I did kindergarten and first grade at Play Palace. I did second grade through 8th grade at a private Catholic school in a suburb of Houston. When I first got there, people didn't like me. They thought I was weird and I thought they were too. THey had known each other since kindergarten but I hadn't. I did pretty bad those couple of years. It wasn't until 4th grade that a teacher noticed my creativity. I guess lying about my aunt beating me just so I could get attention was pretty creative. I played on the American taboo of anyone but your parents spanking you as taboo. I think Mrs. Brelsford saw through that. She saw the kid that needed attention. She actually liked me. She took interest in me. She didn't label me as "average" like the other teachers. Her positivity changed my life and encouraged me. The authoritarian discipline at home was balanced by her laizzes faire one. She let me be me. I never thought I was gifted and talented. She thought I was. She changed my life and made me love writing and learning.
High school sucked. Period. It was like all the cool kids in high school were Bananas. And I, alas, was a fucking orange. Yea, I love the puns: it was the pits, I was pitiful, etc etc. I truly hated myself. I was depressed. I feel like I didn't belong. I became semi-anorexic but I was still fat. Throwing bologna sandwiches away doesn't help much. In fact, when mom found all the bologna sandwiches half rotting under the drawer in my bedroom, that didn't help at all. She got on me for wasting food. She didn't know that I was not eating. She just thought I didn't like it. It turns out that little episode left me anemic. I always felt faint and tired. I just wanted to die most of the time.
I was a total dork. I remember I refused to answer a question in class even though I would lose points if I didn't. I was in honors English. I would get a B if I didn't participate. I didn't answer just to spite the teacher. She wrote some retarded comment on my paper. I guess at the time I really didn't take well to criticism, constructive though it may be. And I hated the people in my class. Someone in my class was like, when they were all patiently waiting for me to say something so they could leave early, "just say something!". "Fuck you" I thought and shook my head. I can be extraordinarily stubborn. I still graduated top 10% in my class and went to UH main campus like everyone else.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Learning my ABCDs (American Born Confused Desi)
I hated school. I mean, I liked learning and stuff and was a good student but the social and cultural aspects baffled me. For the longest time I thought that all people in the world ate rice with their hands and had chai for breakfast. I would beg dad to give me chai in my lunchbox for lunch because it looked like chocolate milk: all the cool kids in kindergarten drank that. I loved pouring it out of my transformers thermos and all the kids, sans chocolate milk ,envying me.For the longest time, I thought Bob Allen, the sports reporter on Channel 13, went home after work, wore a "munda" (a sarong type clothing) like my dad, ate rice with his hands and talked to his daughter in Malayalam just like my dad. I wanted to be a reporter on Eyewitness News just like Bob Allen. But I wanted to deliver my sign-off line flamboyantly like white-haired, blue-tint glassed Marvin Zindler. You Houston people know who I'm talking about. I used to climb to the top of the burgler bars ('cause we live in that-kind-of-a-neighborhood and still do) and shout "[Karmic Journey], EyeWitness News!" I would then leap onto the sofa! I did this several times during the 6 o'clock news until, one day, I got a nosebleed. And then mom made me stop.
When I was 6, one of my Uncles was moving to Chicago and he was on the phone with his friend. They were talking in a language that was not English or Malayalam. I asked my Dad, "Is Uncle talking in Chicagoian? Is that how they talk there?" My Dad thought that was hilarious and told my mom and my uncle. They looked like a bunch of loons laughing. My dad, after he stopped laughing, said, "No, molay (term of endearment in Malayalam), that is Hindi. They speak English in Chicago"I still didn't get why Uncle didn't just talk to his friend in English then.
When I was 6, one of my Uncles was moving to Chicago and he was on the phone with his friend. They were talking in a language that was not English or Malayalam. I asked my Dad, "Is Uncle talking in Chicagoian? Is that how they talk there?" My Dad thought that was hilarious and told my mom and my uncle. They looked like a bunch of loons laughing. My dad, after he stopped laughing, said, "No, molay (term of endearment in Malayalam), that is Hindi. They speak English in Chicago"I still didn't get why Uncle didn't just talk to his friend in English then.
Saturday, January 8, 2005
Graduation
Yes, it has been more than a month since I wrote. Since then I've graduated but not walked, experienced my first white Christmas though it melted by 10am, and actually wore a sari to a mallu-american thing. Tres weird. Acceptance is the last phase they say. I guess I'm simply tired of being angry, lonely, and in denial.
