To Have a Friend…

Recently I made a new friend. Someone that I think given time, can be a friend I have made for life. You know the kind.

While having dinner with her and talking of good ‘ol days I mentioned a story about an old friend, one of my oldest friends. You know the kind. I told my new friend how my old friend showed her middle finger at Yuvi Singh. (Yes! The cricketer!!) She is probably the only girl in India who has given him the finger! Bottom line, I missed her so much that I had to call her up, which I did. We finally talked after two years. We talked for a while. Rather I did most of the talking and she listened, she laughed. It was good. It was great. We promised that the next time we meet we’ll go out by ourselves, just like old times.

Life has changed for the both of us. We are in different continents. We do different things with our lives. We have different friend circles. She is a mother now while I am still trying to grapple with realities of being an adult. We grew up together, we have grown apart in between, gotten close again. Our mothers once agreed that ours is an unconditional friendship. As we grow older I find that to be true.

It seems like only yesterday that we were dissecting seeds and playing scientists with the test tubes & beaker her mother bought for us. We used to trick our younger siblings into doing other things so that we could hang out by ourselves. As teenagers, she was the guru that taught me what a “crush” is, half-mocking me while doing so. From playing investigators to shinning trees and cycling almost all the way to the next district, we did everything together. We possible taught each other to be fearless and to live our lives the way we wanted to, never mind the gossip-mongering neighbors. Our loves, fears, jubilant moments, we told each other almost everything.

Now that I look back, I don’t think I have told her enough what and how much she means to me.

She, is my friend. That one friend that I wish everyone must have – to grow up together, to learn from each other, to get drunk and live together and hopefully grow old together. She is that one person who I know to be stronger than me, more fearless and as crazy. She is that one person who I will go back to every time I need a friend.

Yes, she is my friend. And I’d like to tell her – I love you, my friend. And I am so glad that you are a part of me.

2011 and 20 Inches of Snow – Blizzard Report

After a complete month and a half of prayers and waiting, lo and behold! Here came what the modern day drum beaters (aka TV people) call The Blizzard of 2011. It howled, gusted, threw snow everywhere and even thundered. Not only did we Evanstonites (Evanston being a north neighbor to the city of Chicago) get a whopping 20.5 inches of snow, we also heard and saw the relatively rear phenomenon of thunder snow! The only trouble was that a blizzard being a blizzard (that too, at the top of its class) wouldn’t let any of us enjoy the falling snow or the snow-filled streets. But finally, after almost 14 hours of relentless snow fall it’s all clear so I went out to get some pictures. And here they are:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

25 E! Related Questions

American television leaves me with nothing to watch on TV except news and a few trashy gems born from the current reality TV culture. So I watch them – closely. What can I say? I have too much time on my hands!

