Please don’t go…….

Only 2 more days to go; my parents will leave for India on Sunday. And I can’t even get myself to think about it. I burst into tears every time I have to imagine a scenario without them here (and I assure you it’s not my hormones causing the crying bouts.) The thought of them leaving is like having my heart ripped out of my body. It hurts that much. Every time they visit us, the week of their departure is the hardest for me. I turn into this gloomy, sullen person and can’t think beyond how wonderful it would be if they could live with us or visit us more often. It’s at times like these that I hate the fact that I live so far away from them.

This trip has been particularly depressing because (a) we had cold weather pretty much throughout their visit (b) we couldn’t take them anywhere nice because HG started a new job and i had my medical treatments and (c) all of us were desperately hoping that i would be pregnant while they are here but that didn’t happen. Of course, my mom being my mom, very enthu and all, is still hopeful that i will deliver some ‘good news’ before Sunday so that she can extend her stay. I don’t have the heart to tell her to not hope for too much. I have faced enough disappointment in the last year to know the odds of that happening are very low. But I am happy to let them hope. Maybe some of their positive energy will rub off on me. My dad wisely said today “if things don’t seem to be working out then don’t go out of your way to make them work. It’s nature’s way of telling you there is another plan in place. Just give it your best shot and move on. I know it’s hard in the short run but things will work out in the long run.” It was good to hear it from him.

We always cry at the airport. Massive sobbing followed by non-stop hugs and promises to visit each other soon. My mom will remind me to be nicer to HG and dad will tell me to move back to India. Yet, within a few days, things will return to normal and we will all go back to our regular routines. And, the tears will be held in check until the next visit.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

You either have it or you don’t. And if you got it, unfortunately you can’t flaunt it. I am talking about facial hair, the bane of my existence. Don’t think I am exaggerating. There indeed are women who need constant help in this area. In my experience, there are three categories of Indian women (i am restricting my analysis to Indian women as I haven’t done much research on this subject among non-Indians but I have no doubt women of other races face similar issues) - (1) those who think the word ‘threading‘ refers to the act of putting thread through a needle, (2) those who have to visit the beautician once a month or less often to get rid of errant facial hair, and (3) the category I fall into - those who have to constantly worry about being mistaken for the Shoebomber.

Sometimes, thinking about the torture I put myself through in order to look presentable, I am confident I can sit through an FBI torture session and not flinch an eyebrow. That’s what a life time of threading, waxing, bleaching and electrolysis will do to you. Oh yes, I have tried everything possible under the sun. I remember the first time I tried bleaching. I was living in Chennai and on my first job out of BSchool. I had never tried bleaching my face before but had seen others getting good results from it. So I went into a Lakme beauty parlor in good faith and came out with a milk mustache over my lips. They bleached me to such an extent that my normally dark hairs had turned completely and unnaturally golden, in a chocolate brown face! That was my first and final foray into the art of bleaching.

I discovered threading soon after and for years I depended on my neighborhood beauty salon to make me hair-free. The salon owner probably purchased a flat in Malabar Hill and sent her kids to private school purely from the income generated from my depilatory needs. But as the popular saying goes, all good things come to an end. I moved to the US, to a strange city where I knew no one. Those were the days when there weren’t many Indian families in town and we only had one Indian grocery store. My salon lady in Bombay had armed me with some thread and taught me the basics but that only went so far. Like an inexperienced shaver, I would have nicks and cuts all over my face from pinching the thread too hard. Determined to find a solution, I asked some colleagues at work and one of them suggested getting an electrolysis. Permanent hair removal, that sure sounded tempting! So off I went to a technician and she worked on my face for a few weeks. Until of course I started noticing some dark spots on my chin. These dark spots grew to big circles, and very soon, the entire lower part of my face started developing a light grey shadow, like a permanent stubble! That surely wasn’t the look I was going for

