This is one of the books I picked up just for the heck of it from the 'Recent Arrivals' at the local library. Anyways, who would not want to read a book titled 'Addition'? Do people really hate math that much?!
Addition is all about a feisty out-of-work 30-something primary school teacher - Grace Vandenburg. What is different about her that would make me read the entire story? Why, she has OCD! Oh yea, and not the garden variety. She doesn't have to wash her hands every minute, nor does she have to line up her pens and pencils just so. She is addicted to numbers. They are her friends.
Traumatized by an accident when she was 8; everything she does, she counts. The number of steps to the store (the same one every time), the number of bites to finish her carrot cake (number of bites equals number of poppy seeds the chef randomly sprinkles in top!), etc. And she does have to do certain things by specific numbers. Multiples of 5. Why would anyone like the number 3, she wonders, so difficult to do the math in everyday life! So whether she is getting up in the middle of the night to measure her walls from end to end, or wasting the whole day counting the number of bristles on her toothbrush, she is ALWAYS counting. Else, her world goes out of order and she cannot breathe! You get the picture by now, I guess.
While it may seem like the book is set up to be boring, it is not. The back-story to her OCD roots, the way she gets petrified when her world goes out of order just because all tables at her restaurant are full, her stealing a banana at the checkout counter from the guy behind her (she HAS to have 10 in her basket!) that leads to so much more in her life - are all interestingly written. And the author manages to include some fun numbers trivia here and there. Mostly though there is a side story where she compares herself to Nikola Tesla for some fanciful reason. And those were the parts that just didn't grab me. I did understand her attachment to him just because he counted numbers and he would 'get her', but apart from that, I felt overwhelmed by the Nikola info at times.
Slowly, events happen in her life which make her check into therapy, and what happens from there is what should be left for the reader to find out without me blabbing about it here. But from that point on, I'd say the story is entirely believable and the ending is refreshing.
3 stars/5
P.S. What ARE these Cuisinaire Rods they keep talking about anyhow?
3/25/09
Xen Diary 1
Here I am, toiling away at my Xen event. Gee, what a joyride! Sarcasm, if I may.
Come to think of it, I'm usually an enthusiastic participant in all CI initiatives. But, you hit a tipping point - the one where 'Xen Fatigue' hits you. And I'm certainly not immune. The XF hit me on Monday, and has been coloring my judgement ever since. I'm quiet at the meetings. But more importantly, I'm not jumping around trying to lift things more than twice my size like I usually do! Oh yea, let the others take care of that stuff this time. I'm going to be the dainty girl one might assume me to be at first glance. Just crunch numbers, come up with checklists, do all the pretty stuff.
Better make sure you give me my lunch. Else B can attest for the extreme-opposite-of-sugar-and-spice I can turn out to be.
Come to think of it, I'm usually an enthusiastic participant in all CI initiatives. But, you hit a tipping point - the one where 'Xen Fatigue' hits you. And I'm certainly not immune. The XF hit me on Monday, and has been coloring my judgement ever since. I'm quiet at the meetings. But more importantly, I'm not jumping around trying to lift things more than twice my size like I usually do! Oh yea, let the others take care of that stuff this time. I'm going to be the dainty girl one might assume me to be at first glance. Just crunch numbers, come up with checklists, do all the pretty stuff.
Better make sure you give me my lunch. Else B can attest for the extreme-opposite-of-sugar-and-spice I can turn out to be.
3/20/09
She did what?
Dee has become a new person. She has reverted to her old self, a la 2000-2005. She is less on the edge (not less edgy though, I'm still edgy!).. less high strung, rather. Its like someone slapped her on the head and said 'You're not you anymore!'. And just like that, the heavens parted.
So much so, that over Desi-Pasta and GeorgianXYZ yesterday, she generously offered to let B share her closet. Yes, THAT Dee.
Share a closet? Seriously?
Yes. Dee will no longer be bothered by such trivial stuff. Of course, she can whoop B's ass and make sure the closet fits her NQ(OC)-BA standards. What is that, you ask? "Not Quite Obesessive Compulsive-But Almost". Still wanna share with? Yes, B says. Plod on.
