208. DESI GIRL AND COMFORT

I feel a little out of control. Everyone does from time to time. To cope, I have a little bag of tricks I reach into when I need to swing back to center. First, I do what I am doing right now. I browse through the self-help, fiction and memoir sections of Barnes and Noble. Then I wander to the bookshelf where my novel (when a publishing house buys it) would be found.

Once I feel fueled and inspired I head back to the subway station and board the A train at 72nd Street. The Lincoln Triangle B&N, 115 blocks from my apartment, is the closest. The sound of the train running against the rails lulls me into a trance and I do something I have never done before. I miss my stop.

Oh sure, I have gotten on the wrong train before. I got on the 1 rather than the A when I was first moving here. A few months ago I was shopping at Columbus Circle and got on a D rather than an A because they run on the same track and make several of the same stops. I didn’t realize I was leaving Manhattan until I heard the conductor announce, “next stop Yankee Stadium”. And there was that one time I CHOSE to ride the M2 instead of wait for the M4. The M2 dropped me off at 168th Street and Broadway at 11 pm. But at that time of night, Broadway is deserted and tough. And even this little desi girl who can generally blend in with the Dominicans, was one scared little mamacita! Needless to say, I never did that again.

As I watch the 181st station blur by I sigh and debate my options. The next stop is 190th Street. So I can walk the 9 blocks to my apartment. Or I can get on a downtown train for one stop. Sadly, both options will take the same amount of time, so I decide to be lazy and opt for a ride on the next downtown bound A train.

As I wait, I try to determine what is causing the unrest. It is not depression. I have consulted WebMD and I am doing the things that an un-depressed person does --- shower, work, exercise. I don’t think it is anxiety because I don’t have insomnia and I am managing to live in New York where I ride public transport and regularly contend with the threat of terror attacks. But there are times when I wonder, "is this really my life?" When the rent bill comes, I wonder if I am insane for paying $1395 for a Washington Heights apartment. When I wait 20 minutes for a bus, I wonder if I really hate driving that much. When I troll the Internet for my husband, I wonder if he is really out there.

I get home and drop my stuff in the middle of the apartment. I am too discombobulated to be OCD right now. I have to focus on comforting myself and decide to have masala chai. It’s odd, really. I am not much of a tea drinker, but when I want chai, it must be brewed the way Mom makes it. By first boiling water in a pan, and then adding tealeaves and Mom’s homemade chai masala, letting them simmer together, adding milk, straining into a cup and sugaring to taste. Chai is also the only way I ingest real sugar. I am not really a sweets person. I add Equal to my coffee and drink Diet Coke with aspartame. And I don’t like syrup on my pancakes, only butter. But there is something about Mom’s masala chai that makes me feel closer to home, connected to my family and all things desi.

With my warm cup of comfort, I pad into the living room. In an ideal world I would settle down for a Law & Order marathon. But I'm a planner and have a back-up. I flip through my cd collection and slide in a bhangra mix. Slowly the beat of an electric tabla and dholki (Indian drums) speed up and I am dancing and crying, until I cannot breathe.

And like that comfort returns to me.

207. BROKE BACK REJECTION

A few days after my Broke Back date, he sends a note through the matrimonial site.

Email to: Desi Girl
Email from: Broke Back
Thanks for meeting on Saturday, I had a great time, however, I’m going to be upfront and let you know that I will not be pursuing a 'romantic' interest with you. I believe in keeping doors and opportunities open, whether they be for us or other people, so I would very much like to stay in touch, and meeting up again as friends, if you are comfortable with that. I found you to be an amazingly funny, intelligent, and well balanced woman. Hope this message finds you well and I hope you are open to staying in touch.

It’s okay that he’s not interested. To be honest, I wasn’t interested in someone who has physical limitations. Relationships are hard enough and I don’t know if I’m up for unknowns from day one. I’m healthy and fit and want that in my partner. I shouldn’t have to settle for less just because I am closer to 40 than 20.

