MY FIRST TIME

“D” day arrived. October 27th to be precise. I would finally get to do it today!! Anxiety, hope, trepidation, doubts all played hide and seek in my heart like so many rats scurrying on a polished wood floor, making clicking noises that set teeth on edge .

I had heard about it, I had read about it and I had seen pictures of it. I had never anticipated that the day would come when I would actually be a part of it. Shivers of anticipation raced down my spine at the thought that I would actually get to do it for the first time in my life.

What would the experience be like? Would it be messy like I had heard it could be? Would it hurt? Did you have to learn different techniques before you could actually do it? If it were so, was I going to be really inept at it? Did anyone know of any good books that actually told you how to do it right? Or would the omnipresent internet be a better guide?

The instruments were all laid out on the brown paper covered table. “C” was taking me through the various steps. “D” had gone to his parents home in another state, or we would have had expert comments from him too. The whole experience was interspersed with calls from “D”. “C” was giving “D” a running commentary on what I was doing. “Yeah, she has finally got the top off.” “No, “D” it is not that kind of weekend.” And “Yes, “D” you are missing out on all the fun.” “C” went around telling everyone who would listen, that she had never seen anyone get this excited about it all. And I thought to myself, what the heck, I was only going to get to do it once in my life. So what was wrong with getting all excited???

End result of all the effort. Two beautifully carved pumpkins on our doorstep. Of course “C’’s looks much more intricate than mine. But my first carved pumpkin looks really good even if I do say so myself!!!!

A TIME TO REMEMBER

Flash back to last year, October 27, 2006……….

I was happily snoring in my bed at 7 am on a cold Bangalore morning. Yes, I admit it. I snore and I do get to lie in bed until noon, every single day except the weekends.

Anyone who knows me even slightly, knows that I can be a bear with a sore head if I am woken up anytime before noon. Before any of you sanctimonious early morning risers turn your snooty noses up at me, let me hasten to add that I work night shifts back in Bangalore. See? You judged me unfairly!!

Coming back to my story. Here I was, singing a duet with Jeff Goldblum around a Roman fountain, no less, when a loud yell of “Amma” brought me crashing down to earth. I burrowed under the blanket hoping my son would take the hint and go bother his dad instead, but no go. Soon, the corner of the blanket was lifted and sticky fingers poked me in the eye. I sat up in a hurry, blinking.

My son stood by the side of the bed, a bag around his neck, trying, with all the determination of the very young, to climb on to the bed. The strap of the bag was so long that it kept getting tangled up in his feet, frustrating all his attempts to climb onto my middle. I picked him up before he really hurt himself. He held out the bag to me and said, “Amma, bag.” I looked enquiringly at my husband who said, “Happy Anniversary.”

To say I was shell-shocked was putting it mildly. He actually remembered the date? This, from a guy who does not remember his own birthday? I am not joking. He does not remember what day of the Malayalam calendar he was born on. I had to ask his mother to find out!! And he thought of such a beautiful way to give me a gift? Who could possibly not love a guy like that?

This time, I am so far away that I have to calculate what day it is before I call him to wish him on our special day. And since he was the one responsible for this entire blog business, I am going to use this write up to let him know how much he means to me. Now, now, dont cringe, it is really not going to be all that bad....

Deep, I just wanted to say, thank you for being with me always. For letting me be myself. For letting me follow my dreams however crazy they seemed at the time. For being my safety net when I took a fall. For letting me cry all over your new shirts when I needed to.(Yeah I know you are keeping count. I remember I owe you two really expensive, formal shirts.) I don’t know if this whole Hindu belief of being husband and wife for seven lifetimes really works, (now please don’t throw your hands up in horror and spoil the effect) but for this lifetime, I really enjoy being your wife.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY SWEETHEART!!!!!

HOLLYWOOD, HERE WE COME –PART 2

Fag end of the day in L.A. and “AG” declared that it simply would not do to go back without a picture of the Hollywood banner in the hills.

I remember looking all over when we were on the studio tour, but not a sign of the Hollywood sign did I spy.

Since I had time to kill before I had to get home, I agreed. Our brilliant idea was to cruise all the roads close to the hill and see if we could find one that would give us a clear, photographable view of the sign.

The first road we took lead us right into a national park reserve. A very pretty place, a la Yercaud. We kept going with the sign flashing into view at times like the elusive, white saree-clad ghost in all those scary movies back home. And then we reached a sign that let us know, very politely of course, that we had to get out and walk. It also stated that the park would be closed at sun down which was hardly an hour away. “AG” looked at me hopefully and asked if I wanted to walk. Hmm, walk through miles and miles of wild hill country, with absolutely no idea of where we would end up, that too in my street shoes? Much as I love walking, I decided to give this one a miss. (See? I can be sensible at times.) “AG” sighed with disappointment and we backtracked, right back to where we had started.

