What I learnt

2011 is over. Well, almost. Compared to 2010, I’ve had such an uneventful year. Last year was so full of action. I graduated, I got married, I moved twice in the same year, we took eight holidays together, yes eight! There was so much activity and action going on at all times. This year, the days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and the year has now come to an end without anything significant happening. Sure, we took a lot of holidays and had fun, but it has been a slow year on the whole.

Making decisions – that’s the one thing that has been giving us constant grief. We’ve had to make a lot of choices this year. Both Mint and I have to be the worst decision makers on earth. I have been known to turn small events into earth shattering dilemmas because I couldn’t decide. Mint, he is so much worse. He is an analyst by nature. He will take every single aspect and detail into consideration, dissect each aspect into a million shreds and then make himself miserable with all the microscopic comparisons.

Just a few days ago I read a post by Tan in which she describes her vegetable shopping experience. I compared it to our own experience and I could draw a lot of parallels. I realise Mint’s consumer behaviour is a reflection of his inherent analytic nature. No decision will ever be made before he knows every possible detail. So yes, he has to know the name of the vegetable, the kind, the quality, the price, the seasonal availability and ever other detail. Only then will he decide what he wants. He just has to know!  Fortunately, at the Indian grocery stores here, every available detail is plastered above the said veggie. I don’t have to go through the embarrassment of him questioning the vendors.

Once he has decided which vegetable he wants to pick, he will scrutinize each piece individually until he has found the best ones to put in his bag. He really doesn’t care so much about the grocery, I know. But since the onus of making the decision lies on him, he puts an insane amount of pressure on himself to make the best choice. That is always the problem. The self inflicted pressure to make the most beneficial decision, not just in one aspect, but in every single aspect.

Sometime in the middle of this year, we had to make a big decision. Knowing Mint’s nature, I dreaded it. We tussled, struggled and sighed for months. Finally we took a call after a million sleepless nights, anxiety and dread. Then came another decision we had to make. I thought this one would have been easy. We simply had to choose between option A and option B, and both the options were known to be good. So we would be in a good place, no matter what we choose.  But Mint tore his brain apart with the amount of analysis he did. This time I was so fed up of his ways, I wept. The pressure was rubbing off on me and I felt uneasy, scared and restless. I just abhor the pressure he puts on himself to choose the best.

Now, at the end of this year, we’re at the brink of making another humongous decision. This is the toughest one. I find it traumatic. Most of the times, my mind is foggy and I feel deflated. I hope we make the right decision, soon.

This year has tested my resilience.  People constantly commented on my unemployed status, criticized my financial dependence, without knowing about the visa hassles that were tying me up. The constant emotional assaults made me feel ravaged for a long time. I did pick myself up eventually. I learnt to shrug it all. I found myself a job, despite the visa restrictions. I’m still struggling to stay afloat. In the end, I am happy, because I learnt a few truths about myself.  But most importantly, I learnt one crucial fact  – this world is a bitch. The sooner we learn to accept that, the more equipped we will be to deal with what comes our way.

Next year is going to be big. Our visa hassles are on the verge of being sorted. There could be other bigger surprises on the way. Goodbye 2011. You weren’t a very exciting year, but in a weird way, I enjoyed this uneventful phase. You gave me time to ponder and to grow, and for that, I am thankful.

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Sights and sounds

A bumbling, unsteady walk. Me knocking down a jar of dal placed on a shelf within my reach. The sound of my mother’s voice in the background. My earliest memory. What did she say? I try hard to remember even today. It doesn’t come to me.

The name ‘Disney Land’ written in big blue letters at the entrance of my nursery. The nook at which we all hung our bags. My yellow coloured bag with a Donald Duck printed on it hanging there in a corner.

My father holding me up in the air the day I wore a frock with apples and pineapples on it. “You will always be my pari”, I can hear his voice.

The face of that lady. The one who led the cow to our building gate everyday. I hear her announce her arrival by shouting “Aee gaay waaliiiii aaa”. I see myself sitting by the window on the 3rd floor along with my grandmother. We throw her a coin and watch her feed the cow a fistful of grass.

I see myself trying to complete a panda puzzle. The face of the panda clear in my memory. The foot of the panda missing because of a lost piece.

