<3

i got sad while i was standing in the shower today, knowing that you wouldn’t be waiting for me on the other side of the door.

dear lost and dazzled psychology student

work isn’t full of adventures. usually, i sit in a tiny gate house watching age old seasons of tv shows and hounding pals on various forms of internet chatrooms. the heat gets to me, i turn the fan on full blast, then resort to peeling off layers of clothing. but then i begin to feel exposed, a bit like a misshapen mannequin on display in a glass encased gatehouse situated in the middle of a busy road.
to take my mind off of things, i start to people watch. i begin with scanning the fellows standing at the bus stop, let my eyes wander over to the brave few who trek up to mary gates hall, and then i saw you. you were walking up the hill into the 41st street entrance of campus, and you looked simply smashing in your CEO style getup, but there was a certain familiar look on your face… i squinted, and realized. you looked quite lost.
you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and i watched, completely entranced, as you glanced back down the street and then the other way.
with a little spring of a step, you bounded across the other side of the street and headed straight for me.
dear student, i couldn’t take my eyes off of you for a second, and i was taken aback when i realized that you were heading straight for my gatehouse, that endearing expression still pasted on your golden, gorgeous face.
by the time you were standing just inside the gate door, i had recomposed myself and hopefully conjured a more acceptable expression of amazement. you had politely asked me about the floating building stationed temporarily in the C-8 parking lot (formerly a psychology building that is being transported to a newly flattened area by Parrington hall) and were wondering where the new psychology office would be located.
i believed that you would for sure detest me after i revealed to you that i had absolutely no clue, but you surprisingly took it in stride, flashing a brilliant smile and straightening your blue striped button up.
you told me that you had no idea where to go for your important meeting now, and that you might miss what would be the most important meeting of your psychology career with a lab instructor.
i apologized, but you shook your head and smiled, and to my surprise, struck up the beginning chords of a conversation.
we conversed for a bit about the psychology major, into which you told me you were only recently inducted, and i was legitimately impressed by both your stature and your credentials, and even that way you ran your long fingers over your short dark hair.
student, you are even better looking from this close proximity, i can see that your eyes are not just a deep brown, but more like freshly pressed coffee grounds, and that your ‘do (short though it is) has the potential of curling into a less egotistical version of Vincent Chase’s Greek god of mops.
i’m not the easiest of people to chat with, and i am also not the least awkward of people either, so it surprised me to no end when you gave me that compliment. i wasn’t expecting it, and it caught me off guard so i’m pretty sure i was smiling like an idiot at you while you waited for a gracious thank you or something else of the sort.
no doubt, you’re quite skilled at this kind of thing, but a part of me (a really big big part of me) hopes that you meant what you said because it meant a lot to me. and yet a bigger part of me hopes that one day you will stumble across this blog post, realize that you just the made the day of a poor bored student stuck at work, and that you will maybe holla back.
but regardless, what you said made me smile for hours after.

cap’n crunch always saves the day

living by myself this year was probably the best decision i have ever made.
don’t get me wrong, i LOVE my roommates from freshman and sophomore year, and would room with them in a flash if the nordheim rent miraculously went down. but after my ordeal last year (which i am glad actually happened, because the roommate who moved in is a complete sweetheart compared to the one she replaced) i wanted to go a different route. constantly cleaning and inquiring after someone who insists that they don’t have personality issues (when they clearly do) was not fun, not fun at all.

so, here i am, in the most fabulously un-posh studio on the ave, cutting out my own second-class wall decals (i refuse to spend eighty bucks to buy them), pasting them up on the wall with double sided sticky tape, and creating framed poster prints out of my art pieces and colored ductape. am i creative? i certainly think so.

but mostly, i’m completely broke.

i’ve realized that after months of enjoying the best indian food ever (chicken tikka masala at the snap of a finger, hot buttered naan stacked on wicker baskets whenever i raise a finger, and mango lassis freshly whipped placed at my elbow) it SUCKS to be back in Seattle.
the only good point is that now, there are five thai restaurants to choose from, since good thai food is probably about the ONLY thing that India lacks on when it comes to food.
But where are the chaat bandhars? the streetside sugar cane machines? the blankets spread out on the roadside with mounds of stacked sitafel?
Not just that, but the giant meals you can buy for a mere 250 rupees (approximately five dollars) will be very much missed as well.
here, i could buy a fist-sized serving of pad kee mao at Thai-Ger Room for a shocking eight full dollars.

