it belonged shall not be disclosed. He continued yelling, “You are not in your living room but in a train….so please SHUT UP.” We did not know whom he was yelling at because we couldn’t hear the other person on the cell phone. Everyone in our car woke up and started looking around for the errant cell phone user. At that very moment, the woman stopped talking on the cell phone and yelled back in a foreign accent, which also won’t be disclosed, “You don’t own this train and it is a free country.” She continued talking on the cell phone and briskly walked towards our car talking in a foreign language with the guy following her and yelling, “Hello hello…how are you??….ha ha ha….what are you doing at 7AM.” By that time everyone in our car were woken by this ruckus and were looking stunned at the spectacle. The guy chased her out of our car and walked back and sat down on an empty seat right in front of me! I thought the whole situation was so funny and wanted to laugh out loud….but couldn’t as I was scared of the cell phone Nazi sitting in front of me. I thought maybe he doesn’t like people laughing too and might chase me out of the car as well! I am completely annoyed by people talking non-stop on their cell phones but just ignore them than make a fool of myself. Like I mentioned in yesterday’s post….there is never a dull moment in New Jersey!

The reason for not blogging

2007-03-04T12:36:00.000-05:00

First of all, Sugarlips and Sanjay, thank you very much for dropping a line and finding out how I was faring. I am very well and the reason for not blogging regularly is that I have recently started a new job. Last week was my first week and it is a long commute. So I leave home early in the morning, negotiate Jersey drivers and Jersey highways *rolling eyes* to my new place of work. In case anyone wants to know I can say "F*** Off" in Italian these days! I have longer hours than my previous job and also the commute to my old job was only ten minutes hence I had all the free time in the evening to write. Most importantly, I was so frustrated in my previous job that towards the end I would even blog during my office hours *blushing with embarassment* to cope with the frustration. Hence there were regular posts from me for the past few months.

As I had mentioned earlier blogging is very therapeutic for me. I will still write on weekends and probably a post or two during the week as I enjoy this very much. Yesterday I couldn't write because I left early in the morning to meet my friend, who was visiting New York on business, for brunch. Of course I have a funny story that happened on the train ride to the City which I might blog about in a little bit. All I can say is that there is never a dull moment in Jersey! I am sorry I haven't had a chance to visit all your blogs and shall do it very soon.

Hey Dan, from Dan's blah blah blog, I have a slogan for New Jersey and here it is......
New Jersey: Never a dull moment here!

"Family Matters" by Rohinton Mistry

2007-02-24T01:31:00.000-05:00

For the past few days I have been reading Rohinton Mistry’s book “Family Matters,” which was published in 2002. The book is based in Mumbai in the nineties and is a story of a seventy-nine year old Parsee widower who is suffering from Parkinson’s disease. One evening he suffers a fall and is incapacitated due to it. He is living with his two step children who cannot bear the burden of taking care of him. They therefore callously dump him in their half-sister’s matchbox apartment in the city. Although sad the author has written with wry humor and the language is exquisite.

Those who don’t know, Parsees are Iranians who fled religious persecution and sought refuge in India in the 7th Century AD. They escaped to preserve their Zorastrian religious traditions and entered the subcontinent through the western coast of Gujarat. They enjoyed religious tolerance in India for many centuries and prospered under the British rule. They are called Parsees because they spoke “Farsi,” which is the spoken language in Iran. My alma mater, Sir J.J. School of Art was started in 1857 with the benevolence of a Parsee philanthropist Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy. The author belongs to the Parsee community as well.

Zorastrians worship fire as they believe that the energy of the creator is represented by fire or sun. The Parsees are very orthodox and a non-Parsee cannot enter their fire-temples. As a child I was so fascinated by the fire temples and used to ask my Parsee friends to describe the interior of the temple. Having grown up in the city and exposed to Parsee culture, especially their food, this novel appealed to me on more levels than one. While reading the book I imagined the scent of sandalwood, the frankincense burnt in the evening, the aroma of dhansak and patiyo, the rustling of beautiful silk gara sarees worn during their weddings and navjote.

The main protagonist, the aging Parsee widower, had fallen for a non-Parsee woman in his youth. She was of a different faith therefore their romance was met with strict opposition. What follows is a tragic sequence of events, which are started by the religious bigotry and unrequited love! This begs the question as to whether it is worth preserving traditions at the cost of ruining so many lives.

The romance in the novel reminded me of the story of one of my classmates from India. She belongs to the Parsee community and fell in love with a guy who belonged to an equally orthodox Hindu Brahmin community. Of course all through their college years in India they totally hid their romance from their parents. The guy came to the United States to study in one of the Ivy Leagues and soon after made plans for my friend to join him. She came to the United States on a student visa and they both started living together. The news reached her orthodox family who threw a fit. Her grandmother called her up and said “Stop this nonsense and come home right this very instant.” Armed with defiance and courage, a product of the geographical distance and being in love she told her grandmother, “You must be out of your mind.” So the grandmother started emotionally blackmailing her telling her that her actions have caused her heart trouble and many other ailments. My friend was completely defiant!

Her boyfriend (now husband) proposed marriage to her a couple of times but she preferred living with him only to spite her family. Finally they got married, more from an immigration perspective than societal norms, which wasn’t attended by any member of their respective families. Eventually both the families were embarrassed by their bigotry and had a wedding reception in India for my friend and her husband. Of course today everything is hunky dory with both the families but my friend and her husband don’t miss a chance to poke fun at their families!

Movie Night

2007-02-21T01:05:00.000-05:00

I saw the movie “Queen” this evening. It is an entertaining film. The movie begins with the election of Tony Blair and is based around Diana’s demise almost ten years ago. It is a rather satirical take on a tragic event. I must say Helen Mirren was outstanding in her portrayal of the Queen. She humanizes the monarch as a person with feelings, trapped in the antiquated traditions of British monarchy with a sense of duty over personal feelings. Prince Philip is portrayed as a complete moron, which might be true. The premise is that the hysteria that surrounded Diana’s death shook the monarchy from its royal stupor and made them loosen the stiff upper lip so to speak.

K and I decided on an impulse to go and see the movie. We caught the 9:30 PM show at the mall. I was craving for an ice cream but since the mall closes at 9PM, I couldn’t satisfy my craving. K suggested that we go to Barnes and Noble bookstore in the mall and have an iced green tea instead. My experience has been that whenever I order it, they invariably screw it up! I always meet a daft person who doesn’t know how to make it. Predictably this is just what happened. When I explained to her how it is made (I have observed others make it and have asked questions), the woman gives me a sheepish grin and says that her customers know how to make stuff than her! I resisted saying to her, “It’s just tea honey, not rocket science.” Better sense prevailed and I gave her a beatific smile instead of sarcasm. By the way I am seriously thinking of quitting my current job and taking up a job as chai latte trainer in Starbucks.

Finally she gets us our chai and we set off towards the theatre, which is at the other end. Since it was a week night we didn’t expect a lot of people but were very nervous to realize that we were the only ones! Initially we nervously glanced over our shoulders towards the exit but were soon at ease. The fun part was we could put our feet over the next row and comfortably watch the movie and talk loudly without anyone shushing us! That made the experience even more enjoyable.

The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai

2007-02-19T20:17:00.000-05:00

I had this book sitting on my desk for the past two months and had not got a chance to read it. I happened to finally read it over the weekend and thoroughly enjoyed it. This post is not a review. I have linked two excellent reviews for your reading pleasure; one by NY Times and the other by my blogging buddy Lotus. Kiran Desai's mother Anita Desai is a prolific Indian writer, whose work I had read years ago in India. I was curious about this book for two reasons; one because this book has won the Man Booker prize and the other because I had heard her interview with Terry Gross on NPR's Fresh Air and was quite impressed.

I absolutely love the author's writing. The book has melancholy and sadness in it, which is interspersed with humor and wit. She has wonderfully depicted the different classes of Indian society in post colonial India. Being of the same generation as the author I share a lot of observations with her. Having grown up in a cosmopolitan city like Mumbai (formerly Bombay), which has its share of "brown sahibs," who are Oxbridge educated anglophiles whose formative years were in pre-independance India. Therefore they have a chip on their shoulder and are more English than the British themselves. My generation, however is confident about our Indian identity and can step back and look objectively at such pretentious elitists!

She has also poignantly depicted how poverty and helplessness and a feudal mindset gnaws away the dignity of the lower classes of society. Although the book is set against the backdrop of the Gorkhaland movement, it is not at all political. It is more anecdotal as it describes the effect it had on the lives of the people living along the Indo-Nepal border. One of the characters, Gyan with slight education joins the movement without really identfying with it but more as an outlet to his anger and frustration. Though not directly, I can draw parallels to the religious fundamentalism in India in the nineties, where some impressionable youth fell for the hatred spewed under the name of faith!

She has also described the lives of illegal immigrants in New York, who are lured by the ambition of earning dollars. They live like cattle under inhuman conditions and since they don't have proper paperwork, they are taken advantage of by their employers. In her interview on Fresh Air, she mentioned that she had actually walked into the kitchens of restaurants in New York and interviewed these members of the shadow economy. The book is sad and has honestly painted the grim reality of life in the developing world (I HATE the word "Third World") yet she has beautifully managed to not let the reader feel depressed at the end!

All in all I enjoyed the book thoroughly as you could move those characters out of the colonial town at the foothills of Himalayas and place them in Mumbai (built by the British). It reminded me of quite a number of Bombayites (not Mumbaikars) with their affected accents and cute weekend homes with picket fences, their high teas with dainty cucumber sandwiches and pastries! Their sense of privilege over their servants, who always feel deferential to their employers. Also living in the city are the sons of the soil "Shiv Sainiks" who are against anything that is perceived as "western," without even understanding the philosophy of Hinduism!

Public Toilets

2007-02-17T18:30:00.000-05:00

I have an absolute disdain for public toilets and try to avoid them as much as possible. I keep imagining that people who might have used the space before me might have all these various diseases, which I might contract. I know it’s the hypochondriac in me talking! Maybe it has got to do with my growing years in India. Everyone knows that public toilets in India are not the best. Of course that is applicable more in rural areas than in cities or urban centers. Anyway due to that I never leave my home for work until all my business is taken care of. There is no way I will be caught dead using my office toilet! My bathroom is a place of tranquility and meditation. I have candles, paintings that are effective on bowel movements (I am just making this up!) and magazines to read. I also have my radio set to NPR. So all in all, the atmosphere is conducive to….err …morning ablutions.

K and I used to take a lot of road trips in India and several times I have made K check the men’s room so that I could use them in lieu of women’s restrooms. This idiosyncrasy of mine amuses K to no end. I think since men have an option of a stall or a urinal and basically most men are lazy and are exhibitionists (oops I have alienated all my male readers including my spouse), they seldom use the stalls; therefore those are pretty clean. I found this out years ago when my friends and I had to do a study of a rural hospital for one of our class projects in architecture school. It was located in a remote village, which had a substantial adivasi (tribal) population. My friends and I left early in the morning in one of my friend’s car. En route we found that the ladies toilets were really disgusting but the guys in our group informed us that the stalls in the men’s room were very clean. That for me was an important piece of information, which I never forgot!

Anyway I happened to read this post on Dan’s blog two weeks ago, where he has wrote about proper etiquette in men’s restrooms. Those rules don’t apply to women (women have their own set of rules as specified in the companion post, which is linked from Dan's post) as they have their own stalls and can do their business in total privacy. His post reminded me about a funny incident that took place at my work sometime back. I walked into my office’s restroom. As always it took me few minutes to put in sheets of toilet paper over the seat protection sheet (again it’s the hypochondriac in me) and just as I was about to go on with what I sought to do, I heard someone in the next stall groan, “Oh my God…Jesus….Oh my…Aah…Oh God.” At that very moment I also heard a distinct buzzing sound. I froze and thought to myself that although the stalls offer privacy it is still a public space.

I rushed out of the stall in total disgust and found to my great relief, one of my coworkers brushing her teeth with a spin brush (hence the buzzing sound). She looked at me and whispered, “Who the hell is groaning in the next stall?” At that very moment the door to the stall opened and we found a woman walk out with her eyes glued to the floor and groaning “Oh my God….Jesus….” and a few other incoherent words. She didn't make eye contact with us and walked past us without even glancing in our direction. We didn’t know who she was but later found out that she was a new employee who is a complete whack job! She is extremely strange and walks around the building with her eyes glued to the floor and talks to herself. She could be a character in one of SNL’s sketches or even have her own show on Comedy Central. I told my coworker what I had suspected and we both could not stop laughing!

Bloggers Anonymous!

2007-02-15T18:06:00.000-05:00

Contrary to what the words might suggest, I do not know of any support group that deals with blogging addicts. Anyway my personality is not addictive (famous last words! ;-)). I have been posting on this blog for almost five months. Still except my husband, two sisters and two friends, no one knows about my blog. I just realized that it might change anytime. The other day I blogged about my name but then I would like to believe that I have still maintained anonymity because my name is not uncommon in my part of the world. The initial reason for anonymity was because of some reticence on my part. I wasn’t sure who would be reading and what response I would get. My experience so far has been that I have met very interesting bloggers and whose blogs I love to visit as well.