Wednesday, December 1, 2004
Don't Screw My Happiness
I'm sure that my memories of Bangalore, India, have no real bearing on the Bangalore of today. When I was there, Bangalore was bustling with people and noise and animals and it probably still is. However, the Bangalore I remember doesn't exist anymore. The Bangalore I remember exists in my 4-years-ago recollection. It is a visual montage that contains things as vastly different as the Christ College under-the-tree spot, whimples of the nuns in our hostel, Black Sabbath riffs, and the crowded Sudhe Gunde marketplace.
I hear horns and cows and Fr. Saby's monotonous speeches. I feel the ink flow through my Parker Pen like blood as my classmates wrote line after line of Shakespearean sonnests: some funny, some sad, some desperately rhyming.
I smell warm chapatis in the mess hall, and the yellow curry that always made me gag. I hear the screech of the metal chairs on concrete floors and the too-cool-for-school slouch of the "last benchers," the heavy metal loving rebels that always sat at the back of the classrooms.
Being in Bangalore was a great experience for me but, don't get me wrong. It wasn't all "gulab jamun" and bollywood dance-a-thons. It was the first place I was physically attacked. It was the first place I felt my life threatened when someone threw a rock that shattered the bus window. It was the first place I was forced to commit civil disobedience.
Yet, I was happy.
I wonder now why I don't feel the same the happiness. I have reached a conclusion: my happiness was screwed.
In India, we used to say that all the time and I suppose it means just as it sounds. "Don't screw my happeniness" means "don't upset me." However, "don't upset me" simply doesn't have the "oomph" of "don't screw my happiness." It probably has a lot to do with the word "screw" which, in American slang, has "sex" written all over it which is perhaps why it has the "oomph."
The phrase appealed to me because it is quite possibly the worst thing someone could do to your happiness: fuck it up. What good is happiness when it's all fucked up? My happiness has lost it's innocence out here in the real world.
I want to write a book about Bangalore but the more I put it off the more I forget. Initially, I had hoped this book would get me out of the poverty that forces me to sleep on floor pillows arranged underneath my mom's 1970's beadspread. I'm hoped this book would sell millions and the catchphrase, "Don't screw my happiness" will make its grand debut on "Good Morning America".
Who am I kidding? I won't ever write beyond this paragraph and most of you have given up a few lines ago. But, then again, a little reverse psychology and subliminal propaganda never hurt anyone. :-)
I hear horns and cows and Fr. Saby's monotonous speeches. I feel the ink flow through my Parker Pen like blood as my classmates wrote line after line of Shakespearean sonnests: some funny, some sad, some desperately rhyming.
I smell warm chapatis in the mess hall, and the yellow curry that always made me gag. I hear the screech of the metal chairs on concrete floors and the too-cool-for-school slouch of the "last benchers," the heavy metal loving rebels that always sat at the back of the classrooms.
Being in Bangalore was a great experience for me but, don't get me wrong. It wasn't all "gulab jamun" and bollywood dance-a-thons. It was the first place I was physically attacked. It was the first place I felt my life threatened when someone threw a rock that shattered the bus window. It was the first place I was forced to commit civil disobedience.
Yet, I was happy.
I wonder now why I don't feel the same the happiness. I have reached a conclusion: my happiness was screwed.
In India, we used to say that all the time and I suppose it means just as it sounds. "Don't screw my happeniness" means "don't upset me." However, "don't upset me" simply doesn't have the "oomph" of "don't screw my happiness." It probably has a lot to do with the word "screw" which, in American slang, has "sex" written all over it which is perhaps why it has the "oomph."
The phrase appealed to me because it is quite possibly the worst thing someone could do to your happiness: fuck it up. What good is happiness when it's all fucked up? My happiness has lost it's innocence out here in the real world.
I want to write a book about Bangalore but the more I put it off the more I forget. Initially, I had hoped this book would get me out of the poverty that forces me to sleep on floor pillows arranged underneath my mom's 1970's beadspread. I'm hoped this book would sell millions and the catchphrase, "Don't screw my happiness" will make its grand debut on "Good Morning America".