and so, with great trepidation and a heavy heart, i trekked to Safeway to load up on Cup o’Noodles, Cap’n Crunch, bread, and a gallon of milk.
And for every bite of overly sugary cereal i take, i’ll have to pretend its a spoonful of fresh, hot lamb biryani. :(

far, far away

what can i say about homesickness?
well, for one, it doesn’t hit you until you’re sitting alone on the couch, not able to sleep as the night wears on, perusing surfthechannel for a couple of good flicks to while the time away.
at first, you feel lonely.
then, gradually, you think back the last couple months spent with family. familiar faces, familiar places.
and finally, you realize what it means to want to be in two places at once.
which is not possible, and so you succumb, sadly, to thinking about wanting to be in the other place even though you are most definitely stuck somewhere else that is far, far away.

a reminder to myself

if at any time i think to succumb to my own weakness, i am to think about my sister and my brother and the enduring support i must offer my parents.

after all, my family is worth more to me than anything else in the world.

dreaming.

rawr.

i woke up from what was possibly one of the best dreams i’ve had in a long while.
i’m not going to go into detail, but i am going to say that i guess, deep deep down of course, i fancy abhishek bachchan very much. so much, that i even dream about him falling in love with me.
my subconscious mind had even figured out the logistics of our entire relationship (my dream self had asked abhishek pointedly, “what about aishwarya?”) and abhishek had once or twice reassured me with an all-knowing smile.
however, i think what made me happiest about this entire dream was that i woke up with a feeling like i had just run my palms along abhishek’s blessedly scruffy jawline.
which then drew my mind to a whole other (definitely not parallel) topic of thought: how i wish i were a man.
to organize this topic of thought, i compiled a list of all the good points of being a man:
1. scruff
2. height
3. deep booming voice
4. can be a total playa from da himalayas without a hit to the rep
5. can eat like a horse without ending up looking like one
6. are allowed to grunt and groan in the gym
7. marry the fairer sex
8. don’t have to go through childbirth

Scruff is pretty much #1 on the list for its apparent amazingness. Oh, what I would give for a 5 o’clock shadow, or the slight ruggedness of a light beard. There are many reasons why beard are awesome. Firstly, scruff instantly turns a boy into a maaaan. and not just any man for that matter, but a badddaaaassss mannnnn. Secondly, a beard lends a sense of worldliness and intelligence to the ordinary features of a man. Thirdly, it doubles as insulation. For warmth in the cold months of winter.

Most men are tall. I’m a short girl, and i guess i could just as easily wish upon a star that one day I could be a tall woman, but i don’t. why would i want to be a tall woman? that just narrows the small number of available men it is appropriate for me to marry… it’s much more convenient to want to be a tall man. it comes in handy. want to kill that spider that’s lurking in the corner of the ceiling? reach up and smash it. is the concert too crowded? so what… a tall man can look over everyone else’s heads.

as a short girl, i also have one of those annoyingly softer voices. if i wanted to speak up in lecture, only the rows around me would probably be able to hear my normal voice unless i wanted to shriek like a banshee. a guy can easily turn up the volume on his deep, booming voice. it commands attention with ease.

as for being a playa… i’m not saying its impossible for a girl to be one. in fact, it’s quite easy, but what kind of girl wants to be labeled as a breezy and sluzzy? but if a guy were to juggle around a few females for his brood, who’s to call him anything but smart and enterprising? a male playa is looked up to and even revered.

if i ate half as much as most of the guys i know, i’d balloon into jabba the hut. i guess along with everything else, most males are endowed with fantastic metabolisms. what happened to fairness and equality? thanks Bhagvan.

