Cut Above The Rest

I am going to be very wary the next time a person who doesn’t understand my language holds a pair of scissors and points at me. All I had asked for was a little trimming of the locks that had grown so long that it fell all over my face. Just a little bit of shaping up without compromising with the length of it. Instead, it resulted in a massive 6 inches plus loss of my long hair. It took me two long years to grow it, two years of maintaining and combing and shampooing and oiling. And in a moment, it was gone.

I looked at the floor with all the hair that had recently been snipped and sighed sadly. It didn’t strike me that while I pointed at my face, I asked for the front of the hair, ONLY the front of it to have short hair. The rest of it could still be long and flowing and going way past my shoulders as usual. Now, I felt vulnerable, with my neck bare and exposed. That was the look I had way back in college a long lifetime ago.

“It’s just hair and it will grow”- I agree with what you say. But do I want to wait 2 more years to look the same? I can’t tie it, can’t make a ponytail, and wearing traditional Indian clothes is going to be a concern. All for some random unknown woman who had power in her hands and without thinking or asking me again, went snip snip.

You look cute. You look young. You look like Kajol in KKHH. You can wear more jeans and sweatshirts now. You may not look feminine, but you look smart. You look like a little puppy. I really like your new hair. You should straighten it.

People always have their own opinions. Not that it makes the transition any easier. I am still working on getting used to my new look. Every morning I walk in front of the mirror still sleepy, my eyes open wide awake at the unfamiliar person staring back at me. I look at the Dandiya and Durga puja pictures from last year and sigh.

I think it is going to take me a while to start liking myself in the mirror again.

sunshine

On Distended Bladders

Nothing feels more painful than bearing the pressure of a distended bladder. All the wrong things happen then, the bus ride gets bumpy, people elbow you accidentally, and passing by the lake watching the water takes forever, further aggravating matters. It takes a lot of will power, muscle power, and clenching power.

Nothing feels more blissful than letting go of the distended bladder. It is like piercing a pin through a balloon and watching it deflate slowly. The relief, the ecstasy, the letting go of clenched muscles while listening to your heartbeat- I am convinced that the involuntary moan sounds more authentic than an orgasmic one.

Just my 2 cents on the pangs of distended bladders.

sunshine

Cold Treatment

March 4, 2009

I find most people’s behavior in the US to be exaggerated and  melodramatic to the extent that it almost becomes obnoxiously comical. Talk about how your stupid kitty gulped down a bunch of carpet fur and got sick, or about how the man you were dating ditched you, and women will grab their chest and make a contorted facial expression, almost sinking to the floor saying “Oooo I am sooo sorry”. I mean, what is there to be sorry about a fat stupid glutton kitty eating fur or about a screwed up man who decided not to waste your time? 

People will get melodramatic for things as trivial as you getting on the wrong bus or your morning alarm not going off. It is nyakamo in its own way- ask any Bengali if you don’t know the word, I couldn’t come up with an apt translation, ooo I am soooo sorry (clenching my chest). 

You must be wondering what pissed me all of a sudden about the mannerisms of people. The move and the weather took a toll on me, not to mention my office colleague who was suspiciously sneezing for a while, and I caught one of the nastiest cold I can remember ever since I came here. It started with a choked voice and relapsed to get back to full-fledged chest congestion, sneezing, and a terrible migraine. While it was still benign last week, I was making myself some tea in the office kitchen while I coughed. This alerted my colleague, who asked me if I was doing fine. Showing her the bunch of Kleenex tissues I was holding, I told her how I thought I might be coming down with cold. 

This woman immediately flung her hand in the air with all her melodrama, made a funny face (only she thought it was funny), and exclaimed- oooo stay away from me, I don’t want to catch it. 

In India, this would be considered condescending. You don’t want to show that you put your interest and well-being before the person who is ill, even if you feel that way. What I am used to hearing when coming with a cold is- ahaare bechaari, kheyal rakhish (poor thing, take care of yourself) and not something to the effect of what she said. I understand that it is infectious, yet the first thing I would get a cold, I would derive great comfort holding my mom’s hand and going to sleep. Here, people would put you in an isolation room, especially if you have just travelled and arrived from India. 

People think India is infested with lice and rats and mosquitoes and viruses. Some believe that there is an Asian version of every disease, which you get when you travel to or from Asia. Ever heard of Asian chicken pox or Asian dermatitis? It is ridiculous people should believe such diseases even exist. So I decided to stay home on sick leave and went back to office only when I was done with most part of the flu. I still made it a point to carry disposable Kleenex tissues and not the Indian-style handkerchief to blow my nose. I was weak, had a terrible headache, and didn’t look that good. Instead of applauding me for not staying home for something as trivial as a flu, the girls in office again started moving their limbs and contorting their faces in a way that it would seem they have been electrocuted. It’s not that I was rubbing shoulders with anyone. I quietly stayed in my room, occasionally going to the kitchen to grab some tea. People dropped by to see how I was doing, and when they saw me sniffle as if a toad was stuck in my nose, acted a false run as if a mad dog was released to bite them in their you-know-where. Ooo--- stay away from me, I don’t want to catch a cold and miss work. That is what they told me. Frustrated, I just continued to work. I hoped they would spare me the melodrama and leave me alone instead of making me feel I had some STD. I wondered which was it that caused me more headache, my flu, or the paranoid melodrama it caused. It seems people have no faith in immunity, or the healing power of the body. 

sunshine.

Shifting Blues

What amazes me about shifting is the sheer amount of junk one is capable of accumulating over a period of time. I remember when I was new to this country and was happily buying stuff in a garage sale just because the concept of a garage sale was new to me and things were so dirt cheap, a wise friend of mine had rightfully remarked- Wait for a year and you will be amazed to see how much junk you accumulate in this country.

The proof lies in the fact that this is the third time I have shifted to a place on the pretext of having a bigger place so that all my things fit, while I should be thinking the other way round and cutting down on the junk I have instead of shifting to a bigger house every year to fit it all.

Greater spending power stimulates the greedy side of the brain, and you suddenly realize that you cannot do without a little private balcony to keep your plants, that you need a breakfast bar in your apartment, an elevator perhaps, and that the carpeting should look better. Ample reason to shift to a better, bigger, and a more expensive place. I know I could spare myself the cynicism since I am the culprit, yet I am unable to forget the fact that while I arrived here with 2 big suitcases 2 years ago, I needed 3 big suitcases just to fit my clothes this time. And I wouldn’t think I’d come as a shopaholic to someone who religiously monitors every sale in the city or mentions shopping as one of her passions in the social networking sites. For all the one dollar and 50 cents stuff I had crazily bought at these wonder dollar stores and wonder garage sales, I had to shell out more than 200 bucks to pay the movers I hired. Yeah movers, you heard me right. My mother is still recovering from the shock that a single person, barely 2 years in the country, has to hire movers to shift to a bigger place, perhaps to accumulate even more junk so that even this place looks smaller.

Anyhow, I have been ruthlessly trying to get rid of stuff, cane baskets I’ll never need, old rugs that don’t match the floor anymore, bulky furniture picked for free in the university areas because people just left them on the streets, and my old clothes from India that I don’t think will fit me ever again.

Time will tell how much more junk I collect in the next year or so. Like I said, it is ironic how some people suffer from scarcity while some people suffer from excess.

sunshine