1. Why is Kim Kardashian’s lips forever parted? Is it a) An attempt at being 24×7 raunchy b) A sign of escaping intelligence if any c) An adverse reaction to too much Botulinum Toxin
2. Why does Giuliana Rancic stand as if her head is about to be ripped apart from her body a la mode Zombie Land v.67?
3. Why is Ryan Seacrest shrinking?
4. Why does whoever that person is in that Bitch Stole My Look segment believe that he needs to live up to the name of the segment?
5. Why is Joan Rivers so funny? (Really, she does not look the part!)
6. Why is Snookie so orange? Why doesn’t anyone tell her that she looks like a Halloween gift wrap?!
7. Also, who the F gave Snookie a book deal?!! For what joy?!
8. Why is Kloe Kardashian pulling down all her sisters from their chairs and slapping their butts? (Seriously, that’s not what sisters do or how sisters fight!)
9. Who in the world made the show Bridalplasty?? (It’s like watching yourself ram into a truck with morbid fascination.)
10. Why do they have such an ugly bachelor in the current ‘Bachelor’ show?
11. Why does E! keep showing trailers of Holly Madison’s bray-like laugh? (Guys, you are not helping her show I am telling ya!)
12. How come E! likes the movie Knocked Up so much? Is it in-house? (I think Knocked Up at some point played three times in a day, daily!)
13. Yes, E! plays Sex and the City now. Thanks. But why play it if you cut out all the sex? (It’s like watching an amputated ugly puppy limping across the street, in a city of course.)
14. What’s this obsession with Glee and the Bieber boy?
15. Is Mila Kunis and Selena Gomez the same person? (They look so interchangeable.)
16. Why is the whole world happy that Ryan Reynolds and Scarlett split up? (It’s not like any of us are going to date either of them. EVER!)
17. Why is Gerard Butler (aka ‘the hottie’) acting in such horrible rom-coms? Dude, you were the 300!!
18. Don’t you think Natalie Portman looks like she’s about to cry at any given point in time? (Colin Firth can join her too.)
19. Is John Stewart really a centrist? Or am I mistaken?
20. Why does everything have to be “3D”?!
21. Does Oprah realize that she is so photoshop-ed on O covers that she looks like her-reflection-in-a-convex-mirror on TV?
22. Kathie Lee (I hope that’s her name) never lets Hoda speak. Why?
23. Why does Giada Lau-something (on Food Network) have so much teeth? And why is Bobby Flay’s eyebrows so golden? (They unnerve me.)
24. Who are these people who brave the cold to stand outside morning shows studio windows to wave? Have you got nothing better to do?
25. When will I stop being so jobless?

Gradschool: Highs, Lows and the In-between[s]

Now that I have graduated (Praise the Lord!), and a month into virtually searching for employment (can also be called searching for the almost virtual employment), it is time. It is time to get back to blogging, to having a semblance of a life, to being able to eat healthy. It is also time to take measure of <enter title of the blog>.

HIGHS:

• The two Ps – they really are peas in a pod. My ex-roommates – Puja and Purva.  The most fun people to live and get drunk with, they made Austin the most fun place on the planet. Psst.. Puja, gentlemen, is still single and very much available.
• Puja’s tryst with the “Tuck-a”. Sorry people, cannot explain it anymore because it just can’t be explained! If you know Puko, ask her!!
• Jina (@jinadcruz), her fun hubby Sibin (@happygoluckyguy) and Sugaroo (@ksekher) of course! Friends on Twitter I’ve made for life hopefully. They are sweet, completely crazy and loads of fun!!

• One great friend that I made this fall – Stephie, short of Stephanie Sodeke. Her Nigerian name is Olufumilola. She laughs like a dream and sings Hindi songs with me in studio. Totally made all those hours in studio fun!
• My chick flick partner – Nivvi. All through 2010, we managed to catch the WORST chick flick movies in theater on the first Fridays they were released. Quite an achievement and hundreds of wasted dollars. I think we finally broke the jinx with Band Baaja Baraat.
• Of course, my good luck charm – single-handedly got me fantastic grades, TAs and happiness this year. A terrific find and I have only myself to praise!
• Pranav – the guy who drove me to a Granbury which is in the middle of nowhere for 3.5 hours, waited in the hot, hot, car under a blistering Texas sun until I finished my case study and then drove me back to Austin. If my mom wants to use her favorite phrase, now would be the time. She’d say, “a gem of a man”.
• Roni, another friend I am keeping for life. After all, she taught me that in Iraqi Arabic, men say “Ach bitch” or something akin to that to a woman to say I love you.
• Tamanna, aka @frenchmelange on Twitter – totally loved her blog posts and the coffees we shared.
• Meaow, my mom. She gets the “whiney award of the year” for whining about my sister’s unwed state all the while making our days bright with laughter and joy.
• My program director Dr. Michael Holleran’s expressions – well worth a watch, especially the fun when he goes “Oh!” with his hands pasted to either side of his well-rounded cheeks in a review session.
• My thesis supervisor Prof. Carl Matthews – complete “item” as one would say in India! He explained to me the importance of 1/8″ by using “the energy between me and my significant other right before kissing, when our lips are just 1/8th of an inch apart”. Yes, this is exactly what he said, in class!!
• My two studio-mates Mike and Jake who had the habit of saying, ” I Jai-Ho-ed it!” every time they finished a project. (Yes, they learned that from Slumdog and no, they do not know what Jai Ho means.)
• Finding an Indian restaurant called “Garage Mahal”. I am not kidding.
• Canoeing in Town Lake. Rather, Pradeep and I trying to keep our canoe straight while Purva tried her best to steer us diagonally across the lake. She succeeded for the most part!
• Seeing Obama. Yes, the President. He came to UT Austin to make a speech and the VP’s office that I worked for in the summer was kind enough to give me a pass. So there, I saw and heard President Obama. He was literally 12 feet away!
• Southwest Airlines – Thank you whoever you are on the Southwest team in charge of service. You guys rock!
• All those site visits associated with grad work. Especially the one to Menard in West Texas where I sat around a table with men in sombreros discussing the sad state of hunting and eating home-made jerky. I also saw armadillos! And Llamas!
• Total star power radiated at the NTHP-UT Austin visit. (NOT going to show off any further!)