The other day I was reminded of the most important reason for my anonymity. One of my friends called up to chat after a very long time. We hadn’t spoken to each other close to six months. So while talking I happened to casually mention that I blog. It was one of those moments when you are not thinking and words slip out of your mouth. The first thing this person said, “Don’t you think it might work against your favor if your employer found out that you blog.” My response was that my blog is very harmless; I avoid talking about my work, work related politics or anything that might offend anyone. Mostly I try to write humorous posts and poke fun at myself and K. So then he said, “Why didn’t you let me know about your blog?” That is the time I realized that it was a matter of trust to me. The few people that I have told about my blog are the ones whom I love very dearly and whom I trust implicitly! Of course the above-mentioned friend is a very nice person but I didn’t want him to accidentally mention this to anyone else.

My discomfort is due to the fact that one of my other classmates used to stalk people online. Let us call him “OS.” OS had (still has) a very bad habit of “googling” people’s names and getting information about them. I couldn’t believe how easily one’s personal information is available online. My friend spoke to OS, who informed him that one of my other classmates will be having a baby soon. Now OS didn’t find out this information like how normal people would but instead by regularly stalking our classmate online. We have an online forum for people from my field, which enables people to network with professionals from North America as well as other parts of the world. There is a section where you can talk about personal stuff too. I asked my friend if OS still stalks people. My friend started laughing and said that old habits die hard. I thought it was very creepy because it is more than four years since getting our graduate degrees but OS is still interested in finding out what others are doing….people that he wasn’t even friends with! It is so voyeuristic. Giving the URL of my blog to OS would be comparable to undressing by the window....with the light switched on and the blinds not drawn!

Happy Valentines Day

2007-02-14T08:36:00.000-05:00

I think Valentines day is the cheesiest and corniest day (Oops I just lost my readers who love V-day). It must be obvious now that I don't own a Hallmark card or Yankee candles store. I was always like that even in my teens and twenties. I always made fun of my friends who did something special on Feb 14th! Why can you not profess your love on Feb 10th or March 20th or what the hell every day. Why choose one special day to bring in heart shaped balloons, cards and chocolates. Now with my sweet tooth....the sure way to woo me would be with sweets everyday. By the way, this way you would be wooing two people; me as well as my dentist!

Anyway today we have the day off because of the inclement weather. My boss called me up at 5AM to tell this bit of news and I was annoyed with him for waking me at such an unearthly hour (of course I didn't say anything to him though)! I couldn't go back to sleep and heard some enthusiastic neighbors thoroughly scraping the ice to leave for work. I thought to myself....that is dedication....braving icy roads for a deadend job! Maybe they don't have a deadend job....maybe they are out there saving the world while I am complaining about being woken up at 5AM!

K has gone out of town for a few days and will be returning today. I called him up to ask him to check if the flights are delayed and the first thing he says on picking up the phone, "Happy Valentines day Sweetie." I scoff and grumble, "Give me a break!" He starts laughing. If you all think that I am a cynical biyatch....well that could be true... but the fact is that it is a joke between K and I. He knows this about me and will say the most corniest things just to tease or rile me. Hey...I don't dig mush but totally dig good humor and K has plenty of that!

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY and lots of love and hugs from me for the rest of the year as well!

In memory of my friend

2007-02-13T16:51:00.000-05:00

Warning: Long winded and sad post ahead. Please read at your own risk.

Tomorrow is Valentines Day and would also have been my best friend A’s birthday. She succumbed to ovarian cancer in November 2005. I met A when we started our architecture program. I remember looking at her with utter disdain on my first day…she was an inch taller than me at 5’9” and wore her hair in a long plait that was soaked with coconut oil. She was wearing an utterly dowdy outfit which was so ill fitting. She came towards me to say “Hi” but I gave her the snootiest looks, which made the poor girl turn around. Of course appearances are deceptive and I found out that she was in fact really cool and very smart. We became best of friends! Very soon she lost the oily hair and got some fashion sense but I used to always tease her about that and she teased me about being Ms. Snooty.

After graduation she got married and came to the United States to pursue her graduate school and we always kept in touch. She had graduated and started working for an architectural firm. I came to the United States a few years later but we never got a chance to hang out as we lived far from each other. Yet we would talk to each other once a week. Later she got pregnant with her second child and also got really busy at work. We seldom spoke to each other as both of us were leading our respective lives. In addition she always felt guilty that she was abandoning her children so whenever I called her up on weekends, she would make small talk and tell me that she had to go and spend time with her children. Of course her abruptness never annoyed me and I understood. Till one day I had called her to wish her on her anniversary and she told me how busy she is with her children, career and her social life that she didn’t have time for any of her old friends. I was thoroughly offended and decided that I won’t call her up anymore. She moved to India six months later and I had visited India around that time but didn’t call her up at all. I thought to myself that if she cared she will send me an email! She didn’t keep in touch and I thought to myself “Oh well, I won’t waste my time on people who don’t want to keep in touch with me.”

Almost a year later, one of our friends, who lives in California left a phone message quite early in the morning, asking me to call her up urgently. I called her up and she said that she had very bad news for me and asked me to not freak out. She told me that A had ovarian cancer, which was detected very recently and that she didn't have many days left. Our friend found this out by chance as she was visiting India and found A in her parent's home. Our friend like a true desi had to get to the bottom of it and being completely tactless asked A if she were getting a divorce.

A had told our friend about her illness. She said that since it was recently detected, she was coping with the news and that she didn't want anyone to bother her. She said that if I ever enquired about her then to let me know. My friend of course called me up right away and told me to not delay calling her up. It took me a few days to compose myself and muster courage to call her up. She was very happy to hear my voice and knew that I know! It was obvious that I did because we had not spoken to each other for a year and a half. I spoke to her about everything under the sun except her illness. We reminisced about the good old days and giggled over the silliest things.

As soon as she hung up I started crying and couldn’t stop. I was sad not only about her illness but also that she had come home from chemotherapy and her two year old who had just started to speak, insisted in his baby voice that he wanted to talk to me on the phone as well. She told me very casually that this is the first time she is hearing him talk as she was away from her family for a month for her treatment. The three of us chatted over the phone. At that very moment tears started rolling down my cheeks but I didn’t want her to know that. I told her “A don’t worry you will outlive all of us.” She started laughing and said, “Sai you are an eternal optimist but thank you!” We spoke for about an hour and when I was about to hang up she said “Thanks for everything.” I asked, “What do you mean?” She said, “Thanks for always being a friend to me and for always understanding me.”

After that I called her up a few times. These conversations took an emotional toll over me and K told me to not do that to myself and to lead my life! Once A asked me if I was planning to visit India during Diwali and that she would like to see me. I told her that I had my professional licensing exams then and couldn't visit but had booked tickets for February. I promised that I would celebrate her birthday with her. She laughed and told me, “Sai, I don’t think I will last till February but I do want to spend Diwali with my children though. I want it to be very memorable for them.” I told her to not talk nonsense and have faith! Ironically she died a week after Diwali and I did go to India in February 2006. I spoke to her parents and sister after her passing and it was a very difficult moment for all of us. When I was in India, I thought about her on her birthday but didn’t go to see her parents. I had seen how my parents reacted to her passing and just didn’t have the strength to face her parents. Since I was so upset I couldn’t even how her family must be coping!

Life can be so cruel as those tiny kids are deprived of knowing what a wonderful person their mother was! My heart goes out to her little children but I am sure my friend is a guardian angel, watching over her little ones.

Why Sai?

2007-02-11T20:16:00.000-05:00

A fellow blogger left a comment on my previous post saying that she was intrigued by my name “Sai," which reminded her of Sai Baba, who is her guru. I thought to myself that ever since I have started blogging I have never had an introductory post about me and my name, so here is the post albeit five months late!

Sai is not my real name. It is one of the many nicknames that my father had for me as a child. It is pronounced as “Saee,” as opposed to the Sai in Sai Baba which is pronounced as “Saaee.” My name is rather long. I am named after a historical figure whose tragic love story is famous in India. She was a princess in love with her father’s enemy, who was a king as well. Those who are not familiar with India; ancient India wasn’t cohesive and consisted of many kingdoms that were at war with each other. The princess, against her father’s wishes eloped with her lover. He was so besotted by her charm that he neglected his kingdom and in the bargain was attacked. He lost his kingdom to his enemy, who captured and blinded him! The story ends with the captured blind king killing his enemy with an arrow, which he accurately aimed at the direction of the sound of his conqueror’s voice. All my readers from the Indian subcontinent might have guessed my name by now. If not, shame on you for napping during history class!

I have been teased a lot about my name in school. The typical ones would be to not call me by my actual name but "P" the name of my namesake’s lover/husband. For e.g. girls in my school would say “Hi P” instead of “Hi S” or “Hey S, where is your P?” When I was in the ninth or tenth grade, I attended special coaching classes, which tutored in Math and Science. This was a staple of all geeky kids in Bombay, who harbored ambitions to get into engineering or medical schools. I wasn’t cool then but just another awkward teenager with big hair, buck teeth and glasses. My two sisters never went through an awkward phase like me; they were cute kids who blossomed into beautiful ladies totally bypassing the awkward stage! So I always looked very ugly in their comparison. Of course both of them were very kind and never teased me.

Anyway so I used to ride my bicycle to the coaching classes. We were three girls who rode bicycles as opposed to majority of the boys in our class. So we had to fight with the guys for a place on the bike rack and were constantly at the receiving end of their harmless boyish pranks. Also every time I walked past, a group of guys would scream in unison, “Hey S where is your P? Can I be your P?” At that age it can be very embarrassing and also very annoying. I was very tall for my age and was a total tomboy. I would walk past them completely ignoring them. One day, however I lost it….of course at that time I didn’t know but now I do…. the time when you get angrier than usual is called PMS! I was walking past them minding my own business when one of the guys in that group blocked my path and asked me “Hey S where is your P? Can I be your P” I completely lost it and grabbed the guy, who was three inches shorter to me and very thin, by his collar and venomously hissed “What did you just ask me?” The other guys looked completely shocked and this guy was shaking from head to toe. Then I left his collar and walked on, but he was so shocked by my reaction that he lost his balance and fell on his posterior! At that moment everyone (including me) in our group started laughing. From that day on none of the guys ever made eye contact with me or even called my name!

Years later K introduced me to his extended family on his mother’s birthday. On meeting me his aunt teased, “Hey S….so is K your P?” Of course at that time I didn’t grab the end of her saree but just smiled and said “Yes I think so.”

Media Circus over a tragic death and a Bentley!

2007-02-09T21:28:00.000-05:00

I know this post is one day late but then I was really tired last night and didn't have the energy to write so here is my post. Thank God I am not a journalist or else I wouldn't have lasted in that profession!

Last afternoon our secretary announced that Anna Nicole Smith had died. For a moment I couldn’t place her, so I asked “Anna who?” But my two male coworkers had a shocked look on their faces and said, “Wow really…..didn’t her son die recently?” My heartfelt sympathies to her family and loved ones but yesterday there was this non-stop media coverage over her death on CNN, MSNBC etc…I don’t watch other channels like Fox but I am assuming it must be the same everywhere…which was a bit much. I don’t know what Anna Nicole Smith’s claim to fame was except the legal battle for her late octogenarian oil tycoon husband’s wealth, whom she married when she was 26. Of course love is blind and knows no age….so I don’t care what you skeptics might say….it definitely must have been love and not at all wealth as Marshall family has been accusing her of (*rolling eyes*). Anyway I am saddened by her passing as she is survived by her infant daughter, who perhaps might be used as a pawn by other greedy “well-wishers” for their own selfish interests. Again they might not be interested in the prospective wealth the child might inherit….they might be just interested in the wellbeing of the child! I am just being cynical to insinuate greed.

Anyway I thought last night that there was enough intrusion in her life and decided to find out what was happening in my own country. I discover there is more intrusion with the controversy over a legendary Indian superstar presenting his son a Bentley on his birthday. His friend who is a politician claimed that the car belonged to him and not the actor and that he had bought with his own money. As a politician shouldn’t he be accountable as to what is his source of income and how could be afford to buy such an expensive car for his “personal use whenever he is in Mumbai.” I was curious as to what his source of income was and read on his website that he is an industrialist by profession. No further comments!

I cannot understand this intrusion of media in lives of “celebrities.” Do other people really care what is happening in these people’s lives that much? There are far more pressing issues that need to be reported than non-stop coverage of a “celebrity’s” death (although tragic) when there are war casualties (far more tragic). Do I really care who the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby is or when Abhishek and Aishwarya will get married? Those who care that much and lap up entertainment news need to get a life….SERIOUSLY!!!!

Remembering Gran

2007-02-03T21:11:00.000-05:00

My next door neighbor is a 91-year old woman. She still drives and likes to lead her life independently without any assistance from anyone. Her biggest fear, she had once confessed to me, was that she would lose her independence and would be forced by her daughter to spend her last days in an Assisted Facility. She is an extremely strong woman and in many ways reminds me of my late maternal grandmother, who died a couple of years ago at the ripe old age of 90.

My grandmother lived by herself and was totally independent. She never liked to ask any of her children for anything and would be offended if anyone even suggested. My grandparents did not live too far from my parent’s home. In fact all my mother’s siblings live within an hour’s drive from each other and so do my father’s siblings. My growing years we either had relatives visiting us or we were visiting relatives; so I do enjoy living far away from relatives here in the United States! My grandmother wasn’t the kind of person who would express her emotions freely. She was totally different than her daughter, my mother, who will unabashedly kiss her grown daughters and mother them even today! On the other hand I don’t remember my grandmother mollycoddling me, my sisters and her other grandchildren, even when we were children. I always loved visiting my grandparents’ home for my grandfather. He was so much fun to be with. He had a great sense of humor and absolutely loved children. You could get away with a lot of things with him but not with gran. She was strict and would not hesitate to discipline.

