The Frugal, Friendly, Female Traveler

One of the things I have not done enough of in life - travel. It's a real pity, and completely, totally, utterly my own fault. Amazingly though, wanderlust hasn't really hit me yet, but I think I'm getting there. And while I would love to share my future experiences with someone, I think it would do me some good to do a little traveling on my own first.

I have no reservations about this, but did wonder if I should feel any restraint about the more exotic destinations that might friends and family might gasp at if I ventured alone. To tell you the truth, while I'm rather adventurous, some unfortunate good sense has always kept me a bit on the safer side of things, especially as a woman. So when I read Q&A with Beth Whitman, a Woman's Perspective on Solo Travel in the NYT, I felt a bit reassured about all potential a future trip holds for me.

So, where to? That's the real question, and I'll have to think hard about it. My friend K has what amounts to a world tour planned for us, but I think a few baby steps would help first.

The Hypocrisy of A 20-Something Life and Why The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side

Seattle apparently has not seen rain in 30 days. Don't cry for Seattle, because New York has decided to steal the title of Rain City. It wouldn't be wise to leave the house without an umbrella, and some of us are contemplating pharmaceutical assistance in getting through these gray days.

Today was all gray sunshine - alternately rain/cloudy and sunny, and one of my favorite kinds of days. Being the fool that I am and feeling that it was perfect sitting-in-a-coffee-shop-kind-of-day, I ventured out just as the clouds gathered to sit in and write. I was under the false impression that I had an umbrella tucked somewhere in my fashionably oversized handbag. I was also wearing flip-flops and a silk shirt. Luckily, the Hungarian Coffee Shop is only a few blocks away, and I arrived heroically drenched and cutely helpless. I now know for sure that I don't actually like getting caught in the rain and that I don't think I actually like pina coladas either.

The gray has been doing wonders for my creativity and contemplation. I also decided it was high-time I took charge of my roaring 20's and set out to accomplish something other than the usual socializing, studying, or cleaning. What inspired me so? I've been struggling to achieve a balance between my social butterfly and loner ways. It seems that I am always surrounded by people and often when I am, I'm struggling to escape somehow to my UWS cave so I can walk around in mismatched pajamas, sip ruby red grapefruit juice, and catch up on my reality TV. And yet, when I'm by myself, I can only take it for a maximum of 1 hour before wanting to commit myself to a mental institution. The grass is indeed always greener on the other side.

The rain and some poor planning have canned the day's more interesting possibilities and so I sit here with a latte by my side to discuss Christine Hassler's "10 Tips for Twenty Something Transformation" from The Huffington Post. The piece confirmed that my just-past-quarter-life-crisis is here to stay for at least another 4 years until I turn 30. Teenagehood was well-documented and understood, college was the best of times and the worst of times, and people will practically let you get away with murder during those years. But what happens when you're a 20-something? There are so many balances to strike, and we receive so many mixed messages about how to go about doing so. Slightly embittered by these realities, I offer my take on these 10, well-meaning tips:

1. Be present - Stop obsessing about the future and focus on now? There is no such thing. All anyone wants to know about are your plans for the future. When you are a 20-something, everyone assumes you have exciting and profound things in store for yourself. If we are to do that, then don't we have to think about the future? Life is what happens when you're not looking and planning, supposedly, but where I'm coming from, if you stop planning you might as well fall of the face of earth. Additionally, family will simultaneously tell you that you've had your fun and need to think about your future mate and the future of your reproductive system, and that you are also too young not to enjoy yourself. Not being absent isn't so difficult, but being present can be an arduous task.

2. Stop comparing - This is like one of those computer error messages that neither you nor the IT guy can understand. Female 20-somethings are especially hard-wired to ignore it. Anyone who gives this advice has likely been luckily enough not to suffer from the comparison syndrome and probably isn't in the position to advise a 20-something.

3. Stop caring about what other people think - Ditto.

4. Tune in - Paying attention to our intuition and gut feelings translates into following your heart, which many of us learned early on is a trick answer and not the way to go. I for one see signs everywhere, and so my instincts are not always very reliable. We've also been groomed not to trust ourselves, only to learn from the results of testing ourselves. I don't know if I have an antenna to really tune in, or how to fix it if it is broken.

5. Don't wait for permission, approval, or validation - Agreed that at some point in your life, you have to stop looking to others for the green light and go with whatever your gut, brain, and heart have concluded. This tip, however, simply ignores the array of social influences we're slammed by everyday, family being the most notorious one. You're lucky if your family really is crazy and its in your best interest to ignore them. Not so much if they're actually alright people and you have a decent relationship with them and sometimes, they actually know what they're are talking about. Then, you're kind of obligated to listen to them and subconsciously seek their permission, approval, or validation. Also, again, for female 20-somethings, validation is big - don't underestimate it.

6. Make choices - Today's twenty-something has an upscale problem: an abundance of choices which often leads to making no choice at all. If decision making is a weak skill, find ways to build your decision making muscle. Resist the urge to call your friends and parents when faced with a decision. Make little choices each day on your own, without consulting anyone else (unless of course your choice directly affects another or others) - I'll admit that I have a hard time with this one, but it just takes practice. I have chronic indecisiveness, but after some choices turned out okay, the rest have gotten a little easier. There are definitely way too many options in today's world, and some of my friends and I have discussed the pressure to make the right one - simply because the world is at our feet and we should be able to. We can be so afraid of making the wrong decision, and there is so much information that the decision-making process has practically become a hobby for some. But it's alright, because to be a great 20-something you also need to follow #7:

7. Make mistakes - I'm pretty good at this one, and I'm not petrified of making more. However, I would like to reduce the number, or at least the amount that is statistically significant. I do believe that everyone absolutely must leave their comfort zone at some point, and I'm quickly approaching that moment myself. Time to push again, and I can't wait.