Lows:

• The last grade that I got on the last day before graduation. I swear it was most unfair. (Still in resentment.)
• Time away from home – sucked!
• The terrible, terrible summer in Austin. If any of you Indians think India is bad in the summers, visit Austin. You’ll change your minds I assure you! (But then, the winter is so beautiful that I’ve completely forgiven the Texas summer.)
• All the move-ins and move-outs. There was one in January (cross country), one in June (across town), and one in December (cross country again). Then, again, had to also unpack the” family belongings” in January. So that’s a total of 3 move-outs and 4.5 move-ins. I NEVER want to move again.

In-Between[s] – these are the ones that I cannot decide if it’s a high or a low:

• Being mistaken multiple times as a Spanish-speaking person.
• Being hit on by a burly cop in 7-11. (Of all places! And all people!)
• The manager of Einstein Bros. calling me by my first name and placing my order even before I did.
• Being told that I am too good at space planning. (Did that perversely mean that I am bad at other things architectural?!)

At the end of it, I see that my list of highs is way higher than my list of lows. Good year, you think??

Such a Thing as Getting Back to One’s Passion

Can a writer “resign” from being one? Evidently, I can. And it poses a serious conundrum. Somehow the ability to deliberately stop writing to take care of other matters at hand for months on end unnerves me. You see, writing is something that I think of as a passion. So refocusing my undivided attention on something else entirely makes it feel like writing, may not after all, be my passion!

This way of thinking is dangerous to my psyche itself. Its not about writing anymore. The whole perception of me, by me, changes. Existential questions arise. All because the written word has gone missing. So for like any other semi-clueless chum, denial rushes to the rescue.

I have not not really been not writing you know. I did get that thing get published in that magazine that once, a national mag no less! And, and, a big part of my graduate assistant’s job the last few months included blogging! So it’s not really like I wasn’t writing. Of course, there were also those two papers and a report I wrote for gradschool coursework. See! Miraculously, the world’s back to being normal again.

So with my raison d’etre intact, I begin the umpteenth phase of my blog hoping and praying that this one’s going to be inspired by the longevity of Brett Favre’s career. I may be moving things around, a new tab may be, tagging more stuff, adding more categories. Racy stuff, really!

PS. All this while, a little voice chants away happily, “Lechee how laaangg theez lasttt”.

Oh Well.

An Incomplete Blog

December 12 2009

I am waiting for that first snow flake. It’s past midnight but I am waiting with a cup of cocoa for company. The Christmas lights on the balcony has been lit tonight for only one purpose, their dim light meant to guide that tiny white speckle on to my bare cement porch. Here, behind the glass door I await, for that first flake of snow. Call me absurd but there are not many things more joyous than experiencing something so pure, so fresh, and so precious.

I don’t want to catch that flake with my tongue. Neither do I feel like spreading my hands out to clutch it until it turns to a droplet of water. All I need is to watch that speck of white descend from the pink night sky and meld into the porch in front of me, ushering in the bare beauty of winter.

