I would like to take this opportunity to thank the one search term that got this blog a major portion of hits. It is the phrase “Saree Below Navel.” You cannot imagine how many people search for that phrase on a daily basis. The flood of these hits started when I wrote the post on Sarees. To this date, the number of these search hits rival the numbers of genuine, non-pervert reader hits.
Initially it used to be just “Saree Below Navel.” Of late, I am seeing a host of variations, all centered around Navel. We can attribute it to people becoming either very specific in their tastes or more astute in their ability to use search engines. In any case, here are a few interesting variations.
Saree below sexy navel: Not some godforsaken ugly navel, mind you, a sexy one. Better be specific than sorry for searching for navel pics and stumbling upon mediocre navels.
Saree below navel in bra: “Transferred epithet”, I believe, is what this figure of speech is called as I could hardly imagine a navel adorned in a lacy bra. We must assume that the said bra is worn by the owner of the said navel. But on the other hand, who are we to judge one’s preference of navels and their accoutrements.
Saree below naval: I take comfort in believing that I live in a world of typos rather than a world full of people with some kinky fantasies involving armed forces and Indian garments.
Elizabeth Hurley in saree below navel: It might seem absurd that one would look for her pictures with saree below navel when one could get pictures of her with skirt below ankles. But let’s not underestimate the power of fetish.
Saree below navel pics: Wise people learn quickly to refine their search terms after stumbling upon too many articles that verbosely drone on navel below saree without any pictures, like this one.
Saree below navel above knees: Interesting. Wouldn’t the woman have to be like 12 feet tall for this to happen!?
Mother saree below navel: I hope they found their mom’s pictures
Saree below navel sex: It reeks of their inexperience in either sarees or sex or both not to realize that the entire phrase “saree below navel” is redundant in this case
Saree 10 inches below navel: My, my. Fastidious, aren’t they! They don’t accept it if the saree is 9 inches or 11 inches below the navel. It has to be 10 inches! I wonder if it is even possible without the help of adhesive tape.
Women in saree below navel: This search phrase opened my eyes to my own shameful gender bias. When people search for “Saree Below Navel,” I have been mistakenly assuming that they are looking for women. They could be looking for men! Why one would look for men in a saree, irrespective of its position relative to navel, is better left unexplored.
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Getting food on the table is easy for me. I walk into a restaurant, pick up the waiting take-out order and put it on the dining table. Some people prefer a more circuitous method called cooking. I strongly maintain that if all humans are meant to cook, we would have evolved with a spatula for a hand. In any case, I have recently been asked to produce macaroni and cheese, not by the normal processes of getting it from a restaurant but by the infinitely complex process called cooking.
What happened was, over-ambitious wife promised mac-and-cheese to the kid but found herself unable to fulfill the promise due to an unexpected call from work. I was volunteered to fulfill the said promise. In her words, “Mac and cheese is easy. Boil milk. Pour macaroni. Add cheese and serve.” but for some reason she insisted on her writing the recipe down and repeating it 20 times.
The dish may sound simple but the recipe was not. My theory is that when a process involves heating milk to its boiling point, using hot burners and tongs, it should be classified as a chemical experiment rather than a process to produce something edible. Perhaps I should have started with a simpler dish. But as the old adage goes, all’s well that ends well. My cooking certainly ended well and the kid was well-fed and well-nourished.
When my wife arrived home, I was ready to accept the profusion of encomiums that were in order for the extraordinary job I performed. But no! No accolades. No tears of gratitude. Not even a small gift of appreciation.
All she did was look at the dish in which I produced my magnum opus and raise an eyebrow. I waited for the other eyebrow to follow suit but it didn’t. That was not a good sign.
She: (Suspiciously) Why is there ketchup in mac and cheese?
She was in dire need of enlightenment.
Me: When food has a smoky flavor, you nuke it with ketchup
She: It must have tasted awful!
Me: Au contraire, he loved it. (vigorous head-nodding approval from the kid)
She: (Growing more suspicious) Why did the mac-and-cheese have a smoky flavor?
