Mind your language

No, this isn't a Grammar Nazi's response to this.

So, I am active on Couchsurfing. I love the site, and I've really met some amazing people through it. I've also had lots of fun from it. Since I started hosting in Delhi, I've met and hung out with about four or five fun people and hosted three Colombian guys, one of whom integrated so well into my life I was tempted to keep him. forEVAR. The next surfer I expect to host is Chinese.

Now, with my profile, I usually get requests from southern Europeans and Latin Americans. So I was surprised to see this Chinese guy write, but he seemed normal and once he figured out his dates I said ok, I'll host you. He asked me if I have Whatsapp so we could keep in touch, and then began to text me. It's actually super convenient when people have it because then no international texts or calls are necessary. Anyway, we chatted desultorily about what he was expecting to do, etc. I was impressed by his English, he was surprised I know where canton is, and so on.

Then last night, he texted to say: I am preparing some gifts for you. do you have some special likes?
It is actually quite normal I have discovered, for surfers to get their hosts a present. It's a very sweet gesture but I don't really expect it and it embarrasses me mildly. So I said no, you don't have to. He said no, I want to. I said okay, I like fans and I LOVE green jasmine tea. He said: Sure. i will bring that for you. I said: Awww. Thank you. And then things began to get a little creepy.

Him: feeling excited to meet me?
Me (slightly disturbed): Haha it should be fun :)
Him: did you meet any Chinese guy before?
Me (alarm bells begin to ring): Nope
Him: now you have the chance
Me (completely nonplussed at this point): Haha
Him: I could accompany you for drinks haha
Me (freaked out): Well that depends. Okay, I gotta go.

So here's the thing. With SuperSurfer, that's exactly what we did. We lay around my house drinking desultorily and having insane conversations. I consumed an impressive amount of alcohol with him. But there was no creepy. With the other two guys also I went drinking. Going drinking is my usual proposition! Sometimes I take them to Flamenca's concerts. So what he proposed wasn't unnatural in the least. Why did it ring all my alarm bells?

I was talking to (of course) The Bride about it this morning and I realized that maybe it has something to do with language. As someone with a highly developed sense and use of language, I tend to associate certain traits with various levels of facility with language. I try and consciously not do that, and make an effort with people to bridge language gaps, but undeniably, sharing a language just elevates the experience. Of all the Spanish speakers I know, only the truly bilingual SuperSurfer managed to connect with my friends the way the rest connect with me. So when someone who does not the ease I expect from a certain kind of interaction, I am a little reserved. The kicker here, though, is that he sounds EXACTLY like an I-want-to-make-fraandship type. And that's just plain scary.

Again, I wonder if it's really fair even to those types. I mean, the Hag used to date this Spanish professor friend of mine and when they broke up she said that it was because it was impossible to have a conversation with him beyond a point because it was hard to take someone seriously when they sound autistic in your language. to which I replied, but he has no problem with language! We talk all the time! (See where this is going?) And she fixed me with a stare and said drily, yes, you two talk in Spanish. So maybe the IWMF types are superbly intellectual and articulate in their own languages but sound like douches in English?

When I think of Flamenca too, who is such an insanely mad person that most of the mad friends should love her, they can barely relate to her because they won't make the effort needed to bridge that gap, and she's trapped with her personality all piebald and peeling in this language that is not hers. And mind you, she's a tour guide so her English is decent. It's just not as good as her Spanish. And, again, as I often find with Spanish, it's frustrating to keep trying to articulate something when you are accustomed to seamless articulation in your own language and you keep having to use not the best word and you just know you could SAY IT BETTER. So I'd say you definitely don't shine at your best in a foreign language (even if it is one of the eighteen official languages of your country...).

But then how much does this actually end up colouring things? Should I just slam the door closed and say bye bye to Chinese guy? That's what I'd do to okc guys or random desi guys I meet who are like that. Or to Latinos I've met who are like that in Spanish--by which I meant giving me creepy vibes, like the desk clerk at Tayrona who wouldn't let go of my hand and said oh hod how can your boyfriend allow someone as beautiful as you to leave his sight, and Indian women are so sensual and so on. Or should I give the guy a chance--it's only one night and I can release the killer G-Jams on him. Do you think that if he is essentially creepy it will come through regardless of language, while interesting or not might not?

In which I am an international woman of mystery (and crepe bandage)

The night after the concert was the night the Spanish embassy threw it's annual yay we are Spanish party. Flamenca, her husband and I  decided to go, though slightly weak from the previous night's festivities. All my plans of getting all dress UP were trashed because all I could wear were my very grotty turquoise blue Old Navy canvas shoes, since they fit over the crepe bandage. Yup, that sprain wasn't nearly ad unimportant as I thought it was. So I put on some linen pants and random black top, and minimal makeup and giant earrings and off we went. Flamenca was also not feeling like dressing up, so she was in jeans and a top, and her husband was in a nice fab India shirt and jeans.

All these sartorial choices were questioned when we got there and saw the long line of people waiting to get in all in suits and ties and dresses and high heels and saris. Feeling rather shabby we joined the line and realized that it was there because of some name checking that was happening. Now, we had been reliably informed that normally all you had to do was turn up with your passport/national ID, and you and your 'accompanying person' would get it. But this year, for some reason, they went all batshit security mad, and everyone had to be on a list and have an email or a card, etc. We also realized that by 'accompanying person' they meant partner. Flamenca promptly declared that I was her husband's wife and we twiddled our thumbs as we inched closer and closer to the woman in ill-fitting sari who was checking. Flamenca told her that we were on the list but hadn't received the email. She, obviously, didn't find us on the list, and then directed us to talk to another woman, who was in a rather better fitting lehenga choli. We milled about waiting for her to see us, and then someone else we know came up and said I don't have email either. At which point we decided to just walk in. And we did!

As we rounded the corner (the embassy is in this EXQUISITE brit era house like the one that my friend Chica used to live in cos his dad was in the IFS) and ran smack into another line. Wondering what this was, we shuffled along making desultory conversation, with the Spaniards exclaiming that this was excessive and embarrassing  I was asked if I was Colombian. Actually I was asked this often that night and I always said yes =D But then I had to say no, cos you know lies and all. Anyway, it turned out that the line was to shake hands with the ambassador, his wife and two more men. It was hilarious.