I am going to presently skip #6 because the point is pretty self explanatory. ever heard a girl letting out a groan or two as she hefts those weights over her shoulders? no. more likely you would hear those types of noises coming from a woman in the birthing ward of a hospital.

not gonna lie. most men are fugly. the ratio of better looks weighs heavily on the side of women rather than men. so what if once in a blue moon there’s a hrithik roshan or brad pitt? there are way more angelina jolies and sushmita sens existing in the world than there are george clooneys and shahid kapoors.

childbirth is a tedious nine month ordeal riddled with mood swings and discomfort. obviously, it’s something special, and, apparently, motherhood is precious… but if i could get away with becoming a parent without having to endure morning sickness and weird cravings for oysters and bhel puris, i’d take it.

ah men.

how to be an DesiGangsta

if you have ever seen Bluffmaster (the abhishek bachchan/priyanka chopra starrer that came out years ago) you’re probably familiar with that cringe you get everytime you see abhishek try his brown hand at being a G.
sidenote: what is a “G?”
from that lame fedora he wears, to the Hingrish he imitates with a terrible americanized accent. OG? massive fail.
us desis need to create a gangsta image of our own, not just based off of those political thugs, but something actually original. a DG? DesiGangsta fo shoz.
maybe some tips need to be taken from shah rukh khan. after all… he was detained at the airport for being such a G. must be that badass attitude.

in order to be a DG (DesiGangsta), there are a couple of rules to follow:
1) lose the long lungi. desi gangsta don’t need a dress, they need easy movement, and they need to flaunt their possession of interesting and eye-catching boxers. i’m not saying that the DG needs to stay away from llungis overall, since they are quite comfortable (freedom of movement and all that), i’m just thinking in terms of perhaps shortening the lungi (similar to going from pants to crops) and then slinging them around so low that the boxers can be seen. a good point would be perhaps mid-thigh, that way those beezies can get a full view of the printed boxers most Gs wear.

swaggeristic

2) gangstaspeak is rough, abbreviated, and difficult to comprehend.
example: “yo gotsta git ma bling-bling fa sho, yo brizzle, dis shizzle ain’t gotcha benjamins on dat counta yo.” (translation: i have to get my jewelry, hey bitch, this shit isn’t worth hundreds of dollars.)
i understand that it might be difficult to do such with a beautiful language like hindi or urdu, but the real gangsta has to make his speak crude. it lends to the unintelligent and rugged persona that a gangster must preserve.
perhaps if we adapt hindi/urdu to the gangstaspeak, it will be easier:
example: a desi says, “sab kaise ho?” a desi G says back, “kuch nahin, yaarizzle. bilkulizzle!”

3) one word: bling. i think desi people have got this one down. it’s hard to find anyone who doesn’t sport a couple gold rings or even some studs. and that chain? everyone has it for sure.

she's blingin' fo sho

4) always ALWAYS incorporate an offensive word in every sentence. this, once again, won’t be very difficult for many desi people to adapt to. just slip in a bhen chod or saala or kutti into every thing you say.
example: yaarizzle, woh saala bhen chod kahaan ho? kutti…

5) gangstas always refer to their women as “snickers,” “beezies,” “brizzles,” or “ho.” snickers aren’t all that popular in south asia. i would suggest that a DG refers to his women as “five stars,” “munchies,” or “perks.” (maybe even perkz) those are the real chocolate bars of “da desh.”

6) got that new short lungi slung around your hips so low? shabash. now, the DG needs a swagger like no one else on the corner. most of a G’s swagger comes from having the waist of their pants/denim crops so low around their knees that it restricts their movement. the whole point of lungis is to give real men their deserved freedom of movement, so we’ll have to think of a different type of swagger for DGs. for this, we’ll have to delve into the heritage of a desi, straight back to their rich bharatnatyam roots. for a dancer, the walk is very important, reflecting all the grace of a peacock and the poise of a himalayan tiger. the DG has to dive into this grace and persona to achieve his swagger.
i have included this instructional video for inspiration on achieving a DG swagger:

7) perfect the pout and only smile to show off that grill, DG. In between pouting, the desi gangsta can blurt out rhyming couplets. if you find it hard to rhyme hindi/urdu words, feel free to mix in some hingrish:
example: arey get up and dance yehi tera chance!
if the DG has trouble thinking up original couplets, try spitting out some actors and actresses names to a steady beat, chances are any real G will look at you like you’re the new LudaKrishna.
example: dharmendar jitendar amitabh amir khan! yo yo!

ain’t nothin but a g thang, baby.