Who am I kidding? I won't ever write beyond this paragraph and most of you have given up a few lines ago. But, then again, a little reverse psychology and subliminal propaganda never hurt anyone. :-)
Saturday, October 23, 2004
As of the first of this month, I am 27 years old. I found the old journal entry from 2001 when I was 23 (See April 12, 2001 entry). As you will see, I am totally anti-marriage, anti-family, all that stuff. At the end of the entry, I have made a vow to be selfish for some more years. Now, on the threshold of my thirties, I can honestly say that I don't feel that way anymore. I feel like I've done all the things that I wanted to. In my mind, when I graduated from high school, I had made a mental checklist of all things I needed to do before I got married. The list included from pretty standard ones: like going to college, falling in love, having friends that actually give a damn, cooking Kerala food, living by myself, shopping for myself, finding the perfect career choice, etc, to not so standard ones: going clubbing/pubbing, drinking at least once, confidently driving on the highway, having a surprise party, being an officer of an organization, going to a casino, being part of a Walk to raise money, going to Mardi Gras, being part of student government, performing at UH main, etc. Slowly but surely I have checked each of these items off. It's funny but a lot of my list has been accomplished just this year: Confident highway driving, cooking Kerala food, dancing the night away with my closest friends, roadtrip, dressing up to attend a cocktail networking thing, performing at Festival of India.....
There are other things that were on my list but I can't think of at the moment. Hmm, now that I think about it, there are actually more Houston related things I want to do that I still haven't done due to a) lack of time or b) lack of money: Rennaisance Festival, Fourth of July concert downtown, any concert at the Cynthia Woods pavilion, Houston International Festival, attending a musical/play in the theater district, oh yea....and Astroworld. Yes, yes, yes, I know. Lived in Houston 27 damn years and never went there.
Yea, so, the point to all this? I've kept myself so busy in the past 3-4 years that you would think that I would find it hard to sit still. However, it is in the past 3-4 years that I've come to value stillnes, to be able to reach your goals, to be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Suddenly, what was valuable in terms of status and success are not priorites. I've learned that yes, you should live life to the fullest and experience every iota of a minute, but you should enjoy it and be able to appreciate the lessons you have learned along the way.
Well, I no longer think living for someone else is a burden or an obligation. I still want to do things but my goals have changed and become more refined.The checklist of my youth has transformed from a list of selfish wants to practical things that could help more than just me. I feel like I've gotten the whole sowing-the-wild-oats thing down. Yes, I could actually get married now. Yes, I could actually have children now. Yes, I could actually have a real service career now. Yes, I'd love to have time to work my writing. Yes, I can actually give back more to my community now. Yes, I think I'm actually looking forward to settling down now because now I can give more of myself. My checklist of youth helped me experience some of my desires and I am a better person because it has helped me focus on the more important things that life holds. I look back on my life and I have no regrets and that is the most important thing I have accomplished. My various lists, plans, experiences, have made me what I am today. I may not be perfect but I do know my faults and know what I need to do to change them if need be.
Oh, and you know what else I've learned? You don't lose your identity in marriageor any relationship, you just enhance it by learning from each otehr.
There are other things that were on my list but I can't think of at the moment. Hmm, now that I think about it, there are actually more Houston related things I want to do that I still haven't done due to a) lack of time or b) lack of money: Rennaisance Festival, Fourth of July concert downtown, any concert at the Cynthia Woods pavilion, Houston International Festival, attending a musical/play in the theater district, oh yea....and Astroworld. Yes, yes, yes, I know. Lived in Houston 27 damn years and never went there.
Yea, so, the point to all this? I've kept myself so busy in the past 3-4 years that you would think that I would find it hard to sit still. However, it is in the past 3-4 years that I've come to value stillnes, to be able to reach your goals, to be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Suddenly, what was valuable in terms of status and success are not priorites. I've learned that yes, you should live life to the fullest and experience every iota of a minute, but you should enjoy it and be able to appreciate the lessons you have learned along the way.
Well, I no longer think living for someone else is a burden or an obligation. I still want to do things but my goals have changed and become more refined.The checklist of my youth has transformed from a list of selfish wants to practical things that could help more than just me. I feel like I've gotten the whole sowing-the-wild-oats thing down. Yes, I could actually get married now. Yes, I could actually have children now. Yes, I could actually have a real service career now. Yes, I'd love to have time to work my writing. Yes, I can actually give back more to my community now. Yes, I think I'm actually looking forward to settling down now because now I can give more of myself. My checklist of youth helped me experience some of my desires and I am a better person because it has helped me focus on the more important things that life holds. I look back on my life and I have no regrets and that is the most important thing I have accomplished. My various lists, plans, experiences, have made me what I am today. I may not be perfect but I do know my faults and know what I need to do to change them if need be.
