Not just me, 'kay?

The day after I posted my little story about business ventures I used to think would be an excellent idea, I woke up to an email from S saying "Ermm I love you but you know you're weird no?" So obviously I need to share more things that continue to validate this sentiment.

One of the more embarrassing things I don't like to admit to people is that in the five years I've lived in Amreeka, I can't always tell, at first glance, if a person is South Asian or Hispanic. I'll see someone, think they're one of the two, and then when they start speaking realise they're the other.

THEY LOOK SIMILAR, 'KAY?

I was once at a restaurant, with a friend who also happens to be from Delhi. There was a family at a nearby table, and when they left, I asked my friend where he thought they were from. He couldn't tell either. So it's not just me.

AnyWAY. So last week, I was on a flight for a quick overnight work trip. I had the window seat, and an elderly Indian couple came and took the seats next to me. I knew they were Indian, because, well, they were speaking to each other in Hindi. I didn't converse with them through the first three-fourths of the flight - the lady next to me slept through most of it, and the only interaction I had with her husband who in the aisle seat was showing him wordlessly how to open the tray table when I noticed he was struggling with it.

Then, as we began to approach the descent to New York, the lady - who had woken up by this point - said something, and I thought she was talking to me, so I took off my earphones and turned to her. Turns out she wasn't actually talking to me but just commenting on how pretty the view of NYC from the window was, but in all of this confusion, she decided to start chatting with me.

And there went the rest of my flight.

Where are you from?
Dallas.
But originally?
Delhi.
Wait, you are Indian?!?
Haanji.
Arre, we thought you are Spanish! We would have chatted with you throughout the flight if we had known!

Erm, okay then.

So anyway, it's not just me, 'kay?

"You have smartphone, no?"

I was at the doctor's office a few weeks ago, sitting in the waiting area, and watching in fascination whatever home improvement related reality show they had on that day.

The gentleman next to me, who was at least 60, if not older, suddenly turned to me and said, "you're not very good at this waiting thing, are you? Don't you know you're supposed to be on your phone?"

I went for an Indian play this past weekend. The gentleman next to me, not that much older perhaps, but least a decade older than me, struck up a conversation with the opening words, so did you grow up around here? No? What visa are you on?

And having established that I was in fact on a visa, he told me all about the immigration reform advocacy group he is a part of. "You have smartphone, no? Open Facebook - I will tell you what to type and you can find our page."

I always rue the fact that too many of my relatives from the older generation know a little too much technology for my liking - not enough to be completely self-sufficient, but just enough to be dangerous. But what is with random strangers telling me how to use technology, yaar?

Ramblings...

I met a lady on the road the other day, while out with my dog for her evening walk. This lady obviously has some kind of puja that she does on a regular basis. As I passed her, she emptied a whole packet of vegetable peels in front of a cow, took a round of the cow muttering some chant under her breath, threw the empty packet on the side of the road, and walked off.

On the other hand, I met two very nice strangers today. I had only a 500 hundred rupees note in my wallet today, and needed change for my bus ride home. My usual source of change - the Xerox guy - let me down, so I stopped at the market near campus to try my luck there. The first shop I went to turned me down, but as I was leaving, one of the girls sitting there asked if 100 rupees notes would do. I said "sure!" and she handed them over. Not too many people part with their smaller notes so willingly.

I have so far very carefully resisted complaining about my issues with the public transport system on this blog. Suffice it to say, I don't like it. It is a complete pain, and getting home everyday takes me far longer than it should. Moving on. So today, classes got over early and the bus which brings me closer home wasn't due till two. Unwilling to wait two hours, I took the bus which brings me to just short of the border. From there, I took a cab to my usual bus stop, a ride that typically costs five bucks. There were three of us in the cab, and on the way to our regular bus stop, the driver asked us if we're students. All of us nodded. When we got to our destination, we held out the money but he actually refused to take it.

I've noticed the fact that I'm a student seems to get me some extra benefits from time to time. A couple of weeks back, I was late for class as usual, and there was no auto in sight. One finally showed up, and I hailed it with relief. Unfortunately, I didn't notice that there was an old army-type gentleman right behind me who had also hailed the same auto, and who therefore claimed he should get it. After growing increasingly belligerent for about five minutes, he finally asked me where I had to go. I said I have to go to college, and his entire demeanor changed. He made me get into the auto, and was practically blessing me by the time I left.

The point of this entry, you ask? You meet all sorts of people on the road. Plus I am fed up with my dissertation, and refuse to work on it tonight. And there's the fact that I wanted to cross last February's record of seven entries. Ooh, and today's the 29th of February. For another half an hour. Awfully apt title today, innit?

A thank you note

Occasionally, just occasionally, I get reminded that there are nice people out there in the world.

I'm not particularly known for taking care of my things. It's not really my fault; my belongings have a knack of disappearing into thin air, never to be seen or heard from ever again.

Anyway, so as anyone who knows me would tell you, I don't know the meaning of travelling light. My purses and/or bags are never exactly of the small variety, and despite their size, I usually have my hands full of a whole bunch of things. Most of which I never end up using during the day, but that's besides the point. I might need them, and then what would I do?

So anyway, Friday morning I left home with my purse full of random things, and a plastic bag which had my A4 notepad, class notes dating back to two months or more, sundry xeroxes and print outs (I prefer letting things accumulate instead of sorting out my papers as and when I get them, in case you were wondering). I reached campus, had a cup of tea, and then started wondering why my hands were feeling so empty. The answer? I'd left the packet in the autorickshaw. Running to the gate didn't help matters any; the guy was obviously long gone. So I spent the day giggling hysterically (Freud would give you several excellent reasons for such a reaction - all I can say is I did the same thing when my passport went missing two hours before my flight was due to take me for my dream vacation) and generally wondering what I was going to do.

Saturday morning, my phone and I happened to find each other in the same room at the same time (a miracle, I know; I can't figure out how we managed it) and I saw there were some missed calls from an unknown number. Not particularly bothered, I was on the verge of departing from the room when the phone rang, with the same number flashing. So I pick up, and turns out it's a guy calling from a shop in Shankar Market in good ol' CP whose brother's auto I had left my packet in.

To cut a long story short, the earliest I could get to CP was Monday, and after taking the packet (with everything intact, thank you, although obviously thoroughly searched) I asked the guy how on earth he managed to get my number. Turns out he went through all my papers and managed to find the visiting card of the dermatologist I went to some months back (did I ever tell you how I never sort out my papers but let them all accumulate?). He called her cell, and she gave him the number of the clinic who had my name on their records, who then gave him my number and address.

Who goes to that much of effort in this day and age? All I can say is, I was extremely fortunate that my belongings went into the hands of such a person. I realise this will never ever be read by the person it is intended for, but Alam, wherever you are, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.