The Weekend

was hectic. As you probably don’t know, and I am about to tell you, weekends start on Thursdays in my school, so it’s not unusual to find us stumbling to class on Friday, over boozed and under slept. Slight alteration this Friday, when I woke up at 10 with an NDE under my belt and philosophy homework due in an hour. After staring at Plato’s Republic for ten minutes, I was forced to conclude that no way could I read and write an adequate response in the limited time I had. The forces, however, were with me and a snow day had been declared. Sweetness! No necessity to tramp out in a foot of snow! I jumped right back in bed. Snooze time was cut short however, by an sms. Cousin S was down from Boston and my company was requested in Brooklyn for alcohol-related festivities. Family loyalty dictated that I could not reject such an invite. A quick phone call to the Shobster to invite her along, but she had family plans of her own, which I was invited to partake in. A knock on the door and suitemate S was going into Queens the next day for a haircut and am I interested. The ever obliging social butterfly that I am, I mapped out a canny schedule for the next 18 hours, which included, but was not limited to, a train ride to Queens, a subway ride to Brooklyn, a sojourn into Manhattan, back to Brooklyn for a nightcap and rest before going back to Queens for aforementioned haircut, and then back home to study for 3 midterms. It could be done.

So 4’oclock found us on a train heading into Queens, to meet with one half of the Shobster’s family. It was one of the highlights of my week, simply put. They’re all from Guyana and their accents are the snazziest things I’ve ever heard. The Guyanese dialect is simply delicious. Think Bob Marley but faster. Actually, think Sean Paul but a tad more decipherable. It was such an education just to hear them speak. Her stepmother told me a long story about how she locked her keys in her car and had to break the window to get em. Not the stuff legends are made of, for sure, but probably the most interesting conversation I’ve had in a while, just because I had to actually listen to every word and do a quick conversion in my head so I could keep up with her. It was something like ‘well me clohsed da dor an me didn’t see da keys an da cyar is automahtik so..’. For a speaker of British English, it was quite the adventure.

Dinner on them at a Thai joint, and let’s just say this: as delicious as it was, in hindsight, shrimp was probably not the best thing to have. Her dad generously offered to drive us to Brooklyn, eliminating a tedious subway ride. Why they can’t just have a direct route from Queens to Brooklyn I do not know.

Anyhoo, without much ado, we arrived in Brooklyn at cousin L’s place, which is in by far one of the shadiest areas ever. Its hard to imagine my ultra trendy, uber urban, New Yorker cousin living in what can only be described as a ‘your lucky if you don’t die while going out to get a sandwich’ area, but hey, we do what we can to get by. Enthusiastic greetings all round, I hadn’t seen either cousins in a while, and we got down to business. Meaning drinks were poured. In to mugs. Don’t ask. 3 extra large, extra strong vodka tonics later, we head out to the city. Why I do this to myself, I know not. It’s not like I don’t know I’m a light weight. I do know the bar was called Antarctica. I do know they had extremely comfortable seats considering I passed out on them for about an hour. I do know I spent considerable time in the restroom bringing that shrimp back up. I do know I stopped at a McD’s to get a burger on the way back. That’s about all I remember though.

Back at L’s place, and you know how girls are. We must chat. Finally hit the sack at 6 only to be woken by Shobs who is punctual to the point of insanity. Back in Queens for a haircut, one that I am not thrilled about, but it can be worked with, then back home for a new hair color, one that I am thrilled with, out for dinner and now here I am in bed studying frantically for my 3 midterms, but actually just typing up this post. I’m beginning to notice a weekly trend...

An NDE

That’s near death experience to you. I kid you not, we almost died. Well maybe that’s an exaggeration; no one can die going 15 mph. Can they? But a sports car with rear wheel drive, more passengers than its supposed to carry, a slightly tipsy driver and a snowstorm at 4am don’t exactly make for safe driving conditions. Being in a car that’s fishtailing across the highway is probably one of the scariest situations I’ve ever been in. And all that stuff they say about your life flashing before your eyes and whatnot is all a lie. There was no flashing; everything was super slow-mo. First the lamppost on the right was drifting closer and then, like a dream, we’ve changed directions and are drifting across the highway, into the oncoming traffic, and the railing on that side is getting closer and closer till we’re a breath away and then somehow we were back in our lane, inching our way home once again. Now repeat four times.