The next road we took had all these beautiful houses on either side, which I know must have cost millions. So this was how the rich and the famous lived!! Not that “AG” was really interested in houses. He kept accusing the house owners of being selfish and of having no sense at all. He felt that it was sheer idiocy that they had planted trees in such a way that the sign was completely obscured. According to him, what was the point of living in Hollywood if you didn’t want to look at the sign day in and day out? Err, I think I shall let that one go……

And then we saw it. Fellow countrymen by the side of the road parallel to ours. Both of us had the same brainwave. If anyone had found the perfect place to take pictures it had to be us Indians. Aren’t we renowned for finding solutions to problems and extracting order out of chaos? Isn’t that why we do so well in this country? And we were right!!

We asked an Indian couple to shoot a couple of pictures for us and we returned the favor.

And of course the pictures came out great, what with both of us standing stiff as ramrods and grinning like idiots!!!

HOLLYWOOD, HERE WE COME-PART 1

Saturday saw me and AG (a pal of mine from my GE days) make plans to go the entertainment capital of the world, Universal Studios.

And since my trip, I have to say this. This is one attraction that truly lives up to all the hype surrounding it.

We didn’t actually get to see it all, but what we saw, we liked. We liked so much, we bought annual tickets so we could go again, sometime in the distant future.

“AG” was trying out his best Antonio Banderas voice all the way to L.A. I threatened to use ear plugs(which I had handy in my purse from my air show) if I heard yet another rolling rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. He could repeat entire dialogues by heart!! I did get back at him by playing one of my all time favorites “Pehla Nasha” from the old Aamir Khan starrer umpteen number of times until he threatened to evict me from the car.

Imagine “AG”’s glee when one of the photo ops set up in the theme park was that of an Antonio Banderas look alike, along with his beautiful wife Catherine Zeta-Jones. And “AG”, stuck by a sudden bout of shyness, actually walked past. I had to twist his arm to make him go pose so I could take a picture. He went up, oh so politely, to CZJ and asked, “Could I have a picture taken?” To which CZJ replied, “ Of course, you can.” “In fact, I would be insulted if you didn’t.” (This with the appropriate Spanish accent and all.) She also added (to Antonio) for good measure, “He looks just like you.” To which my smartass friend replied, “Yeah, only a foot or so shorter.”


Of course, there was a tussle as to which rides we were going to get on. “AG” of course wanted to go on all the scary ones. So after a round of “The Mummy Returns”, Van Helsing’s Castle, Terminator etc etc.; I was heartily sick of all the horror stuff. Yeah, I understand Halloween is around the corner, but hasn’t anyone heard of an overkill?? And if that wasn’t enough, I got spat on by the dinosaurs in the Jurrasic Park ride. Yuck!!!

Worse, pictures are clicked at the scariest part of the ride, and you can buy them as souvenirs. Being the scaredy cat that I am, I came out looking scared to death and yelling my head off while “AG” came out looking as cool as a cucumber with a beatific smile on his face. GRRRRRRRRRR, life is just not fair sometimes.

To even it all out, I insisted he come along on the “Shrek” show. He came, muttering all the while about silly females and fairy tales. I had all these visions of flowers, birds and all things beautiful. But horror of horrors, this show had Shrek running around in graveyards with all kinds of scary stuff happening. It was just not my day.

The day ended with both of us forgetting where we had parked the car. After umpteen rounds of the parking lot, and each accusing the other of being the stupidest person alive, the car finally found us and soon we were on our way home. Tired and happy and a wee bit sad, at having a great day end so soon.

WE ARE VERY GOOD INDIANS

Scene at Walgreens, a 24-hour pharmacy, in Los Angeles on Sunday, Oct 23, 2006.

Salesgirl: Umm, so……., like…… are you Indians?
A (my friend): We are!!

Salesgirl: So, are you seek??
Me: Umm what? I’m fine!!!

Salesgirl: Oh no, no, I have this seek girl at school and she like grows her hair long and never cuts it, and like she doesn’t eat meat or beef or seafood.
Me: Oh, you mean Sikh. No we aren’t Sikhs.
A: In fact, neither of us is very religious! (Us?? Speak for yourself, pal.)

Salesgirl: So, umm, what kind of Indians are you?
A: We are very good Indians!! (Peals of laughter from people in line behind us)

We later figured out the poor girl just wanted to know which part of India we were from.

Set me thinking, how is it that people here actually walk up to you and ask you all kinds of questions but that usually never happens when two Indians spot each other? Each tries to avoid eye contact. Lips are firmly pursed, in case a smile actually dares to escape. And I have it on good authority from my friends “R” and “D” that when they first came here, they would flash their pearly whites at any Desi face they spotted and more often than not, they were rewarded with a stony glare. And that this could happen to two PYTs (pretty, young things) definitely boggles the mind!! So, evidently they have stopped smiling and have begun practicing their snooty stares instead.