So much so, that over Desi-Pasta and GeorgianXYZ yesterday, she generously offered to let B share her closet. Yes, THAT Dee.
Share a closet? Seriously?
Yes. Dee will no longer be bothered by such trivial stuff. Of course, she can whoop B's ass and make sure the closet fits her NQ(OC)-BA standards. What is that, you ask? "Not Quite Obesessive Compulsive-But Almost". Still wanna share with? Yes, B says. Plod on.
3/3/09
R.I.P. Saffron
This morning, I was all geek-happy about square root day (today is 03.03.09!) and then things just kept going south. To start off with, people had problems with other people, and said people were arguing for a major part of the morning. Then I was 5S-ing the lab all afternoon. Sore muscles and all, I made a sudden pit-stop at DD on the way back for a Boston Kreme (my first EVER donut craving!). And my pick-me-up, once I got home, was to cook something new and elaborate. Hyderabadi Biryani. Authentic. Cue: Cut to black.
I mourn the loss of my treasured saffron box. Yes, I lost my saffron!!! Unbelievable that I even blog about such a thing, but essentially true. I'd love to take the soap opera tack and blame the maid. But alas, said entity does not exist in this situation.. :)
That little rectangular box, with those precious few strands of saffron that I borrowed from my mom a year ago. Saffron of the highest quality, brought all the way from their days in Saudi. I would often look at it lovingly, as it sat in that little chiller box inside my fridge. Cozily wrapped in a little snack-size Ziploc bag. But I always waited for a big-recipe day to use it. Preferably mom's style Rava Kesari oozing with ghee.
Only, I reached the stage in my cooking where I went to bring the saffron out to soak it in a cup of warm milk, and it was gone. Just like that. No trace. And all the enthusiasm went out of me. Right now, I don't care two hoots about the biryani. Let it burn in the oven. Sigh.
I mourn the loss of my treasured saffron box. Yes, I lost my saffron!!! Unbelievable that I even blog about such a thing, but essentially true. I'd love to take the soap opera tack and blame the maid. But alas, said entity does not exist in this situation.. :)
That little rectangular box, with those precious few strands of saffron that I borrowed from my mom a year ago. Saffron of the highest quality, brought all the way from their days in Saudi. I would often look at it lovingly, as it sat in that little chiller box inside my fridge. Cozily wrapped in a little snack-size Ziploc bag. But I always waited for a big-recipe day to use it. Preferably mom's style Rava Kesari oozing with ghee.
Only, I reached the stage in my cooking where I went to bring the saffron out to soak it in a cup of warm milk, and it was gone. Just like that. No trace. And all the enthusiasm went out of me. Right now, I don't care two hoots about the biryani. Let it burn in the oven. Sigh.
2/27/09
A Good Indian Wife (Anne Cherian)
Another book with the Indian angle that I've been reading recently. I came across a brief review of this one in Yahoo! sometime last year, added it to my list, and got a copy of it from the library last week.
The story revolves around Neel (Suneel, that is), a 34? year old doctor in California who, by the devious machinations of his mom, aunt and taatapa back in India, gets trapped in an unwanted marriage. That being said, one might assume that you would empathise with the guy. On the contrary, I was just sitting there fuming at him as I turned the pages initially. The spineless guy does not extricate himself from the mess, but decides to just bury his head in the sand like an ostrich and hope it all goes away! When I finished the book, however, I thought to myself: how many times have 20-30-something Indians fought against parents and 'well-meaning' relatives only to find their so-called 'independent' spirit sag at the whole emotional blackmail saga? Understandable, his predicament. Neel has a white-girlfriend back home, and simply does not know what to do with his new wife. Add to that his 'good luck'. No visa issues to dump the wife back home, no spineless wife who would slink away at a challenge, no language issues since she is a Lit professor at a girls' college.
