Section 377 and people with absolutely no logic

I am very delighted that the Supreme Court in India decided to overthrow the section 377 that criminalizes homosexual acts.  Finally, a triumph of the constitution over the ever increasing moral police that seems to be opening branches everywhere in the country.

And then, there are these interviews.  With supposedly highly educated people who lead commissions and whatnot. And what is their stellar logic you might ask? That HUMAN RACE WILL GO EXTINCT!!! I mean, have they even checked the population of India recently? Even if the number of homosexuals in India doubled overnight, the Indian population will chug along, almost unaffected by it – like an unstoppable force until it consumes all the resources we have – and then, surely the human race will go extinct.

In all this chaos , I spotted a voice of reason coming from Celina Jaitely who asks the right questions. Like if marriages indeed were for procreation ( marriages because, you know, in India we don’t have sex – we just have babies after marriage ), then the court should order that every man and woman be tested for fertility before sanctioning their union. Ofcourse, impotent men, women who have reached menopause and such will not be allowed to marry. Why only homosexuals?

Anyways, for now, I will take what is given to me and celebrate. That my country is no longer one of “those” countries that go after homosexuals. Atleast legally. Socially, it is a totally different ball game.

Adventures of Clueless – The case of the missing birth certificate

You know, I appreciate India more than I ever did. It is a forgiving country. Don’t have ID card? No problem – there is a work around. Don’t have birth certificate? No worries – just ask a bunch of people to swear that you were indeed born to your parents on the day you were born. But then, I am here, residing in the US, where if you don’t have the right paper work, the officials just would not know what to do and start running around like headless chicken. Immigration in particular seems to be the headless rooster of this commotion.

Now, before you think I don’t have a birth certificate, I do. Which was indeed registered around the time of my birth – a rarity in India if you ask. Ofcourse there is a minor mistake, you know, like my entire name being registered completely different from my actual legal name – but hey! its a birth certificate all right and I was able to convince the head rooster without much drama.

That ofcourse leaves poor K, whose family holds the world championship title for orderly documentation of every single event in their life, all neatly filed away in their respective folders which are catalogued for prompt access. So, when the rooster asked for the birth certificate, all K had to do was pick up the phone and call his dad – and the birth certificate arrived promptly as crisp as the day it had been issued. Except. The immigration got back to us and told us what we had was a birth RECORD and not a birth CERTIFICATE and they wanted a birth CERTIFICATE at all costs. Now, K was born in a part of India where no one from the family lives anymore. Infact the only reason he was born there was because the FIL was posted there for a short duration. It was our turn to run around like headless chicken.

So off we went to appease the Google god and see what he would spit up on our small town municipality website search. To our suprise not only was there a website, but you could actually search for your birth record and order a copy online! But like all good stories go, the end cannot be so easy, and our online search resulted in an ODBC error.

Here is another reason why I like India so much (its sarcasm, just incase I sound like a snob). You can get anything done at lightning speed if you have the money or influence. After calling up the municipality several times and hearing the person on the other end just reply to everything we ask with “Speedily! Speedily!” we decided to throw money at the problem. And just for safety, we threw in a good measure of influence too. And since we used both money and influence, we ended up having 2 birth certificates for K. Thankfully atleast one of them was devoid of any spelling mistakes.

If you think the story ends here and the mystery was solved, here is the twist. The mystery had only just begun! Because the final part of mailing the certificate from small town to big town where FIL resides was still left undone. Adresses were given and reverified. The package was couriered and even a tracking number was given to us. But when we decided to track it online, it had just disappeared! We called the big town office – they said there was no record of the package. We called the small town office and they were sure they had never recieved the package. We called our contact and he faxed us a copy of the receipt that he got when he handed over the package! We called and called. We spoke in English, we spoke in native language but there was no clue about where the package had disappeared. Until finally the courier service lady gave us the phone number of THE ONE – the PACKAGE WHISPERER. She gave it to us in hushed tones and told us all will be well.