Oh, and you know what else I've learned? You don't lose your identity in marriageor any relationship, you just enhance it by learning from each otehr.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Stand Up?
I know. It has been ages since I wrote. In the past few weeks, I have found myself getting over some emotional hangups. Some people learn the hard way I guess. I guess the wake up call just got loud enough. Anyhoo, it's funny because lately, I've been running into people who "used to be nice" and "used to let people walk all over" them. And then they realized they couldn't take it anymore. A person can just take so much before they are face-slammed into reality. I realized that my not being able to stand-up-for-myself-and-others had deep seated emotional implications that I was either too blind too see or not emotionally stable enough to deal with it. However, it was when others started taking it personally that I was forced to face it. DON'T GET INVOLVED/DON'T TAKE SIDES/BE PASSIVE----> psychological safety device or cultural norm?
As a psychological safety device, I have come to the conclusion that I'm a spineless jellyfish who has really low self-esteem and who has no value for itself and thus, is unable to value others. And yet, under normal circumstances I'm selfless and would never try to hurt anyone intentionally even to the detriment of myself. In fact, I'm usually go out of my way to make people feel comfortable. Or is my behaviour a cultural thing?
A handout I got about friendship styles of Americans got me thinking as well. It made me realize that I'm confused as hell. Culturally, I'm of two friendship extremes. The obligatory, reciprocating, all-or-nothing extreme of Asian friendship to the objective, impersonal, minding-your-own-business-ness extreme of American friendship. Damn, methinks, what a place to be caught between. And that was when I thought....hell, i AM a confused desi. Shit. Life sucks. I thought I had the whole world, my identity included, all figured out at 23. In fact, I thought I was going to die at 24 because there was nothing more for me to learn. Sure, on the outside, culturally, I'm a balance--food, clothing, language, people I hang with--but that's where it all stops. Mentally, I'm tangled. Socially, what determines my level of friendship? My American upbringing? Or my Indian roots? I think up until this point, I've been a mix of two--and definitely more towards the American side. Hence, 1. I don't pry into people's affairs: if they want to tell me, great, but I don't badger into their lives. 2. I give advice but ultimately it's your choice to take it. I don't force it upon you. 3. I may see you doing something I don't approve of or something morally wrong but I don't condemn you; it's your life to do with as you please; your decision and ultimately, your consequences. This live-and-let-live attitude seems to color Americans as superficial, uncaring fiends but it is because they do value individual rights so much that independence is considered in the highest regard. It's not that they are not sympathetic or unable to love but it is because they believe it is by letting someone go and nurturing independence that you allow a person to reach self-actualization, i.e. the ultimate level of independent thinking.
I remember how A.S.T, in Bangalore, said that I needed to stop being so impersonal and how Americans, once I returned to America, wouldn't put up with that bullcrap. Alas, little did she know that this was how all Americans were. Ironic, ain't it? Even I didn't know that my friendship, nay, all friendship behavior is culturally designed. I used to have a think that S.C was too clingy of a friend and too dependent and in my own American way, I saw that as a bad thing. She needed to be strong an independent able to stand on her own two feet. I had no respect for her otherwise.
I am not making excuses for myself. I may stand up for the things I believe in by writing but that is not enough. Half the people people in the world either don't read or don't want to read. So how can you be an agent of change if few hear you? I agree that my level of vocal-ness (if that is even a word) is not becoming a person who actually wants to make some positive change in the world and in the lives of the people who have been traditionally oppressed. Being aware is the first step, of course. Not-giving-a-damn-what-people-think is the next step. Lord, give me strength.
Funny, I was so bold and outspoken in Bangalore. Hell, I actually defied the nuns at the hostel and some of the professors at the college. What the hell happened? Self esteem? Returning to a place where I didn't stand out like an bloody American? Being back with my parents? Being financially unstable?
Well, I don't know what the reason is. But, it is a wakeup call and I just woke up.
