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.
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.
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!
i don’t understand why i’m sitting here (or rather, lying here in bed) thinking up a million different ways to open up this new post. i could begin with a little intro about how i’ve been slowly eaten alive by the billions of mosquitos breeding in stagnant water during monsoon season (but i’ve grown quite brave nowadays and attempted slamming some of the bloodsuckers into the wall, with some success and dead mosquito parts smashed across my palm). or perhaps, i should dwell on my mother’s latest lecture on wanting to see me well settled (keep in mind that the desi definition of “well settled” has no association with the western notion of “successful” or “independent;” rather, it is most directly related to the thought of “marriage” and “family”). or maybe a little story about the new wannabe marathon racers that happen to attempt running at the Aparna Orchids gym at the same time that I go training (may i add that they always try to discretely glance over at my treadmill’s stats from time to time as they huff and puff through their red light green light styled running?). nice to know i’ve started a trend for the better though.
either way, i dont know why i care so much. who reads this anyway?
or… (as i’m guessing is the case) i’m starting to feel a bit depressed, as the last week and a half of my stay in the motherland shoves an ugly and unappreciated countdown in my face. what is it now? ah… twelve days, two hours, and twenty-four minutes… give or take a few.
the time will pass, unexpectedly i’ll find myself dumped on the curb of sea-tac airport’s curving arrival lanes, forced to swap cluttered, haphazardly planned streets for immaculately clean and organized ones. unrelenting noise levels and raucous honks for the stillness of ordered life and dinners before 7pm.
the horizon full of minarets and vimanams for skyscrapers and a lone space needle.
the sound of evening prayers replaced by the thumping bass of a frat party or two.
chai at every point of day turned into visits to starbucks, a whole day’s work for some transferred into a sterile white cup full of the cheapest drip coffee. with room? yes. and a pump of vanilla, please.
surprising, that i should find myself feeling more than slightly sad that i will have to make my life in this kind of place.
although i may dream of hot dusty days, red clay ground, the sound of street cricket across the way, the sari-clad women balancing piles of laundry on their heads, the frighteningly balanced volcanic rock formations at the outskirts of the city, the smell of chai masala being thrown in boiling water, tandoors housing shelves upon shelves of the freshest naans, chaat bhandars gently tapping open the shell of a puri (i can go on and on forever)…
i live in a place far too different.
this post also happens to be a continuation of “fifth story views” ~
this time, when i turned my chair around to stare out the fifth story window, i was a little surprised. work had been too demanding the past couple days for me to really notice the landscapes of gachibowli, and so it was with a little trepidation that i viewed the new concrete foundation that followed the east-facing wall of the DLF building. i am kind of hoping that its not a foundation for a building over the height of four stories, and if it is, well i’m glad that my internship is ending soon.
already, the thick rusty wires that traveled up out of the concrete reached just below my window, and i’m sure that if it opened up, i could almost reach out and touch them. the thicker dirt road of the field seemed to be covered in gray gravel, a step up from the rust red dirt it used to be before.
today, while i stood with a few of my coworkers in the tiny room off the west hallway that served as a modern chai stall for the intelligently worthy, i asked them how long they expected the DLF building to be standing by its lonesome self on a horizon only sporadically dotted with malaysian townships.
they looked at me a little strangely, as if asking, “why is this abcd asking about the hitech city buildings of gachibowli?”
but i suppose they took pity on my curious expression and indulged in an answer that both horrified and surprised me, “a few more months.”
a few more months and the DLF building will soon be surrounded by smaller offices, the buffalo and cows lounging lazily under the shade of tree lined roads replaced by chaat and chai stalls and the ever-growing bustling indian population of rickshaw drivers and household maids.
maybe even a GVK-2 worthy mall standing at the corner where the local dhaba had once set up his tin roof and glass case filled with empty gol gappe shells.
the boundaries of Hyderabad are elastic, stretched out as far as shamshabad and kukatpalli. And, when had Secunderabad been taken over by Madhapur, and now Madhapur overtaken by the tall servant quarters districts in the distance?
to think that in maybe three years, i’d come back to find the brand new, still glistening DLF building taken over by smaller companies, and a new CSAI office in the far outreaches of an even larger Hyderabad. like a rabid race, our species crawls over new arid lands, cultivating, building, destroying, and replenishing.