Eventually released into the huge garden, we fell like wolves upon the Spanish wine and the bits of tortilla, which I was eventually informed were for TASTING ONLY. The wine was exquisite, as always, but the food was terrible. It was mediocre Punjabi food. Ugh.

We knew a lot of people at that party, so we flitted about saying hello and whatnot. I ran into an old professor, who has not changed a bit--I shall say no more to be diplomatic. But the main problem with that party was that it was too damn European! Seriously. All stiff-necked and snooty. Eventually we created a sidebar next to the pool (!!), with Flamenca and Mr Flamenca, their bassist and his wife, me, and a couple that Flamenca inadvertently set up by making them dance at a concert. The Syrian bassist, who looks for some reason like he's from the secret police, would walk to the bar and say give us a bottle of red and they'd just meekly hand it over. At one point we started getting them in twos! This miniparty was, of course, much fun, with all us hippies having random conversations such as the use of the subjunctive in English etc. That one was sparked by the bassist asking me how long I'd been in India. If I had a dollar...

At one point, the DJ started to play Señorita. And it is hysterical the way nearly half the party just surged onto the dance floor and began to boogie like mad doing fake flamenco. Really. I couldn't dance for laughing. Then they played chammak challo, which sparked even more hysteria. Then they switched to Spanish music.

The rest of the details of that night escape me, but there were some really bizarre highlights. Flamenca is doing some work with a couple of businessmen, one in his late forties and one in his late sixties. She calls the latter Mick Jagger because she says he's very youthful in this unnerving way. I dismissed her out of hand, saying there's no way a sixty-year-old could be hot. And then I met him. Holy Mary mother of Jesus! It is just wrong that a man his age should be that attractive. It didn't help that he was all superbly dressed and horrible chivalrous and flirty.

Then there is this particular gay man who used to be very thick with us, but got bitchier and bitchier and we decided to ignore him. He was there, and then very drunkenly wanted to bond with both of us. At the end of the night, he was standing at the table with Flamenca, me and the businessmen, and he began to tell us how he wanted to get home really fast because HE WAS GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH HIS HUSBAND! 'MY HUSBAND HAS SUCH A HUGE COCK AND I LOVE HAVING SEX WITH HIM BIM BAM BOOM!' We were in shock. Then he said 'MY HUSBAND HAS GIANT BALLS FILLED WITH SEMEN.' This was too much for us and we had to run away and giggle frantically.

And then there was the mad auto ride at 2am, all the way back here and the frantic devouring of dosias made form idle batter before collapsing in bed, to wake up the next morning and make strange cat videos with G-Jams. 

Could I be flakier?

I shan't even claim to promise to try and be good about posting, not even to myself. It's embarrassing now.

MinCat now has her very own Kitteh! His name is G-Jams, short for Greebo Jameson, since I am, after all, Nanny Ogg, and I do, most certainly, love Jamesons. He is nearly 8 weeks old, and quite the firecracker! I think he's going to be a vocal cat. *bangs head on desk* He's incredibly loud for something as tiny as he is, and like to express his love by leaping upon exposed flesh, canines and claws at the ready. *wince* But he purrs a lot, and is warm and soft and fuzzy and he loves me. And I love him.

In other news, I went shoe shopping for the first time since April 2011, when I went to DSW in Union Square to buy a pair of boots. I've been hearing about how Shahpur Jat is awesome and all so I finally dragged my lazy ass there and bought a lovely pair of comfortable wedge heels. And then promptly wore them to concert last night, where I was official photographer for band frontlined by my beloved Flamenca (flamenco-singing Spanish friend), and in a moment of excitement re-entering the restaurant from the balcony, didn't see a tiny step and promptly fell over and sprained my ankle. Sigh. Lithium, who was present with a harem in tow, was most solicitous and, when I stood up and apologized to the woman whose hair I'd pulled in a desperate attempt to hold onto something, muttering, 'I didn't see that damn step', he proceeded to walk me down the stairs to the stage chanting step, step, step at every step. Smartypants. *mutters darkly*

When Flamenca and I were chattering away eagerly as we returned from the shops, a bald guy in hipster glasses who was blowing his nose uttered an emphatic 'Españolas!' to us, and we, two ridiculously gregarious people (Flamenca having just befriended someone who works across from me in the three minutes it took me to come down the stairs), were so lost in our conversation that we chorused 'sí' and returned to dissecting the character of whatever unfortunate soul was the subject of our conversation. A twinge of guilt made me look back and I saw him standing there, in a sea of motley traffic, his forlorn eyes framed by his hipster glasses, still blowing his nose.

The thing is, I am always collecting people. In fact, the Bride, when she was here last week with the express purpose of making it the best week of 2012, told me that that's what I do--collect people. By which she said she means that wherever I go, I manage to find interesting people. I think her visit came at a time of planetary alignment, because when I look back at the last two years I cannot believe I have good friends in Delhi. But then, I realized I do. And I also realize that putting people together is what I love.

Disco Dancer used to protest feebly, especially since he espouses the silo method of friend having--each group is each group and they CAN NEVER MIX OR THE WORLD WILL END--but I have always thrown motley collections of people together and ignored them while they sorted themselves out. And they usually do. Being hypergregarious I also know lots of people and a little bit about each of them--enough to say oh you both studied physics! or oh you both go hiking! or oh you both hate football! Which is really all one needs to start things. The cramp in my style this past year has been CB and MW and their ridiculously judgemental reactions to people. Whatever happens in the first five minutes will set the tone for ever. I'm always trying to explain that they lose out on really amazing people by refusing to consider revising first opinions--forget about revising, they will refuse to even meet someone who hasn't made a favourable first impression. And since they were my main friends and I was snivelling pathetic mess, I lived in terror of not having them around, and thus tamped down on that side of me. Then again, it's very easy to blame someone--I was depressed and lonely, so maybe that's all it was. Either way, I now have G-Jams!