What is the matter with us? We have a reputation for being the most gregarious people in the world. In fact, when one of our American friends Ann, visited us in Kerala, our aunt actually went right up to her and asked her why she had gotten divorced. Both Deep and I were nonplussed for a second. But then Ann was really touched. She said that she had never been asked why she was divorced and went ahead and laid bare a really personal part of her life. Kudos to her and to my aunt too, because obviously Ann needed to talk, and was able to finally let it all hang out.

This brings me back to my original question. What happens to us when we come to the US of A?

LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT

The deluge of mails in my inbox brought back to mind that it was that time of the year again!! And I needed reminding of my home like I need a six-inch nail in the head!!

It’s Diwali, and I am going to miss it. Of course Diwali isn’t such a big deal to us Mallus, but having being brought up in Bangalore; I wait for it with as much impatience as I wait for Onam or Vishu. I guess I am not too pleased at having just three mallu festivals to celebrate throughout the year!!

Diwali to me means clay lamps, new clothes, sweets and invites to all my non mallu friend’s houses to partake of all the goodies.

I absolutely love little pottery lamps. I have quite an eclectic collection of them since I keep adding to them every year. Every year it’s a ritual to sail forth to the little market in R.T.Nagar with an unwilling parent in tow, to go choose new lamps. Not for me the new-fangled ones with candle wax, the non drip candles or electric lights. I believe one of the most beautiful sights during Diwali is a home all decked out with little twinkling oil lamps, so my lamps will always be the traditional clay ones.

My new lamps are brought home and along with the old ones, are soaked in water for a while; taken out and carefully wiped dry. They are then placed on a tray, filled with castor oil and cotton wicks placed in them all ready to be lighted when twilight falls. Once lit and all lined up in rows, I make occasional forays outside to check to see that all of them are still alight and god save anyone who dares switch on any of the porch lights during the entire time!!

New clothes are yet another must haves. My dad protests violently every time I make a plan to get a new dress. This could probably be because I encroach into his closet space, and worse I am so untidy that every time he opens the closet door to get something, clothes tumble out landing either at his feet or if he did not manage to dodge in time, on him!! He has been known, on these occasions, to throw all my clothes out into the hall. And one of his all time favorite laments is that with two women in the house, he hardly ever gets any closet space for himself.

And as far as sweets go, we absolutely have to have sweets from Bhagat Ram’s on Commercial Street. My dad absolutely swears by them. I think we should get a special discount from the store, since we have been buying sweets from them for at least 25 years!!!

Combine this with invites from my friends for a special Diwali lunch/dinner and Diwali is truly a feast for all your senses!!!

BODY BEAUTIFUL

It was time.

Time to go through the painful process once again. I cringe every time I think of it. Why was such agony ever invented? Why could I not tap into my reserves of womanly strength and be brave enough to say, “No, this is my body and I decide how I want it to look, and not the rest of the world???”

Since my eyebrows had started to resemble huge, hairy caterpillars taking up permanent residence on my forehead, drastic action was warranted. Hence, dragging my friend “R” along, I embarked on the mission, resolve hardening my heart.

We found the beauty parlor that my friend “R” recommended and we walked in, me with utmost trepidation.

I was asked to lie down on a reclining sofa. Lights blazed overhead and brought back memories of the last time I was in the dentist’s chair getting an impacted molar removed. My attendant was Vietnamese and a slip of a girl (or so I thought at the time!). She ordered me to close my eyes and not move a muscle. We got talking while she was getting various paraphernalia ready and it was then that I realized that my “girl” was a 47-year-old mom of two teenagers.

As she applied hot wax to my forehead, she remarked, “You people computer??” “All Indians engineers, and you people very smart.” Oh indeedy, I felt smart!! Smart enough to come to a torture chamber, get hot wax poured on my head, get hair pulled out by the roots and to actually pay for the privilege.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiipppppp. Owww. I asked myself why I had weakened and given into my vanity yet again. And who invented this exquisite torture? Whoever did certainly did not like women and had most definitely chickened out of experiencing his own invention.

A few more rips and a clean up swipe later, I was free. Free to go out into the world with my head held high, unencumbered by any hirsute monstrosities on my face!!!

Aaah…. the sky was blue, the sun was shining and all was right with my world again.

THE BLUE ANGELS

Sounds like the title of a porn movie?

They actually are the finest amongst the air demonstration teams whose mission it is to enhance the US Navy and Marine Corps recruiting efforts. And enhance they certainly did!! I bet the recruiting offices had to fight off hordes of people wanting to join the Navy and Marine Corps after they had experienced one of the shows put on by this team!! Just imagine being a part of the legendary flying team that has millions of followers? Stuff that dreams are made of!! Boy, I bet the pilots who belong to this team walk 16 feet tall what with all the admiration and adulation they so richly deserve and get.

