Tuesday, March 24, 2009

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.


Wednesday, March 04, 2009

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.


Monday, March 02, 2009

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.