LOL All the Way

One of the easiest ways to tell if a person is funny vs a person who is being funny is that the former is usually much more in his/her skin and humor is a part of their DNA. The person who is being funny, the so-called class clown, the life of the party, who needs the entire attention of a room to sell their jokes... now, that is a sign of something a little deeper. This is nothing new, of course. Clowns have some of the most saddest eyes. Comedians have been known to be some of the more morbid, depressed people- you need to just look through a history of the SNL cast to know who overdosed, drank, and killed themselves while making a living out of making others laugh. But take a look at those around you, perhaps even close to you. And maybe yourself. Do you use humor as the safest, the most predictable form of a defense mechanism?

This question came to me through a random conversation with someone who had just been to one of those spiritual weekend retreats and had reached a number of epiphanies. One of these epiphanies included the discovery that this person often uses humor as a primary form of defense... startling, but not entirely surprising, since i knew this person well enough. I guess we all have different fears and insecurities and usually it (fears, etc.) manifests in forms of blocking people out, making up for lost competencies, turning to substance abuse, projecting those fears onto others, and yes, being The Funny One. In short, we overcompensate by something we know will work in pretty much any given situation. Shy and nervous? Passive aggressive? Bitchy and insecure? Overwhelmed and can't think? Dealing with any number of issues from your job, family, or past? Avoiding an intervention? Walking away from taking responsibility? Running from a confrontation? All these are neatly dealt with and can be put away for the time being - by just being funny, cracking a joke, breaking the ice, and hey, did you see there's even an app for all that right now! Sure enough we're defending ourselves. I'm pretty sure I've used humor for all of these situations I described above. But if you know me well enough, you also know there is something crazy funny in my gene pool:)

I think what stirred me about the conversation was that I realized how many times I had laughed at someone's jokes or puns at a particular moment only to comprehend later what that person was actually hiding, avoiding, running away from. We conveniently forget the icky, serious, rational, grown up stuff we have to deal with - whenever we hear a good chuckle. And we all condone this behavior, it's practically de reguer.

So they say don't take life too seriously- and that humor is the perfect antidiote when you're dealing with any major crises; and we can't imagine the expression "a good time was had by all" without picturing peals of laughter; and what would any healthy relationship be without this most precious, and vital ingredient? hint: a not healthy one. but human behavior is funny... and for those of us who try too hard to be funny sometimes, well, maybe it's time to wind down the clown act. just a little bit.

Making New Friends is a Busy Trap

A couple of recent articles in the New York Times have prompted a lot of discussion and general introspection. The Busy Trap is an excellent piece on how people like to inflate their images by saying how damn busy they are... when they are not exactly saving lives or finding the Higgs Boson particle. But society deems "busy" as "good" because if you were the opposite you must be a total loser. Or why in the world would you want to be doing absolutely "nothing?" In my case, i am a strong proponent of doing "nothing." My idea of a lazy Sunday is not just stay at home, it's to stay at home and do "nothing." If I'm being productive for 6 days of the week, how about not contributing to squat for at least one day? It's just a thought, of course, and I usually end up doing something- even if it is 6 hours of watching Law & Order re-runs.

I think half the reason people ask you what you're doing this weekend is to make sure you know what they are up to! And, of course, they are frightfully busy attending some social event or the other. The workaholics are also sooo crazy busy because their work is tantamount to saving the world from disaster. And probably their job of color coding an excel spreadsheet might just do that. Just like happy hour, it's always the busy season in some part of the world! I think the saddest is when I hear someone give a complete itinerary of what they have planned for the next 3 months... then it's just obvious they don't want to be alone (if single) or they want to be a 100 percent sure they are not bored out of their minds (if not single). My point is that we all like to be productive at our work, and have fun with our friends, and spend time with our amazing families but what's the point in beating your chest with the "i'm so busy" refrain? You think the rest of us are just twiddling our fingers?

So the busy trap very neatly tied in to this piece called Finding Friends of a Certain Age It definitely struck a chord with a lot of folks since major life events and changes can make you lose touch with so many of your friends. As the article points out, it gets harder when you're married and you're "matchmaking for two." When you have kids, you're often hanging out with other folks because they have kids who play with your kids. No other reason. This brilliant stand-up routine by Louis C.K. could not have explained it better.

There are legitimate reasons one can't connect with people - busy trap being one! - and of course, if you move to a new city for a new job and know absolutely nobody it can be difficult in the first year or so. But I think it has a lot to do with your personality, too. If you're shy or stuck up, you may never be the first to strike up a conversation with a total stranger. If you are classist or any -ist you are bound to make hasty judgements and close yourself off to a potential friendship. And, finally, if you have a partner who is not as social as you are, or if you have a demanding/sick parent or child your priorities will be very different.

But I call BS on whoever whines about not finding friends or how it's so sad but such is the fact of life. First of all, you will never find friends like the ones you made in school and college so get over it. Second, make some effort to talk and get to know people. It doesn't have to be just folks from work. Take it from me- i've gone to 3 schools, 2 colleges and moved 5 different cities in 2 continents. All my friends have not been from school/college/work environments. You could say I've been lucky but I think I was just open - to learn and listen and form a connection.

