On things that don't change

Ten years ago, a friend's father came to pick us up from campus after the two of us were done with classes for the day. As we got into the car, he told us since we both refused to learn how to drive, we should marry guys who would be able to afford drivers to drive us around. To which I had responded, "or you know, I could get a job and pay a driver's salary myself."

Today, a friend and I went shopping, and then to her place, where she showed her husband her purchases, and explained to him exactly why she had bought she had, and why it all made perfect sense. And after he rolled his eyes and approved of everything, she turned to me to explain this is why you marry a guy who lets you buy whatever. To which I responded, "or you know, stay single and not have to justify anything at all." To which her husband grinned and nodded.

Where by we, we mean I

Let us get announcements out of the way first. There is a wedding in the family this winter. It is not ours, so shoo. We are tremendously excited about it, and so we are willing to indulge people who talk about nothing else on the phone and therefore don't even ask people about what might be happening in their lives. Not that we are complaining or anything.

We might be talking like this a bit because we have been reading Anuja Chauhan's latest book recently.

So anyway, we were in Delhi last week. Mainly for wedding related gatherings, and of course wedding shopping, but also extremely important things like mangoes and bhutta and hair spas. Now six days in Delhi is never ever enough, and when those six days are spent shopping for wedding outfits during the day and working during the night because we have no vacation days and have to beg for time off, it is all very exhausting. Nonetheless, Delhi is Delhi after all. It is... home. Y'know?

Now wedding shopping in Delhi is... interesting. I mean, first of all, let us be clear. Delhi fashions were, are, and always will be way too jhataak for us. So the first line uttered in every shop we entered was invariably:

"bhaiyya shaadi ke suit dikha do, par zara kam jhataak ho toh."

Now the other problem is current fashions. We have been made to understand that Pakistani serials have become very popular in India. Which we are okay with because we gather they are a little less insane than the Indian ones. But as a result, Pakistani styles are the current fashion in India. Which is all well and good, because they're really gorgeous, but can we please agree that anarkalis and shararas and whatnots do not suit every body type? Therefore, the most common conversation we had in this entire shopping process was this:

"Bhaiyya salwar ya churidar ke saath nahi hain?"
"Aaj kal yahi fashion mein hain."
"Aaj kal jo fashion mein hain woh nahi pasand na."

Ufff.

However. The mother and I are extremely efficient, with the result that between Karol Bagh and CP and GK-I, we are done with the wedding shopping, barring one outfit. We did not have the time or energy to go to Chandni Chowk, and Shahpur Jat was wayyyyyyy too jhataak for us - except for one shop that was wayyyyyyy out of our budget. We are a little sad we didn't end up making it to South Extension, because it has been too long since we had the juice and bhel puri there, but the friend who has said she could meet us in South Ex came home the next day, so what is there.

The one outfit that is left is also not completely worrisome, because we know what we want, and the mother will have it done by the time we land back this winter. Accessories need to be picked up locally, and we need to try and find someone who can do some tailoring for us locally, because there was no time to get blouses made for the saris one has chosen, but that and all can be figured out I think.

So, productive week. Even though we didn't get to eat enough foods or meet enough people.

And now we will run to our next meeting.

Momentary rhapsodies

Dear world,

I would like to take a moment to rhapsodize over my new pairs of trousers. Because they're just that amazing.

They're stretchy and comfortable and fit perfectly (and in fact feel a little loose despite being my size so that makes me feel even better) and they were so cheap in the outlet mall I found them in that I bought two pairs - one black, one maroon. And I've owned them less than two days but I feel like I could alternate between the two of them for the rest of my life and be happy because they're just that amazing.

I heart Ann Taylor.

That's all folks.

Toodles.

Of broken eggs and deleted posts

Sometimes you go to Whole Foods and accidentally drop a crate of eggs. And you pick up the crate and stand wondering what to do with it, and while you're standing there with yolk dripping on your fingers, a woman who's been glaring at you ever since it happened stops a Whole Foods employee and points him your way. And you keep apologizing, but he just laughs you off saying he drops eggs several times more than you do, and you don't feel so bad. And then you see the woman who was glaring at you look disappointed that you didn't have to burn in hell for what you did and you feel even better. And then you come home and type out a long FB update about the incident and the woman who wanted to see you pay for your sins but delete it without posting because you realize you have an overactive imagination and no one really cares.

And then you open Blogger and post it there instead because what is a blog for if not your overactive imagination that no one cares about.

