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...
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
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.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
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 :)
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.
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.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
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.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
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!
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!
Monday, August 25, 2008
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.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
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?
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?
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Getting There
We all know why we’re on social networking sites. No, it’s not because we want to see what so-and-so is doing after so many years. Well, maybe we do and maybe we don’t. But we really want to check out the guy/girl we had a crush on in class 9 - where, what are they upto and most importantly, who are they with? And do we really want to add them as our “friend?” were we ever friends in the first place? And should we send a ever-so-casual note, saying hi and hope all is well (i.e. look where I am, look where you are!).
But have you ever googled anyone and smiled in sadistic pleasure? A very informal and unscientific poll among some friends has revealed that more guys than girls like to do the web trolling for the “looking up old flame” thing. They say they just want to see how she’s doing. Yeah, right. They just want to make sure she really has gained 20 pounds post-school and post-kids so they can go, “Phew. Thank God.” The girls say they just want to see if the guy is doing well and happy and stuff. Yeah, right. They just want to make sure he really has gained 20 pounds and is still secretly kicking himself for losing The One That Got Away.
Anyhoo – have you ever got one of those emails from a random classmate or school acquaintance where they attempted to catch up with EVERYTHING in your life with ONE sentence about theirs? I just did. It went something like this:
“hi i am in Bangalore, did my b.com from LSR and then masters from uk fell in love got married and have 2 kids what about u what u guys upto?"
Talk about a shot-gun fairy tale ending. I had to read it several times because a) could this person’s life be more predictable? and b) she led a fairly straight-and-narrow path and couldn’t have sounded more happier capturing it all in one sentence. I thought about an appropriate reply and I couldn’t come up with much because a) it really is more complicated than a sentence could deserve and b) although I want the fairy tale (once I start believing in it!) as well, it’s comforting to know I have my own, unique way of getting there.
But have you ever googled anyone and smiled in sadistic pleasure? A very informal and unscientific poll among some friends has revealed that more guys than girls like to do the web trolling for the “looking up old flame” thing. They say they just want to see how she’s doing. Yeah, right. They just want to make sure she really has gained 20 pounds post-school and post-kids so they can go, “Phew. Thank God.” The girls say they just want to see if the guy is doing well and happy and stuff. Yeah, right. They just want to make sure he really has gained 20 pounds and is still secretly kicking himself for losing The One That Got Away.
Anyhoo – have you ever got one of those emails from a random classmate or school acquaintance where they attempted to catch up with EVERYTHING in your life with ONE sentence about theirs? I just did. It went something like this:
“hi i am in Bangalore, did my b.com from LSR and then masters from uk fell in love got married and have 2 kids what about u what u guys upto?"
Talk about a shot-gun fairy tale ending. I had to read it several times because a) could this person’s life be more predictable? and b) she led a fairly straight-and-narrow path and couldn’t have sounded more happier capturing it all in one sentence. I thought about an appropriate reply and I couldn’t come up with much because a) it really is more complicated than a sentence could deserve and b) although I want the fairy tale (once I start believing in it!) as well, it’s comforting to know I have my own, unique way of getting there.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Making Up for Lost Ground
So I have been procrastinating on the blog front but I will try to update with an abridged (but detailed, I hope) version of events from the past few weeks before I get too foggy.
Why Fierce is the New Fabulous
Imagine being feted and dined by one gorgeous man with the best fake Indian accent this side of the Atlantic. Then imagine his four other gorgeous men friends surrounding you and discussing everything from sharp cheese to bad mortgages in a wonderful ritual that surely every girl must go through – intellectual stimulation by your gay friends while watching Top Chef. Don’t get me wrong: Although I am quite used to “being one of the guys” on occasion but to be a double minority – the only straight girl in a room full of gay men – that was definitely a first. But post 2 bottles of wine, the conversation gently, and naturally steered towards sex. It was inevitable. Just when I started feeling so special, I felt kind of left out. But I enjoyed listening... after all, sex, religion and politics are the only three things that everyone has an opinion on. Oh, and did you know Key West is the latest vacation spot after Providence, Rhode Island?