Thankfully, soon after, the Indian population in my town multiplied and we managed to get our own Indian style salon. I finally had my threading source and life was back to normal. Until I decided to move to Europe for a few years. Now, if I had chosen a place like London, then I would have had no trouble finding a threading salon. But Brussels was the city I chose to move to and it wasn’t exactly threading central. Add to that the complication of asking for help in French/Flemish! So once again I was left to my own devices. On a trip to Wal-Mart, before leaving for Brussels, I chanced upon a new epilation device - pumice stone for the face! It looked simple enough. Came home and tried it on a small area and it worked beautifully. I put it safely in my travel pouch, eager to try it out once I reached my destination. The night before my first day at work in the new office I tried the pumice stone and it completely erased all the hair from my face. It even made my skin look really smooth. Convinced that I had hit the jackpot, I fell asleep that day with a smile on my face, thinking about all the extra baguettes and coffee I would be able to afford by not having to thread any more. The smile vanished the next morning when I saw what I had done to my face -in my enthusiasm the previous day I had probably rubbed my skin too hard and the skin under my nose had turned purple! There were two huge black blobs above my lips and around my chin. HG completely blew his gasket when he saw me that morning. He kept warning me the previous night about the dangers of trying something new just before my big day, but I ignored him (of course!) And he had been completely right. I went into work looking like a train wreck. I am sure my new boss had serious doubts that day about his decision to move me from the US. And I swore from that day onwards never to try any untested hair removing technologies, especially on my face.

Now that I am back in the US, I am continuing my weekly donation to my threading lady. Where would this cottage industry be without regulars like me….hirsute women made to feel normal week after week, and for this I am grateful to the humble thread.

Who’s your daddy?

Mine, I am proud to say, is a genius. Last week I saw him making multiple trips to our basement, which at first I mistook for his daily laundry routine (my folks are the kind who insist on washing clothes everyday). But very soon I saw him scurrying down with some tools, and soon after that I saw him walk down the stairs armed with a pair of unused IKEA curtain rods that has been lying behind our living room couch for god only knows how many years. Curious, I went down to see what he was up to and walked in to see the most exquisite clothesline ever built, hanging right there in my basement. Full Indian style! Using those IKEA curtain rods.

I know, I know, such extreme excitement over an inanimate object definitely warrants a visit to the shrink. But I think you will be more sympathetic once you have a better understanding of the following -

(1) the state of the previous clothesline - the old line was a relic from the time of the previous owner, criss-crossing ropes all over the ceiling, but none tied sturdily enough to hold a pair of jeans or a hangers of clothes. Now all my clothes-hanging woes are over thanks to the ingenuity of my dad!

(2) my dad’s obsession with turning useless stuff into treasure - he is always thinking of ways to re-use objects and i absolutely love that about him. Makes me real proud to be his daughter.

Take a look at his clever, clever solution while I go induct him into the ikeahacker site and also register him into Daddy Hall of Fame! (agreed, you didn’t need to see a picture of the torn kitchen rag, but just humor me, okay?!)

My aunt Flo and I

Every girl has an aunt Flo in her life and I am no exception. Some people liked to refer to her as my ‘chum’ or my ‘best friend’ but I liked to keep my distance from her. So aunt Flo it was for me. Period.

My aunt Flo and I, we’ve had a love-hate relationship all my life. I realized early on that she and I would not be meeting very often. My aunt Flo wasn’t like other girls’ aunt Flos. I would get a visit from her only once every 3-4 months unlike most girls who got a visit from their aunt Flo every month. As a teenager, I was totally fine with this arrangement. Who the hell wants to meet Aunt Flo every month, I thought. Most girls complained of feeling depressed, achy and cranky when their Aunt Flo was around. I sure was happy that I didn’t have to endure that month after month.

Once my aunt Flo went without visiting me for nearly 7 months, and that’s when I started to worry that she was never coming again. Thankfully, it was just a temporary tiff and she went back to her regular schedule after that. That was pretty much when I realized the value of having aunt Flo in my life. I was no longer a teenager, and I really didn’t mind having aunt Flo come over to visit every month. In fact, I positively insisted on it and fretted every time she was late. But I was never destined for a monthly visit and had to settle for one every 2-3 months. That worked fine for both of us for a short while.

