Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Quick, early-in-the-day, rant.
After ordering breakfast at Panera this morning, I am asked for my name, as is customary, so that they can announce it when the food is ready. I say, "M O" (after years of name/spelling mangling experiences I have settled on this relatively painless compromise), to which the woman's response is "how do you spell that?". I'm perplexed and tell her that that is how it is spelt.
A few minutes later, guy at the bar makes eye contact and asks "Ahmed?", a charge that I vehemently deny. I think about it a few seconds, go back over to him and ask him to repeat the name. And, lo and behold, it's Ahmed again! With no likely Ahmeds around I'm beginning to put two and two together here. I ask him what is in the bag and he confirms that it is what I had ordered. My irritation shows, he's grinning a little apologetically, I'm saying "Ahmed? How did it become Ahmed? Maybe I look like an Ahmed...". 7 years of trying to improve my enunciation and these guys across the counter still can't understand what I'm saying! I think I'll ask the chap to pick a random name for me next time round.
A few minutes later, guy at the bar makes eye contact and asks "Ahmed?", a charge that I vehemently deny. I think about it a few seconds, go back over to him and ask him to repeat the name. And, lo and behold, it's Ahmed again! With no likely Ahmeds around I'm beginning to put two and two together here. I ask him what is in the bag and he confirms that it is what I had ordered. My irritation shows, he's grinning a little apologetically, I'm saying "Ahmed? How did it become Ahmed? Maybe I look like an Ahmed...". 7 years of trying to improve my enunciation and these guys across the counter still can't understand what I'm saying! I think I'll ask the chap to pick a random name for me next time round.
Labels: Rants, Reflections on life
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
So is that how it will be?
Here's a post that puts expectations from married life into perspective. It's from a woman's point of view, but the very honest sounding description of the greyness of the couple's feelings vis-a-vis each other is worth reading about, at the very least for its ability to disturb.
Labels: Reflections on life
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
A need for romance.
I meet this girl, who is attractive to me--an impression, no doubt, created by the fact that she deigns to talk to me (what wonderfully low esteem!). I'm conflicted--at this advanced age (actually, represents attitude fairly accurately, an attempt at humor is not being made here) caution (atleast being aware of the need to be cautious) comes pretty easily, at the same time there's an impatient part of me that wants me to decide really fast what my feelings for the girl are, and take steps towards getting into a relationship, fulfilling physical (don't say a word, I warn you) and emotional needs. The first approach, I know, is the right one, but it's the second one that seems more compelling (no brainer, I guess).
The romance I was constructing around this girl is related to the experience of a very close friend. He's now married (in fact, the ceremony took place only about 2 weeks back) to a Romanian girl he had been dating for about 4 years. There was, atleast in my mind, a very endearing devotional aspect to the relationship from my friend's side from the very beginning--without much prompting from the girlfriend, within weeks of starting to date her, he took it upon himself to teach himself her language. His efforts were diligent and now he's so highly proficient in Romanian that he can easily hold his own in any conversation with his wife's friends or even her relatives back in Romania, for that matter. That's the fantasy I was building involving this girl whose native language, not unlike my friend's case, is different from mine.
Recently, I went out for dinner with these guys and I complimented my friend on his decision to learn the language. Turns out there was more to it than what I was romanticizing it to be--he actually enjoyed learning the language independently of the fact that it was something his girlfriend wanted him to do. When I told my friend what my hopes from this girl were, he went on to add, that no relationship is as perfect as I was imagining his to be (No 'rainbows day after day') and every relationship also comes with its issues that require working out. No new stuff here, really, but it's sometimes necessary to be brought back to Earth. That's enough self-disclosure for the time being, stay tuned.
The romance I was constructing around this girl is related to the experience of a very close friend. He's now married (in fact, the ceremony took place only about 2 weeks back) to a Romanian girl he had been dating for about 4 years. There was, atleast in my mind, a very endearing devotional aspect to the relationship from my friend's side from the very beginning--without much prompting from the girlfriend, within weeks of starting to date her, he took it upon himself to teach himself her language. His efforts were diligent and now he's so highly proficient in Romanian that he can easily hold his own in any conversation with his wife's friends or even her relatives back in Romania, for that matter. That's the fantasy I was building involving this girl whose native language, not unlike my friend's case, is different from mine.