They single handedly wiped out all the horrors of a cold rainy morning without protective rain gear. They held an audience of thousands spellbound and that is putting it mildly. Some of the maneuvers they exhibited elicited collective oohs and aahs as well as exclamations of horror when it seemed like their sole mission in life was to annihilate each other by flying at each other at breakneck speeds and close-knit formations.

The other lean, mean, flying machine that drew crowds like a magnet was the Stealth Bomber. By no stretch of imagination could you call it a plane. It is this sleek, black, elongated piece of metal, all angles and planes without a single airplane-like feature. I could not figure out if the pilot could even see out of the thing. And in the sky………….. It personifies nothing less than sheer poetry in motion.

Adding to the oomph factor of the air show at Miramar was the little red biplane flown by Sean Tucker. He just threw the plane all over the sky in every contortion and angle that a demented mind on psychedelic drugs could come up with, and the little plane bravely came through it all.

A wonderful experience that was the Miramar Air Show 2006. Fly on Blue Angels……….

NO, I DO NOT HAVE A COMMUNICABLE DISEASE

“Meet S, she has just arrived from India and …….. she is married.” This is how most of my introductions go. The reactions are a study by itself. Eyes widen, smiles turn brittle and is it my imagination or are the handshakes a little limper?”

I am still trying to figure out this phenomenon. Does the fact that I am married make me weird? Do I have to be handled with kid gloves or something? Does it make you less of a man/woman to be friends with a married woman? Hello???? I am married. It does not mean that I have lost the ability to laugh, to make friends, have fun and do all the crazy stuff you guys do. Yeah, I will set limits. But then, don’t all friendships have boundaries?

The question I get asked next is,” How come you came to the US leaving your hubby and baby behind?” I came for the same reasons that you did, my friend. The opportunity to learn a new skill, to see a new country, to broaden my horizons, not to mention the chance to meet new people and make new friends. And the fact that I have a completely supportive partner who encourages me in realizing my dreams makes it all the more easier. Yes, I miss them, what kind of a question is that? Who would not miss running into a pair of strong arms to wash away the travails of the day or holding a warm sweet- smelling toddler close??

As for why I left the two behind, I could tell you the true reason, the fact that there is a small matter of visas. I will be home before their visas are approved. I fail to understand why that makes me a pariah. I wonder if the reactions would be the same if the roles were reversed. What if it was my husband who was here? And it was me and the baby who were left behind? Would the same questions be asked? Or would my husband be put on a pedestal for being so self-sacrificing and working so hard to provide for his family? Is it different just because I am a woman??

RUN UP TO HALLOWEEN

Little orange pumpkins suddenly sprung up on my desk yesterday (plastic ones)!!. A cane basket was also placed, filled with candy. Well, someone sure is going to be doing a lot of replenishing. They should have known better than to keep a basket full of candy close to a candy lover. Halloween has certainly arrived at our office!!!

C marched me to Party City yesterday after a lot of arm twisting (though she did not have to twist very hard) to go chose a Halloween costume. There were pictures of all the costumes available with numbers attached to them and you could order it up, try it on and then decide whether you wanted it or not. The costumes went from cute to the bizarre. I mean a kimono miniskirt? The French Maid? The Divine Witch? Now that’s an oxymoron if I have ever heard one.

I am supposed to be the Divine Witch. Frankly speaking, I do not think I need a costume to scare anyone. I am scary enough just as me. C wouldn’t hear of it and insisted I try it on. It’s kind of cute, if you ask me, all red satin and black lace. Va, Va, Voooooooooooom!!

C is going to be a really cute Red Riding Hood and her husband D is going to be a dashing knight all maroon and silver. He certainly looked adorable in the knight costume with his glasses on!!

Next on the agenda: A sword and crown for D and a broomstick for me. We need all the props right? I did suggest I could carry S, the black cat, as my prop or that I could use the vacuum cleaner instead of the broom, but I regret to say those ideas were not met with any enthusiasm.

We also got (get a load of this) a PUMPKIN CARVING KIT. It comes complete with two saws, one for fine sawing, two drills that looked like screwdrivers and a little plastic scoop. There was also a booklet with patterns that could be pasted on the pumpkin while you cut along the dotted lines. (Perfectionists, aren’t they?)

And just so the cats didn’t feel left out, we also got a bat with glowing red eyes that you could hang and it would fly around in circles flapping its wings.

Now that we have all the professional tools for a pumpkin carver, I can’t wait for the carving to begin!!!!