Which brings us to the wife Leila (rebelling against Neel's 'Lee'). Rejected by several suitors, and 30 to boot, she is happy to be getting married finally. She is spunky, for sure; but bows down to the age old story that the daughter's duty is to get married and bring glory to the family name, and more importantly, stop being a burden to her parents. So when Neel comes along, she hopes the suave 'Amrican' doctor will have jumped straight out of a Mills&Boons novel! Slowly she discovers that everything is not as it seems, and figures out that he is cheating on her. Her reactions at every step along the way, her blind acceptance of some facts, her desperation to live the life she dreamed of, are all well written. She gains her independence left to her own devices, finds a friend in Rekha and influences her, all the time refusing to get intimidated by Neel's attitude. The part where she struggles to be 'a good Indian wife' as her mother has ordered her to vs. dumping Neel's cheating ass and running away throws a whole new light on her character.
The ending is pretty predictable. But towards the end of the novel, you empathise with most of the characters, given their back-stories that are revealed in small doses throughout the novel. The believable flaws in the characters are refreshing, and while I wouldn't rave about this book, it is definitely a one-time-read.
A notable thread in the story: Leila's matchmaking sarees, and their cathartic effect towards the end.
3 stars / 5.
The story revolves around Neel (Suneel, that is), a 34? year old doctor in California who, by the devious machinations of his mom, aunt and taatapa back in India, gets trapped in an unwanted marriage. That being said, one might assume that you would empathise with the guy. On the contrary, I was just sitting there fuming at him as I turned the pages initially. The spineless guy does not extricate himself from the mess, but decides to just bury his head in the sand like an ostrich and hope it all goes away! When I finished the book, however, I thought to myself: how many times have 20-30-something Indians fought against parents and 'well-meaning' relatives only to find their so-called 'independent' spirit sag at the whole emotional blackmail saga? Understandable, his predicament. Neel has a white-girlfriend back home, and simply does not know what to do with his new wife. Add to that his 'good luck'. No visa issues to dump the wife back home, no spineless wife who would slink away at a challenge, no language issues since she is a Lit professor at a girls' college.
Which brings us to the wife Leila (rebelling against Neel's 'Lee'). Rejected by several suitors, and 30 to boot, she is happy to be getting married finally. She is spunky, for sure; but bows down to the age old story that the daughter's duty is to get married and bring glory to the family name, and more importantly, stop being a burden to her parents. So when Neel comes along, she hopes the suave 'Amrican' doctor will have jumped straight out of a Mills&Boons novel! Slowly she discovers that everything is not as it seems, and figures out that he is cheating on her. Her reactions at every step along the way, her blind acceptance of some facts, her desperation to live the life she dreamed of, are all well written. She gains her independence left to her own devices, finds a friend in Rekha and influences her, all the time refusing to get intimidated by Neel's attitude. The part where she struggles to be 'a good Indian wife' as her mother has ordered her to vs. dumping Neel's cheating ass and running away throws a whole new light on her character.
The ending is pretty predictable. But towards the end of the novel, you empathise with most of the characters, given their back-stories that are revealed in small doses throughout the novel. The believable flaws in the characters are refreshing, and while I wouldn't rave about this book, it is definitely a one-time-read.
A notable thread in the story: Leila's matchmaking sarees, and their cathartic effect towards the end.
3 stars / 5.
2/23/09
The Deep End
Sometimes I forget the very fact that I have a blog. Like the last couple of weeks, for instance. But that is because life has been snooze worthy. Yes, that is the right adjective. Ever since we returned from Jamaica (more on that when I'm more feisty!).
2009, up until this lovely Monday(!) morning, was divided into the anticipation-filled 'Pre-Jamaica' and the blah 'Post-Jamaica'. I decided that I was going to have to try and line up something interesting, so that I have something to look forward to.
And voila. What else but swimming lessons? Yes, look at me like my colleagues do. Like I'm someone who stepped off another planet or something. Like I'm saying that I do not know my name, or that I do not know how to chew my food! Seriously, I don't know how to swim.
Chalk it up to the fact that when I was about 8(?) years old, I had to pick either dance or swimming. Of course, I started off with both, and did a successful summer stint when I was 6, at Park Sheraton. But then, with the Arangetram not too far away, and with a conscious decision to focus on dancing, dance won.