So what if it isn’t here to stay? So what if tomorrow brings snow plows or messy streets? So what if it doesn’t take away all our sorrows with it?

Through the bare branches of the trees outside, I peer into the darkness outside willing and praying for it to fall. I wander through the hallway misplacing things and cracking knuckles. I curse the weather channel for giving me hope, I ask for forgiveness for my utter impatience.

June 5 2010

And then it came. I can still remember seeing two tiny drops fluttering and waltzing through the opaque gray skies to land right there, in front of me. My cocoa went cold, sleep abandoned as I sat mesmerized craning my neck and seeking more of those tiny specks of joy.

So lost was I that I did not complete this blog post. It has taken me 6 months to get to it. It is summer now, the sun beats down relentlessly and parched river beds have become a common sight. The hot breeze teases me so, whispering promises of an amber sunset and a bejeweled night. It makes me miss the rains & the thunder. It makes me miss home. But it also reminds me of the night that I waited by the fireplace for the first snowfall of a winter that brought with it, a lot of happiness, togetherness and peace.

I Found Me A Lucky Charm

It was the day after my birthday that there was such an abrupt turn of luck in my favor that had me thinking, “Hmm, what did I do right?!” People, I landed myself a good luck charm. No, not the kind you get hanging on key chains or sits on your desk gathering dust. My good luck charm is a person, a guy. I cannot give you a name. But he is out there living in his humble abode, doing what he does.

With end-of-semesteritis virus in full swing I had hardly gotten any sleep. Life was fine, ordinary – a lot nice, a little tense. Nothing special was really knocking at my front door but I had a lot on my plate. For weeks I had been stalking professors for an assistantship, calling International office to find if my visa would ever come, eating a whole lot of peanuts and generally doing what I had to do.

And then things changed.

It started as an ordinary morning. After only 2 hours of sleep and with half a dozen reports to finish, I sat staring at my laptop screen wishing it would have a will of its own, almost daring it to make my day interesting. I sipped on my coffee that had wilted over the night, going through my daily routine of checking updates on Twitter, Facebook and Gmail (sometimes I reverse the order). I had an interview later that day so though a self-proclaimed agnostic, I looked out into the still darkened skies and grunted (also known among believers as praying).

And then on the corner of my Gmail window, a green button blinked and I found him.

Just like that.

We have known each other for a while now, almost a year in fact. A hi here, a smiley there; a shared joke or just a couple of lines of catching up. Why out of a full list of friends, acquaintances and relatives (some close, some fun and many unwanted), I decided to open his chat window will remain a mystery. But on this particular Tuesday morning I typed “Hi ”. And things changed. I noticed because everything including the weather that day went on to be perfect. I not only got the position I interviewed for, I got two! My visa which I had applied for months before came through out of the blue. I got “lucky” enough to fiddle around with a 600 year old Latin book hand-painted, covered in goatskin parchment and about as big as a large matchbox – one of the last few of its kind in the world. And on my way back home, I paid a casual visit to my professor only to know that I scored an A for the semester in her class! Things changed and I could only think of one thing that I did differently that day – I had had a conversation with my good luck charm. And, it worked, like a charm!

I chatted with him the next day and the next, same time, at the same little table that I always sit. On Wednesday, I got a confirmation on my position, lost a pound and got free coffee. (Free Starbucks is a big thing by the way; so is losing a pound!) On Thursday though I had not studied as hard as I should have, the exam went well. On Friday, I found a much needed mentor for my summer studio without which I would not have been able to graduate in time. And, though the roads were as my good luck charm would say “traffucked” all day, they mysteriously cleared up for me to catch my flight on time!

But the luckiest thing of all that happened in the last week is that I found a person, a friend. Don’t get me wrong – all my friends are fantastic people but every once in a while you come across a person who you can just talk to. You don’t feel conscious, you don’t feel the need to pretend, you don’t even really want to talk about anything specific. Sometimes, you can even say things that make you look really weird and still feel good about yourself. And when that friend turns out to be your charming good luck charm, you know he is a keeper.