A Holi Mess
Another year. Another potluck. It was even more chaotic than last year – more people, more food, more booze, even more non-Indians! And definitely more singing. Some memorable quotes from the day (as far as I remember):
“I made at least 60 balls last night.”
“What’s South Indian lassi?” “Anything below Bombay is South Indian. Lassi is North Indian though.”
“You’re asking me too many questions. Please mingle.”
“What’s that stuff in your teeth?”
“I want my chai before it runs out of steam.”
“I work in consulting. That’s code word for pimping.”
“I can’t understand what you’re singing but less volume, more harmony, people.”
“Is it 8 pm already? That was a long brunch!”
Operation Beagle Rescue
I was coming home when I saw a little beagle wandering around my street intersection. I thought it was from one of the houses nearby so I said hi and went on my way... and then he started coming down my street and followed me, right into my gate! He sniffed around the yard, and when I shooed him off, he looked a bit scared. I noticed a collar but without any name. I decided to go after him in case he wandered into the street… when I finally caught the little fellow in my arms, he happily started licking my face :)
So I carried him back towards the intersection and asked a friendly face if she knew anything about a missing dog. Luckily, another lady popped her head through her door and asked what was going on. While beagle boy stared at us with his adoring eyes, we talked about whether to call the animal shelter or report him elsewhere. Finally, it was decided she would keep him – since my landlord doesn’t allow pets – and she eventually had to take him to the shelter. I miss my pooch and hope he finds a good home soon :(
Going to Disney
Orlando was literally a trip: kids, old people and swaying palm trees everywhere. I just didn’t get to see Disneyland since I had gone on work. The highlight was meeting these two precious girls, who were 2 and 6, respectively. They decided to befriend me and barrage me with a bunch of questions. From the demanding “Do you like chips or pretzels?” and “What is your favorite color?” to the fairly insightful “Do you still talk to your childhood friends?” and “What color are they – brown or peach?” Sydnee and Avery were a treat to talk to. I gave them conference goodies like chocolates – which they enjoyed – and a stuffed white tiger – which they were not willing to share or part with. At the airport they fought over who would hold my hand, while my other hand held on tightly to my bags. Finally they agreed to take turns. The younger one asked my name again and repeated it to herself a dozen times. “So I will never forget you.” And the older one decided to ask me what I thought of her mommy and daddy (who I work with). “They are both very, very nice,” I said. She thought for a minute. “Yeah, daddy is a bit weird but he can be nice, too,” she said. Amen to that :)
Why Fierce is the New Fabulous
Imagine being feted and dined by one gorgeous man with the best fake Indian accent this side of the Atlantic. Then imagine his four other gorgeous men friends surrounding you and discussing everything from sharp cheese to bad mortgages in a wonderful ritual that surely every girl must go through – intellectual stimulation by your gay friends while watching Top Chef. Don’t get me wrong: Although I am quite used to “being one of the guys” on occasion but to be a double minority – the only straight girl in a room full of gay men – that was definitely a first. But post 2 bottles of wine, the conversation gently, and naturally steered towards sex. It was inevitable. Just when I started feeling so special, I felt kind of left out. But I enjoyed listening... after all, sex, religion and politics are the only three things that everyone has an opinion on. Oh, and did you know Key West is the latest vacation spot after Providence, Rhode Island?
A Holi Mess
Another year. Another potluck. It was even more chaotic than last year – more people, more food, more booze, even more non-Indians! And definitely more singing. Some memorable quotes from the day (as far as I remember):
“I made at least 60 balls last night.”
“What’s South Indian lassi?” “Anything below Bombay is South Indian. Lassi is North Indian though.”
“You’re asking me too many questions. Please mingle.”
“What’s that stuff in your teeth?”
“I want my chai before it runs out of steam.”
“I work in consulting. That’s code word for pimping.”
“I can’t understand what you’re singing but less volume, more harmony, people.”
“Is it 8 pm already? That was a long brunch!”