Of course, I still have some niggling doubts about the fact that my grandparents thought that too much of swimming might make me too dark, and I wasn't really one of those porcelain skinned things to start of with in the first place (already in line for a dose of Fair-n-Lovely every now and then!) What a hoot!
And then there was the episode with the SIET swimming pool. Our mom tried to get me and N back into the pool, and we did the whole 'Mom-n-Tots' thingie. Only to find that by then I was terrified of the deep end, and kicked and clawed at my instructor until she just threw me in with all her strength. Ah, the good times :)
I must add that N, to her credit, plodded on a couple of years even after that and now claims (read: claims) that she can swim to save her life. Cheers N!
So, after that swimming was all but forgotten. But here I am, in the land where summers are glorious, and its a shame to not be in a pool every now and then. I did take some initiative and try to get myself enrolled two years ago at NW. All I got to do was eat humble pie. 5 year olds looking at us like we were a different species altogether, and giggling at us floundering adults, as they dived off the deep end and we trashed around in the 4ft end! Needless to say, that was a closed chapter. Plus, the work and the timings were all wrong.
But here I am again. Round 2. This time I had the sense to pick out classes later in the evenings that I could actually go to, and they are so close to home. Maybe I should get a new thread going on 'Deeps At The Deep End'.
2009, up until this lovely Monday(!) morning, was divided into the anticipation-filled 'Pre-Jamaica' and the blah 'Post-Jamaica'. I decided that I was going to have to try and line up something interesting, so that I have something to look forward to.
And voila. What else but swimming lessons? Yes, look at me like my colleagues do. Like I'm someone who stepped off another planet or something. Like I'm saying that I do not know my name, or that I do not know how to chew my food! Seriously, I don't know how to swim.
Chalk it up to the fact that when I was about 8(?) years old, I had to pick either dance or swimming. Of course, I started off with both, and did a successful summer stint when I was 6, at Park Sheraton. But then, with the Arangetram not too far away, and with a conscious decision to focus on dancing, dance won.
Of course, I still have some niggling doubts about the fact that my grandparents thought that too much of swimming might make me too dark, and I wasn't really one of those porcelain skinned things to start of with in the first place (already in line for a dose of Fair-n-Lovely every now and then!) What a hoot!
And then there was the episode with the SIET swimming pool. Our mom tried to get me and N back into the pool, and we did the whole 'Mom-n-Tots' thingie. Only to find that by then I was terrified of the deep end, and kicked and clawed at my instructor until she just threw me in with all her strength. Ah, the good times :)
I must add that N, to her credit, plodded on a couple of years even after that and now claims (read: claims) that she can swim to save her life. Cheers N!
So, after that swimming was all but forgotten. But here I am, in the land where summers are glorious, and its a shame to not be in a pool every now and then. I did take some initiative and try to get myself enrolled two years ago at NW. All I got to do was eat humble pie. 5 year olds looking at us like we were a different species altogether, and giggling at us floundering adults, as they dived off the deep end and we trashed around in the 4ft end! Needless to say, that was a closed chapter. Plus, the work and the timings were all wrong.
But here I am again. Round 2. This time I had the sense to pick out classes later in the evenings that I could actually go to, and they are so close to home. Maybe I should get a new thread going on 'Deeps At The Deep End'.
2/10/09
To Pink Chaddis.
So, I was on FaceBook and spending quite a while there since I'm new to it. And one of the status feeds from my friends indicated that she had joined a new group: Consortium of Pub-going, Loose and Forward Women. Grinning to myself, I sent her a message saying that sounded like an interesting group to join. And then I was curious. I went to the homepage of this group, and that effectively wiped that grin off my face.
Here we were again. Yet another incident courtesy the 'Saffron Brigade'. This time, an off-shoot named "Shri Ram Sena". I loathe them. I don't want to come off as one of 'those feminist beyotches'. But, my rant may end up showing me in such a light anyway. Who cares!
