I (heart) New York - the Real New York

It hit me today.

Vancouver is just a pretty face. Nothing more.

New York, on the other hand, oh New York - has multiple, grimy, sweaty, scary, fascinating layers that you keep on peeling and peeling and peeling.

I've been back for 2 hours now, and I'm already ready to go home.

Miss you NYC

Reading Luka

Given my blog's name, and the inspiration I've received from Salman Rushdie over the past decade or so, it behooves me to offer my opinion of his new book, and the sequel to one of my favourite books of all time, Luka and the Fire of Life.

I haven't finished the book but, it seems to me, that the book is a lament of sorts for a world of storytelling gone by, for a particular world of magic that doesn't necessarily exist in this, as Soraya calls it in the book, universe of "High Definitions and low expectations." "One of these days," she says, "you'll wake up and we'll be gone, and then you'll find out what it's like to live without even the idea of Magic. But Time moves on, and there isn't a thing we can do about it."

Sad. I hope Sir Salman keeps on writing. Luka is nowhere near as great as his other works (so far), but it definitely has the mark of his genius on it.

Now, back to reading.

Edit: 1230am. And the dog named Bear sings my favourite George Harrison song. Beatles ftw!

N(erd)abz

I've finished my research and am finally writing my term paper, and it's making me oh-so-very-happy. There's something about words and the use of words that makes me trill with joy. Just a few moments ago, I realized that I could use the word 'insouciance.' It made me so happy I shivered with joy once I saw it appear on my screen.

Wordgasm?

Back to papering. Oh. I missed it...

A Word of Advice

Having spent the Summer eating mangoes daily and constantly, there are times when I crave the succulent fruit. (Ah! To have a fresh dussehri or sapeda lakhnavi!) More often than not, I don't have the time to go down to Murray/Curry Hill and buy bottles of Maaza or Fruiti and have to spend my time dreaming of the wonderful juice.

I was in my local market today and happened upon dried mango. I bought them and brought them with me to the library. I just opened the container, had one and must say it's one of the most dreadful fruit products I've ever had. It tastes Nothing like mango.

Please, never buy them. Unless they're guaranteed to taste like the real thing.

Sincerely,

Disappointed Me

Writing Papers, Nabz-style

A couple of things on the agenda tonight:

1) Annoyance with myself. As I said earlier tonight - sometimes I wish I studied something happier, like the psychological impact of teddy bears on babies. But noooo, I go and decide I want to study crazy, zealous, evil Hindu Nationalists and Partition; and riot production and Muslim sup/re/op/pression in Gujarat. Way to go EnPi.

2) Alcohol deprived, thanks to a no-whiskey-until-Jan-First-diet, which was supposed to be a no-hard-liquor-until-said-date diet, but that was broken one glorious night with a friend from home at the bar around the corner. It has wonderful dirty martinis (Grey Goose, 3 olives - usually stuffed with gorgonzola but sadly plain that night). The bar-tender called me a 'celebrity' for texting away on my phone and wearing my plaid purple peaked hat that I love oh-so-much, and then asked my friend and me to do a tequila shot with him. How could I have refused? The tequila was certainly amazing though - the dude knows his alcohol. So smooth you barely needed the lime.

Anyway. Tonight. Researching Gujarat and drinking vodka/red bull. Yummy! And a definite step up (it's all about the upward mobilization folks) from the ice wine of last night (although, that was quite delicious in itself - yay Niagara!)

3) Focalizing. Who the hell uses the word 'focalizing.' A case of bad English - what some would call 'Indian English,' but what, like my thesis supervisor, I abhor.

ps: that's such a beautiful word - abhor.

I like words.

[Edit: 12:43am. Same author - 'lumpenising'. WTF!]

[Edit: 1:29am. Another author - and Apparently Gandhi was assassinated on 31 January! Seriously? Seriously? 30 January folks. I should know. EPW, you should be ashamed of yourself for letting that one slip. Just goes to show how 'revered' the ol'e Mahatma is in India-land.]

[Edit: 2:44am. The Red Bull certainly did its job. It's almost 3am and I'm wide awake. That being said, I've probably now also consumed about 5 shots worth of vodka. You'd think the Gujjus would make more sense when you're a tad tipsy - apparently not. Mazel Tov folks. It's bed time. See you in the morning/a couple of hours.]

Note To Self (and to you...)

If you want to drink a bottle of wine, do not try and drink a bottle of ice wine (however delicious it may be). It's just.too.sweet!

I feel sick...