8. Do things alone and 9. Build your tribe - And here are those diametrically opposed pieces of advice and the conundrum of the greener grass. Today was supposed to be one of my many exercises in Being Alone. I realized though, that like regular social planning, Being Alone requires some effort as well. If I hadn't woken up at 12:30 pm, for instance, I might have actually been able to make it to The Cloisters or the Hayden Planetarium at the Museum of Natural History. If I had plans that actually involved other people, I probably would have been a little more on top of my game. I did, however, have lunch by myself at a wonderful little crepe shop on Columbus Avenue, to which I feel like returning for dinner. And I can, because I'm by myself and there isn't anyone else around to care.

A little anecdote here. During my college years, one of my good friends, A, was also one of the most co-dependent people alive on this planet. A was one of those closet loners, like myself. On the surface he was kind of the guy to know, and a sort of social glue. But the truth is, all A needed was himself and one other person to tag along and validate his life observations. That was usually me. This relationship suited the middle child in me just fine. My resistance was often futile and superficial, and I was more than happy to let someone take charge and throw an element of surprise into my day. Post-college, I thought there might be something unhealthy about this friendship, but when A moved away and it changed, I longed for it again.

I have been this way most of my life, to a fault. I'm selectively selfish on my own, but that usually comes with becoming upset about something else. It's usually not an organic selfishness. I'm sort of like Julia Roberts in the Runaway Bride, and I don't like Julia Roberts or any of her movies (for the most part). She was sort of a chameleon who changed according to the man she was with (which is not exactly my problem, but you get the idea). That scene where she is trying to figure out how she likes her eggs really got to me. I still don't really know how I like my eggs, but I've been thinking about if for years. This might explain a lot.

But I digress. So, I'm supposed to build a tribe, a network of those beyond my family and immediate friends. Networking is soo overrated. Especially since I'm also supposed to be on a diet and not be eating out so much, whether alone or with others. But my tribe, my network, the social foundation that wil make or break my future existence! What about my exercise in learning to love myself and enjoying the world alone? Which is better, or healthier? Buckwheat crepes or an industrially-produced, under-500 calorie meal from Fresh Direct while I keep up with the Kardashians? And dude, what of my non-existent plus-one? Despite his non-existence, everyone is really worried about him. But I need that Fresh Direct, home alone, along with a tribe and network, to snag him. Yet, I'll never be happy unless I'm happy by myself first.

If all of the above seem as hypocritical and generally messed up to you as they do to me, I propose Tip #9B - Build an island. Then become one. And don't move.

10. Be of service - Right on, seriously. About the only thing I feel like doing lately is helping someone in need, a complete stranger who could care less about my portion-sizes and reproductive system, and who would just appreciate some company and a smile. This is why I am far more curious about those I don't know than those I do. I certainly need to give back more - it seems to be the only relief from the self-absorbedness that is being a 20-something.

I rush off now to balance my Alone day with dinner and a companion because hey, I didn't have a pastry with my latte, and at least running between green and greener lawns is good exercise.

En Route to the Waldorf, En Route to Life

A car glides to a stop across the street and I’m not sure if it’s my ride. The right blinker - blinks. Am I about to be harassed by a jolly old creep of a man in a livery car, or is that San I spot behind the wheel? I pretend to be on my cellphone to ignore imaginary driver trying to pick me up. Now I spot a hand waving in front of the wheel, and blinker flashes again. I run to the passenger side and pop myself in. I wonder if my doorman is questioning my whereabouts on this drizzly Monday night – its 10 pm, and does he know where his residents are? The watchful eyes of our dorm security never seemed to have left me, and I'm always slightly sheepish in front of my doormen when late hours are involved.

Did I imagine I got into a car with San or is it really a cab driver? Because before I know it we are careening down Central Park West and the girl is cutting off cabs left and right. There’s no traffic and the Upper East Side looks sad and empty. We’re on our way to the Waldorf-Astoria to meet our dear friend T before she begins a career in the foreign service and is shipped off to Nowhere Near Us. San will be driving back to New Jersey after this short stint as cabdriver, so I offer her a cookie and she offers up some new desi tunes. Our big gripes are the potholes, parking, and a pitiful attempt to muster up enough energy for a warm and sweet goodbye.

The whole scenario is not very becoming of us. We park in front of St. Bart’s church and I am confused – I thought St. Bart’s was a whole other kind of paradise. We trudge towards entrance in our non-Waldorf attire when it hits us –

Last we checked, we were 13. This is clearly no longer the case, at least in the way the case has presented itself to us.

We have no idea what we are doing in front of the Waldorf-Astoria at just past 10 pm (since San, aka, cabbie, utilized those driving skills to the max) on a random Monday night. The digital picture frame we bought for T is like a hot potato in our hands, and we want our homes and our beds. San has been making daily treks between 2 states and an island, and I have full-blown insomnia. How is that we’ve barely gotten through one day only to contemplate how we’re going to get through the next? When, why, and how did we fast forward so quickly, and does it have anything to do with the fact that San drives like a Pakistani cabdriver instead of a Pakistani business student?

But then a European tourist takes one last photo of all of us together in NYC. He’s kind and rather particular, and takes a few shots before getting it right (he thinks) – so that the “candles are in the frame.”

We crack up – no, we giggle. Last we checked, we were indeed 13. But maybe we can afford to ignore the years in between because there we were, three great friends still giggling together over nothing and everything - check.

The Importance of Being Earnest...And Unavailable

The Universe has been sending me mixed signals, even when it's done by the numbers - literally.