I also learned a long time ago there was no such thing as a "best friend" - that term is almost infantile - and one has to be happy with 3-4 "good friends" in your life. No one is perfect and it's unreasonable to have expectations on people you call your BFFs. I also don't agree that you must make friends in your own age group- in fact, as I've grown older, I find it easier to connect with people from all different ages and backgrounds. So I have friends from their mid-20s to the mid-40s, single, gay, straight, married, divorced, single parents- variety is the spice of life, after all. I also count some of my parents' friends and some of my friends' parents as my friends- my mother was right when she said "make friends with anyone who you can learn something from."

At the end of the day, friendship, like any relationship, is a two-way street. You do "love" your friends and you sometimes have to "break up" with your friends, too. There will always be hangers-on, situational, happy hour buddies and other selfish dogs who quickly label you as a "friend" but only you know the ones who really love you - you know the ones without any sort of agenda or ulterior motive, the ones who you can call any time of the day or night, regardless of the fact they're in town or not, single or married, with or without kids. They're the ones who matter.

Athlete's Feat and more in NYC

The past month has been a wonderful Spring Break by way of reconnecting with old friends and meeting new ones. After a whirlwind weekend with family in Chicago, I followed it up with a culinary excursion to the Big Apple courtesy my childhood friend. We met when we were in Class 5 and bonded over reading Austen, Bronte and company; watching Hitchcock movies and drooling over Gregory Peck; making fun of our older brothers; eating street fare like gol guppas; and of course, entering puberty and discovering that mysterious species known as boys. Our environments – both family and outside – helped shaped our love for the arts as well. We both learnt, and grew to love, all kinds of musical genres, classical dance forms, as well as the theater, anything that hangs in a museum, and of course, the visual and sensory delights of everything gastronomical.

So anyway, old habits really die a painful death. Almost 25 years later, we still talk books, movies, mothers, and the men in our lives. Only the places and circumstances have changed. And we also talked theater and food. Over a leisurely brunch at the Spotted Pig, we had hot cross buns followed by the Brunch special of the day – I had the salmon with the rye toast and she had the fried eggs with spicy sausage – all this with shoestring fries and a glass of Pimm’s Cup (beer and ginger ale, I think).

I dashed off to see a couple other friends for coffee, and promised to meet her downtown again for a play called My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend. Between brunch, traffic, and catching the play, I was seriously running late. We exchanged frantic text messages which essentially told me to pick up my ticket at the box-office and if I was too late to be let inside, then I would have to wait for 1.5 hours for my friend and a couple of her friends who had come to see the play as well. As I reached the window, an usher hurriedly took me upstairs to the mezzanine section and I couldn’t see anyone remotely Indian looking. She was down below, in fact, with front row seats. All I was thinking was, “I’m so effing late, the show will start at any moment, and I need to get to my seat downstairs.” As I ran towards the door, I tripped down 2 stairs and strained my ankle with a four-letter word in tow. I was secretly howling in pain but managed to sit on a chair when the usher came dashing back upstairs to see what was going on. “Do you need to get help or do you want to see the show?” he asked. “I’ll see the show, but you need to help me downstairs to my seat.” I walked down and sat next to my friend just as the actor was coming on to the stage. In. The. Nick. Of. Time. After suffering through the introduction, the show was funny enough to make me forget my injury for the next hour or so.

Our little play group of four then decided to get an early dinner and so we trotted off to L’Artusi, an Italian joint in the vicinity that would not make me hobble too far. We arrived there close to 5:30ish and there were maybe 2 tables occupied on the first floor. The hostess still made us wait for a few minutes to check if we could be seated before leading us to our table – under which reservations had been made for a party coming around 7:15 or so. We thought we would be done with dinner by then. And it was a splendid meal – we shared the roasted mushrooms (fried egg, pancetta, ricotta salata); bucatini (tomato, pancetta, pecorino); and the cavatelli (butternut squash, pancetta pecorino). Our entrees included the roasted chicken with hen of the woods mushrooms plating the bottom, and we shared the Brussels sprouts. We topped it off with a dessert of bittersweet chocolate budino (vanilla cream, chocolate honey crisp) and panettone bread pudding (orange gelato, phyllo crisp). The latter was so decadent that we wanted to order another round, but were told by the hostess that “I’m afraid we are out of it.” Yeah, right. At 7:30 pm. They could have just told us the other party had arrived.

But happily satiated, we trudged off and went to a nearby watering hole called Employees Only. The mixologist concocted us a few Lazy Lovers (Leblon Cachaça & Jalapeño Infused Green Chartreuse shaken with Benedictine, Fresh Lime Juice & Agave Nectar) and a Quiet Storm (Bulleit Bourbon & Red Bush Tea-Infused Vermouth served tall with Fresh Lemon Juice & Ginger Beer). A different sort of concoction was happening right outside the lounge area. A “resident psychic” was sitting outside and I couldn’t resist giving up 20 bucks from my wallet. I was told I would be getting rich from various business ventures, attracting younger men, and getting married and having twin boys and a girl when I turn 40. Watch this space.