Operation Beagle Rescue
I was coming home when I saw a little beagle wandering around my street intersection. I thought it was from one of the houses nearby so I said hi and went on my way... and then he started coming down my street and followed me, right into my gate! He sniffed around the yard, and when I shooed him off, he looked a bit scared. I noticed a collar but without any name. I decided to go after him in case he wandered into the street… when I finally caught the little fellow in my arms, he happily started licking my face :)
So I carried him back towards the intersection and asked a friendly face if she knew anything about a missing dog. Luckily, another lady popped her head through her door and asked what was going on. While beagle boy stared at us with his adoring eyes, we talked about whether to call the animal shelter or report him elsewhere. Finally, it was decided she would keep him – since my landlord doesn’t allow pets – and she eventually had to take him to the shelter. I miss my pooch and hope he finds a good home soon :(
Going to Disney
Orlando was literally a trip: kids, old people and swaying palm trees everywhere. I just didn’t get to see Disneyland since I had gone on work. The highlight was meeting these two precious girls, who were 2 and 6, respectively. They decided to befriend me and barrage me with a bunch of questions. From the demanding “Do you like chips or pretzels?” and “What is your favorite color?” to the fairly insightful “Do you still talk to your childhood friends?” and “What color are they – brown or peach?” Sydnee and Avery were a treat to talk to. I gave them conference goodies like chocolates – which they enjoyed – and a stuffed white tiger – which they were not willing to share or part with. At the airport they fought over who would hold my hand, while my other hand held on tightly to my bags. Finally they agreed to take turns. The younger one asked my name again and repeated it to herself a dozen times. “So I will never forget you.” And the older one decided to ask me what I thought of her mommy and daddy (who I work with). “They are both very, very nice,” I said. She thought for a minute. “Yeah, daddy is a bit weird but he can be nice, too,” she said. Amen to that :)
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses... And We All Fall Down
The Ides of March are upon us – the U.S. primaries are not even over and the mud slinging has gotten as harsh as Old Man Winter. Ruthless. Relentless. Soooo good.
I’m surviving my own version of a brutal season. It’s called Post-Traumatic Dating Syndrome or when you think you might be on a god-forbid perfect date with a good heavens! an almost perfect guy (because we know the perfect guy doesn’t exist) and then reality hits you with a ton of bricks – it was all an illusion.
I met Mr X at one of those suburban jungles — homes with mini vans and a lawn sprinkler lurking somewhere — with barely any intention of getting to know him. We were introduced by a common friend and ended up exchanging info. A few days later I found myself agreeing to meet him for a coffee somewhere in my hood. [Damn, I should’ve met him at the Lincoln Memorial. At least we could have discussed history and the lights wouldn’t be as harsh.] We chatted amicably for a bit before he plunged headlong into an intense treatise on relationships, men, women, exes, and everything that came with it. Couldn’t we share a few laughs and talk about how Cheney and Obama became related? We traded accusations instead.
“You need to be more spontaneous,” he said.
“You just want to kill time before going clubbing with your friends,” I said.
Like a Woody Allen movie gone wrong, this rather testy conversation went on for a while, after which I got tired and wanted to go home. I offered to walk him to his car. He offered to give me a ride home. There were, umm, a few minor distractions on the way. Not terrible. Not great. I reached home and gave him The Side Hug and “I’ll call you soon” line.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come up?” he asked.
Absofuckinglutely.
The only thing my friend had told me about Mr Y was that he was “a nice guy.” Go figure. We were to share a train adventure and meet up some other folks for dinner and a show in Baltimore. Little did I know it would really be an adventure. But he lived near my house, walked over to pick me up and we struck up a fairly cordial conversation. Then we saw the crowds and the fire trucks outside the station. Union Station was evacuated and all trains were put on hold. While I scrambled for other options to get to our destination, he was already laughing and saying, “This could be a movie script!” Then he added, “Should we grab a beer in the meantime?” We did. And that’s when I saw it. The ring. Less Frodo, more Committed Husband. He was wearing it on his right hand but who cares. It was a ring aka don’t-even-think-about-it unavailable. So once again, I had to do the whole You’re-a-Cool-Guy-in-a-Buddy-Sort-of-Way (you know what I'm talkin' about).
