R’s blog

Dream job

Ξ August 19th, 2008 | → 6 Comments | ∇ Uncategorized |

I just read a job description that got me really excited. Then I read the fine print. It only pays $12 an hour.

Thank you for your time

Ξ August 15th, 2008 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Life |

Dear Doctor,

I got your Thank You card yesterday for “choosing your practice.” That’s sweet and all, and I am big on Thank You cards myself, but I really would have just preferred more time and answers instead of rushing me through the appointment.

That’s your job, you know.

Sincerely,

Looking forward

Ξ August 15th, 2008 | → 6 Comments | ∇ India |

One of the numerous reasons that my Parsi all-girls’ school was super cool (even though I was miserable when I was in it) was that we had a class on sex education. It was pretty forward thinking, to empower us with that knowledge. Whether we got educated through all those giggles is a different thing, but, well, they tried. The first topic that our teacher, a doctor, touched on was what she called hermaphrodites. I don’t really remember any of the biological explanations but I remember the teacher’s appeal for compassion and acceptance. That it’s natural. That we shouldn’t judge and that they have every right to live normally. We didn’t go into a lot of details and the rest of the year was one long morality lecture about self-respect, but I took those words with me.

It was in school again that I heard another appeal for compassion and acceptance for “queers” when a girl made a comment about eunuchs. I forgot what she said, but I recollect the art teacher, Mrs. Nimkar, who I now remember as a sharp-tongued shrew, explaining that they’re human just like the rest of us and instead of being mocked and being forced to live on the fringes of society, they are entitled to live with dignity. That memory of her totally redeems Mrs. Nimkar for me.

This Saturday it’s Mumbai’s turn to hold a gay pride parade after Delhi and Kolkata, and reading about it triggered those earlier memories. It gives me hope that although there are infinite ways to divide the 1 billion plus people, there is still compassion and tolerance and acceptance. Not that sexual freedoms (well, IPC 377 still stands) make a nation strong in the presence of other larger problems; not that we’re going to be holding hands and singing “Kumbaya” anytime soon; not that a handful of people marching on the street will get rid of homophobia,xenophobia, social inequalities or environmental mauling, but I do want to be optimistic.

This is where I want India to be going, and this is how I want to measure her progress. I want respect for human life, differences, human dignity and growth and environmental sustainability. More importantly, I want progress to be measured by not how quickly we grab the material and superficial but also by how steadfastly we hold on to what is good and meaningful in what is traditional and cultural. The roots should be strong even as the branches spread.

Happy Independence Day!

Right Rice

Ξ August 14th, 2008 | → 6 Comments | ∇ Food, Uncategorized |

I never manage to get rice right, at least not in the eyes of my husband. He (usually) only eats rice, and I (usually) only eat rotis as the main staple for all our Indian meals. And every once in a while, I feel like cooking him something other than plain white rice. If it has peas (I hate them), I don’t even taste it, but I like to cook it for him.

Anyway, I decided to cook him vegetable biryani today. I researched the recipe, shopped for the ingredients, chopped the vegetables and started cooking when my husband walked in. He asked, “What’s cooking?”

“Vegetable biryani,” I announced losing confidence as I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes. Burned by past experience, I guess.

“How are you cooking it?” he asked.

I recited the recipe, trying to impress him with the fancy procedure and exotic ingredients - the saffron, the milk, the baking after it’s all done. But he expertly announced it’s all wrong, not in so many words, but I got the drift. I never get the measurements right when it comes to biryani. Too much water or too much rice and not enough vegetables. And I mess things up with my fancy recipes.

Then he did the culinary equivalent of back-seat driving.

“You need to heat the onions for a little more time…There’s too much water… It won’t cook right… No, don’t add any milk. I want it my way.”

You can’t argue with a Hyderabadi when it comes to biryani. So I just walked out of the kitchen. He’s cooking now, and I am blogging and nursing my ego.

I am a good cook, damn it. The rice should have heard that by now.