That gulmohar tree. A burst of red outside my window every year during the monsoon. Me wondering if the branches of the tree will enter our windows if they allow it to grow.

My grandmother peeling potatoes with a knife. Her hand working skillfully. The long peels starting to spiral beneath the potato.

The paan stain on the staircase. On the second floor. The shape of the stain resembling a star.

Watching my sister crawl up to me. Her grubby hands pulling my hair. I hear myself scream.

My mother sitting behind me, trying to pull back my hair into a ponytail. Me trying to wriggle out of her grip. The sound of her voice telling me to cooperate with her, or else I will be late for school.

Wheel shaped designs on a packet of ‘Peppy’. The bright red pack of ‘Picnic Pops’. My asking my mother to buy me ‘Rasna’ during the summer vacation.

I see myself entering my school bus. I hear voices telling me “Girlie, this seat is caught”, each time I eyed an empty seat. I remember thinking those girls who catch seats like that and don’t let me sit are mean.

My parents complaining about the leakage in the balcony during the rains. I see that spot. A wet patch. Drops of water hanging on to it. I remember observing the drops getting bigger and then falling to the ground, creating a puddle on the floor.

I keep getting hit by random sights and sounds of my childhood. I see flashes of my past whiz by my senses every now and then. The memories contain vivid and graphical details. They connect my present self to the child I once was. I smile.

Reviving the past

I was messing around with my blog and I ended up deleting some old posts accidentally. Those posts were precious to me. Thankfully, I had a copy elsewhere. I am not the kinds who can break ties with my past very easily. So I am going to be reposting the posts that were deleted. This is one of them. If you’ve read and/or commented on it earlier, you can ignore it. I am posting it again only because I want it to a part of my blog.

When embarrassing memories return..

I ache for my family and that is no secret. I have phases, where in I miss one particular person the most. So at times, I long for my dad more than the others. Other times, I miss my bratty sis. These days, I’ve been missing mama. And her goofy behaviour.

My mom would be the perfect nominee for the ‘Goofiest mortal on the planet’ award. If only such a category existed. This post is a tribute to her looniness – something I’ve inherited from her, something that has caused me a lot of embarrassment.

Let me flash back to my teenage years. I had been bitten by the fitness bug. Every evening I would go running in the park close to home. On my second day there, I noticed a guy running alongside. I thought he was bestowed with exceptional looks. He seemed totally drool worthy and I enjoyed my time gaping at him secretly. That motivated me to keep the evening runs going and even helped me ignore the muscle ache that followed the runs. What helped was the fact that unlike other parks, this park wasn’t very particular about the direction you ran in on the track. So I’d make sure the ‘hot guy’ and I ran in opposite directions. This way I would be rewarded with a glimpse of his face on completion of each round.

After a few days of silent admiration, I went home and told my mom all about the hot guy in the park. She got equally excited and said she was curious to see the guy I was raving about. So the next day, I took her to the park with me. This time we were walking at a steady pace and waiting for the said hot guy to appear. I saw him approaching us, finally. I gently nudged mom and whispered, “That’s him!.”

Unfortunately, our taste in men didn’t match. When he was close enough and she had had a good look, she scrunched her face in disapproval, pointed at him and said in a voice loud enough for the entire park to hear, “CHEE! You find THIS guy hot??”

Mother earth, swallow me now! I prayed. I was too embarrassed to glance at who I thought was the hot guy and see how he reacted. Since I could think of no possible remedial action or explanation, I just held my mom’s hand and started to walk away from the scene with lowered eyes and burning ear lobes.

Needless to say, I stopped going to the park for my evening runs thereafter.

Dinner with colleagues? No thanks!

Some days ago we were invited for dinner along with a bunch of other desis to Mint’s colleagues place. Social gathering make me very uncomfortable, unless of course, we’re hanging out with friends. Interacting with people who belong to the same professional set up makes me nervous. I don’t know the norms. I don’t know how to conduct myself. What if I behave inappropriately by their standards? What if I reveal too much of personal information that can go against us at a later time?

To add to my level of discomfort, Mint is the youngest member in his team. Which meant, everybody present there would be older to us.  And all of them have kids. We’re the only two 20 somethings with no kids in that group. It really added to that feeling of disconnect.

