Wednesday, November 14, 2012


I’m in a snit.

Yes, snit. I cannot find another word to describe this. I don’t feel happy, sad, blah, blue, up, down, left or right. I definitely don’t feel right. I don’t want to eat, drink, sleep, work, exercise, read, write. Nothing I don’t want to do anything.

But I need to get this snittiness out of me and end up sitting on a foam block, in a dark room, on a yoga mat, saying “Namaste”, cringing when all the non-desis around me pronounce it wrong. Whatever, stop focusing on pronunciation. It is not like you Hindi accent is spot on, is it? I ask myself. Oh! Just shut your eyes and stop thinking, I tell myself. Over-thinking more like. ACK! Stop thinking about over-thinking.

I get up and move through a few downward dogs into chaturanga. We do some trees and eagles, and normally my balance is for shit. But today, since everything else seems to out of balance, my actual balance seems okay. Better than okay, good actually.

I really don’t like yoga, but I really love the idea and lesson of yoga. I like the thought of using my body as resistance to push my limits. I like the mental release of thought and the world in search of simply being. But the reason I don’t like yoga is sometimes it makes me feel like a cliché, Indian girl doing yoga. Then again since my thoughts have not stopped racing and I am debating my grocery list as we move through triangles and warrior poses, I think I should not worry about being a desi cliché, since my American mind won’t shut up.

As I move into lizard pose, I notice the woman next to me. She seems fixated on something. We begin the lizard. At first I think I am delusional. But it seems every time we hold the pose she seems to inch a few millimeters deeper into the move than me. Is she competing with me? In yoga? I brush the thought away, as absurd but then we go into chair and I swear to God she is trying to out-chair me.

Now I am annoyed with this nameless faceless person who is trying to out-yoga me. I am fine with the competitive and high paced nature of New York when it comes to getting groceries, catching the subway, hailing a taxi, washing laundry. But not in yoga.

I continue to move my body with my breath and this woman continues to irritate me until my mind snaps, this is not about her. And so what if she thinks yoga is something to compete in. This is about me. Something inside of me is out of order. I am here to achieve something mentally and physically through my practice today. I am not in the mood to compete.  

When the time comes to do headstands, I move to the other side of the room, away from. I don’t need her bad aura messing up my karma. I need to get the snit out, not keep it in.

Monday, October 22, 2012


Of course it is raining the day Catey agrees to meet me. And it is that annoying Spring rain. Not the type where it drops in buckets and buckets where rain boots and golf sized umbrellas are required. Nor is it the type that is a dusting of rain that won’t completely deflate your hair. No, today is just a cold rain that is not playing nice with an inconsistent and bitter wind.

By the time I get to Starbucks (a location near Catey’s office) I am a wet and soggy mess. Great. It is not as though I am trying to impress Catey for a job interview. I just don’t want to scare her off looking like took a dip in the East River. I grab the only empty table and with a handful of napkins I dry my hair and clothes. I really want a coffee to warm the coldness that is settling into my back, but I don’t want to be rude and be drinking my drink when Catey arrive. I glance at my watch; I should have time to drink a small coffee before she gets here. Plus I dislike those people who monopolize tables at Starbucks and don’t at least buy a coffee.

Catey arrives when I have a few sips left. She is tall, slim, and pretty in a very natural, All-American way --- kinda like Jennifer Aniston, but with lighter colored hair. “Please, let me buy you a coffee,” I offer. “No, no – thank you though. I am meeting my boyfriend for dinner.” I feel a little bad, like I should get her something for her willingness to meet me. But she insists she is fine.

We talk a little bit about her job, and the apartment she is buying, and her writing and her process. I am sure she is at least 10 years younger than me and I am in awe of her. She has a job she likes, a man she loves, a passion she fuels, and an apartment she will soon own. I want to be like her, have my shit together.

She tells me about her writing issues, and how hard it is for someone who has never been published and not Kim Kardashian to get published. I already knew this, my agent used to tell me this all the time. But for some reason risks and gambles don’t scare me. The harder the battle, the more I want to win it.