Then came a time in my life when I didn’t want aunt Flo to visit me anymore. Well, only temporarily. I was experiencing major changes in my life and having her around did not gel with my plans. I did many things to prevent her from coming, stuff I cannot talk about on this blog. But she insisted on visiting me irrespective. Then I don’t know what happened, but all of a sudden, one day she surprised me by not coming at the expected time. And I was overjoyed. Now I can move on with my life, I said to myself. But this Flo, she is one heck of a smart lady. All this was just a ploy to make me believe that she was gone when in fact she returned to haunt me as soon as I began enjoying my new life.

Ever since then, I have tried every trick in the book to make her go away but she insists on being a part of my life. Like yesterday, when I was about to celebrate the fact that she had not visited me for 33 whole days, she cunningly made an entry. That too first thing in the morning! How I wish I could make her go away. Heck, even teenagers these days have the wherewithal to stall aunt Flo, then why am I, a full grown woman of unmentionable age, not able to manage it? What’s wrong with me?? It’s not as if I am talking about permanent retirement here; I am just asking her to disappear for a short while. And then she will be welcome again in my life.

Well, as I ponder over my dilemma, I hope my dear readers will take pity on me and share their aunt Flo stories or give me some ideas on how to give her a hiatus. As back-up though, I think I should consider entering Britney and Jamie Lynn Spears’ phone numbers on speed dial.

Pehla Nashaa

The first batch of mangoes have hit the grocery stores here in the US. I got hold of some Atulfo mangoes from Mexico this past week. The mangoes smelled sooooo good that i couldn’t walk past that bin without picking up a few. Here is what we did with them -

Now, these Atulfo mangoes come nowhere close to the KING, the famous Alphonso mangoes a.k.a. Ratnagiri aapoos. That’s why I converted them into milkshake form instead of eating them straight. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into the delicious aapoos mangoes that will soon be available here. Thankfully, the US government finally allowed the export of mangoes from India last year and we deprived Indian Americans eagerly bought every single box of aapoos that landed on US shores last year. This season will be no different, I think. The sour-faced guy in the Indian grocery store told me that crates of aapoos will be arriving by June. I will be counting the days until then for sure. And also saving up some money in the meantime as the Indian stores here usually rob us blind for these lovelies. But nothing they do can diminish the ecstasy of biting into a juicy and fleshy Alphonso mango. And nothing that can remind me more of India.

Husband No.1

A while back, during a relaxed holiday abroad, I did something extremely stupid - I put some rather grandiose and now in hindsight, foolish ideas into HG’s head. Told him that he needs to be my voice of reason, and that he should push me more and that if he sees me slacking he should encourage me into getting back into action blah, blah, blah. This was right after we had finished the zip line in Costa Rica, and I had refused to do the last 700 feet high course because I was scared out of mind that my harness would come out of the safety lock that was connected to a secure rope which in turn was connected to the immovable ground and that i would come crashing down into the beautiful rainforest over which we were zipping and poor HG would never find my remains because the hyenas and the vultures would get to me first. Of course, I regretted this decision the minute everyone else in the group went ahead with the ride. As expected, I promptly blamed HG for my act of cowardice. I told HG that he should have shamed me into completing the course and had failed in his duty as the loving husband. And foolishly, I extracted a promise from him that he would be more pushy and a general pain-in-the-backside whenever he saw me doing something he knew i would regret later. Anyways, at that time I thought this piece of information would slide through HG’s brain, just like the other orders i bark at him. But, who knew that this tiny piece of instruction, something said in the heat of the moment, fresh from the humiliating experience of knowing that even the 7 year old kid and the 75 year old retiree in our group managed to complete the final course, would actually not sift through but rather stay lodged in HG’s brain and would come back to bite me in the ass so soon.