When my grandfather passed on, I used to visit my grandmother, initially more out of guilt than because I enjoyed her company. So every Friday we would have our lunch together. She would make my favorite dishes and of course delectable desserts, since I have a sweet tooth. She would however, not let me binge and would control my portions. She wasn't needy and would in fact tell me that if I wanted to hang out with my friends or kids my age on Friday’s instead of her, she wouldn’t mind and that I should do that. She would say that every time I left her home. It really used to annoy me because I thought she didn’t want to see me.

So one afternoon, out of spite, I didn’t go as per my scheduled time and hung out with my friends. I reached home around 4PM in the evening and my mother asked me the reason why I didn’t go to gran’s. I told my mother that I thought that she doesn’t really care about the fact that I find time for her. My mother started laughing and told me that her mother cannot express her feelings and that she cares....a lot about all her loved ones. She also told me that gran had made all my favorite stuff for lunch and was waiting for me and that she had not eaten herself! Since I hadn’t shown up as expected, she was worried about me and had called my mother. I was surprised and also felt ashamed at my behavior. She lived around fifteen minutes away so I rushed to her home. I lied and told her that I was studying late and that I was famished. I had had lunch but didn’t have the heart to tell her that. Since I love binging, that evening I binged to my heart’s content! After that I kept on my routine till I got married. Later K and I used to see her once a month. Before leaving for the United States, I spent an entire day with her.

Six months after moving to the US, my mother informed me that gran had stomach cancer and at that age did not want to be bothered with any treatment. I was upset and called her up right away. She was too weak to talk but insisted on speaking to me. When I heard her voice, I burst into tears. She scolded me and said that I waste too much of my time on emotions and that I should be pragmatic. She told me that she wouldn’t be there when I came home but warned me about crying or mourning. She said that I would be stupid if I wasted my time crying on the passing of a 90 year old woman. This was such a typical gran statement! Through my tears, I started laughing and we ended that conversation with laughter. She died a few days later peacefully in her sleep. Looking back I have learnt a lot from her; I hope to have her integrity, courage, strength and wisdom as I lead my life.

Friday word: COLOR

2007-02-01T20:18:00.001-05:00

I got the friday word from Mona's blog. I used to spell the word as C-O-L-O-U-R but since moving to the United States, spell it as above. “Manoeuvre” is now spelt as “maneuver,” “centre” as “center,” “kerb” as “curb” etc. Of course there are many more words but I am so brain-dead right now. Yes, people I do have a brain and you all thought that I was some vacuous blogger who wrote stories about her extremely boring and uneventful life. Well I do lead an extremely boring and uneventful life that it puts me to sleep as well. In fact the sure way for me to get sound sleep is to recollect the day’s events before going to bed and I am dead to the world! In fact I am yawning while typing this post.

Moving back to the friday word, I love colors but paradoxically my wardrobe is full of pieces in black and shades of grey. Therefore in conclusion, not only is my life boring but so is my wardrobe! The only thing colorful right now is my language. I had a post ready but the quirky and hungry blogger ate it up and it didn’t get published. I am too tired to write the post all over again. Normally I draft in Microsoft Word and cut and paste into blogger but I was lazy this evening; therefore serves me right!

I don't have any anecdotes or stories to share with the word "color." Since I will not cuss in a public forum hence there will be no colorful language in this post. I suck at poetry therefore will not have a lame-ass poem. The only other colorful things are my paintings, one of which I am sharing with you in this post. I painted this abstract representation of monsoon around ten years ago.

Those familiar with the Deccan area of India do know that summers are very hot and the overall landscape looks barren. With the advent of monsoon, however, it springs to life. There is nothing more pleasing to your senses than the fragrance of earth after the first shower. I absolutely love the monsoon season and this painting depicts my interpretation of the colors and moods of the season.

Five things you did not know about me

2007-01-30T19:42:00.000-05:00

I read Sanjay’s cool post about the five things about him that we did not know and thought perhaps I should do something similar. I know…I know this sounds self absorbed but anyway here are the five things about me that you did not know.

1. I am ambidextrous. I write with my left hand so it might seem that I am left-handed but in actuality I can write with both my hands. I however prefer writing with my left hand but use my right hand to chop vegetables etc.

2. I wear contact lenses and wear glasses at home and if I don’t have them on, everything around me is a blur. By my bedside table I have a pair of glasses at all times as I tend to remove my glasses and tend to forget where I put them last and of course since everything around me is a blur, I cannot find where the errant glasses might be!

3. I have a terrific memory for birthdays and phone numbers. I never need to write it in a diary, I can recollect every date. With the advent of cell phones, my memory for phone numbers is not as good as it used to be.

4. I am a Virgo and have typical traits like being a perfectionist, organized, emotional etc. There is one thing that most people don’t know and would never guess about me, is that my closet is very messy. I don’t organize my clothes as well as my books, documents etc. Yet in that chaos I always find things….cannot explain how that happens!

5. Although I am an extrovert and talk a lot, yet I am extremely shy and reticent in the matters of heart. When K and I became a couple, he came to see my parents with me. My mother had previously met K and knew who he was but my father was meeting him for the first time! My mother had been hospitalized and was convalescing. I remember K was nervous and had got her a bouquet of her favorite flowers. As soon as we walked in my parent’s home, I found my father’s older brother sitting there with his wife and son. I didn’t expect my uncle and his family to be there, who of course had come to see my mother. I got totally flustered and embarrassed and introduced K as "just someone I know from work." It shocked and offended K, because the prior week he had introduced me to every member of his family and friends as his fiancée! My parents were very surprised at me as well.

Among other things:

Here is a watercolor painting that I had painted sometime back.

Blast from the past

2007-01-27T22:00:00.001-05:00

I received an email from my classmate from architecture school a few weeks ago. He wrote about his work and other stuff happening in his life and concluded the email with “By the way your Bhabhi (sister-in-law in Hindi) will be getting married soon.” I read the sentence and started laughing out loud. K peered over my shoulder and chuckled. You might be wondering what the hell would be so funny about this sentence? Yes, there is no humor in this sentence unless you know the background. By the way my friend is married with kids but bhabhi didn’t mean his wife but someone else.

The guy and I were in the same studio and were good friends. When prospective students came to our school for their architecture school entrance exams, the subsequent interviews and eventually to the program, he would bug me to befriend the pretty girls and then introduce them to him. So I would go up to the “freshie” (first year) studio and smile and say “Hello” to the girls and then he would make a smooth entry moments later and I would say, “Hi meet my friend A.” Now I am not exactly the world’s nicest person, the reason for me to do this was not because of any benevolent spirit but because he would invariably put his foot in his mouth and say the most annoying thing and get insulted by the girls. As you all know almost all attractive women have very high self esteem and some have bloated egos as well. I enjoyed seeing him squirm and would always join the girls to make fun of him. I hoped that he would stop bugging me but he was relentless.

One year he came running up to the studio and said “Sai…Sai….you got to see this girl. She is so pretty. She lives in Khar (suburb of Bombay)…. not too far from my place…..you have got to talk to her.” He literally dragged me by my arm two stories down to where all the aspirants were gathered clutching their portfolios nervously. He pointed the girl to me….she was tall with porcelain skin and curly hair. Although she looked like a fragile doll, she was way too confident for a prospective student. He said “Go on introduce me to your prospective Bhabhi (my sister-in-law, by which he meant his wife).”

I burst out laughing and told him, “Forget it, she is way out of your league. I cannot bear to see you humiliate yourself once more.” Although I am not a nice person, I do have a conscience and wouldn't want to see my friend ridiculed. At that very moment she looked at my classmate with an icy cold stare (of course she wasn’t within earshot so did not hear us), which clearly said “Don’t you dare come and talk to me.” I walked back to the studio with this guy following me and complaining that since he had friends like me, he didn’t need enemies etc.

In case you guys are curious, “Bhabhi” is none other than Aishwarya Rai, who had come to my school for her architecture interview. This was prior to her Miss World and Bollywood days. The engagement that my friend alluded to has caused a media circus in India since the past few weeks.

Friday Word: Pitch

2007-01-25T21:36:00.000-05:00

Sanjay informed me that Pitch was the Friday word. The word pitch reminds me of pitching tents and takes me back to my school days. I was a girl guide and we would go on annual camps where obviously you had to be self reliant and do everything yourself. We used to get graded for everything we did and it was added on to the annual grades. I was very serious about grades and absolutely HATED low grades even if it was in Physical Education (gym) and Girl Guide, which were really not that important in the grand scheme of things (to be honest it is different getting a low grade in Math as compared to Girl Guide).

In my ninth grade we went to a camp site where we had to pitch our own tents. We were split into groups of six. The girls in my group were rather spoilt and thought that we could get away with a lot of stuff because Sister C wasn’t with us. They asked us to pitch our own tents and figure how to work everything out. We were graded based on how quick and efficient we were and my group didn’t do well. Then they asked us to cook, which was even worse, and slowly it was turning to be a nightmare for me. They asked us to make Indian bread (chapati) and the group who rolls the perfect round chapati’s would win a prize. All the girls in my group, including me, had total ennui towards anything related to domestic chores. A lot of my other classmates who came from more traditional Indian communities were trained by their mothers and we saw them quickly roll them. My group was the worst as every chapati we rolled was more a class in geography; map of India, map of China, Pakistan, etc.

I couldn’t bear to lose and since necessity is a mother of invention….I had a brilliant idea….I told my friends why don’t we roll them just the way we do and then once we are done we can use the lid of a steel container, having a diameter of six inches, as a mould in order to get a perfectly round chapati. My group was mighty pleased with the idea. One of my classmates asked “But Sai wouldn’t that be cheating?” I replied, “Well they haven’t laid down the rules so it is not cheating.” The other girls happily bought into my logic and went about rolling the perfectly round chapatis with a twist. One of my teachers walked by our group and exclaimed “Wow you girls are really talented! Who made them? You must demonstrate to the other girls” My group mates conveniently pointed to me and replied “Sai will show everyone. It was her idea.” Then much to my chagrin, she announced to my other classmates, “Sai will demonstrate to all of you how to roll the perfect chapatis.” So everyone gathered around our group and I was forced to show them how I managed to get the perfect round chapatis.

In case you are curious about the repercussions, I was made to run three times around the camp grounds. Come to think of it I was very skinny in school…..I attribute it all to running around the school grounds as punishment.

Ten Things I love that begin with the letter "K"

2007-01-24T16:52:00.000-05:00

I read a cool post on Lotus's blog about the ten things that she loves begining with the letter "B." I loved her post and offered to do one if she were to assign a letter to me. Being a regular reader of my blog and my blogging buddy she assigned the most obvious letter to me. Finally here is my post written after a lot of procrastination. It was rather difficult to come up with ten things that I love starting with the letter K (Gee and I thought it would be quite easy!)

1. *K*
Need I say more...I have blogged quite a bit about him previously. Since he is a very private person it will annoy him if I write more stuff about him. His name means "one who sees beauty in everything" or "one who has beautiful eyes" in Sanskrit. Incidentally before meeting him, his name was (and still is) one of my most favorite Indian names.

2. Knowledge
There is no single definition for knowledge. Merriam-Webster defines it as "the fact or condition of knowing something with familiarity gained through experience or association." I love to learn new things and strive to be very knowledgable in my field.

3. Kamal (Lotus in Indian)
It is one of my favorite flowers. The sight of a lake covered with lotuses is really beautiful. The flower I love the most is "Brahma Kamal," loosely translates as "Lotus of the Gods" a beautiful flower found in the spring time in the Himalayas. It is a sacred flower and is offered at the shrines of Badrinath. The most amazing thing about this flower is that it blooms at high altitudes in the cold weather. In addition, it blooms once in a while for a couple of hours between midnight until dawn.

The above picture was taken in our garden in Pune (which is far away from the Himalayas) seven years ago, when the entire plant bloomed with ten to fifteen flowers at midnight. K and I went crazy taking photos. The fragrance of these flowers is very subtle and soothing. K's mother had got the sapling from the Himalayas years ago and it never bloomed until that night. It surprised me that it bloomed in the tropical climate!

4. Kaleidoscopes
I absolutely love colors and kaleidoscopes fascinated me as a child. I remember my older sister's Physics project in the eight grade, when my mother helped her build a kaleidoscope. They had used shards of glass bangles in different colors. I remember being so fascinated by the myriad patterns created by them.

5. Kathmandu Valley
Kathmandu is the capital city of Nepal. I love the Himalayas and Kathmandu valley is so beautiful surrounded by these magnificent mountains. I love the old heritage sites in the vicinity like Patan, Bhaktapur, Pashupatinath and Swayambhunath Stupa. You can find more information here.

The above picture was taken by K at Bhaktapur, which is famous for its beautiful brick buildings with ornate wooden carvings.

6. Kitchen
Despite being a reluctant cook, I absolutely love kitchens. I love outdoor cooking and my dream home will have an outdoor kitchen with state of the art equipment. I also love to collect cookbooks, much to K's chagrin, as I seldom try out any of the recipes!

7. Kneading
I love kneading flour. It is very therapeutic and I can get all my frustration out on the dough! The positive outcome is I get rid of my stress and the Indian bread that I bake comes out excellent; therefore this exercise is a win-win situation.

8. Keys
Something as innocuous as keys, when you lose them become the most important thing in your life!

9. Kleenex
Since I tend to get emotional and cry for the most inane reasons, these are my best friends!

10. Kisses
Who in the world wouldn't love kisses? (Of course I mean from one's loved ones)

Only Pictures

2007-01-23T11:01:00.000-05:00

The past few weeks have been very hectic for me therefore blogging has taken a backseat. Someone emailed me these photos, which I thought were quite funny and I am sharing them with you!

