Forget about the Kamasutra baby. I have observed that Mumbai, and perhaps India is a land of contradictions when it comes to sex. We could not be more schizophrenic about it. On one hand, society taboos dating, sex before marriage, heck, even kissing and holding hands unless you are promised to each other. Yet, we seem especially keen to gorge on ads, movies, posters that display women and men engaged in dating, erotic displays and talk.
As the economy booms and we have more and more financial clout, we seem eager to adopt many Western practices into our lives. However, social norms seem so entrenched in our lives that weeding them out and replacing them with “new-fangled ideas” such as dating, sex before marriage is no small feat. Despite all our advances, the fact remains that we want to still pretend that sex and sexual activities do not exist, while at the same time in a voyeur like approach, we are, err, very much on top of it. The end result being sexually uneducated and confused individuals who very soon become quite frustrated and seek other avenues for releasing their pent-up energies.
This cannot be more apparent than when I take my evening rounds at the local jogger’s park. The track surrounds a small lake and is lined with semi-circular benches. Every evening, I find many couples occupying these benches, with their backs towards the track cozying up to each other. They hold hands, they cuddle, they kiss – they do everything which has been ostracized by society and is therefore, a strict no-no. Even the pungent stench of fish lying in a fishermen’s wicker basket nearby, cannot deter these eager love birds (mind you, a large majority of the Indian population is vegan) which only goes to show how wanting our norms have left the population.
The park provides an intimate enough setting – it’s not exactly candlelight and baroque chandeliers but love-making can make do under streetlamps and leafy trees. One can easily understand this phenomenon when you realize that in Indian society, most children tend to live with their parents and extended family. Thus, family living in these close quarters is too close quarters for private indulgences. Nevertheless, it is very amusing to see couples crouch in the enclave offered by the semi-circular benches. Or watching how the guy stealthily put his arm around a demure girl, coaxing her with sweet nothings to do that which is forbidden.
This same park is where my friend introduced me to “netra-cho****” (eye-f***ing). Allow me to explain. netra-cho**** is the name given to a guy checking you out but with such intensity, that given the opportunity he would want to do you right then and there. Of course, it is done discreetly so as to catch the eye of the woman but no one else. So sexually depraved are Mumbai’s youths that ever since my friend pointed it out to me, I have noticed that many guys have even done it to me. Today, there was a group of guys walking ahead of me and they actually slowed down and lined up to watch me as I passed by. And, I am one of the more ordinary, less well-endowed women around here!
Even an old guy forked his tongue out at me on a recent trip to town. His red eyes, beetel-leaf stained tongue and shock of white hair were more pathetic than desirable. We may scorn sex and dating but when it comes to uncouth sexual behavior- well then, all bets are off.
We are more than unabashed when it comes to sexuality on television or in movies. Here’s where the contradictions could not be more extreme. Ads talk about Aamsutras (a pun on Kamasutra, Aamsutra refers to the pleasure derived from eating aams or mangoes) or accountants named Mahalingam (roughly translates to “large penis”). As my friend puts it, “Some copywriter thoroughly enjoyed writing that ad.”
On the silver screen, there is a new item number everyday with the likes of Malaika Arora and other chest-heaving PYTs( pretty young things) gyrating to some dhik-chik dhik-chik beats in negligible negligees. Let’s also give due credit to Kareena Kapoor sporting a itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, lime-green bikini which makes headlines on more than one news channel. And we devour these with fervent pleasure and pat ourselves on the back for being advanced as the Westerners and being open-minded.
But ask a girl’s father to date her – perhaps drowning in the Arabian Sea might have been easier way to die. So much being open-minded.
The mind boggles at the thought of how the land that gave the world the Holy Grail of love-making - the Kamasutra - has become so closeted in its approach to sex that individuals act as depraved maniacs and f*** like jack rabbits once they are married. I can see no other plausible explanation for a staggering population of 1.4 billion people, only a fraction of whom can afford a comfortable life for themselves and their children.