Anyway, we reached his colleague’s place at the appointed time. Another couple along with their son were already there. We entered, said our “Hellos” and then I sat down on the sofa, shifting in my seat every now and then. We got our drinks and I think the atmosphere was starting to lighten. I gave the lady of the house a mental thumbs up for serving us ready appetizers bought from Costco. It makes me  feel less guilty when I do such things myself. Soon the other couple arrived along with their son. The 4 kids began to play together. The conversation got more interesting. I thought I was going to have a pleasant evening after all.

The guys were engaged in a discussion that revolved around corporate strategies. Such stuff really interests me. I didn’t speak much, but I was paying close attention to what they had to say about  brands, marketing, the works. And then suddenly all the women in the room walked out, leaving me confused. Why did they leave? Am I supposed to follow them too? Or am I supposed to be sitting here, the only girl among the guys? They might have gone to take care of their respective children I thought. What am I expected to do? Leave the men alone and bond with the women? Or continue sitting here, being the odd one out?

I continued sitting where I was for a while, but the awkwardness was beginning to envelope me. So I got up and walked to the room in which the women were. I expected them to be chasing their kids, but I saw the kids were in a separate room, playing with each other peacefully. Then why did the women have to leave? I wondered. Maybe the conversation the men were having was too boring for them? But then, they could have tried to speak about other things instead of walking away? Confused, I went and sat with them. They were busy talking about schools in the neighborhood districts. Obviously, I didn’t have much of an opinion or any kind of input, so I just sat there silently. I hoped they would realise that and change the topic of conversation, but that was not to be. They only got more engrossed in their talk and only spoke about different schools, their syllabus, their kids, etc. I do understand that your life revolves around your kids, but why not take the effort to move to more common grounds when I am present there? Why make somebody feel out of place like that? I wish people were more thoughtful.

I moved back to my original place with the guys. Their discussion was going strong. I thought it was enjoyable and I wouldn’t move out of there again. But after about 40 minutes, I started to feel awkward again. I guess I really expected the women to come back. Their prolonged absence was making me feel weird. What was the point of this gathering if they planned to maintain this constant divide between men and women? Why do people do that? I decided to go and spend some time with the women. When I went to the other room, I saw all the women there feeding their kids and chasing them with bowls of dal and rice. I wouldn’t know what to do there anyway, so I came back.

It left such a bad taste in my mouth. The men will isolate themselves, stay engrossed in their own discussion, refilling their glasses every now and then, and the women will feed the kids in another room all by themselves? Can’t the men take equal responsibility for their kids? I know and understand how interesting that discussion was for them, and the fact that they wouldn’t meet each other in an informal set up again. Maybe they did take responsibility for their kids otherwise.  How am I to know? All the same, I couldn’t get myself to stop judging everybody there. Something about that environment seemed very wrong to me. And I have seen this happening too many times.

Finally, it was time for us to eat. The kids had been fed and were tucked in. The food was good, and we made sure we conveyed that to the host. I was glad we were at least eating together. Going by the way the evening had been spent, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the men and women had chosen to eat separately. In a way, I was relieved by the thought of the evening coming to an end. Again, how wrong I was!

I don’t know how, but the conversation was steered to a topic I dread the most. “How Hindi should/should not be our national language”. Ye Gods, how many more times will I have to go through this war? Mint’s stand was clear. Hindi should not have been enforced. People would have learnt it on their own if they realised it was needed. But since it was enforced, people rebelled and even those who would have learned it otherwise, chose to not do it. The enforcement that resulted in this rebellion only widened the communication gap. Every other person present there was for the enforcement of the language. They were all hard core North Indians from Delhi and Punjab. The discussion turned into an argument, and the argument turned into a war. I don’t understand why people cannot have different views. Why can’t we agree to disagree? I pleaded with Mint to end it. Just say okay to them and let go. But Mint  wouldn’t listen to me either.

I was so disgusted by the way it all turned out. People were raising their voices, banging on the table to ascertain their point, leaning forward aggressively and not allowing Mint to finish what he had to say. That tends to happen when there are six voices against one. Each time he would  try to say something, he would be cut off mid way by someone or the other. Imagine 6 people doing it to one person. You never get heard completely. As time passed, the discussion got more heated. I was fuming. Everybody seemed so uncivil to me.