I continued to enlighten her.
Me: Food assumes a smoky flavor when it is burnt
She: You burned MAC-AND-CHEESE? How could anyone burn Mac and cheese! It’s the simplest thing in the world to make!
I would argue with the choice of the word “simple” but it was not the best time for the dissertation of my chemical experiment theory.
Me: It’s not my fault. It’s the kid’s fault.
She: How so?
Me: See, after I put the macaroni in boiling milk, I needed to wait a few minutes for it to cook. So I told the kid to watch it while I cleaned the broken glass in the garage. Apparently in his vocabulary, “cooked” means “general texture of bituminous coal”
She: YOU LEFT A 3 YEAR OLD AT THE STOVE!?
Me: I know, he completely blew it. In retrospect I should have watched the pot while he did the cleaning. But hindsight is 20/20.
She couldn’t speak for a few minutes probably mulling over the cogency of my argument.
She: (Resignedly) So he ate that charred glob.
Me: Why would I do that? We extracted all matter of certain color and brittleness and disposed it carefully in the trash. Then we doubled the cheese portion to compensate for the lost macaroni.
She: Let me get this straight, he basically ate a ball of cheese with ketchup.
Me: You make it sound so unappetizing
In the “good manners” books, they spend chapters upon chapters on such details as which hand to hold the fork with and which finger to pick the nose with. But they don’t spare a word for public restroom etiquette. Which forces me to pass on a few etiquette requests to my colleagues and other people I had the misfortune of sharing a restroom with.
1. When you are in the restroom, I implore you to keep oral communication at a minimum. In other words, shut the f up. We are not having a communal, joyous experience here. Just finish your job and get out.
2. Do you know what’s worse than #1? Turning your head and looking at the guy you are talking to. It’s creepy. Don’t do it. Just pretend there is something very interesting going on in your bowl and focus on it.
3. Do you know what’s worse than #2? Talking from inside the stall. I don’t really need to associate you with all the reverberating sound-effects.
4. As you know, urinals come in two sizes. Tall and short. For some reason short guys insist on choosing the tall one, even if they have to stand up on their toes to reach it. So, please, let the tall guy behind you have the tall one.
5. When somebody is waiting for your to finish, please take as much time as you need to finish your job and dress yourself properly, including zipping up completely before you turn around from the urinal. I am speaking for the entire male and most of female community when I say, nobody wants to see your underpants.
6. It really doesn’t concern me but I have to say this. Please don’t set your drinks on the urinal! Can’t you leave them at your desk or on the sink? And it is just plain gross to sip your drink while urinating.
7. If the restroom has more than one urinal, it is customary to leave at least one urinal between you and any other fellow users. But don’t go out of your way to leave more than one gap. You will look too secretive and raise suspicion.
8. Some restrooms are cursed with attached showers. I understand that you have to wait for the shower when somebody is using it. But that does not give you the right to bare yourself in full-frontal, thereby permanently scarring the retinas of unsuspecting restroom users. Please, for the love of all straight Greek gods, wear a towel or something.
9. It must be one of those unsolved medical mysteries, why some people’s Salivary glands lunge into production precisely when they are at the urinal. Whatever the reason may be, spitting while urinating is disgusting. Further more, you are challenging yourself to hit a single target from two different sources, thereby defocussing yourself and increasing the chances of inaccuracy in your delivery. Remember that the subsequent users of the urinal must suffer the results of your failure to hit the target.
10. Do you really have to check news on your phone when peeing, performing a fine balancing act with both hands, where any slight slippage of either hand could be very expensive? Let me break it to you. Unless you have superpowers to make news happen faster by peeing, nothing is going to change in those 2 minutes.
11. Any bodily contact with another person, such has hand-shakes or shoulder-touches, while in restroom, must be avoided at all costs. Should such contact be unavoidable, it must be restricted to the “green zones.” The following picture depicts a normal path traversed by ordinary urinators. Green and hazard zones are marked.
