Questions I have been asked and answers I have wanted to give.
“Do you have letter boxes in India?”
No, we use pigeons.
“Do you know what an icecream is? Have you ever had one?”
An icecream? Not sure what it is. Is it a kind of moisturizer?
“Do you have things like emails in India?”
No, we really really use pigeons.
“Indian huh? So you are kinda related to Pocahontas?”
Yes. She was my grandmother. These earrings I wear are from her.
“Of course you will know all about the Nez Perce tribe! You are an Indian.”
Yes, of course. I do wear feathers when I go back home every evening.
“So what is it really like to live in India?”
Verrrry different. People are green in color and they breathe through their gills.
“What do you think about the fact that India might be considered an Asian society?”
Huh? Ever considered looking at those bright colored things called maps?
“Is India a country or a continent?”
Neither. It’s actually a planet. Yes, you are being invaded!
“So you got up one morning and said ‘I gotta get out of this damn country?’ and so came to US?”
No, I got up one morning and decided to educate the world about how perfect my country is.
And an actual conversation I had:
“So how is the settling down in America going?”
“Pretty good actually, thank you. Although going to Wal-Mart is still a scary experience.”
“Oh! You don’t have big shops in India right?”
“No we do, it’s just that we’d rather do other stuff than worry about 70 different brands of toilet paper.”
P.S. I welcome all questions though because every conversation helps me teach something about India that the other person did not know. I like the opportunity that the interaction gives me. And every question has been asked with such frank curiosity and friendliness that it's been worthwhile. So everyone in India reading this post, PLEASE no America bashing. It's a warm, wonderful place to be in.
Showing posts with label American Adventures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label American Adventures. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Baking The Baby
One of my most favorite persons in America gave me a huge basket of apples last week. She is my teacher. Yet another favorite person gave me the recipe for a traditional apple pie. She is my colleague. A third favorite person helped me make it. He is my friend Dan.
Those in India reading this, please say hello to Dan. He is one of the funniest, wittiest, nicest people this side of the Atlantic Ocean. Those in America reading this blog, please make Dan the president or something. Here he is in this picture with Manasi and me. No, I am not trying to strangle him!
Dan has already enriched my American experience in four significant ways:
First, he has taken me to a football (as these guys understand it) game. Although he made a valiant attempt to make me understand it, I couldn't. Blame it all on what I understand by football (Manchester United, Sir Alex, transfer market, English Premier League, so on and so forth...oh how I hate my brother!), and also on the decibel level around us which made normal human conversation nearly impossible. Thirdly, because it IS a weird game. Players wear funny helmets and shoulder pads so much so that they look like aliens made in the mould of Hercules. Every once in a while someone picks up an egg shaped ball and frantically runs with it. Or, he collapses or is made to fall down, and on him falls every other person in the field. Then suddenly the game stops and music starts blaring or there are commercials showing up on the giant screens. Or cheerleaders take over the whole field with their perfect smiles and bodies and gravity-defying stunts. It is at this point that everyone in the stands either starts dancing or chanting or screaming. The the music stops and game resumes. With all the running, falling, hitting etc intact and including obscene terms such as quarterback and touchdown. Touchdown! Is everyone getting the same images as I am?
Dan has taken me fishing. One particular Saturday evening, I went with him and his friends Nate and Andy to Spring Valley Reservoir to catch fish. So there I was, being one of the boys...drinking beer and learning: how to dig out the worm from its home, how to straighten the wiggly and won't-be-still-for-a-moment worm while I drove the end of the fishing rod into it so that it could serve as bait for the fish, and then how to cast a line on a spinning rod. Dan, Nate, Andy...expert fishermen all, and well, towering over me in their over six feet avatars. But that particular evening, guess who actually caught the fish? The only person to actually catch the fish and thereby give greater power to all novices in the world in the face of challenges posed by the experts? ME! I caught a Blue Gill. A beautiful, small little fish, but fish nevertheless! I had thus, taken the first step towards buying my own fishing trawler. For these men, since fishing is more of a sport than anything else, the idea is to catch fish just for the fun of it, and then gently extract the hook from its mouth and release it. Back to freedom.