Promptly, on March 31st, before leaving for work, HG pulls me aside and tells me “we need to talk. It’s been a month into your sabbatical. When I come back from work today, I would like to go over what you have done so far with the time. Remember, I have to be your voice of reason.” Now where had I heard these words before? Thud. Door shuts and I am left with this sinking feeling at the pit of where I think is my large intestine. I have to justify my existence and I know better than anybody else that I have done nothing worthwhile in the last 31 days. Wait, I take that back; other people know too. I actually foolishly documented my wasteful existence in a post on this very blog. What did I call it? My life of leisure. Well, it looks like this life of leisure as I knew it is soon approaching a very big ‘The End’ sign.

Determined to show HG that I haven’t been totally useless, I start mentally making a list of all the activities I indulged in recently. I sort them into ‘mention to HG’ and ‘definitely do not mention to HG’ groups. I am sure I have quite a bit in the first category. Like, the entire afternoon I spent holding the phone next to my ear hoping I would get to talk to the representative on the INS line. After pressing numerous different numbers, alternating between English and Spanish messages and listening to various automated options, I was told by an irritatingly pleasant, again automated, voice that the representative will not have any more information than what was conveyed to me two hours ago. Now that was time well spent. And how about the time when I stood a few hours in line at the IKEA opening and earned $20 in gift certificates? That’s an accomplishment, right? Now, where should I put the daily law lessons that I have been taking by watching multiple episodes of Law & Order, Without a Trace, CSI and Medium each day? I am pretty sure it falls in the first group. I am also learning about English country life and the trials of tribulations of women in the 18th century by taping the Jane Austen series on PBS. 4 items down in Group 1 and none in Group 2 so far. It appears that I was worrying for no reason. This task is easier than I imagined!

Armed with my list, I wait anxiously that evening for HG to come back from work. I hear the electrical drone of the garage door and mentally prepare my opening line. I have rehearsed my speech a hundred times since afternoon. I act all nonchalant and carefree, giving him no sign of the predicament he put me in earlier that day. Smiling, I ask him how his day was and he willingly goes into this boring monologue about being in a conference call with their outsourcing centre in India and his inability to get a straight answer out of anyone. I wait for him to finish, nodding sympathetically every time I hear the tone of complaint while secretly going over the list at the back of my mind. He then asks me about my day and I warily answer “umm….I was busy making that list you asked for.” HG: “Oh yeah, that grocery list! Do you have it ready? Let me run down to the store right away, before changing out of my office clothes.” Thankfully, there is indeed a grocery list down on the table; he grabs it and heads out promising to be back in 15 mins and asking me to keep dinner ready. I neatly fold my other list and hide it in the bookshelf; I am sure HG’s light bulb will flare a few days down the line. Until then, I am going to celebrate the fact that I am married to a man who has a sieve for a brain.

‘Tis the weekend…..

…..to eat and be merry, la la la la la la la la la. We invited way too many people and cooked way too much food. But it was a fun weekend and i can’t wait to do it again, lekin break ke baad.

It started off with dinner on Friday night with N&R and their adorable kids. Menu - paneer makhani, gobi-peas-carrot subzi, paranthas, veg pulao (not shown in pic), raita and shrikhand.

Banana bread on Saturday morning. Those blueberry type things you see are actually chocolate pieces. Also, the bread looks like a cake because I didn’t have bread pans for baking that day. The bread did not come out as well as usual but the taste was just fine. And the gooey chocolate pieces made up for any design mishaps.

Saturday night - relaxed dinner at home. Bruschetta, penne with roasted garlic and tomatoes, and a glass of good Argentinean Malbec.

Sunday lunch with V & V and baby A. We hadn’t met in a really long time and had a lot to catch up on. It was so nice to end the weekend in their company. Mom cooked some kick-ass Palakkad food - Katrikka porichakuzhambu, olan, garlic rasam, cabbage-peas upperi and curd rice.

All in all, a very satisfactory weekend. Even though I have to exercise doubly hard this week to get rid of all the excess lard around my very fat stomach!

What would you do?