Everybody has problems. When people have problems they struggle through them and finally find a solution. But if you are too lazy to solve your own problems, there is a plethora of agony aunts who offer perfectly middle-of-the-road, utterly politically correct and hence completely useless advice. However, to rival the Dear Abbys and Dear Margos of the world, there is a new star in the advice column scene. It is none other than our own Bollywood! Who better can advise people than Bollywood with decades of experience in life’s problems.
I have been fortunate enough to obtain the first set of the questions and answers from the brand new advice column, “Dear Bolly!”
Question:
Dear Bolly, I am a proud grandmother of a handsome boy who is now living in the city. I want him to come back to our village and fall in love with this girl. But he refuses. How do I get him to come back to the village?
Answer:
A simple telegram that says “Grandmother serious. Start immediately.” will do the trick. When he comes back expresses shock upon finding you in the pink of health, let out a hallow guffaw and tell him “I will not die until I play with my great-grand children.” The girl you mentioned will take care of falling in love part, with brass innuendos and slutty songs.
Question:
Dear Bolly, I would like to disguise myself. Any suggestions?
Answer:
A completely unrecognizable disguise can be worn by simply wearing black sunglasses and a slightly different hairstyle. Not even your mom will be able to recognize you. But be warned! Lowering the glasses on to the nose and looking over them and winking has been proven to let your girlfriend identify you immediately.
Question:
Dear Bolly, Urgent! A snake bit my girlfriend. What do I do now?
Answer:
Fret not. Snakes can not only inject venom into human bodies, but they can suck the venom out as well, just like sucking juice out of a juice box. The trick is to make a compelling argument to the snake to take the venom back. This can be achieved by climbing up on a hill and singling a melancholy filled song. When you sing the song, the snake has two options to make you stop singing. It can bite you and take you down. Or it can take the venom back from your girlfriend. Stay as far away from your girlfriend as possible, because, then the snake would take the quickest way to put an end to your song and suck the venom back.
Question:
Dear Bolly, My girlfriend is in a girls-only hostel. I want to get into the hostel and meet her. How can I do that?
Answer:
One of the original intentions of burqa is to help men get into women’s hostels. Do not worry if you are a 6-footer or have hairy legs and hands showing through the burqa. Nobody will notice it. Strategically placed balloons (sold separately) are known to enhance the effect.
Question:
Dear Bolly, I am a pretty girl and a sister to a handsome, hero-like, guy. Astrologically, what birthstone should I be wearing to get married soon?
Answer:
It doesn’t matter what birthstone you wear, you will soon be raped. The rapist will refuse to marry you until your brother makes him see the error in his ways, by beating him into a pulp. So the answer to your question is, you will be married soon. So be happy.
Question:
Dear Bolly, my car stopped all of a sudden on a rural road. How do I fix it?
Answer:
There is only one solution any kind of car problem. Pour water in the radiator. Grab the empty can from the trunk, which never fails to be present, and walk in a random direction until you chance up on a lake and a pretty girl taking water from it.
Question:
Dear Bolly, I just had a serious accident and am unconscious. Will I recover?
Answer:
People seldom die from accidents. No matter how you are hurt or what bones are broken, what you immediately need is an operation. The doctor will tell your family exactly how much the operation will cost, which, in most cases, is 1 lakh (100,000) rupees. Don’t worry. Stay peacefully unconscious. You will soon wake up with a bandage to your head and rest of the body unscathed. Please remember that it is good etiquette to ask, “Where am I” upon waking up.
Question:
Dear Bolly, I am a pretty and young girl. What is the proper way of taking a shower?
Answer:
Even in utmost privacy, girls must wrap their torso in a sari or towel while taking a shower and soap only uncovered parts.
Question:
Dear Bolly, I am poor but for a brief period I need to make people believe that I am rich. How do I do that?
Answer:
The key to your success lies in obtaining the right kind of a glittery, slivery long coat that has the right mix of garishness and cheapness. Which should be topped by an equally appalling hat. Other accoutrements include shiny shirts, crocodile shoes and large glasses. A possible source of such costume would be Las Vegas pimps. Speak in a weird “foreign” accent. Carry two suitcases and tell people that the suitcases are full of gold. That’s it. Everybody in the world will believe that you are extremely affluent.