I have this policy. I *always* allow the person to finish what they are saying and only then speak. But since other people don’t follow the same policy, I keep getting cut mid way and I never get to talk. It is beyond maddening. I could see the same thing happening to Mint now.  It was past mid night. After 3 hours of shouting and over saying one person had passed, I told Mint to just get up and end it there, come what way.

We were cordial and polite while saying our byes. They all agreed that the ‘debate’ was too heated and that one person was corned. Mint didn’t seem too bothered really. He said they’ve had such intense discussions that lasted the entire night when he was in college. He told them it was okay. Me? I was trying hard to force a smile and walk out of there. I cannot forgive such behaviour easily. Even after I got home, my insides were trembling for a long time.

I hope that is the last dinner I’ve had with those people.

Randomness returns

* I detest seeing hair in the drain. If I see hair in the bath tub, I take a shower with my eyes shut. And yet, there is very little I can do about it. With the amount of hair fall I have, hair in the bath tub has become a permanent feature, no matter what I do. Shower caps don’t seem to help. I cannot even get myself to pick it up the fallen hair and discard it. That has always been Mint’s job. He does it without complaining. I know it isn’t fair and all that, but if I had to do it, I would puke.

* I was home alone a few days ago. That is when I happened to watch this age old Hindi movie called Junoon in which Rahul Roy turns into a tiger at night. I was surprised to note how terribly scared I was. I don’t know how lame I can get. The movie terrified me. Mint couldn’t stop laughing when I told him about it later.

* I have very little tolerance for people who cannot differentiate between “your” and “you’re”, which means, I have very little tolerance for half of this world. When I see status updates on Facebook in which people have said things like “Your so pretty”, I have to use all my might in order to stop myself from commenting and correcting the said person there. The amount of effort that goes into restraining myself at such times is humongous. I was going through some posts I had written about 5 years ago, and what do you know? I have been guilty of saying “your” for “you’re” a lot of times! When I read that, I wanted to cry.

* I have been very interested in the Alcatraz Island after watching ‘Murder in the First’. We finally went there last weekend. Walking through the prisoner cells made me shudder. Reading about the life of the inmates there made me shudder even more. On our way back, we bought a magnet that says “You are entitled to food, clothing and shelter. ANYTHING ELSE YOU GET IS A PRIVILEGE.” For the prisoners there, this definition was not restricted to materialistic things. The word “privilege” included basic things like 1 hour of recreation time once a week, meeting a relative once a month, being allowed to read a book, etc. All those privileges had to be earned! It makes me realise just how much we take for granted.

* I have finally accepted the fact that I cannot smile genuinely while talking pictures. Each time I see my pics, I think my smile is so awful! I never show teeth. I never say cheese. I just, well, smile. And I think it lacks that genuineness and warmth. While it might not seem fake, it definitely seems put on.

* The other day I came up to Mint and asked him to show me his palm. Once he did that, I placed my eye lash there. I had just found it on my face a few minutes ago. I didn’t want to make a wish this time, neither did I want to dispose it right away. So I gave it to Mint and asked him to keep it safe for an hour. He said “Okay” without asking me a word. I wonder how he lives without questioning me, even when I subject him to such madness. Anyway, he did keep the eye lash safe, and ultimately, that is all that matters.

* Mint has been trying to teach me how to eat using chopsticks since a few years now. I have tried so hard, but I just cannot seem to learn. Each time we try for a while. He shows me where to hold the chopsticks, how to position my fingers, how to get a grip on the food, but I can never do it. I feel so unpolished. Sigh.

* Both of us got a triple vaccination shot on Friday evening. So this weekend, both of us had sore and painful left arms. We didn’t do much, other than eat out and lie on the couch and watch TV. I cannot wait for Friday to come again. It’s just Monday today. Yawn.

Taking it too literally

Mint: *Slightly annoyed* Kahaan thi? Maine tujhe kitna bulaya.

Pepper: *Puzzled* Tune mujhe bulaya? Kab? How come I didn’t hear it?

Mint: Kitni baar bulaya. Go check the number of missed calls on your phone.