SEX ON THE BEACH

It all started with an article in an Indian website that compared eating chocolate to having sex. The said article also quoted a famous Bollywood actress who allegedly stated that she loved eating chocolate before, during and after the act. Make of that what you will.
I remember I once got an email that said, “Men are like chocolate, dark, sensuous and go right to your hips.”

I beg to differ.

CHOCOLATE: The mere word makes women go weak in the knees. What man can do that every single time?

I have used chocolate to treat everything from a broken heart to shoe-bite. How come no brilliant entrepreneur ever patented chocolate as a therapy??

Best of all you can talk about in public. One of our guests “M”, while talking about the cat said, “And he was licking his undercarriage.” It had us in splits at the time. I am sure no one will face situations like this while waxing eloquent over chocolate. Thankfully, you can call a spade a spade……. err chocolate. And most of all you can drool over it in public, make all kinds of noises with as many mms and aaaaaaahs as you like and no one will think you strange.

I love the beaches here in San Diego. I simply love walking along them when I am happy, sad, lonely, frustrated, hurting……… I also eat chocolate during the exact same states of mind. So if I combine the two, technically, I am having sex on the beach?????

TICK TICK TICK TICK

Monday evening saw me entering the apartment cursing a blue streak. During my usual tussle with the front door knob, I had managed to jam the key into my palm, and had ended up leaving behind quite a bit of skin. Not an uncommon occurrence, since I am the clumsiest person alive and Murphy’s laws were formulated for people like me. I stepped into the apartment, mentally analyzing the best way to torture a door knob when I was enveloped in cloud that smelt sickly sweet.

On further investigation, I found out D was on a warpath. He was spraying huge clouds of tick medicine all over the place. He said that he had found out that the cats had ticks and hence he was taking steps to curb the menace. I sure hope the ticks felt as sick as the humans did!! So the cats had tick medicine sprayed on them and I was given strict instructions that I was not to pet them for three days. My heart went out to those poor cats. If cats could talk, I am sure those ticks would have gotten an earful.

I was also informed that the tick medicine would not only get rid of all the ticks on the cats but would also kill any ticks that had dared to venture into the apartment. And to top it all, an appointment was taken with the vet immediately.

I was really curious; because I had not seen the cats scratch or do anything else that could suggest a tick infestation, so I asked D how he had come to the conclusion that the cats had ticks. He told me, “I saw tick droppings on the kitchen floor.” Now that got my antennae up. Because just that morning I had spilt some of my tea leaves on the kitchen floor and being in the perpetual hurry that I am, I had just swept it into the corners of the kitchen meaning to fix it when I got back in the evening.

I truly am sorry kitties………..

EAT YOUR VEGETABLES

One of my favorite pastimes is to go to malls and look at all the displays. Rather like Socrates, who it is said, went into all the markets to look at all the stuff that he did not need. I do not have such lofty reasons for mall crawling, but I have as much fun!!!

I went into Henry’s the other day. It is this store that has fresh fruits and vegetables and everyone who shops here has this shining halo around their heads, because they are shopping for healthy stuff. And it is all organic to boot, which makes the halo shine even brighter if that were possible!!!

Amongst all the exotic fruits and vegetables, kiwi, nectarines, funny shaped papayas, the good old mango, I found something close to my mallu heart. The coconut. I was so elated. Imagine finding a coconut here!! Only, it was Americanized as all things here are wont to be. The coconut was devoid of all its fiber, bald if you will. And worst of all, it was shrink-wrapped. The best was yet to come. It had instructions on how to break it open!! I swear, the little blurb on the coconut said, “Tap gently along the crack to break open, loosen the flesh and use as desired.” From what I could figure, the coconuts were already broken and the flesh inside was already removed from the shell, and the whole thing was put together again and shrink wrapped. God, what a terrible thing to have happened to a coconut!!

They also have these impossibly orange pumpkins. C and I keep having these arguments about how a pumpkin could be so orange. I mean the ones in India are yellow with splotches of green and maybe orange in parts but the pumpkins here are a brilliant orange, quite in keeping with the Halloween theme. I keep insisting that this can only happen if they were a hybrid variety, and C keeps insisting that they might merely be a different kind of pumpkin. We are now the proud owners of two brilliantly orange pumpkins, ready for carving.

We went to the check out counter and I was looking at things on the shelves. It was then that I saw it. A long, small pouch, with a drawstring at the end. Reminds me of the little pouches kind old grandmothers back in Bangalore use to store their supply of tobacco, betel leaves, areca nuts and lime. (Come to think of it, I haven’t seen one of those in a long time, have grannies stopped chewing betel leaves? Or has the high tech city influenced them enough to switch over to something more practical and boring?) This particular bag, I found out, was the plastic bag organizer and dispenser. This means to say you store all the plastic bags you get at the grocery stores in it and you can pull it out as needed!! WHAT NEXT?????

OH THESE AMERICANS!!

