Matrimonials

Damn those matrimonial ads! " God-fearing, ancient RC malayalee family hailing from central Travancore invites proposals from professional green-card or citizen men -doctors-engineers-computer-related anyone from RC families in the US, for their Fair & Lovely, US Educated, humble, independent (yet God and husband-fearing) smart, cooking skilled ("she slices, she dices"), old-fashioned (yet tech savvy), career-minded daughter (albeit FREAK of a daughter who gets drunk every chance she gets and parties til 5 in the morning). Sure, what more could you want.
Why do all matrimonials sound the same? Why can't they be truthful instead a jumble of cliches gleaned off of other ads. Why don't they just say, "As in the traditional manner of establishing marriage as the goal of human existence, I've got a daughter/son who is of marriagable age as society has deemed it. If you have one too, fabulous! I'm sure yours is wheat-complected and God-fearing too. How about you send me a picture. If your son/daughter is ugly or if our family-friends relate seeing him/her make out with some non-Desi, we shall politely refuse by saying he/she is too tall/short. It's the only decent way."
The sad thing is, if you are truthful in a matrimonial ad, it is so obvious that you must have written it yourself and not your parents. Parents include such attractive zingers such as "homely" to mean traditional and "God-fearing" to mean religious. These are catch-phrases that have proven their worth again and again. How can you beat that? You write something akin to "traditional and religious" and parents who read the ads will know something is up: "Ayyo, she is not God-fearing......her parents didn't write this ad! Oh goodness gracious, perhaps she is orphaned or perhaps she is a disappointment to her parents that she has to write her own ad. Ende devamay!!"
Another thing is that only parents read matrimonial ads and since they can tell which ones were written by their parental peers, they will point out the other ones as some sort of inticement. "See, this boy wrote himself. That means he is not being forced." Yeaaa right, like I'm not being forced when I'm given an ultimatum in the middle of a heated argument: "You write one or vee vill write for you!!" Yea, mom and dad, I have a lot of choice here, don't I?
I feel sorry most for those kids in my position who have to write an ad as their parents dictate it to them because supposedly the parents "don't speak English good, monay." And those poor unfortunates have to cringe as mom and dad analyze the range between "fair" and "wheat-complected," the validity of skin color as a religious and cultural indicator, and the modicum of difference between skin shades. Matrimonial ads are inherently racist, says I, especially when skin color is the basis of selection! Of course, people would be shocked to be accused of racism but in the same instant argue that somehow being "fair" makes for a "better" alliance. Yea, buddy, that makes a lot of sense: "I'm not racist but being white is prettier." What a load of crap.
Blah, so what's the point to my complaining? I'm still unhitched and not necessarily enjoying it. However, it's the principle of the matter, I say! My individuality has been distilled down to a description my parents pay per word to have some fish-wrap of a newspaper advertise me amongst a myriad of others. I don't stand out here. I sound just like the other ads around me, the others who have gone before, and the others who are yet to come.
How can you weed out a soulmate in all this verbose garbage? I advocate the use of a code word that only your soulmate would know. I think my code word would be synchronicity. Yea, so you have the typical matrimonial bs: "RC parents seek alliances....blah blah blah," and then all of a sudden the word "SYNCHRONICITY" would appear in all caps, for no rhyme or reason, right in the middle of the ad. Most people would be ignore it and silently blame the editor for being a lazy bum who can't even do his job. But, my soulmate, the bright, fantastic person that he is, would be, like, "hmmm" and would try to figure out this oddly positioned word and what it was doing there. And VOILA, we would meet, affirm that yes, it was indeed synchronicity, we would get married, live happily ever after, etc, etc, the end. La dee da.
Damn you. *L.J scowls and shakes an angry fist at the Malayalam newspaper sitting on the table* Where's my fennel? Ah, glorious fennel-induced sleep. Good night people!