In sharp contrast to the suggestion the that I'm not emitting the right so-called-Vibes towards the opposite sex and thus quickening the speed at which I shack up and reproduce, my recent Numerology report accurately diagnosed some of my gravest personality ailments.

Don't ask why I have a Numerology report. I told myself yesterday that cramming for my finance exam at the last minute wasn't going to help, so I decided to attempt another type of financial analysis on Numerology.com. Truth be told, I'm sort of kooky, earthy, and new-age like that. But mostly, I wondered if I was missing something about myself, and those awesome little Google ads that show up in your Gmail are like giving a mouse a cookie.

I was suspicious about the meaning of my Life Path and Expression Number (8 and 4, respectively) but my Soul Urge number (6) was like, whoa. Finally, someone (Thanks, Mr. Blair Gorman of Numerology.com) seemed to understand that it's not that I don't have good vibes to send - in fact, they are all fantastic and too many of them are out there! In all my earnestness towards life, I have no mystery or sex appeal and am unacceptably, undesirably, and horrifically all too - available:

Your soul urge is to nurture and take care of others. You love people and believe the greatest expression of your inner divinity is through teaching and guidance. Many of you are very maternal or paternal at an early age and are often regulated, by default to the role of advisor or therapist in your social life. Unfortunately your willingness to take on other people's burdens threatens your romantic relationships. This is because you are often perceived as a friend or a helper rather than as an object of desire. The result is that many sixes end up with broken hearts simply because others simply could not recognize their empathy as being an expression of love and desire. Part of your challenge in life is to learn how to make yourself more sexually attractive to others. Often this means learning the brutal rules of the game of love, which in courtship often mean practicing a certain kinds of power plays and being mysterious. The mistake that you often make is letting yourself be too available to the person you are trying to attract. As the object of desire realizes that you are willing to be there for them no matter what, they take it for granted that you will settle for less. It is often a six who will spend a year comforting someone they are attracted to in the hopes the person will recognize their good heart, only to be dismayed when they are thanked for all their kind support and the person moves onto a romance with someone else. Your candidness and forthright manner is also a drawback romantically as others are turned off by your dogmatic approach. As you tend to discuss everything about yourself with a member of the opposite sex, there is little mysterious or sexy about you. Spilling your guts does not help you professionally either, as it encourages others to steal your ideals. Part of your inner struggle might be fighting your urge to connect so intimately with every single person you meet. One way to combat this is to make an effort to be a little more stand offish and play your cards close to your chest, especially when it comes to romance. As you are a very sensitive and compassionate person you tend to take things very personally. When others let you down you have a tendency to retreat from society and nurse your wounds. Often when a six decides to play the victim in a relationship he or she is met with very little sympathy or help. This is ironic as sixes are so eager to help others and comfort them when they are down and out. The cosmos presents you with this type of situation so that you are forced to heal yourself with the same type of focus and devotion that you use to heal others. If you feel yourself succumbing to a tendency to isolate yourself or find yourself succumbing to addiction or depression your best course of action is to forget about yourself entirely and go out and make an effort to help someone less fortunate than you. This teaches you to be helpful to people you are not attracted to as sixes have a way of only making themselves useful to individuals that they find attractive or desire. The very highest calling of your soul urge number is to renounce sex and relationships altogether and devote your life to a religious or spiritual practice.

If you want to know a second truth, this fits in nicely with my vision of helping those less fortunate than I in Africa or India in my 40s and eventually adopting the one poor child who just spoke to me like none other. While my life revolves around people and a the-more-the-merrier attitudes towards them, I've always secretly wondered if I might not reach my true potential if I did exactly that.

If you want to know a third truth, it's that I consider myself highly spiritually evolved (something else confirmed by Mr. Gorman) and thus miserably suited for living a conventional if comfortable life. Yeah, I'm so over it all that I can barely get through it. So mature that I can't dumb myself down to the level necessary to bear it. Too idealistic. Too romantic. Too trusting. Too everything. And now on top of everything else, too available.

I get it - I really do. But the point missed here is this - I'm only candid, forthright, and dogmatic when I've been given some sort of greenlight to be so, and when someone is responsive to this "dogmatic approach." So how can this make me too available? I want to think about it more, but it's a vicious cycle and makes my brain hurt, so I'll move on to a more interesting aspect of my Soul Urge.

Truth #4 - I'm certainly rather maternal and have really just always wanted to take care of people. That wasn't meant to be funny. In fact, it is why I tried to pursue medicine - twice. I've come to terms with the fact that there may be other ways I can follow that calling, if we want to call it that. And it's also true that the reason I find myself making it through at times is knowing that there are people far worse off than I, and rather than mull over myself, I should put my high evolution of spirit and mind towards helping them instead. I don't know if I can ever denounce all that I have, but I can certainly appreciate it to the max and at some point move on.

In sum, it appears that I'm too maternal, spiritual, earnest, and available for my own heart or reproductive system to handle. And so, for a little experiment of a while at least, I'll have to place some importance on being unavailable as well. I can be all too good at that, too, I have a feeling - let's see if it is possible to strike a balance. If not, Africa, here I come.

Mr. Bean 'n' Bhangra

This will make your day:

The Parent-Daughter Trap & A Potentially Suitable Boy

What happens when you visit your parents for a mere four hours one fine Sunday evening? You get ambushed. Or rather, if you are my parents, they cloak you in their guidance-counselor fog and coax you into spilling the beans when you thought you had none. Add a dose of self-imposed Jewish guilt. What you end up with is the basis for a non-traditional, independent film on the second-generation immigrant experience.

One fine Sunday evening while visiting home, my dad indicates that he would like me to sit in the front seat on the way to dinner. A mere forty-five seconds into the drive, he pops the question: how do I feel about meeting people, and what am open to (or not), given that they are receiving "references" for me?