Can you imagine this on NJ Turnpike? YIKES! Angry Jersey Drivers!!!!

Meet the Asses?

My birthday gift to K this year. By the way the above gentleman is not K....I wasn't robbed at the cradle!

Need I say more?

Friday Word: Coffee

2007-01-18T21:05:00.000-05:00

I always get the friday word from Sanjay's blog but found it this evening on Mona's blog. By the way I am an avid tea drinker and need my morning cuppa to function! I never drank coffee until I came to the United States. Now I drink black coffee, which is rather strong for a tea drinker who loves lattes. Of course I have my own anecdote associated with coffee.

My first job or rather my second job after graduation was as a trainee architect in one of India’s top architectural firms. My boss shared the office and studio with his erstwhile partners. So it was a fun filled space with many young architects like me. My father’s friend was a close friend of one of the ex-partners. When I started working he told me to totally steer clear of Mr. So and So‘s youngest son, as he had quite a reputation with the ladies. He told me that if the son asks you out for coffee, don’t go because who knows he might drug your coffee. My father’s friend had a febrile imagination perhaps because he had a lot of free time or perhaps he might be watching a lot of Bollywood films. I thought what he said was hilarious and I wanted to laugh out loud to his face but instead replied, “Don’t worry I only drink tea.”

Anyway Mr. So and So had more than one son and all his kids used to work for him. One of the sons used to hang out a lot with us. He looked younger than the other brothers and therefore I assumed that he might be the youngest son. He was an extremely well mannered and soft spoken person. He seemed like a thorough gentleman but I remembered the avuncular advice therefore would not talk to him at all. This guy was surprised at my behavior because I was introduced to him prior to joining the place and had chatted nineteen to a dozen with him. So my behavior definitely was a stark contrast from being Ms. Chatty chick to Ms. Snooty pants! For the longest time I would ignore him and not even say “Hello.” One evening, typical to Bombay, there was this awful monsoon deluge and we were stranded in the office as all public transit had come to a standstill. The guy graciously offered to give me and my three co-workers a ride. I refused but my friends accepted so I was forced to go with them. I definitely wouldn’t have braved going home by myself with the city coming to a standstill! The four of us sat chatting in the car, while braving the traffic jam. The guy of course ignored the other people and asked me a lot of questions, which I first answered grudgingly. Then one of my co workers asked him if his youngest brother were out of town. So I asked the guy “You have a younger brother.” He said “Yes I do and he is on vacation. Why do you look so surprised?” I replied “Oh I didn’t know that, I always thought you were the youngest.”

Anyway as I got to know the guy well, I found that we had a lot of things in common; our attitudes, aspirations, hobbies, sense of family etc. We gradually fell in love and I am married to that guy for the past ten years. Whenever he makes coffee for us, he never fails to inform me with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, “Drink up honey, it is not drugged.”

About Devotion and Posteriors

2007-01-13T22:18:00.000-05:00

First of all let me wish all my Hindu readers best wishes for Makar Sankranti. To all my Maharashtrian readers "Til gul ghya goda bolaa."

This day is supposed to be an auspicious days for Hindus and is celebrated with fervour. It marks the six month period of the sun's travel to the north called "Uttarayana." It has different names in different parts of the Indian subcontinent and each region has their own typical festivities associated with it. If you are interested you can read here.

In my state (Maharashtra) women make round balls of sesame and molasses called til gul. These are exchanged as token of goodwill. It is cold during this time and sesame seeds are supposed to provide warmth to endure the season. For a period of three weeks since Makar Sankranti Maharashtrian women have get togethers called "haldi-kumkum" in their homes. Other married ladies are invited and the hostess buys gifts for all her guests. My mother would host that in our home when we were children. It was a fun occassion to wear her sarees and traditional jewelry. When we grew up, we were so busy with our college and exams that my mother stopped hosting them. She and my mother-in-law had seperately hosted one for me ten years ago, when I was a newly-wed.

This evening I went to the temple. I went around the time for the evening prayers. Whenever K is with me, he rushes me and doesn't let me attend the evening prayer because it absolutely bores him! Since I was by myself I waited to attend it. The priest sounded the conch shell for the evening arati. I absolutely love the sound of conch shell and bells.

There were around 20 to 25 people gathered there. They passed around the prayer books and people were reciting from that. It was a very beautiful evening. While singing praises to Goddess Durga, I noticed the guy in front of me oblivious to the surroundings and the prayer, caressing the posterior of his significant other. Then there was one section of the prayers where one claps their hands and sings along with the priest. The entire time this man was rythmically patting his significant other's derriere. It doesn't seem funny now but at that time it seemed really funny. I kept a straight face the entire time but there was a woman standing next to me who actually giggled rather loudly! I am assuming that she might have seen what I saw. The priest stopped the service and implored in Hindi, "Shanti ka daan deejiye," which literally translates as please donate some peace and quiet. I had never heard that expression before and thought that it was even funnier. I was ready to explode. I cannot believe that I kept a straight face the entire time. The time till the conclusion of service and my rushing to the car to laugh seemed like an eternity!

Multiple uses of incense sticks

2007-01-11T22:18:00.000-05:00

As I had blogged earlier, I grew up in a family with sisters and we had no brothers. Typical to Indian families or families in general, there was absolutely no cussing in my parent’s home or around us. When I was about five or six, I was walking home from my school bus stop with my servant and I heard some random person on the street call out his friend’s name and they greeted each other by saying “Hey Mother*****” in Marathi. A child’s memory is like a sponge so I picked up the word and I tried it out by greeting my older sister “Hey Mother******, without realizing what it meant. My older sister was around eleven years old at that time and although she didn’t know what that word meant….she was old enough to know that the word was taboo. So she did what any self-respecting older sibling would do, by telling my parents what I had uttered. My parents called my name in a very stern voice which spelled trouble and asked me where I had heard the word. I told them where I did and they told me to never repeat it again.

My mother also threatened that if she ever heard me say this again she would burn holes in my tongue with incense sticks. Now before you call child service let me tell you that my parent’s are all talk and they are in fact very gentle and incapable of any violence. Of course we sisters were too timid to challenge them! They would sometimes threaten, “Do your homework or else?” Sometimes as a child I was tempted to ask what the “else” would entail. Since I am a strong believer in the proverb discretion is the better part of valor, I never implemented my thoughts into action.

This morning I accidentally slipped on the kitchen floor and banged my head against the cabinets. My forehead sustained a bruise and a cut. My reaction was an involuntary f-word, when the pain caused my brain to explode. Ironically at that time I was getting ready to do my morning prayers, which are certain chants in Sanskrit, and was just about to light incense. I wondered how my mother would react today, were she to hear me say this.

Anyway that reminded me of the time I heard the F-word for the first time. Namita Gokhale had published her novel “Paro: dreams of passion,” when I was probably in the sixth grade. I read her interview in one of the magazines where she said that she didn’t think what the deal was about using the F-word in her book or something to that effect. I was curious and looked it up in the Oxford Dictionary and didn’t find an entry. So I asked one of my wise classmates if she knew what it meant and she replied that it was slang for the word “Gender.”

Chicken in Coconut Curry

2007-01-07T10:26:00.000-05:00

The above picture is taken from wikimedia website. I forgot to take pictures of the finished dish.

This is a very traditional Maharashtrian chicken dish, which is typically eaten with fried dumplings called "vade." I cannot believe there is a wikipedia entry to this dish! If you are interested you can read it here and here. Being a reluctant cook I only made the chicken dish and absolutely had no interest to make the dumplings. There is no way I am going to spend the whole day slaving in the kitchen! Anyway here is the recipe as I have learnt it from my mother if anyone cares or is interested to know how to make it.

INGREDIENTS:

One mid-size chicken cut to small pieces.

Marinade:

2 tsp turmeric powder

Juice of two lemons

2 tsp red chilli powder

Salt to taste

Marinate the chicken with the above mixture for atleast an hour.

As I had mentioned earlier I make my own garam masala as i find it very therapeutic. The aroma of the roasted spices takes me to my mother's and grandmother's kitchen.

Garam Masala

Garam Masala:
2 tb sp corriander seeds
3 tsp cumin seeds
1-2 tsp peppercorns
1-2 tsp cloves
1-2 cinnamon sticks
1 tsp green cardamom
5-6 bay leaves
2-3 star anise
1 tsp mace
With a drop of oil, roast corriander seeds and cumin on medium heat. Then add the other spices and roast them well on low heat. After cooling grind it fine on a masala grinder. You can also use a coffee bean grinder if you want.

Coconut & Onion Masala:

1 cup dessicated coconut.

1 finely chopped onion.

Roast the dessicated coconut in a pan till it turns a nice peach/biege in color. Set aside and let it cool. You don't need to add oil as coconut itself is oily.
Add a drop of oil and saute the chopped onions till it turns colorless and then a nice brown color. Set aside and cool.
Grind coconut and onion seperately to a fine paste in the grinder. After that you may mix the two.

Ingredients for the curry:

4 onions finely chopped

1/2 tsp asafetida

2 tb sp ginger paste

2 tb sp garlic paste

2 tomatoes finely chopped

2-3 tsp red chilli powder

1-2 tb sp of the above-mentioned ground garam masala

1 tb sp oil

Salt to taste

Method:
Heat oil in a wok and add asafetida. Add onions and saute them till they are colorless. Then add the ginger and garlic paste. Then add the red chilli powder as that gives the curry that red color as you see in the above image. Add the tomatoes and saute the mixture really well.

Add the chicken pieces and mix very well. Add the ground garam masala and cook for about five minutes. After that add the ground coconut and onion and water as per the desired level of consistency and bring to boil. It takes around 20 to 25 minutes to make this dish.

Garnish with fresh cilantro. This is accompanied by a salad of onions with lemon. We had it with chapati (Indian bread) as the traditional dumplings are fried and don't agree with K's and my slim waistline!

ENJOY!

Please note: The quantities that I mentioned for the ingredients are approximate but accurate enough to give you an idea of proportion.

Where is winter?

2007-01-05T22:59:00.000-05:00

Till last year I didn't care much about winter. I love spring, summer and fall but hate winter. Snow looks lovely but it is the ice that scares me. Few years ago, I had fallen on black ice twice, within a span of two months and had hurt myself on my tail-bone. I literally landed on my posterior! Consequently, for months after that I had a lot of discomfort and couldn't sit. Also I associate the dull grey colors of winter with depression and loneliness.

This year as you all know it has been rather warm. This morning I went to work with a light jacket and in the afternoon stepped out without a jacket, which is so bizzare for January. It was 61 degrees this afternoon and tomorrow it is going to be in the upper 70s.

I cannot believe I am saying this but I MISS WINTER! I was looking at the above picture taken a few years ago wistfully.

About mango trees and delinquent behavior

2007-01-03T18:53:00.000-05:00

I read the review of Madhur Jaffrey’s book “Climbing the Mango trees: A Memoir of a Childhood in India,” written by Lotus on her fabulous blog. I have my own childhood memory to blog about. Those who are from the Indian subcontinent will of course relate to the significance of mangoes and mango trees in our lives.

I studied in a convent school. To my non-Indian readers, catholic schools in India are not parochial schools but are in fact secular! My school grounds covered if I am not mistaken, an area of about +/-7 acres. There was the main school building, the convent and then the auditorium building. We had a beautiful cluster of mango trees in the backyard away from the school buildings. Our principal, Sister C was a martinet. Her main aim was to make all our lives miserable. She hated all of us, especially me, because she wanted all of us to be prim and proper ladies and I refused to toe the line. She always compared me to my older sister who was ever so gentle and always had a lady-like demeanor as opposed to yours truly who was a total tomboy! Sister C hated my guts and minced no words to let me know that.

When I was in the ninth grade she punished my class including me (or rather especially me) and made us stay the whole day under the mango trees. This was in late March when the academic year is ending in India and is also the onset of summer. During this time the trees are laden with raw mangoes. My classmates and I had a ball because we ate raw mangoes and played Holi (festival of color) with color, which typical to convent schools was banned. At the end of the day when she summoned us to her office our faces were smeared with ink, water colors, chalk, crayons, which were our make-shift Holi colors. That was one of the best days and highlights of that academic year! We had three divisions “A,” “B’ and “C,” with around 35-40 girls in each class. The following week my class told the girls from the other two divisions about this fun-filled “punishment.” So we all decided to harass her by screaming in unison, one class after the other so that she once again sends us to spend the entire day under the mango trees.

We had only one male teacher in our school, who taught drawing in an all girl’s school. The poor guy is an extremely mild-mannered man and is an accomplished artist who graduated from my alma mater, Sir JJ School of Art. He spoke broken English and spoke a rural dialect of Marathi therefore became a butt of my classmate’s jokes. I couldn’t join in because he used to teach me oil painting after school hours and I was scared of my mother and the consequences were he to complain to her! I am still in touch with him and even today he tells me how well mannered I was. Little does he know why? Anyway my classmates started harassing him almost reducing him to tears. He rushed to the Principal’s office to complain about us. Sister C walked in our class to find out who the miscreants were. At that very moment the next class, on cue, started screaming. She ran to the next division when the third class started screaming. She ran from one classroom to the other like a chicken with it's head cut off. Finally she summoned all of us and someone squealed to her what the great plan was. She was livid! That person even told her who all were behind this.