The other things that make me giggle when I think of last night were the following. Flamenca has an Indian Spanish-speaking tour guide friend who is from Jaipur and dark and rajputly handsome. Like really my kinda hot, though I'm not entirely convinced by the gold earrings. Anyway, we have met once and he was apparently struck by me, and has been asking for a re-meeting. So he was there last night, and his eyes lit up when he saw me, and once they noticed the cut of my dress he began to address my chest. Lol. To his credit, it is an arresting sight when on display, and he managed to regain control in ten minutes or so. But then he began to hit on me. Which is nice, only why can't desi boys be subtle? He stroked my arm and said, 'Your skin is so soft.' I simply did not know what to say. What CAN you say to that? I made a joke about sweating so much and ran away.

Flamenca also has a Spanish friend, whom we shall call Spanish Builder, who she set me up with a couple of weeks ago. It certainly went well, only he never replied to my text saying I got home, and didn't call me when back from business trip as promised. He was also there last night, and after the concert was done we were standing about chatting and I asked him about his trip, and he said yeah it was all right. And then he said, I got your message but I was half drunk, half hungover and trying to get my flight and it was all so confused...I'm sorry I didn't reply. I laughed and said, no it's fine. (This is where I should have said that's all very well but why didn't you call EH?) And then he said, 'But I had such a lovely time.' Again, something very sweet--but what am I supposed to say to it? Two weeks later? If you had such a lovely time, pick up the phone and call me and we can do it again! It didn't help that Lithium was trying to be wingman and winking broadly and giving me a thumbs up from across the bar. *eyeroll*

In the Immortal Words of Mick Jagger...

For someone who has only heard about three songs by the Rolling Stones, and has always thought Mr J is repulsive rather than attractive, it is rather ironic that he has become my guru. Well, maybe not my guru so much as his song has become my mantra.

Because, you see, you CAN'T always get what you want.

So the thing is, you know how people always walk around under the belief that, while bad things happen, they don't happen to me? It may not be a conscious belief--in fact it rarely is--but on some level, while we know bad things do happen, we think we will escape, even if they happen to the ones we love the most. 'There but for the grace of God...'

A corollary of this seems to be the equally strong belief that we get what we want, as long as we are patient or proactive, depending on the school of thought. 

But very little observation will quickly reveal that neither of these is true! People often get shafted by the universe, and very many kind and deserving people just never get what they want. Sometimes you get something else and realize it is, also in the immortal words of Mr J, it's what you need. Sometimes you realize you didn't really want it after all, whether you get it or not. But enough times, you want it and you don't get it, no matter what you do. 

And yet, somehow, we seem incapable of actually accepting this fact. 

Someone has to be in that group. Maybe one of those someones is me. And before there is a chorus of of course nots, let me say that this is not an emotional melodramatic statement. It's just a statement. And just as we will never know we won't get what we want, we never know we will either. The problem only comes in when our belief is pushing us in the direction of thinking yes it will happen, because then we are always in a state of pre-excitement, which just means we get disappointed too much. And then, when we think we won't get it, we are in a state of pre-disappointment, and that's really hard to deal with too. The important thing I guess is to just accept that sometimes people just don't get what they deserve. Accepting that I think has really helped me turn the corner on the horror of the past six months. I might actually be emerging from the hole for reals this time ladies and gents--two weeks meltdown free...touch wood =)

The Rational-Emotional Disconnect

You know how sometimes someone does something that hurts you (like a friend who you haven't seen in a month comes to your birthday party and then wants to leave soon after, and isn't particularly nice to you, and then calls you about making a plan to do something nice for someone else's birthday) but then you know, rationally, that it's not a big deal (being nice is not their thing, it's not actually your birthday, and said person has warned you several time that they are thoughtless, and you know they are in a tantrum mood and therefore what to expect from them). At this point, you are upset. But you also know that saying something will get you branded as irrational.

Then there's this scenario, where someone does something that irritates or annoys you intensely (your parents are stressing out about someone you're seeing), and while you know they mean it for the best (you have had a series of bad relationships, said person is insolvent or from a vastly different background). Again, you are upset, and again you know that people will keep throwing logic at you.

I was thinking about this once, well okay I was thinking about how often I am upset but I can't get past it because I can't do or say anything because I am a rational person, an 'adult' and I like to think I can and do behave in a rational manner. This often leaves me feeling very frustrated. So, when Dragon picked BBot, I had this whole thing where I was choking in misery, and when I was talking to Disco Dancer about it he really upset me because he insisted on saying, well, she is an adult, she made a choice, you can't dictate how long it takes someone to attach to someone, or blame them for who they choose. Which were all very valid points, point, moreover, that I kept making to myself. Then why did it make me cry?

It occurred to me that everyone operates on two parallel levels--the rational level and the emotional level. As we get older we tend to start privielging the rational level over the emotional one (to wit, you can't stamp your foot and demand that you be important to someone--you are or you're not. But it still hurts like the BLAZES.). So then we discard, nay ignore, the emotional response, because the rational one is the one that will give us the right behaviour in the end.

The problem is, there has to be a balance, and unless the rational and emotional level are both acknowledged and dealt with, you can't really get past the hurt completely--you become harder, cynical, whatever. And, while it is true that most of the time the rational level is right, this does not mean that the emotional response doesn't exist. (We tend to flagellate ourselves for even having an emotional response usually.) So when you're dating, and a person behaves a certain way, you beat yourself up saying, see? You KNEW they'be a jerk. Then why did you have to be stupid and get attached? Now deal with this shit and move on.

I call this the Rational Emotional Disconnect, and it is the single most debilitating problem I have with all the things I do in my life. Until I can align the two levels and their responses I find that I simply can't get past things that happen to me.

For the longest time I thought the RED was only one way--you have an emotional response and you suppress it. But then it struck me, that often, once you're in a relationship with someone, you start to privilege the emotional over the rational. If you love me you should know better. You know, some days it's not that your partner doesn't love you, it's that they're having a shitty day, or they're tired, or stressed, or you didn't communicate your upsetness. So the rational response has to be heard too before anything can be done.