Don't ask how I failed to expect the unexpected in that particular moment. I was tempted to lash out and use my imaginary middle-child card. Instead, my inner zen erupted an unstoppable flow of lava into my veins and I answered every question calmly, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm and defeat, and perhaps a dose or two of cynicism.

The truth is, I realized I was 26 and have no more cards to pull, and that my dad was, in short, nice. All he asked is if I was open to the idea, and even worse, the truth is, I am. To me, meeting people is meeting people, as long as no one is forcibly dragging you to the altar. From here on, however, our conversation bordered on the comical and I wasn't quite sure what dimension of reality I had suddenly entered.

By the time the lava had calmed my inner nerves, I was able to muster a watery "ok" in response. Thinking he was getting away with this too easily, he soldiered on through some talking points about how "this" would work before I could tell him to beat it. "This" will involve no parental involvement, and "this" will only serve to put me in touch with a Potentially Suitable Boy (suitable for what, both parents failed to clarify, but I'll take full advantage of the ambiguity). Another watery but somewhat more flippant "ok" escaped from my mouth.

I actually began to enjoy myself with the onset of Talking Point 3 - my "preferences." Haha - what a notion! As if one can afford to have preferences in such a dire situation! As if I'm the Queen of Sheba and setting preferences is my job! I contemplated requesting a checklist of possible attributes/characteristics on which I could tick off (or better yet, rank!) what matters to me most. Only you are privileged enough to read what that is in A Suitable Boy and A Suitable Boy, Part Deux.

Some of the suggested categories: profession, geographic location, and region of India from which Potential Suitable Boy's parents hail. What happened to Ability to Understand Pinky & The Brain and The X-Files References? Or Knowledge of Early 90s Bollywood Music? Or - Does He Read Books? I nearly pulled out my cellphone and punched in a string of "hehes" and "LOLs" to my friends, but the poor guy was trying and I just had to dignify the effort. So I told him that I don't really care (which is the truth for these suggested categories). And let's be honest, this was not the time or the place to bring up the "must eat goat" requirement, which sadly trumps the "must let me pass on my maiden name to one child" requirement. If I had voiced these concerns, I'm not quite sure where we would have ended up that night - certainly not dinner, but perhaps a place to contemplate the sanity and singledom of middle daughter.

And so, I embarked into unknown territory by - being honest with my parents. I somewhat appreciated their levelheaded efforts and decided to even the exchange by telling them about 1) Family Friend Who Confessed His Feelings For Me And Who A Large Number Of People Think Is Right For Me But I Do Not (FFWCHFFMAWALNOPTIRFMBIDN) and 2) my online dating attempts. My mother giggled. My dad largely ignored me, although he did ask what was wrong with FFWCHFFMAWALNOPTIRFMBIDN. Of course, because he is one of the Large Number of People.

I have yet to write about some of my interesting online experiences, but perhaps it is time. I plan to have a side-by-side comparison with The Parent Set Up and The Online Connection, although I hesitate to write about people other than the string of cartoon characters that are my family and friends (sorry, guys). Do Potentially Suitable Boys deserve the same fate? Perhaps - we'll just have to wait and see.

On another note, it occurred to me later that on that fine Sunday evening, we were driving along the water on the north shore of Long Island - a drive my father made 10 years ago on my 16th birthday to the same restaurant for dinner. My, how time flies, and how often we travel the same paths differently...

Stop Congratulating Your Indian Friends

Now, this hasn't happened to me, but I'm sure other people may have experienced something similar...

Home Sense & Sensibilities

Picture courtesy of The New York Times

"A Modernist Temple" of a home recently featured in The New York Times got me thinking about space and aesthetics again. This East Village apartment was constructed and designed to fuse both modern and Indian elements of design, and I considered whether or not a balance was truly achieved, or even possible, as well as what makes any home particularly Indian or modern. I believe that how we choose to define the space around us speaks volumes about our personal histories, and the idea of fusing heritages and identities is particularly close to - home.

This breathtaking home is all clean lines, open space, a bit bare, all light and air. It has all the modernist elements - functional and comfortable form/design, uncluttered, cool and yet not cold, vastness puncutated by the bright and bold. I sighed and longed for the day when I might be able to design such a space of my own. The more I thought about how that space would differ or be similar to this one, the less I saw in it that was warm, comfortable, and "Indian" enough for my tastes and my personal fusion.

The home I grew up in was toppling with one too many pieces of contemporary Indian art, statues of Ganesh, deep and rich contrasting colors, a preference for gold over silver and the bold/abstract over the subtle/petite, and texture. It is decidedly an "ethnic" home. It leans towards the ornate and is nostalgic for some version of a British and/or Victorian aesthetic. In India, I see similar themes. What I've taken from all of this is warmth in color and texture that can accomodate light and air without suffocating it.

This I cannot see in the Modernist Temple, although perhaps I would feel it were I actually able to pay this nice family a visit. For all the "purist" white brightened by splashes of "Indian hues like saffron, persimmon orange and peacock blue" this space is just a little too cool and restrained for my idea of a space that fuses both the modern and Indian. The functionality of furniture tucked behind walls is genius, but I'm a traditionalist when it comes to furniture and don't think I so mind the space it would occupy. In any case, the uncluttered feel of the apartment might have been balanced by a stronger decorative touch.

Two elements that I thought were beautiful, however - the polished cement floor (memories of running around barefoot on an awfully hot summer day on a blissfully cool floor at my grandma's in India) and the wall of ivy over a pool of water. So simple and zen, yet lush.