The final pit stop of the night was Casellula – a heavenly wine and cheese café tucked away in Hell’s Kitchen. I thoroughly enjoyed the unpretentious ambience and the roller-coaster conversation topics – hopes and dreams, natural disasters and charity work, Marxism, free market theories, and the general ramblings of any drunken soiree. There are lazy vacations by the beach or pack-in-all-the-sights in 3days or endless buffets on a cruise or see-the-pyramids kind of holiday. Then there are those days which are just as invigorating because of the company you keep.. It was around 2 in the morning when my ankle finally felt the comfort of an ice pack and I could put my feet up again...

Yes, it rained men - just not the right kind

Badgered into updating my blog again, I am back to regale my fiercest and loyal readers. Thank you again for making me realize that life can get shitty but unless you blog about it, you don’t appreciate how ridiculously insane or hilarious it can get. And last year was pretty high up on the ridiculously insane-o-meter. Contrary to popular belief, I did date outside my race. I was never opposed to it but I made a more pointed effort to going out and exploring the non-brown side. There was the Filipino American who I trudged to meet after a blizzard hit the city. I was more excited about the Italian coffee shop I had heard so much about. Needless to say, the hazelnut cappuccino did not disappoint. As for the date.. sigh. Then there was the WASPy defense contractor who was on a liquid diet. Not a good start to any relationship. There was the Irish Catholic linguist who spoke eight languages but could not communicate in real life. And finally, the African American lawyer who I shall never forget for being so terribly, errm, compliant? My happily married friends cheered me on. “If you don’t have an affair when you’re single, when will you?!” Indeed. I could be detached and think like a man. But I listened to the feeling at the pit of my stomach: Get the Hell Out of Dodge.

And there I was like proverbial driftwood. Until someone conned me into thinking I didn’t have to be alone. I could be with him and I could be happy. Aren’t we all suckers for emotional BS? So there was some happiness, and it was somewhat due to him. But the euphoria didn’t last long. This chap, let’s just call him, The Jerk, was dishonest about something so incredibly precious in his life, it was a wonder he sustained any of his previous relationships. After a solo and liberating Euro vacation, I came back with the heavy burden of making my first grown-up relationship decision. It was time to say goodbye.

I barely had time to recover when I was cajoled into a set up through some mutual friends. The sales pitch was to the point: “If you are looking for a wonderful husband and father, this is the guy for you. If you want the most amazing lover, then not so much.” [PS: Next time any of your friends say this to describe you, just kill them.] After hemming and hawing for a bit, I shrugged and said why not. It’s not like I was busy knitting cardigans. He seemed a bit too eager to please and indeed, was a complete gentleman. In fact, so much so, we never even held hands during our brief interlude together. But I appreciated his honesty and sincerity, traits that are surely in short measure these days. I was rolling up my sleeves to work on the other not-so-appealing aspects of this potential partnership. But before I got to that, The Disappearing Act, shall we say, went missing for 2 weeks. No calls, no emails, no nothing. I finally found out through his friend he was occupied with a severe case of the winter blues. Not that I drove him to it. But it was time to say adieu, yet again.

So there you have it, my personal life up to speed: Whereas, The Jerk, in spite of his negative traits, was still a great communicator, The Disappearing Act made communication an uphill struggle in spite of his positive traits. Oh yes, and they were both Indian, in case it mattered... And now I shall take a hiatus from dating, but I promise to post more non-dating adventures soon!

Post-Romanticism with a dash of Modern Surrealism

My parents were visiting for about a month but that didn’t mean I could take a complete hiatus from dating (now it really sounds like work!). I just made sure I met the guys in between their other travels or in the second case, the evening of their departure.

The first chap was very nice in a wholesome American apple pie kind of way. An only child from Midwestern Americana, he combined his father’s scientific genius with his mother’s artistic talents. But we were interested in one another on other levels, too and when he brought me chocolate from his recent business trip in Europe, I had to say, “Aww.” So we ate at a Spanish tapas place and he paid (and no, he still hasn’t asked for my portion of the bill). We walked around the charming neighborhood, browsed the Apple store and then had gelatos (“a girl after my own heart,” he remarked after I agreed to that one). On the way to the Metro, we sat on a bench and continued to talk for quite a while before a slight drizzle interrupted us. “It’s one of those things we’ll end up remembering for a while,” he said as we ran towards cover. He even waited for my train to come – even as he missed his own – so we could spend more time together. We promised to keep in touch and texted our thank you messages within the hour. Sounds pretty romantic, doesn’t it? Well, that’s all it was, folks. It was a really nice treat and after that not another peep or squeak from the guy. Do I have time to sit and hold my breath – ermm, I don’t think so. Who’s next?