Also, I’m curious as to what kind of desi long distance friendship we would have. We are, after all, strangers who live five hours away. I have a hard enough time keeping in touch with my college friends and sorority sisters who I have known for over a dozen years. And frankly, I'm not on this desi matrimonial site for friendship. I need a new friend like I need to be hit by a taxi.

When Harry Met Sally

At any rate, this whole conversation is irrelevant. Broke Back canceled contact with me through the site, so the system won’t allow me to write back to him and say, “nice to meet you, best wishes.” In the long run, the way my life seems to be going, this is best. I’m sure if we became friends; we’d have some when Harry Met Sally moment and he’d he'd kick me Or worse! We'd fall in love, I'd move Upstate, develop allergies to all his pets and THEN he'd dump me. Can you see it now? DOG LOVER DUMPS DESI GIRL.Sheesh! There is only so much desi heartache Desi Girl can take! It is best to avoid it from the onset!

206. FIRST DR. FROGGY IMPRESSIONS

Mom and I return home, stuffed from a lack luster Mother's Day Brunch. Originally I wanted to take Mom to the Neptune Room. The ambiance was a little casual, but the food was delicious. However the portion sizes were H-U-G-E and Mom and I would not be able to finish one plate of breakfast, let alone two! But I chose classy La Grolla instead, which was exceptionally disappointing and nothing like the lovely Italian dinner Meera and I shared, where the water, wine and bread flowed freely. Today, I had to request the carbo basket (which was a part of our meal), twice. I cannot believe I had to even ask once. And you would think there was a drought. The waiter was stingy with the water. Hello, it’s free and we’re parched!!! So pour!

Even though it's the middle of the afternoon, Mom and I change into our jammies. We flop onto the couch and I channel surf. I have lived alone for so long, that I forget how nice company is. “Let’s watch a movie,” I suggest. “Sure, then I will do my puja,” Mom says and reclines onto the couch. Both of us are short so we can lie on the couch and have space left over.

At 5:55 pm my phone rings. I don’t even believe it when I reach over and see Dr. Froggy’s number. What the hell is wrong with this guy? Is English NOT his first language? I told him I’d call between 4 and 6 pm, can’t he wait two minutes for my movie to finish? Mom gets up to pray and I listen to the voicemail, “Hey Desi Girl, I'm going to a hockey game tonight at 7.” I decide to return the call, not really caring if he is driving, busy or getting ready.

“’Ello?” Dr. Froggy says. More mumbling? How can someone who spent the better part of ten years learning medicine be so inarticulate? “Hey, Dr. Froggy, I thought I’d catch you before you went to the game. Is this a good time?” I ask. “It’s a great time, I’m walking there now. I don’t want to take the Porsche downtown,” Dr. Froggy replies. Oh boy, is Dr. Froggy insecure? We're barely 12 seconds into our conversation and he is already making sure I know he can afford boy toys. And why would he lead with that piece of information? I live in Manhattan where New Yorkers regularly leave their Bentleys parked on the street. I would think men would be weary of desi gold diggers. I am not one. If I were, I would have glommed onto Town and Country like he was the last man on Earth.

“Are you going to the game alone?” I ask, changing the subject. “Nah with some buddies. Do you like hockey?” Dr. Froggy asks. “Yes, of course. I am from Minnesota the land of hockey, Vikings and Democrats. But I prefer college hockey to professional,” I reply. “Hhhmm, so you’re a Democrat? That is too bad, I love Reagan,” he asks. Well I love the Clintons, but decide not to share that and say, “I think Hindu Republicans are an oxymoron. You do know that the really conservative right wing of Republican Party thinks you are going to hell for being Hindu, right? Even though our founding fathers guaranteed us the right to believe or not believe." I don't care what he thinks about my politics, I am SO over trying to impress these guys. He laughs and says, “I like the way you think, but I’m a Republican because…” he begins. And I cut him off and say, “…because you make too much money and wish to avoid taxes. Heard it. Don’t buy it. There are plenty of rich Democrats who don’t want to pay taxes either. I'm not rich and I don’t like taxes either. What we need is a VAT tax based on consumption and not this stupid dysfunctional tax bracket system that doesn’t work."