I was watching an episode of Law & Order yesterday (ya, ya, i know i am totally vela) and the case revolved around a pregnant woman who gets caught in an elevator that’s carrying a bomb. The bomb explodes and she ends up in a coma; the foetus survives the blast. The foetus has a 100% chance of survival but if the fetus stays then the woman has a 0% chance of survival. If they abort the foetus then the woman has a 5% chance of survival. The husband decides to abort the foetus in order to try and save his wife. In the particular case, the husband makes that decision for different reasons but for discussion sake, let’s assume his motive was purely to improve his wife’s chances of survival.

The police detectives in this episode made a big deal about the husband’s decision to abort the foetus saying melodramatic stuff like “how could he kill his son”. Everyone thought it was totally wrong to try and save the wife. But I felt differently. I agree it is not an easy decision but I didn’t think there was anything wrong in a husband trying to save his wife even thought it would mean losing the baby.

Am I being totally crazy? What would you do in such a situation? I sincerely hope none of my readers have to face such a situation in their life. Also, I am not trying to stir up a controversy here; I know this is a sensitive topic and I am sorry if I have hurt anyone’s feelings. I am just curious to hear both sides of the argument, to see if I can be more sympathetic about the angle the T.V. episode took. Please do leave me your thoughts.

Passing thoughts from a temporary housewife

PBS has been showing ‘The Complete Jane Austen’ series as part of Masterpiece Theatre. It comes on Sunday nights and I am thoroughly enjoying the watching and re-watching of these classics. So far we have seen Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park, Pride and Prejudice and Emma. Sense & Sensibility is next week. The cast is not very drool-worthy (Colin Firth is the best of the lot), but it was fun to see P&P minus the pouting Keira Knightley; Jennifer Ehle made a much better Elizabeth Bennet in my opinion.

Spending time at home right now is very much like being in a Jane Austen novel. Like the ladies from her novels, I lead a life of leisure. I read, sleep, eat food cooked by someone else, take turns about the room and pretty much do nothing worthwhile. You can substitute the piano playing with television watching, and well, I don’t go for balls on a regular basis but otherwise I am pleasantly preoccupied. Makes me wonder why I struggled all these years. I should have figured out this scam earlier. Could have saved a lot of money on wrinkle-remover creams.

With mom in town, I am getting to eat stuff that I have yearned for but haven’t had the enthu to prepare. Avial for instance is one such dish; love it but cannot be bothered to make it. Olan, kaalan, pachadi, kootu….the list goes on. Mom dishes out something delicious every single day and I keep her happy by wolfing down the food faster than she can say puliyakuthupperi! Even leftovers taste fabulous. There is something to be said for day old maambazha kootan……it only gains in flavour. Seriously, I have never been happier to finish off leftovers.

Being at home with mom and dad is like being a teenager all over again. It’s totally surreal how I have slid back comfortably into being their baby girl. It happens every time they are here……..mom takes over the kitchen, dad starts thinking about repairs around the house and I take it easy. Of course, the flip side to this is that they feel the need to lecture and counsel me, just like they did when I was a rebellious teenager. Take for instance the other night when I had to go out for a business dinner. What time will you get home? Will you be home very late? Don’t drink too much. I will wait up for you. Arrrrgh! I think they can’t help themselves but man is it irritating to answer all those questions. Though, it would have been strange if they didn’t ask anything either.

Talking about a blast from the past, my friend AP was here on work last week and she stayed with us for the weekend. AP and I, we go back a long way. We were batchmates in BSchool, joined the same company from campus and shared a chummery in Pune for a couple of years. We even ended up in the same parent company for our second job but were in different business groups. We’ve stayed in touch but have only met once in the last 8 years. So it was an emotional reunion and as expected, we had a blast together. We talked non-stop on Saturday evening and then woke up early on Sunday to catch up on the rest of the talking. There was no awkwardness; we both had changed a lot since the last time we met but from the moment she walked into the house it was as if we were back in our Koregaon Park apartment. That’s the thing about close friends…you just pick up where you left off last. My closest girlfriend lives on the other side of the ocean and we haven’t seen each other in years though we write emails regularly. This weekend made me realize how much I missed not having my BFF in my life.