She called me (gee I wonder why) and four other classmates or brains behind this operation to her office. She went on and on about how we were a disgrace and totally un-ladylike in our behavior and how disappointed our parents will be etc. The entire time in her office I was thinking about my mother and the consequences. Suddenly she called out “V’s sister” (she never called me by my name but called me “V’s sister”). I looked up and she asked “What do you have to say about this?” I shook my head and stared at my toes….my thoughts still on my mother and the ominous consequences. Then she asked me “What do you want me to do?” I looked up and noticed the quote above her desk, which I read loud with a poker face, “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.” My other classmates started giggling.

Sister C offered me two alternatives; one that I would run around the grounds five times and then write 100 times, “I will not be insolent and will always behave in class,” in my notebook OR she will talk to my mother. No prizes for guessing what I chose! By the way, that afternoon I added “insolent” to my vocabulary. Thank God it was easy to guess it’s spelling….otherwise I don’t know what else she would have done to me. She called our behavior “delinquent like.”

PS: Out of the five of us; I am an architect, my two classmates became doctors, one has a Ph.D and the fourth became an engineer. Fortunately, none of us landed in jail as Sister C had predicted that afternoon!

Restoration at Heritage sites

2007-01-02T20:20:00.000-05:00

For the past few weeks in our free time K and I have been scanning our old photographs. All our negatives and K’s childhood photographs and negatives were destroyed in the infamous 2005 floods in Bombay. K’s parent’s home is very close to the Arabian Sea and they have always had problem with water accumulation during the monsoon but it got rather worse year before last, when for the first time it entered their home. I don’t want to start ranting about the environmental issues that completely irritate the urban planner in me because this blog is for entertainment purposes only.

Among the destroyed negatives were of this vacation that K, our dear friend A and I had gone on several years ago. We took a road trip (K drove the entire time) to Hampi, Pattadakal, Badami, Aihole and of course Goa! We had spent three weeks traveling through villages in Karnataka taking pictures, painting and having an absolutely fabulous time. K and I were in that phase where we wanted to see and experience our country and not do anything touristy. Of course we moved to the United States so haven't had a chance to go to other parts of our country as we had planned. Now whenever we visit, it is only to see our families. It was quite an adventure as we negotiated our way through villages where the milestones were in Kannada, a language none of us could read or even speak. We found our way through because people are extremely friendly, kind and respond to furious waving of hands!

Anyway the above picture is taken at Hampi, which is located within Vijaynagara, which was the former capital of the Vijayanagara Empire. The above sculpture is of Narasimha, the fourth of the ten avatars of Vishnu, the Preserver and one of the icons of Hindu trinity. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the horizontal strip traversing across the knees of the sculpture. We asked questions and came to know that it was installed by Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) because the sculpture couldn’t stand the test of time and this was constructed to render support so it does not disintegrate. It really bothered us because one would want to restore work so that the integrity of the original piece is maintained. This horizontal strip literally strips away the beauty. K and I are standing next to it, so you get an idea of the human scale. They also had a barrier installed because a lot of tourists vandalize these historic sites. I guess people don't value what they have unless it is taken away from them.

The above sculpture is of Nandi, the bull, which is found at the entrance to all Shiva temples. We captured locals sitting and gossiping on the steps blissfully unaware that they are being photographed. There were others who shied on spotting K with the camera. Gossiping in the compounds of temples, by wells, large trees in the center of villages are typical locations for social interaction in rural India.

Goals for 2007

2007-01-01T10:23:00.000-05:00

I hate the word “New Year resolutions” because that means you will break them as soon as you make them; maybe not as soon but probably a week, a month or at the most three months later. Therefore I don’t make resolutions….the past year I made a resolution to lose five pounds but instead gained 15 lbs. Hence there will be no resolutions for 2007. I will strive this year….not resolve!

The most important thing I will be striving for this year is resilience. I will not let anything get to me. I will understand that things are beyond my control and the universe balances things out and it all works in your favor eventually. In fact the final result is much better than what you had in mind when you planned things and they didn’t go as per your plan! I won’t keep any expectations from anyone and therefore will not feel disappointed or let down by people.

I will strive to be more patient…..well that is one difficult task…..but hey why not? Wait, I will resolve to be more patient, which I think is a more realistic goal.

I started blogging in September 2006. It has been an enjoyable experience so far and it is very addictive. I love the fact that I can write my thoughts in relative anonymity, except for my husband, sister, sister-in-law and my two very dear friends who read my blog yet never comment (oops! my sister-in-law does comment....please forgive me!). I have also met wonderful fellow bloggers, whom I would not have met otherwise. Therefore I hope to continue blogging in 2007 as well and hope to meet more nice people. To the ghost readers out there, please leave me a comment or at least a “Hi” so I know who you are.

Among other things:

I thought I might share this abstract that I did last year….wow it feels rather weird to say that….because it was only a few months ago. It is done on an 16” by 24” Arches hot press paper and of course the medium is water colors. I had resolved in 2005 to start painting again, which I did after seven years. I will therefore not give up painting in 2007. In fact I even want to start oil painting again. I prefer oils to water as it is a very forgiving medium. I have had a lot of "happy accidents" in water colors.

Happy New Year to youzz

2006-12-29T23:24:00.000-05:00

K’s friend has invited us over for New Year and this time I have no excuse of portfolio etc. and will have to go! Therefore this evening K and I went to get some wine for the party. I thought that the store might be closed for New Years and I don't want to bring in 2007 in sobriety. Since my mother doesn't read my blog it is all right for me to declare that there is some possibility that I might be drunk on Sunday. To my older sister who reads my blog regularly….calm down…. I won’t be drinking all the wine by myself. As you very well know sister, I cannot drink more than two glasses so as your son says “Just relax Ma!” Besides I will need alcohol to survive the other guests that will be invited (I am only kidding)! Since K and I never drink and drive, we might be staying overnight at our friend's place.

Anyway at the store we go to pay with my wine selection. The woman at the counter had a bad haircut….mullet gone wrong! Anyway she says “Are you all set sweetie?” I said “Yes” and then she said “Youzz twos have a wonderful new year.” I reply, “Wez twos will certainly have a swell new year…..wishing youzz a great new year as well.” I suddenly felt a sharp pain….on my arm…..and I look at K, who is glaring at me. I tell him in Marathi that since I bruise easily I could accuse him of domestic abuse. He replies “If that lady were to attack you…..it would take weeks to clear off your black eye. People would still look at me accusingly.” Anyway since it was mullet gone wrong....it covered her ears and probably she didn’t understand no foreigner’s accent….therefore all is well that ends well. I don’t have no black eye!

Wishing you all a wonderful new year! I hope you make resolutions tomorrow that will be broken on January 1st....of next year you silly people! In case you care or want to know 2006 was a rather difficult year for K and me but we made it through! We don’t know what 2007 holds for us but we don’t really care! New Year….bah humbug.

Second Childhood

2006-12-28T18:35:00.000-05:00

This is a family photograph taken years ago on vacation. I am the dork in the center with the big hair. Here's a family that doesn't smile for the camera! We don't say "cheese," just eat it!

As years pass by I have started to realize that roles get reversed and children become parents to their parents. I don’t think parents like it because they want to be your providers but things and equations change. I am a second child and I have always been very close to my father. I am very attached to both my parents and my sisters. Sometimes I have to remind myself that my life is with K!

Yesterday at work I get an SMS from my sister, who lives in Bombay, to check my email. So I check my yahoo account to read that she wants me to scold my father for doing something rather childish and irresponsible. Of course it wasn’t anything serious but you know how daughters can be. She also said that she cannot do it but since I can get away with a lot of things with him, why don’t I call him up and scold him? My older sister has been very close to my mother compared to me and of course I have been closer to my father compared to the other two. So of course I go home for lunch and call my sister up to ask what actually happened. She tells me and it amuses me to no end as it is indeed true that old age is nothing but second childhood!

So I call my parents up and my father fortunately picks up the phone. I start talking to him and instead of scolding him….start crying and tell him how hurt I am that he doesn’t take care of his health. I told him that I constantly worry about his and mother’s wellbeing and this kind of irresponsible behavior is not helping me at all. He actually apologized to me and said, “Sai bai (his nickname; bai means woman in Marathi and is added to a woman’s name as a form of respect and also is a term of endearment) I am sorry but I promise you that I will be more responsible” etc. I hung up and called my sister and said that all is well! She started laughing when I told her what I did. I also realized that I am turning into my mother. Like her I have turned emotional blackmailing into an art form.

I have realized since the time I was a toddler that I could melt his heart with my tears….and it works every time! It worked with Sister Marcia in the kindergarten class as blogged here and it works now as well. This time however I felt very guilty about doing that. My conversations with my parents and siblings always amuse K because he shares a different relationship and dynamics with his own parents and siblings. When I told him in the evening what transpired, he started laughing, “Oh my God….you are so manipulative. Thank God this behavior doesn’t work on me.” (Yes, K that is true because I haven’t disclosed what behavior works on you! *Evil grin*) But this time the tears were genuine because I am worried about them and the fact that much as I would like to be there for them I cannot! I called them up again last night and again this afternoon during my lunch hour. Finally my mother told me, “Don’t call us….we will call you.” I guess when one’s own parents say this; it speaks volumes of one’s stalker-like behavior! They might not get a restraining order against me but most definitely might start screening my phone calls!

PS: I am so glad that they are not internet savvy and therefore don’t read my blog.

Staying awake with cheesy Bollywood songs

2006-12-25T21:55:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I was working on my portfolio, basically compiling my professional work until now. Since when, shall not be disclosed as I don’t want to date myself. Anyway I had made a portfolio a few years ago but it was prepared using Adobe Illustrator software. I have Adobe Photoshop at home, which although manufactured by Adobe is a raster program as opposed to Illustrator, which is vector. Uh-oh! I just out-geeked myself on this blog! K who at times is geekier than me rushed to my rescue. He is my knight in shining armor. He saves me from dragon like computer softwares. It didn’t work as I lost a lot of data. K suggested that I go to FedEx Kinko’s and just get a printout.

So Saturday evening we brave the last minute holiday shoppers to go to FedEx Kinko’s on Route 1. By the way someone told me this joke the other day; Brittany Spears has turned her husband from K-Fed to FedEx. I know….I know it’s not that funny but I still chuckled. Anyway I find that it is 40 cents a minute to use their graphic software. The desi in me, who looks for deals and bargains true to my desi-ness, had a mild heart attack. I told K that it is not worth it and I will go home and redo my portfolio. K, who cannot understand my kanjoos (miserly in Hindi) behavior, shakes his head in total disbelief. In my defense, I have a brand new printer and software so why in the world would I waste money at Kinko’s. So I am up Saturday night finishing stuff up. I spend the entire day Sunday and up Sunday night, finishing all the odds and ends. Fortunately I always make copies in triplicates so had CD’s floating around. I just could not remember where! Compiling stuff is a very tedious and time consuming process. I spent the entire weekend doing that as opposed to celebrating. We were invited to my husband’s friend’s home last night but I had to cancel. K went without me. Therefore the 2006 award for “Loser of the Year” goes to Sai from Sai Speak! (Taking a bow admist applause)

It took me back to my architecture days, not my loser behavior but staying up. My friends and I would stay up nights working on our assignments and listening to music and drinking umpteen cups of chai. One of my friends had his own studio in the building that his family owned. We all would work there as it was more fun working in groups as opposed to individually and also that it was easier staying awake. Our friend’s father was the sweetest. He would, as opposed to my friend’s mother, wake up at 4 or 5AM and make coffee or tea for all of us. He was an architect too therefore we all took him back to his student days. We would listen to Pink Floyd, Doors, Def Leppard, Zepplin. After a while, we would listen to cheesy Bollywood songs from the 80s and make parodies on them. Also one of our classmates was a lousy singer but we had convinced him that he sounded like Kishore Kumar, therefore that was one of our favorite exercises, to ask him to sing and make fun of him.

I also remember one incident when my friends and I were working on a class project. We were supposed to go on a field visit around 6AM so we needed to shower and eat something. My three friends and I decided to go to my parent’s home, which was the closest. The guys in our group told us that we girls needed their help and challenged us to walk by ourselves. My three friends and I got really angry and decided that we would walk and that we were self-reliant women who didn’t need men in our lives. So we set off at 4AM to go to my parent’s home, which was a ten minute walk (I lived in a very safe neighborhood that’s why all this bravado).

It was a balmy January morning. The only people on the road were the doodhwallas (milkmen). There was absolutely no one on the road except stray dogs (Stray dogs are a menace in India and a controversial issue in India, because of Maneka Gandhi and others). Stray dogs can be very territorial. One pack, consisting of five dogs, came towards us barking. I was ready to pass out with fear and my friend hissed….they smell fear so get a hold of yourself! Well anyway it took us half an hour to get to my parent’s home, as we took a detour, instead of the usual ten minutes! At the end of the exercise we felt really great that we crushed our classmate’s egos and relieved that the expression, barking dogs seldom bite, is indeed true! When we reached my parent’s home, my mother asked us who dropped us home. I said we walked and she started laughing and said to me, “Really you, of all the persons, braved the stray dogs?”

Last year when I went to India, I actually got a few 1980s Bollywood hits (not the cheesy ones though) that my friends and I used to listen to. K asked me when on earth I would listen to them. I did, last night and it was brought back fond memories of the good old days.

How to catch a predator?

2006-12-23T22:18:00.000-05:00

I am not sure if you guys have seen Dateline NBC's series "To Catch a Predator." This is a sting operation where there are hidden cameras and decoys used to catch potential internet sexual predators preying on minors. There are critics of this program who feel that the channel is more interested in ratings that justice. You can read the wikipedia entry here. This program after a while became repetitive and we stopped watching it. Soliciting sex with a minor is a serious crime and such predators must be severely punished for robbing a child's innocence! Parents also need to be careful and monitor their children's online activities and who their "online buddies" are.