Instead of adapting rules such as no sex before marriage(which made sense in olden times when children were married off at 14 years) to changing times, we are clutching on to them as if the were written in stone, resulting in friction and lack of social awareness about sexuality. Think about it.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
birthday bumps
A really interesting incident happened to me on my birthday. Other than the aging (gracefully) part. Other than the gift of Nine West heels (pretty pretty shoes!). I had traveled to Bombay to meet some friends and was returning in a rather crowded train. For those who have never traveled in a Bombay train, I must say it is an experience in itself. Trains and the train commute is as much a part of the culture of Bombay as the golden zari that forms intricate patterns in a sari. Nevertheless, navigating a crowded train is no mean feat. Still being fresh off the boat and not fully accustomed to traveling in crowded trains yet, I had taken a safe option of standing close to the door, flat against the walls of the compartment. Or so I thought. About 4 stations from where I was going to get down, a huge group of women boarded the train like an ocean wave. As I struggled to get my bearings, an obviously poor woman got on and proceeded to squat on the compartment floor right at the door (as uncommon as it may seem, squatting in compartments is quite a common practice due to the perennial lack of seats). This would have been quite fine, except that she chose to use my feet as some sort of cushion and squarely sat her buttocks on them. Now, I am fairly uncomfortable being at such close quarters with people I don’t know, much less allowing them use of my feet for seating their ass. So, I quickly pulled out my feet from under her at which she started yelling not to kick her. I had to gruffly inform her that she was the one sitting on my feet and so, I wasn’t kicking her but pulling my feet away.
Turns out this woman was rather drunk. Although, she was holding on to the pillar in the middle of the doorway, she swayed so steeply side to side to make it obvious that it was not the train’s motion causing her to sway. Of course, as any extremely drunk person, she could not keep her eyes open and very soon, started to lay down flat to sleep – right there, in the middle of the door, on the floor! Once again, she thought my feet were some kind of cushion (must have been really soft that day) and propped her head against them. Once more, I endeavored to pull my feet out from under her, telling her to wake up and not sleep in the doorway – she lay crouched in such a fetal manner that one steep turn and she would have rolled right off the train floor on to the train tracks! There were other women around me coaxing her as well at which she resumed her belligerent shouting.
Now, all this time I had been listening to my I pod so I could tell she was shouting but I really didn’t hear what she was saying. I knew better than to care. Curiously though, some of the women around were casting quick glances at me. Some even said “Don’t listen to her, she is crazy” or “She is drunk”. One of the women next to me even moved back and gave me space to crouch further into the compartment and away from the drunken lady. I did think it was odd behavior but I wrote it off as them wanting to avoid a catfight – especially between a young girl such as myself and a drunken old woman like her.
However, the real reason became clear only when we alighted. It seems that this drunken woman had somehow got it in her head that in pulling out my feet from under her, I had pushed her purse off the train. Now, she demanded Rs. 120 from me and threatened to beat me up if I didn’t give her the money. I must have laughed in her face – I was laughing in my mind at her ludicrousness. This woman who could barely stand was blaming me for losing her purse! Ha, the cheek! I started walking off, dismissing her. But to my shock, I realized that she was clutching on to my purse and refusing to let go. That really set me off! No one, especially that filthy woman had the right to touch my purse without asking me – and my leather Fendi at that! I asked to to leave the purse and she said in a very Keshto Mukherjee style “no”. I shouted at her to let go and leave me alone and she refused. She kept threatening to beat me up. “Sun, main tereko itna maarega na, tune mera purse giraaya. Mere ko ek-so-bees rupaya wapis kar (Listen to me, I am going to beat you up so bad, you lost my purse, give me my 120 rupees). She even threatened to take me to the police. This tottering, drunk and belligerent woman was telling me she would get me arrested. I managed to unhook her grip on my purse – that’s when it got really amusing.
The intoxicated buffoon couldn’t even stand and flopped onto her knees, at which point she grabbed my hands and started marching me to the police. Of course, she didn’t even know where she was, so she really didn’t know where she was going. She stopped soon and then changed her tune. Now, she wanted the money, not get me arrested. She kept slurring “Tu chal mere saath, aur paise de (you come with me and give me the money).” I asked her where she wanted to take me. She was so lost, she couldn’t even think. I kept asking her where she wanted to take me because I was so amused at her audacity and sheer foolishness at hoping to con me into getting money. She kept repeating herself like a broken record while trying to come up with an answer to my question. It was almost comical as every time she demanded to take me “somewhere”, I asked her where and we batted words back and forth like this for sometime. Finally, she said in slurred speech “Vhee-tee” (V.T. aka Victoria Terminus – the furthest end of train line in the heart of South Bombay). I laughed again and asked her if she even had any hosh of where she was. Of course she didn’t and I told her to herself together and then worry about her money.