And I didn't even finish the bottle

Shucks

Happy Fourth Anniversary To Me...and to RFS

Four years. I can't believe it. When I first started, I thought RFS would crash and burn after a couple of months, but here I am....Still at it. I'm not one for massive celebrations (unless they're for someone else), so I'm going to keep it simple.

The first post I ever wrote.

Enjoy...

"Welcome to Selfistan"

Welcome to Selfistan - a land, well webpage, where all you see and read is stuff that I want you to see and read. Haha, I feel powerful - like a censor. Imagine how much power one has - the power to control opinions, the power to control decisions - the power to control lives. Obviously, I'm not saying that peoples' opinions and lives will change because of this blog - but I'd like to think that I'll influence them in some way...wouldn't anyone?

So...why am I, Nabz, writing a blog...well starting a blog...All the other 'blog' like things i've tried have never worked - from MSN Spaces, to Facebook Notes...to keeping a diary. I guess...everything deserves a try..so why not this? And the good thing about this one will be that I wont be chained down by thoughts of what people I know will think about my posts. Which is always nice - I guess, there won't be much self-censorship on this blog. It is Selfistan...

Selfistan...odd word eh? Well..yes and no. If you haven't guessed already, it's a hybrid..Self (the English word for oneself) and Stan (a word, occurring in Urdu definitely and possibly in Arabic - although I'm not sure about that one. Perhaps it has roots in Persian as well....but whatever its origin...it means 'land' or 'place'). So Selfistan is - My Land

But, as much as I'd love to think that I'm ingenious and witty enough to think up such a name, I can't give myself the credit. Yes, I'm not that smart. Salman Rushdie is though..he's a brilliant writer if you haven't read any of his stuff - and TOTALLY deserves the Nobel Prize for Literature...more than V.S. Naipaul...(source of high tension..lol). Anyway...so Selfistan appears in his book "Shalimar the Clown" (quite an awesome book, if you're looking - wow that sounds as if one's looking for a bf or a gf...but honestly...books can be like bf's or gf's...more on that later).

Why not demand freedom for one's bedroom, or call one's toilet a republic?

Why not stand still and draw a circle around your feet and name it Selfistan?

So, in a way, this webpage is the circle around my feet. Enjoy the ramblings that I'll put up (hopefully) regularly. And leave comments, please....even if it's to say Hi or This is so boring I'm never reading your stuff again. It's a free world - I honestly don't care.

That's it for now, ciao, adios, au revoir....and remember...to be born again, first you must die (Salman Rushdie...again).

~me

Music Love: What Number Are We On?

The night before last, I played Air Guitar. Last night, I finally took my little beauty, who's been with me since I was 5, out of its case. It sits on my little Persian rug most of the time, and marks the separation from my sleeping-life and my working-life. When I strummed it for the first time, it sounded horribly out of tune. There's something wrong with the stringing, and I was afraid it would crack under the pressure of the re-tuning. It didn't. Thankfully. But I do need longer strings...

Anyway. Spent a good hour or so listening and playing along to this one piece I absolutely adore, and which I've almost memorized. It's one of those new-age Sitar pieces by someone who, arguably, has the fastest fingers in all of Sitardom, and is absolutely fantastic.

There's this weird healing quality to music that I still don't understand. And it's the combination of feeling and healing that makes it that much more potent.

Found the following on my life twin's blog. It makes me sad. What does it do to you?

Jee, You, Jay, Jay, You - Gujju!

I wonder what the infamous pro-prohibition folks over in Gujarat would say to me drinking a beer (French, not this American-joke-for-a-beer stuff) and researching anti-Muslim tendencies in Gujarat over the decades.

I don't think they'd be too happy: the pro-prohibition-wallas and the Muslims...

Oh well. Back to reading about politics in Gujarat. This is my second paper, in as many terms, on Gujarat - and I still don't understand it's politics.

Kal Ho Na Ho was right. These Gujjus are WEIRD!

ps: I hate how we ALWAYS get upended by the Punjabis...

An Abstract Notion Called Friendship

You know. Sometimes, you think that some friendships are super important and you do things to ensure that they don't break. You swallow your pride, your desires, your ego, your self for the other person, and try to do all you possibly can to rectify the situation. And then you come home, sort of proud of yourself for putting someone else - and an abstract notion like friendship - above yourself, and then write a post about it, so that you can tell the people who read your blog to do the same.

And then the day comes, when you realize that what it meant to you wasn't what it meant to your friend.

And it hurts.