Supari Fiend

My supari ingestions had reached crisis levels, supposedly. Dude, it's not even real supari....just that crap they hand out at desi restaurants as a "mouth refresher/digestive aid" when you leave. Anyway, so we all call it "supari" since it resembles the actual stuff and it's easier than saying the-crap-they-hand-out-at-desi-restaurants.
Anyway, two nights ago, as I was working on my various papers and unconciously hand-to-mouthing my 6/8th bottle of "supari" that was left, A.A. and A.F came by to "see how I was doing". Yea, right. So I hid the "supari" bottle because I know they were going to check the level of "supari" depletion. Well, unluckily, they found it. Try as I might, I couldn't get the bottle back. They had to literally wrestle the bottle from me.
Man, it was like the whole Bournvita bottle episode back in Bangalore when Bobby and Anu took and hid my bottle of Bournvita....My bottle of Bournvita from which I religiously ate a spoonful of the malt chocolate (embued with vitamins and minerals) as soon as I came back from college. It was Bournvita, for gosh sakes! It was, like, my only source of calcium. Besides, it tasted really good. Just like "supari". And "supari" can be good for you. Fennel, which is a main component of "supari", is good for you. Fennel is a digestive aid and liver tonic. Seeeeee???
Anyway, so lacking my supari to keep me awake with my papers, I went to sleep, the withdrawal symptoms of extreme lethargy already taking over.
The next day, however, I did get my presentation done. Ironically, our last class was to be held at a desi restaurant nearby. I suppose I knew I would be in the presence of "supari" but I was too worried about my paper to care. At the end of the class time, our professor decided to give us a "treat": PAAN. That's right; the actual addictive betel-leaf-surrounding-actual-betel-nut-supari treat. My professor said in India you put the whole leaf-wrapped concoction in your mouth. "Aaaah refreshing", she said. Me and this other girl were the only desi-familiar people in class and suddenly my desiness seemed to be called into question if I did not put the whole damn thing in my mouth at once. So I did. Remind me never to put the whole of ANYTHING in my mouth if I don't know what it tastes like to begin with. It was horrible. Every bite sent another shock of painful sensations through my mouth. I was at a point where I couldn't spit it out or swallow it. I was doomed to chew and chew the abhorrant substance as it ate away at the inside of my mouth. My professor saw the grimace on my face..."Is it strong?" She asks. Good lord, woman!! If it had been any stronger my mouth would have been shooting fireworks up the wazoo. I could feel the insides of my mouth being worn away. I'm sure it was bleeding. Painfully, I finally ate the damn thing. My professor took a nibble--yes, JUST a nibble!--and stated rather nonchalantly, "yes, it is slightly stronger than stuff I've had before." I swallowed water in hopes of flushing it out but the water just reminded me of how much of my mouth had been made raw! I swore I would never eat paan or frickin "supari" or anything of the sort again. I tried to eat the "supari" at the door as we left, thinking it wouldn't be as bad. Bad idea. The fennel stabbed the raw surfaces along the inside of my cheeks and gums. I ran outside and spit the crap out. I'm sure people must have thought I was some uncouth FOB spitting the red crap all over the pavement.
Talk about being taught a lesson. Down with supari! (Fennel is still good for you though.)
It didn't help when A.A. and A.F. made me go through the ordeal of gargling salt water in order to heal the inside of my mouth. I guess they were right. I saw a website today about how they add mouth-tingling addictive substances to "supari" made in Pakistan and India. My "supari" habit must have made my mouth super-sensitive. Geeez, talk about rubbing salt in your wounds.

Labels

As a result of my last entry I have dealt with my emotional turmoil and have formulated a conclusion: I suppose the key to happiness is that one shouldn't care. Take life as a joke...as lila...divine play. At least this is what Swamiji said in that book. It does make sense though. Don't take everything so seriously. Don't expect anything to turn out the way you want to because things don't usually turn out the way you expect anyway. However, in the end it all makes sense. Everything that happens is connected to everything else. Anyway, life is usually hilarious if you think about it.
The other day A.A and I were at the desi store and we had just been talking about a having a nice South Indian, Kerala-style meal. The only South Indian restaurants I knew of were way on the other side of town in any direction from here. As we were lamenting this tragedy borne out of cultural isolation, we saw a flyer for a new restaurant not too far from where we live. You should have seen our eyes light up! South Indian food! Chettinad style! How much more Kerala/Tamil Nadu can you get?
Anyway, so we went there yesterday. It was fabulous and all of us really enjoyed the food. It's funny because when I was growing up, I hated dosas, idlis, sambar and vada....I don't know why. I guess being in Desi Land for 3 years really brain-washed my palate, so to speak.
I don't think there is even an ethnographic catergory for people like me yet. What am I? ABCD turned FOB? Is there such a thing? How is that possible? Or am I an ABAD? American Born-Again Desi...an ABCD who has been awakened to his/her Desi-ness? You know how much I despise labels because they are attached to essentialisms...An essentialism (stereotype), for example, would be that all ABCDs go clubbin' at clubs that have a semi-Desi atmosphere. However, I think labels allow one to have a sense of belonging. Like, I know how FOBS are....generally....I know how ABCDs act ....generally....I know how Americans are..generally...I guess essentialisms give you some handle on how people are and how to approach them. I don't think we could function without them. Until you know someone, it is difficult to see them beyond their label. It's always a good surprise when they realize you are different from your label. I guess people become more aware then.
Examples of label-busting: Yes, I'm Christian though I'm from India. No, I am not an authority on India though my parents are from there. No, I don't go clubbing with all of my cousins though I'm an ABCD. No, I don't know how to make parathas though I lived in India. No, I don't drink, smoke pot, and act promiscuous because I was born in America. Yes, I do speak Malayalam fluently though I'm an ABCD. No, I don't want to be treated like a princess though I am a woman. No, I don't speak Hindi though I lived in India for three years. No, I'm not a computer science major though I am Indian. No, I have not yet resigned to an arranged marriage though my parents want me to. No, all my close friends aren't ABCDs. No, I'm not anti-FOB because I'm an ABCD. Yes, I have anti-ABCD sentiments though I am one. No, I don't have temper tantrums every three weeks, on the dot, though I am a woman. My dad does not work at a gas station though I'm Indian We do not live in Stafford or Sugarland though I'm Malayalee.
AND NO, supari is not addictive, I just like it a LOT! Hehe.
Anyway, maybe that's why I went into this field. Maybe I'm a quintessential label-buster. I do enjoy it tremendously

