Heavens are falling

Crossing the threshold to go towards my car, my feet sank in the snow. Deep enough to wet my clothes.

And while I struggled with my tresses and with my shovel to dig the snow, I wonder if I am digging my own grave. My man is not doing the shoveling, I am. No man is doing it, I  was. Was I supposed to do it or not?

Agreed. I have been given 2 hands and 2 legs by the almighty above. But wasn’t that a man’s job?

See right there, I transformed from a feminist to a sexist.

All my education and all my broad mindedness went down the drain when I grumbled my way to insanity. I went dark in silence as my body ached. As his lethargy increased, so did my tongue lashes.

Was it a man’s job?

It was our job. Not his, not mine, but ours. Maybe 51% his and 49% mine. Maybe 49% his and 51% mine, but ours nonetheless. Just like the dishes. Just like Angel and her potty gathering expeditions in the dark. Just like the cleaning of the house and cleaning of the path walk. I guess we would work better in a team.

Now that I have that figured out, I have to start learning how to “drill  this notion in his head” exercises. I will lose my tongue and his ears in the process.

Worth giving a try?

PS: I guess its a who is lazy and who is lazier thing! S did bite my head off while I chewed away his ears to glory…

PPS: The results are negative. S does not believe in teams.

Post PPS: S and I both came to an informed decision. Angel needs to start helping. She needs to clean her own shed hair, keep her tongue in to stop the drool and should start doing her pee & poo herself. We ain’t accompanying! Its high time she joins a part time job, she is 18 in dog years  and so is now ready to move out. Fingers crossed!

 

 

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My trip to India🇮🇳

Random thoughts. Random entries. Timelines are blurred because my whole trip was a big blur. It lasted 13 days precisely, where 4 days were spent in flights and trains. 8 days were spent in my hometown, Ajmer and 1 day was spent in the company of my cousins and extended family in New Delhi.

Ajmer, Rajasthan, India     8th January       4:42 AM EST


Paan- beetle leaves, are a religion in my home. After dinner, my pops solemnly asks for a customary Paan, everyday.

However, on this day, pops and I are about to board the train to New Delhi. Hundal Paan shop, which was in business even before I was born, seals the deal.  Gulkand daalkar and bina supaari …[My preference is beetle leaves with Gulkand and without the Areca Nut].

Ajmer, Rajasthan, India     5th January         3:41 AM EST


Rubal, has an infection and needs a surgery. The gown does not fit and the compounder runs frantically to search for a gown that might. Finally a gown did fit and feels like a brassiere like choli from behind. Usually, its a solemn situation, but we start eve teasing my baby brother in a sophisticated way. While bua(Aunt) and Mommy dearest whisper words of harassment in his ear, I take a picture of his sexy back!

Ajmer, Rajasthan, India     4th January         10:02 AM EST


Pops got his first pair of prescription glasses when he turned 50. I got my first pair, when I was a teen. I have been a loyal customer of Bhargava Opticals Ajmer for 13 years for every pair of glasses I have ever put on. When you click on the link of BOA(not Bank of America but Bhargava Opticals) you will see two uncles. I have seen both of them at the shop for as long as I remember.

While the uncle- who gave my first pair of prescription glasses -is trying to handle a difficult customer who happens to be my dad, I click this picture.

Ajmer, Rajasthan, India     4th January         2:37 PM  EST


You look at these glasses? In case you did not notice, these are the new ones from BOA(not Bank of America still). You see the jersey I am wearing? It was owned by my sis from another miss, handed down to me when I was 12 years old. My mom PRESERVES clothes and does the cloth mummification. The chain of this jersey works, it still fits, and the color hasn’t faded enough to demolish this  jersey into a rag.

Ajmer, Rajasthan, India     3rd January        5:14 AM EST


I visited my best friend from school, whom I have known for 11 years. In my long lived absence from India, she got married and gave birth to a beautiful son-Zohaan.