My only regret of the evening? I wasn't carrying a camera since the trip was a spontaneous decision. Digging around the Net hasn't been particularly helpful. No picture, no words can describe the indescribable beauty of the Spring Valley Reservoir. The narrow path we walked on to reach the fishing site, the changing colors in the sky while the sun set, the mountain range and forest cover surrounding the lake, the pack of wolves in the distance as night closed in, and finally, the luminous, perfect moon that rose over the lake. It was sheer magic.
Here are two pictures that will give you an idea of the lake and the fish, the best I could do with help from Google images.
Dan's third contribution has been feeding me some real American junk food that I had not eaten previously. Corn dogs and curly fries -- both of which he made at home. (Incidentally Dan makes some of the world's finest cookies.) For more on corn dogs go here and the best way to describe curly fries would be curly French fries, just that the curlies are somewhat spicier.
And finally, Dan's fourth contribution has been supervising the creation of my first Apple Pie, which was quite alright for a first attempt. (Yes, I am hoping to be able to open my bakery soon enough.) I would open the oven door after every ten minutes or so (because I was so excited) and it was at one such moment that I said to Dan, "Aw...it is browning. Isn't this like watching your own baby grow?"
And he replied, "Yes, just that in this case we will be eating the baby. Manasi come out and see Sayantani baking her baby!"
While I dissolved into peals of laughter, Dan continued his diatribe on my cruel, uncivilized behavior as a mother.
Those in India reading this, please say hello to Dan. He is one of the funniest, wittiest, nicest people this side of the Atlantic Ocean. Those in America reading this blog, please make Dan the president or something. Here he is in this picture with Manasi and me. No, I am not trying to strangle him!
Dan has already enriched my American experience in four significant ways:
First, he has taken me to a football (as these guys understand it) game. Although he made a valiant attempt to make me understand it, I couldn't. Blame it all on what I understand by football (Manchester United, Sir Alex, transfer market, English Premier League, so on and so forth...oh how I hate my brother!), and also on the decibel level around us which made normal human conversation nearly impossible. Thirdly, because it IS a weird game. Players wear funny helmets and shoulder pads so much so that they look like aliens made in the mould of Hercules. Every once in a while someone picks up an egg shaped ball and frantically runs with it. Or, he collapses or is made to fall down, and on him falls every other person in the field. Then suddenly the game stops and music starts blaring or there are commercials showing up on the giant screens. Or cheerleaders take over the whole field with their perfect smiles and bodies and gravity-defying stunts. It is at this point that everyone in the stands either starts dancing or chanting or screaming. The the music stops and game resumes. With all the running, falling, hitting etc intact and including obscene terms such as quarterback and touchdown. Touchdown! Is everyone getting the same images as I am?
Dan has taken me fishing. One particular Saturday evening, I went with him and his friends Nate and Andy to Spring Valley Reservoir to catch fish. So there I was, being one of the boys...drinking beer and learning: how to dig out the worm from its home, how to straighten the wiggly and won't-be-still-for-a-moment worm while I drove the end of the fishing rod into it so that it could serve as bait for the fish, and then how to cast a line on a spinning rod. Dan, Nate, Andy...expert fishermen all, and well, towering over me in their over six feet avatars. But that particular evening, guess who actually caught the fish? The only person to actually catch the fish and thereby give greater power to all novices in the world in the face of challenges posed by the experts? ME! I caught a Blue Gill. A beautiful, small little fish, but fish nevertheless! I had thus, taken the first step towards buying my own fishing trawler. For these men, since fishing is more of a sport than anything else, the idea is to catch fish just for the fun of it, and then gently extract the hook from its mouth and release it. Back to freedom.
My only regret of the evening? I wasn't carrying a camera since the trip was a spontaneous decision. Digging around the Net hasn't been particularly helpful. No picture, no words can describe the indescribable beauty of the Spring Valley Reservoir. The narrow path we walked on to reach the fishing site, the changing colors in the sky while the sun set, the mountain range and forest cover surrounding the lake, the pack of wolves in the distance as night closed in, and finally, the luminous, perfect moon that rose over the lake. It was sheer magic.
Here are two pictures that will give you an idea of the lake and the fish, the best I could do with help from Google images.
Dan's third contribution has been feeding me some real American junk food that I had not eaten previously. Corn dogs and curly fries -- both of which he made at home. (Incidentally Dan makes some of the world's finest cookies.) For more on corn dogs go here and the best way to describe curly fries would be curly French fries, just that the curlies are somewhat spicier.
