Thursday Aug 2'2012
1:06pm
Eddie keeps giving me little gifts and treats. It's so sweet, literally. First it was a chocolate bar, then a box of assorted chocolates, then a coconut (he remembered my obsession with them and their water) and this morning he gave me his heart, or several hearts for that matter. Strawberry flavoured candies called Heart Beats. Either he is the only man who truly understands and appreciates my sugar addiction, or he's just trying to fatten me up in preparation to become a good, sturdy Indian wife.
Today my classes were cancelled because of Raksha Bandhan, an Indian holiday that celebrates the unique bond between brother and sister. Here, they do not have Mother's Day and Father's day because here everyday should be about appreciating and celebrating your parents (at least this was the case until western influences took over and now they do celebrate our special days, same dates and everything). But from a traditional stand point, they do have one day a year to celebrate brother/sister love. A brother's main role in life is to always protect his sister, whether she is married or single. On this day, the sister ties a holy thread around the brother's wrist and prays that he is successful, strong, and prosperous in order to always be able to protect her and keep her safe. In exchange, the brother gives her money. They feed each other sweets and participate in a Puja. This day is a very important day. These events are to be practiced in the morning, freshly showered, and on an empty stomach. The bond between a brother and sister is one of the closest and is very important. A girl's brother is her protector, even more so than her husband. He is meant to always keep her safe and secure no matter what. There is an image that keeps coming in to my head, the same one that usually does when I'm reminiscing about my brother and my childhood. I was around 10 or so, I fell off my bike and wound up in the hospital with a hole in my knee. While I was waiting for stitches, laying in the hospital bed, he drew me pictures of mermaids. I have no other memory of Josh drawing other than that day. And the mermaids.
Saturday Aug 4'2012
5:06pm
You won't believe me when I tell you this but now, in order to enter my Indian home, I need my fingerprint scanned. Oh yes, it's true. At this point you may be starting to think I am completely full of shit and you are contemplating going over to my apartment just to make sure I haven't locked myself away all Howard Hughes style peeing into glass jars, growing my finger nails out, and making up stories about a futuristic foreign country where you get your retina scanned just to enter a coffee shop. This is not the case, there are hardly any coffee shops, and if there are, they sell shit for coffee. I digress. Raj has in fact set up a security system at the front door that requires my right index finger in order to enter. These people don't have toilet paper, but finger print activated security systems, no sweat. No sweat shouldn't be a saying here. There is always sweat. But that's just how upside down this world I temporarily call home is. It's just funny is what it is. It has to be. Especially when it comes to things like being patted down and checked for explosives on a daily basis. You have to just laugh, otherwise you realize how potentially scary this place is. Back home, you get stopped by the police for speeding or driving intoxicated. Here, you get pulled over to be checked for ammunition hidden in your vehicle. Before entering any major public facility, you are searched for bombs and weapons (pretty sure my Dior Addict in my purse was momentarily mistook for a hand grenade while trying to enter the metro) Once on the metro, the overheard speakers will repeat a warning that any unattended object is probably a bomb. I could get bombed. A Russian woman got raped here in Delhi about a week after I arrived. It was big news; a foreign tourist attacked in New Delhi. I could get raped. I've already had my boob and ass grabbed, it could have been a gateway grab, in which case it's only a matter of time. I could get bombed and raped. Although, if that's the case, I'd prefer them to be simultaneous. You know, two birds one stone kinda thing.