Props to the driver for keeping his cool; I was screaming in my head all the way back. But if you’re picturing screaming girls in the backseat... no, it was silent as a grave back there. Lots of silent prayers and white knuckles though.

To calm myself down I tried to think about all the things I should have thought about but didn’t. You know, I should have thought about my family and my friends, and all the things I should have done before I died. Instead I was thinking of how the last time I danced with a really attractive guy was in Sri Lanka, and if there was half a sandwich left over from lunch cause I was starving. Yeah, skid across a highway to possible death and all I think about is a sandwich and a boy. I’m so profound.

Missing You, Missing Us

A gloomy week, weather-wise and otherwise. Paying the price for partying too hard, drinking too much, and exhausting myself all round. The first hangover ever on Friday, lasted before, during and after philosophy homework and an exam. It was traumatizing and terrible, my head was being run over repeatedly by a fat man in a big car. A weaker woman than I would have sworn off tequila for ever.

Watching the cricket match now and is it just me or is Praveen Kumar ridiculously hot? All these flags make me miss baila and devilled fish from Kinross. Strange. Been missing a lot of things these days. Never fails to amuse me that no matter how hard core I think I am, sometimes the missing manages to sneak up and hit me when I least expect it. The other day I was on my way to class, wading through the mini-flood created by the mini-hurricane and I remembered how a long long time ago my grandmother’s garden use to flood and we’d run around in the rain. And the other day I was incubus-ing my way to the gym and I remembered a couple long conversations I’d had with fellow fans, the Duckling and A. All these roses make me miss my ex, who, predictable as the sunrise, would bring me some every Valentine’s day and Bday. As pretentious as those goddamn flowers were, I still appreciated the gesture, and I miss him now, in more ways than one.

Missing long skype convos with the girls and afternoon naps. Banana smoothies from Cricket Club and 80Rs arrack and cokes from SSC. Turning up at the Duckling’s house at unexpected hours to drag her out for a round of shopping, K’s ridiculous drama and S’s ridiculously loud voice, hours spent in J’s house, just doing nothing. I wish I were with them right now. I wish I could be there for the summer. I miss you. I miss us.

Flame

Vday Spam

<-- This is exactly how I feel about Valentine’s day. What’s the big deal?

BUT, surrounded as I am by new love, old love and hopeful love, how can I not write an obligatory post..

First off though, this story needs to be shared: suite mate S is in a brand spanking new, extremely forbidden and secretive relationship. She’s a Jain, he’s a Muslim, and her father would beat her to death if he found out. Aside from that delightful fact, she’s all aglow with new love. Apparently today is her, cue eye roll, ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY. So, she bakes a cake. And muffins. Like a hundred of them, WHICH she refuses to share, because they’re FOR HIM. Now this cake, boys and girls, is indeed a spectacular, one of a kind, completely original, absolutely non-cliché kind of cake. Picture if you will: its heart-shaped (what??), pink icing (pink??) and decorated with little heart shaped candy (no!!). And it sits on our living room table in all its nauseating glory, taunting me. If ever a cake has looked grotesquely valentiney and completely unedible, it is this one. No, not INedible as in unfit to be eaten, but UNedible, as in completely impossible to eat due to danger of choking on one’s own bile. I have had ideas, yes, and so has O, the front runners being cutting a hole in it, sticking a knife in it, or the best one: writing ‘interracial rships are BAD’ on it. We havn’t done anything though. Yet. I would like to say this is all very cute, and I would, if I were 16. Hell, I did stupid Vday crap when I was a kid too. But really, once you hit your twenties, its about time you stopped. Really, just stop.

On to the post stuff:
There are two kinds of people in the world. The ones in relationships and the ones who are not. Come Vday, there are four kinds. The ones in relationship who are obnoxious about it, and the ones who don’t care about it. And then we have those people who are not in relationships who hate this day with a passion because they are lonely/bitter/cranky/anti- romance and then those, myself included, to whom Thursday the 14^th will follow pretty much the same schedule as Thursday the 7^th did, albeit with an excess of red and candy, and are not overly concerned either way.