Starting to think people ain't really worth it. Doesn't mean I'll stop doing it. Not at all. I am who I am, and I'm not going to change that because of what others do and don't do. But, at the same time, it's hard when you put effort into something and the other doesn't reciprocate. No. Wait. It's not hard. It kinda...just...sucks.

It's days like these I miss my YVR peeps.

Air Guitars Can't Be Smashed (That's A Good Thing)

There is something strangely liberating about dancing when no-one's watching and just because you feel like it. It's also pretty awesome when you can dance like that when there are people watching. I remember the last time I did that. Still brings a grin to my face - one of those little kid grins.

Try it at home peeps. Put on some awesome music and just dance.

Back to my 60s-70s Rock and Air Guitar (I'm afraid I'll break my real one in my josh).

Toodles

N

I Know They're Haram and It's Eid, But...

I love Pigs.

Whirling In the Dark

I have this recurring image in my head, of myself...

wearing a long white garment

and spinning

and spinning

and spinning.

all in slow motion.

sometimes under a sunny sky.

but more often in what seems like a dark room with a single light, and things falling from above.

i still don't know if they're petals, or leaves, or junk, or rain.

*trying so hard to hold on to what's left*

Can You Give Yourself Du'as?

That I don't turn out like you or you

And that I'm blessed enough

To be my own.

(آمین)

How to Not Understand People - Part Two

I made a new friend a couple weeks ago. I'm a friendly person and talk to almost anything that moves - including birds and spiders (although, I shouldn't say that because ya'll are going to think I'm crazier than I actually am...). But back to the point. I may not understand people, or like everyone I meet, but I do enjoy meeting people. It amuses me on a certain level. I like seeing what makes people tick and get ticked-off. I like figuring out how they think and why they do what they do. I'm a curious person, if you will.

Anyway. So, this friend and I ended up having a semi-heated conversation about Hindu nationalism, and I ended up adding him on Facebook. We continued our discussions about Indian politics for a couple of messages and then he said, 'let's meet up over coffee to continue the discussion.' Being the friendly person that I am, I said yes.

Fast forward to coffee-day. I got there late and we ordered our drinks and sat down. He got this coffee with whipped cream on it, and I got the usual - black with a touch of milk and sugar. (I judge people by what they order.) We talked about a bunch of things, and then he started saying some weird things - like how his mother has no problem with vegetarians (I'm one) and loves her veggies, even though he's an obsessive meat eater - and stuff. Red flags started waving, but I put them aside. After a while, it started getting awkward, and I decided to finish my coffee as soon as I could. So I did. Looked at my watch and announced that I had to go.

I got up to leave and waited for him to grab his stuff and walked out the door. Stumbling under the weight of his bags, he came outside, stopped, looked at me, grinned in that way and said, "so, when do I get to see you again?"

At which, I groaned. I don't get it. At no point along the entire period from meeting him to drinking coffee with him had I indicated that I was interested. Far from it, in fact.

Dudes reading this:
a) Tell her it's a date!
b) Don't ask her out over Facebook.
c) And don't assume that just because we talk to you, we want to go out with you, or sleep with you or whatever else...

Anyway. Back to the story. I told him I was super busy and I didn't know when would work. Then I turned around and left, feeling sort of sorry for the guy but not much...

Sigh.

How to Not Understand People - Part One

I was having dinner with friends yesterday, when one asked what was new in my life since the last time I had seen him. I announced, not dramatically (and without any regret) that I had come to the decision not to drink hard liquor until further notice (1 January 2011 is the date I've set for now). He was amazed. And a tad bit shocked, as well. For a couple moments he couldn't process it, and then he said, "Wow. That must take a tonne of willpower."

To which I responded, a bit annoyed at this point, "Willpower? What's willpower got to do with it? It's been pretty easy so far."

And he said, "Ya. It's that time of the year and you haven't been going out for a while either."

I laughed. Obviously, he has no idea what's been going on in my world. So I said, "Uh. Actually...I went out Friday night and went to a party and got home at 5am last night."

He didn't say anything.

I don't get it. Especially that thing about willpower. Maybe it's rational-me coming out again (another of us Aquarians' curse), but I always thought that  you stop things when they start screwing you over. Given the shyt (landmark - first time I'm swearing on RFS, I think) going on in my life - and trust me, it's shyt - I don't want to do things that have the potential to screw me over even more. Life is hard enough as it is...


On another note: If any of you are fond of wine, I'd never had a Soave before but tried it at a wonderful restaurant (New Yorkers, go here if you haven't already) a couple nights ago. If you come across it, try it. It reminded me of a Riesling but less sweet, and perfect with a light salad and pizza...