And then, we made the call. A person picked up on the other end and listened to us. He asked us for our tracking number and we gave it to him. Two minutes of silence. And then he spoke. The tracking number had been changed mid-transit! Why? No one knows. I wanted to ask why the courier service gave a tracking number in the first place if they went ahead and changed it at their whim. But K held me back because you know -  you don’t ask such frivolous questions to THE ONE. So now we had a new tracking number which showed us where the package was and we could obsessively refresh the tracking web page it till it said “delivered”.

Finally, it was delivered. In one piece. To the right address. An overnight delivery that took four days to complete its mysterious journey. And we now have the birth certificate to offer to the immigration rooster. Not a birth record but a true blue birth certificate. What is different you ask? I don’t know. Both contain the same information. But then, you just stop asking such questions and simply produce whatever documents in whatever form they want it in.

The end. Hopefully.

Blast from the past

I think memory always becomes hazy and soft tinted as we look back at our school days. I think our memory becomes what we want to remember about ourselves rather than, you know, those unflattering truths.  So here I sat, with lofty ideas about my school life, when one of my classmates sent out pictures from our 10th grade send off party.

To say it was a jolt would be an understatement.

I mean, what was I thinking? I was wearing a 3/4th “puffed” sleeved salwar suit that could fit two more of me inside it.  The neck of the dress was almost non-existent, almost like the tailor had decided before-hand that he wanted to stitch a polo neck anyways, to heck with whatever neck design I gave him. My eyebrows were as bushy as well fed caterpillars taking a nap and my hair was pulled back really tight in a french plait. I WAS everything I would make fun of today.

My first reaction was to call my mom and ask her how she could have let me go out of the house dressed like that. My mom, ofcourse claimed that she never remembered that salwar, and that I should have probably worn one of my aunts’ salwars and trotted off, like I usually did back then (Ahem….another memory that was conviniently wiped out). In all fairness, my mom has ensured that she always got the best stuff stitched for me and drilled it into my head that I should wear things that FIT me, but somehow this salwar did not look like it belonged to any of my aunts. I remember buying the fabric – for myself. Anyways, I moved on to more important accusations like ahy she combed my hair in such an unflattering fashion and why she did not let me get my eyebrows done like every other girl in my class.  Ok ok…I DO remember that my first tryst with threading was not exactly a success and I swore off it for many years, so that could not have been my mother’s fault, but you know, it is nice to have someone to blame.

K ofcourse was laughing his a** off till he could laugh no more after seeing those photos, which was not very helpful either. I am just waiting for one of his awkward photos to pop up so that I can return the favor. And I don’t have to work too hard at it – all I have to do is ask my FIL to show me some old pictures of K and he will promptly oblige and pull out giant albums filled with photos and exclaim how his son wsa so handsome he could have become a film star. People in glass houses K….remember that.

So the one thing I have learnt from all this is that, the next time I spot an awkwardly dressed teen, I will send out a silent prayer to help get them out of their disillusions before they go to college. And no, I won’t snigger at them.

Devil and the Deep Sea

I am always stuck in a bundle of contradictions. Especially when it comes to my passions, shopping and cooking. I really pride myself on buying inexpensive clothes and accessorizing them to make them look all put together. Or when it comes to cooking, I am obsessed with getting a dish in the exact same taste as I found at the restaurants, and using loads of shortcuts to get there. Both my clothes and food are generally well appreciated when I do make the effort, but here is where the dilemma comes in.

For example, the other day I was shopping at this massive chain store (ok ok, Target) and I found this really great dress in cotton. It was white with grey modern prints and very breezy. And also burnt a very tiny hole in my pocket. I wore it to my friend’s baby shower with a cranberry red belt with a steel buckle, for which I had again paid a princely sum of $5. And in the baby shower, my other friend complimented me on my dress and asked where I got it. And this is where I get stuck e-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e t-i-m-e. Do I let her know I bought it at Target and it was such a bargain or do I shut up and let her assume that I am the patron saint of expensive botiques?

