Hints and Alligations

things that totally rocked this month!

  • Kids don’t have chicken pox, it was just HFMD
  • I finally sacked my squirrlyass Bai who was just a jerk and all around biyotch
  • Ganpati bonus, really Bai.  You’re a stupid MOFO if you thought I was that gullible.

things that didn’t rock this month

  • the constant crying/wallowing
  • the missing my mom
  • being so freaking sick of Indian food
  • feeling completely and totally trapped

This sucks as an entry.  But anything I try to write right now comes off so pathetically whiny and pathetic that I can barely stomach putting it down for anyone to see and read, much less bear coming back to read it at a later date.  What does strike me about this time though is the mute terror that I feel now.  That I am never ever going to have friends irrational kind of fear I felt when I was 10 and we had first moved to the States kind of fear coursing through me.  I know on some level that this is just a childish fear and it couldn’t possibly be true.  But for some reason this move has just brought out every little fear that little girl had.  Even though I know that it’s’ early, that it will take time, I keep repeating to myself over and over, what if it doesn’t happen, what if you never meet people.  What if they just don’t like you, loudmouthed American1.  Bam!  There it is!

And then of course out comes the wallowing, the United States rah rah rah! Bit! Don’t get me wrong.  I’m the first one to criticize the States, but my adopted country,  faults and all is the only place I will ever call home.  Maybe even in the few short months that I’ve been here I’m romanticisizing what it was like there, but I think not. I swear to the great spaghetti monster in the sky I will never EVER bitch about the line at the DMV EVER again.  EVER.  I swear…In the States I was part of something.   Here, the freaking UPites…talk about these Marathis, the Marathis talk about how they’re put upon and how the Marathi manoos is all woe is freaking me! (get over yourself marathi manoos!), the Tamils talk about the Andhraites…everyone talks about everyone…and anytime a woman is raped…oh then it’s the fault of the bad old West…In a land of blame someone else, nothing can ever improve because that other will always have another to blame.

I feel like a square piece trying to fit in a round peg.  It sucks.

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There’s only one line!

Bombay things (possibly India things) that are on my mind right now.

  • Papayas with no seeds! Seriously, what’s with the seedless papayas Bombay?  Freaky!
  • What’s with the walking into heavy traffic and putting your hand up, like you’re a traffic cop, so you can stop traffic and cross?  What’s up with that actually WORKING?
  • How is star anise SO freaking expensive?
  • What’s with the skinny jeans in all this heat?
  • Morphing into a quasi bargain hunter who will traipse into the next town to find a cheaper kilo of cucumbers.

So, as of right now, we have a completely furnished kitchen.  Our building shockingly lacks a gas line and so we had to go it the old red cylinder route.  We decided on a three burner stove top, got a fridge, washer and dryer.   That covers our food and clothes, and of course, we now have the most important thing, the cable hooked up.  I’ve been watching almost old Hindi movies and have been in a frenzied downloading streak.  Thanks Pavani! Papuyaar has been a life saver!

I had traveled to Vile Parle (quite close to where we live) and ordered curtains for our living room and bedroom.  Unfortunately, what will be now referred by me henceforth as the great curtain tragedy of 2012, I ordered them too short.  I eyeballed it and of course, was way off.  Nitin didn’t wig out and so we’re going to add some contrasting color fabric and pretend our original intention was to have color blocked curtains.  That covers two rooms….the other two, we can wait on.  Our furniture is finally going to arrive in Bombay tomorrow! BUT, all the unloading, blah blah, customs, blah blah blah will take two more weeks.  I hope that we do get our stuff the second week of August as promised.  Otherwise I am going to crawl into the little storage space in the guest room and rock myself back and forth.  As nice as this place is, I really miss my stuff and am growing tired of looking constantly like a behenji with my salwar kameez uniform.

Speaking of which, I finally found the harem pants I have been searching for.  They are available in abundant supply in department stores and in little mom and pop establishments.  I’m bored to tears of going to the malls.  This is especially true on the weekends.   I suppose during the unpredictable rainy season,   the malls are a good refuge, I just can’t stand the crowds.  Again, this is probably the wrongest city to be in if you can’t abide crowds.  So, ok, it’s not crowds I can’t stand, it’s confined crowds.   Also, buying stuff is such a challenge.  I decided to buy two pairs of those harem pants that I’ve been coveting and went and stood in line.  I was super happy that the line was only two people in.   I thought I would be done quickly.  After defending my spot by telling other’s who tried to cut in line that there was only one freaking line, and after standing for nearly half an hour, I realized why the line was moving so slowly.  The cashier had to walk every credit card transaction to another FAR corner of the store to run it.  EVERY time.   Why?  Why? I don’t understand?

Sigh.

Who’s your daddy?

Maya has taken to pointing to any man in the grocery store, cul de sac, the Gap..and asking me in this hopeful voice, “Mom is that my Dad?” Like I’m some Maury reject who is having a difficult time locating my baby daddy. Why do they drop the possessives in ebonics?

We were in the Acme yesterday, picking up cherries, some organic milk, whole wheat tortillas…we turned into the frozen vegetables aisle and…there was a tall white man. Maya stood up in the grocery cart and asked particularly woefully, “Mommy, is that my Daddy?” That’s when I shoved a whole oreo cookie in her mouth and hightailed it out of there….listening to all the other acme moms snickering at the indian chick driving the silver odyssey who didn’t know who her baby daddy was….