I've started to try and do this thing now where, when I'm upset, I sit down and think it all through, all the emotional stuff and the rational stuff. I say it to myself, or to a friend (read, The Bride), and then, once I've exorcised the reaction as it were, I can stand back and figure out which was what response and which one is the better one to use in this situation. And let's not assume the rational one is always best--sometimes an emotional response is what the other person needs from you--but then we all train ourselves to deny emotional responses so much that we can't bring them out, which then makes the other person feel bad and suppress theirs and the endless cycle of people are so cold begins.

How it changes

When I was about 16, and the internet was just taking root properly in India (and a friend and i would email each other photos of hot actors we likes ahem), I had this email address on hotmail*, that was easily confusable with another one. My uncle sent me an email about the SAT that went to this other person, who turned out to be a 3-4 year older guy in Bombay. He realised the email was important to replied saying I think you've got the wrong id (who does that anymore??), and so I wrote to say thank you. We wrote back and forth, moved to chat and then one day, he called me! On the phone! I remember it as being really late at night, but I imagine it was about 9pm. It all fizzled out in the end, but I remember how supportive my mum was about it--after all it was before teh interwebs became widespread enough to be evil.

Several years later, when I was 22 or so, I was on a poetry emailing list called minstrels, that would send you a poem a day (ah I wish someone would revive it), and often readers would send in poems they liked. I did that once, with Michael Ondaatje and once with Derek Walcott. One of those times, a guy wrote to me to tell me it was a great poem, and we began to write back and forth, and there began a very enduring friendship with one of the nicest people I have ever know. I went to Bombay to see him. It was also my first visit to Bombay and he took me to dinner somewhere nice and was very kind and big brotherly to me for three years or so. We even wrote each other GINORMOUS letters at one time. We're not terribly in touch anymore, though there is still the random sms.

This was also the time I reconnected with Oldest Friend, and we'd spend hours chatting. Then I got onto xanga, and met this group of amazing people. It was a lonely time for me, and I felt like they kept me alive. I went to Bombay and met them all. I spent HOURS chatting with them. Today, I don't really see or talk to most of them much, OF included, but they're there in the background, and they really made a difference in my life at the time.

That time around though, people thought I was weird. My family was suspicious and my friends downright mocked me. 'How can you meet people online? How can you be assured of a person until you've met them?' etc. My mother always said, if you have interests and go out you'll meet people.

Right now, the most important and interesting people in my life I have met online. CB, and through him MW (you remember them from yesterday). Also Lithium (who I am ashamed to say I was thoughtless enough to leave out, though he has been a transformative person in the past three months of my life). And today, I met a guy who is as randomly latindio as I am latindia, is in love with Colombia, and works on wildlife conservation--specifically tigers. We spent an hour and a half on the 5th floor terrace of a cafe in Hauz Khas Village tumbling over our words, leaping between languages, in our need to agree and share and just talk about all these things we have in common, parts of ourselves that we can never really share with the majority of people we know in India. It was a magical feeling**: someone in INDIA, FROM India, actually GOT it. 

My point is, CB, Lithium, Latindio, they're all people I would never have met otherwise. CB and I have a lot of friends in common, but it's only because we know each other. Lithium and I had actually met in the past but I had no idea, and I never would have expected this friend out of that meeting. And of course, Latindio. For all the gym, salsa classes, mad socializing both for work and just cos I like it, for all the effort I have put in to meet people I can connect with, it's only teh interwebs that has given them to me. I think of it as a sign of how everything is changing--the ways we keep in touch, the meaning of keeping in touch, the ways we find community and belonging; they're all changing.

 *Remember hotmail? When it was all we had? Thank the lord for progress!
**Pipe down he's clearly gay and far too young

Peripheries

I think one of the causes for my recent misery is that I feel rootless. I had serial epiphanies at the end of trip, and once I returned, which made me realize the following: What I really miss is family. This is why the despair when I think of the niece, or the need to call the parents twice a day. But family doesn’t mean necessarily blood ties—I had a family in Hyd too, which is why I miss it so much.

I do not have any sense of belonging here, even though I have many friends. I don’t see them often enough, and the ones I do see often already have their spaces of belonging and I am afraid to impose. In Delhi, I have about five good friends I see on a regular basis. They are all guys (some things never change), which makes me the ultimate bro of course (more on THAT some other time), and they are all people I have met after I moved here—most of them I’ve known since December/January. Just to recap, they are, in the order in which I met them, Favourite Colleague, Chocolate Boy, Most Bengali Guy, Mad Writer and Organized writer. FC and MBG are the fags to my hag, and they, along with CB, work with me, so I see those three about four to five days a week. MW used to be online all day and talking to me most of it, making him practically a constant, but those days are gone. OW and I have brief, erratic and very intense interactions. 

But all these friends are also well set in their own circles, which makes me often feel that I skulk on the peripheries of their lives--oo MinCat's great fun if she's here, but I wouldn't really notice if she weren't.

The problem is that CB and MW, with whom I tend to interact the most, are, unfortunately for me, the sort of thoughtless guys I like I call boys. The kind of people who, while this does not make them bad people, will remember me when they need something, not really feel that they need to express appreciation/affection in any way because I don’t demand it and because it’s not their way. The problem with this is that, while I understand some people are just like that, I need someone in my life to not be like that, and be like me, because I DO feel hurt and rejected, despite the rational understanding of the situation (more on THAT later too). And I need someone to be physically there. Which brings me back to—I feel rootless. 

One thing that did occur to me is that, just as one doesn’t have to wear high heels to be pretty; does one need a husband to find roots? Why can I not be happy with just friends etc. Well I think that’s been explained heh. I think it would help dramatically if I had an old friend I could rely on to some extent move here. But then again I am reminded of Dragon. So maybe just my parents then. Or I move back to Hyderabad. But then I do so love my job. I could try and move to the bay area…but there’s that damn job again.

Catch-22. 

Well, at least I know.

Concentric circles

Chocolate Boy has a theory (that he says he saw in an article) that Delhi works in concentric circles. You hang out with people who live where you live, which is why you're always running nito the same people everywhere, etc, and the only thing that cuts through those circles is the metro.
I'm not convinced.

But, it is a lovely launchpad into a theory I formulated lying in bed at 1130 on a Sunday night, in response to CB's request that I introduce him to more cool people of that quality--referring to an old friend from the Pisspot who had been in town. My response: What can I say, Delhi limits me. All my real friends are of this quality, and they're not here.