Saturday morning saw me in a car with C on the way to the Qualcomm stadium. I had offered to go along because I had not seen the stadium yet and I figured anything was better than sitting cooped up at home, feeling sorry for myself.

Purpose of our visit: to get a sticker on the car and a gift envelope. It was a promotion offered by the rock station of San Diego wherein people were invited to get a bumper sticker in exchange for an envelope containing free gifts. And C had volunteered to do this because her husband A had wanted her to do it. I thought that was kind of sweet.

I had imagined that maybe 50 people would turn up to avail of the offer. After all, this is America, the land of the plenty right? I could not have been more wrong. The line into the stadium was at least two miles long. We were inching along at a snail’s pace. What a wonderful way to spend a Saturday morning. Sit in the traffic for close to two hours!! Apparently, there were people who thought this was fun!!

Into the stadium, we saw lines of cars in curves all over the outside moving as in a slow moving dance. It was interesting to watch that even here, the distance between cars was maintained perfectly and all the cars were moving at the same speed. No cursing, no honking, no trying to squeeze through.

Right next to it was an area where people were racing cars. One half of the stadium was filled with cars zipping at breakneck speeds and the other half of the stadium had these slow moving cars doing the waltz with as much grace as humans.

I asked C why there were cars zipping around like mad outside the stadium and she told me that people were encouraged to come and race where it was safe than race on the roads where they would be a menace to both themselves and others. Any officials from Bangalore reading this? Maybe you could take a leaf out of this book before we sacrifice more policemen to the speed demons drunk both on spirits and testosterone.

Three cars ahead and we heard this wild yell go up and everyone turned to look. No undignified rush to see what had happened mind you. A lady had won a Jeep!!! Excitement ran high. We got our sticker on and C picked an envelope and WON

…….a month’s free membership at a gym where she was already a member.

DON’T GROW UP!!!

The telephone has become my lifeline. One that I cling to with all the desperation of a person drowning in the sea of loneliness (Morbid I know, but then today is Monday so I am entitled). I call everyday. Two calls for sure. One call to my parents and the other to hubby dear.

I am sure Reliance is looking at giving me a life membership on their Board of Directors since I am positive they would never find another member who so religiously uses their services every single day.

The ring of the telephone at my home in Bangalore is a precursor for cataclysmic events. Anyone who is standing makes a mad rush to the phone. And the person responsible for this whole sequence of events is my two year old. He, being much smaller than all of us and being able to maneuver through all the obstacles like the sofa, the half open door and his toys lying strewn upon the floor, usually gets to the phone first. He picks up the phone and says, “Hello?” and impatient fella that he is, immediately puts the phone down saying, “Cut ayi poyi.” (The line has been disconnected). This leaves all of us in a quandary. We do not have caller ID so there is no way of figuring out if that call was from our maid servant telling us she is on a death watch (yet again) or if it was from one of those banks asking if we wanted yet another credit card.

In the rare instances that both me and my son get to the vicinity of the phone together, both of us fall headlong onto the bed in the mad scramble to reach the phone first. And the fact that I am bigger (wonder how long that will last) and stronger, I simply drag him back. But it is no good. Because he lets out a yowl so loud it is impossible to hear the person on the other end. I bet the people who call us are sure that the World War III is being fought in our living room, what with all the blood curdling yells and murderous threats that they can hear in the background. The grand finale is usually when my mom comes charging out of the kitchen brandishing a weapon of choice (usually a spoon, knife and in one instance even the skillet) ready to attack anyone who is hurting her beloved grandson. After a whole lot of lectures on “act your age,” I finally get to talk to the person on the phone. This only happens if the person on the other end has the patience of a saint and is used to this whole drama being played out every single time without fail. Usually the person on the other end hangs up in frustration.

So, imagine my surprise when I called home today and my son picks up the phone. I said hello, and I could actually hear him say, “Ammuma, amma vilikyunnu.” (Granma, mom is calling). I was stuck speechless. He still remembers his mom’s voice and he knew I wanted to talk to my mom!!! When did you grow up so much???

WHATS SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE….

Interesting things happen at the dinner table ever since I have started living in my new apartment with my American friends.

The other day we ordered a pizza from Papa Johns. I put a slice on my plate and was rooting around in the refrigerator for my bottle of ketchup. Ketchup is a life saver. I use it on everything from idlis to my Americanized version of chicken curry. Back to the story, I straightened and began the complicated process of getting the ketchup onto my plate after a series of violent shakes to the bottle, when I saw both A and C watching me curiously. I wondered what gaffe I had committed now. They waited till I sat down and then C asks me with an incredulous look on her face, “ You eat your pizza with ketchup?” Now this mystified me completely, because as far as I was concerned tomato sauce and pizza go together like curd rice and pickle.