“You need to make sure you have a platform and pitch, separate yourself from others in the marketplace. I was lucky, my agent is amazing – you need to find someone who believes in your work more than you do.” I nod everything she says seems straightforward and normal. I tell Catey about my blog and she nods. “Very good way to get out there.” “You’ll need to put a proposal together, too,” she says. “Can you share yours with me?” I ask. “Sure, of course,” she says. “You are very kind to help me,” I say.

“Isn’t that what it is about? The dream?” Catey asks. I can tell, she “gets” me. So I nod, yes, it is about the dream.

Monday, August 13, 2012


Dear All -

I am not REALLY on vacay, though it would be nice, some sand between my toes and umbrella drinks! I am finishing a summer writing class and in a little transition at work. And needed a few weeks to get the House of DG sorted out!

Also, I will confess, I have spent my Wednesday nights watching Dallas, yes, you read that correctly, Dallas, AWESOME last episode, so now with fall en route (my face season) I am getting out of the summer swing and back to business! Much to write!


Sunday, July 22, 2012


One of the cool things (because there are many) about my volunteer group is that we provide trainings for our members. There are trainings on heart health, how to be an effective volunteer, social media, elder abuse, conflict resolution, and what I am attending today, financial literacy.

I mean really, I should credit myself more, because I don’t have extravagant tastes. I don’t eat out at 5 star restaurants, get spa treatments at the Mandarin Oriental, take resort vacations, and have a car or a mortgage. Yes, it is true, I live in the most expensive American City and rent is my biggest expense. However, I am curious, what else can I cut out? This is why I bought the book “SHOO, Jimmy Choo!” and plan to take copious notes at the training that the author Catey Hill is giving tonight.

I get to the HQs early enough to get a seat in the middle of the room, and save a seat for my friend. We thrifty gals need to stick together.  Laney arrives just before the training begins, which is fine since I have saved her a seat in a much crowded, over-subscribed standing room event tonight.

Both Laney and I are bloggers, she writes about beauty and gets the best swag ever. And I don’t know about her, but I am not financially minded. So while I have done the “easy” things – like cutting out the $4 a day lattes, shopping on sale, cooking more so I can eat in rather than out – I am desirous of knowing what I need to do long term. Like, how much money do I need in savings so I can buy an apartment (GASP!) in NYC (if this is even possible for me)? I want to build retirement savings, have a year’s worth of cash in the bank and buy some long-term care (hello, color me responsible!).

The woman running the financial literacy training introduces Catey to us and lo and behold, she is a pretty, young woman with dark blonde wavy hair. Her book has the best cover (pink) with a woman’s hand dropping a shoe. Catey is funny, witty and even though she must be under 30, her age never deceives her. She is accomplished and polished. And it strikes me that she has done what I want to do. She has written a book about financial literacy, something that she is passionate about, and gotten it published.

Once she is done with her presentation, she opens the floor to questions and answers. After which she is most agreeable to signing our books. I pull Laney out her chair and drag her over to Catey. We wait patiently, until our turns come.

“Hello Catey, I’m Desi Girl. Would you sign my book?” I ask. “Of course,” she replies and smiles. She is very kind, I can tell, so I ask, “would you be willing to meet with me about your writing process? And how you acquired an agent and book deal? I have been writing for years and would love to glean your insight.” I have nothing to lose, I already know the worst thing she can say is “no”. “I would be happy to!” she replies.


Monday, July 16, 2012


It’s never a good sign when your friends ask, what’s new, and you (in this case me) don’t tell them that a guy they don’t like (Town and Country) has returned. But it’s true. For now, I have decided against telling Tate, Ainsley or Siobhan that Town and Country strikes back, or that I have fallen back into the routine of late night texting with him.

Town and Country: How was your day?
Desi Girl: Okay. (Now, I know that this guy has managed to blow up my life on more occasions than I wish to count, but when we’re catching up at the end of the day, it seems TOTALLY normal to do “this” whatever “this” is with him. But, since I know he is the Lone Warlord of my Heart, I remind myself to be careful, to tread with caution, do not engage emotionally. Why I don’t ask, ‘Desi Girl, why do you keep doing this?’ is beyond me …)
Town and Country: Just okay?
Desi Girl: Yes. I am worried about my boss.
Town and Country: Why?
Desi Girl: I just am.
Town and Country: But that’s you. You’re different. Unique. Sweet.