The background here, for the uninitiated, is the fact that around Republic Day 09, they had decided that women who were found in pubs and wearing 'western' clothes were of loose morals. And that said women deserved to be taught a lesson. So, they took the law into their own hands, and attacked (read: beat and molested) these poor girls.. who from eyewitness accounts were not even indecently dressed! Their only fault - their presence at the pub that day.
Now let me state for the record that I'm not a "pubber" or a huge fan of the whole drinking every weekend thing. But, I have the occasional cocktail. So what if some women decided they deserved a night out? Who gave them the right to beat these women up? What were they even thinking? Their leader, Pramod Muthalik (who by the way has 53 legal cases pending against him in a number of districts in Karnataka), explains: "... those girls who flouted the traditional Indian norms and levels of decency" deserved it. What!? Are you kidding me? Just because some women dumped their salwar-kameez for a jeans-and-tee, they became 'corrupt'?
And when did it become only the women who were wayward? What about the male population that drinks and smokes, streaks its hair blond, wears low slung jeans, and shirts tighter than the women themselves! Didn't Samaksh, Bharath and Baburam become Sam, Barry and Bob? Going beyond the basic "Americanization" of the names, there is so much that is happening to India as the youth take a step out of the country and experience new things. How else is a culture supposed to evolve? Are they going to clamp down on all people watching anything on TV that is not Indian? Or close the shores up and insulate everyone, and end up a stagnant mess?
But again, why the women? Just where do they get off on their whole macho 'we're here to preserve the sati-savitri-blah-blah' crap? Such a deep-rooted, misguided movement. Heaven help us all until the day they realize that such atrocious deeds are never going to stop a country from changing. For better or for worse!
For an exotic land that spawned the Kama Sutra, we are a bunch of hugely prudish people. Outwardly, of course! They claimed that they were trying to "preserve Indian culture" and refused to apologize. And that the whole 'aping the West' thing was degrading our society. And to top it all he had the nerve to claim, "We will stop at nothing until we return the land to the Hindus". And they've promised to be on the prowl this Valentine's Day to make sure the Hindutva triumphs!
While I love my country, I'm deeply disturbed by the political climate that lets such violent groups go ahead with their propaganda. Unchecked, these uneducated, pan-chewing (and spitting!) goondas could very well lead to the ultimate degradation of our society. While I'm no George Orwell capable of painting a 1984-esque picture, I shudder to think of the possible outcomes of such groups running rampant, and a hapless society forced into apathy. Why, here I am myself, in a country far away just griping about it; but what would I have done had I been there? What if one of those girls was someone I knew?! Scary indeed.
Find me this Valentine's Day at a pub in Jamaica raising a toast. Salud!
Here we were again. Yet another incident courtesy the 'Saffron Brigade'. This time, an off-shoot named "Shri Ram Sena". I loathe them. I don't want to come off as one of 'those feminist beyotches'. But, my rant may end up showing me in such a light anyway. Who cares!
The background here, for the uninitiated, is the fact that around Republic Day 09, they had decided that women who were found in pubs and wearing 'western' clothes were of loose morals. And that said women deserved to be taught a lesson. So, they took the law into their own hands, and attacked (read: beat and molested) these poor girls.. who from eyewitness accounts were not even indecently dressed! Their only fault - their presence at the pub that day.
Now let me state for the record that I'm not a "pubber" or a huge fan of the whole drinking every weekend thing. But, I have the occasional cocktail. So what if some women decided they deserved a night out? Who gave them the right to beat these women up? What were they even thinking? Their leader, Pramod Muthalik (who by the way has 53 legal cases pending against him in a number of districts in Karnataka), explains: "... those girls who flouted the traditional Indian norms and levels of decency" deserved it. What!? Are you kidding me? Just because some women dumped their salwar-kameez for a jeans-and-tee, they became 'corrupt'?
And when did it become only the women who were wayward? What about the male population that drinks and smokes, streaks its hair blond, wears low slung jeans, and shirts tighter than the women themselves! Didn't Samaksh, Bharath and Baburam become Sam, Barry and Bob? Going beyond the basic "Americanization" of the names, there is so much that is happening to India as the youth take a step out of the country and experience new things. How else is a culture supposed to evolve? Are they going to clamp down on all people watching anything on TV that is not Indian? Or close the shores up and insulate everyone, and end up a stagnant mess?