The Thin Line Between Sad and Happy

I hate saying this, but what I thought would be a horribly sad and depressing day, turned out to be one of the best in a while. I shouldn't be surprised. There's something wonderful about being around people you care about and love at the passing of another. I remember, when my dada-ji passed away - or even my grandparents from my mom's side of the family - the entire fam-bam came together almost every single day for about two weeks. We'd all bring food and gather at someone's house (usually at my vadaa dada's - grandpa's older brother). Us kids, we were still kids then, would run around the house playing games that we'd made up, would watch movies, and terrorize the adults (and the kids younger than us - although, they used to terrorize us back with equal glee). We knew we were at a sombre affair, but then we'd look at the adults, cousins - most of them, and watch them talking and laughing and smiling and enjoying life, and then go back to being ourselves. 

As we got older, the same tradition continued. The people in my family, up until my father's generation, have always worked together, and lived together until being forced out of their homes in Africa almost 40 years ago. As the years went by, the family started getting more nuclear, but would bond - instantaneously - at death, or birth, or other celebrations. When vadaa dada-ji passed away, we all gathered at his house. The oldest of us kids were now almost adults, and had a better sense of what was going on. But our fun and games continued. We didn't make them up, or watch movies back-to-back (that was the purview of the 3rd and 2nd batch of kids, respectively). We sat around the small food bar in the kitchen, with a bunch of our younger aunts and uncles, other relatives and friends, and joked around, while the others did the same in the dining room. And when we'd go home, I'd leave with a sense of joy and, more so, a desire that all of us would be able to get again and do the same. 

It's almost like the same thing is happening right now. A friend of mine passed away this Summer and his memorial was held, here, yesterday. Friends from around the country, who I had spent the Summer with in India and who also knew this friend who passed, flew in for the memorial. It was wonderful to see them again, and we kept on reminiscing about the thousands of things that we had done, or had seen in Lucknow a couple months ago. In a series of hard days over the past few weeks, it was a wonderful release (and relief). The ceremony was sad. I don't cry when I'm deeply saddened, but started crying (for about 15 seconds) during the shabad at the service. Afterwards though, it was back to the traditional mode of dealing with death - laughter.

Funny story. When my mother's father passed away (my nana-ji), we all gathered at his/my nani-ji's house. This was the first death in my mother's family and so everyone was super sombre and super quiet and super sad. Having dealt with death multiple times before that, I wasn't as affected as my other cousins and relatives. We were all sitting around in the living room, when my mother got up and wandered around, looking for her phone. She had just gotten it and was still getting used to it. Having found it, she started fiddling around with it, but it wouldn't work. She asked me to help and told me that it wasn't turning on even though she had pressed the power button multiple times. From across the room I semi-shouted, "It's dead!"

Everyone looked up. Stared at me. I realized what I'd said and chuckled. Everyone kept on staring at me in shock and horror, and then finally one person laughed, then another, until the entire room was giggling. It broke the ice, and the awkward tension that had settled over the room dissipated quickly thereafter. When my nani-ji passed away, a couple years later, my mother's family was much more open and calm (and prone to fitful bursts of laughter).

I hate saying this, because it's just so wrong, but a part of me misses those days when we got together. And I know I'll miss this weekend, because of the same reason.

RIP those of you who have moved on. Till we meet again.

Who Says Muslims Can't Do Fashion?

This is pretty awesome.

These are pictures from a fashion show that just happened in Jakarta, Indonesia and that featured clothing by and for traditional Muslim women. Head to toe coverings, my friends, can be pretty hot.

Check it out!

Muslim Women Are Hot

Props to the designers for shattering stereotypes!

Google Horoscope: Sometimes You Scare Me

"You might want to go into hiding today as the Moon visits your reclusive 12th House, but your need for seclusion won't likely last long. Treat this urge with respect, especially if you have been socially active recently. But don't confuse your current desire for contemplation with moodiness. Creating healthy boundaries is a great way to replenish your spirit"

If I May...

It's not my place to give advice to people, I have enough issues of my own and am still too young to be doling out advice, but here's one thing that I hope everyone who comes across this blog follows.

If you are fortunate enough to have people in your life who are worth thousands of others, make sure you understand their worth before it's too late. And if you ever come to this realization while you're about to do something of which they don't necessarily approve, stop immediately, and tell them you've stopped - even if it means running back to where they are and fighting with them to listen to you.

Hope you are all blessed with wonderful friends and the ability to recognize them. And then tell them.

