Getting Spooked!

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.

Of Immigrants and Religion

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.

Of Limca, lost and found

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.

My Jersey Biases

(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.

Got Pulled Over!

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!

Being Left Handed

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!

DMV

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.

American Visa

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.

Lost in Joisey

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!

My boring life

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

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!

Monsoon in Panchgani

(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

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

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

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!

Blast from the past

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

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.

Friday Word: Coffee

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

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

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.”