And so I continue to "work" on my humble shack of a studio 6 months after moving in. The little touches matter in any home, and this is my first draft. The exercise of developing and refining the space around me is, after all, in a sense also one of evolving and redefining identity as well.

Slumdog Continues...

Among other things, the little movie that could has taken over all things media and the blogosphere. I find a lot of these conversations to be immensely interesting, although I'm still puzzled by some of the reactions this movie has stirred. For the life of me, I really cannot understand why. It might be that I've seen one too many Bollywood movies already, but Slumdog Millionare was purely an entertainer for me, and it is with some hesitation that I feel people are reading too much into it.

Reactions to the movie are far more interesting than the movie itself. They reveal much about about the ways in which India has experienced change over the last decade, and consequently, continuous shifts in discourse about those changes. Much of that discourse sounds familiar and is unsurprising, while much of it begs the question as to why a film like this is the cause for so much debate when the problematic cinema that India produces, packaged prettily with its own exxagerations and stereotypes about Western and modern life, rarely result in any.

Two very interesting reads:

The New York Times: Taking the 'Slum' Out of Slumdog

And largely in response to that:
Slumdog: Ben Piven's Fulbright Research on Dharavi

Plus:
The New York Times: The Real Roots of the 'Slumdog' Protests

On Knowing Medical Professionals, Being Indian, & Jury Duty

Speaking of Indians in the mainstream here and here, my cousin called me at 11 pm to share this story. It was certainly worth putting down my hair dryer and pausing Law & Order: SVU for.

So cousin gets called for jury duty. A questionnaire asks if he knows anyone in the legal or medical professions, and he answers yes to both.

During the selection interview, he is asked about the people he knows in the legal profession. He refers to those 2 people.

Then he is asked about the people he knows in the medical profession. His answer was something along the lines of, "Well, I'm Indian...it would be impossible to name all the doctors I know." Chuckles of acknowledgment from the courtroom. This made my amazement at having SVU interrupted by a commercial for RCN starring the second-runner up of last season's Indian Idol even funnier.

I can't wait for jury duty.

The Siege of the Car Trip & My Musical Memory

My younger sister is the one who should have a blog. She is funny, and she works in PR. She is the perfect candidate for blogger-to-be, but instead, one of her great accomplishments has been the creation of a Facebook group called "My Cousin Is a FOB."

While I am, in fact, her sibling and not a cousin, I take responsibility for her aversion to FOB behavior. In case you don't know, FOB stands for Fresh Off the Boat, and describes immigrants (largely Asian) who arrived in this fine country wearing tight Levi's and matching denim jackets. While some FOB criteria have changed, negative stereotypes remain. If you are not an actual FOB like me but can be described as being "fobby," you're in trouble. My sister was inspired by mine and my cousin's (yes, we largely talking about 1 here) raging fobbiness. She made us officers of this Facebook group, and we wear our titles proudly.

One of the many fob criticisms I have received is that my level of knowledge about Indian/Hindi music is far beyond acceptable or normal. It's true that I have an amazing music inventory in this little head of mine, and I have often pondered why. The answer lies in car trips.

Yes, one too many family car trips. If it hadn't been for the Family Car Trip growing up, I may never have been exposed to long hours of Pankaj Udhas, Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar in the '80s and general Bollywood obnoxiousness in the 1990s while traveling I-95. I may never have actually liked any of that stuff either. But my musical memory is rooted in these tunes, and they formed the early soundtracks of my life.

An innate attachment to making sense of life through poetry and lyrics in a language other than English, classical dance lessons, and accessibility further set me on this treacherous path. By age 9, the History of Dance & Nostalgic Jams was in the works. At age 13, I bought discount CDs at the Indian grocery store and knew the name of every up and coming DJ. In college, I rapidly downloaded both the old and new to create a vast Indian music library.

Don't be alarmed - I listened to Boyz II Men, Nirvana, Greenday, and Mariah Carey just like everyone else back in the day, did my fair share of the club set, and love some alternative music. But I was never quite able to latch onto a genre or artist that particularly spoke to me even later in life. I generally have liked the same qualities in all music that I appreciate in Indian music - a solid melody or beats, something I can dance to, meaningful lyrics. An entirely different soundtrack developed during the teen years, during which I also frantically made mix tapes or bought my special "friend" a Savage Garden single, and lately, I'm dating John Legend. But none come close to my relationship with Indian music (although John Legend is trying really, really hard). Even the entrance of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack just post-Pankaj Udhas couldn't salvage the situation.

Aside from my general tendency to boogie whether the music be Punjabi or Portuguese, I argue that this has much to do with language. For all practical purposes, English is certainly my first, but there is a certain unease with this. My earliest memories are again set to a chorus of Hindi, and as a child I experienced moments of transition in which I temporarily lost my grasp on one or the other, or both. On occasion, in a particularly unguarded or intimate moment, I have the urge to speak it with someone I ordinarily wouldn't. Somehow, Indian music (traditional, fusion, folk, dance, pop, you name it) latches onto and invigorates a neuro-psych pathway - one with diminishing influence and relevance in my life - that only it can keep alive. Compelling stuff if you ask me. Perhaps no excuse to listen to a song called "Desi Girl," but nonetheless, I think others might share a similar sentiment.

And so the result of the siege of the Car Trip is that if anyone ever has any song requests or needs song info, you now know who to go to. I'd be more than happy to offer my FOB services.

Picasso, Martha Stewart, & Me

I recently ordered the above poster to better the feng shui and general life vibes of my apartment. For those who don't know, I moved into this place in a flurry of activity during early September. It was such an alternately slow and yet hasty move that there are a number of things I never really quite took care of. Like buying a paper towel hanger-upper or a kettle. After many late nights assembling cheap furniture, I was a bit pooped by the whole process, and other than cleaning, did little else to make myself feel at home. Until now.