He is crying in the picture because he is subjected to simple discomforts of life-gas 💨

Funny how memories flashes before my eyes. I see two teens riding to tuitions on Honda Activa, I see two teens eating canteen samosas, I see two teens fearing our class XII class teacher more than our own mommy dearests and then I see two adults, holding a baby- a baby who is just 40 days young.

Ajmer, Rajasthan, India     2nd January        4:54 AM EST


I casually mention while having lunch that I loved Dangal-the latest movie by Amir Khan. Pops got really pumped when I begin to mention that the story was true and based on two sisters from Haryana(my side of Yadav clan is basically from Haryana). Also pops is a movie buff, since the beginning of time.

We went to the Miraj mall- me, mom and pops- even though mom and I have already watched the movie. Before the movie begins, there is our Indian National Anthem where the mere total of 5 people get up in respect(there were 5 people in the movie hall because it was afternoon show on a weekday). There was a weak salute from the couple in front and I felt irritation more than patriotism.

I was battling through an intense case of exhaustion and jet lag, so I slept through the second half of the movie. I could not see, but the low volume snores may be from pops. Mommy dearest had her eyes wide open, mentally awake or not.

PS: If you notice, pops has a paan(beetle leaf) in his mouth.

New Delhi, India     31st December    7:59 PM EST

 

After roughly 16 hours of flight and 4 hours of layover in Doha, I land in New Delhi. I fought over currency conversion rates. Due to the recent demonetization, we are allowed to convert no more than 5,000 Indian rupees worth of currency. That was worth $70 on that day. The deductions included all sorts of taxes including the Krishi tax(Irrigation tax) and I was like WTF. I received 4,100 INR, where the rest was deducted in bloody taxes.

After winning OLA 250 rupees coupon, I was sitting on my trolley and was waiting at the airport for 6 hours before I boarded my train to Ajmer from Delhi Cantt.

I literally killed the boredom that day.

Not to mention that I lost my balance and fell from the trolley, luggage and all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Love:Living in United States of America…

If you had been my faithful readers all along, you may realize that I do not shy away from the topic. It has been a roller coaster ride for me regarding love, with heartbreaks and heartaches. I have been in love, and sadly out of love as well. My depression  post breakup was an overkill, in brief.

It happened in United States, where I knew that the followup “getting-back-together” calls would mean nothing more than me being in the gutter once again. I cried my heart out and spoke to whomever that would listen that I am heart broken. I wanted to beg to the almighty above, that time should stop, that I needed to breathe, that I needed time to heal. I wanted to fall off the grid and become a monk, because for me this life was baseless. I started seeing my life in an alternate reality, parallel to my own. I would pity myself, and I would victimize myself. I had stopped looking at myself in the mirror, I loathed my face, my body, my whole being. However, the struggle reached its epitome when I could not sleep. I would close my eyes and hear the world sleep and get up again, when all this time I was wide awake. Finally, sun would hit the horizon and my body’s turmoil would reach an epiphany, and I could sleep for an hour or two if the days were good. It went on for months.Till now, after almost 2 years, when I have those nights when I cannot sleep, I completely and honestly lose it. My family, several continents away, did not know what their daughter was going through. I never told them, but I still ask myself, should I have taken the help?

I am currently staying with a girl, who  is lovely and who spoke up about her love life. Rummaging through people’s profiles on shadi.com, she says that some people who register there do not intend to marry. They are browsing instead of swiping left and right on Tinder. She mentions very jovially how she had been rejected in the past on the basis of her weight, her visa status, her skin color, and so on. She mentions the double standards of the candidates, who would be living in with someone and would still seek out “a marriage material” partner. She mentions about handsome guys, who have wives back in India and they still try to solicit with women for “fun” in United States. She talked about her previous room mate, who was sleeping with a guy up until one day before she was about to fly home. She was going home to get married to another man, the more stable one. She asked me today what do I see in a man before I commit. Without waiting for a beat, I replied, “Quality”. To which she asked again, “How do you ensure that the man is of quality?”

How?