Question:
Dear Bolly, I am a five year old boy and talk like a 16 year old. I want a baby brother or sister. How do I get one?
Answer:
I am sorry that you are slow in development. 5 year old boys should be talking like 19 year olds. In any case, you might try an advanced technique to achieve your means. You start by asking your mom and dad to kiss you on either cheek. While their faces are in forward motion, with lips extended like suction cups, you slide your head out of the way. Completely oblivious of this change, your parents will continue the forward motion like two brain-dead zombies, to meet in the middle, causing a kiss to happen. A kiss on the lips is known to spontaneously produce a baby.
This is an old post I wrote when we were going to Europe several years ago. I have to recycle posts because I am busy the Hollywood writer’s strike is on.
—————————————————-
If you are a desi planning a trip to Europe, here is what you can expect:• Your wife will buy 4 tops, 3 pants and 2 pairs of shoes “for the trip,†even though she is only planning to pack 2 tops, 2 pants and 1 pair of shoes.• Some friends of yours will give you advice that will give Rick Steves’s “Europe Through Backdoor†a run for its money. The advice includes, “Pack a lot of murukulu or jantikalu so you can save some money on breakfast.â€
• People will express their condolences because you won’t be eating rice for two or three weeks. They will question your patriotism for claiming you can survive happily on sandwiches and pasta for several weeks and provide unwanted counsel, “Pack a rice cooker, rice and some lentils so you can easily cook Indian food whenever you want.â€
• Your wife will tell you, “Please please bring some nice clothes. Everybody in Europe dresses well and you will stick out in your shabby jeans.†Also, she will point out why none of the clothes you own fit the bill and take you to Macy’s and insist that you buy the pink shirt with yellow flowers.
• People who visited Europe before will question your intelligence because you are covering only 4 cities in 2 weeks instead of 15 cities across 6 countries.
• If you don’t have kids, all relatives will assume you will be planning kids soon after the trip and make their plans accordingly. Such as, your MIL saying, “I am visiting Turupathi right now, who knows I may have to be in the US in less than a year.”
• You will learn a few broken Spanish sentences and practice them on the office janitor.
• At least one of your desi friends will ask you how much the total trip will cost and roll their eyes. You can clearly see that they are thinking, “You idiots! You can buy a piece of land for that money in India!”
• You master the pronunciation of “Chamonix Mont Blanc” and demonstrate to a French friend. After half hour of demonstrating your pronunciation, you will end up writing it on the whiteboard for him to understand it.
15 years ago. It was the living room of a quiet house in a small town in India. Seated there, at the edge of their seats, were three young guys in their late teens. The tension in the room was palpable. Their eyes were glued to the TV. As an outside observer, I know the reader has questions. What is so gripping about the old-fashioned girl-on-girl porn they are watching? Are these teens anxious to find out whether the older girl is able to properly teach the younger girl how to satisfy her boyfriend?
Interrupting the enchanting pop sound-track of the movie, spoke guy_1, “Do you think we will be able to finish the movie before your parents return?” Guy_2 chimed in, “Yeah, do you think we should fast forward a bit?”
Guy_3 pointed to the women on TV, who, by that time, were moaning at a pitch attainable only by Vampire bats, and said, “The movie can’t be much longer. It’s only 8:50. Mom and dad wont’ be back before 9. We will have enough time to finish the movie and have a smoke before they arrive.”
Noticing the discomfort on their faces, Guy_3 explained his master plan. “Listen, If I hear them at the main door, I will run and intercept them. I will buy you enough time to retrieve the cassette out of the VCR and hide it in my room. It’s as simple as that.” Reassured they went back to watching the tangle of limbs on the screen and trying to figure out whose hand is doing what to which body part.