I was getting tired of her belligerent behavior - the amusement wears off rather quickly - and I threatened to take her to the police if she didn’t shut up and talking lies. They were more likely to believe me than her anyway. When I said this, she quivered as she realized that it was a plausible truth. Watching her – this woman wearing a faded sari, with tobacco-stained brown teeth and crazed, yellowed eyes, I felt sorry for her state. Who knows why she was drunk - it might have been a tough husband, a frustrating life, a disappointing job. One thing Bombay does - it teaches yuou to develop the skin of a rhinoceros. One has so many problems of thir own to deal with, others' problems pale in significance. I too, am a culprit of such callousness as I just dismissed the drunk woman and walked off – I had to be home before my allowed deadline.
In the meantime, the woman had managed to compose herself and hurled vulgar abuses as I departed the platform.
Ah well, happy flocking birthday.
Turns out this woman was rather drunk. Although, she was holding on to the pillar in the middle of the doorway, she swayed so steeply side to side to make it obvious that it was not the train’s motion causing her to sway. Of course, as any extremely drunk person, she could not keep her eyes open and very soon, started to lay down flat to sleep – right there, in the middle of the door, on the floor! Once again, she thought my feet were some kind of cushion (must have been really soft that day) and propped her head against them. Once more, I endeavored to pull my feet out from under her, telling her to wake up and not sleep in the doorway – she lay crouched in such a fetal manner that one steep turn and she would have rolled right off the train floor on to the train tracks! There were other women around me coaxing her as well at which she resumed her belligerent shouting.
Now, all this time I had been listening to my I pod so I could tell she was shouting but I really didn’t hear what she was saying. I knew better than to care. Curiously though, some of the women around were casting quick glances at me. Some even said “Don’t listen to her, she is crazy” or “She is drunk”. One of the women next to me even moved back and gave me space to crouch further into the compartment and away from the drunken lady. I did think it was odd behavior but I wrote it off as them wanting to avoid a catfight – especially between a young girl such as myself and a drunken old woman like her.
However, the real reason became clear only when we alighted. It seems that this drunken woman had somehow got it in her head that in pulling out my feet from under her, I had pushed her purse off the train. Now, she demanded Rs. 120 from me and threatened to beat me up if I didn’t give her the money. I must have laughed in her face – I was laughing in my mind at her ludicrousness. This woman who could barely stand was blaming me for losing her purse! Ha, the cheek! I started walking off, dismissing her. But to my shock, I realized that she was clutching on to my purse and refusing to let go. That really set me off! No one, especially that filthy woman had the right to touch my purse without asking me – and my leather Fendi at that! I asked to to leave the purse and she said in a very Keshto Mukherjee style “no”. I shouted at her to let go and leave me alone and she refused. She kept threatening to beat me up. “Sun, main tereko itna maarega na, tune mera purse giraaya. Mere ko ek-so-bees rupaya wapis kar (Listen to me, I am going to beat you up so bad, you lost my purse, give me my 120 rupees). She even threatened to take me to the police. This tottering, drunk and belligerent woman was telling me she would get me arrested. I managed to unhook her grip on my purse – that’s when it got really amusing.
The intoxicated buffoon couldn’t even stand and flopped onto her knees, at which point she grabbed my hands and started marching me to the police. Of course, she didn’t even know where she was, so she really didn’t know where she was going. She stopped soon and then changed her tune. Now, she wanted the money, not get me arrested. She kept slurring “Tu chal mere saath, aur paise de (you come with me and give me the money).” I asked her where she wanted to take me. She was so lost, she couldn’t even think. I kept asking her where she wanted to take me because I was so amused at her audacity and sheer foolishness at hoping to con me into getting money. She kept repeating herself like a broken record while trying to come up with an answer to my question. It was almost comical as every time she demanded to take me “somewhere”, I asked her where and we batted words back and forth like this for sometime. Finally, she said in slurred speech “Vhee-tee” (V.T. aka Victoria Terminus – the furthest end of train line in the heart of South Bombay). I laughed again and asked her if she even had any hosh of where she was. Of course she didn’t and I told her to herself together and then worry about her money.