I was running about 10 minutes late for this one. But he was easy to find in the near-empty Starbucks, skulking behind his Aviators. It turns out he used to be in the Indian Armed Forces, so wearing those sunglasses were absolutely mandatory inside a dark coffee shop. After preliminary introductions, he laid down The No. 1 Army Rule for me i.e. always be on time. Aye, aye, sir. Then he proceeded to inform me that he had flown a plane, jumped out of a plane, scuba dived, parasailed and god-knows-what-else. In other words, he really wanted to make it clear he was really, really cool. Honestly, I would have been impressed if this was an Army dude who had fought in the foothills of the Siachen glacier or had flown a MIG-29. Turns out he had done neither – he was an engineer who was posted in random places before he quit to go to B-school – and I know I’m supposed to say they all make sacrifices, no matter what kind of work they do. He was nice, gracious and seemed to have an edgy sense of humor. He certainly took my barbs well. But, but, but. I could recognize that cloud of desperation hanging over him (been there, done that)… as if he needed someone to fill that void, it could be anybody. There is also the little fact of the matter that as he walked me home, he decided to cop a feel by saying, “Hey! Let me show you a cool self-defense tactic in case someone grabs your arm,” while grabbing my arm. Then proceeds to do some Heimlich Maneuver for the arm. Needless to say, that did not impress me the least bit. Can I go to Court Martial for that?

Myself Bhavra, You Phool? - Part 2

I swear I did not have the slightest clue what I was getting myself into when I agreed to meet this guy. Let me warn you, that when you hear the phrase "coffee at 7 pm," there is a strong likelihood of things going a bit off kilter. So first off, this guy calls to say he is stuck in traffic from hell. It was fine since the coffeeshop was literally a hop, skip and jump from where I live so I told him to just call me as he was parking in the vicinity. In the meantime, I hung out at home. Sorted my holiday pictures. No call yet. Then I made a new itunes playlist. Still no call. Now he was running over an hour late and I was more pissed than a grizzly got her salmon picked up by some damn tourist. Finally, 80 minutes later than proposed time, the call comes. “Parking was a bitch, man,” he says. You don’t say. But I take a deep breath, walk over, and think perhaps all could be forgiven if he was Just. A. Nice. Lad.

He was nice enough – he held the door, he apologized profusely, and insisted why don’t we have dinner instead of coffee (it was late and besides "finding parking here made me hungry"). So on his insistance I ordered a glass of wine and salad while he settled for a beer and a steak tartare. When I came back from the rest room, he had already got the check. “Let me get the tip, at least,” I said. “No, no. It’s the least I can do for showing up so late,” he said. “Besides, we men gotta do this kind of stuff to impress the ladies.” OK then.

Cue 24 hours, several texts and a voice mail later. He had a great time, wanted to see me again, yadda, yadda, yadda. It was flattering, I admit. But I had thought a great deal about it and the whole experience – well, something did not feel right. I could not say what. I won’t say sparks because I believe you hit it off immediately with some folks and with others it takes a slow, natural course to get to a great place. I decided I didn’t want to see him again.

Since we met through a matrimonial website, and he had been honest about why he got divorced, I felt it would be fair to send him a polite, thanks but no thanks, note. "Thank you so much for the dinner. However, I don't think we're a good match for each other. I feel we have some differences in our upbringing and background. I wish you the very best." The following is his actual reply, word for word:

"I have noticed that you have no desire to be maintain a friendship. That is perfectly fine. If you were uncertain about things then why did you invite me to a restaurant for a meeting. You could have invited me to simple coffee shop. You are old enough and also smart to know that it is not wise to make other people spend money if you are not sure. Your portion of the bill was $28 including the tip. You can send me the check in the mail (address given). Let me know how you want to do or I can come by and collect it from your place."

The next day I sent him 28 one dollar bills in an unmarked envelope. There are 4 critical lessons here:

1. Rejection is always a bitch.
2. For every nice guy that you meet, there are 5 weirdos.
3. It’s a cliché, but your instinct is your best friend.
4. Always have coffee at 11 am or 3 pm i.e. whenever you actually *need* to have caffeine, so you don’t care if the guy is late/no show/boring.

Myself Bhavra, You Phool? Part 1

My premium membership was about to expire on a particular matrimonial website, and so it came to be [insert dramatic music score here]: The administrators told me I had only 2 weeks left to find my soul mate or my life would be in ruins!! So I went back and checked out all the expressions of interests – and in good measure I accepted a few, refused a few, and sent out a few. One of the benefits of said membership was instant communication over their messenger system and that’s how I got to know about DJ (yes, those are his actual initials). A quick glance at his profile and I saw he was around my age, lived in my demographic area, and for the record, was divorced. It didn’t matter to me but clearly it did to him because his first salvo was: “OK with divorced guy?” After a few pleasantries we exchanged phone numbers and he called me soon after. Here’s how just part of the conversation went:

DJ: I have never dated a Bungaalee girl. I did meet a very nice Bungaaleee girl once, but she was running after her caaareerr.
me: Isn't that nice.
DJ: Have you dated a Punjabi boy?
me: I've dated a Haryanvi. Does that count?
DJ: Why haven't you dated a Bungaalee boy? Like a Bandhopadhya, Chattopadhya, Mukhopadhya.
me: Maybe I haven’t met a nice one I liked. Also, they love their mothers too much.
DJ: So if you marry nice economist Bungaalee boy that would be too serious for you.
me: Not as serious as when you marry a nice fashion designer Punjabi girl from Bhatinda who could kick your ass.
DJ (totally ignores above comment): What about South Indians? Do you like South Indian men?
me: Is this a stress test for my male preferences? Or do you want a threesome? And for the record, I have been attracted to Mallus.
DJ: Do you like American men? or European?