The reassurance lasted for about 5 minutes until the TV screen went blank. As darkness descended in the room, their hearts stopped with the realization that the power just went out. “Holy shit!” shouted one of them, “How the hell are we going to get the tape out of the VCR?” Another guy chose a stronger swear word, more appropriate for the occasion, and proceeded to repeat it with different stress each time. “Fuck fuck fuck…” Out of this chaos boomed the nonchalant voice of Guy_3, “Guys, let’s not panic. We are engineers. We can take the VCR apart in 2 minutes and get the cassette out.”
At any other time Guy_1 and Guy_2 would have sat Guy_3 down and discussed: 1. How wrong he was when he said “we are engineers” when there is no hope of their passing second year of engineering. 2. How opening up VCRs is not remotely connected to their engineering curriculum. 3. How they would love to kick Guy_3 in the nuts for not panicking. But they didn’t,because opening the VCR was the best idea at that time.
With impressive speed the VCR was opened. It didn’t take them too long to figure out that VCRs are not like candy boxes which you open and grab whatever you want from them. In fact, the “Star Whores Episode IV: A new hole” video tape was locked in some intricate mechanism which was difficult to study in the candlelight. At which point Guy_1 asked, “Guys, don’t you think it would look more suspicious if we are caught with an open VCR? How would we explain it?” With this new insight into the situation the VCR was assembled back.
After half an hour, the power did not come back but the parents did. The three guys nervously wandered around the living room hoping the power would be restored before the living room was locked from inside for the night. The power was restored soon after but with one glitch. Guy_3’s mom was immediately heard saying, “Oh good the power’s back. Let me turn off the TV so we can go bed.” Guy_3 sprang to action shouting, “Mom can I talk to you privately in the kitchen?”
It is inconsequential what irrelevant matter Guy_3 discussed in the kitchen or the fact that his mom was heard saying, “OK, but why do we have to talk about it now?”. Nevertheless the video tape was transferred to safety before the discussion ended.
Different people react differently to the same situation. Guy_1 didn’t stop trembling for a week. Guy_2 asked later that night, “Those girls were amazing. Do you think we can manage to see it again tomorrow?” Guy_3 blogged about it 15 years later.
Not too long ago, the pregnancy and childbirth process used to be very different. Three months after marriage, women promptly sprouted bumps. Soon thereafter were unceremoniously transferred to respective parents’ house and a few months later they returned with a tumbling child in their arms. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to this process, including their husbands. Rinse and repeat every year.
Things changed a lot of late. It’s socially acceptable and very cute to talk about pregnancy. If a person is my friend or family, I am the best guy to discuss every aspect of pregnancy. But if a person is a colleague, I really wish they are more discrete about what information they divulge and how they divulge it.
If you are my colleague, not a friend:
- You must forgive me for not excitedly participating in the discussion about your wife’s amniotic fluid. Please don’t take it personally. I have nothing against colleagues or amniotic fluid. It’s the combination I am not crazy about.
- If you are a guy, please don’t announce “We are pregnant.” No you are not. She is. You just contributed, hopefully. Say something like “we are expecting”.
- Guess what this is:
A drugged up, half-sleeping, exhausted woman with hair all over her face which is kept in place by sticky sweat, IV fluids and other goo. She is holding a 3 second old child. A lot of tubes hanging around. Worked into this mess is a smiling face of a proud father.
That’s right. This is your very first family photograph, taken moments after your child was born, even before your wife had a chance to cover herself fully. Wonderful. Just go ahead and keep it to yourself. That’s all I ask. Please, for the love of God, don’t email it to everybody at work.
- Sonograms are not cute. They belong in a file in doctor’s office not on your cube wall. And no, that’s not a nose. That’s probably a smudge on the printout.
- I know you are pregnant. I know you have to pass my cube every time you go to the restroom. You don’t have to sheepishly explain to me, “The bladder gets smaller, you know.” I know. But you must believe me that I have more things to do at work than keeping count of your bathroom breaks.
- If you are a guy, don’t come around proudly announcing “I cut the umbilical cord myself.” The whole father cord cutting thing is an artificial tradition to involve the completely useless father in the process of delivery. It’s nothing great. Don’t expect me to atta-boy you as if you pushed a baby out of a 2 inch opening in your body.