I’ve been petitioned to wear black tomorrow, sort of a boycott valentines day campaign, which I think is rather funny, but I might still do it, just cause I just bought a rather snazzy black sweater. I’ve also been asked to go for lunch, which I’ll also do, since, like breakfast and dinner, I must have it everyday. The significance of either, however, is right over my head. Exactly the way Peanut does it.

I don’t do Days. Not Mother’s Day, not Father’s Day, not Best Friend’s Day or any other outrageously hypocritical, show-of-love-via-cards-and-flowers Day. That said, I am perusing Hallmark for cards. Why? Well for one thing, I’ve already received 3 cards and am guilt stricken. But more importantly, while I will completely agree with those who think this a stupid, consumer-oriented, over-rated Day if there ever was one, I can also find nothing wrong with celebrating something positive like love. We so rarely ever celebrate it, even when we should, every single day. So cards it is then. E-cards, that is, since you won’t find me spending my hard earned money on nonsense. And if people want to spend big bucks on flowers that will die in two days and jewellery that will never be worn, well, its no skin off my back! So calm the fuck down, all you Vday haters, and show some love!

Happy Valentine's Day!

A Threat, in More Ways Than One

This article in the Daily Mirror caught my eye. As disturbing and frightening as the thought of a suicide bomber, be it male of female, is, it makes me wonder about the implications of this on the women of the world in general, and the women of countries at war in particular.

I'd never really given a thought to policemen before last summer. They were always those men who created a traffic jam at the lights, albeit projecting that aura of authority. Having grown up on Enid Blyton, my view of policemen was that they were around to protect and uphold the law, with that touch of hilarity thrown in (Mr. Plod, Mr. Goon anyone?). Last summer changed all that. A few incidents almost identical to this and policemen, at least those in Lanka, became frightful, threatening individuals, 'avoid at all costs' people. Forget protection; I've never felt as unsafe as at those times.

So my point then is this: what will it be like now, with a warning like this and policemen like this, for a woman in Sri Lanka? A free pass to harass, insult and humiliate? An all-you-can-eat of perving, violating and feel-ups? Strip searches in public?

Don't get me wrong; I understand that precautions need to be taken against what is obviously a very grave threat to everyone's safety. But where and by whom will the line be drawn? I can't even imagine the nightmare, for Tamil women in particular. But I can imagine the response to a complaint: Vat to do no?

And really, vat to do only. In this war between a terrorist group and our allegedly democratic government, can we honestly expect the rights of the people to be upheld? I think not.

With the End of the War..

Now that the military is making progress in the North and East and many are anticipating impending success and the end of the war, the question for me is, then what? Say we kill/capture VP, which may or may not end the quest for Eelam, but then what? With the threat of the LTTE gone, will the situation change for Tamil people? Will they be treated better, as equals? Will the 'Sinhala superiority' mindset change? Will the end of the war also mean the end of the deep-seated bias and racism? And how about economic issues? IDPs? Tsunami victims? Poverty, agriculture, corruption? Will we see drastic changes once the war is not an excuse?

I've been giving this some thought and in my mind I've reached a dead end. I simply don't know, but I'm not hopeful. What do you think?

San Fran at Twilight

Whilst attempting to catch crabs off Pier 4, we got in a few shots of the skyline. More shots than crabs actually, but who’s counting!

Not Just Another Friday

Thursday night could best be described as ridiculous. Having been driven to the drink by Socrates, a couple hours later found me and O on the floor in what can only be described as tequila-induced hysterics. We were crying, nay, bawling, and singing Hootie and the Blowfish songs at the top of our lungs. I’m not sure why. X number of minutes later we calmly sat down and finished our respective work. I’m not sure exactly what I wrote on that assignment since when I tried to read it this morning I had forgotten what it was about. So I handed it in. The grade I receive will dictate whether or not philosophy homework should be done in the presence of tequila in the future.