Ack. I don’t like it when he says nice things to me about me. It gives me false hope.

Town and Country: what are you wearing?
Desi Girl: (Really? We are going from my boss to sex? Please.) I don’t feel like doing this.

Several seconds elapse. I know he is annoyed that I don’t want to sext with him. But I promised myself, this time, there were would be no-more-than-friends-nonsense. This is how I always get in trouble with him.

Desi Girl: You there? If we’re doing this, we’re doing this as friends and I don’t tell my friends what I am wearing late at night.
Town and Country: Ok.

Oh what? He’s mad? He jerks me around ALL the time. He should be THANKFUL that I even forgave him. Why, I still don’t know. I cannot blame it on being weak and lonely. There is something just magnetic about him to me. It’s like I cannot stop myself with him. God help me …

Sunday, July 15, 2012


It’s Monday. And I am back at Daniel’s office, sitting at my desk, enjoying the quiet morning, staring at the skylight, wondering if it will leak when it rains. Or if I will be a roasted desi girl in July, sitting here cooking under the hot summer sun. I have to think about such stupid things. They busy my mind. They stop me from missing my mother, being alone, thinking of Town and Country.

I push back from the desk and grab a yogurt from the fridge. This was supposed to be my late morning snack, but I am hungry now. My diet of peanut butter sandwiches gets boring every now and then. But it is a cheap, fast and easy way to get full and have protein.

I pull the top back and drive the plastic spoon into the creamy, smooth pink yogurt. I wander over to the window and stare at traffic moving down Madison Avenue.  It takes about six bites for me to finish the snack and I toss the container away. I’m in a mood to pick a fight so I grab my phone, sit down and kick my feet onto my desk, like I own the joint, rather than barely draw a paycheck.

Desi Girl: Hey
Immediately, a text from Town and Country: Hi
Desi Girl: I need to know something.
Town and Country: Yes
Desi Girl: I need to know why you yelled at me over text.
Town and Country: I was wrong. So I apologized as soon as I realized.
Desi Girl: It took you THREE months?
Town and Country: Yes, I am sorry.
Desi Girl: You really hurt my feelings.
Town and Country: I know. I am very sorry. Forgive me.

I inhale slowly and release the air. I should not forgive him. But I don’t have the energy to put myself out there to desi date all over again. I should not let him back into my life, because he is going to put back on the heroin-induced roller coaster ride we call friendship. All my friends will shake their heads at me. But I am alone. And lonely.

Desi Girl: Okay. I forgive you.

Friday, July 13, 2012


Today my teeny tiny apartment feels huge, empty and blecky. I cabbed Mom to LGA and then took the bus/subway combo; normally I do this because I’m cheap. This time I did it to prolong coming home to this loneliness. I do often wonder if I am alone because I am now incapable of living with someone, being single so long and living alone for 10+ years can do that to a person.

And sure, I love my Mom and I am sure I miss having her around. So maybe if I met the right man, THE ONE, I’d love having him around even in a space this small. Of course, since Town and Country lives in 4,000 square feet he’d have no idea on how to function in this space. And I wonder if he really knows how to function in a couple anyway.

And now that I am allowing myself to think about him, I am really annoyed with him for contacting me. And I am really really annoyed that he apologized. It was A LOT easier to hate him and throw daggers at his face in my head when I thought he was a jerk. And he still is a jerk, apologizing does not get him off the hook. Of course I am rather curious as to (a) why he even apologized, I didn’t peg him for someone who feels remorse, because I was beginning to wonder what feelings he felt. And no I don’t mean I think he is without feeling, I just don’t understand him because he seems all over all the board with his I like you, I hate you and (b) why is he calling me. He better not think I’d sleep with him after the way he behaves so flippantly with me.

I crack open the window, shoot this apartment is hotter than Hades and crawl into bed. I flip through channels until I find an episode of Law and Order and shut my eyes to take a nap. I don’t feel like dealing with this lonely apartment or Town and Country.