I should’ve picked up on his weirdness right about now, but I found it oddly amusing instead. And that’s when I agreed to meet him for a coffee date. To be continued...

Here I Go Again

These days I find myself navigating the treacherous minefield known as online dating. I just happen to be living in the only city in the US where the ratio of men to women is skewed very favorably towards men. That’s right, too many women in this town. And this would work really well for me if I knew I was lesbian. But I’m pretty sure I’m not. Some folks still ask why I should bother looking online when I have such a good network of friends and a workplace where there are ample opportunities to meet interesting men. Point well taken. But this so-called network of friends never come through on their matchmaking abilities. The married ones still want to live vicariously through my “happening” single life or otherwise send me pithy remarks such as: “Don’t worry, you’ll find someone” like I’m crying myself to sleep every night (well, one or two nights maybe). One or two friends have at least made serious intentions to set me up, which is better than nothing, right? Single friends are doing their own thing, although I was considerate at one point and would think of other friends who might get along better with the same person I didn't feel the sparks with. Now, I don’t really give a damn since no one has the same consideration for me.

Online dating is not so taboo anymore and I’ve heard far too many couples proudly say they met on so-and-so website. So here I go on this website and that website. Each site seems to offer a steady progression of the kind of relationship one is looking for: casual flings, long-term relationships, or marriage. If you’re smart, you put your profile on more than one website. Between the number of winks, expression of interests and messages you receive, soon your inbox will beg to be transferred to an excel spreadsheet. The analogy to looking for a job has been made before – searching for a job and a partner is a basic fulfillment of your identity and paying the bills on time. This may have been true until I found myself pretty fulfilled and paying for my bills just fine on my own. Now searching for a partner is like going shopping for a dress. You don’t know what fits unless you try it on. Has this thrown that old fangled emotion called love out the window? I wouldn’t like to believe so.

A typical single person’s week day consists of going to work, going to the gym, meeting friends or co-workers for drinks and then going home to watch TV. The weekends are spent doing errands and going to dinners and movies, or other fun activities. So contrary to popular belief, we are not sitting at home just browsing dating sites waiting for someone special to coming knocking on the door! Love can still creep up your backside before you know it, but the idea of meeting someone’s eyes across a crowded room… well, that could be an old fangled notion. You just have to go through multiple clicks before finding someone. What happens after that, like all other things in life, is still not guaranteed.

Dial M for.... You Guessed It

If you're single and coming to India during peak wedding season, you are guaranteed to get asked the M question. It never ceases to amaze me how everyone thinks, that in spite of all your hard work and achievements, you're a total loser because you're single! Beta, when will you get married? Beta, why aren't you married? And finally, beta marriage is not such a bad thing. All well-meaning aunties - some hobbling in their walkers - because as we know, noone enjoys a wedding more than an aunty who can't walk very well. During this "M" attack I was supported by some other single cousins on the scene but when they weren't there I had to come up with some creative answers on the fly. Here are some samples:
1. Aunty, i have too many boyfriends. I can't choose. One is too cute, one is too rich and one... well he is just too dumb. Think of my future gene pool!!
2. Aunty, i have a rare disease. It's called marriage-question-phobia. I can't answer you until i'm cured.
3. Aunty, you never taught me how to flirt as well as you do! now, now. give me some pointers.
And this gem, after I actually needed to get 7 shots of anti-rabies vaccines after my own pet dog bit me:
5. Aunty, noone will marry me. I am full of anti-rabies shots.
Of course these answers work well with only some folks. Others, i'm unfortunately left to give them the rote response: Yes! Soon!! Definitely this year, Aunty! Get your favorite sari out :)

Home is Where the What Is

I recently went to Delhi after a gap of 2 years and found myself regarding the concept of home in a more definitive way. After all, this was my parents' home where they chose to retire so it was not the same place I grew up in. I had my own room and loo, and the luxury of being served bed tea every morning. But when more out-of-towners arrived to crash for a day or two, I was shoved into a smaller room to accommodate them. Indeed, I was just another visitor for my parents. A special one, albeit visitor. Was I really turning into the same NRI uncle who used to visit me after a nearly a decade of living abroad? Shudder.

I studiously avoided the NRI label because of the basis I went abroad in the first place: to get experience and take it back to India or wherever else a door might open for me. I have resisted the green card queue (rather stupidly as some of my friends would say) and attainment of U.S. citizenship nirvana. This is not because of some latent jingoistic fervor to serve my country. I am a capitalist at heart and I know where I can get more bang for my buck. Not necessarily in the U.S. But I live here out of choice because this is where I have made my home in the past 9 years.

So coming to India has finally become an exercise in pure, shameless nostalgia. There’s no doubt I will make a new home there someday but until then it unequivocally falls under the category of the place I grew up in. Am I turning into a character from one of Jhumpa Lahiri's stories? Shudder.

Is it Mid-Life Yet? The Story So Far...

I finally felt compelled to blog after ages because I felt I had something to say. No more blog posts about unemployment, thank you very much. Instead we’ll get back to the topic at hand: my adventures of a quarter-life crisis.