I was getting tired of her belligerent behavior - the amusement wears off rather quickly - and I threatened to take her to the police if she didn’t shut up and talking lies. They were more likely to believe me than her anyway. When I said this, she quivered as she realized that it was a plausible truth. Watching her – this woman wearing a faded sari, with tobacco-stained brown teeth and crazed, yellowed eyes, I felt sorry for her state. Who knows why she was drunk - it might have been a tough husband, a frustrating life, a disappointing job. One thing Bombay does - it teaches yuou to develop the skin of a rhinoceros. One has so many problems of thir own to deal with, others' problems pale in significance. I too, am a culprit of such callousness as I just dismissed the drunk woman and walked off – I had to be home before my allowed deadline.
In the meantime, the woman had managed to compose herself and hurled vulgar abuses as I departed the platform.
Ah well, happy flocking birthday.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Summer Wedding
It has been an interesting last couple of days. I went to an Indian wedding on Sunday. A friend from high school was getting married and a bunch of us from high-school decided to attend the wedding (free and awesome Indian food being a very strong motivating factor for some). Of course, we couldn’t just walk into a wedding empty handed. So, two days before the wedding, a friend met me online and we started brainstorming ideas for a suitable wedding gift. Now, the last wedding I went to, I gave the bride lingerie for two reasons – a. she wanted it and had told us so herself(even her size) b. we gave it to her at a wedding shower amongst many other women and no men. Since there are no wedding showers before a wedding in India and I didn’t know my friend’s size, lingerie was out of the question. Certainly, the appropriateness of the gift in an Indian setting never crossed my mind even once: P. I came up with another brilliant suggestion of a mixer-grinder set – “Sumeet” brand name at that and my friend pooh-poohed the idea right away. Come to think of it, I myself can’t fathom why I thought of such a clichéd and disastrous gift – what was I thinking? So much for all the feminist learnings in college! I finally settled on gifting the couple a wall clock – appropriate, practical and more importantly, gender neutral.
I should mention that my friend she is a Christian, so the ceremony was the same as in the US with a few Indian tweaks of course. As for the wedding itself, I am sure it was beautiful. I wouldn’t know since we made it in there just before the couple took their vows. Just for the heck of it, my friend was really keen on objecting when the priest asked “If anyone should have an objection, speak now or forever hold your peace.” By stroke of luck, we sauntered in really late (I believe the correct term for such chronic lateness being Indian Standard Time) and my friend couldn’t give it a shot. Oh well, the bride is certainly happy not to have to kill her friend on her wedding day. Even though we didn’t attend most of the ceremony, I have to say that what we did witness was wonderful. The bride looked radiantly happy and so did the groom – they couldn’t stop smiling.
One thing though, summer weddings, especially in Bombay, are a bad idea. All throughout the ceremony, I was fanning myself with my scarf and wondered how the bride was faring under the several layers of chiffon that she wore. She seemed to brave it quite well. Even the beads of sweat on her forehead seemed to be a part of her ensemble. Or maybe I was just hallucinating in the heat. Even though I am such a big fan of dancing, I couldn’t get myself to dance over there – I was afraid I might faint from heat. Not to mention, I was rather amused watching all the uncles with their jiggling paunches of prosperity swinging their arms up in the air and dancing to the music. My friend and I simply sat in our seats and “screwed in light bulbs” to the beat.
Now eating hot Indian food in such hot weather was certainly a not-so-welcome idea but when I saw the spread, I felt like a hungry tiger eyeing its prey. There was butter chicken, paneer tikka masala, tandoori chicken, and other dishes that were mouth-wateringly delicious. An, the fare was topped off with the traditional Indian wedding dessert – slabs of vanilla ice-cream with a trickle of chocolate syrup on top, served on a tea saucer. Aaah, yum!
Even though I saw it with my own eyes, I still cannot believe that one of us is married –what is the world coming to? My parents have been talking about looking for a boy for me for some time now. This wedding got them asking me the same question again. I have been fighting it tooth and nail, but watching my friend getting married made me realize how close I was to the event happening in my life as well. I am not ready to commit to an apartment, much less a partner for life. At the very least, I do hope that I hae as much of a say in my marriage as my friend did in hers.
Congratulations to the happy couple!
I should mention that my friend she is a Christian, so the ceremony was the same as in the US with a few Indian tweaks of course. As for the wedding itself, I am sure it was beautiful. I wouldn’t know since we made it in there just before the couple took their vows. Just for the heck of it, my friend was really keen on objecting when the priest asked “If anyone should have an objection, speak now or forever hold your peace.” By stroke of luck, we sauntered in really late (I believe the correct term for such chronic lateness being Indian Standard Time) and my friend couldn’t give it a shot. Oh well, the bride is certainly happy not to have to kill her friend on her wedding day. Even though we didn’t attend most of the ceremony, I have to say that what we did witness was wonderful. The bride looked radiantly happy and so did the groom – they couldn’t stop smiling.