However there are a lot of dark humorous moments which I thought I might blog about. One was when this one guy had an explicit online conversation with the decoy, posing as a 14-year old girl who is home alone, and then drove 100 miles to the house. When accosted by Chris Hansen, this guy defends himself saying that he came here to just talk to her and find out if she was all right since she was home alone! Now that is one good samaritan one shouldn't have anywhere near their children. One other guy, who was facing conviction for pedophilia, came to see this other child before going to jail the following week. Now that is an example of productive time before introspecting one's action. *rolling eyes*

Then there was one guy who had watched the show previously and come to see the decoy posing as a minor. When accosted he recognized Chris Hansen and said "Oh you are Chris Hansen and I am on national TV. Well I just came here to talk to her." I later told K that he looked so dense that he must be probably thinking, "Gee mom.... look I am famous. I am on National TV and you thought I would never leave the basement. I am sure grandma must be proud. Now all the bullies in high school who gave me a wedgie must be so jealous."

There were two desis as well. K and I were totally startled when we saw them. As if pedophilia is restricted to certain regions! Anyway one of the guys actually undressed completely as soon as he entered the home. When accosted he also said that he was here to talk. You know perhaps he mistook this place as a nudist camp or perhaps he thought he was modelling for an art class (Eww that was so disgusting!). The other desi guy claimed to be a "respectable man with a wife." Well creep, you have just changed the definition of respectable and you deserve this humiliation!

I happened to catch a glimpse of this evening's episode where the guy was caught twice. His reaction on seeing Chris Hansen was "Oops!" I thought to myself, "You are busted, pervert! Now rot in jail!!!"

Happy Holidays

2006-12-22T14:54:00.000-05:00

The above picture was taken by yours truly.

This morning when I stood on the weighing scale I reached a conclusion that the universe is conspiring to make me fat! I have a sweet tooth. I love all kinds of Indian sweets (called mithai) except Agra Petha and Karachi halwa. I will throw up even if I look at those two! I love jalebi…. I can eat and lose count of how many I have had. By the way jalebi and samosa is my favorite combination and so is the traditional Gujarati breakfast of "Fafda-Jalebi." I love gulab jamun, motichoor ladoo, mysore pak, kesari (saffron) peda, rabdi (thick sweet milk flavored with essences), kulfi, malai (cream) burfi, sandesh, Shrikhand, misthi dohi (sweetened creamy yogurt from West Bengal) etc. So basically sweets panning the entire Indian subcontinent. You name it, I love it! By the way I cannot believe the entries I found for desserts online. Some desi foodie must be updating Wikipedia. Those of you who are not from the Indian subcontinent you can read here.

When I was a child, my maternal grandmother would make these delectable sweets (including the amazing mysore pak and jalebis) but she was pretty strict about the quantity. She wanted to instill discipline in her grandchildren and also the fact that too much sugar is bad for your teeth. My grandfather would always sneak in something extra for us. It was his bribe so that we never tell on him to our grandmother the fact that he used to hide and smoke. My late grandparents were so cute together. Both are deceased now but I still miss them!

As I grew up and got more sophisticated in my taste I included desserts from other parts of the world to my list of favorites. Therefore, I absolutely adore crème brulee, cannoli, bakhlava, and even babkas (especially chocolate). Not to mention chocolate mousse, carrot cake, red velvet cake, white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies etc. At my work place during the holiday season two of our secretaries who are excellent bakers always get homemade Christmas cookies. One of them makes the most amazing rum balls. By the way there is nothing like alcohol to survive the craziness at my workplace. The other one came in this morning with a fabulous fare. I tried to be good but then I am only human.

If that is not bad enough, a few days ago our cleaning lady at work who is from Poland introduced me to the wonderful world of Pierogies. She had made spicy ones with sauerkraut filling and potato filling. Out of the blue she comes to my office with a box for me. I could see a layer of butter sitting lazily on the top and challenging me! I asked her why she went through all the trouble. She said that I have a nice heart and that she wanted to thank me (or rather give me a heart attack). I asked her what she was smoking to think that I was nice and that whatever she might be smoking would be illegal in this country. I informed her that I have a reputation to maintain as Ms. Mean and that she should not go around spoiling it! Anyway K and I binged on them and I asked her for the recipe. Of course I just love to collect recipes so K if you are reading this, I won't be making them anytime soon.

This morning I went to give her a Christmas gift. She had sweet pierogies, with a nice berry filling and topped with whipped cream and also some homemade cookies. I wanted to be good and not have them but hey! Tis' the season to be jolly. Therefore, I stuffed myself and now I am feeling rather guilty. I am a person who wants to diet, lose weight and stay slim and trim but people around me just don't let me be!

Anyway Happy Holidays to all of you! Hope you all make to Santa's nice list and not get any coals in your stockings.

Friday Word: Bell

2006-12-21T18:42:00.000-05:00

Sanjay's post usually mentions the Friday word. This evening, however I happened to read Maggie's post which mentioned "Bell" as the friday word. It is the holiday season and since the year is ending in less than ten days, I thought I might include one of my favorite childhood poems by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892). Today I snicker at my naiveté but then it is such an endearing quality that children possess and lose without fail on adulthood.

Ring Out, Wild Bells

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Among other things:

Bells have a lot of significance in Hinduism and Buddhism. There are different symbols of worship in Hinduism; bells, sandalwood, camphor, light, incense. In any temple at the time of prayers ringing bells accompany the chants. This is done to shut out any external sounds and to make your mind concentrate. In fact there are bells of different sizes at the entrance of every Hindu temple that devotees ring before entering the sanctum sanctorum. The sound of the bells is supposed to be healing and is supposed to offer mental peace.

When I was a child I loved jumping up and down to reach out and ring all the bells. My father would pick me up so that I could ring the ones that were out of my reach. I was at the temple a few weeks ago and saw a five year old kid who had come to the temple with his very pregnant mother. He wanted to ring the bells and she obviously couldn't oblige him. I offered to pick him up so that he can reach the bells. The sound of the ringing bells and the child's peals of laughter were like music to my ears. His laughter reminded me of the joy I felt as a child while ringing the temple bells.

The above picture is of yours truly taken ten years ago at Swayambhunath Stupa in Kathmandu, Nepal. I was walking behind few Buddhist monks, who were chanting while ringing the prayer wheels. I do not have a single photograph of a Hindu temple bell hence the above image.

Employment for Generation Next!

2006-12-20T16:37:00.000-05:00

My alarm is set to NPR and every morning the damn radio goes off without fail forcing me to get out of bed and drag my feet into the shower. Sometimes if we forget, the alarm goes off on saturday at an unearthy hour as well. Since K is dead to the world and snoring away to glory....I am forced to walk to the radio and shut the blasted thing off! Sometimes I wonder what he dreams about; probably a world sans Sai and full of Victoria Secret models, Shakira, single malt whiskey and by the way did I mention NO SAI to keep tabs on him! When it gets cold I want to hibernate like a bear and not do anything productive for three months.

Anyway I digress, the reason for this post is that I heard a segment this morning on video resumes on "Morning Edition." You can read the article here. I have also included below the video resume that I thought was the most humorous and creative.

To be honest, this is a substantial risk a prospective candidate would take. It is rather creative and clever for a person who is just out of college to do that. For someone who is seeking a job change mid-way in their career a video resume like this could be professional suicide. Then again it depends on the candidate's field and the employer's sense of humor!

PS: This segment reminded me of the character Elle Wood, brilliantly essayed by the very talented Reese Witherspoon, in the movie "Legally Blonde," where she sends a video essay to obtain admission into Harvard Law School.

Appearances are deceptive

2006-12-19T19:57:00.000-05:00

When I started working a few years ago, I realized that few members of the support staff would not take directions from me. I am the only female professional at my work place. They would take directions from my male counterparts but never from me. It was an incredibly difficult time for me. There was one particular person who especially was very rude and very coarse in her mannerisms. I attributed it partly to xenophobia and partly to a very patriarchal upbringing where men took decisions.

One afternoon I had a particularly difficult time and I lost it and of course gave her a dressing down. The following weekend my husband and I had gone to spend time with his old friend from Bombay. They had organized a dinner party and we met a lot of other couples. One of the guests, who is a successful gynecologist, did her residency in New York. She happens to be from Bombay as well. We started talking and I happened to mention this episode to her. She said that such insubordination happened to her when she was doing her residency. She was new in the country and that time the nurses and other staff would never listen to her and would make her life very difficult. She gave me advice on how to deal with the situation were it to happen again.

My husband overheard her advice and told me that I can kill more flies with honey than a swatter. K also told me to treat it like a lesson in interpersonal skills. Anyway I decided to implement K’s advice and started being extremely polite yet firm with this person. Every time she was rude, I would find humor and tell her off without getting ego into the picture. K’s advice paid off and I have learnt how to deal with people in different situations.

Gradually I got to know the person and realized that what I considered rude or impolite was normal conversation to her. She didn’t know anything better. I also found that appearances are deceptive and the tough girl is just a façade and in fact she is very sensitive. As I got to know her I found that she was in an abusive marriage. What really shocked me was her inability to walk out of it. She has children but I don’t think a violent atmosphere is conducive for a child’s development. I haven’t really understood why she cannot leave the guy. Of course it is none of my business therefore I never pry in her personal life. This afternoon, however I saw an extremely vulnerable side to her personality and my heart goes out to her. Beyond that rough exterior lies an extremely vulnerable person whom life has been hard to. Life is never easy on anyone so one has to accept challenges and take decisions to the best of one’s abilities. Also one must learn from one’s past mistakes and move ahead. In this case I do hope that God gives her the strength to take some tough decisions to change her life.

Methi Keema

2006-12-18T18:55:00.000-05:00

It is rather funny that after bouts of complete vegetarianism K and I start craving meat. The longest we have gone without meat is six months. Of course K and I consider fish to be vegetarian….vegetables from the sea ;-) Anyway, yesterday we decided enough is enough and that we have got to eat some lamb. Also I had bacon and sausages at my office Christmas breakfast and that annoyed K because I don’t let him eat bacon and sausages. To appease the guy I decided to get some ground lamb meat and make “methi keema,” which incidentally is his favorite. I love New Jersey because you can get excellent lamb meat here thanks to the desi population. Anyway I am sharing the recipe with you. I am too lazy to take a picture therefore there are no images in this post!

METHI KEEMA (Keema means ground meat and of course methi is fenugreek)

Ingredients:

2 lbs ground goat/ lamb/beef
½ tsp asafetida
1 bunch of fresh fenugreek leaves finely chopped
2 tb sp Kasuri Methi (dried fenugreek leaves)
5 cloves of garlic, 2 inch garlic, ground to a fine paste
5 onions finely chopped
3-4 tsp Garam Masala (I make Garam masala at home and have the recipe at the bottom of this post. You can use the readymade ones from the store. Roasting the spices is very therapeutic for me)
2 tb sp oil
1-2 tomatoes finely chopped
Peas
Turmeric Powder
Red Chili powder

Whole Spices
1 tsp of cloves, 4 bay leaves, 1 tsp of peppercorns

Method
Marinate the ground meat with turmeric (an excellent antiseptic), red chili powder, salt and juice of two lemons. Lemons get rid of that peculiar smell of meat. Set aside for at least half and hour.

Heat oil and add asafetida, when it starts crackling add the whole spices. Add the onions and sauté them until they are transparent. Add the ginger and garlic paste and red chili powder as per your taste. Then add the finely chopped methi leaves. Add the finely chopped tomatoes, peas and the keema. Saute this very well for about ten minutes and then add the garam masala and salt to taste. It takes around 45 minutes to cook meat. When meat is cooked added kasuri methi for that added flavor of fenugreek leaves. Garnish with fresh coriander leaves.

Serve with roti, naan or parathas.

PS: Fenugreek leaves are optional and you can make this dish minus that ingredient as well. The taste does not get compromised.

Garam Masala:

2 tsp of black pepper
2 tsp of Cinnamon
1 tsp of Cloves
1 ½ tsp of Brown Cardamom (4-5)
1 tsp cumin
1 ½ tsp coriander seeds
1 tsp Bay leaves (crushed)
1 tsp Mace
1-2 star anise
Mix the above ingredients, roast them lightly with a drop of oil, and after they cool, grind to make a fine powder.

Among other things:
I am pleased to read that justice has been served in the Jessica Lal murder case. For those who are not from India or weren't living in India, this was a big case in 1999. The late Jessica Lal was a model who was bartending as a favor to the owner, Bina Ramani, who is some socialite in New Delhi. After the bar was closed some guy, who was the son of a politician from the state of Haryana demanded a drink and when it wasn't served, he actually shot the poor woman! This episode sent a chill down everyone's spine. There was a lot of mudslinging with accusations that Ramani was operating a bar in her restaurant without a license and also accusations of tampering of evidence etc. Anyway after seven and a half years of legal battle, the killer has finally been convicted! You can read the article here.

Urban lexicon

2006-12-17T00:03:00.000-05:00

I started working a few years ago at my current job. My boss, coworker, our attorney and I had gone for a conference to Atlantic City. We had left early in the morning, around 6:30 AM. Since I cannot eat that early in the morning, I did not have anything but a cup of tea. By lunch time, around 1PM, I was ready to pass out with hunger! Anyway the four of us decided to have lunch in a restaurant that they had had lunch the previous year. They asked me if there was a place I wanted to go to. I was new in the United States (had been here only for two years), absolutely brand new in Joisey and of course it was my first visit (and only one so far) to Atlantic City; so really didn’t know anything to offer an opinion. Most importantly I was too hungry to even care where I ate!