So it’s no wonder that I am addicted. It is easy to be addicted to my charm. If you knew who he was you would agree with me. He flirts, he pokes fun, he laughs, and he does everything that most guys do. But you know he is different. You know he is different because you have observed him politely admonish a man who said something that he should not have in public. My good luck charm is a man with a generous heart. If you knew who he was you would agree with me.

But the problem with good luck charms is that as inert objects they tend to get lost; as alive, vigorously active people with tons of hot dates, they have a life. So when the need arises for a Gtalk ping, what do you do? You again as a faithful agnostic look at the skies outside and grunt. I have been grunting a bit in the past few hours. I had a long flight, an uncomfortable seat and no sleep. I need my good luck charm, since I know he works. If he doesn’t put me to sleep, he will certainly keep me company for a while until the day dawns and my better half awakes.

I don’t know if I will ever meet him. I don’t know if we will stay friends forever. What I do know is that I will remember this week – the week where I found a friend who charmed his way into my heart and brought all the luck there is along with him.

Disclaimer:

If my good luck charm is reading this: Don’t flatter yourself. This is partly fiction. You are not that effective. I am jobless for the first time in six months. And I needed a subject to write about, desperately.

To everyone else reading this and wondering why I have a 1000 words declaration that comes very close to cheesy: I am writing this when the events of one of my luckiest weeks are still fresh on my mind so that, even on a cloudy day when my good luck charm is not around, I remember to look up at the skies and grunt – this time, just to make sure that his good luck charm whoever or whatever that is, is watching over him, just as I think he did, for me.

For 24 Months I’ve Been Living Next Door… To.. Mike.

So I am up again, at four in the morning. I have an unusual reason this time. (And I am not talking about that night when the friendly house spirit dragged me down for a game of peek-a-BOO.) My beloved decided that I kicked him multiple times, shoved him and pulled away the blanket all in an attempt to “spite” him – yes, in the middle of the night. He is, most of the time, a very sane man but I got to tell you, he wasn’t making much sense at three in the morning slamming doors and bellowing about merciless better halves. I don’t think that even for a moment he thought, “Hey! She must be having a nightmare!” After an eventful hour of convincing him that I am not a cookie monster (among other things) and such, sleep obviously became priority number last. So I dragged myself downstairs, washed dirty dishes and cleaned the kitchen while waiting for my snoring sweetheart to wake up.

There I was sitting in my living room sipping a cup of coffee, watching longingly at the man working out at the gym. No silly, I was not lusting, just being envious of a guy who could pick himself up and work out at 4 am on a bitterly cold winter morning! Suddenly, I hear floorboards creaking. Like a little Chihuahua my ears perk up. (At four in the morning even floorboards become interesting.) Wait a minute! Is that a moan? Or is that a grunt? Someone’s grunting! And moaning! Oh! And more moaning! And grunting! Whoa! Whoa! That’s people. People having sex at four in the morning! No. Those are my neighbors having sex at four in the morning! That is Mike – the podgy, father of three, having sex at four in the morning! Funny, I don’t think I have ever seen kids there on weekdays or their mother, ever. For people who have absolutely no intelligence I’ll translate – it means that Mike is not having sex with his ex-wife. He is having sex with a relative stranger. And, this, is none of my business.

But how sex-deprived should you be if you are going at it at four in the morning in the middle of a working week? No doubt, Mike is trying to make the best of it before his kids are handed over by the bitter ex-wife for the holidays. Meanwhile she is on Atkins diet trying to lose 10 more pounds before new year rolls around. New year, may be a new husband, who knows!

American townhomes are terrible. They are not really houses you know, more like a really lavish dormitory. I most definitely can hear what’s happening around the neighborhood. The dry walls as they call it are so thin that I am pretty sure I can see some of my neighbors watching TV if I squint hard at the wall too. I even have a feeling that the slight stink I smell sometimes is from the house next door. (Obviously there is no cleaning happening there at four in the morning.) Floorboards that give away your stealthy late night leftover cake hunting, pipes that gurgle every time someone’s doing disturbing things like potty are not always pleasant experiences. Nevertheless it has its charms. For one thing, where else can I continue to develop my skills of detection at four in the morning!