"Damn! You’re tough, I like it,” Dr. Froggy says. He seems to appreciate my feisty style. Is it possible that he GETS me? Perhaps there is some hope for my phone stalker after all.

205. BROKE BACK DATE

Mom and I return to Grand Central Station and I take her to the lower concourse. I show her where the restrooms are and settle her into a faux leather chair. I feel bad that she has to sit around and read a magazine while I go on my Broke Back date. But she insists she’s content. Then again she is a desi mom who looks forward to the day she says, “meet Desi Boy, my daughter’s hona-wala”. The closest English translation is betrothed.

On my way to meet Broke Back I call Dr. Froggy and get his voicemail. Which is probably best, how much of a conversation can we have in 6 Manhattan blocks? After the beep I say, “Hey Dr. Froggy, I got your messages. My mother and I were in Connecticut today. We have brunch plans tomorrow, but will be home in the evening, so why don’t I try you sometime between 4:00 and 6:00 evening. Talk to you then!” I say cheerfully and hang-up. I hope he does not call back and can wait until tomorrow. Technically I could call him tonight after my Broke Back date, but after spending the afternoon in the suburbs, I need to detox.

When I get to the café, Broke Back is already sitting at the bar. I did make a reservation for a table, but oh well, let’s be spontaneous! Broke Back is EASY to recognize because he is as GORGEOUS in real life as he is in this photo. Physically he has inherited E-V-E-R-Y favorable quality from his white parent and his desi parent. I have never imagined ending up with someone SOOO good-looking, but I welcome the idea. “Hello,” I say and slide into the neighboring bar stool. He is already drinking espresso, straight up. Impressive. If I drink a coffee now, I will be until tomorrow morning! “How was your drive in?” I ask. “Good. Good. How was Connecticut?” “Fine,” I lie. I find the suburbs debilitating with the yard work and trips to the car wash.

“Where is your mother?” Broke Back asks. It is nice of him to wonder where I stowed her. “Grand Central,” I reply. He nods. I am sure he’s relieved not to meet her. But my parents had a love marriage, which means they chose to marry each other rather than be arranged, so she thinks a man and woman should get to know each other first. “Where are your friends?” I ask. “We’re meeting at Dos Caminos in about an hour and a half," he says.

We begin chatting and he asks the standard “how long have you been on the site” and “who have you met”. I end up regaling him with bad desi dating stories and he seems to enjoy them. But the whole time I am story telling there is something about Broke Back that bothers me. I can only presume because of his back surgeries he is not able to sit still or for long periods. So how did he sit in the car for five hours? And I hope the only thing broke on this guy is his back…and not, his, ahem, front. I have been a repressed desi girl for so long that when I find the THE ONE, he needs to be an excellent and sensual lover.

We finish our date and I head back to Grand Central. Thank GOD Mom is where I left her. I did worry I wouldn’t find her since we have been separated twice in Manhattan, her fault of course. “How was it?” she asks and puts the magazine in her purse. “Fine, he’s nice and good looking,” I reply, leaving out my concerns: broke back, lives upstate, and jobless. “I want brownies,” I say to Mom and drag her to Juniors. The next thing I am buying her is a damn cell phone. It is damn well about time Mom join Desi Girl in the 21st Century!

204. CONNECTICUT BY DAY, CITY BY NIGHT CONT.

Idli

We get to my cousin’s place and she and her daughter are setting the table. They see us and my cousin says, “Oh good you've come! I just finished making breakfast. Sit, sit.” It is a good thing Mom and I had scones and coffee because breakfast is idli and upma, typically South Indian food, yummy and filling. Even though my cousin and her husband are Punjabi, his family lives in the South and my cousin has picked up the cuisine.