And finally, Dan's fourth contribution has been supervising the creation of my first Apple Pie, which was quite alright for a first attempt. (Yes, I am hoping to be able to open my bakery soon enough.) I would open the oven door after every ten minutes or so (because I was so excited) and it was at one such moment that I said to Dan, "Aw...it is browning. Isn't this like watching your own baby grow?"
And he replied, "Yes, just that in this case we will be eating the baby. Manasi come out and see Sayantani baking her baby!"
While I dissolved into peals of laughter, Dan continued his diatribe on my cruel, uncivilized behavior as a mother.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Attachments
Ramlal has gone back to his home. His mistress came and took him a couple of days ago. I am heartbroken. Have been quite inconsolable since then because I am missing that moron so much. I should never have gotten this attached to him knowing that he was going to go away in three weeks' time. Attachments are strange, powerful things. They tie you up too tightly.
I tried to talk his mistress out of the idea of taking him back. But to no avail. I am sure if he could talk, Ramlal would have told her, "I am having a lot more fun with Sayantani than I do with you. She sings to me, reads to me, plays with me, wants to take me out for walks and also feed me exciting stuff. All that you do is keep me in the tub."
I miss you Ramlal.
I tried to talk his mistress out of the idea of taking him back. But to no avail. I am sure if he could talk, Ramlal would have told her, "I am having a lot more fun with Sayantani than I do with you. She sings to me, reads to me, plays with me, wants to take me out for walks and also feed me exciting stuff. All that you do is keep me in the tub."
I miss you Ramlal.
Monday, October 23, 2006
More on Ramlal
This weekend was eventful. Details and photographs of the same will be uploaded soon.
But one of the few things that made it interesting was a whole new series of experiences with Ramlal.
I cleaned Ramlal's tub. Plucking him out for this was an adventure in itself. If only he knew the meaning of "Stay still, you moron!" Nevertheless, the cleaning was achieved without much trouble, and in utter joy he ate four sticks of his dirty, smelly food.
All of you will be pleased to know that two new games have been created for Ramlal's entertainment. They are called "Whirlpool" and "Earthquake" respectively.
In the first one, wind is blown in to his blue tub and the attempt is to simulate a whirlpool. Of course, the entire game is accompanied by appropriate sound effects.
The second game is particularly entertaining, and my personal favorite. The objective of this is to simulate an earthquake, and it is achieved by following three crucial steps:
The first involves walking towards Ramlal's blue tub with heavy steps.
In the second stage, you are to grip the two sides of the tub and shake it mightily all the while ensuring that no water spills out from the tub either on you or on the carpet (failure to ensure so will get you yelled at by Manasi).
In the third and most crucial step, you have to maintain the tempo of the earthquake by making appropriate earthquake-like (!) sounds.
But the bore that Ramlal is, all he does is paddle with all his might or hide under that inverted cup house of his in an attempt to escape. He so did NOT seem to appreciate these innovative games the first time round. But to be fair to him, I think he is gradually getting a hang of them. For today, when Manasi was safely out of the house and I went to play Earthquake, he poked his little ugly green head out of the tub to study me for a while, which is when we played "Who can stare the longest without blinking?" Ramlal won.
But one of the few things that made it interesting was a whole new series of experiences with Ramlal.
I cleaned Ramlal's tub. Plucking him out for this was an adventure in itself. If only he knew the meaning of "Stay still, you moron!" Nevertheless, the cleaning was achieved without much trouble, and in utter joy he ate four sticks of his dirty, smelly food.
All of you will be pleased to know that two new games have been created for Ramlal's entertainment. They are called "Whirlpool" and "Earthquake" respectively.
In the first one, wind is blown in to his blue tub and the attempt is to simulate a whirlpool. Of course, the entire game is accompanied by appropriate sound effects.
The second game is particularly entertaining, and my personal favorite. The objective of this is to simulate an earthquake, and it is achieved by following three crucial steps:
The first involves walking towards Ramlal's blue tub with heavy steps.
In the second stage, you are to grip the two sides of the tub and shake it mightily all the while ensuring that no water spills out from the tub either on you or on the carpet (failure to ensure so will get you yelled at by Manasi).
In the third and most crucial step, you have to maintain the tempo of the earthquake by making appropriate earthquake-like (!) sounds.