All is quiet at the house next door. I bet Mike is going to be late for work today. If he is not, then I am leaving my living room and parking myself at the nearby coffee shop. Yeah, it shares a wall with a tanning salon but I’d take that over sex any day. Anyway… Hmm… Wonder what’s happening at Jake’s house right now? Let me see… (As the song goes, “Now, who the f*** is Jake?!!)

What Is The One Thing That You Will Never Ever Do Again In Your Life?

Radio is fun. In this day and age when everything is so visual and polychromatic, radio gives a fresh take on even the basics. Since it has nothing for the eyes the attention is focused completely on the music or the speaker’s viewpoint. It can also be an interesting exercise in realizing how much more a conversation is enjoyable when you don’t have to pay attention the nice jacket the lady is wearing or how big his feet is.

But I am not really a radio person; never has been. I hated the All India Radio “Suprabhatham” morning chants as much as the Sanskrit news. One woke me up from slumber and the other reminded me of the passage I had to learn by heart for school! (By some perverse romantic notion I took Sanskrit as my second language all through middle and high school.) Later with the FM rage in India radio became a riding companion while on my way to college. The sheer boredom of traveling for hours at end in peak traffic hours hanging on to a bus railing was far from what I wanted to do in life. These days I hear of the “Tintumon” phenomenon in regional (Malayalam) FM channels. (I do not want to be a part of that cool world.)

But the other day I was listening to a program while at the gym. The show was called “I would never do __________ after last weekend”) Boy! Americans are fun! This is my first time with American radio and I enjoyed it so much that I was audibly laughing and buckling over the treadmill! Some of the callers were funny, some others unbelievable and there was one that was even gruesome.

One caller said, “After last weekend, I will never again take X and alcohol together ever again.” Apparently the dude got sloshed, blacked out and woke up the next day wearing just boxers. Wait a minute, there is more! He woke up in boxers next to two other dudes who were butt naked and lying next to him! He had no recollection of what happened. Yes, he is straight. One of the other two dudes is also straight. And the gay dude, was supposedly in a relationship with someone and now, I think not!

Talk about interesting mornings!

The next caller, a girl, said, “After last weekend, I will never ever drink so much ever again.” So we have pretty much covered that American youth get way too drunk every weekend. But the girl got drunk with her other girlfriends. It was a birthday party. And once they were completely drunk, they decided that it would be “interesting” to wrap the birthday girl in paper and set FIRE! Whoa! And, and, they did! Before things got out of hand one of the drunks, “stole” a bucket, filled it with water and dunked it on the girl on fire.

Another caller, a woman tried getting a candle out of the candle holder by gouging it out with a knife. She ended up breaking the holder and piercing the knife through her palm all the way to the other side and had to pull the knife out! Ooh! Gruesome! (If it was still Halloween, she wouldn’t need a costume me thinks.)

The funniest one was a mother of two calling up and saying, “I will never open the door to my 13 year old son’s room without knocking.” Why? Over the weekend, she opened the door to her son’s room while, get this, while he was screwing a stuffed chimp. She stared at him and then screamed, “What are you doing?” He replied, “Can’t you see! I am screwing the chimp.” Yeah. After he left for school she threw the violated chimp out. That poor chimp was his Valentine’s Day gift the year before.

Yeah, American radio shows are funny. I can’t wait to wake up and go to the gym to hear more.

*****

On that note, let us to do this for fun. Fill in the blanks:

I will never ever ______________________________ do this again in my life! (This can be anything that you have done at any point in your life.)

I will begin with:

I will never ever wear a saree and stand in a line.