And Eureka!

I have about four concentric circles of friends. The smallest and the closest has my family, and those people i don't even have to think about (though this once included the Dragon, so I wonder), the people I can say ANYTHING to, and whose opinions will make me rethink my situation. I have one Circle 1 person in Delhi, but he's been really caught up the past two months, in his own budding relationship and his own family drama.

Then there's Circle 2, which is the people I'd call if I were in trouble, and who I miss if I don't see often enough. This is my band of bewdas and CB and Mad Writer--the last two being very recent additions and slightly shaky, cos I've only known them about six months, and I don't really know if it is a reciprocally secure closeness. But they are there, which is good. They are also the only Circle 2 people I have here.

Circle 3 is people I would call to parties and like to see regularly, but don't really miss if I don't see often. Most of my Delhi friends are in this circle. They're great fun to go out and do something, but they're not people I'd stay home with.

And Circle 4 is people whom I'm happy to see, but don't really notice if I don't see. Which is the rest of my Delhi friends.

So I went from living in a mainly Circle 1 and 2 group to living in a mostly Circle 3 and 4 group, with very minimal representation from Circles 1 and 2. No wonder I'm lonely and desperate and pathetic.

But rejoice! The Hag is moving here. Hallelujah!

Sledgehammer*

Many things have been bubbling in mah heid of late, especially the day I was fretting over BBot and the night I was crying for something--I still don't know what. After that night I wondered to myself why I hadn't called anyone. There are definitely people who would have soothed me telephonically, people who know what's going on and are unequivocally on my side. I thought maybe it had something to do with my wanting someone from our gang to be on my side, but I know that's not true, because of how much they did support me through the whole thing.

One night though, it came to me. While my life might be am embarrassingly open book with no boundaries, I hate letting people see me vulnerable. And then one of my friends suddenly confessed, in a moment of candour, to something, and it made me smile, because of our complicated history. I knew in that moment that he trusted me---something neither of us might have expected 2 years ago. And I realised that I trust him too. And then I realised that I don't know how I feel about trusting all my wonderful new friends in Delhi, mainly cos they are new, and experience etc. etc.

But then  I started thinking about how this trust starts, and how it becomes the ultimate foundation for love of all kinds. There is a point when you do reveal your vulnerability to someone, and in that moment, when they swoop in, scoop you up and protect and nurture you--that's when you know you can love them, and that's when you start. That's when the seed is planted.

Also, turning that around, can you love someone when you have not seen them at their lowest and most vulnerable?

*for those who haven't watched the show, his tagline was "Trust me, I know what I'm doing".

Adoption

I have always strongly believe that, in this day of overpopulation and scarcity in India, there's no reason to have children. There really is no need to bring a new child into the world. Add to this the pain and trauma of pregnancy, birth and breastfeeding, the fact that there's enough crazy shit in my family to compete with most children put up for adoption, and the fact that I want five kids, and I simply don't see myself ever, you know, getting pregnant and giving birth.

This was a huge bone of contention with BBot. It seems to be a hue deal for most guys that I've met. Granted, women also say things like ohhh but don't you want to have your OWN baby, and be pregnant and feel that BOND, or, when you meet the *right* guy you'll want to have his babies, but men respond on this visceral level that seems immune to logic.

For example, there are women who are infertile, in a way that could possibly be cured with months of hormone treatment, but that treatment is a BITCH. She doesn't want to put herself and her body through that. But guys expect that she should. That's the amazing thing. There is a sense of entitlement to your partner incubating, birthing and feeding your baby,. whether she wants to or not. It's true that most women want to, which is fine, but some, like me, don't. Then what? A man can share all the caring for a baby (cept the breastfeeding, quite is quite traumatic), but he can't share the needing to throw up every second for months, or the peeing, and all the things that can go wrong. So where is the justice in demanding this?

Guys are so fixated on having their own genetic child - evolutionary imperative if you will - that once even told me he'd use a surrogate, but that of course violates the pint about not needing to bring more children into the world.

It helps that in my family, I have an adopted niece whose parents managed to have a son after they adopted her. She is the most captivating thing I have ever seen (barring her Ladyship of course), and her brother...is...um...not captivating. Clearly our genes aren't all that sparkly.

This is how I have felt for at least ten years, and heaven's the arguments I have had about it. People always say, have one adopt the second. It just won't work. One parent will favour one over the other, and while parents always do that, there will be a very real cause of pain here. Then, also, which first? Adopt or birth? Some people say that they can't imagine bonding with a child not their own; some day they can't imagine adopting a child and bonding with it without having gone through the whole pregnancy with it's attached misery - sort of like listen I survived that so I'm bloody well going to get past these first three months of madness!

The weird thing is that, lately, as her Ladyship grows and becomes more and more like me, or so Amma sez, I am seized by the curiosity - will my kid turn out like Scoo? Or will s/he be like her Ladyship? Will s/he be madly scientific like everyone in the family? Will s/he be artistic like Acrosticus and his brother? And so on. For the first time, I might actually be considering having my own child. Spooky.

Siblings

The Bride (of course) has a post up on the whole same sex siblings vs both sex siblings, and I began to respond, only it became so long that you get a whole post!

I have only one sibling, my sister, known to y'all as Scoo. We have not had a supercalifragilistic happy happy joy joy relationship - quite the opposite in fact - but about five years ago we settled into a normal adult sibling relationship. She is, in case you haven't guessed, a girl, like me, hurr hurr. I also have a band of five cousins who are honorary siblings, three boys and two girls. Some are known to you: the Poo, the Snoog and Acrosticus.

Starting with the whole issue of being compared. Hell yeah we were compared! I remember being referred to as Scoo's sister all through school, and having teachers say to me, your sister comes first in class, why can't you? I was once incensed enough to reply: Because I'm not her! Got smacked for that too. My extended family would indulge me and not her, mainly because she was always quiet and reserved, quite to opposite of me. She is also a superachiever. No really. She had her PhD at 26 (about 3 months past actually), and from the  school that was number one for the programme she applied to. She was, as previously mentioned, always first in class. She has Head Girl. She went off to only the best college in the country for engineering and sciences. She had an obscene GPA. She only lost 20 points each in both the GRE and the SAT. She never quits anything.