Pepper: *Confused* Missed calls? Tune mujhe bulaya ya call kiya?

Mint: *Giving me the “how dumb can you get” look* Huh? Hindi main call karne ko bulana bolte hai.

Pepper: *Speechless*

And then I had a good laugh and haven’t been able to stop laughing ever since. Darling, you continue to dazzle me with your Hindi.

 

PS – My apologies if you don’t know Hindi. This is one time I couldn’t get myself to translate.

A collision. Almost.

What do you do when the light at the signal turns from green to yellow when you’re driving? Do you accelerate so that you make it out before the light turns red? Or do you stop the moment you see yellow and then watch it turn red. What I do usually depends on how close or far away I am from the intersection. If you’re the kind who always stops on yellow, no matter where you are, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

So anyway, I was driving back home yesterday. The light at the signal ahead was green. And then it turned yellow. The car in front of me accelerated. I wasn’t too far from the intersection. I knew I could comfortably make it while it was still yellow. So I accelerated as well. I don’t  know why the driver ahead had a sudden change of mind. But after some drastic speeding, she decided she didn’t want to go while it was yellow and braked very, very suddenly. Which meant, I had to brake very, very suddenly too, despite the high velocity my car was moving forward in. As a result, I *nearly* rear ended her car. I say nearly, because thankfully, I didn’t really do it. I sat there feeling thankful the brakes were powerful enough to make the car stop in such a short time despite the initial speed. I thought it ended there, but no sir.

From the car ahead, out came this black girl, who couldn’t have been more than a teen. She stormed towards my car. I was prepared to present her with an apology, although it wasn’t entirely my fault. Before I could even open my mouth, she glared at me menacingly and said “Get outta the car, bitch”. Uff, I thought. I will have to deal with this grouchy teen who was probably in a crabby mood because she just got dumped by her boyfriend. I calmly told her I will pull over and then we could talk, instead of screaming in the middle of the road.

She grudgingly pulled over and then promptly started shooting expletives my way with what seemed like a missile. “Blind bat”, ” fucking bitch”, “pesky slut”, “airhead”, it wouldn’t end. The way she was going, I expected her to pull out her revolver any minute. Surprisingly, I was unperturbed.  These kids are so ill mannered, is all I thought. I let her rattle on for a while.

And then she asked me for my insurance details. Wha? I was beyond taken aback. There was no way I was going to pull out my insurance details and hand them over to her when my car hadn’t even touched hers. What do you want my insurance details for, I asked her. She told me some story about some stone flying up in the air and denting her car when my car came to a sudden stop like that. I laughed and told her she could have come up with something better. And no, she wasn’t going to get any insurance details from me. She glared at me with fixed eyes. Perhaps she hoped her eyes would emit some destructive radiation that would pass through me and kill me. She used more foul language, presented me with some more expletives and then drove away.

Me? I only pitied her as I walked back to my car. The poor kid seems really messed up. Although I did wish I had rammed into her car. I would rather take abuses for something I have done.

About an old, old dream

I always wanted to have a Christian wedding. I don’t know why. Maybe because the “I do”s fascinate me. Flowing white bridal gowns fascinate me even more. And I think, Hollywood has a hand in romanticizing the whole concept. So yes, I always wanted to have, what I call a “white wedding”. And I wanted it to be on the beach. It was all a part of a big, unrealistic dream I had.

When we were in Hawaii this time, I saw a bride, in a beautiful white gown, in all her finery. Her wedding was to be held on the beach. It reminded me of my old dream. And the hope given to me by Mint.

Let me come to the second part now. I wanted to have a “live in” relationship. Again, the whole concept seemed fascinating to me. There is a clandestine thrill attached to it that makes it very exciting. I don’t care about the fact that it is something that is frowned upon by the Indian society. Mint didn’t seem to care either way. Living together is all that mattered to him he said, married or live in. Since I preferred “living in” over marriage at that point, we started talking about it seriously.

I said this to my parents. My mom and dad are absolutely wonderful people and it is possible to have a sane discussion with them even when the topic in question is as controversial and taboo as this. I told them I wanted to live in with Mint for sometime now. Maybe we could get married at a later point. Right now, I didn’t want it. I told them I have never felt the need to hide anything from them because they always calmly consider my point of view instead of blindly discarding my choice the way my friends parents did.