Even with cooking, it is the same issue. The thai reciepe I posted here nearly broke my heart. But I had decided and it had to be done. And why? Because I used my super brainy skills and found a vegetarian substitute for oyester sauce in the chinese store. It gives the exact same flavor as oyester sauce BUT it is not labelled anything as obvious as “Oyester sauce substitute”. So you need to do a bit of homework there. No, it is not that I am the only person on earth to figure this out, but you know, it is like my little secret. The one for which I tried various combinations of useless sauces till I got the right one, the one that makes everyone wonder how I got the dish to taste the like the restaurant one (there I go again!) at home.

For a long time, I have been trying to figure out why exactly I have this dilemma. Why can’t I just let people know, which I anyways do because I am such a big mouth and cannot shut up to save my life, and then sit back without any twinge of regret. And finally I found the answer. It is praise. I mean, I will tell my friends and they will go all wah-wah on me. But when they use my recipe for another get-together where I am not around, they will reap all the praises when the secret truly belongs to me. Thats it. Simple and plain jealousy.

May be its not devil and the deep sea, it is devil and a very very shallow pool of water.

Thai cooking

Yes, another photo post. I think, by now it is obvious that I downloaded a bunch of photos from my camera to the PC. You see, every time I wanted to put something up here, I would diligently take a pic and forget about it. Until yesterday. When my excitement about curtains won over my laziness in a photo finish race and the photos finally got to see a world outside the camera.

Thai food is one of my all time favourites. I love the way the blend spicy chillies with sweet basil and how it ends up being such a flavorful and fragrant dish. The more thai I ate, the more I wanted to cook Thai food at home. After several failed attempts and near death experiences for K, I present to you the Pad-Kee-Maw or Spicy Chow Fun.

Ingredients:

Chow Fun or flat rice noodles (available in any oriental store)

Vegetables you like (mushrooms, brocolli, carrots, etc )

Compulsory veggies – Onions, bell peppers

basil

Ginger (or galangal if you can get your hands on it)

Garlic

Green chillies (depending on how spicy you want it)

Fried Tofu (buy readymade fried tofu or just fry firm tofu at home )

Soy sauce – 2 tbsp

Oyster sauce or for vegetarians – aged mushroom flavored sauce – 2tbsp

Vinegar – 1 tbsp

Get all your veggies chopped up and put them aside. I usually go with more chunkier cuts for this dish so that you can get hold of your veggies in the chowfun with ease. Now, with the garlic, ginger and chillies, the best way to get the maximum flavor is to slightly chop them and then crush them using a pestel.

Seperate your basil from the stalk and slightly bruise the leaves.

Now, the chow fun, you can either buy the fresh made one which is soft and can be used directly, or if you bought the dried one, then cook them like you usually cook noodles. Drain them and wash them with cold water and put them aside.

In a heated pan, pour some cooking oil. Add some sesame see oil for extra flavor. Keep the heat on the higher range. Once the oil is sufficiently hot, add the crushed ginger, garlic and chillies. Then add the onions, bell peppers, all the other veggies and tofu and sautee them for about 3 minutes.

Now, add the soy sauce, mushroom sauce and vinegar. Also add a tea spoon of sugar for the classic sweet-hot flavor. Add the chowfun and give it a stir so that the noodles are covered int the sauce. Cook them for about 2 minutes on high flame. At last, add the bruised basil and tada!! you have the pad-kee-maw that your favourite restaurant serves.

To make a more healthier version of this dish, I just increase my veggie to noodle ratio. And if you want to make the thai fried rice, just replace the noodles with boiled jasmine rice.

Home is where…

…you can decorate and re-decorate all you want. Well, atleast thats what I would say, and K would happily disagree. For him, home is where he can have a view of the TV from his recliner.