We had a wonderful time talking about everything under the sun (except his marriage, I wonder why) and then on the train – when we were finally on it. It was definitely one of the most pleasant journeys I’ve spent with a relative stranger. No weirdness, nothing. Just. A. Truly. Nice. Guy. Only I wish he had mentioned his wife during the oh, 6 hours I spent with him?! At one point someone else asked, “Who do you live with?” and he said, “One other person.” So he may be going through some tough times but seriously, why the shady behavior.
Unfuckingbelievable.
P.S. I just found out Mr Y is NOT married after all. However, the ring is still a mystery. Watch this space :)
I’m surviving my own version of a brutal season. It’s called Post-Traumatic Dating Syndrome or when you think you might be on a god-forbid perfect date with a good heavens! an almost perfect guy (because we know the perfect guy doesn’t exist) and then reality hits you with a ton of bricks – it was all an illusion.
I met Mr X at one of those suburban jungles — homes with mini vans and a lawn sprinkler lurking somewhere — with barely any intention of getting to know him. We were introduced by a common friend and ended up exchanging info. A few days later I found myself agreeing to meet him for a coffee somewhere in my hood. [Damn, I should’ve met him at the Lincoln Memorial. At least we could have discussed history and the lights wouldn’t be as harsh.] We chatted amicably for a bit before he plunged headlong into an intense treatise on relationships, men, women, exes, and everything that came with it. Couldn’t we share a few laughs and talk about how Cheney and Obama became related? We traded accusations instead.
“You need to be more spontaneous,” he said.
“You just want to kill time before going clubbing with your friends,” I said.
Like a Woody Allen movie gone wrong, this rather testy conversation went on for a while, after which I got tired and wanted to go home. I offered to walk him to his car. He offered to give me a ride home. There were, umm, a few minor distractions on the way. Not terrible. Not great. I reached home and gave him The Side Hug and “I’ll call you soon” line.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come up?” he asked.
Absofuckinglutely.
The only thing my friend had told me about Mr Y was that he was “a nice guy.” Go figure. We were to share a train adventure and meet up some other folks for dinner and a show in Baltimore. Little did I know it would really be an adventure. But he lived near my house, walked over to pick me up and we struck up a fairly cordial conversation. Then we saw the crowds and the fire trucks outside the station. Union Station was evacuated and all trains were put on hold. While I scrambled for other options to get to our destination, he was already laughing and saying, “This could be a movie script!” Then he added, “Should we grab a beer in the meantime?” We did. And that’s when I saw it. The ring. Less Frodo, more Committed Husband. He was wearing it on his right hand but who cares. It was a ring aka don’t-even-think-about-it unavailable. So once again, I had to do the whole You’re-a-Cool-Guy-in-a-Buddy-Sort-of-Way (you know what I'm talkin' about).
We had a wonderful time talking about everything under the sun (except his marriage, I wonder why) and then on the train – when we were finally on it. It was definitely one of the most pleasant journeys I’ve spent with a relative stranger. No weirdness, nothing. Just. A. Truly. Nice. Guy. Only I wish he had mentioned his wife during the oh, 6 hours I spent with him?! At one point someone else asked, “Who do you live with?” and he said, “One other person.” So he may be going through some tough times but seriously, why the shady behavior.
Unfuckingbelievable.
P.S. I just found out Mr Y is NOT married after all. However, the ring is still a mystery. Watch this space :)
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
My Nano Second of Fame
Ah, finally. My days of toiling away for an undisclosed audience of Web surfers, perhaps 6 loyal readers and other curious onlookers were coming to an end. My blog was about to hit the big time. Millions would track it down to voyeuristically follow the bumblings and mumblings of yet another single woman in some city in some corner of the world. They would search in anticipation of those sexy, glamorous posts that make every 32-year-old journalist living the inevitable life of Carrie Bradshaw – who cares if you’re not in NY, not working at Vogue, not screwing multimillionaires, or not owning a single pair of Manolo Blahniks. This blog could still get its 15 mins. of fame, damn it! Oops. Make that a nano second, please.