Anyway we took a bus and after a short ride went to the restaurant, which is located in one of the hotels. To our dismay it was closed for renovations. It was almost 1:20 PM and everything around me including my boss’s bald head looked incredibly edible. The only place that was open was Hooters. I was the only woman in that group and the rest barely knew me. They became incredibly uncomfortable and asked me what I wanted to do. They were game to going to any other restaurant. Of course I had not been to Hooters before and had no idea what it was. There was a picture of an owl so I didn’t know what the fuss was and told them that I was very hungry and I didn’t care where I ate! Our attorney apologizes to me once again and also says that his wife will throw a fit if she comes to know that he ate there. I didn't realize what he meant and was thinking to myself, “She must be a snob.” I was so hungry that I didn't notice anything around me and was waiting for my order. Anyway the food arrived and it had my undivided attention. Half way down the meal I was satiated (American portions throw me off completely) and started looking around me. It was November and I noticed that all the waitresses were in tank tops and short shorts. I thought to myself this is bizarre, aren't these women cold? Our waitress walks over to the table and bends down to serve us. I notice her twins hanging out and also that she had worn panty hose under the shorts. I thought it was rather bizarre that she was dressed like that.

Later in the evening my boss, co worker and I were driving back home. My boss apologizes once again to me about having had lunch there. I told him to not worry about it and wondered aloud what “Hooters” meant. He blushed and turned a deep crimson and told me that he cannot tell me and to ask my husband what it meant. So I get home and tell K what had transpired and then ask him what “Hooters” meant. K fell off his chair laughing. Today I have added hooters to my urban lexicon along with knockers and jugs. Knowing my personality it was very amusing for my husband that I ate there. But then they say ignorance is bliss!

Reservations

2006-12-16T10:40:00.000-05:00

Caste and caste-based reservations have always been a controversial topic in India. People have strong views depending on which side of the fence they are. There is a hunger strike in Delhi with doctors from the prestigious AIIMS (All India Institute of Medical Sciences) protesting against the bill that reserves 27 percent of college places for "low-caste" people (In that there are categories like "Other backward classes" (OBC), "Scheduled Castes" (SC) and "Scheduled Tribes" (ST) etc.). You can read the article here.

The fact is that Dalits are still treated very badly in India. I have included this article about an incident that happened sometime back. This despite the fact that Dr. Ambedkar, born a Dalit, rose against all odds to architect the Indian constitution and India has had a Dalit president as well. I suppose it might be difficult to completely get rid of two thousand years of biases from the Indian psyche. I remember this story from Mahabharat when Dronacharya asked Eklavyya, a tribal archer, to give him his thumb as "guru dakshina" so that he cannot be superior to Prince Arjuna (I cannot believe that I found entries for all the above on Wikipedia).

Caste biases are a regressive aspect of India and it is still alive and kicking in the 21st Century. The atrocities and heinous crimes commited under the name of caste by the so called "high castes" cannot be denied. The question is that is reservation an efficient way of helping the underpriviledged sections of society? Is that an efficient solution to the problem? Does it help the most deserving candidates to get ahead in life? In addition, accountability is the biggest challenge here; of course this is applicable to anyone in public service in India, no matter what their caste.

Friday Word: Gold

2006-12-14T18:16:00.000-05:00

Sanjay mentioned "Gold" as the Friday word. Here is my lame attempt at poetry (I know I suck but it's my blog so I shall do what I please). Unlike the previous one, this one is not poking fun at my spouse.

Golden rays of the dawn
Shining on your skin
The hope of new day
Past the darkness and despair

Move on to where you are set
Divinity showing you the path
Armed with experiences of yore
Making you wiser than before

Gold which is called “Kanaka,” “Survarna” in Sanskrit has a lot of significance in Hinduism. Also Ayurveda extols the virtue of gold. Wearing gold on your person is supposed to have a healthy and positive effect on the individual. Shree Suktam of Vedas is a hymn to Goddess Lakshmi; in that her brilliance is compared to the sun and one of the stanzas say that she shines like gold. This hymn is supposed to give peace, plenty and all around prosperity.

When I was studying Sanskrit in school, I used to be influenced a lot by the “Subhasheet mala,” which translates as “String of Good speech/thoughts.” There was one about gold which was rather poignant. I am writing the gist in English as I cannot write in Devanagari on this blog for two reasons; one that I do not have the font and the other is that I cannot remember it verbatim (Damn it I have been bugging my mother to put together and send me some basic Sanskrit books but she has been slacking off). Anyway it says that gold glitters so does brass, but then what is the difference between the two. When put to test under the fire, gold shines and comes out even brighter.

Among other things:
I love sunrise; the golden rays of light accompanied by the sweet scent of dew and the sound of birds chirping. It is such a treat to your senses. In India, I especially loved listening to the melodious cuckoo during the summer months. This along with the golden colored, succulent Alphonso mangoes made it worthwhile to endure the hot and humid summers!

I painted the above landscape a few months ago on a Sunday morning. K and I went biking on the trails. I had taken my easel and paints much to his amusement. Just so that he doesn't make fun of me later, I painted for an hour, early in the morning before biking. I also took a picture in the morning light and finished the rest from the picture in the afternoon.

If you have endured this blog and read so far then I am sorry for posting touchy blogs for the past few days. I promise you that I will soon be back to my irreverent self.

Sorry I love my Saree

2006-12-12T21:37:00.000-05:00

This past saturday, K and I went to Circuit city to get me a printer. Anyway the store was jam packed with people buying stuff and I bumped into a few desis, where else but in the computer section. This is height of stereotyping! Anyway I was accosted by an ever zealous Epson salesman, who started extolling virtues of an Epson printer vis-a-vis a HP, which is what I was buying. I was in no mood to listen to any sales talk so play dumb by telling him in the thickest possible Indian accent that I really can't speak english and don't understand anything about printers. I point towards my husband, who irritates me to no end because he is like a kid in a candy shop whenever we go to any electronics store, and ask them to talk to him. I take my preferred printer and walk up to the cashier and wait in the long line. The reason for doing this of course is so that the guy starts bugging K who would then get the hell out of there! K glares at me and if looks could kill....you know what I mean!

While we are waiting in the line, our physician, who is from India walks in with a woman wearing a saree. I point him out to K and we both assume that perhaps he has some relative visiting from India. We greet him and he introduces us to the woman, who incidentally is his wife. They have been living in the US for the past 35 years. I was so surprised that she was wearing a saree when it was 20 F! The doctor was wearing a sweater, scarf and a leather jacket and gloves and this lady was wearing a saree with just a winter jacket. I really cannot understand why some Indian women wear sarees no matter what the temperature. This was a casual saree that our mothers would wear in India and not something festive.

I remember a few years ago my childhood friend got married in Indianapolis in the month of January. He married an American and they had the tedious Hindu ceremony in the morning, which started at 8 AM and ended at noon, followed by lunch, church wedding at 2:30 PM and then the reception in the evening. The previous day there was a massive snow storm in the mid-west and it was freezing cold. I remember wearing a saree the entire day and how I almost died of hypothermia! I cannot understand how these women can tolerate this temperature. People who live in colder parts of the country like Kashmir, Himachal Pradesh don't wear sarees but clothes that help them adapt to the cold weather. So then why would a person, who has lived for a major part of her life in the States, not want to give up her saree which is designed for the tropical weather? Enquiring minds want to know.

Girl Child

2006-12-11T22:06:00.000-05:00

When I was growing up, my younger sister and I had an elderly lady take care of us. She had a few grandchildren, one of whom was my sister’s and my playmate. He was a few years younger to us and used to play with us. He was quite bright as a child but later did not finish his high school education and now has become an alcoholic. This is such a typical scenario with domestic help in Bombay; producing children is a national past time and invariably these women work as domestic maids while their non productive, alcoholic husbands abuse them. This lady’s youngest granddaughter, who is around 12 to 13 years younger to me, was a toddler at that time. She would accompany her grandmother to our place. She was such a cute cherub; my sisters and I loved to fuss over her.

Few years ago, my mother needed some help and asked this woman to find someone for her. She suggested the cherub, who was fourteen years old then. Her grandmother wanted to get her out of school so that she could earn money and contribute to the family kitty as her father and older brother were both alcoholics. My mother offered to take her in our house and insisted that she goes to school. Education for girls in India is free till the 12th grade so my parents did not have to pay her fees. My mother decided to put her salary into a bank account and take care of her school books, clothes, food and other expenses. This girl is very pretty and since she was in her teens, my mother was concerned about her general welfare and environment.

She completed her High School Certificate a few years ago. She is rather timid and my mother insisted that she gets a college degree so that she can get a better job and have a better life for herself. She is an extremely mild mannered and a very loving girl so we all have a soft corner for her. She started studying part-time; earning and learning. Meanwhile her father took off in an alcoholic stupor six years ago and has not returned home till date. No one knows if he is alive or dead! Her brother gets fired from every job as he is dead drunk most of the time. This girl is the only one in the family who has completed her education and in fact will sit for her Bachelor of Arts exams soon. Of course education in India is subsidized but in her case it is creditable because she decided to pursue it. Life offers you opportunities, one just has to recognize them as such and grab them.

My mother told me this morning that this girl has got engaged recently. Her alcoholic brother, like a vulture, came to my parent’s home to find out how much she has saved up all these years. My mother has told the girl that she will be giving it to her and not her brother. Since she will be starting a new life, she needs whatever help she can get. Most importantly she has earned it all herself!

When my mother had an accident a few years ago, she took care of her as if she were her own mother. I will always remain indebted to this beautiful child for that one reason only. She will be getting married in June 2007. My mother informed me that she has decided to make her some gold jewelry as well. She will leave Bombay and therefore won’t be working for my parents. My parents are rather old now and my first question was if they found a substitute who would take care of them? My mother told me to lead my own life in America and not bother about theirs. I realized that my parents are so attached to this child that they look at her as their fourth daughter and not a domestic help. In my defense, this is a perfectly logical question. Shoot me for being a concerned daughter!

Tortugas Mexican Village

2006-12-09T10:08:00.000-05:00

In a very pretentious Ivy League university town like Princeton, there is a small Mexican restaurant called “Tortugas Mexican Village.” I think they own two other restaurants; one is in Trenton while the other is in Collegeville, PA. The one in Princeton is located on Leigh Avenue, between John and Witherspoon Street. This is a BYOB place, very friendly and casual ambience and is moderately priced. We usually carry Sangria with us. If you are looking for something sophisticated then this is definitely not the place for you but if you are looking for excellent Mexican food then you are in the right place.

Usually it is very crowded during the summers with a long wait. Last night we called around 6 PM and were told that we could come in anytime and there was no wait. Well they always say that and you invariably have to wait. In addition, they don't take reservations. So anyway as soon as we reached there, my husband drops me off and tells me to get a table while he found a parking spot. There was no way we were going to wait outside freezing our posteriors off in 25F temperature. This time they were right because it was rather empty. I tell the woman, “table for two” and she points me towards this uncomfortable corner next to this table for eight where a lone guy, who was a walking advertisement for "Abercrombie & Fitch" catalogue, was sitting by himself and talking on his cell phone. I ask her if there was some other larger table available, pointing towards the empty tables for four all over the place. She says, “don’t worry you can sit at the table for two because that corner is heated.” I sigh and think to myself “Oh boy….another communication gap.” I close my eyes and say “Mesa grande” hoping that this is what it translates as larger table in Spanish. Suddenly her eyes light up as if she has had an epiphany and she replies in English, “Oh you want a bigger table??” I smile and say “Por favor gracias” and am taken to a nice, cozy corner far away from the A & F guy who very soon had his other gang members join in. There is no way I would be bothered with another round of “totally” “whatever” “awesome” or “like so awesome.” I am sorry people but I am a crank who needs to concentrate on her food, especially guacamole!

Anyway they serve you a round of tortilla chips and zesty homemade salsa on the house before it shifts over to tamales, chicken with guacamole sauce etc. They also have Americanized dishes like burritos, fajitas, tacos and also a few vegetarian options, which I have never tried as the only vegetarian fare I would eat is Indian. They have rather large portions and you invariably end up taking a doggie bag. You can check the menu here. The service is quick and the staff is very warm and friendly. The only annoying thing last night was that K is a fast eater while I take forever to finish my meal. So the guy cleared K's plate and then assumed I must be done as well. I was so busy chatting that I didn't notice till K told the guy, "Wait! She is still eating so don't clear hers as yet."

I would say this place serves the most authentic Mexican food, north of the border. How do I know? When I was living in Michigan, I worked one summer in Detroit and my friends and I used to often go and eat in Detroit’s Mexican town area. I absolutely loved the food and this place reminds me of that!

Friday Word: Dark

2006-12-08T09:28:00.001-05:00

Sanjay mentioned "dark" as the Friday word. So here is my lame attempt at it. Since it is my anniversary today, I thought I might dedicate the following poem to my husband.

Darkness of the night
The tenderness of your touch
The crescendo of your breath
As deep sleep envelopes

Your snoring is too loud
Wakes me up like an alarm
Oh my God I must sleep
Its only 3AM.