A Four Letter Word

sLove is a four-letter word.
I keep having these horrible dreams about my friends. I mean, not horrible in the sense that something bad is going to happen to them but horrible in the sense that my friendship with them is ruined by something that happened. But the thing is, in my dream, I feel like the perpetual victim but, in actuality, the fault is all mine. I used to have issues with feeling too much for people. Feeling too possessive. Feeling too attached to people. And then I got hurt over and over again. From then onwards, I didn't want to trust anyone anymore with my feelings.
Sure, people say that it is better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all. However, I feel like I'm stuck in the perception that it's the other way around--better to have never loved than loved and lost. I know I'm talking about love but it all comes down to that, doesn't it? It's not that you either love them or you don't...no, it can never be that simple. It is more like to what degree you love them. That's where my dilemma lies. I have loved, to some degree, all the people who have made some impact in my life. But I'm stupid to love. It is stupid to love because then you expect to be loved back. And that doesn't always happen. It hurts more to know that you were never loved back. I'd rather not know, I think. Which is why I don't wear my stupid bruised heart on my sleeve anymore. Why I shy away from people who want to know me better. Why I appear aloof and sullen behind this wall of stoicism. Most people don't have the patience to find the "me" behind the wall and I suppose I don't make it any easier for them. The more they get closer the more afraid I become. Why should you care anymore? People just take advantage of your kindness. They take all they can and they sell the rest....like stupid frickin Blue Bell Ice Cream. I sound bitter. He he :)
I wanted to be a robot at one time. I didn't want to feel anything anymore. It is when you desire things that you feel disappointed when you don't get them.
Man. I sound horribly depressed. I'm not really. I'm just trying to make sense of my emotions. I was telling C.K. the other day that I have all this stuff trapped inside of me bursting to come out. She said you have to let go of your barriers. At the time, I didn't think there was a drawback to releasing your feelings because you then have unconditional positive regard for people. However, the drawback to letting it out is that you expect a little back. Is that so wrong? Sure, there are the few enlightened souls who selflessly give of their love and benevolence and want little or nothing in return, but I'm not there yet. At times I try to be, but then I am reminded, by these stupid dreams, for example, that I lack something. Like there is some kind of void that needs to be filled before I move on. Filled with what? I don't know. Perhaps the idea of my own self-reliance and sustainability?
You should never use the word "love" like an added bonus, something to go on top like a cherry or sugar sprinkles. Love should be the food that sustains you. If I say I love you, it is because I mean it.
Love is a four-letter word and can be just as harmful as the others. Use it only if you mean it.
That dumb dream last night made me cry like a sap even when writing this dumb melencholic entry. It is difficult to think that you give away a part of yourself...a part of your heart away... and it is just tossed in a box like some forgotten toy. Or perhaps ignored and stomped underfoot as people waltz all over the room oblivious to your existence. Or used as a temporary surrogate for something or someone else. Or even dissected piece by piece until there is nothing left but a faulty hypothesis.
Damn. I need a neuroleptic. Good night everyone.

Desiness

I miss Bangalore. One of our friends is over there right now and I wish I could switch places with him. In spite of days of hostile hostel conditions, air n' noise pollution, peopleanimalscarsbusesbikesautos on the streets, no television, and not-quite-so-American burgers from a place called Stars and Stripes, I loved the place. I know the essence of "my" Bangalore is not the place itself but the people I met and the things I did there. The place triggers a lot of memories... but I know it can never be the same again....
I do miss Bangalore--the place, but I suppose I miss "my" Bangalore even more.
Yesterday A.A and I went to mini India on Highway 3 and we ended up buying Mehendi. We put it on our hands. It's funny how a lot of people know what a mehendi "tattoo" is now. When I was in high school people were like "What the hell happened to your hand?!" like you were some kind of I-draw-on-my-hand-when-I'm-bored-freak. I guess being Desi is in nowadays. Exoticism commodified as my professor would say. It's kind of weird now but what happens when we start going out of style? Is fashion-related recognition of our culture the height of societal acceptance and inclusion? What do you guys think?

Lone Zone

I don't know why but I have a tendency to zone out when I'm with a large group of people. Hmm, I don't do that when I'm with a group of 3-4 people. Why is that? Am I too intimidated to have lots of people focus on me? So I just hush-up? I think that is it. In the meanwhile, I give off the impression as being some impenetrable pseudo-stoned daydreamer. In actuality, I'm a big wig wuss who's afraid of what people think of her if she opens her mouth or does anything attention-grabbing. I am reminded of those catatonic schizophrenic patients who try to sit perfectly still thinking that if they move, their world will crumble into fragments of chaos. In the same way, I move/speak less because the least I move the world, the better. The least I touch the world, the better. The least I make an impression of any kind, the better. Impressions can be good I guess but who is to say how people will view anything,