Upma



Indians take great pride in being exceptional hosts, which includes inducing food coma by stuffing their guests senseless. This is less of any issue for Mom. She is very disciplined and rarely snacks. I unfortunately have a penchant for all things fried and fermented, combined with the heifer genes from Dad’s side of the family, I work out like a mad woman to stay a little smaller than average. So I cannot spend my weekend gorging on desi delights.



Immediately after eating the husband leaves his dishes on the table and takes the daughter outside. Mom and I sit down in the living room and I am still surprised at how sparsely furnished the house still is. The bell rings and my cousin heads to the door, “It must be Neeta. She comes on Saturday to clean. Let me tell her to start lunch and I’ll come sit and chat.” I am full, and Mom must be too. We’re only here for four hours and we are going to be fed twice?

A few minutes later my cousin joins us. “I told Neeta to make chai. So tell me, what nonsense did he say to you all in the car?” Doesn’t she worry that her cleaning woman will overhear and know that they have marital issues. Or worse, what if Neeta tells the husband? My devotion to conspiracy theories makes me suspicious and unable to trust. This is why I could never live in India. I am not shrewd enough. There are too many people paying too much attention, to too many things.

“Not much. He makes mostly nice with us,” I reply. Mom shakes her head and sits back into the couch and her feet don’t’ touch the floor. “He told me I made the issues worse and now his parents are uncomfortable around me,” my cousin says sadly. “Doesn’t he take your side at all? I mean you are the mother of his child,” I argue. She shrugs and says, “He says he loves his daughter and says she belongs to his family and I am not really part of that family. She is his but I am not,” my cousin explains. “So where did the little girl come from if not from you?” I ask. His parents sound like they have village mentality.

Two hours later my cousin calls her husband and daughter in for lunch. They appear immediately, smelling like the wind. My cousin, her husband and Mom talk in Hindi and I nibble on my third meal today, and it’s only 1 pm. “Didi, have more,” my cousin insists. Didi is the Hindi word for sister. Generally younger siblings don’t take their elder siblings names, it is considered disrespectful. My brother has nicknames for me. In fact he so  rarely says my name that when he introduces me to a third party  it sounds strange to both of us. We both pause a second longer listening as the last syllable of my name lingers in the air and the third party has moved onto another topic completely.“I am stuffed,” I reply. Ninety minutes to meeting Broke Back, my possible future husband. I feel bad for being so excited to leave, but I didn’t sign on for suburban drama. I have enough of my own!

203. CONNECTICUT BY DAY, CITY BY NIGHT

The following morning Mom and I are at Grand Central Station. Neither of us are big eaters so we’re in Starbucks getting lattes and scones. This is my fourth trip to Connecticut to visit my cousin and her family. Yet, they have never visited me, which sometimes annoys me. Getting to Connecticut from Washington Heights is not easy and they are the ones with the cars, access to the highway and all the conveniences of suburban life. She has repeated told me that the baby makes it hard to come to the City (which by the way is filled with babies). I sometimes think that the married with kids forget what it is like to be single.

I am also a little nervous about visiting them again. My cousin’s in-laws live 10,000 miles and seem to meddle in their marriage, leading to arguments, which I cannot imagine to be very good for their child. The husband also sounds cheap and small minded. He is never home because he works long hours and earns three times what she does, but insists my cousin pays for the childcare, maid service and baby-sitting for THEIR daughter out of her salary though he out earns her by thrice over.

We pull into the train station and the overweight husband, stuffed into a parka and jeans, retrieves us. He is still dutiful enough to get out of the car and touch his hands to my mother’s feet. Once we’re in the car he asks my mom, “Auntie, how are you liking Manhattan?” “It’s nice to spent time with my daughter,” Mom replies briefly but pleasantly. The husband and my mother begin chatting in Hindi and I tune out.