After much couch-surfing I landed on my feet and spent 6 months at a group home with my wonderful roomies who believed in everything organic: food, religion, sex. In other words, they were my first hippie friends. I acquired a taste for veggies like kale and quinoa, exercised 6 days a week, worshipped nature and all things beautiful (including myself), enjoyed listening to bluegrass while cooking, and NPR’s "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" on Saturday mornings, and finally started thinking like a guy i.e. I could have fun with no strings attached (it's another story I never executed that thought although I did get asked out by a 60-year-old man and I actually thought about that for good half a second). Then I moved into my own apt. in August and started the whole business of setting up a place again. I had cable again after nearly a year - small victories.

But it truly was an exuberant time and I was on a constant high. At first I thought it was all those workouts and healthy eating or the amazing weather or something equally crazy. It was neither. I was just happy being me. I didn't give a hoot about pleasing people or trying to attract anyone. When a friend told me: "There's no excuse not to look good. Why shouldn't you look fabulous for yourself?" I had to agree. Lipstick, a nice pair of earrings and a great pair of shoes do amazing things for the soul. But no more crazy dates, please. Call it a sign of old age stubborness but I just don't need to put myself through that torture!

But this year a lot of friends around me got attached, married, became fertile or gave birth. Happiness can be terribly infectious. But not everything was a bed of roses. Shit happened to me and around me. As I approach my mid-30s, I don't want to take stock yet again of a) here's my success and compare it to b) here's my failure. My journey has been uniquely my journey. The only difference is that now there is this calm, settling notion in my head and it's not such a bad sound. I can stop running at last... but I can still keep walking, at least.

Some More Fundas

I just came across this article in the NYT and I agree that when you’re laid off, it really helps to talk to folks who were in your position before. Basically, someone who really knows the meaning of the words: “I know it’s hard, and I know you’ll find something.” In my case, I had the whole visa situation to deal with and my living situation. So, several things besides the whole unemployment bit. But I was lucky I had several people who understood all the shenanigans and really walked the walk with me.
However, I also tried to listen to folks who kept saying this is the only break you’ll ever get to really try and do the things you always wanted to do – after all I didn’t have a house to refinance or a family to bring up, I really could do whatever I wanted in between jobs. Except go on some exotic holiday, which I couldn’t afford, or if I could, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy so well. So here is not-so-exhaustive list of things I attempted to do in my “down time” (pun intended):
1. Patronize independent coffee shops instead of Starbucks – most of them have free wireless and fair trade coffee, a perfect combo for job search.
2. Adopt exercise as my new religion – when you don’t have health insurance for a couple months, you are your only insurance. This plays into feeling good about yourself, which plays into your confidence when you give those interviews.
3. Catch a matinee – OK, I only saw one called Nick and Norah Infinite Playlist, but I had the theater all to myself and it was one of the best treats I gave myself.
4. Try a new hobby – I walked into an art store and decided to be Monet for a week. Oil on canvas was messy, the abstracts were just that – abstracts – but I vented my emotions here more than anywhere else.
5. Volunteer – the intention was clearly there to give a new purpose to my days or one day of the week, at least, at an old age home or my pet favorite, the animal shelter. I consciously volunteered not to be bitter about my situation.
6. Introspect – since an idle mind is a devil’s workshop, why not take all that time on your hands and figure out really what the hell is it you want to do? I read some neo-age spiritualism (e.g. “The Power of Now”) which got me thinking about the right kind of questions to ask myself.
But everyone has their own personal journey and story to tell. Good or bad, or just plain traumatic, it’s a process that does make you better for it. Karma can be a bitch but I also believe “you sow what you reap” – because you never know when you may need someone’s help or the kind words and a smile of a random stranger will make your day.

Inauguration Day

Obama’s Big Day turned DC into the biggest party town ever! I trudged out on the morning of Jan. 20, 2009 at 6 am and walked 2 hours to be near the Smithsonian under one of the many big TV screen spread out over the National Mall. I continued to stand in the freezing cold for the next 6 hours. My feet couldn't bear it much longer so in between I warmed up inside one of the museums, which was resembling more like Nizamuddin railway station with people sprawled out on the floor and resting their weary feet in all directions… but what a beautiful morning it was! People were in such high spirits that in spite of bad organization in certain places, everyone was remarkably tolerant and civil towards each other. The best part was talking to complete strangers from all over the world (a lot of French people for some reason) and joking about the weather and the politicians on the TV.
I don’t want to sound cheesy but one of the reasons I, like so many others, found a personal attachment to Obama’s message of Hope. It may seem vague and ambiguous but it’s a great thing to put your mind towards when everything is spiraling down.

End of Couch Surfing, As I Know It!

Well I planned to formally sublet my friend’s apt. but as I have learnt time and again – things NEVER happen according to plan. So stop making them and enjoy life now. I can’t begin to emphasize that over and over but it’s hard to heed your own advice sometimes. My friend broke up with his girlfriend and moved back to his place. Naturally, I wanted to give him his space back. I looked for other sublets but everything was booked for the Inauguration weekend and there was nothing available before Feb. 1 so technically, I needed a place to crash for 3 weeks – plus I was starting my new job at the end of the month. I managed to find shelter in two of my friends’ places – a couple who generously opened up their big home – and another friend in his small one-bedroom apt. There were all good friends of mine but for different reasons, I wondered if my stay would change the dynamics of our friendship. Needless to say, I think I had an impact on both the homes, and our friendships. And unless I am mistaken, it was a positive one.
In between, I went off to Ottawa for a few days to get my new visa and visited my Aunt and Uncle. It was freezing cold but I always love spending time with my extended family – besides the home cooked food, the warmth and sense of humor that comes with common history.
Now, I have finally moved into my own place in a group house with 3 other women. Again, having my own space with my own loo and closet is something I will always appreciate.