But again, why the women? Just where do they get off on their whole macho 'we're here to preserve the sati-savitri-blah-blah' crap? Such a deep-rooted, misguided movement. Heaven help us all until the day they realize that such atrocious deeds are never going to stop a country from changing. For better or for worse!
For an exotic land that spawned the Kama Sutra, we are a bunch of hugely prudish people. Outwardly, of course! They claimed that they were trying to "preserve Indian culture" and refused to apologize. And that the whole 'aping the West' thing was degrading our society. And to top it all he had the nerve to claim, "We will stop at nothing until we return the land to the Hindus". And they've promised to be on the prowl this Valentine's Day to make sure the Hindutva triumphs!
While I love my country, I'm deeply disturbed by the political climate that lets such violent groups go ahead with their propaganda. Unchecked, these uneducated, pan-chewing (and spitting!) goondas could very well lead to the ultimate degradation of our society. While I'm no George Orwell capable of painting a 1984-esque picture, I shudder to think of the possible outcomes of such groups running rampant, and a hapless society forced into apathy. Why, here I am myself, in a country far away just griping about it; but what would I have done had I been there? What if one of those girls was someone I knew?! Scary indeed.
Find me this Valentine's Day at a pub in Jamaica raising a toast. Salud!
2/9/09
Three days to take-off.
Dee is at her desk, working on something. Look at her, sitting there like its just another day! Nitwit. I, on the other hand, am TOTALLY pumped. We have just 2 more days before we leave for Negril. Ah, 'Negril - Jamaica'.. the name rolls off your tongue.. like something exotic. Something that promises to be so much more than what it seems!
Though Dee and I are at odds with each other every now and then, the one thing that we can never disagree on is the thrill of travel. New places, cultures, people, sights and sounds. Bitten by the wanderlust bug. I have plans. Grand ones. They involve doing nothing all day but lie on the beach. Watch as many sunrises and sunsets as possible over the four days we're there. Revel in the glory of having no work to do. No agendas, no worries. No laptops, no cell phones.
Dee blinks. She knows I'm talking about her here, and she lets herself smile slowly. She knows she is looking forward to the trip so much. But, she plays it cool. Nervous about jinxing the trip. A little cautious about being over-enthusiastic about the whole thing.
Ah, forget it. I'm celebrating, and so will she. And when we're back, look out for (drumroll please)...
'Sun, sand and Speedos'!
Though Dee and I are at odds with each other every now and then, the one thing that we can never disagree on is the thrill of travel. New places, cultures, people, sights and sounds. Bitten by the wanderlust bug. I have plans. Grand ones. They involve doing nothing all day but lie on the beach. Watch as many sunrises and sunsets as possible over the four days we're there. Revel in the glory of having no work to do. No agendas, no worries. No laptops, no cell phones.
Dee blinks. She knows I'm talking about her here, and she lets herself smile slowly. She knows she is looking forward to the trip so much. But, she plays it cool. Nervous about jinxing the trip. A little cautious about being over-enthusiastic about the whole thing.
Ah, forget it. I'm celebrating, and so will she. And when we're back, look out for (drumroll please)...
'Sun, sand and Speedos'!
1/30/09
My most expensive haircut. Ever.
- We've just opened a new branch of our S* Salon. Its over by North Ave. Why don't you stop by sometime, we've got 50% off on all hair services.
- Sounds good S*, thanks!
- B, I need to get a haircut. You know, so I look sexy and all, in the Jamaica pictures.
- Won't it be better if you wait until the week before we leave?
- No, I feel like it today.. hey, why don't I also try to color my hair while we're at it?!
- Sure, whatever makes you happy :)
- I'd like some partial highlights please, with a haircut.
- Oooh, this 'Cinnamon/Burgundy' looks good..