Friday was a pissy day at best. I woke to gray skies and bare, ghostly trees; the rain was coming down, like we say, in buckets. But there are classes to go to, so I bravely braved the storm and stepped outside in what I foolishly thought was rain gear, only to be soaked to the bone in 30 seconds flat. My shoes apparently have invisible holes, otherwise how to explain the wet socks, and the ‘raincoat’ is apparently just a coat to be worn in the rain, not to protect you from it or anything. A miserable 3 hours later, having shivered through a lecture on primate evolution of all things, I was back in my room devouring steaming hot naans and chicken tikka, for which I knew I would be paying at the gym later. Then, fed and dry, I bunked down for my first afternoon nap in 5, that’s right FIVE days. I was as snug as a bug in a rug, so to speak, and twas the best sleep I’ve had in days.

Heart burn woke me. Turns out oily Indian food and orange juice are not the best combination to sleep on. My esophagus was on fire, I kid you not, and the gym was calling. Water bottle in hand and running shoes on feet, I braved the winds once again for the sake of fitness. And I was in a mood. A downright pissy mood that had me swapping my usual gym playlist for my Incubus playlist. Obviously hip hop wasn’t the way to go that night.

Outside was, in a word, magical. The sky was an exquisite blue-black and the rain was coming down in sheets. Not hard enough that you couldn’t see though, and I stopped by the pond to watch the waves. Pond is quite the understatement, but lake would be a ridiculous overstatement, so imagine something in between if you will. I feel that we, in general, are creatures of the light, and we rarely take the time to appreciate a good storm at night. Watching the wind sweep the rain across the surface of the water, the trees in disarray, spooky and magnificent at the same time, was a moment for me.

And I felt like walking. Just walking, you know. So in the gym I got on the treadmill and... walked. I was reacquainting myself with the older Incubus albums, like Science and Make Yourself, which has gems like Nebula and Calgone which I had never really taken the time to fully appreciate. And I was in the zone. So much so that I found myself doing really weird things like trying to increase the volume on my ipod by pressing the incline button (why is it getting harder to walk?) and trying to stare myself down in the mirror.

After I don’t know how long I headed home again. And had to stop by the lake-pond again. If anyone had happened to glance out the window, I would have surely been a strange sight: 10 in the night, person in tracks and a hoodie staring at the water in the middle of a storm. Sort of murderer-rapist type, waiting for the next victim?

Back in my room, a steamy shower later, protein shake in hand I settled down to watch Across the Universe. It warrants its own post, but if you haven’t watched it yet, you best do so right away. At least get the soundtrack, its nothing short of incredible. And I now am in love with Jim Sturgess.

The Mother and The Condoms

So.. funny story.

School started this week and I moved back last Sunday, and as is customary, the whole jing bang came to drop me off. So we move my bags in and everyone wonders around the suite poking and prodding at things to see whats what, and my mother is staring at the pictures on the wall, making sure that one of her is right on top or something silly like that, when she glances over to our bedside table thingy and freezes.

Picture this if you will: the room is relatively small. The two beds are on either side and the little table tops are in between, side by side, one for me and one for O, my roommate. We have general bedtime stuff on them; a book, a candle, a lamp etc, and on O's side, a little jar of condoms. For those who can't picture it, here's a, well, picture:

The ensuing conversation went something like the following, but first I must tell you that my mother is a drama queen and tis the joy of my and many other people's lives to rile her up:

The Mother: T, come here right now!!

Me: Yes? (Ultra angelic. I already know what this is about)

TM: what is this?

Me: weeell… what does it look like?

TM: this better not be what I think it is!

Me: well, I hope you're not thinking it's a jar of condoms cause that's what it is.

TM: don't play with me T! What is it doing here?

Me: well if you look closely, they're on O's table, not mine. Under my breath, Mine are in the drawer.

TM: @$%#^!!! You better not be using any!

Me: but amma.. Wouldn’t you rather I use them than not?

TM: #$%@#$!!

My sister chooses this opportune moment to go pick one up and ask what it is, followed by a screech from The Mother.

Me: you should have seen it last semester.. There were more then. (Grin and quick get away)

Aaahh.. Mothers and sexcapades!