Anyways, for me, I have always had an idea of what my home should feel like. The look, the vibe, I have been obsessing since I don’t even know when. So when we finally bought a home, the pressure of my own expectations was so high that I promptly drew a blank.  There have been paintings that stayed a while and then went back to retire in the garage. Frames have been changed for the ones I do like. I changed the couches twice – thankfully I was able to sell off the older pair otherwise K would have never forgiven me. And the curtains – that was a saga. With a home that has floor to ceiling glass, it is very hard to find curtains of that length. And width too – one of my glass arrangements is 12 ft wide. And custom curtains in this country cost a bomb.

So finally, with one resigned K, one never say die Clueless and her disillusioned mother – measurements were taken and the curtains were made to order in India. The fabric was bought at Gurjari – that lovely cotton with block prints. Everything was gung-ho till we realised that those curtains weigh a ton and would cost the same bomb to be shipped to the US. Enter FIL – my hero, who decided that since he was travelling to US anyways, he could carry the curtains along. What he did not realize was that he would be carrying ONLY the curtains since nothing else would fit into the luggage, but thats a story for another day.

You would think that with the curtains arriving safely in the US, most of the hurdles were behind us. But we left out one small detail. If we were unable to get ready made curtains that are 12ft wide, then how on earth would we get ready made curtain rods that are that long? The custom curtain rods would cost – you guessed it – a bomb. Or even worse, a kidney.  Thankfully, some of K’s engineering carpentry classes came to use as he joined two ready made curtain rods and put them up. They have still not fallen off, so I am hopeful.

At the end of all this drama, this is how it looks

This is what I have on the dining table – also a product of gurjari. It is originally a hanging, but I just made all the horses stand in a row. Aren’t the googly eyes cute??

Top 10 signs that I am morphing into an aunty

1. On my last trip to India, I was positively estatic in a steel patre (utensils) store. I was looking at all the plates, spoons and tiffin boxes and picked up loads until I realized that I would easily exceed my luggage weight limit. However, I have still not acquired the same passion for tupperware, and I hope I never will.

2. When my sister (who is an under-grad) complains to me that amma is being too protective or too paranoid, I tell her “She is doing it for your own good no? “

3. I fall asleep at 10pm. I could not stay awake even when Barrak Obama came on Jay Leno’s show and I very badly wanted to watch it.

4. I am forever cleaning my dogs ears, taking gunk out of his eyes and generally telling him he has been a bad boy.

5. I stopped shopping in the juniors section.

6. I have a 19 year old calling me aunty. In all fairness, he is my nephew, but still….

7. My first grey hair made its presence felt. I plucked it out, and now there are two.

8. I would rather stay at home warm and comfortable than go clubbing all night. Other reasons for abstence from clubs include Reason no: 3

9. I have started collecting plastic covers and ziplocs. I keep telling myself I am being eco friendly, but really, I am becoming my mom. I can almost see myself washing milk covers and stacking them to sell to the raddiwallah or to put pickles in.

10. I am not ashamed of confessing all of the above.

My dear friends, I rest my case.

The Sisterhood Award

PriyaInSuburbia awarded me with the Sisterhood Award!! Thanks so much Priya! I can definitely say we can so much in common with the choices we made and the dreams we have that we should be heading towards the Twinhood awards next!

I am passing this award onto some wonderful bloggers whom I have come to know

PriyaInSuburbia : I know that when I need information / advice on anything, she is the one to go to. Her most helpful and insightful replies to my everyday worries leave me calmed and in awe. She writes with such clarity and conviction that I come back to read her writeups again and again!

La Vida Loca: I had the chance of meeting and La Vida Loca and also went on an impromptu shopping expedition with her. It was so much fun! It cannot be co incidence that I got amazing deals on the stuff I bought when I was with her – the shopping gods must have been smiling at our friendship! She is one determined lady, running marathons after marathons, just reading about them gets me all panting and gasping.