- What’s with video taping the birthing process? I know people who went into labor rooms with professional video equipment and lighted the vaginal passage like the inside of Louvre. What do people do with these videos? Watch them on family gettogethers? Play for guests over dinner? Don’t answer it. It’s a rhetorical question. I don’t want to know.
To top it all, yesterday a female colleague of mine tells me, “Oh we are seriously trying for a baby.” Now I am stuck with all kinds of images of how they are trying and in what positions.
A couple of weeks ago, a then friend of mine asked me how he can promote his blog. I gave him some ideas. For the benefit of humanity, I am sharing the tips here.
Here are Twisted DNA’s top 10 inexpensive ways to promote your blog.
Write the blog URL on your back and streak across any big game
9
Change work email signature to your Blog URL. Remember that everybody is allowed one accidental email to “Company All”.
8
Prepare posters of your blog URL. Roam around in the mall and find people in wheel chairs. Quietly stick the posters to the back of the wheel chairs. People in the wheel chairs are quite nice and won’t say a word as long as they don’t know you stuck those posters. Free advertisement all day.
7
Go to the airport passenger service and report that your kid is missing. Insist that your kid’s name is your blog URL. For the next few hours, passengers at the airport will hear, “twisted-dna.com, please come to passenger service.”
6
Sign up for story reading for kids at your local library. Remember, it’s OK to insert product placements into the story you are reading. For example, “Seven dwarfs came home after a hard day’s labor and logged on to Twisted-dna.com while Snowhite cooked the dinner.”
5
Cut outlines of your blog URL in aluminum wrap. Go to the beach on a warm day. Carefully drop the the outlines on oblivious sunbathers’ backs (or on their faces if they are sound asleep). They will advertise your blog for free until their tan wears off.
4
Find a celebrity lookalike, make a fake celebrity sex tape and distribute it. In the sex tape, wisely weave your URL into the dialog. For example: “Oh God. Yes. Yes. Last time I had so much pleasure was when I was reading twisted-dna.com. Don’t stop now.”
3
Camp out at an obstetrics ward. Talk to women going into labor rooms and tell them that the new Lamaze technique is to shout out your URL when they are having contractions. For the next few hours they will promote your blog at the top of their lungs.
2
Follow fire engines. If there is a fire, hang banners of your site near the fires. News crews will take care of the rest.
1
Print tons of copies of your blog. Go to all public restrooms in your area and leave copies in the restroom stalls. People using them have NOTHING else to do and will read your blog. Be prepared to accept some criticism, expressed in innovative ways.
My regular programming at work was interrupted by an unexpected email from our HR. The email said, in essence, “You must complete a mandatory Sexual Harassment Training.” I felt insulted. I mean, I know how to sexually harass people. I don’t need training.
The online presentation started out promisingly. It showed several scenarios where people were performing sexual harassment. Although, I would say their approach to harassment was tad amateurish. I mean, to harass a female colleague, one doesn’t walk up to her and put a hand around her shoulder. I would do it more subtly. I thought of contacting the HR and offering my skills to prepare a more educational and “hands-on” presentation.
After 10 minutes into the presentation, it suddenly turned tables and started preaching that harassment is wrong. That was when I realized the training was about how not to harass. What is wrong with HR? They want to take every bit of fun out of work! I could see where it was going. I was prepared to hear that “The Comprehensive Vital Statistics Chart of All Female Employees” I was planning to hang on my cube wall was borderline inappropriate.
It turns out anything you do, say or even think at work is inappropriate. And the presentation goes on and on, mostly because they have to find ways to include all ethnic types in the US in the “sample scenarios.” White, Black, Hispanic, Asian and that guy with unrecognizable origin who everybody else is supposed to identify with multiplied by male, female and somebody you can’t tell which.
What was more insulting were the “breaks”. After every 3 minutes, they have this completely retarded quiz with the answer so obvious that you have to be some blond bimbo to miss it. (Apparently saying “blond bimbo” is inappropriate too!) The questions looked as asinine as this:
Q: When you meet a female coworker, what is an appropriate way to greet her?