I ventured out on my own again today. It's been a while, hence the previous thought pattern. I took the metro alone for the first time. Didn't get lost though, to my surprise. Or raped, which was nice. I went to the malls, again. Lord Shiva knows why. I was bored, needed to get out, private time was calling. Plus I figured if shopping for myself was impossible at these sorry excuses for malls, maybe I could at least find some souvenirs to bring home. Even that's a challenge. I think what gets me is that the malls are so huge. How can there literally be absolutely nothing, not a single store worthwhile in such a giant space? Baffling. But I did manage to buy a few bangles, really cute actually, and cheap. All the bangles I'd been eyeing were like $30-40 a piece, but today was like seven for $8, and ten for $4. Then a really pretty single lotus flower one for $2. See, I still got it. However, I have discovered my one shopping insecurity and that is bracelets. To be honest, the real reason I never bought those expensive ones was because I have atrociously fat man hands and they wouldn't fit over my bear claws... like at all. Even the ones I did buy today barely fit. I have to practically fight to the death to get them on. And I have battle wounds to prove it. The buggers ripped skin off my thumb knuckled. But I look pretty. Almost dainty. But its embarrassing. I have officially found something that embarrasses me. And it hurts. Deep. Especially when you ask the 250 pound sales lady if she has a bigger size and she says harshly, No, and follows with, Big wrists, yes. Very big (while her own wrists are ridden with all sorts of colourful bangles) You're the equivalent of two of me! How is this fair?! I'm actually contemplating how much I'd really miss my pinky fingers... Probably not that much. But then I might be insecure about only having eight fingers. It's a lose, lose.
Monkeys are assholes. I'm pissed. Yesterday, Iago got attacked by an evil gang of monkeys. Like I said, assholes. I am so not bringing a monkey home anymore. Mahabali maybe, but no monkey. We let Iago hang out in the garden area outside during the day now. The devil monkeys, who had been plotting this attack for days I imagine, swung in and threw his cage, with him helplessly in it, on the ground. Two seconds later there's Raj running to the rescue with his pellet gun blazing (awfully similar sight to my dad chasing after squirrels with his). These are the same monkeys that take one bite out of the mangos from Raj's mothers tree then throw them carelessly away. The ones that jump and swing on our satellite dish causing us to lose signal during our dramatic soap opera time. These are not Abu monkeys. These are like the monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. Or the evil pirate monkey from Ice Age 4. Monkeys are assholes.
1:06pm
Eddie keeps giving me little gifts and treats. It's so sweet, literally. First it was a chocolate bar, then a box of assorted chocolates, then a coconut (he remembered my obsession with them and their water) and this morning he gave me his heart, or several hearts for that matter. Strawberry flavoured candies called Heart Beats. Either he is the only man who truly understands and appreciates my sugar addiction, or he's just trying to fatten me up in preparation to become a good, sturdy Indian wife.
Today my classes were cancelled because of Raksha Bandhan, an Indian holiday that celebrates the unique bond between brother and sister. Here, they do not have Mother's Day and Father's day because here everyday should be about appreciating and celebrating your parents (at least this was the case until western influences took over and now they do celebrate our special days, same dates and everything). But from a traditional stand point, they do have one day a year to celebrate brother/sister love. A brother's main role in life is to always protect his sister, whether she is married or single. On this day, the sister ties a holy thread around the brother's wrist and prays that he is successful, strong, and prosperous in order to always be able to protect her and keep her safe. In exchange, the brother gives her money. They feed each other sweets and participate in a Puja. This day is a very important day. These events are to be practiced in the morning, freshly showered, and on an empty stomach. The bond between a brother and sister is one of the closest and is very important. A girl's brother is her protector, even more so than her husband. He is meant to always keep her safe and secure no matter what. There is an image that keeps coming in to my head, the same one that usually does when I'm reminiscing about my brother and my childhood. I was around 10 or so, I fell off my bike and wound up in the hospital with a hole in my knee. While I was waiting for stitches, laying in the hospital bed, he drew me pictures of mermaids. I have no other memory of Josh drawing other than that day. And the mermaids.