I was tracked down by an intrepid reporter from a mainstream Indian newspaper to be asked that profound qs: what is a quarter-life crisis? It is apparently the "it" topic being covered in hazaar places these days to take the pulse of desi youth and all that. But coming from the same tribe, I was happy to spew, umm, some profundity and help out in her quest. Would I be willing to be quoted as a 32-year-old singleton? Would I be willing to give out the name of my blog? Would I be willing to eat cheese and crackers for an entire day? The answers to all those questions were yes. And then the article came out and I clicked on it and scanned for my name, or my blog’s name, at least – wait! Where was it all? Missing. Where was my profundity? Missing. I wasn’t too disappointed, though. For two reasons:
1. Since it was about the QLC (did this acronym exist before?), there were too many people in their 20s in the piece. The very judgmental editor pushed me to the bottom of the copy. And I don’t know who made this decision – writer/editor – but the quote they finally did use was the least interesting and had no context to the rest of the story! But of course I understand sadistic journalists. I’m one of them.
2. And since I do have a blog to air my rants, perhaps you, gentle reader, might care enough to read my Original Pearls of Wisdom for Fascinating Feature Sunday Piece:
“What is a quarter-life crisis? A quarter-life crisis is supposed to be when you hit a wall and you don't know what the future holds for you or what exactly you want from life. If you take it more literally – if the average life expectancy of a person is 75, you hit a quarter-life crisis at 25. But with life expectancies growing, so does the age of the crisis. For today's youth in India it could mean getting everything you want by 30 – job, marriage, kids, house, car, world domination – and then hitting a wall. What next? So it doesn't matter if you're single or not, I think everyone goes through this process. The crisis may be more magnified if you are single and face societal pressure to "settle down" in the more conventional sense. Will I ever get over this crisis? Unlikely. I need to sustain my blog traffic.”
Oh, and please don’t ask me the name of the newspaper or a link to the article – totally irrelevant, and if you’re that curious, I’m sure you intrepid types will find it!!
I was tracked down by an intrepid reporter from a mainstream Indian newspaper to be asked that profound qs: what is a quarter-life crisis? It is apparently the "it" topic being covered in hazaar places these days to take the pulse of desi youth and all that. But coming from the same tribe, I was happy to spew, umm, some profundity and help out in her quest. Would I be willing to be quoted as a 32-year-old singleton? Would I be willing to give out the name of my blog? Would I be willing to eat cheese and crackers for an entire day? The answers to all those questions were yes. And then the article came out and I clicked on it and scanned for my name, or my blog’s name, at least – wait! Where was it all? Missing. Where was my profundity? Missing. I wasn’t too disappointed, though. For two reasons:
1. Since it was about the QLC (did this acronym exist before?), there were too many people in their 20s in the piece. The very judgmental editor pushed me to the bottom of the copy. And I don’t know who made this decision – writer/editor – but the quote they finally did use was the least interesting and had no context to the rest of the story! But of course I understand sadistic journalists. I’m one of them.
2. And since I do have a blog to air my rants, perhaps you, gentle reader, might care enough to read my Original Pearls of Wisdom for Fascinating Feature Sunday Piece:
“What is a quarter-life crisis? A quarter-life crisis is supposed to be when you hit a wall and you don't know what the future holds for you or what exactly you want from life. If you take it more literally – if the average life expectancy of a person is 75, you hit a quarter-life crisis at 25. But with life expectancies growing, so does the age of the crisis. For today's youth in India it could mean getting everything you want by 30 – job, marriage, kids, house, car, world domination – and then hitting a wall. What next? So it doesn't matter if you're single or not, I think everyone goes through this process. The crisis may be more magnified if you are single and face societal pressure to "settle down" in the more conventional sense. Will I ever get over this crisis? Unlikely. I need to sustain my blog traffic.”
Oh, and please don’t ask me the name of the newspaper or a link to the article – totally irrelevant, and if you’re that curious, I’m sure you intrepid types will find it!!
Friday, January 11, 2008
Why DC Ain't So Bad, Y'All
Now that I have been back in DC for more than a week, let me do a brief fifth grade summary of why I like staying here instead of whining about how much I miss India… especially since I have been extolled the virtues of London and NY on more than one occasion this week…those comparisons are totally unfair! Those are cities. Let's not compare apples to oranges.