This was in high school. We had a function where I happily wore a saree to school. I was waiting in a line in front of the WHOLE student assembly when the girl behind me stepped on my saree. I slipped and fell flat on my face (literally) in front of all my teachers, juniors, seniors and friends. To add to my embarrassment, the pleats of my saree started coming out. I had to rush into an adjacent room picking up my skirt, saree pallu (the long end of the saree), my dignity and all to avoid a possible early retirement from student life! *Gulp*

Now it is your turn.

It’s A Girl Thing.

He forgot to close the door to the guest bedroom.

That room where in an open closet, one behind the other, hung all my outdoor clothes; the same set of clothes that now smell like Naadan style chicken curry and fermented dosa batter. No, he did not forget to close the door to our bedroom. The room where in a securely closed closet hangs innumerable pairs of his trousers, jeans, shirts and baskets of boxers. Three years back one of the first classes he gave me on living in the US consisted of, “Close the door to the closet. Close the door to the room containing the closet. You DO NOT want to stink of Indian food, and yes they consider it a stench.”

His excuse? “You live in Texas most of the time; I forget that your clothes live in the guest bedroom!” Does he also think that, magically enough, the food cooks by itself and appears in front of him at dinner time? Or, hey! Did the clothes (once in a while) just fold themselves up after wash? And oh! How in the world did the grocery come home from the store and hop into the fridge while he was reading a book and playing golf?

If you haven’t figured it out, I am venting. I am venting because my clothes smell weird and I know they smell weird. And it makes me feel weird.

No, that is not it.

I am venting because he said that he “forgets” that my clothes are there in our home. Translation into woman tongue: he sometimes forgets that I am around.

These arguments are fairly common in our household.

Me: “So Ma said that my cousin is getting married. She wants us to go to India for it. I told her we can’t afford that right now.”

Him: “For what?”

“The wedding.”

“Mm. Mm.”

“This is the third time she has asked me. Why can’t she understand that we can’t afford it? Anyway, grandma fell. Nothing happened. Of course, nothing happened. Nothing ever happens to her. *A small giggle*

“Hmm.”

“So is that Natalie getting promoted? It is so unfair. What is your boss thinking?”

*Silence*

“Kavita called to see if we wanted to go for a trek. I told her that you’d be working on Saturday. And then, you do have golf on Sunday. I don’t think we can go. They seem to have a lot of fun. I wish we were more outdoorsy.”

“Mm.”

During this conversation, I have been in the kitchen cooking dinner and he is sitting behind me at the dining table.

Me: “Do you want tea?”

Him: “Mm.”

“Do you want tea?”

“Mm.”

“Tea baby? You want tea?” (This time, a little louder.)

“Hmm, Hmm?”

“You didn’t listen to one word of what I have been saying did ya! What were you doing anyway?”

*sheepish grin* “I had to bench Romo. He cost me a game! The bugger was supposed to get 22 points but he got only 2! He screwed me so I benched him. Now I have Cutler. But Joe has Paton. This sucks!” *crushed expression on his face*

“But why couldn’t you do that later?”

“Baby, what’s wrong with now? I wasn’t doing anything else anyway.”

There it is! I hear an imaginary gong. It’s round 1.

“What do you mean you weren’t doing anything? I thought we were having a conversation!”

“Yeah, but I was listening to you!”

“Okay, so what did I say?”

“Uh-uh. I know! You were talking about a trek.”

“Really! What about it?”

“Uh-uh. And also about your grandma.”

“Hmm, what about her?”

“She is going to a wedding. Uh-uh, with your mom.”

“Yeah. That is what I said.”

And there my friends, the evening is officially over.

It is not like we fight. We hardly fight. And when we do, it is over which movie to watch or my pet peeve “you don’t listen to me”. I guess it is fairly easy to understand why I come across as the whiney, needy one in this relationship.