My lovely purple sweatshirt

Friends from home sometimes comment on my photos these days saying it's nice to see me in colour. There used to be a time when barring my Fab India dupattas, my wardrobe consisted almost entirely of white, blue, and beige. Maybe some black. This apparently has changed.

The first indication of this changing was in March 2009, when I impulsively bought this beautiful velvet-like purple sweatshirt from a random shop in Barcelona. It was a beautiful sweatshirt, perfect for nip-in-the-air-but-not-really-cold weather, and I loved it so. Unfortunately, by the time I got back to saddi Dilli summer was approaching so I put away my lovely new sweatshirt to wear when it more sense to.

That November was the first time I did the whole Great Delhi Walk to raise money for a cause. Since I had to leave really early in the morning, and the nip in the air was quite noticeable, I took out my lovely new sweatshirt to wear on the bus ride. I then gave it to a friend to keep in her car, who gave it to another friend for some reason, and since everyone dispersed very quickly after the run, my sweatshirt went away with her.

A year passed before I met my friend again, and I finally got my sweatshirt back when I went to pick up stuff for the next year's Great Delhi Walk. I wore my lovely purple sweatshirt almost constantly after that; it went me with on every trip I took, and I loved it so.

But then the sweatshirt started fraying (also I started putting on weight but whatevs), and it needed fixing. I got the tear fixed once, and then when I moved to Amreeka two years ago, I brought it with me. But then when the mother came to visit, we noticed it had torn a bit again, so she said she'll take it back to fix it. And she did.

And then I brought it back with me when I visited home, and it lasted fine till this summer. It had torn again by the time the family landed up for graduation, and this time even the zip wasn't working, so the mother said she would take it back with her again. At this point, my summer trip back home wasn't supposed to happen so I was sad about being without my lovely purple sweatshirt but I was brave and said okay.

And then my joining date for work got delayed by a month and I had no money in my bank account to do fun travel like all my classmates, and so we decided I would go home because who knows when I'll get chhutti after this. And when I got home and saw my lovely purple sweatshirt, I saw the tailor had taken out the entire zip and replaced it with a black cloth and zip.

WHO PUTS A BLACK ZIP ON A PURPLE SWEATSHIRT?

So now my lovely purple sweatshirt is ruined and I left it behind at home because I refuse to wear it with an ugly black strip down the center, and when I think over my years with it I feel it is a bit jinxed and I feel very sad.

Where I use italics to emphasize how pained I am

Technically, I will admit, I have a flatmate. However, we lead entirely separate lives - I like to get home and stay home as soon as I'm done in school, and she likes to study in school and rarely comes home before 1 AM. Therefore, for all intents and purposes, I'm pretty much living on my own.

Which is actually great, given our previously discussed discovery on how little I need people around me. The problem arises, however, when I go shopping for groceries. Why is everything in this country so big? Or was it big back in India too, and I never paid attention because I didn't need to?

Our meals are completely separate - I'm not sure if she even eats, actually. So when I'm shopping for groceries, I'm shopping for one single person. Wherein lies the problem. I buy a packet of salad leaves, it should last me a week, but invariably spoils before that. Cauliflowers are the size of what a watermelon would be, back home.There is no concept of "half-bread" here. After being out of eggs for more than a week (they got recalled, apparently), Target finally got some in yesterday - all in either family size packs or in sets of dozens. Where are the half-dozen sets I need, dammit? I needed flour because the mother gave a really easy recipe for soup, but the smallest packet size I could find is going to last me six months.

Is desh mein log kitna khate hain?

I mean, even the dishes. The flatmate bought a lovely and full china set of plates, bowls, etc. before I even landed up here. Only, those bowls. They're huge. Like, bigger than the soup bowls in China Club. Seriously. I had to go on a very long hunt before I finally found a set of small, reasonable sized bowls (which were actually super cool, because they come with plastic lids, which means I can also use them for storage, but that's not the point).

The brother had always warned me that servings when you eat out are huge in this country. And I discovered that very, very quickly. So if I buy a sandwich or a quesadilla for lunch from the cafeteria in school, I know half  of it is coming home for dinner or breakfast the next day. What no one ever warned me about was how much extra one ends up buying to make things at home.