Joining the Workforce

One of the many, many things that have transpired since the elections has been the good news that I am now gainfully employed. After nearly a decade as a journalist, I went over to the Dark Side and have become a communications consultant… ironically, as part of a special project on the financial crises! The same thing that got me unemployed got me employed again. I was pretty much ready to pack my bags and move back to India when I got the offer a little before Christmas. What a way to end the year – an Annus Horribilis, indeed.
As I go back to the routine of waking up, getting dressed, taking the bus/train/cab to work, and interacting with others in another environment, I appreciate it far more than I could imagine. Talk of stimulus packages and rising unemployment and yesterday I found myself the task of counseling a friend who was laid off. I gave her all the sage advice I accumulated during my journey – but everyone has their own story to tell.
Is fortune smiling on me finally? I don’t know. When people say I have handled myself really well, I can say perhaps I just didn’t have public breakdowns. Or perhaps I had a wonderful support structure. Or perhaps, like any situation I had never been exposed to before, I just didn’t know any better but to live and try.

Post-Election Syndrome

If you don’t count the time I went to buy undergarments at Filene’s and the salesperson behind the counter loudly yelled at her colleague: “What’s the code on this Calvin Klein?” or the time when I was coming home late from a Diwali party and I got semi-attacked by a drunken Polish guy (there goes any stereotype on would-be drunken sod attackers) who claimed diplomatic immunity to the cops outside my building, or the time when I thought it would be pretty fun to boil an egg in the microwave and guess-what-happened, or the time when a creepy old man at my swimming pool asked, “how’s the water?” while checking me out, I have had a relatively uneventful past few weeks. Oh, there was that thing called the U.S. election which was bigger than any of us, and even the President-elect seemed to know it.
I was at a bar in Dupont Circle with some friends and like the rest of junta, we were glued to Wolf & Gang on CNN. Every time the dramatic music came on to reveal “Projections” we cheered. Then those Star Trekky holograms which was just so random and ineffective. But oh, every time John King came on to point at the electoral map, I swear my heart skipped a beat. By 10 pm I knew history was in the making. The 2 African Americans sitting behind our group were already in tears. By the time, Obama came to make his acceptance speech, the rest of the bar became overwhelmed too. One guy standing next to me kept saying “Yay! David F-ing Plouffe!” or “Oprah, we love you, too!” and towards the end it was: “Work it, Michelle. Lookin’ hot!”
Then we spilled out in to the streets where everyone was marching towards the White House. It felt like a revolution and there was true mass euphoria. I must have hugged at least 4 random people and shouted “Bush, pack your shit!” and then “This is Obama’s house, get out!” and a sign which said: “Why Wait Evict Bush Now.” Besides the smell of pot, cigars, champagne and beer around us, there was the sense of a nation finally breaking from its past.
We finally headed home sometime in the early hours, honking our cars in joy and settling in to watch NBC’s Brian Williams and ABC’s George Stephanopoulos give their final accounts of the day. It was bliss to be alive, and we were all Americans that night.

The Operating Word...

... is not "Dull." In spite of all the unexpected and living the proverbial “one day at a time,” I have been exuberant about life and hopeful in its potential. If you must talk of feelings, I can say I have felt the usual range of emotions under the given circumstances – from the insanely depressed to the drunkenly ecstatic – but never, for a moment, have I felt dull or bored. Someone asked me once what I did all day to which I replied: “Why, I just spontaneously combust around 4 in the afternoon and then I have a cup of tea.” But, seriously, looking for a job is a full-time job in itself and taxes a lot of emotional energy besides giving you carpal-tunnel syndrome (all those mouse clicks, you know).
However, as things stand, I am doing fine. I have a part-time job and thanks to a dear friend, I’m living in an amazing apartment in the heart of the city. There’s an oddly liberating feeling not knowing what’s going to happen next and I like it. Relationships have been invariably tested and perhaps a few may have fallen by the wayside. Some passing acquaintances have evolved into meaningful bonds and, conversely, some past meaningful bonds have devolved into passing acquaintances. And some bonds just grow richer and sweeter with the passage of time.
Perhaps the best lesson in all of this has been to irrevocably give up all expectations. How many times have I been advised, or counseled others, not to have any expectations? Whether it’s a promotion, a vacation, or a stupid date – so much easier said than done. It’s not a technique you can master over time, it truly is a life lesson. And for that, I am glad. Never a dull moment!

Order of Inventory

OK, I just had another 30-something birthday last week. Time for another life inventory:

No job? Check.
No home? Check.
No significant other/pet/fish tank/visiting mice? Check.