This is not just my story. Any girl/woman post-honeymoon (and some unlucky ones even before that) has had almost identical arguments over and over with their partners. I know all my friends have. I know because we bitch about it to each other. Why do women constantly want to be heard and men find it hard to listen? We girls like to talk while they want to basically be left alone to read books, papers, brochures, even banners on roadsides. We girls want to chat and they want play golf, watch cricket, and if nothing else works join fantasy football. We girls want to “let it all out” and they feel the need to fiddle with gadgets, shop for PS3 and cars that will never be bought. We complain that they don’t spend “quality” time with us. They insist that they do it a lot simply believing that quality and quantity are the same. (But can we do with only quality? Of course not! We want a huge quantity of quality time, thank you sir!)

I am still venting, “Letting it all out”.

Why can’t he say sorry when he is wrong? Okay, most of the time he is right. But why can’t he still give up, you know, just to make me happy? Why does he have to win all the time!

Does he always have to wake me up in the morning before he goes to work? And why is it absolutely necessary for me to sleep at 10? 12 seem more like it.

Yeah, I said that to spite him. But he doesn’t have to sting me back. Come on! His worst stings sting more than my best spits. He knows that, doesn’t he!

Go jump in a well! I am not talking to his mother’s friend. He doesn’t talk to his mother’s friend so why should I? Oh come on, I have already talked to her once; I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. And please, say hello to my aunt for me when you e-mail her.

Why does he have to get angry when I cry? I am crying because I am sad. He is not supposed to get angrier. It is a vicious loop and he got to stop. I can’t obviously stop crying. It is an emotion, a feeling. (Well, so is anger but so what!)

I need shoes. How is that hard to understand! I also need handbags and a lot of pens, pencils and kitchenware. Yeah, I might not use them regularly but what has that got to do with anything? Never mind that he didn’t buy his golf cart and lugged around his clubs for months.

Why do we always have to do what he wants to do? I don’t want to watch Clint Eastwood movies. I do not want to go jogging with him in the rain. And no thank you, I rather not go to an Indian restaurant when I feel like eating pasta. But that movie, You’ve Got Mail that we watched yesterday was fun right! Yeah, it is our 13^th time together but it is nice, right? (Tom Hank as Joe Fox is so cute. He thinks Joe would have to be gay to do all that he does in the movie. I think not. What’s wrong with men being a little sensitive anyway?)

Since I am on this venting marathon, when was the last time I didn’t sleep through a Clint Eastwood movie? He loves watching movies with me. His usual rant is that I am not a movie buff like him. But I did watch Informant with him. That’s more like his kind of film. We went to the mall that day because I was feeling lazy to cook. That place has the best hummus ever by the way.

He just bought a pair of really expensive looking shoes. So isn’t that extravagant! He bought them at an outlet mall. He never lets me buy things over there because he insists that I get it from a proper store. Outlet malls sometimes sell damaged goods you know.

He is on the phone all the time! I should call up my sister one of these days and ask her to stop bothering him with her assignments. But poor thing, who else is there to help her?

****

Hmm. The dried flowers over the mantelpiece look nice. He had to go to 3 different stores to get a dozen white roses (my favorite) because all the stores were out of flowers. Did I mention that my birthday and mother’s day fell on the same day this year? Yeah, mother’s day is big in US.

And, he offered to sing for my birthday. He hates singing, calls himself tone deaf. He is not as bad as he claims and he is not the worst I’ve heard. When we had just met I had told him how my mom and I would sit behind our home in the patio and sing songs together. It is one of those special things that I miss about home. He said he would sing with me, although he hated singing.

Yeah, sometimes he is great. Sometimes he is really great.

This is not just my story. Any girl/woman post-honeymoon (and some lucky ones even before that) has had almost identical arguments about their partners. I know all my friends have. I know because sometimes we tell each other. Sometimes we thank that they are busy with their basketball games and play stations so that we can spend some time pampering ourselves at the salon spa. We thank that feeling of being able to say anything at all, “let ourselves out” and still have a shoulder to cry on. And although it has its downside, most of us thank that there is this special person in our lives who makes it richer, happier and meaningful by just being there.

PS: If you don’t know what I am talking about, get a boyfriend/girlfriend, a husband/wife or a significant other. Mind you, get a good one.