Random Thoughts and a Painting

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

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

(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!

The reason for not blogging

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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?

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!

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

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

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

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

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.