As a psychological safety device, I have come to the conclusion that I'm a spineless jellyfish who has really low self-esteem and who has no value for itself and thus, is unable to value others. And yet, under normal circumstances I'm selfless and would never try to hurt anyone intentionally even to the detriment of myself. In fact, I'm usually go out of my way to make people feel comfortable. Or is my behaviour a cultural thing?
A handout I got about friendship styles of Americans got me thinking as well. It made me realize that I'm confused as hell. Culturally, I'm of two friendship extremes. The obligatory, reciprocating, all-or-nothing extreme of Asian friendship to the objective, impersonal, minding-your-own-business-ness extreme of American friendship. Damn, methinks, what a place to be caught between. And that was when I thought....hell, i AM a confused desi. Shit. Life sucks. I thought I had the whole world, my identity included, all figured out at 23. In fact, I thought I was going to die at 24 because there was nothing more for me to learn. Sure, on the outside, culturally, I'm a balance--food, clothing, language, people I hang with--but that's where it all stops. Mentally, I'm tangled. Socially, what determines my level of friendship? My American upbringing? Or my Indian roots? I think up until this point, I've been a mix of two--and definitely more towards the American side. Hence, 1. I don't pry into people's affairs: if they want to tell me, great, but I don't badger into their lives. 2. I give advice but ultimately it's your choice to take it. I don't force it upon you. 3. I may see you doing something I don't approve of or something morally wrong but I don't condemn you; it's your life to do with as you please; your decision and ultimately, your consequences. This live-and-let-live attitude seems to color Americans as superficial, uncaring fiends but it is because they do value individual rights so much that independence is considered in the highest regard. It's not that they are not sympathetic or unable to love but it is because they believe it is by letting someone go and nurturing independence that you allow a person to reach self-actualization, i.e. the ultimate level of independent thinking.
I remember how A.S.T, in Bangalore, said that I needed to stop being so impersonal and how Americans, once I returned to America, wouldn't put up with that bullcrap. Alas, little did she know that this was how all Americans were. Ironic, ain't it? Even I didn't know that my friendship, nay, all friendship behavior is culturally designed. I used to have a think that S.C was too clingy of a friend and too dependent and in my own American way, I saw that as a bad thing. She needed to be strong an independent able to stand on her own two feet. I had no respect for her otherwise.
I am not making excuses for myself. I may stand up for the things I believe in by writing but that is not enough. Half the people people in the world either don't read or don't want to read. So how can you be an agent of change if few hear you? I agree that my level of vocal-ness (if that is even a word) is not becoming a person who actually wants to make some positive change in the world and in the lives of the people who have been traditionally oppressed. Being aware is the first step, of course. Not-giving-a-damn-what-people-think is the next step. Lord, give me strength.
Funny, I was so bold and outspoken in Bangalore. Hell, I actually defied the nuns at the hostel and some of the professors at the college. What the hell happened? Self esteem? Returning to a place where I didn't stand out like an bloody American? Being back with my parents? Being financially unstable?
Well, I don't know what the reason is. But, it is a wakeup call and I just woke up.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Politicians
To be a politician means to compromise what you stand for for the sake of your constituency. I think that says it all. To be a ethical politician (though some might argue that this is an oxymoron) you may have to go with your gut morality, whether your constituency likes it or not, and be brave in the face of popular opinion. But then you are not really a politician but a revolutionary. Politicians make the world go 'round, revolutionaries change it.
On a different note, after my figurative seven days of psychological pain and torment, I believe I have emerged like a phoenix. It was so bad that I could not vent my grief but through songs. In these figurative seven days, I went from self-hate to peaceful resolution. The two pieces of ancient wisdom that saved me:
1. "Work like you don't need the money, love like you've never been hurt, and dance like no one is watching."
2. "God, grant me the Serenityto accept the things I can not change,Courage to change the things I can,and Wisdom to know the difference."
On a different note, after my figurative seven days of psychological pain and torment, I believe I have emerged like a phoenix. It was so bad that I could not vent my grief but through songs. In these figurative seven days, I went from self-hate to peaceful resolution. The two pieces of ancient wisdom that saved me:
1. "Work like you don't need the money, love like you've never been hurt, and dance like no one is watching."
2. "God, grant me the Serenityto accept the things I can not change,Courage to change the things I can,and Wisdom to know the difference."
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