One thing though, summer weddings, especially in Bombay, are a bad idea. All throughout the ceremony, I was fanning myself with my scarf and wondered how the bride was faring under the several layers of chiffon that she wore. She seemed to brave it quite well. Even the beads of sweat on her forehead seemed to be a part of her ensemble. Or maybe I was just hallucinating in the heat. Even though I am such a big fan of dancing, I couldn’t get myself to dance over there – I was afraid I might faint from heat. Not to mention, I was rather amused watching all the uncles with their jiggling paunches of prosperity swinging their arms up in the air and dancing to the music. My friend and I simply sat in our seats and “screwed in light bulbs” to the beat.
Now eating hot Indian food in such hot weather was certainly a not-so-welcome idea but when I saw the spread, I felt like a hungry tiger eyeing its prey. There was butter chicken, paneer tikka masala, tandoori chicken, and other dishes that were mouth-wateringly delicious. An, the fare was topped off with the traditional Indian wedding dessert – slabs of vanilla ice-cream with a trickle of chocolate syrup on top, served on a tea saucer. Aaah, yum!
Even though I saw it with my own eyes, I still cannot believe that one of us is married –what is the world coming to? My parents have been talking about looking for a boy for me for some time now. This wedding got them asking me the same question again. I have been fighting it tooth and nail, but watching my friend getting married made me realize how close I was to the event happening in my life as well. I am not ready to commit to an apartment, much less a partner for life. At the very least, I do hope that I hae as much of a say in my marriage as my friend did in hers.
Congratulations to the happy couple!
Friday, May 2, 2008
Jetlag, pollution and Hallelujah! We have a maid!
It’s been 2 whole days in Bombay. I wish I could say that I have been meeting lots of relatives and eating lots of delicious desi khana but nothing can be further from the truth. Jetlag has consumed me and I have been barely productive since I arrived. My day yesterday, went something like this:
8 a.m. Woke up, brushed my teeth, had some chai(yum yum!)
9a.m. Started unpacking one of my bags
11 a.m. Successfully finished aforementioned unpacking
12 p.m. Lunch and then, I took a shower
2:30 p.m. Decided to take a nap
Its 12 hours later and I have only just woken up. So much for physically moving around and meeting anyone. I couldn't even lift my head up and tell my Dad that I didn't want any dinner. I just mumbled something as I simultaneously licked my lips to overcome that dry-mouth feeling when you get when you have been asleep forever. Dad is fast asleep in bed as I sit in the other room updating my blog. Speaking of Dad, he has become quite the cook. In the morning, he cooked pohe for us. As if my eyes weren’t as big as rice-cakes already, he shocked me some more by cooking an entire lunch – rotis, sabji, rice, dal, and the works. I had to pinch myself. Was this my dad? It has to be, he scolded me for not keeping my shoes in order and for leaving things where they shouldn’t be. Just that now he is also an accomplished cook – go Daddy!
Nevertheless, I can’t say that I have not noticed some differences. Of course, the intense heat tops the list. A shower is pretty much useless in this weather. As soon as I step out of the bathroom, I am sweating all over and well, the whole “clean” feeling is lost. I am beginning to understand why Americans want to take so many showers when they are in India. Don’t blame ya guys. Next off, the dust and pollution. This one was hard not to miss. I am amazed at how nasty it has become in Mumbai. As soon as I got off the plane, I felt a blanket of dust envelope me. Even right now, I can feel the dustiness in between my fingers. I have been washing my face like crazy - I must look like a hysterical mudrderer who is frantically trying to wash blood off my hands. Only in my case, it happens to be dust and grime.
And, the pollution is just out of control. I landed in the night, and I could clearly see the sky – it was not black but a dull, darkish gray, thanks to all the smoke. More importantly, you could not see one star up there - forget constellations and far off hazy galaxies. This Bombay sky is a far cry from the Bombay sky I used to look at as a child. Even today, I remember clearly those nights when the whole family would tramp up to the terrace when the electricity was out. We would lie down on our blankets under the starrry sky and mom would point out all the different stars and constellations and tell us stories to lull us into sleep. I can hardly imagine myself taking a blanket and lying down on th terrace now - I would probably run down in 10 minutes to wash my face. I don't even want to think about locating glaxies through all this smog.