- Nah, not so much. How about this 'Nutmeg'
- Oh yes, that will look good on you.. We'll take it down with a bleach, and then add the toner.
- You know what, I'm doing more than partial highlights so it looks better on you.
- Ah *gulp* (Post-bleach-wash)
- It'll look better with the toner, you just wait.
- Ah *gulp* *gulp* (Post-toner-wash)
- It'll look good with a haircut done.
- Thanks so much, LOVE it. (Out the salon, 80$ and three hours later)
- *Wail*. I hate it. I look like a tramp.
- You're just not used to it, it doesn't look bad
- But it doesn't look good either does it?
- Why are you always so dis-satisfied with such experiments you do? Let me be brutally honest. Its not great, but its not bad either. Lets look at it in the morning and see.
- Serves me right, 50% off, and off I go like an idiot.
- Holy Crap, I HATE it this morning, more than I did yday night.
- Yea, I hate it too. Don't worry, we can set it right.
- In fact, I look lilke Kovai Sarala, remember when she turned her hair an awful color?
- Hmm.. now that you mention it.. Yea!
- *Wail*
- I'm nervous now. I read all these articles online, and they paint the worst possible picture.
- Come on, I read some too, you'll be fine.
- Hi, I have a hair-color-disaster-emergency. DO you guys have an appointment for this evening?
- 6.45pm (Gordon)
- 7.00pm (Michael Anthony)
- 4.00pm (Sine Qua Non)
- 4.00pm sounds lovely.
- Please help me Bridgett.
- Oh, poor you. Its turned all Orange-y. Its easy to fix. We'll get an even black all over for you.
- I've never been happier to see my natural black hair! (Post-wash)
- Ooh, I look sexy! (Post-blowdry)
- Thank You SO much. (Out the salon, 100$ and one hour later)
- You look lovely.
- I've NEVER been happier.
- That turned out to be the single most expensive haircut you've had.
- I was just thinking that. *Sigh*
- Hey, atleast, now you know. Consider it an experiment gone wrong :)
- I could've conceivably fed some orphans instead. Shame.
- Sounds good S*, thanks!
- B, I need to get a haircut. You know, so I look sexy and all, in the Jamaica pictures.
- Won't it be better if you wait until the week before we leave?
- No, I feel like it today.. hey, why don't I also try to color my hair while we're at it?!
- Sure, whatever makes you happy :)
- I'd like some partial highlights please, with a haircut.
- Oooh, this 'Cinnamon/Burgundy' looks good..
- Nah, not so much. How about this 'Nutmeg'
- Oh yes, that will look good on you.. We'll take it down with a bleach, and then add the toner.
- You know what, I'm doing more than partial highlights so it looks better on you.
- Ah *gulp* (Post-bleach-wash)
- It'll look better with the toner, you just wait.
- Ah *gulp* *gulp* (Post-toner-wash)
- It'll look good with a haircut done.
- Thanks so much, LOVE it. (Out the salon, 80$ and three hours later)
- *Wail*. I hate it. I look like a tramp.
- You're just not used to it, it doesn't look bad
- But it doesn't look good either does it?
- Why are you always so dis-satisfied with such experiments you do? Let me be brutally honest. Its not great, but its not bad either. Lets look at it in the morning and see.
- Serves me right, 50% off, and off I go like an idiot.
- Holy Crap, I HATE it this morning, more than I did yday night.
- Yea, I hate it too. Don't worry, we can set it right.
- In fact, I look lilke Kovai Sarala, remember when she turned her hair an awful color?
- Hmm.. now that you mention it.. Yea!
- *Wail*
- I'm nervous now. I read all these articles online, and they paint the worst possible picture.
- Come on, I read some too, you'll be fine.
- Hi, I have a hair-color-disaster-emergency. DO you guys have an appointment for this evening?
- 6.45pm (Gordon)
- 7.00pm (Michael Anthony)
- 4.00pm (Sine Qua Non)
- 4.00pm sounds lovely.
- Please help me Bridgett.
- Oh, poor you. Its turned all Orange-y. Its easy to fix. We'll get an even black all over for you.