I, on the other hand, am definitely not stupid. I did fine in school, if I wanted to. I remember I didn't want to write a Physics exam so I didn't answer any of the questions. The sports master, whom I had such a crush on, was invigilating and said, hey, come on, revise your paper, don't just sit there till time is up. So I revised, and rewrote the paper, and then got 100. I never had trouble with maths (okay, I'll admit, functions give me the screaming heebie jeebies), or any kind of science; I just never felt engaged enough. I was always hovering around fifth in class; I went to a mediocre college for a year and then dropped out to change to English and go to the country's top college for that. However, English is not a REAL subject in South India, as many kindly people told me, so I should just do a computer course and get married off. Look at my sister! Studying in the US! With full scholarship! Of course I also went on to do that eventually, but you know, some lame thing called Latin American Studies. They speak Latin in America? I thought it was only English.

My cousins are also rather overachievers. Good tambrams the lot of us. Acrosticus also went to the same college as Scoo, also with obscene marks; and got his PhD from India's top university. His brother also did some such madly achieving thing. The thing is, no one made that big a deal out of it in the family. It was never academics that differentiated people in our family, it was socializing, taking and making jokes, getting along with everyone around, and I'm really good at these things. Scoo, not being here much since 1996, is not. So people are different with us, and this made us hate each other for a while.

We never shared clothes, she's tiny next to me, and I don't mean only in terms of weight. We shared books though, and our birthday, and tried to outdo each other with plans. But we also shared those things (well not the birthday) with the Cousin Pack. Mind you, there's lots of my mum's cousins who are part of the pack, seeing as how young they are. We rarely confided in each other, or talked about insecurities - maybe because we felt we'd be exposing underbellies. Even now, there's an element of stiff upper lip old thing about our interactions. I wouldn't call her to cry. No, it's not because she wouldn't help me, but it would just be letting the side down. I'd call Acrosticus though, and he's a boy.

Being younger and far less driven, focussed and motivated, to my parents I am the problem child. I drive em nuts. I never do things unless I really want to or need to. I will not commit to anything and I quit too easily. So I am not spoiled because of her; I don't get relaxed attitudes because they rode out the worry on her; I have a much stricter setup than she does.

Which brings me to the whole what kinda siblings thing. Ideally, I'd have two of each, you know one to bond with of each sex, etc. Seriously though, I don't know if having an older brother would help any more or less than an older sister, and all other combinations. I also don't know if same sex leads to more bonding; it's more like there are more similarities, so more room for connection and friction. I do believe, however, that growing up with someone of the opposite sex around, you learn to be comfy around the opposite sex and treat them just like people. So boys can understand about menstrual cramps, and girls can understand about kicking in the nuts. But mostly, so kids get used to thinking of people as people, regardless of boy or girl ness.

P.S. I do want a boy and two girls though, and maybe one more of each. Hee. Girls so I can teach them to be strong and brave and take no shit from nobody, like Amma taught us, and boys so I can teach them to be strong and brave and treat women right ;)

Passionate about what?

That is such an overused and rather abused word. Passion. Find your passion. It's a passionate story. Pfft I say. It's the most overused (okay maybe second most after Harlequin, but no one takes Harlqeuin seriously, or at least enough people know that they shouldn't) when it comes tot hings like jobs.

For example, as the Bride said, have I always dreamed of coming to sit in an office and have to repeatedly consult dictionaries and usage manuals about the placement of zs and commas? Does it fill my heart with joy to think of the obnoxious authors who get to spew at me when they want, without the guarantee that someone senior will yell at them for it? (I'm lucky, my Commissioning Editor did, but it's very rare.) Can the need to correct the placement of every apostrophe, with intense consultation with three other people, be a calling? I don't think so. Editing is not very creative. It's not particularly challenging either, because, at the end oft he day, the author calls the shots, and his or her name is on the cover. I can suggest a better way to say something, but they can keep the shite. It pays nothing.

But I wouldn't say I'm unhappy in my job. It know what's expected of me. I know I'll be home and free of work at 530pm. I know I will get vacation when I want it. I know I will have many long and amicable conversations with colleagues on all sorts of stuff, not the least how annoying a particular person is. I also know that if something goes out with *gasp* an inconsistent style, no one will die. No great horrific thing will happen. It doesn't have a lot of room for failure; but it doesn't have a lot of room for success either. Which is fine. I took something I'm good at, and I found a niche where I have the space to work at my pace and indulge in all the other activities I want.

The tiny paycheque does hurt, I will give you that. Maybe I can't travel as much as I'd like, or buy the equipment I'd like, or even think of saving up to open a cafe someday, because I can't save. I'd still rather be here than at the last job, though the work was similar. Do I get excited about the Amitava Ghosh launch? Yes. Do I get livid about said obnoxious author? Yes. But is this my Passion??

The thing is, it's not simply about find your passion and life will be cookies and margaritas. First, what is the passion? Second, what if you never find one? Third, what if you find it but you suck at it? Fourth, what if its one of those things where its practically impossible to keep your head above water, like wildlife photography? Fifth, what if choosing the passion means giving up something else that's important, like having kids? Its never as simple as 'finding your passion'.

The Lord Save Us From Cargoes

Stop press. Someone tell the men of the world that slouching around in pants too big for you, or cargo pants, with a ratty round-neck t-shirt does not a sartorial statement make. The former can in fact induce hysterical laughter.

Seriously though, I do understand the need to be comfortable, but for the love of god! Dress like a grown up! Put on a shirt! yes! with buttons! and no, I said grownup, not lumberjack!

Foolish modern man does not know the pit-pat that the sight of a man in bootcut jeans and a button down shirt can induce in the female heart. Do you know, that if you actually look like you care about your appearance, you're already halfway to getting laid? cos then I now I won't be smelling nothing funky.Take a shower! Invest in subtle aftershave - don't send me home with half my face smelling like you just cos I hugged you hello three hours ago.

But stop there, don't become one of those men who needs an hour to get ready, and whose hair I cannot tousle because 1. It would mean that I needed industrial solvent to get my hands free of product, or 2. it would cause you to snap because I ruined your hairstyle and now you need another hour to set it right.