the volcanic rock formations of hyderabadi plains chiseled away at, and lying in piles of rubble at our feet.
the equations of the economic population problems ran through my head, as i leaned back in my ergonomic chair to watch the monstrous lorris pass by the roads, carrying loads of old volcanic rock. how much longer would it take before every square foot of empty land in india is taken over by rickshaws and rabri stands? the already polluted waters of the ganga, slowing to a sluggish mud-like travel down the indic plains, its nutrient-rich waters turning into sludge and mucus. the dust-filled skies, and blood red sunsets blotted out by a thick skyline of tall slums and skyscrapers. flyovers built over skinny roads, bridges built over every bottleneck of water, creating a maze of transportation like a series of snakes and ladders from the sky. every road lined with clustered buildings, every room piled with breathing bodies, every step a suffocatingly close stumble into your neighbor’s path.
of course logically, it couldn’t happen, as everyone versed in economics knows. the population problem has its own solutions, limited by space, by resources, and by mortality itself. but im sure that with the rate at which things are going, destruction will come close enough.
topic: desi actresses and actors kissing on the big screen
a) not attractive
b) highly awkward when you’re sitting with your parents
c) makes you want to barf up the popcorn you just ate
d) western obsession, much?
ok. think back on all the hollywood big screen kisses that are burned into your memory. ryan gosling and rachel mcadams in the notebook. passionate? yes. sexy? yes. awkward? no.
angelina jolie and brad pitt in mr. and mrs. smith. wildly romatic? yes. sultry? yes. clumsy? no.
rachel weiss and hugh jackman’s desperately doomed kisses in the fountain. heart-wrenching? yes. graceless? hell no.
ok, got a solid visual? good.
now, imagine a spaced out deepika padukone and a wrinkly saif ali khan staring into each other’s glossy eyes and smacking at each other’s lips with worse poise than an uncoordinated lusty teenage couple sucking their faces off like floundering fish gasping for air. incompetent? YES. inept? YES YES.
please. if brown people are expected to accept the blasphemy of onscreen kissing, can actors and actresses at least make it somewhat enjoyable to watch? i’d rather take the downcast glance of a shy deepika padukone than her brazen and offbeat lip locking.
and i’d much rather take saif ali khan’s lame dance grooves and lip sync to “jab bhi koi ladki dekha, mera dil deewana bole, ole, ole, ole!” than his puckered plunge at deepika’s face.
gross.
especially when you try to look anywhere but at the big screen, accidentally catch your mom’s awkward glance over at you, and finally have to settle for staring at your lap.
dear mr. saif ali khan and miss deepika padukone, i’m sure that you both get your share of kissing and whatnot with your respective significant others, but i beg of you, i don’t want to have to suffer through your appalling (and yes, slightly disturbing) necking sessions throughout the duration of “Love Aaj Kal.” it honestly would’ve been a much better movie on the whole if there was a little more chunni tossing, giggling, and running around trees.
Sway, you’re not creepy either,
but i gotta let you know, I’m sick of remaining of a bachelor.
find me a masakali, so i could watch KKKG with her.
the lack of masakalis at uw, gives us brown guys nothing but anger.
and i ain’t trying to be vulgar.
but the incoming freshmen seem to look somewhat better.
further, my scope isn’t narrow. I’m also into cougars ;)
unless you find an auntie who looks like a straight up ogre.
funny, the radio’s playing harder, better, faster, stronger
anyway i’mma go eat. Maybe a burger?
arivizzle, i may be your numba one matchmaker,
but im not some ordinary lame vishal and shekhar,
my raps flow better than bluffmaster’s,
i cause a scene like natural disasters.
can’t you see? im trying my best to find you a masakali,
its not as easy as winning junior monopoly,
and if you want my honest opinion, find a priti,
a brown birdie who fry you delicous jalebi. :)
BRUAHHHH!
so if you happen to be reading this,
and are looking for a little marital bliss,
keep in mind that my homie arivizzle,
is looking for a fine young brizzle,
but take a look in the mirror first,
this gangsta’s only got an unquenchable thirst,
for a tall, gorgeous masakali,
not some old, chubby, wrinkly aunty.
if you’re interested, holla at me,
i’ll see if your horoscopes match and your parents agree,
do that sapta-padi in a hurry,
and i guarantee, you’ll be very happy :)