Since some measure of drama had also taken a toll on my good energy & I discovered Ikea (in DC of all palces), the Martha Stewart in me decided to take matters into her own hands and - decorate. Wall decorations became my daily mission, and cushion covers the ultimate prize. I promised not to give my friends advice or wag my finger at them if they just told me one more time - black or brown? My traditionally slow decision-making reached new heights as I undertook this task with a zeal unmatched in other areas of my life. My efforts have led to a somewhat patchwork result, but I feel more at home, and that's what counts.

The Picasso painting pictured above is titled "The Lesson" and is one I've never seen before. I gazed at it longingly day after day before finally purchasing. It brightens up my space, and it puts a smile on my face. It is a blissfully serene painting with a balance of warmth and coolness that puts me in my comfort zone - an area that is always a bit of a contradiction or a balance, depending on how you view it.

I grew up in a house that my parents committed to turning into some modern South Asian (and then some) art/artifact museum, and while my sisters and I somewhat rebelled against it, in my growing and infinite wisdom I now realize how much that definition of space has informed my taste and sense of place. When I look around my apartment, I see their influences everywhere, and feel a mixture of surprise and comfort that is both remarkable and touching.

I Killed My First Roach

And I'm not proud of how. I have nothing against killing bugs, however. Bugs gross me out, as do mice and geckos that slide along the walls in India. ::Shudder:: No, I'm repulsed at my reaction to the very first roach I have spotted in my NYC studio. Ok, second. The first one was a baby of a thing that might not even have been a roach. I don't know WHAT I saw last night was. It was one true mofo of a roach, and I'm not ashamed to say that. It was scurrying along my hardwood floors as if it was ready to take over the place, and all I could think to do was scream bloody murder.

I quite literally screamed such bloody murder that I had to calm myself down in case the neighbors or doorman heard me and rushed to my defense only to find the girl who cried wolf. I danced around. I ran to the bathroom. I ran out. Then I found my can of Raid and went for it. I literally had to chase and douse that thing in Raid before it finally sputtered somewhere between my futon and the silk cushion covers I had accidentally left on the floor.

While it sputtered, I ran to the closet and searched for the right pair of shoes to kill it with. Yeah. Instead of finding the first heavy thing that would do, I decided nothing would do. My daily boots and shoes wouldn't do for fear of wearing the murder weapon all day long and thinking about the roach guck smeared all over to the bottom. Sadly, I settled on my unused sneakers and then went for it. A few whams and bams later, it was all over, but I was still whimpering and yelping to myself like a lunatic.

Then I proceeded to tell everyone I could online that I had just killed a roach and needed a male roommate to kill future roaches for me. I was "ew" all over the place for about half an hour before I finally found it in my heart to give the poor thing a proper burial in my illegal toilet (yeah, apparently it is not "water-saving" and tankless and my super is appalled that I'm the only one in the building who has one - like it's my fault or something).

Whew. One thing I'm not looking forward to having to do again. I don't know how I slept at night. I may have grown up despite the whimpering and screaming.

Re: Calling Mr. India

Clarification from a friend, whose comment on Indians in the media I referenced in Calling Mr. India:

"So I read your blog post and realized that you were referring to me in the "Indians have entered the mainstream" comment as opposed to the "pimp out your qualifications" comment, which I was wondering about.

Anyway, so I felt compelled to clarify/qualify that statement. It was more of a Indians entering mainstream media (although it goes beyond that in this context).

You have Kal Penn on House, Parmindra Nagre on ER (both prime shows), and Sanjay Gupta on CNN and as Surgeon General - although I guess you could argue that furthers the Indians are doctors stereotype hah. You also have Kelly Kapoor on the Office and that secretary guy on 30 Rock. Are we far away from the day, where in addition to the token black, hispanic, and Asian newscaster, we'll also have the obligatory Indian person on each news broadcast? Who knows, may happen 5 years from now.

You have Obama specifically refer to Indians/Hindus in his inaugral address. You have an Indian-American as a Governor of a state, who's being realistically talked about as a presidential candidate.

You have Vikram Pandit as CEO of Citigroup - an iconic American institution. You have Neil Kashkari as the head of the biggest fund in the world aka the TARP program.

And then of course the prominence of the music influences, the cuisine, etc. - the cultural aspects.

All things we couldn't have imagined 10-15 years ago.

I didn't mean Indians have entered the mainstream, as in that I felt left out of the mainstream while growing up here. I think that's the greatest thing about our country; there's very few countries in the world where you don't constantly feel like an "outsider". So yes, we've never been out of the "mainstream" per se, but there's just generally a greater sense of awareness of India, Indians, and Indian culture.

Hey, maybe I should start a blog hahaha."

NYDidi & Me - Personality Profile

A little while ago, I wrote briefly about a new site South Asian matchmaking site called NY Didi - read here. Some of my criticisms may have been harsh, and so I wanted to acknowledge the creator's obvious thought and effort in building this service - only meant to say that it may not be for someone like me and many of those I know. However, being the glass-full kinda person that I am, and being I'm drawn to things I don't wish to be drawn to, I checked out the site and completed a personality test. Here are the results:

To begin your journey towards marriage, it's important to see where to start. And as we always say, know thyself. So here goes: You are romantic and idealistic. Your kindness and loyalty is valued by those that are lucky enough to know you. You are spontaneous and fun loving. Thinking for yourself and making your own decisions is very important to you. The idea that there is one person out there for everyone inspires you to do your best to find that person.

Of course, nobody is an island, and your community defines so much of who you are. You think it’s important that the leaders of our country have a strong moral foundation. When you spend time around those that are hardworking and loyal, you feel right at home. You understand that marriage is about families joining together to keep traditions alive.