Delving into the root of the matter, I discovered that in America, people eat their pizzas as is or with ranch dressing. According to the Wikepedia, Ranch dressing is an American salad dressing and vegetable dip made of buttermilk or sour cream, mayonnaise and minced green onion along with other seasonings.

Its popularity likely stems from the fact that it is easy way to add extra fat to a dish.(Yeah I really needed that!!!). Compared to mayonnaise, dieters may view it as more acceptable condiment though nutritionists do not(I bet they don’t!!) , and it has a generally more pleasing texture than mayonnaise.

I did ask my friend in Italy to resolve this issue once and for all and she more or less said the same thing. She said the toppings were really diverse anything from ham to jam, yes I said jam. Phew!!

I had spotted a box of rice (yeah, rice in a box) during my hunt for the ketchup and I asked C excitedly, “ Oh you guys eat rice too!!” “What do you eat rice with?” And she said “Oh plain, we sometimes mix it with salt and pepper or butter.”

To each his own I guess.

A LITTLE BIT OF INDIA

I woke up today, full of patriotic fervor. Pursuant to that, I decided to go to work in a salwar kameez. Proof of my insanity, if anyone needed any proof in the first place!! I chose one of my favorites, a filmy, floaty eggplant colored dress. This was one of those few dresses that my friendly neighborhood tailor had stitched according to my specifications and not his interpretations of how it should look.

I added high heels to the outfit, and I was ready.. to show my patriotism to the world. As I walked to the bus stop near my apartment, things began to happen. I lost all feeling in my toes and fingertips in like 10 seconds. My fingertips, because it was a pretty cold San Diego morning and my toes because of the high heels. The things we poor women have to suffer through in the name of fashion.

I swept past people sitting at the bus stop and stood in my usual spot. Was that shock I saw on that pimply faced youth’s face? I gave him a challenging stare and he hurriedly stuck his head back in the book he was pretending to read.

Getting into the bus, I walked quickly to the back of the bus to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. No go. I remember every single person in the bus looking at me which was pretty weird because Americans truly follow the principle that it was rude to stare. Now this was getting a bit uncomfortable. Finally it was my stop and just as I made to get up and out of the bus post haste I heard a rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiip. Oh no, what was that now??? I turned around and looked and thank god it was my lunch bag ripping. I would have died if that ripping had anything to do with my dress.

I walked to the door to the office after all these adventures and I see my colleague standing next to the door gesturing wildly. I was wondering, "God, now what has gone wrong?" When I got close enough, I could hear her exclaiming, “That is such a pretty dress, and you look like a model.” And that was that.

TEA TO A T

I am a tea fanatic.

There, I’ve said it. As a true-blue mallu, in addition to white-blood cells, red blood cells, thromboplastins and what have you, I also have tea in my blood.

I was introduced to tea in the long forgotten past, when my “tea” contained two drops of tea in a whole cup of milk. It was drunk without complaint though, sparing my mom the arduous exercise of getting a whole glass of milk down my throat without fuss.

As I grew, my tea did grow stronger, though it was served in quantities inadequate to quench the thirst of an ant. I made up for it by adding hot water to fill my cup to the brim so I could enjoy a full cup of tea right alongside the adults.

Tea at my grandmother’s in Vaikom had the taste I have never managed to replicate. Partly because it was made from milk fresh from the cow. The tea leaves to water ratio was strictly adhered to, with the use of the same spoon and cup for measurement every time the brew was concocted. This was tradition, followed from aeons and lord save the soul of anyone who dared use the wrong spoon or the wrong cup. The sugar always went into the boiled milk in a different vessel. The tea infusion and the milk were then mixed and it was blended by using a miniature steel mug and the tea was poured from dizzying heights. The resulting cup of sheer heaven had froth to rival the ones made by waves in the Vembanad lake hitting the jetty.

Fast forward to the present. My experiments with concocting the perfect brew here in the land of opportunities continue. One of the first things I packed was two packets of Kannan Devan Tea. And boy, am I glad I did that. Because I have come across green tea, black tea, vanilla chai, chamomile tea, orange pekong tea, and god knows what else, but no plain tea. To top it all the creamers (stuff that imitates milk) here have flavors in everything from vanilla to coconut to hazelnut. And somewhere in this mélange of tastes, lurks the flavor of tea.

I currently make my tea in a little steel vessel brought from home expressly for that purpose, but I think I shall switch to a nonstick variety what with all the scrubbing to get it clean again. I pour in everything together, the low fat milk (water colored white?), huge quantities of sugar so fine that it can easily be mistaken for salt, and water, bring it to a boil strain it through my bright yellow tea strainer and voila, I have a poor imitation of the tea back home. And by the way, did I mention that I have my American friend C hooked to this version of my tea. She now religiously drinks this concoction with me every morning.