The P word

Heavy evangelism alert!

In terms of activism, it's not always possible to do something to help a cause. Take poverty. Not everyone can join an NGO, right? As the Bride said to me, we can support from the outside. But it's drops in the ocean.

Well I think we can do more. We can, for example, all not waste food. Give leftovers to our maids. Pay the auto driver the extra 10 bucks. Not bargain with the subziwala. Once a month, not eat out and give 1000 bucks to an orphanage to feed kids. Or to someone we know will use it well. Because if we sit down and we look at the sheer enormity of this problem, we will have to collapse in terror. No, we cannot eradicate poverty. It is not a disease. It is not finite, just like wealth is not finite.

On the one hand if you think of the entire endemic problem its a terrifying and impossible task; but if you look at one kid getting a meal tonight or a sweater to survive the winter and live another day, it's not so difficult.

Do some charity, and think of all the lives thst are better for it. If you are overwhelmed by the horror of poverty, think about how much worse it would be if it were not for everyone doing their tiny bit. 100,000 drops is a lot. even 1000 drops is almost a glass of water.

It is not possible to eradicate poverty. The way the world functions, the way life is, there will be rich, there will be poor, there will be people saying that the poor deserve to be poor because they always want to fight and drink. There will be studies telling you that children raised in alcoholic households till the age of five can never become functional members of society. I do not think that we have any hope of change unless we return to barter, lose electronics and grow a few more planets. But we can alleviate poverty. We can make some lives better. Step by step. If we all try, then there will be so many less undernourished children in India. Think of the difference it could make.

Who are we to say that without policy change improving the life of one kid is not worth it?

I've noticed, over the past few months, that I'm just getting bitchier. It's really not cool. I've always been sassy, and happy about it; you know, one of those people who tease other people and give smartass responses to things. But somewhere along the way I've become just plain mean. It' like i crossed over from protecting myself by not caring what other people say, to not caring what I say about to other people!

I was trying to figure out why, or where it comes from. BBot says it started in July, and Dragon agrees. The current theory is that my stress level ramped up insanely because I didn't get my scholarship, and a lot was riding on it for me. I was also hating living at home again, feeling like I lost my independence, and that my life was, again, heading nowhere fast.

Granted, these are all excellent reasons to be stressed and upset, and I deeply appreciate all the people who put up with me all this time, but, first, even if it were okay to do that, the stress is gone now, so wtf; and, second, it is not okay to do that!

It's a very strange phenomenon of human nature that we all tend to behave the worst with the people we love the most. Granted, the logic of them understanding best does hold true, but sometimes I think that very acceptance is a very good reason to refrain from treating people we love like punching bags. It's a fine line between venting and taking someone for granted. Often the recipients of the nastiness know what it is and refrain from mentioning it, but then slowly the mean person stops noticing when they're doing it.

Anyway, since I had to go and wash a ridiculous number of dishes right now, my train of thought has left me far behind, so I shall leave it here. Thoughts?

Friends and Lovers*

So yesterday, a discussion came up on the subject of men who abandon their friends after marriage. (Coinkydink, the Bride has a post up on the subject too.) I have seen this happen many times, where a guy has these friends he is close to, and then he meets a girl and poof it's like the friends don't exist. And I'm not talking about teenagers here. There's two reasons this happens, I think. First, the girl doesn't let him, either directly or indirectly, or, alternatively, the guy doesn't need any other kind of companionship once he finds the girl.

I might not go all the way like the people at the Bride's party and say that it's all the girl's fault, but I can see how there are women who can control their men like that. I personally know one case where the guy was not allowed to see his friends anymore cos the girl didn't like them, and heaven knows how many cases of the guy not bothering to see his friends anymore cos he has all-in-one in the girl. I also know one case of the girl dropping all her friends when she got married, though she did come back eventually.

When I've called people on this kind of dumping, they often deny that there has been a dumping at all, and sometimes plead new life, new things to deal with etc. With the kind of adjustment required from an Indian woman in a marriage, I can understand why the woman might lose touch, though I still don't think it's ok. With guys, however, I've also seen that they generally don't keep in touch. I've had many guy friends, who've known each other for years, only keep in touch because I am in touch with both of them and can pass messages along.

Which makes me wonder if it is something to do with the innate styles of interaction men and women have, Though I guess it could be the innate styles of interaction I and my friends have. I find that, even though generally people are less inclined to keep in touch because they can keep tabs from a distance in today's world, there are some kinds of people who do respond, even if only to say ACK IM FLOODED WITH WORK! That, however, is talking about people not in the same city, though sometimes in the same city.

Sometimes people marry** people who don't necessarily fit in with their friends. I know someone who has all these super intellectual type friends and well, it would be hard for someone to be comfy around them unless they came from a similar background, partly because the friends don't make an effort to make newcomers feel comfortable. My own friends can be terrifying to any guy I date, simply cos we've been so close for so long, heaven knows what intimate details they know, and well they're fiercely protective of me, and therefore highly suspicious of all guys. Sometimes one side or the other won't make the effort. Sometimes people are nervous of letting a partner see the side of them that is filthy-mouthed and endlessly ribbed.

I have a friend who is quite the partymaniac. He can be horrendously inappropriate, and so we are all equally inappropriate around him. He suddenly had an arranged marriage, to all our shock, and then he started to bring his wife out with us. She's very nice, but rather quiet, and not the drinking partying kind like us. But he brought her every single time, he stuck to her side like glue, and made sure we all tried really hard to make her comfortable. Eventually she told him it was great but please could she just spend her weeknights at home, so now he comes out without her. But that's a pretty awesome situation right there. Both of them made an effort and then they found a mutually acceptable solution.

What happens though, when you don't like or can't like your partner's friends? I guess you could do separate things, but then you run the very real danger of eventually leading separate lives. I somehow think that whatever the situation, it really pays off if you make an effort. I gained some fantastic friends by working really hard to hang out with BBot's friends, and somehow, these days he time with my friends back home, while I languish in Delhi! Win-win.