They thought about it and told me they weren’t pleased with the idea. They believed in the institution of marriage and would be happier if I did too. But they also said that I was an adult and they cannot control my choices forever, so if I really wanted it, I could go ahead with it. We had long discussions and spoke about it for hours. They heard me out. They kept saying I could do what I want, nothing would change things between us. They said they would accept it, but I shouldn’t expect them to accept it very happily.

It made me contemplate even more. I have immense respect for my parents and the way they have brought me up. I never had to hide anything from them. We would always discuss things even when we had opposing views, and then reach a mutual agreement in the end. Even taboo topics like pre marital sex were discussed for long. Me being for it, they being against it. It makes me really happy. Although our opinions are not always aligned, at least they know the person I am. They know what my true beliefs are. I don’t have to hide my feelings from them. We talk things out and then come to an agreement. They give in to me if they think I am reasonable, I give in to them and stop disputing if I think their argument and logic makes sense. Because of the freedom they have given me, I consider it my responsibility to not misuse it. I feel like pleasing them, even when they have granted me what I was fighting for. When I realised they were being nice enough to go against their own beliefs  and were allowing me to do something although it didn’t make them too happy, I didn’t want to do it anymore. Their happiness was worth a lot more than a “live in relationship” to me. I gave up the idea.

So I came back to square one. Mint also kept reminding me of the advantages a marriage has over a live in. He told me how much more convenient it is to have the official marriage certificate given by society. I was beginning to get convinced, but something still bothered me. We had been in a long distance relationship for the most part. Sure, we met every few months, spoke to each other on phone all day, had our cams on, but it wasn’t the same. I never got to go for movies with my “boyfriend”. I never got to take walks with him and cuddle together on a rainy day the way other couples did. I told him I wanted to live with my boyfriend and lead a fun, careless life. I didn’t want to live with my “husband” and lead a grown up, responsible married life. That is when he told me something that I have never forgotten till date.  “Boyfriend, beloved, fiance, partner, husband, all these are names that the society gives. Whatever tag you give me, I will always be the same person I have been to you. And whether it is a marriage or a live in, when we live together, what we make out of our life is up to us. We will have all the fun we want to”.

That is what did it. His words had a deep impact on me. He made it even better by saying. “Let’s do one thing. We’ll get married now. But let this marriage be just for convenience sake. Let it be only for the society. Let’s still call our relationship a live in. It will be our secret. We’ll have fun and live irresponsibly and then get married again after 2-3 years in the way you wanted it. We will have a “white weddding” on the beach at that time”.

And so, my old dream has lived on. We still hope to get married again. Me wearing a white gown, walking on a beach.

On another note. On our annual visit to Mumbai last year, Mint and I were playfully jumping around in the elevator while going down. We kept pushing each other and laughing, for no reason. At one point, Mint pushed me hard and my body swung and fell against his. That is when the door to the elevator opened and my neighbour walked in, eyeing us suspiciously and wondering what we were upto. I straightened myself immediately and said a nervous “Hi”, while Mint laughed. I don’t even what to think of the kind of thoughts she was having. But as we walked out, I told Mint, “You know what, I am really thankful we are married. The society we live in is so stupid. I can imagine how much worse the resultant scenario would have been had you been my boyfriend and not my husband”.

Am I the only one?

There is one thing I always feel a little stupid about. Whenever I see a pregnant woman or a new born baby, the first thought that crosses my mind is, “Oh. So the parents just had sex a while ago”. It’s ridiculous. I don’t want to be imagining such things, but it really is the first thing a pregnant belly makes me think of.

I don’t stop there. Whenever I see a pregnant woman with her husband, I tug at Mint, show him what I am seeing and tell him, “See, they just had sex a while ago”. He usually lets out a little laugh, or says a “yeah” to me.

Now this is how it has been since the time I was a teen. I would giggle at the mention of sex and think of the couple in question “doing it”. I really expected myself to mature after a point. I am married now, but I continue to act like a giggly teen. I just can’t act my age. I am 25. Not 15. I wonder when I will “grow up”. Sigh. I think I am the only one this weird. *Looks embarrassed*.