Among other things:
The word "dark" invokes a lot of emotions. It reminds me of the evening, a few years ago when I learnt that my mother had an accident. I had called her and she told me that she and my father were stepping out to visit their friends and to call back later. I had told her that I wouldn't be able to call her for a week as I was going out of town. I called my parent's home ten days later to find that she had an accident that very evening while returning from their friend's home and that very moment she was undergoing surgery. I was kept in the dark by my family because they didn't want me to worry. It really made me so angry at her, my father and my sisters for treating me with kid gloves.

I remember going to visit her a few months later and was so shocked to see her look so emaciated. I had a nickname for her, I used to called her "Jhaadee," which means plump in Marathi and it broke my heart to see her so frail. I had to compose myself and not cry in her presence. She wanted to hold me close while I pulled away and made excuses. I went to the bathroom and cried my heart out and then spoke to her with a very composed voice. I made fun of her and teased her a lot but I am sure she knew that I was hiding my emotions. She was at that time staying with my older sister. Later during the week I went to my parents home, which looked so empty without her. I saw her walking stick and the disability railing that my father had put in the bathroom for her. I realized at that time that the roles had reversed and that I must try and be their support and not vice versa.

Speaking of more positive things, I love dark chocolate and walking on the beach on dark starlit nights. Like all children I was frightened of the dark but loved to harass my older sister, who needed complete darkness while sleeping, by turning on the bright light at odd hours at night.

It will be ten years tomorrow!

2006-12-07T12:13:00.000-05:00

This Friday I will be completing ten years of wedded life. Wow my husband has tolerated my craziness for ten long years. The poor guy needs all my readers’ sympathies. So if you want to comment on this post, please don’t wish us for our anniversary but instead congratulate him for being patience personified! If you want, you can also convey your heartfelt sympathies to him; that is fine too because he absolutely deserves it. On his behalf let me tell you that he has had to incur his share of losses; he once had a curly mop of hair but he is quite bald today. The process of balding started before he knew me but accelerated since December 1996 and has continued to date. The poor thing knew me for three years prior to marriage but didn't quite know what he had bargained for. Living with me has caused him to tear his hair out!

No silly people, this isn't my wedding picture. Neither was my wedding a child marriage nor were we betrothed at cradle. This is my picture taken at my cousin's wedding. I was four at that time and his picture was taken seperately by his parents that same year. Last year I had scanned all our childhood pictures and I played around in Photoshop to make some cheesy photographs. This is one of them. I have my wedding pictures but I don't have the patience to scan them. Besides you guys are better off not seeing dorky pictures of me and my husband.

In case anyone cares or wants to know, I had a typical Maharashtrian wedding, which was long, tedious and ever so boring. Why did I go through it? I was offered a choice to go for a civil ceremony but I chose this because I didn’t think that the traditional wedding would be so tiring. After enduring the ceremony I made my own conclusion as to why the divorce rate in India is so low? It is because no one wants to go through the wedding ceremony ever again.

Since we had to sit by the fire for the rituals, the smoke got into my eyes. I had to get my contact lenses off and literally everything was a blur. I also remember stumbling while walking around the fire. I cannot remember how many times we walked, was it three times, was it five times or was it seven times? To both of us the entire ceremony seemed like an eternity! My hubby then suggested that I should wear my glasses and I glared at him and hissed “NO” and thought to myself, “God doesn’t the guy know anything about me? Give me a break! I will not wear my nerdy glasses on the most important day of my life.” Stumbling and not recognizing my guests was a preferred choice to 20/20 vision.

Love is blind because he endured my glare, gave me a sheepish grin and actually didn’t run away halfway through the ceremony! What if he would have run away from the ceremony? Would they have made a movie “Runaway Groom," the male Indianized version of the Julia Roberts movie Runaway Bride? On second thoughts perhaps he did want to run but since Sanskrit chants are so soporific, he was half drowsy and therefore couldn't escape from the trap. Well it is too late now; he is imprisoned for life with slim chance of parole. He had his chance then and he blew it!

Random Rant

2006-12-06T11:21:00.000-05:00

This post is a random rant about absolutely nothing important but just me venting about one of my pet peeves. You have been forewarned so go ahead and read it at your own risk.

I am usually asked this question, “ Where are you from?" There is nothing wrong with the question and it is perfectly okay to ask a person this. So then I respond by saying, “I am from India.” What really amuses or annoys me depending on the time of the month is when I am told, “ Wow really…you don’t look Indian.” So I usually reply by saying, “ Gee I don’t know whether you are meaning to compliment me or insult me.” Then I am told “Well you look a lot different than what we expect people from India to look like.” (YES! this happened to me this morning!!!) I get that or similar variants of that sentence. I sometimes respond with an incredulous look, “So have you panned the entire subcontinent and done a study on how an Indian is supposed to look?” Don't people have a mental edit button that will edit stuff out before they blurt out word vomit? Let me tell you this dear readers, I have the map of Maharashtra stamped across my face and since Maharashtra is one of the Indian states therefore I definitely look Indian!

A couple of times I have also been told that I am too tall for an Indian woman. So was there a study conducted that measured the height of each and every female in India or was there a random sample taken and a statistical analysis done, which concluded that anyone above a certain height is too tall for an Indian woman! I feel like responding, "Well you ignorant morons I am an Indian and I love the fact that I belong to the subcontinent and do have a strong sense of my cultural background. It is just that I do not wear it on my sleeve." Since I have a mental edit button I generally keep mum and ignore people. That is fun part of blogging, you can rant in relative anonymity!

The one fact that confirms my Indian genes is that I grew vertically in my teens and then in my late twenties and now thirties I am expanding horizontally and I have absolutely no control over it! Those are my 100 percent Indian genes right there....there you go.... you have the proof, happy now?

Reminiscing Goa and the Goan Shrimp Curry

2006-12-05T20:37:00.000-05:00

This picture was taken by yours truly at sunrise. This is the backwater at Baga beach. I was planning to paint here but then slacked off.

Whenever it gets chilly, I crave for the tropical weather. I miss the warm yet balmy nights in Goa. The sweet scent of the beach and the sound of the sea waves lashing at the shore. As you all know there is a cold wave in the tri-state area so that feeling of reverie was intensified since yesterday. When I think of Goa, I think of the fresh fish, beach, feni cocktails, peaceful and friendly Goan people and their sushegat lifestyle! Sushegat which is derived from Portuguese, means relaxed. Regarding the famous Goan feni there is a famous mantra of the Goans in Konkani, "Kaju che soro jevok boro," which means cashew feni is very good for your health! I prefer coconut feni to cashew, which is too dry for my taste.

Everything translates to food for me and of course to my husband, who is a firm believer in Sushegat lifestyle! Nothing fazes the guy, which always irritates the hell out of me (those of you who know me stop chuckling). Anyway I made shrimp curry, which is his favorite, this evening for dinner. Of course that surprised the hell out of him as I don’t cook on weekdays, especially something arduous and time consuming as Indian food. Cooking for me is very therapeutic and calms me down a lot, so whenever I am stressed I love to cook to unwind. It works wonders on my mood.

The Indian food that we get in restaurants is the typical north Indian fare and the south Indian snacks. Maharashtrian food is so underrated. A lot of my non-Indian friends are surprised that the food cooked in our home tastes so different from what is obtained at Indian restaurants. Anyway the curry turned out rather well and therefore I thought that I might share this recipe with you. It was made in very little oil. The traditional recipe calls for a lot of coconut but I used canned low-fat coconut milk and it turned out just fine!

SHRIMP CURRY

Ingredients:
1lb shrimp
Marinate the shrimp with a teaspoon of turmeric, red chili powder and a juice of one lemon and of course salt as per taste. Set it aside

For the curry:
2 onions
1 tsp peppercorns
2-3 cloves of garlic
2 cans of coconut milk.
½ tsp asafetida (an excellent digestive)
1 table sp oil
1 tsp red chili powder
1 tsp turmeric powder
2-3 table spoon tamarind paste

Grind to a fine paste one onion, 1 tea spoon of peppercorns, and 2-3 cloves of garlic. Finely chop the other onion and keep aside.

Method:
Heat the oil in kadhai (wok) at high heat. Add asafetida to it. When it starts crackling, add the finely chopped onion and the paste of onion, pepper and garlic. Sauté until it becomes colorless. Add one teaspoon of red chili powder, turmeric powder and mix it well. Lower the heat to medium. Then add the marinated shrimp and sauté it well. When the shrimp gets half cooked (within five minutes), add the coconut milk and tamarind paste. Cover it and simmer for ten to fifteen minutes. The cooking time depends on the kind of stove you have. It cooks faster on an electric stove as opposed to a gas stove. Garnish with finely chopped coriander leaves.

Serve hot with plain white rice.

PS: I used 'Kokum,' which is dried sour plum like fruit typical of the coast of Southwestern Maharashtra and Goa in lieu of tamarind paste.

Big Apple: The Mecca of Commercialism

2006-12-03T12:49:00.000-05:00

I went to NYC last evening to meet a very dear friend of mine, who was visiting from out of town. So I take the train in the afternoon and was planning to nap. Anyway I was rudely awakened by this gaggle of girls (calm down language-nazis or English majors I do know that it is a bevy of girls) talking nineteen to a dozen about the most inane things. They weren’t sitting anywhere close to me. They were at the other end of the car! Of course I abandon my plan to nap and eavesdrop. I am entertained till they get off at Newark Airport station. I must say the trials and tribulations of teenage life in America! In case you are curious, they used “like” in every sentence. I started counting and then lost count of it…totally.

Anyway I get off at Penn Station and I am overwhelmed by the shoppers pouring in and out of Macys, Lord and Taylor and all the other stores nearby. This reminded me of the Hindu pilgrims at the Kumbha Mela and Triveni Sangam. To my non-Indian readers, you can read about Triveni Sangam here and Kumbha Mela here. I was right after all they were all retail pilgrims paying homage by cash or plastic in the commercial Mecca of the country.

Time Square: Of course I took this photo during the summer. There is no way I would have gone there last evening.

The entire area was a sea of human beings. It felt like “Amchi Mumbai” (our Mumbai in Marathi), except that no one pushed the other and the weather was quite chilly. The desi in me, rather the pseudo chai latte drinking desi who would rather have chai-valle ki chai (ubiquitous tea vendors in India), was craving for a hot cup of chai latte. I walk into a Starbucks and I am surprised at the line, which went right up to the street. I open the door for an elderly lady to do some “Mitzvah” and people mistake me for a doorman or rather a doorperson because a bunch of teenagers walk in and people start walking in and out totally oblivious to me. Finally a gentleman sees my predicament and runs to my rescue and holds the door for me so I can get in! There are two long lines and I am curious what the other line was for. I found out that it was to go to the ladies room. Anyway I was in no mood to negotiate the long line, to get my chai and not go to the rest room silly people, so I decide against it. I start walking to the place that I was supposed to meet my friend.

While walking I am accosted by this street vendor. He asks me if I wanted a Louis Vuitton or a Fendi bag. I look straight ahead and say no thank you. He then says you are beautiful….can I take you on a date? I say no thank you and start walking faster. Of course he leaves me alone. I wasn’t in any danger or anything but still I call my husband and tell him what just transpired. My husband says that I should have given the guy 20 bucks and said here first go buy yourself a decent meal and then think of asking me out. We both have a good laugh. Trust him to bring humor into any situation!

Later I caught up with my friend who told me that there was a mad rush to see the Christmas tree and decorations at Rockefeller Center. Anyway the rest of my evening was wonderful and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. By the way I hate the burbs and love the City with renewed vigor!

Friday Word: Candy

2006-12-01T10:13:00.000-05:00

I read this blog regularly and today's post mentioned about using the friday word "candy." Candy, when I hear or read that word, it makes me happy. It is comfort food for adults as well as children. I think it links us to our childhood and through candy we hold on to our childhood and the child in us. It is so essential to retain some idealism in the otherwise cynical world of an adult. I have found some information about etymology of the word "candy" and other information, which can be found here.

I have two childhood memories that are so vivid and significant regarding the same. When I was in kindergarten I really hated school! I was more absent from school than attending it. I loved studying and my mother would teach me at home. We had a class picnic and my father drove me to school because I invariably used to miss the school bus! I used to do that on purpose. My dad gave me this piece of hard candy and told me that the picnic will be fun and I shall have a wonderful time with my classmates. I was all excited and chewing on the candy when he pulled into the school where all the kids were assembled to leave. As soon as I saw my school principal, Sister Marcia, I threw a huge tantrum. Her habit used to scare the hell out of me. I was not sure at four if she were a male or a female and that ambiguity scared me. Anyway I caused a fracas and accidentally swallowed the hard candy, which got stuck in my throat and that made me cry even more! My father could not bear to see me cry so decided to take me back home, much to the chagrin of Sister Marcia. Therefore, that is one memory that I associate with hard candy. Had it been my mother instead of my father, all she needed to do was give me one hard look and I would just have kept quiet!

My parents and their friends would go on annual vacations to Mahabaleshwar with their respective families. That is one childhood memory I associate with candyfloss! My parents were pretty strict about eating from roadside vendors. Mahabaleshwar however was an exception. We would eat that and roasted corn by the beautiful verdant Venna lake.

As a child I was obsessed with colors and forms. I used to watch the street vendors selling candyfloss and the entire exercise would have my rapt attention. Also the color change of the sugar crystals from the gaudy pink to the most beautiful pinkish hue would never cease to amaze me.

Last year I attended the Indo-American festival at the Hindu Temple in Bridgewater, NJ. Among other snacks there was this vendor selling “Buddi ka Baal” (candy floss in Hindi). I insisted on eating it and the fact that I was the only adult doing this didn't bother me one bit. I savored every morsel, which brought back wonderful memories of my childhood.