So anyway: I like DC because I see history everywhere I walk, because I see dead Christmas trees waiting to be collected in January after the fuss of being lit and surrounded by presents, because I do bump into the same people at the same 5 places and I don’t really mind, because I see at least four different skin colors on the metro who are reading books like “Freakonomics” or “Confessions of a Video Vixen,” because there are a lot of smart people who take their work and fun in equal seriousness, because you can get a very good crepe for $7, because nothing beats Bush bashing when you’re in a bar a mile away from where he lives, because I don’t have to live in a house behind a picket fence in the suburbs and spend my weekends at Home Depot, because even though people recycle relationships, there are still enough crazy singletons and crazier married friends who keep it interesting, because there are at least SIX Scottish terriers who live on my street, because I can still walk home at 12 a.m. and feel relatively safe, because even though nobody cares what you’re wearing, they will say you look nice if you do or not say anything at all if they’re indifferent, because nobody here is totally indifferent to the world around them and for the most part they do know what’s happening in sub-Saharan Africa, because for every cabbie who has conned you there are two cabbies who are pretty decent, and because this year, I might, I just might be convinced to run a marathon in this cause celebre-fitness obsessed capital.
So anyway: I like DC because I see history everywhere I walk, because I see dead Christmas trees waiting to be collected in January after the fuss of being lit and surrounded by presents, because I do bump into the same people at the same 5 places and I don’t really mind, because I see at least four different skin colors on the metro who are reading books like “Freakonomics” or “Confessions of a Video Vixen,” because there are a lot of smart people who take their work and fun in equal seriousness, because you can get a very good crepe for $7, because nothing beats Bush bashing when you’re in a bar a mile away from where he lives, because I don’t have to live in a house behind a picket fence in the suburbs and spend my weekends at Home Depot, because even though people recycle relationships, there are still enough crazy singletons and crazier married friends who keep it interesting, because there are at least SIX Scottish terriers who live on my street, because I can still walk home at 12 a.m. and feel relatively safe, because even though nobody cares what you’re wearing, they will say you look nice if you do or not say anything at all if they’re indifferent, because nobody here is totally indifferent to the world around them and for the most part they do know what’s happening in sub-Saharan Africa, because for every cabbie who has conned you there are two cabbies who are pretty decent, and because this year, I might, I just might be convinced to run a marathon in this cause celebre-fitness obsessed capital.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Back Home - Update 2
Just got back from Kolkata last night and it was quite a trip! I went there after almost 12 years (we don't have many relatives there so didn't find a chance to visit) and it was something... unlike Delhi which has undergone so many facelifts and plastic surgeries, Cal is not in the crazy madness of change yet. There are lots of changes, yes, and there will be more to come, but the city hasn't lost its character. There were the Communist Party rallies, the French shutters of the old homes and the omnipresent smell of food everywhere. Some culinary highlights were: steamed prawns bathed in mustard curry and wrapped in a banana leaf at Sonargaon, mutton kathi rolls at Nizam's and mishti doi and kachauri at Mithai.
No trip down memory lane would be complete without taking a look at my old school Modern High School for Girls (MHS) where I spent 3 very impressionable years. This was the only school I actually walked to from home, which was about 15 minutes away. Home was 44, Ironside Road, a leafy secluded compound near Ballygunge road, which holds too many memories of My First Best Friend, My First Crush, My First Great Book I Read, etc. etc. It was definitely one of those places that defined my childhood... in a blessedly good way!
So back to Delhi, my present home, and where preps for the shaadi tamasha (not mine, chill!) are well and happening...
No trip down memory lane would be complete without taking a look at my old school Modern High School for Girls (MHS) where I spent 3 very impressionable years. This was the only school I actually walked to from home, which was about 15 minutes away. Home was 44, Ironside Road, a leafy secluded compound near Ballygunge road, which holds too many memories of My First Best Friend, My First Crush, My First Great Book I Read, etc. etc. It was definitely one of those places that defined my childhood... in a blessedly good way!
So back to Delhi, my present home, and where preps for the shaadi tamasha (not mine, chill!) are well and happening...
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