Not a long time ago, I had met a friend of a friend, and he seemed interested. He had good qualifications and a great way of talking. He was smart, funny and courteous. He met my room mate and I met his friends, and things were fine. We also had some common friends, and I enquired diligently about his background, which never raised any red flags. When I asked him directly about his relationship status, he said he was single. The only time I felt uncomfortable was when his married friend (who was also his colleague) would always insist to hang out with us. We will be going for a movie, and I would find ourselves waiting for the other friend, also a woman. We will be going out for a dinner, and the other friend would be with us whipping out Groupon coupons. Those were the things that bothered me, but I would eventually learn to ignore. I wanted the things to be slow. Lo and behold one day, when my “good on the paper” lad came to pick me up. Drunk to bits he mentioned that he had a wife back in Houston, which he married for Green Card. The wife and him were not getting along and were separated. By the way, the other married friend that busted our so called dates on many occasions, was his current sleeping partner. I had too much self respect to ask him, “So, who was I?”

On the other hand, relationships do work, but along the hinges of our visa status. One of my mentors, a strong woman, was living in with her boyfriend. Both her and the BF work full time for massive companies. Things were usual. The BF had the work visa, but the girl-my friend was yet to receive one. So on a day when her company told her to pack her bags and leave the country, she complied. She will leave behind her love, her life, her dreams behind . She will leave behind the security of being loved by a man. She will leave behind her faith in the system. When S tells me that he wants to shift to the other country for his further education, I go berserk. In a time, when finding a decent guy feels like a mirage  in the desert, when falling in love and staying in love is a lot of hard work and when you finally begin to trust the other person with yourself and your car, the other person’s visa status comes into the picture, along with your own visa status. Trivial and strenious.

But I ain’t stopping smiling, aren’t I?

The 4 letter word. LOVE ❤️


Fin

Note to the reader:This article is the second one in the series. If you are here by chance, I recommend the first  one The Loss:Living in United States of America.

Fair and Handsome anyone?

My usual phone call with mom lasts longer if we are gossiping or talking trashy about people in general. She and I often squirm around the paraphrased ‘I-know-I-can-tell-only-you-this talk’ when we are doing mouth diarrhea about relatives, friends, friends of friends and almost nobodies in our life.

Mommy dearest on one occasion commented that she attended a wedding of a neighbor’s daughter. The daughter had to wait for 5 years to get married to the guy of her choice, simply because her parents weren’t agreeing. I casually asked, ‘Where is the guy from?’ to which she replied ‘Somewhere from South India, but in spite of that he is extremely good looking.’ Slightly annoyed, when I asked what is her definition of a good looking man, she replied ‘I mean, he was gora’[I mean that he is fair] When I proceeded to tell her that ‘Aishwarya Rai’ is a South Indian and is amazingly good looking, she did a double take. I then proceeded to tell her that S is dark- chocolate shade dark and the line went dead.

Right then and there I knew why Fair And Handsome obtained its niche market. The old and harboring industry of melanin suppressor, was tired of torturing women since 1971(Obtained from their Wiki page). I remember Shahrukh Khan endorsing the brand at one point of time. I wonder if he was indirectly calling himself ‘Unfair’? Sorry about the lame attempt at a joke…

When I told about my conversation with mommy dearest to S, his annoyance was perpetual even before I finished my story. He wasn’t taking this lightly and wanted me to send a picture of him to my mommy dearest. This tactic was to prove that even though he was dark, he was handsome. My boy is sure as hell handsome but I ain’t sending any pictures of him to my mom. Period. His annoyance gathered momentum when he heard that I said-quote/unquote ‘That he was of a chocolate shade’, to which I replied that I had precisely mentioned that he was of the color of a Milk Chocolate for example Cadbury. He heaved his sonny chest and wanted to throw me like a rag doll outside the window, when I bribed him with a Mc D 1 buck Sundae in return.

I wonder if my remark has hit a nerve. I wonder, whether my sister who is dusky, feels the same. I often sense it in her remarks sometimes when she compares herself to her fair husband. She is beautiful with her Trident smile and S is handsome with his love dimples. I look at myself in the mirror and gaze at my fairness and truly wonder whether that makes me any lovely…

Fin

 

Keep calm because its Angel’s Birthday!