But, back to the original issue, does one person make the other stop seeing their friends? I think it happens a lot. Sometimes because the women is demanding, sometimes because the man is demanding and doesn't want her to have a life without him (often a guy will go out without his wife, but the reverse can't happen), sometimes because people get caught up in their new lives,  sometimes because they are trying really hard to fit in with their partner's lives, and sometimes because they just can't be bothered to make an effort now that they have to make an effort in their relationship. Whatever the cause, I think it's unfair to blame the partner, male or female, because at the end of the day it is the person who decided they will cut their friends. It only takes 5 minutes to send a long email these days.

*with due apologies to D.H. Lawrence, though, now I come to think of it, maybe he owes the universe an apology =D
** let us assume when I say marry it's shot for marry/date/engage in serious relationship with

Edit: I just realised that, when I was in college, we had a gang of two girls, the Dragon and me, and two guys, OOF and Chica. Chica and I were friends, OOF and Chica were friends, and the Dragon and OOF were friends, and we all came together because the two boys were friends. And here we stand, 9 years later, with the two girls friends (living together) ad the two boys not having talked in years. Though, to be fair, there was a nasty breakup in there.

Kiddies in public

I love me the kiddies. People who know the Person Behind the Kitteh know that I have longed for years to have children, and that my brain short circuits around my niece and nephew. I love all kiddies, needing no genetic bond to adore and worship them. But mother of god why are they so badly brought up these days?

This article got me off my butt to post.

I have to say, I agree with the man. For you lazy people, it's about a restaurant that says leave if your kids misbehave. Notice it doesn't ban kids; it doesn't say no kids on planes or modes of transport; it just says if you don't teach your child to behave in public then keep it at home. I heartily agree.

When I was growing up, if I ever brushed against a grownup in the pool, I'd splutter and beg forgiveness for interrupting their swim. When I went on trips, I was never ever allowed to put my shoes on the berth or scream IWANTIWANTIWANT to my parents. If we went to a movie and I got scared or upset, one parent would swiftly extricate me from the cinema and we wouldn't go back inside. It was a high honour to go out to eat and my french fries would disappear if I behaved badly. Oh I did throw tantrums, but in the car on the way home.

Which is why, today, when a kid pours water on my head on the train, or has a screaming tantrum in a restaurant because he wants dessert NOW, and howls through a movie, I want to SMACK the parents and be like, yo! I get it! It sucks BALLS that you can't go out and have a nice fun life for now, and you totally DO need to get out. It terrible that you have no kindly friends and or relative who will/can babysit. But you knew all this, and you had the baby. And you know, good for you. And you brought the kid out, awesome. I love kids. But dude, if your kid doesn't recognize the You're in trouble voice, then you should take him/her home for some training. Really. Cos if you can't/won't do it, I'm gonna have to.

Mah Momma is teh BESTEST

Today is the day my mother retires from 22 years of service at one central government institute. I don't know how many years she was at the one before that, and consequently how many years she's been with the central government in total. Anyway, as the only family representative in town I've been going to her various farewell parties. Sitting there, and listening to all the uncles and aunties talk about her, how long they've known her, the things she's done, etc, I almost burst with pride.

To begin, how many of us can even assimilate the idea of working with the SAME people for twenty-two years? The mind boggles. We congratulate ourselves for surviving 22 months. Or at least, I do. The sense of community and camaraderie that comes from working with the same people for that long is something else. For me, removed by one degree from these people, my memory of the past 22 years is peppered with stories about them - melting solder on one uncle's desk, drawing trees on someone else's blackboard, begging for computer paper to scribble on from a third, and so on. I remember antakshari sessions, and practising Hindi, being quiet because Amma's boss was in his room, going to flag hoisting at least once a year, demanding egg biryani from the canteen, going to Numaish with Amma's friends, and heaven know what else. For Amma, who's gone on field trips running into multiple months with these people, and has spent a significant part of every day of her life all these years with them, it must be something else entirely.

What I take away most though, is just how special a person Amma is. On the basis of science, and marking sites and setting instruments all over rural India, she has reached out to people of every imaginable type and forged these strong bonds of friendship that have reached out and embraced us as well. Her first boss was saying last night, that he remembers the first time she went to the field, they were nervous, because she was the first woman to do this kind of work (a fact she's always forgotten to mention), and the first night she didn't turn up at camp they were panicking so much. She turned up at 9, indignant at the questioning of where she was, and dismissed all the worrying and fears. She then went on to take care of all of them in the field he said. One story he told is, for me, representative of who my mother is. In the wilds of Gujarat, in her flannel shirt and jeans, burnt black by the sun, at a time when letters and occasionally telegrams were the only way to communicate, and they took their sweet time getting there, she's sitting in a jeep, with all the drivers, helping them write letters home.

That's my mother: comfortable with anyone, always reaching out to people who are generally at the fringes, careless of appearance and stereotypes. She has the largest, most generous heart of anyone I know, and its door is always open. She's blunt, brutally tactless, very far from emotional or gooey, but the immense strength of her affection will show itself in the letters she'll help you write, or the wife she'll take to hospital. I have never known anyone quite like her, who gets along effortlessly with anyone, from anywhere, in any language, of any age, and at any time. She has that rare and valuable ability to put people at ease instantly, and inspire loyalty and admiration that know no bounds. Half my own friends have adopted her - and come to visit for HER birthday. She is ready to take anything on, and her interests and abilities are so varied that I get a little tired out just thinking of them! She refuses to entertain the idea that women are weaker or less than men, and in a decidedly non-feminist, non ideological way. I cannot remember a time that we have waited for my dad, or not done something because there was no male presence. It was only later when in college I encountered feminism that I realised that Amma is that rare thing, a non-feminist feminist! She believes that anyone can do anything, if they want to hard enough. And she planted that belief in ourselves in both me and my sister - something for which I am so grateful.

Today, I sit here and think about this brave, intelligent, hilarious, generous woman, without whose presence my life would be so very boring and dull; to whom I have to talk at least once a day, if not three times when I don't live at home; without visiting whom I'm grumpy all week; for whom I'll wake up at 6am and blearily exercise; and I am very grateful to have been blessed with her as my mother. I think that if I can ever be half the person she is, my life will have been well spent.

I love you Amma, way to go!