But the solution is simple. I have to practice my biryani again and again until I get it right, even if it means that J might begin to hate it. At least, the biryani will be well cooked.

I have the best husband in the world ,though. He’s been the one slogging in the kitchen, yet he thanked ME sooooo sweetly for cooking him a delicious biryani.

Everything tasted good after that.

6 a.m. phone call

Ξ August 12th, 2008 | → 10 Comments | ∇ Barack Obama, Life, Politics, Uncategorized |

Perhaps I confused the dreaded beeping of the alarm for the phone ring, but as if it was another body, I found myself reaching for the phone. Then I realized that I was actually the one making the phone call. I was confused. I heard a deep voice answer the phone, “Hello?”

“It’s me,” I heard myself saying, as if that was enough.

But he recognized me.

“How are you?” he asked. “It’s early morning in Hawaii.”

I pictured him at the beach, in a suit, with his aides, waiting for the sun to rise. In a suit. At the beach. Campaigning before dawn.

I opened my mouth to say something, elated that he - Barack Obama - answered my phone. I had to give him important advice.

I forgot what I had to say. Nothing came out of my mouth. I panicked. I called Barack Obama early in the morning. He even answered. I didn’t have anything to say.

The beeping of the alarm got louder. I realized it was just a dream, relieved at not having embarrassed myself in front of Obama. I set the alarm again for 30 minutes later, shaken.

If dreams have meanings, what does mine mean? Calling Obama at 6 in the morning and having nothing to say.

Some things are worth waiting for

Ξ August 10th, 2008 | → 4 Comments | ∇ Uncategorized |

Oh, Daniel Craig, if only I could meet you once…

Creepy guy story

Ξ August 6th, 2008 | → 9 Comments | ∇ Uncategorized |

On my way to an important 2 p.m. appointment, I stopped by the library to print some documents. As the printer rolled out pages slowly, I glanced around and noticed a desi guy wearing a silly, ruffled kurti and blue jeans sitting on the computer next to the printer. He looked up at the same time, and we made brief eye contact. He smiled at me, and I gave him an expression that was a cross between a smile but “I don’t really want to talk with you” look, the kind of expression you reserve for Indian direct marketers, who approach you in grocery stores. All my instincts said there was something fishy about the guy as he left the computer and loitered around the DVD section without looking at the DVDs, while my pages were still being printed. I told myself I was over thinking it.

He followed me outside the library in to the parking lot. As I walked to my car, parked a few rows away, I saw that he didn’t seem to be heading to any particular car but was walking slowly pretending to check his phone. I knew that walk very well. As a teenager in India, I noticed the same walk on random guys, who’d start following me on streets if I go somewhere alone. They never walk faster than you even when you give them a chance to. You know you’re in their line of vision, but yet they’re pretending to do something else. Their aim is often to find out where you live or go to school. But I told myself I am over reacting. He wouldn’t dare do anything to me here. Besides, people have better things to do than follow me around.

I got in to the car and forgot all about him. My only aim was to get where I had to go to fast.

I was so focused on getting there that I never bothered looking back. Cautious drivers check their rear view mirrors every few minutes, and I thought I was a cautious driver. But I forgot all about that rule today. I never experiment with my routes when I have to go somewhere important. I could have taken a simpler route to get there from the library, but instead I chose the one with more turns that I would have taken if I had gone from my house because that’s the road I had mentally-prepared myself to take. I mention it because he must have followed me through several, several turns to land up at that Subway shop. Only a stalker with nothing better to do would have followed me through that road.