Now, I realize I sound like quite the firangi talking about the heat and the dust. But after living for 4 years in near Siberian weather and well, lets just say, a lesser polluted city than Bombay, one can’t help but notice these things.
Not all is bad though, I do have some good news. Dear Friends, this is truly been a gratifying day. We have a bai in the house! God bless her soul, she sweeps, she cleans, she washes the clothes and does the dishes – I don’t even have to lift a finger. Aaah, what bliss! I have not experienced such comfort in 4 years and I am going to make the most of it. Ironically, even though I was excited to have a bai again, I was still taking out the dishes, setting the table and then, promptly cleaning them after we were done on the first day. Dad had to remind me that we pay our bai for exactly what I was doing, so maybe I should pipe down and sit in one place. Old habits die hard, hehe.
Next on my India re-experience- eating chaat on the street and I am going to an Indian shaadi this Sunday! Definitely watch this space for an update!
8 a.m. Woke up, brushed my teeth, had some chai(yum yum!)
9a.m. Started unpacking one of my bags
11 a.m. Successfully finished aforementioned unpacking
12 p.m. Lunch and then, I took a shower
2:30 p.m. Decided to take a nap
Its 12 hours later and I have only just woken up. So much for physically moving around and meeting anyone. I couldn't even lift my head up and tell my Dad that I didn't want any dinner. I just mumbled something as I simultaneously licked my lips to overcome that dry-mouth feeling when you get when you have been asleep forever. Dad is fast asleep in bed as I sit in the other room updating my blog. Speaking of Dad, he has become quite the cook. In the morning, he cooked pohe for us. As if my eyes weren’t as big as rice-cakes already, he shocked me some more by cooking an entire lunch – rotis, sabji, rice, dal, and the works. I had to pinch myself. Was this my dad? It has to be, he scolded me for not keeping my shoes in order and for leaving things where they shouldn’t be. Just that now he is also an accomplished cook – go Daddy!
Nevertheless, I can’t say that I have not noticed some differences. Of course, the intense heat tops the list. A shower is pretty much useless in this weather. As soon as I step out of the bathroom, I am sweating all over and well, the whole “clean” feeling is lost. I am beginning to understand why Americans want to take so many showers when they are in India. Don’t blame ya guys. Next off, the dust and pollution. This one was hard not to miss. I am amazed at how nasty it has become in Mumbai. As soon as I got off the plane, I felt a blanket of dust envelope me. Even right now, I can feel the dustiness in between my fingers. I have been washing my face like crazy - I must look like a hysterical mudrderer who is frantically trying to wash blood off my hands. Only in my case, it happens to be dust and grime.
And, the pollution is just out of control. I landed in the night, and I could clearly see the sky – it was not black but a dull, darkish gray, thanks to all the smoke. More importantly, you could not see one star up there - forget constellations and far off hazy galaxies. This Bombay sky is a far cry from the Bombay sky I used to look at as a child. Even today, I remember clearly those nights when the whole family would tramp up to the terrace when the electricity was out. We would lie down on our blankets under the starrry sky and mom would point out all the different stars and constellations and tell us stories to lull us into sleep. I can hardly imagine myself taking a blanket and lying down on th terrace now - I would probably run down in 10 minutes to wash my face. I don't even want to think about locating glaxies through all this smog.
Now, I realize I sound like quite the firangi talking about the heat and the dust. But after living for 4 years in near Siberian weather and well, lets just say, a lesser polluted city than Bombay, one can’t help but notice these things.
Not all is bad though, I do have some good news. Dear Friends, this is truly been a gratifying day. We have a bai in the house! God bless her soul, she sweeps, she cleans, she washes the clothes and does the dishes – I don’t even have to lift a finger. Aaah, what bliss! I have not experienced such comfort in 4 years and I am going to make the most of it. Ironically, even though I was excited to have a bai again, I was still taking out the dishes, setting the table and then, promptly cleaning them after we were done on the first day. Dad had to remind me that we pay our bai for exactly what I was doing, so maybe I should pipe down and sit in one place. Old habits die hard, hehe.
Next on my India re-experience- eating chaat on the street and I am going to an Indian shaadi this Sunday! Definitely watch this space for an update!
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