But the bore that Ramlal is, all he does is paddle with all his might or hide under that inverted cup house of his in an attempt to escape. He so did NOT seem to appreciate these innovative games the first time round. But to be fair to him, I think he is gradually getting a hang of them. For today, when Manasi was safely out of the house and I went to play Earthquake, he poked his little ugly green head out of the tub to study me for a while, which is when we played "Who can stare the longest without blinking?" Ramlal won.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Ramlal
A few days ago I reached a profound conclusion. That it would indeed be devastatingly boring if one were to born as a turtle. This insight was brought by my close association over the past two weeks with a turtle that’s been living at our house.
To start from the beginning, a friend of Manasi’s left her pet turtle with us a fortnight ago because she had to rush to India on a family emergency. The turtle, barely two inches long, came in his sky blue plastic tub that was half filled with water. An inverted plastic bowl in the tub is his home, and that’s what he scurries under every time I decide to sing to him, which is at least once every morning.
When he arrived at our house, within his first few minutes with us I decided that he needed to be taught some new rules. After all, he was going to be with a pucca Indian family now, he had to be made Indian, so what if he had been plucked out of Caesar Creek in Ohio, USA. His name was Caesar too, since his mistress had felt a need to keep him tied to his roots. However, I rechristened him, and now he is called Ramlal.
Our daily routine is somewhat like this. I wake him up every morning when I patter out to the kitchen to make coffee, “Ramlal, beta Ramlal utho. Subah ho gai hai.” After which I proceed to sing to him, and feed him three sticks of his prescribed food…dried, rotting fish-smell oozing sticks. They smell bad, real bad. Often when I am reviewing or reading out loud whichever story it is that I am currently working on, I go and sit next to Ramlal’s tub, and we pretend that I have just won the Nobel Prize for Literature and that he has come for one of my readings.
The ways in which I have suggested/wanted to enliven Ramlal’s life are as follows. (Mind you, they have all been thumbed down by my cruel roommate. Seriously, there’s just no appreciation of creativity in this world anymore.)
1. Take him out for a walk. But apparently the cold outside will kill him.
2. Feed him something nice and spicy. Apparently he is just supposed to eat his own diet.
3. Feed him chocolates. You know the answer to this.
4. Give him toys to play with. These could be pebbles or plastic. But there is another apparently! Apparently he will try to eat them and that might kill him.
Given the fact that Ramlal can’t (or chooses not to) respond to my affection the way I want him to, I suggested that we should just get rid of him. You know, maybe cook him up and have him for our Sunday lunch or something. (Yes, I know I am rather demanding with my love and affections, but that’s fair enough. I invest a lot too.) But at the suggestion that we should eat up Ramlal, all hell broke loose. At least that was entertaining! :D
Way to go Ramlal! At least you provided indirect entertainment.
To start from the beginning, a friend of Manasi’s left her pet turtle with us a fortnight ago because she had to rush to India on a family emergency. The turtle, barely two inches long, came in his sky blue plastic tub that was half filled with water. An inverted plastic bowl in the tub is his home, and that’s what he scurries under every time I decide to sing to him, which is at least once every morning.
When he arrived at our house, within his first few minutes with us I decided that he needed to be taught some new rules. After all, he was going to be with a pucca Indian family now, he had to be made Indian, so what if he had been plucked out of Caesar Creek in Ohio, USA. His name was Caesar too, since his mistress had felt a need to keep him tied to his roots. However, I rechristened him, and now he is called Ramlal.
Our daily routine is somewhat like this. I wake him up every morning when I patter out to the kitchen to make coffee, “Ramlal, beta Ramlal utho. Subah ho gai hai.” After which I proceed to sing to him, and feed him three sticks of his prescribed food…dried, rotting fish-smell oozing sticks. They smell bad, real bad. Often when I am reviewing or reading out loud whichever story it is that I am currently working on, I go and sit next to Ramlal’s tub, and we pretend that I have just won the Nobel Prize for Literature and that he has come for one of my readings.
The ways in which I have suggested/wanted to enliven Ramlal’s life are as follows. (Mind you, they have all been thumbed down by my cruel roommate. Seriously, there’s just no appreciation of creativity in this world anymore.)