We weren’t there so as to speak, when she was born.

But we were there three months later in a cube meeting the perfect little puppy who  was so eager to meet us. We thought it was love at first sight.

Only it wasn’t.

I know you never asked but here are 12 birthday facts about Angel…

1.Angel luurvvess everybody!

Turns out that over the next few months, she is going to coo over our delivery guy, Peevey- made up name of a friend/house mate/dog-walker, Cruella from 101 Dalamtaions-housemate/bitch/cat owner, Ms. Mc D and Mr. Mc D-Complain boxes/housemates/loud sex vocalists/ Mr Mc D works at Mc D I guess, and Mr. Boom boom pow- Bad guy turns good/Chain smoker/ Muscle stacked/Calls Mc D poison(not the person, the food)…

2. Angel is a choosy eater.

We have changed 4 brands over the last few months. She stuck to Purina for a while and we were happy that she was eating food without giving us some trouble. We used to give her hides so that she had a pass time. Life was perfect until when S told me that Purnina was like french fries and the other dog food(the one that she was not eating) was like broccoli. It did not bother me even then, because we could have bought Purnina from the 20/7 gas station near us. The hide was great because it was better than she ripping apart our shoes. Until one day, our dog trainer cringed at the name of Purina and told us that hides were dangerous because its shards can seriously hurt Angel if she ingested it. Angel would definitely ingest it. She is a hogger.


3.Angel is a toy destroyer.

We have collectively and mutually gifted over 30 toys of varied variety. Ropes, balls, soft toys,wood sticks for dogs, kongs, blah blah. She is a sucker for ropes. She isn’t into balls right now. She is too intelligent for kongs. She has destroyed 90% of her toys. One time I bought something really sturdy looking from CVS. She tore that poor thing apart in under 5 mins. Peevey bought some Mc D french fries looking-squeaky toy fromDollar  store. This toy was made out of plastic. Angel ate the fries of the french fries sqyeaky toy- Hogger!


4. She is extremely intelligent.

I should not be a proud mom over here but its true. Angel knows how to ‘sit’ when told to sit👆🏽, she knows how to go ‘down’ when told to be ‘down’ or ‘sit’👇🏼, she knows how to ‘stay’ and ‘wait’ even though none of us knows the difference other than the hand gestures 👊🏻/✋🏼, she knows how to ignore ‘come’ and acknowledge ‘bye’-because bye means I am leaving, she knows how to ‘shut up’ and ‘leave it’. She also knows how to ignore you. She knows when to rest her head on my feet, she knows that the warmth is always welcome. God, I hope she knows that!

5. Angel likes String Cheese, Beef sticks, Dog chews,milk bones, worn socks, dirty underwear, stockings and beach slippers. She isn’t into fancy stuff.

6. Angel has a scared to death-you look dangerous- I am gonna be friends with you even if you don’t want to- relationship with the house owner’s cats.

7. Angel is not vocal. She likes to whine and cry but does not bark.Well, maybe once in 2 months. Tops.

8. She potty trained herself. Because we were a bunch of losers.

9. She vomits when she eats your slippers/shoes, her bed, a new food.

10. She loves yogurt. Dannon, unflavoured, full fat milk.

11. She snores. A lot.

12. She likes to stare outside the window.

Happy birthday to my bae!

Why do I have a feeling that I am lost?


My mom asked me, “Does America have sexism?”

America, with me living in it, has sexism. I am a sexist, when I think that a certain ‘other’ gender is better at something than ‘my gender’ or vice versa. Lets give you an analogy. If I think that ‘he’ is better at carrying a heavy suitcase and also think that it gives me a right to pretend as if I am a khaleesi and expect ‘him’ to carry the burden every time I need to, then I am a sexist. If ‘he’ expects that cooking food is ‘my’ job even if we both enter the house at the same time after doing hard work, the same work even, then ‘he’ is a sexist. Thats a simple definition. It has many consequences. We woman intelligently garb ourselves in diva mode and expect that the heavy suitcase in presence of a man is not our responsibility. Carrying a heavy suitcase when a man is around means that the man does not respect you or in worse case scenario, he is weak. On the other hand, I don’t even want to rant about what ‘he’ can garb himself  into when a woman is around. A child, for example?