What makes the situation somewhat better is that yours truly has now started driving (that's right - I CAN NOW DRIVE). So I don't need to depend on someone to take me to Target, shop up for the week, and then watch everything spoil because I thought I'll have time to cook something with that mushroom, but guess what, I didn't. I can, usually, stop by on my way back to school and pick up whatever I need to cook either that night or the next day - assuming I have the energy. The trouble with that is I then also end up buying a whole bunch of stuff I never intended to buy. No walking up to the corner shop and saying "bhaiyya ek half bread dena".

The only thing catering to the single-person-living-alone that I can see are those frozen meals-for-one. And there is only so much of those meals that one can have.

First impressions

I'm 26 years old, and I've never lived away from the parents. College, grad school, three years of work - it all happened from the comforts of home, where the biggest decision I had to make was what to wear the next day.

I stood in Walmart's yesterday and spent five minutes trying to figure out which type of milk I should go for. I finally chose Organic and Fat-free; it sounded healthy yet more appealing than soymilk. It took me ten minutes to figure out which mop stick to buy; mainly because the cheapest one didn't have refill mops available, and the ones which did were too expensive. Buying an iron was easy - the cheapest option was also the only brand I'd heard of.

My Japanese flat mate and I invited people over for dinner tonight; I, all the Indians I know, and she, her friends from the language pre-classes she's been attending. I was chatting with a Colombian girl, who's moved here with her boyfriend. Both of them will be going to school with me, and as it turns out, both lived with their respective parents before they moved here. So they spent 15 minutes today trying to figure which type of soap they should buy for the dishwasher. As I told her, it felt SO good knowing I'm not the only one in this state.

In other news, people keep asking me if I'm homesick. Now that I've given in and bought a BlackBerry, with everyone just a text/BBM away, not so much. The only time I sniffled a little bit was when the mother showed the princess on Skype this morning. She can't get a smartphone. Maybe the mother's idea of inventing a cell phone for dogs has some merit.

May I also say, that for all the talk about Indians behaving very differently when they go away from their country, at a dinner party of people coming from the Far East, South America, and Europe, the Indians were the only ones walking in two hours late. Indian Stretched Time is a constant everywhere we go, it seems.

Trapped

NB: I am contemplating beginning every post of mine with an apology for my absence, from here on. It seems to be the sure shot way of getting lots of new readers and followers (apart from drawing comic strips, of course, which I am a total #fail at anyway). Not that I would know even if I did get lots of readers, because you crowd never comment. Yes, I'm talking to you, the person who visits regularly, according to Statcounter. Hmph I say.

Moving on.

It is by now a fairly well-documented fact that I despise shopping. When I die and go to hell, it will look exactly like either Ambience Mall or Select City Walk. Seriously.

My idea of shopping is going to a shop, finding exactly what I needed, paying for it, and exiting. And as cribbed about before, what I need is never what is available in the shops.

Which reminds me, what is up with Fab India and their sizes? Three kurtas, supposedly of the same size, one of which fits me just fine, one is too tight, and the third flaps around me like it's a maternity dress. Someone I know who is double my size had to buy a Small size recently. Even she was startled. Seriously.

Right. So, shopping. Hate it. Always have, always will. Unfortunately, if there is something I am a sucker for, it is freebies. And there, my friends, is where the folks at Select City Walk have trapped me rather neatly.

You see, they've come up with this loyalty rewards program kind of thing. You go to the mall, pay for anything (and I mean anything - books, clothes, movie tickets, even a bottle of water at Barista), you get points. Which add up to free vouchers. Which I can't resist.

So the other weekend, the family went there, supposedly to sit in Barista while the brother met someone somewhere in Saket. The mother being the mother, which is to the complete opposite of me, decided to go window shopping. Next thing I know, the father was summoned because she had found just the kind of curtains we'd been looking for. Then I'm called there too because this was Shoppers Stop and I have their cobranded card (well, yes, I may hate shopping, but I sign up for every single rewards points scheme there is - it all adds up to freebies you see) and so we could get a discount because of that. And then they tell us that if we take the bill down we get free vouchers. Worth 10% of our billed amount. Which was a lot.

So the father and I went down. Where we learnt that even our Barista bill could be counted. So I got free vouchers. For quite a decent amount. Woohoo!

Only, then came the catch. These vouchers could only be used in Select City Walk. Oh well, we figured, we'll come sometime and pick up stuff. And then somehow, exactly a week later, I found myself in the same mall again. To watch the most boring movie in the world, because the father got free tickets from his bank (freebies! woohoo!). So the mother decided we should club this with a shopping expedition and use up the vouchers.

Only, when we finished, we discovered that whatever we spent over and above the voucher amounts made us eligible for more points. As did the KFC meal we bought. And the movie tickets we never paid for.