A) Hug her firmly and gently caress her posterior
B) Drop on all fours and lick her feetC) Look into her eyes and say “Good morning”
D) Jump on her and dry hump her
Really? This is an insult to quizzes worldwide.
And the presentation goes on to tell you that the company wants you to be one of those nerdy, stuck up a-holes who reports everything they see to management. In fact, not reporting a potential issue is a violation of company’s policy. I am going to send reports to HR from tomorrow. “I saw a male person holding his unclothed genitals (hidden from view) for about 30 seconds in a public place.” Also known as peeing in the restroom.
In any case, by the end of the presentation, I was mortally scared to even talk to female coworkers. It is worse with male coworkers, who I can’t even look at. You see, in California, the laws for same-sex advances are much stricter. And how the hell am I supposed to know what is construed as making an advance in the homosexual world! The only way to stay away from sexual harassment is to blindfold and gag myself and wear a straitjacket and hope that it does not remind anybody of some kinky BDSM fantasy.
One of the things I like about living in the US is that I don’t have to meet anybody I don’t want to meet. Almost. No neighbors dropping by unannounced. No visiting long lost relatives, who one wishes remained long lost. No casual acquaintances getting too friendly. I may be giving the impression that I am averse to people. I am. What I am more averse to is the games one is often forced to play in such gatherings. Take, for example, the popular game called “one-upmanship.” It’s easy to play. You go to somebody’s house and start explaining to them how yours or your son’s life is better than theirs. The goal of the game is to try to be as obnoxious as you can.
We had the misfortune of meeting one of the finest players of this game over the weekend. She was visiting her son in the bay area and bestowed the pleasure of her company on us without even our asking for it. We are apparently related. It is one of those relationships that needs a whiteboard and other visual aids to explain. She started the game masterfully as soon as she entered.
She: Do you own this house or rent it?
Me: We own it.
She: Hmm.. but it looks like an apartment.
Ouch. Then she looked at the kitchen.
She: Is this the only kitchen?
Me to myself: No, we have a couple more kitchens in the garage
Me: (Mumbling) ya
She: Oh very small. Our son’s kitchen is VERY big (she bulged her eyes for added impact)
How ever much I tried, I could’t get myself to give a damn about their kitchen. She was perplexed by my lack of enthusiasm. She reiterated the greatness of their kitchen. What does she expect me to do? Fall on my knees and proclaim, “Ye Master of colossal kitchen, have mercy!”?
Then she inquired how many years I lived in the US. I submitted the information for her perusal. She looked at her son with a glint of pride in her eyes and informed me, “My son has been living here for 30 years.”.
Oh my effing God! He is living here for 30 years AND has a huge kitchen. If I were a woman, I would’ve married him.
Then she compared what companies we work for. This is one time I wished I worked for a well-known company like Wal-Mart. Working for a fruity company like Apple is a sign of a loser. (I don’t work for Apple but something similar)
The questionnaire continued intermittently through the duration of the visit. I didn’t do all that bad because at the end of the interview, she seemed reasonably convinced that we are fit be called humans. She even showed a hint of respect. But wait… there is more.
Just before she left, in a sudden wave realization, she asked, “It’s almost noontime. You don’t seem to be cooking?” While I was trying to find a way to play down the answer, “We are not big on cooking,” she guessed the answer anyway and asked in disbelief, “You don’t cook much?” When met with silence, she continued to interrogate us.
“Or are you like one of those people who make a lot of food and keep eating that stale food throughout the week?”
I gladly assured her that we are not one of “those people”. We cook fresh when we cook but we opt for entrees that are easier to cook, like Pasta. What do you know? Apparently that is worse than eating stale Indian food. She said scornfully, “Ya, a lot of Indians don’t cook proper food these days.” With that triumphant victory, she gave us her blessings and left with a content smile, leaving us to contemplate on our miserable Pasta-eating lives.