My phone rings and I reach into my purse. By now I recognize Dr. Froggy’s number as this is the third time he is calling in less than 18 hours. I understand that I owe him a call. But Mom and I didn’t get in until after 10:30 last night, which is too late to call someone you don’t know. We were out the door this morning at 7:30 a.m., which was too early to call him. Now I am trapped in Connecticut for the day and it’s rude to make calls while someone has invited you for lunch. After which Mom and I scurrying back to the City so I can meet Broke Back. This means, Dr. Froggy is just going to have to wait his until dinnertime today, which is the earliest I can get back to him.

Sometimes I wish I was a deli counter. I could simply issue numbers and ask the boys to wait their turn.

202. RETURN OF DESI GIRL’S MOM

The return of my mother is an exciting and stressful time. It’s exciting because Mom is more than one of my parental units. She is one of my most favorite people and as I have gotten older, she has become more of a friend and less of a disciplinarian. When we lived in the same city, I took it for granted that I could see her whenever I wanted. Now that there is a mountain range and time zone separating us, obstacles I put into place, I want to selfishly monopolize her time, which I will do. Mother’s Day brunch and shopping are on our list of things to do. It pleases me deeply that Mom wants to spend her special day with me instead of with her husband and her son! Ha! Take that patriarchic India, who says the daughter doesn’t also rise?

Mom also tends to be popular and somewhat of a celebrity around my friends. She’s here for eight days and already has dinner plans with Jack and Jane for sushi and sake in an hour. Don’t worry, no sushi or sake for Mom, she will have chicken udon noodles. Tomorrow we are going to Connecticut to visit my cousin and then next weekend Meera and Rohit are coming over for an authentic Punjabi dinner. And she just got here yesterday!

What is making our time together stressful is not the over-programming. Being busier than a jack-rabbit on speed is second nature for me. It is the non-stop desi dating phone calls and emails that keep coming. While Mom and I were on the subway earlier today, I missed a call from Dr. Froggy. I contacted him during my “going against what I normally do phase”. In his voicemail he said, more like mumbled, that he was interested in getting to know me and I should call him back. As far as voices go, his was okay. He was born and raised in the States, so I expected his accent to be American. But his tone lacked inflection and energy. 

“I’m going to do my puja,” Mom says. My mother is an extremely devout and pious Hindu woman who regularly reads her religious books morning and night. What I appreciate about her and her faith is that she never imposed it on my brother, father or me. Sure, sometimes Dad’s lack of faith bothers her, but she says we are all on our karmic path. And she seems to accept that her children are luke warm Hindus who grew up temple-less in Minnesota.

I pad back into the bedroom and log on to my computer. Broke Back from Upstate New York (Post 194)  has emailed wanting to confirm our meeting tomorrow. He is set to arrive into the City around 4:00 pm. I pen back a note and suggest a little French bistro near Grand Central Station. He writes back immediately and is agreeable. I log off the computer and flop onto the bed. I need a 45 minute disco nap before dinner.

Grand Central Station

Unfortunately my mind is spinning with thoughts of tomorrow, which is surely going to be a long day. Mom and I have to get up at the crack of dawn, shower, dress and then commute an hour to Grand Central Station so we can take a 45 minute train ride on Metro North to Connecticut. We then have to leave by 3:30 pm so I can stow my mother somewhere in Grand Central while I meet Broke Back.

I feel REALLY bad that she has to sit alone in the train station for an hour or two, but she has repeatedly told me she doesn’t mind. Probably because she just wants me to get married! But she doesn’t have a cell phone and this stresses me out. Just as I feel a little bit of sleep washing over me, the phone rings.

Haphazardly I glance at it and don’t recognize the number and let it go to voicemail. When the phone beeps to receiving the voicemail I check it. It's Dr. Froggy, again, saying he's interested in talking to me and he’ll call back. Okay, but he just called two hours ago. And why, why, why when men call and call they are considered persistent, but when women engage in the EXACT same behavior, they are unstable or nuts? Is it NOT the same action? I sure think so! And does Dr. Froggy think I have nothing else to do but answer his call? He will just have to wait his turn!