I love lucy: She is such a warm person to interact with, and on top of that, she lives in my university town. How can I not like her? Offlate, her blogs have been sparse and I am hoping this award will get a post out of her

ChroniclesofDee: She is such a straightforward and lively personality, and it shows in her blogs! Her life as an inter-religious couple makes me admire her for being so tolerant and supportive of differences. Now, only if all of our countrymen were like her!

Dear Rummy….

You sprained your ankle. Your leg was hurting so bad that you would not even take a step to devour your favourite biscuit – even though it was right in front of you and the niagra was spilling out of your mouth in the form of drool. And you just lay in your bed, listless. So unlike you who is zipping thr0ugh the house and usually crashing into something.

And yet, when K came home, you followed him around faithfully, like you always do. With a limp and without a whimper. Finally K had to come sit next to your bed so that you can get some rest.

You stupid dog, today you made me cry.

Slumdog Millionare and the Oscars

For the past couple of days, I have been observingm with mild amusement, the various reactions of desis about the movie Slumdog Millionare. It has ranged from righteous indignation to apologetic explainations to uncomfortable silences. Movies about poverty in India have been made before, movies dealing with underworld, prostitution, exploitation – all have made their appearances on the Indian screen.And yet, this one movie has left many of us unsettled in so many ways.

Some of us think the movie is not Indian at all. And celebrating it’s success is like cheering for the opposition. I am on the fence on this one really. I mean, the director is British, but the actors are Indian, location is Indian, music is Indian, technicians, assistant directors and half the crew is Indian. The story is written by an Indian. That makes the movie pretty Indian to me. If we were to solely go by who is directing the movie, then “Sixth Sense” would be a Tamil film. Even if you are a purist, then we can at best call this an Indian-English movie. And really, why should anyone be upset because we are cheering any movie for that matter? It all boils down to personal taste right?

Then, there is the issue of why we are cheering for Oscars so much? Agreed, The Oscars is not truly an international movie award. It caters to Hollywood and has just one measly category for foreign films. But undoubtedly, it is a fact that it is one of the most glamorous and publicized movie awards in the world. Anyone winning the Oscars gets a lot of attention, and that brings subsequent plump assignments from international film makers with it. Now, this does not mean desi cinema is not good, but it would take an idiot to refuse good work for a hefty sum of money and some international acclaim. No wonder Anil Kapoor was milking every minute of it. We need to suck it up and realize that Filmfare awards are simply NOT as famous as the Oscars and stop giving our fellow countrymen dirty looks when they are gushing about how happy they are that A R Rahman won.

And finally, the movie itself. Yes, it shows the slums of India. It shows corruption, underworld and prostitution. Infact, so many movies about the underworld by our very own Ram Gopal Verma and they were all very well appreciated by our public. No one thought India was being depicted in a bad light then. Is it the fact that the movie was made by a British guy and the whole world gets to watch it that gets our goat? Or is it the uncomfortable feeling that we cannot really deny many of the things that are shown in the movie jabbing at us? Many of my fellow desis start making excuses about India whenever a non-Indian mentions that they watched the movie. And the most common grouse is – “Why show only the slums? India has so much else going on”. Well, this was a movie based on a story, not a documentary about India. If Danny Boyle told he had made a documentary about Mumbai, maybe there could be some justification for the indignation, but this is a story – a fairytale. And seriously, if we feel so much for our country, maybe we should dig our heads out of the sands and look around. And do something. Instead we are sitting in a country far far away and acting like we are the governament appointed ambassadors whose sole responsibility to protect and maintain the image of India.

As for myself, I thought it was a very cleverly made movie, the story itself may not have been credible, but the cinematography was beautiful. And it was worth the one time watch. I am happy India won at the Oscars (yes India – A R Rahman and Resul Pookutty are Indians, remember?) because it gives the Americans a chance to know that there is a world out there outside of the USA. And why do I care so much about the Americans? Because I live among them.