Everyone brings certain hopes and dreams with them to the future, so it’s important to identify what they are so that you can achieve them. You are ready to start meeting people to find the right one to share your life with. You understand that a true loving friendship is the basis of a happy marriage. It seems like you are ready to make a mature commitment to a happy marriage. Marriage is a process of growing together and you are willing to put forth the effort to make it work. You know that happiness in life means having companionship and friendship. Nothing is more infectious than happiness, and you will bring a great zest for life to your marriage. You are ready to create a marriage that reflects who you truly are, and I can tell you now that it will be well worth it when you and your partner open up to each other and form a deep bond.

Now it’s time to find a partner who can help you achieve your life vision. There is nothing more important than who you choose to spend the rest of your life with. So let’s make sure that we think it through. You already know the most important thing for a successful marriage; you are a good listener and you know how to be a friend. It is great that you are aware that structure and discipline are essential to being a good parent. But don’t forget, kids need lots of love too. You are a little messy sometimes. Who can blame you when there are so many more interesting things to do? But remember, when you begin a family you will have to figure out how to juggle even more obligations. You will bring great wisdom to your marriage because you already understand that each twist and turn in life gives you an opportunity to grow.

It kind of saddens me that I'm romantic and an idealist because I try oh-so hard not be. I am also certainly "a little messy" sometimes, but I'm not quite sure in what context this profile is referring to - it could potentially be many. I also find it a little disturbing that I am so defined by my community, because at the heart of it, I really don't think I am. Then again, everyone likes to think they are an island so I should probably just get over myself.

Now, I actually contemplated joining NYDidi. Hey, I'm already on Match.com, so what's the difference? Everyone I met on Match was also a young Indian professional from NY/NJ, and this site won't be doing much but narrowing the field a little bit more. However, I'm on a break from Match for various reasons (which I never quite seem to get to on this thing), and decided that NYDidi was just too much to handle right now.

It could be interesting for those who try it, and I'd love to hear more about NYDidi's progress - you are more than welcome to keep us posted!

Air & Simple Gifts

A few weeks ago, some butterflies found their way into my stomach. I wasn't sure how I would get through a month of major deadlines at work and upcoming exams/papers. While I tend not to freak out about such things and have achieved a generally zen-like approach to all things Life, I needed to breathe. Yesterday, I finally did. And thankfully, I exhaled to the beauty of "Air & Simple Gifts," the quartet arrangement performed at the inaugural ceremony.

More than the piece itself, the title of this arrangement spoke to me in a thousand unexpected ways. For the last few weeks, there had been no particular thought, in no particular tone and with no particular theme, to express. Like so much of my life, it was a work in transit - from one place to another, from one task to another, from one person to another.

It has been air and simple gifts which I realized gets me through so much. To pause and to breathe, to reflect and appreciate the smallest of things, even to daydream and be bored, has always been my way of coping - otherwise, I tend to lose track of myself and after all, I am sort of my own best friend.

I can't get into the million and one things that made this month closer to enjoyable than just bearable, but they were simple and small; some sweet, some scandalous, some mundane and predictable. So before I get angry and demand something more from the world, let the record show that it's been good and I know it. Here's to the crisp, cold air in New York and the gift of friends who are only a short plane ride away.

12-Year-Old Food Genius & The Boy Who Could Have Been

12-Year-Old's a Food Critic, and the Chef Loves It

Where was this kid when I was 12? I was waiting for a proposal to be best friends with my future husband. He could've been it.

This kid is all that most people must hate about NYC - an Upper West Sider who gets his own $25 to get dinner while the parents are out, and ends up sampling prosciutto and cheese at the hippest new Italian restaurant in the neighborhood. What a life.

This falls into my Only In New York category. I'm jealous, and I want to be him when I grow up.

Grandmothers & Election Day

I know it's lame that the national obsession with Obama's upbringing and his grandmother made me write this. Well, it's not really the sole reason. I love my paternal granny very much and think about her often, although she refuses to acknowledge it. Unless you're with her 24/7, take her shopping, and get her a cell phone, she's not happy with you.

But Election Day made me realize something that I often forget about her - she's a U.S. citizen. And adamantly so. She keeps track of her social security money to the cent and can describe her citizenship interview in vivid detail. She even gets offended when people think she doesn't know English. There is little she can do, however, to actually exercise her rights as a citizen. She is 86 years old and splits her time between NY and India.

This morning, my coworker described taking her own grandmother at 6 am to vote. Her grandmother said only Obama could've gotten her do it, and that his grandmother left just 1 day before the election to be his angel today. I wanted to bawl.

I know it would mean a lot to my own grandmother if she could wobble her way to a poll site and cast a ballot. Hopefully, Zee TV won't trump civic duty. She's a steely lady who has come a long way from Arrah, India. Every vote does count, and she shouldn't let this opportunity go. Plus, it would give her something to talk about other than cell phones and fictional television characters.

So this is my Plan For the Day. Make sure Dadi votes. Make sure your grandparent(s) does too, if she/he can. It is clearly past the voter registration deadline, but apparently, she may be able to complete a paper ballot as long as she has proof of residence. Knowing her, she'll bring a suitcase of official documentation just in case and argue with the volunteers in perfect English.

Gotta love grandmothers. And the right to vote. And Obama. And his grandmother. And this country if it gets its act together.

I Heart NY & Bus Driver Wisdom

I really do. Whoever created the myth of the angry/rude New Yorker was smokin' some shrooms while they were here.