My latest experiment is microwave tea. I dunk two bags of Lipton 100% natural tea (with 175mg natural antioxidants each mind you!!) put in two heaped teaspoons of the pure white cane sugar (no beet sugars, the blurb on the packet says) and microwave it for 2 minutes. There, tea with the minimum of fuss!!!!

I have also discovered Tazo tea which I have learned to like. The blurb on the packet states, “ Throughout India, chai wallahs can be found serving up steaming cups of sweetly spiced chai to wandering souls.” All the master makers of tea in the chaya kadas (tiny tea shops) back home, I wish you could see this!!!!

A ship in a harbor is safe, but that is not what a ship is built for.

Saturday saw me traipsing off to downtown San Diego to go look at ships, at the invitation of A and C, my landlords or do they have a word like “landpersons?” . A works in the Navy which I think is pretty cool what with the uniforms and all and C is this very pretty lady who loves dancing. Could it get any more romantic than that? More on that later.

So here we were, driving around in circles, because we couldn’t find parking. Made me feel right at home because this scene is oft repeated in good old Bendakalooru (Bangalore to the uninitiated).

We walked past sidewalks filled with people enjoying a bright sunny day. We went past a man fashioning things out of palm fronds and wonder of wonders, he threw both me and C a rose each. I was pleased as punch about that!!

There were colorful sculptures on the sidewalk too, which I later discovered, were supposed to be trees. They were in all shapes and sizes and some of them were miles away from what a tree normally looks like (even the most bent and distorted of them) but then to each his own I guess. Makes me wonder if those artists were on something while they were fashioning these trees. There was even one with a snake wrapped around it; I bet that was supposed to represent the infamous apple tree in Eden. (I hope I got that biblical story right!!) But they make for really interesting exhibits on the sidewalk and I loved them!!

We first got into what is called a Stiletto. Before you have visions of gorgeous women in short dresses and sultry come hither looks, it is the name of a boat ship. “A” pointed out the M shaped hull (I think that was the term he used but not too sure about that) which helps it ride higher in the water. Anyways, there were these smartly attired naval officers helping people in and out of the vessel and that added to the charm of it all. You could also get pictures taken with them if you liked. There were seats inside straight out of star trek which you could buckle yourself into to see what it would feel like riding in a Stiletto. I am sure those seats came in handy because a Stiletto travels at speeds higher than 65 miles per hour.

We then got in line to take a guided tour of two battleships. There were also displays of military trucks and a gun (I forget what kind). I did get a picture taken alongside a gun and a cute marine. Wonder how that one will come out. There were two ships anchored there. Most people wanted to get on the bigger ship. The truth of the matter was the bigger ship was considered obsolete and the USS Pinckney, which we got on, was one of the latest battleships commissioned. (It helps to know someone in the know you see!!) A told me that a ship like the USS P could easily take over a small country. Now that was a sobering thought.

The USS Pinckney was named after William Pinckney, a Navy Cook first class, who was awarded the Navy Cross for the rescue of his colleague aboard the USS Enterprise.

We went through narrow alley ways (I wonder what they are called in Navy parlance) and up and down really stairs steep stairs with the naval officer conducting the tour giving us snippets of information about the ship and its capabilities, most of which went about 10 feet over my head. As we walked around the ship there was a tantalizing aroma of what I presumed was warm pizza. The naval officer did allow us to take a peek at their eating area. It seemed cramped as was the rest of the ship but it was bright and cheerful. Another bit of wisdom from our guide was that food that smelt so great would stink when you were actually on your way to say like Hawaii because sea sickness would set in. Yuck!! And do guys in the navy get sea sick???

Officers had separate eating and sleeping areas. Hmm wonder what you would make of that. And there was fire fighting equipment all over the ship. I guess fire is your greatest enemy out in the sea.

We were encouraged to ask questions and then a lady asked a question that had been niggling at me all this while. She asked our guide “Is there a special laundry that gets your uniform this white?” To which the guide replied, “Oh, we just send it to the laundry on this ship.”

So, one of life’s great mysteries still remains unsolved……..

YUN HOTA TO KAISA HOTA

An interesting movie. For a Hindi movie that is. We have so few good Hindi movies made that this one was a breath of fresh air. Of course I watched with high expectations since it was directed my Naseeruddin Shah, who happens to be one of my favorite actors of all time.

Four different stories, one event that shook the world…….. characters people can identify with. The funny thing was most people who have watched the movie have a tough time identifying with the character who is madly in love with an older woman. WHY??? Call me a hopeless romantic but maybe age didn’t play a role in this romance.

And I was really glad when Tilottama made it to her husband’s side. Another of my quirks. I love happy endings. So there was at least one in this movie and that kind of made up for the other tragedies.

Made me think, for most of us it was just another event that happened in the US but what if, like the characters in the film, the people involved were our friends, our relatives? WHAT THEN?