Half way to my destination, I began to feel an unnatural thirst. I hadn’t felt anything like that before even in warmer weather. It was either drink now or faint. My throat and stomach were beginning to hurt. Because I believe in signs and miracles, I think it was God’s way to warm me. I didn’t have any water with me, so I decided to pull over at the Subway shop I saw ahead. It was a good 20 minutes away from where I started. I missed the left turn to the subway, and I instead took a left turn at a driveway with a series of auto shops. I drove to the back of the parking lot, saw that it led to an opening to a street, which led to the Subway driveway. He must have followed me through that complicated route, and I never cared to look back in the mirror. I parked, walked straight to the Subway cooler, pulled out a water bottle, and waited for the server to be finish making a customer’s sandwich, so he could ring me up. Two women laughing loudly distracted me, and as I turned my head to look at them, I saw the familiar ruffled, white kurti. I looked up and noticed the same man standing just a couple of inches away from me. Why didn’t I feel his presence? I realized he followed me there and half frightened and half angry, I was thankful when the cashier rang me up. Everything seemed like slow motion as I waited for the server to hand my card back to me. Clutching my card, my purse, my bottle, my receipt, I walked fast back to my car.

It could be a coincidence that he landed up at the same Subway. But if he really wanted to eat something, he would walk to the back of the line where other customers were waiting, not stand where I was standing with only a water bottle to purchase. And he wouldn’t then follow me outside without ordering anything. Noticing my eyes on him, as I fumbled with the lock in my car, he pretended to go into the pizza parlor adjacent to the Subway, then came out in a second. By that time, I was almost half-seated and about to close the door. He approached me then, “Excuse me, excuse me….” I didn’t care what he had to say. I glared at him fiercely, banged the door hard and started the car. I wanted to get a head start, lose him before he got in to his car again. I cursed that it took me forever to reverse in the narrow parking lot and sped away dangerously. Perhaps sensing my rage and that his cover was blown, I don’t think he tried following me. I kept looking into the rear view mirror and drove into the wrong office park, partly because I missed the correct one and partly to see if he was following me. He wasn’t. I drove into the correct one and for the longest time I kept my eye out for any other car pulling up.

I didn’t want him to find out where I was going.I am glad that I got this urge to pull over at Subway, and I noticed him there. It was not so much that I feared for my physical safety in broad daylight in a public place, but I certainly wasn’t going to tolerate anyone following me around. I wouldn’t have hesitated calling 9-1-1 if I saw him there. It’s one thing for him to follow me to a Subway that I had never been to before, but for him to find out places where I might work or live or play, that’s not very safe.

Now that it’s over, I am just going to shrug at the incident, but I am really curious as to what he was going to tell me, when he approached me at the parking lot. Any guesses?

Romance

Ξ August 4th, 2008 | → 9 Comments | ∇ Uncategorized |

These days I walk around in a daze, don’t answer phone calls and would be happy just curled up in bed, reading. My thoughts run wild, but I am not analyzing anything, just day dreaming. J dragged me out of bed on Saturday to watch two U.S. Navy ships docked in Seattle for the Seattle Seafair. He’s big on being energy efficient lately, so we take the bus everywhere. I would have been content just staring listlessly into space at home, dreaming at intervals. I am glad we went though. If I feel up to it, I’ll tell you all about it some time later

We saw The Dark Knight yesterday. I knew I had to hurry up and watch it cause Akhil threatened he won’t be my friend anymore if I don’t see it. He gave me a deadline of last weekend, but I am sure he’ll let it slide if I am late by a week. And yes, I too, raved about Heath Ledger, but I loved Christian Bale and Aaron Eckhart too. Maybe it’s the romantic in me, but I always hope that while they’re saving the world, battling the bad guys, these dark angst-ridden heroes find their true love, and they walk into the sunset happily ever after. I was in shock for a week when

* Casino Royale spoiler alert *

Vesper dies leaving James Bond heartbroken even though I already knew the story.

I really, really wanted them to be happy together. So, now, these days, I make up for it by reading sappy, trashy, romance novels. I know I need to stop. I don’t blog and don’t eat and don’t cook dinner on time. Laundry is lying unfolded on my bed, and “Godel, Escher Bach” is lying next to me waiting to be read as soon as I am done with the “Five Plays of Langston Hughes.” I am hoping it will stop the funk from spreading through my brain and force me to think, something I haven’t been doing for a while. But there is nothing more satisfying than a happy ending, when the dark, angst-ridden hero and the beautiful heroine learn they love each other and live happily ever after.

Nothing can beat that.