One of my life rules is to always say 'thank you' to the bus driver. This morning I discovered why. Minutes into my bus ride to work, our driver turned on the speaker and in a booming, warm voice, said something to the effect of:

"Ladies and gentlemen - put a smile back on your faces. Things really aren't that bad now, are they? Just smile. All those sad, tired faces - come on. I know going to that job is tiring but think about this - your bills are getting paid and you have a job. Smile, everyone.

Ladies, especially you - come on, gimme a smile. There we go. Just smile - be glad you're not married to me.

You know, some people think the glass is half-full, some half-empty - me, I'm just glad I've got some water."

I was grinning ear to ear by this point and the entire bus was chuckling. When I got off, I smiled and said my usual 'thank you' - and the driver starts booming again:

"Now there we go - that's what I call a smile! Look at that ladies and gentlemen - there's some smile this early in the morning. Now that's what I'm talking about...SMIIIILE........"

I heard him repeating this all the way down the block. I wish I had gotten his name so I could've written to the MTA about him. He wasn't the crazy annoying type - just a genuine spoonful of sugar on this gloomy day in NYC.

I truly heart NY.

Characters I

I have a running list of characters in my head and need to flesh them out here so I don't forget and of course, so you are somewhat amused (I hope). Maybe they will inspire some of you to write your own stories, or at the very least, ponder what exactly it is that Shrooms does with her days.

1) Sanjay the Security Guard - Watch this guy turn out to be a doctor. I've named him Sanjay here because he reminds me of the Indian actor Sanjay Dutt. No joke. There is something about his big, sad, droopy eyes that screams Sanjay Dutt. He also has this stocky - dare I say Punjabi? - build which makes me think he works in security at the hospital/medical school I work at. I see him on the subway and train every morning and something about him intrigues me. He is almost always wearing a suit, the slightly floppy kind that makes you think it's not really an expensive one, but can't say because hey, it's hard to tell and I don't know that much about men's suits anyway. Also always a tie and sunglasses. He's got this close-cropped, rather spikey, gelled hair which doesn't quite scream "uncle" either. Then again, he could be Modern Uncle. Young Modern Uncle. You know the type. In his 40s, so too young to be much like our own parents, and yet you can't help but give them Aunty/Uncle status. He looks like he enjoys edgy, Bollywood music and doesn't want to age himself by referring to the 70s' and 80s' classics, although that's probably more his thing. Oh, and he wears dark olive suits. Very Indian. I haven't seen him in a light gray one yet though. If I do, I might have to go up to him, kindly tap his shoulder and say "Sir, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you remind me of Sanjay Dutt." Given his sense of coolness, he might actually be flattered. He always gives me a Look. It's not sleazy or skeevy or even inquisitive actually. It's just kind of an acknowledgment. Like, oh hello short little Indian girl - aren't you too young to be working here? Go home. He might do something kinda funky but odd on the side, like have an entertainment company or make pirated Bollywood DVDs. Who knows. I can't imagine what he does here though. I know its awful to assume he's in Security when he could be doing any number of things. I just can't shake the feeling that he could've been one of those hi-fi security top dogs like Samuel L. Jackson in "21." Kinda scary, kinda cool. He rarely has a bag with him and sometimes I spot a beeper. Maybe IT? Who knows. He continues to capture my imagination and I want him to be at the center of some Shantaram/Maximum City-like plot.

2) Zohan the Israeli Real Estate Agent - Zohan clearly isn't his real name - I just did that because it makes me giggle. I won't use his real name because that would be too much identifying information and I kinda like the guy. What is with me and slightly awkward, stocky buffoons? This guy is definitely a bit of one, at least looks wise. Maybe I'm wrong. He also has some sharp business sense and street smarts. He could alternately be that annoying stocky man at a bar or the head honcho of the entourage of some top official or superstar. I could totally see him in a movie. He's pretty tall and built and fashionable in a way Sanjay is not. Dark-haired and fair with this awesome Israeli accent that goes unmatched (and I've heard a lot of them). He always looks kinda bored out of his mind, and you just want to offer him a drink or an ice-cream or something. Yesterday, I finally put my finger on it - he's like John Travolta's character in "Pulp Fiction." Almost exactly. Minus the long hair. And smarter (at least in certain ways). And not nearly so rough around the edges. Also some elements of Gaston from "Beauty and the Beast" here - with the build, longish face, big eyes, and I-can-take-on-the-world attitude. Rather flippant and light-hearted too - it's always kind of surprising when he genuinely laughs because half the time you feel like he's indulging you by smiling. When him and the Moroccan broker are walking together ahead of me, I feel like I'm in character fantasy-land.

3) Little Boy on the Train - I can't get this kid out of my head. He could not have been more than 4 or 5 years old and was surrounded by like 5 other sisters/cousins. His mother, in full burkha, looked East African, so I'm just going to assume that's what they are. Well this mother was completely silent the entire ride and barely had to say a word to her children, who were the most well-behaved I've ever seen on the subway. And this little boy, well, he kind of took my breath away. He had the finest little features ever, caramel-colored skin, and about the most upset, angry face I've ever seen on someone so young. But it wasn't a bratty-can't-help-myself-because-I'm-just-a-Toys-r-us-kid-afterall anger - it was the discontent of someone much older, much more wise and experienced. He was just taking in everything around him and looked so utterly and completely - burdened. His arms were crossed tight against his chest and every 45 seconds he would glance up and stare at the man standing next to him. Specifically his fanny-pack and phone. He was just fascinated, it seemed, but he also kept scowling at it. I just didn't understand. You'd think he was in awe and wanted to reach out to take a look at it, all wide-eyed and desperate to tinker with something new. But no. He was scowling, kind of suspicious and worrisome. Poor kid. I wanted to take him for a walk in the park, buy him an ice-cream and soda, and tell him to take it easy, the world isn't so bad.