Recently, I went out for dinner with these guys and I complimented my friend on his decision to learn the language. Turns out there was more to it than what I was romanticizing it to be--he actually enjoyed learning the language independently of the fact that it was something his girlfriend wanted him to do. When I told my friend what my hopes from this girl were, he went on to add, that no relationship is as perfect as I was imagining his to be (No 'rainbows day after day') and every relationship also comes with its issues that require working out. No new stuff here, really, but it's sometimes necessary to be brought back to Earth. That's enough self-disclosure for the time being, stay tuned.
Labels: autobiographical, Reflections on life
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Brooke Burke.
Ma is visiting, she's been around for a little more than three weeks or so now. Before she arrived, I had to, obviously, conduct this massive clean-up/organization operation so that she would not (I have to be careful about how I phrase this as she's one of the two regular readers of this blog!) go into this gung-ho, no-holds-barred, clean-up mode and end up making me feel like an awkward teenager again, which, hold your breath, did nevertheless happen.
Anyway, one of the fine-tuning issues was to decide whether or not to remove the almost-nude Brooke Burke poster in the bedroom. The poster is a hand-me-down which previously belonged to a roommate of a friend Neeraj (a long standing MIA by now) when these guys were relocating. I'd always admired the poster when it was in its original home for its cleverness with regards to being titillating without being tasteless, so when the change of ownership offer was made I accepted. I consider my parents fairly liberal by the standards of average middle class Indian couples of their generation, so I decided that in all probability my mother should be okay with it. And I thought I was in the clear when she did not comment on it upon entering my room for the first time. I now know that feeling triumphant about my assessment of the situation having being proven right was a little premature, for when I got back from school the next day the poster was off (she didn't rip it off, merely put it out of sight). It was amusing. I was thinking about this while in LA, a trip made in the very recent past, and decided that this DOES NOT prove that my mom is not as liberal as I imagine her to be. It's a question of stereotyping--a laissez faire (if that's the right phrase) attitude to semi-nude women might be a sufficient condition to being liberal but certainly not a necessary one.
There, I've done it again, created a post with very little substance!
Anyway, one of the fine-tuning issues was to decide whether or not to remove the almost-nude Brooke Burke poster in the bedroom. The poster is a hand-me-down which previously belonged to a roommate of a friend Neeraj (a long standing MIA by now) when these guys were relocating. I'd always admired the poster when it was in its original home for its cleverness with regards to being titillating without being tasteless, so when the change of ownership offer was made I accepted. I consider my parents fairly liberal by the standards of average middle class Indian couples of their generation, so I decided that in all probability my mother should be okay with it. And I thought I was in the clear when she did not comment on it upon entering my room for the first time. I now know that feeling triumphant about my assessment of the situation having being proven right was a little premature, for when I got back from school the next day the poster was off (she didn't rip it off, merely put it out of sight). It was amusing. I was thinking about this while in LA, a trip made in the very recent past, and decided that this DOES NOT prove that my mom is not as liberal as I imagine her to be. It's a question of stereotyping--a laissez faire (if that's the right phrase) attitude to semi-nude women might be a sufficient condition to being liberal but certainly not a necessary one.
There, I've done it again, created a post with very little substance!
Labels: autobiographical, Reflections on life
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Mustard with a knife in the dining room?
Foodwise, being in the US has been a little tough, the fact that I'm a vegetarian doesn't help either. Somehow it's hard to get used to thinking of cold sandwiches as meals---to be satisfied mentally I've got to have warm food. The cookies and indigenous chocolates, that one finds here, are cloyingly sweet, what with cane sugar having comprehensively replaced sugar everywhere, which, come to think of it, is a funny comment for an Indian to make considering how sweet some of our own mithais can be. Though what I miss most about being away from des is the mustard sauce which was (still is, I'm sure) served by most reputable pizzerias there. It was such a delicious way of adding zest to pizzas. The mustard in this country tastes so different, and I'm afraid even after being here for so long I haven't been able to get used to its flavor. Why-oh-why does the mustard here taste so different, and yucky, from the mustard back home? So far my quest to find a more Indian tasting mustard has been in vain. I'm really hoping someone can help me out with this one.
Labels: Reflections on life
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