1. Take him out for a walk. But apparently the cold outside will kill him.
2. Feed him something nice and spicy. Apparently he is just supposed to eat his own diet.
3. Feed him chocolates. You know the answer to this.
4. Give him toys to play with. These could be pebbles or plastic. But there is another apparently! Apparently he will try to eat them and that might kill him.
Given the fact that Ramlal can’t (or chooses not to) respond to my affection the way I want him to, I suggested that we should just get rid of him. You know, maybe cook him up and have him for our Sunday lunch or something. (Yes, I know I am rather demanding with my love and affections, but that’s fair enough. I invest a lot too.) But at the suggestion that we should eat up Ramlal, all hell broke loose. At least that was entertaining! :D
Way to go Ramlal! At least you provided indirect entertainment.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
REALITY CHECK ON 60 days
"I am 60 days old in America today.
And today I am horribly horribly homesick, Delhisick, sick of the fact that I have to hold on to something for 12 hours before any of my people are awake enough for me to be able to talk to them.
This post will go in the bin tomorrow, just as I will be perfectly alright tomorrow. I just needed someone to yell at right now, and my blog was the only thing alive and responding."
So that's where the last post, written yesterday, ended.
It's a different story today. What has changed in the last 24 hours?
First of all, the last 24 hours brought the same awareness that I have every morning while walking to campus...that life is at this moment EXACTLY how I had hoped it would be. I get to stretch my mind a little more, I get to have yet another meaningful conversation, I read a work that I had no clue about, I eat something new, I write or develop a story I hadn't before, I meet someone new, and I learn something all the time.
But more than this daily awareness what actually acted as a reality check was the nightmare I had last night. When I woke from it this morning it took me a while to register my surroundings and get back to normalcy. What did I see?
I saw that it was the morning of Aug 9, 2006 and that I had overslept. My flight was barely 20 minutes away and I was still packing. Eventually I missed my flight. And by some strange fluke there was nothing available for the next several months. What if something similar had actually happened? Maybe not missing the flight but say something else? How would I have reacted then? Bitterly. I would have been very harsh on myself, after all studying creative writing is something I had breathed, dreamt of and lived through for the last two years of my life. I have wanted to do this more than anything else in my life. Now that I have got a part of it, I can afford the luxury of homesickness. But if I had not been able to make this happen, the same home would have tired me, the same friends and family I am missing today would have had to bear the brunt of an embittered angry Sayantani.
Therefore, whatever happens happens for the best.
Thank you all for your comments. I appreciated them very much. I have still to tell everyone all that I did last Saturday. That will be something to write about. A couple of new adventures that I am incredibly proud of.
Until then...Tata!
And today I am horribly horribly homesick, Delhisick, sick of the fact that I have to hold on to something for 12 hours before any of my people are awake enough for me to be able to talk to them.
This post will go in the bin tomorrow, just as I will be perfectly alright tomorrow. I just needed someone to yell at right now, and my blog was the only thing alive and responding."
So that's where the last post, written yesterday, ended.
It's a different story today. What has changed in the last 24 hours?
First of all, the last 24 hours brought the same awareness that I have every morning while walking to campus...that life is at this moment EXACTLY how I had hoped it would be. I get to stretch my mind a little more, I get to have yet another meaningful conversation, I read a work that I had no clue about, I eat something new, I write or develop a story I hadn't before, I meet someone new, and I learn something all the time.
But more than this daily awareness what actually acted as a reality check was the nightmare I had last night. When I woke from it this morning it took me a while to register my surroundings and get back to normalcy. What did I see?
I saw that it was the morning of Aug 9, 2006 and that I had overslept. My flight was barely 20 minutes away and I was still packing. Eventually I missed my flight. And by some strange fluke there was nothing available for the next several months. What if something similar had actually happened? Maybe not missing the flight but say something else? How would I have reacted then? Bitterly. I would have been very harsh on myself, after all studying creative writing is something I had breathed, dreamt of and lived through for the last two years of my life. I have wanted to do this more than anything else in my life. Now that I have got a part of it, I can afford the luxury of homesickness. But if I had not been able to make this happen, the same home would have tired me, the same friends and family I am missing today would have had to bear the brunt of an embittered angry Sayantani.
Therefore, whatever happens happens for the best.
Thank you all for your comments. I appreciated them very much. I have still to tell everyone all that I did last Saturday. That will be something to write about. A couple of new adventures that I am incredibly proud of.
Until then...Tata!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