Do you see my problem here?

I'm stuck. I'm trapped in this vicious circle which is going to send me back to that mall every second week. Because I can't resist freebies.

Shoot me. Now.

No wait, then I'll get sent to hell.

Dammit.

Weekend rants

I know I've said this before, and I'll probably say it countless times in the future as well, but I hate shopping.

What with Pujo round the corner, as well as sundry occasions coming up in the extended family as well as friend circle, shopping has been something of a priority for the past few weeks. And with barely a week to go for Pujo, I am as usual scrambling to get things ready in time.

If I have to go shopping, however, I like it to be focused - I go knowing exactly what I need to buy, find it, and exit. Unfortunately, this doesn't always work, especially since my idea of a good buy is never in keeping with what is in "fashion". Tell me, are fashions made with complete and utter discomfort kept in mind?

Getting my hair cut is always a fairly traumatic experience. As readers of this blog will know, my hair is the one thing about myself that I am actually vain about. And every time I see those inches of hair falling to the ground, I swear, a little piece of me dies. However, sheer boredom with my current style finally demanded that I agree to shortening my hair by at least three inches, and so, the deed was done yesterday. I also decided to get it nicely set in curls for the family function last evening; alas, my hair is so freakin' gorgeously straight that the curls open up within an hour.

On another note, why does everyone in a hair salon have such weird hairstyles? With the spikes and the strange colours? Is it compulsory to take advantage of the services their workplace offer, or are they trying to advertise their services. Because I gotta tell you, if it's the latter, it's not working. In any salon I've ever been to.

The first time

More than a decade ago, the family and I were at a coffee shop in some hotel in Chandigarh fairly late in the night - why we were there of all places I have no idea; it wasn't a very frequent haunt for us.

When the bill came, my dad looked at me, grinned, and asked, "Do you want to see it take really long for the bill to get cleared?" Intrigued, I nodded, and he whipped out his credit card, and gave it to the waiter. And he was right; they took nearly half an hour to swipe that card and bring back the bill for him to sign.

I went shopping earlier today and took out my card to pay for the one shirt I ended up buying; I was at the counter for less than a minute.

I have never yet been able to use my card without remembering the first time I ever heard of this thing called a credit card.

I'm a sucker for nostalgia.

This is home.

I swear to you, Bengalis are the only community I know of who, on being asked how they are, actually tell you how they are. Seriously.

Mamma and I spent a week in Kolkata last month, and it is just incredible how asking a person how he/she is will get you very comprehensive details of each illness/ailment suffered in the past week by not only the person you're speaking to, but by every member of his/her family as well. The trip was incredible though. This was the first time I actually went around the city on my own, and the first time we did more than just visiting various relatives. Most importantly, after years of looking for it, my mother and I finally found the shop in New Market she used to frequent in her college days for the purpose of buying silver jewelry. Apparently, I forgot the meaning of the word stinginess while there, because by the time I exited that shop, all the gift money I had saved for the past two years had been spent.

We also discovered, for the first time perhaps, just how exasperating and unprofessional doctors in Kolkata are. Doctors in the NCR may be mad and annoying, but at least they're in their chambers during their scheduled hours and at least they pick up the damn phone when there's an emergency! I still love Kolkata, but if I had to live there, I think I'd go quite mad.

The family also spent a week or so in Mumbai and it's nearby hill stations recently. Quite a lovely trip; the father took us around to his college, hostel, and haunts from college days. I also found the perfect bag while shopping in Linking Road; it is huge and everything I ever need to carry with me (which, as some of you may know, is quite a bit) and still have space left over. And those are just a few of the highlights of the trip.

We're now back home. Things are happening at home. Life is back to normal, or as normal as it ever gets with my clan. I'm back to disliking shopping with a fervour (although I do need to visit Fab India fairly soon). The princess of the house is getting used to having the whole family with her most of the time, and is throughly enjoying being taken for walks by the brother every morning (as much as I am enjoying the extra half an hour of sleep since that particular morning duty is taken care of for the next four months at any rate).

I have also come to realize the truth of something I have been trying to deny for the past nearly fourteen years - this city is my home. The NCR is where I feel most comfortable. Oh, I love traveling and visiting other cities. The people here are ridiculous, the weather is crazy, and the transport system is capable of driving me to suicide. I've got my whole life ahead of me and there's no saying where I'll end up eventually. But for now, this is home.