- I've never been happier to see my natural black hair! (Post-wash)
- Ooh, I look sexy! (Post-blowdry)
- Thank You SO much. (Out the salon, 100$ and one hour later)
- You look lovely.
- I've NEVER been happier.
- That turned out to be the single most expensive haircut you've had.
- I was just thinking that. *Sigh*
- Hey, atleast, now you know. Consider it an experiment gone wrong :)
- I could've conceivably fed some orphans instead. Shame.
1/26/09
Born Confused (Tanuja Desai Hidier)
This book had many things going against it when I picked it up.
- Teenage angst
- Desi tableau
- First person narrative
But, it blew me away. Dimple Lala is a shy, confused teenager. Confused about her looks, her parents, her friends, her nationality, and how she fits into the grand scheme of things. And then comes the summer when she turns 17, and its a long process of 'finding herself'.
My favorite characters in the story are her parents. Yes, you heard right. Quintessential depictions of first-generation Indian parents in the US, the on-and-off accents, the traditional clashes, the 'Hai Rabba' phases. For me, they made the story what it is. The situations where their reactions come from 'way out of left field', colorful stories of their heyday from their childhood friend Rhadha's perspective, and their worry about losing Dimple slowly are priceless parts of the storyline.
Dimple, Gwyn and Karsh weave in and out of the story fluidly. Her photography hobby, Karsh's DJ-ing, and Gwyn's 'wannabe-desi'ness allows the author to sneak in several metaphors that don't terribly detract from the storyline. I love how the author ties in Dimple's love for photography with her love for her grandfather.. the way they cannot speak a common language except through photographs.. so much so, that they end up communicating via pictures eventually!The phase where Gwyn and Dimple fall-out and need their own space to grow apart and come together again makes for a believable arc. Karsh, a sweet boy, for the most part is a fixture around whom the events unfold slowly.
There are, of course, some parts where you feel the story drags.. but they're mostly the above-mentioned metaphorical stuff. But, I always read a book and visualize it at the same time, which helped me almost 'watch' it like a beautiful montage in a musical-movie.
After a long time, a girl-meets-boy story (and desi, to boot!) has several layers to it, and makes for an interesting read. No stereotypes, no done-to-death cliches.
Oh, and the type-written letters for the so-called Secret Saturday Outings, simply priceless.
4 stars/5.
- Teenage angst
- Desi tableau
- First person narrative
But, it blew me away. Dimple Lala is a shy, confused teenager. Confused about her looks, her parents, her friends, her nationality, and how she fits into the grand scheme of things. And then comes the summer when she turns 17, and its a long process of 'finding herself'.
My favorite characters in the story are her parents. Yes, you heard right. Quintessential depictions of first-generation Indian parents in the US, the on-and-off accents, the traditional clashes, the 'Hai Rabba' phases. For me, they made the story what it is. The situations where their reactions come from 'way out of left field', colorful stories of their heyday from their childhood friend Rhadha's perspective, and their worry about losing Dimple slowly are priceless parts of the storyline.
Dimple, Gwyn and Karsh weave in and out of the story fluidly. Her photography hobby, Karsh's DJ-ing, and Gwyn's 'wannabe-desi'ness allows the author to sneak in several metaphors that don't terribly detract from the storyline. I love how the author ties in Dimple's love for photography with her love for her grandfather.. the way they cannot speak a common language except through photographs.. so much so, that they end up communicating via pictures eventually!The phase where Gwyn and Dimple fall-out and need their own space to grow apart and come together again makes for a believable arc. Karsh, a sweet boy, for the most part is a fixture around whom the events unfold slowly.
There are, of course, some parts where you feel the story drags.. but they're mostly the above-mentioned metaphorical stuff. But, I always read a book and visualize it at the same time, which helped me almost 'watch' it like a beautiful montage in a musical-movie.
After a long time, a girl-meets-boy story (and desi, to boot!) has several layers to it, and makes for an interesting read. No stereotypes, no done-to-death cliches.
Oh, and the type-written letters for the so-called Secret Saturday Outings, simply priceless.
4 stars/5.
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