For some godforsaken reason, the universe is giving me the biggest bitch-slap ever and I am supposed to get The Lesson from it. What it is, I am still figuring it out. It's been more than two months since I've been unemployed and a little more than two weeks when I received two job offers which did not work out for whatever reason. On top of that, I will not be able to commit to signing a year's lease on my apt. so I have to sell off my furniture, donate the rest, pack up the essentials and shuffle between charitable friends and relatitves. It will be a soulful purge of excess baggage, to say the least.
So I have had the wind knocked out of me. But I've also literally gotten back on my feet again. I know I'm doing much better than a lot of other people might under these circumstances. And perhaps I will look back on these days with wonder and pride at how I managed to pull through it. But for now, I have to keep my head above water and keep swimming to the shore. And make sure to remember another life inventory:

Loving, supportive family? Check.
Amazing friends? Check.
Great resources for my general well-being? Check.

If there is more crap on the way (and there will be), I can take it. And then some.

This, Too, Shall Pass?

My quarter life has probably left me behind but the adventures and the crisis, continues to regale both me, and you, dear reader. The latest episode hit me like a ton of bricks a few weeks ago when I was laid off. Being unemployed in this economy is nothing radical, but definitely a test of things to come for me.
Initially, as I contemplated my future and what it held for me, it was interesting – and exasperating – to see how others reacted to this piece of news. My family has been largely supportive in spite of the occasional hypothetical plea of “if only you were married.” That argument, in hindsight, was a momentary cry of frustration but unfortunately does no good under these circumstances. But I would not have been able to hit the ground running with my job search without the positive reinforcement from my parents. I could always go home, yes, but first I had to give it my best shot.
As for friends and acquaintances, while some had already gone through a similar situation or knew of someone who had, they gave me a pragmatic insight of the days to come and the decisions I had to make, while helping me land my next gig. There were others who empathized well enough without being too patronizing. But I think many people projected their own fears and insecurities on to me – as if it were truly the end of the world. I agree that your job, your work, your passion, defines who you are to a very large extent. But it should not be the only thing that defines you. However, it is true that most people relate to you depending on what you do and not who you are as a person. How many times have you been a little more friendly to someone you just met because you thought his/her work was interesting or glamorous? It all adds up to the rigmarole of the social hierarchy we choose to live in.
In any case, unemployment certainly has its benefits. You can wake up late, have your pick of a coffee shop with free wi-fi, and garner sympathy drinks from your friends. But as I walked around the city during the day, I was also envious of the people walking about with such a sense of purpose - going to and from their work place - until I realized that I did have a purpose: finding a job, exercising, believing in myself. It is the only thing I have and yes, at the moment, it defines me.

An Unkindness of Ravens and Other Assorted Birds

Adventures have been happening but they have been unrelated to bad dates... there is only so much I can take just for the sake of a blog post! But here are some random entertaining tid bits from the past few weeks.

I was merrily walking one morning towards the metro on my way to work. It was a lovely spring day, not much sun, just a hint of breeze. In short, a perfect day for a long walk without your shirt getting soiled. As I passed one of the houses, I noticed a raven. Of course, I had seen all the horror movies related to that bird species: “The Birds,” “The Omen” and “The Crow.” So that’s what I thought of, as I passed it by. The bird must have known something about my thoughts, because the next thing I knew I felt a swoosh above my head as the bird flew to a tree in front of me. Then, again, I just thought the raven must have a low flight trajectory like many birds [have you noticed that lately, it must be something to do with climate change or something]. But the blackbird was clearly after me, and me only. There was noone else on the street! Once again it flew right over my head and I let out a small “Aaaaak! Scheisse” for some reason, I thought German profanity would have an impact on the bird. No, because it came after me a third time and made sure I was out of that street. I ducked my head and ran across the street towards a nanny or mom walking her 2-year-old. It may have been the anti-Christ (there was even a church nearby), but I am officially going to state my preference for birds in cages, thank you very much.

Here’s my gunshot review of Sex and the City: Great clothes and shoes, one amazing bridal montage, four aging but still gorgeous friends whining about their men, bodies and babies and of course, doing anything and everything with an unlimited expense account. Ah, the good life. SATC has struck a chord with so many women, it’s a wonder how so many so-called independent, urbane and progressive women relate to this overly antiquated notion of feeling inadequate and incomplete without a man, a marriage (or a divorce) and children. But you would think when a bunch of women sit and watch The Ultimate Chick Flick in sheer voyeuristic fashion it would instill some sense of congenial sisterhood. So it was rather amusing to see two groups of women fighting over seats — of all things — at the theater where SATC was showing. I had gone for the midnight show and expected a pretty big crowd. There were women in all kinds of clothes (shoes and gay friends were legitimate accessories) and came in sizeable packs. One group of 10 girls had sent one girl to stand in front of the line so she could reserve seats for all of them. She went and reserved nearly an entire row and kept shooing away the hijackers. Until finally, another group of women proceeded to ignore her and sat in the seats anyway. It would seem like hell broke loose. The manager was called, so was the security guard, and accusations of someone hitting someone flew around. My group of girls and the gang of gay men sitting near us took bets about which team would prevail. They finally resolved the situation outside and the girls who took over the seats continued to sit there. Amen, Sistah. Now, can we watch the movie, please?