My mom understood the basis that America is a sexist nation, despite of its technology, freedom that the country gives to kiss in public, independence that country promises to ladies who could wear skimpy clothes and not get teased, and a super power status. What my mother needed to understand how it was crucial in deciding its next President? 

Well, for example, America has Trumped it, right?

A power hungry woman is a power hungry bitch. A power hungry man, is a power hungry MAN, and not a dog. It doesn’t even matter if he is illiterate in his ideas and philosphies, if he can manhandle a diplomatic conversation or if he can sexually offend a woman. He is a MAN, not even a charming one, not even a realistic one and not even a reasonable one. He has just swept the entire nation on his one and  only weapon, his tongue. Have you seen it lashing out lately against immigrants?

To give reigns of a country to a man who is not even fit to look after Angel-my dog(for that we have Steve) is telling something. 

Yet he is now sitting on the iron throne. What are we going to have, another Red Wedding?

Are you single?

The place has a buzz, if you look closely everybody is in a trance. Or not.

When I enter, it feels warm, musky and homely. It has a snug feeling about it because the place is jam packed. I, as a single girl, could not get hold of a table. How could I? It was already crowded and one empty table required me to leave behind my purse/car keys/wallet/shopping bag and I had not one thing that I would like to leave unattended. I could have left behind a plastic lollipop stick but that wouldn’t have worked because some fellow Indian would flick it, and squat on the chair. He/She would have completely ignored that the germ and saliva infested lollipop stick ever existed.

I wanted to eat Masala Dosa, and I ended up in an Indian resteraunt. Its a Haldiram themed based eating joint. You reserve your place, you order food and pay, you go back to your “pre-reserved table” and someone will serve you. You eat and you leave. Simple.

When I reached the counter to have my dosa, the man asked, “टेबल है क्या आपके पास?”(“Do you have a table?”)

Sonali: “नहीं”(“No”)

Man at the counter: “अकेले हो क्या?” (“Are you alone?”)

Sonali thought before giving an answer to this man. She fucking did not have a table because she has come alone. Only if she could boss around to capture one. Only if she could just brought that stupid plastic bag that she had left in the car.Only if she could have come with someone… Uff! Sonali is feeling sorry that she has come alone to eat. In just one sentence, Sonali cannot believe that the word alone has translated to lonely.

Sonali: “हाँ”(“yes”)

Irritated Man at the counter: ” सॉरी मैडम। टेबल बही है तो ऑर्डर नहीं ले सकता।”( “Sorry madam, I cannot serve you if you don’t have a table”)

Really?

Sonali looked around the busy Haldiram based-and not Haldiram eating joint in New Jersey.

The closest table had 5 middle aged suit and dupatta clad Indian ladies, hogging on shared bhelpuri and vada paaav. They seemed like Bongs. (Note: Sonali is a racist when it come to Indian population)

The table on the right, seemed like a table where gossip could originate from. Guy was like mid 40s. Girl who seemed like a wife was in mid 20s with fucking powder on her face, red lipstick, gold chain and spaghetti top-hanging on from the hinges of her boobs. With semi transparent long skirt she walked like a Geisha and every man in the room saw her walk with hidden glances. Every woman in the room just shamelessly gaped. I was one of them.

Obviously, she had the table. My judgement was allowed.

I ordered regardless and sat on the waiting sofa. People just wait on it for their food.

The old couple in front had their Paav Bhaji served. They were holding coke bottles like beer buds. They were not fighting for the Paav, silently munching the delicacy at hand. Calling the cleaning guy(and not the server) to give them food, spoon or paper napkins. They just sat there. Timeless couple so engrossed in food, they barely even saw each other.

And they had the table.

Sonali now realised why family is so important.  The word “Single” had a new meaning. It meant that if you are fucking alone in an Indian resteraunt, you will not get served.

Fin