Saturday Aug 4'2012
5:06pm
You won't believe me when I tell you this but now, in order to enter my Indian home, I need my fingerprint scanned. Oh yes, it's true. At this point you may be starting to think I am completely full of shit and you are contemplating going over to my apartment just to make sure I haven't locked myself away all Howard Hughes style peeing into glass jars, growing my finger nails out, and making up stories about a futuristic foreign country where you get your retina scanned just to enter a coffee shop. This is not the case, there are hardly any coffee shops, and if there are, they sell shit for coffee. I digress. Raj has in fact set up a security system at the front door that requires my right index finger in order to enter. These people don't have toilet paper, but finger print activated security systems, no sweat. No sweat shouldn't be a saying here. There is always sweat. But that's just how upside down this world I temporarily call home is. It's just funny is what it is. It has to be. Especially when it comes to things like being patted down and checked for explosives on a daily basis. You have to just laugh, otherwise you realize how potentially scary this place is. Back home, you get stopped by the police for speeding or driving intoxicated. Here, you get pulled over to be checked for ammunition hidden in your vehicle. Before entering any major public facility, you are searched for bombs and weapons (pretty sure my Dior Addict in my purse was momentarily mistook for a hand grenade while trying to enter the metro) Once on the metro, the overheard speakers will repeat a warning that any unattended object is probably a bomb. I could get bombed. A Russian woman got raped here in Delhi about a week after I arrived. It was big news; a foreign tourist attacked in New Delhi. I could get raped. I've already had my boob and ass grabbed, it could have been a gateway grab, in which case it's only a matter of time. I could get bombed and raped. Although, if that's the case, I'd prefer them to be simultaneous. You know, two birds one stone kinda thing.
I ventured out on my own again today. It's been a while, hence the previous thought pattern. I took the metro alone for the first time. Didn't get lost though, to my surprise. Or raped, which was nice. I went to the malls, again. Lord Shiva knows why. I was bored, needed to get out, private time was calling. Plus I figured if shopping for myself was impossible at these sorry excuses for malls, maybe I could at least find some souvenirs to bring home. Even that's a challenge. I think what gets me is that the malls are so huge. How can there literally be absolutely nothing, not a single store worthwhile in such a giant space? Baffling. But I did manage to buy a few bangles, really cute actually, and cheap. All the bangles I'd been eyeing were like $30-40 a piece, but today was like seven for $8, and ten for $4. Then a really pretty single lotus flower one for $2. See, I still got it. However, I have discovered my one shopping insecurity and that is bracelets. To be honest, the real reason I never bought those expensive ones was because I have atrociously fat man hands and they wouldn't fit over my bear claws... like at all. Even the ones I did buy today barely fit. I have to practically fight to the death to get them on. And I have battle wounds to prove it. The buggers ripped skin off my thumb knuckled. But I look pretty. Almost dainty. But its embarrassing. I have officially found something that embarrasses me. And it hurts. Deep. Especially when you ask the 250 pound sales lady if she has a bigger size and she says harshly, No, and follows with, Big wrists, yes. Very big (while her own wrists are ridden with all sorts of colourful bangles) You're the equivalent of two of me! How is this fair?! I'm actually contemplating how much I'd really miss my pinky fingers... Probably not that much. But then I might be insecure about only having eight fingers. It's a lose, lose.
Monkeys are assholes. I'm pissed. Yesterday, Iago got attacked by an evil gang of monkeys. Like I said, assholes. I am so not bringing a monkey home anymore. Mahabali maybe, but no monkey. We let Iago hang out in the garden area outside during the day now. The devil monkeys, who had been plotting this attack for days I imagine, swung in and threw his cage, with him helplessly in it, on the ground. Two seconds later there's Raj running to the rescue with his pellet gun blazing (awfully similar sight to my dad chasing after squirrels with his). These are the same monkeys that take one bite out of the mangos from Raj's mothers tree then throw them carelessly away. The ones that jump and swing on our satellite dish causing us to lose signal during our dramatic soap opera time. These are not Abu monkeys. These are like the monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. Or the evil pirate monkey from Ice Age 4. Monkeys are assholes.
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