I can’t believe I have completed 3 weeks of my sabbatical already. It’s funny how time flies when you actually want it to stand still, but at the same time, a week feels like an eternity when you are waiting for something critical to happen. I am in that weird stage right now; I want time to be on fast-forward mode and yet have the opportunity in the future to rewind my life and regain all this time. Sadly though, life is not a television program I can record and watch at leisure. It’s all live programming for now and all I can do is arm myself with some popcorn and enjoy the advertisements.

Religious Experience

They came in hordes…the young, the elderly, the healthy, the sick, the unemployed, the single moms, the pregnant women with kids in strollers, the sane, the handicapped - to see the phenomenon. Some had even come from neighbouring towns. This tranquil sea of humanity brought together by a common purpose. Huddled together in anticipation early in the morning on this wintry day. Ardent scent of devotion in the air, people waited patiently in line, winter coats in hand, cell phones fully charged and cameras aimed and ready for this once in a lifetime experience.

Now, I am not your average ‘cult’ kind of person…i tend to stay away from organized groups and people who claim to have a purpose in life. I am very much a free spirit; yet, in this instance, I was drawn in by the excitement. I became one of them; a convert.We had all heard about THE ONE….who hadn’t?! Of course, we were elated that our town was chosen as the venue for the gathering (over several others vying for attention.) When you live in a mid-western US town, you learn to keep your hopes low. Such opportunities rarely come the way of us low-lives. The city officials, anticipating a massive crowd, offered to provide additional support for this great event. Roads were widened, extra parking lots created, additional traffic management support provided on the appointed day, cops pulled out of their morning doughnut-eating schedule….you get the picture. The last time they had such a big gathering, Dubya and his entourage were coming to town. That’s how big I am talking.

And the crowds did not disappoint. Thousands and thousands of believers assembled at the chosen spot; some even camping out two days before the actual event just to be the first ones to catch a glimpse of THE ONE. As we approached the appointed hour, you could sense the excitement in the crowd. We were ready! At precisely 9AM, when the doors opened, accompanied by a brass band and a crowd of devotees clapping us forward, we surged ahead.

And boy was it worth the wait! I couldn’t believe my eyes; could this really be happening to me? A brand spanking new IKEA store in my hood! In my own hood!! I feel so blessed. As readers of this blog will know, I am an IKEA fan. I totally dig their clever products….every single one of them. I love the witty take they have on many ordinary household items. Living in a town with nary a decent furniture store, it is to IKEA that we fled, to furnish our first apartment. Driving several hundred miles (believe me, with a disgruntled HG as co-passenger, that’s no easy feat), renting a big-ass SUV and loading it up to a level where we could no longer use the rear-view mirror. Those were fun days! I don’t buy furniture there anymore but I still eagerly wait for the annual catalog, and pore through the pages memorizing every small detail as though studying for an exam. And so, when I heard that IKEA was opening a store in my town, my joy knew no bounds. I never imagined though that I would be one of those waiting in line on Day 1. That’s usually not me. I detest crowds (a phobia that comes from living most of my life in Bombay, and being subjected to groping male hands in public places way too many times in my life.) But the attraction was too strong and I’ll admit, I was angling for the free Poang being offered to the first 100 in line. Well, it was very clear from the moment I drove the car into the parking lot that the Poang was way out of my reach. Still, I happily joined the line and got my darshan of the store. And even managed to get a $20 gift certificate. Not bad eh?

Now it remains to be seen if I will be as devoted to IKEA as before. There was novelty value in owning things which others had never seen. Now if everyone has access to them then the attraction dulls a bit. HG is ready to write in his own blood that this is not likely to happen. Well, I have 6 more months of freedom to test his theory. I know it’s going to be hard, but I might just have to prove him right this time.

Overheard in the store: Honey, what color are you in the bathroom? (err..umm…isn’t that sort of a private question?!)