Yes, I'm an emotional person. It just doesn't come out too often. Call it the Aquarius' "curse," if you will.

N

PS: On another note, byebye whiskey-love and vodka-nasha. It was good being with you, but we're through until the New Year.

Back to the Grind

After a week of sleeping, eating, bothering my parents with my incessant ramblings, drinking litres of tea, sleeping and eating, it's time to head back to the City. I'm semi-glad to be going back (I love the City life) but am dreading this upcoming week. It'll be fantastic to see the Lucknow crew again, but I wish the occasion weren't so horrible and I didn't have so much work to catch-up on.

Still wondering why He chose you to leave us. It's not fair...

RIP Sparkly Eyes...

(Wonderful dreams last night - an amazing rendition of 'hor ki mangna' by an aunt who normally is a horrible singer, teaching a kid a lesson with some cream-puffs, and then waking up with 'tum ik gorakhdhanda' in my head...I think it's all because of the light streaming in through my windows. I've always slept in rooms with windows facing East and am so used to waking up to light. This new bedroom of mine is a bit dark for my taste - maybe that's why I'm having sleep issues...hmmm)

We're Not Texting In My Dreams Anymore; I Think That's a Good Thing

But we are talking. I've had a few dreams starring you, of late.

Last night's was amusing. You asked me my worth. I didn't respond. You said, "Well, you know. I could get married to a beauty pageant winner. I think my parents are looking for one for me."

I'm assuming I'm not a beauty pageant winner. Heck, I don't even want to be one (unless I can be Sushmita Sen). 

And thus concludes another random post on Selfistan...ya'll probably think I'm crazy. As they say in Spanish...

yo soy todo loco...

nahhh

More Music Love

Can't I just be a musician? Screw grad school. I should've paid more attention in violin class back in the day, or in choir, or just practiced more regularly.

This has been stuck in my head all day - especially the part where NFAK sings: "Masjid, mandir, yeh maikhaane. Koi yeh maane. Koi woh maane." Meaning, 'the mosque, the Hindu temple, the house of wine. Some believe in this. Some believe in that.' I think that sentiment is absolutely beautiful. Myself, I love the maikhaana and all the Sufiana thought it symbolizes - and there are some wonderful Ghalib verses on that theme. The way NFAK sings it though just makes it that more beautiful.

Add to this the fact that it reminds me of the wonderful Summer I spent in Lucknow, and of listening to this early in the morning while drinking Shukla-ji's morning lemony-sugary chai, and grinning throughout the entire session at the beauty of it all...

I miss Lucknow, and my dhobi (washerman - Tahir), and my darzi (tailor - Noorallah Sahab), and my rickshaw-wallah (rickshaw driver - Premji) and my clothing dude (Raja) and his father (uncleji - of course) who got all excited that I knew what nankhatai were (the most amazing cookie ever!) and then brought a massive box of fresh nankhatai (that were super different from the type my mother makes) for the entire institute and also gave me some khatti imli lollipop-type things...omg...so good! Makes me salivate just thinking about them.

If you've never had khatti imli, I feel sorry for you.

And don't get me started on the mangoes. The best thing about being in India during the Summer/monsoon season and in Lucknow - the mangoes. Mmmm chaunsa and lakhnavi safeda...

Ok. Enough digressing and reminiscing. Listen to this:

Part 1:


Part 2:


Part 3:

Music Confusion

To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC...To take violin to NYC, to not take violin to NYC....

Ugh. So confused. The guitar is lonely. I want my violin. But don't want to damage it on the flight over. What to do??

No idea. Meanwhile, Zukerman at Carnegie Hall in 17 days. Score!

Meanwhile, part 2:

My favourite composer (Vivaldi). My favourite violin concerto (A minor). One of my favourite violinists (Itzhak Perlman).

Untitled

I've always loved this one. Heard a version by Mukhtiyar Ali today  - absolutely beautiful.

Hor ki mangnaa main rabb kolon,

Nitt khair mangaa tere dam di.

Nitt khair mangaa soneya ve tere,

Du'a na koi hor mangdi.

What else would I ask of God? I asked for the well-being of your life-breath.

I asked for your well-being, my  love; and not for any other blessing.

I Dream of the Orient

To all of you reading this:

If you truly feel something - whether it's for someone, or for something, for a cause or for anything else - say it. If you're worried about the consequences, don't be. Please, don't be. If you're worried about how it'll work, whether you're in the right frame of mind or stage of life or even financial state for it, don't be. Please, don't be.

Otherwise, one day, all you'll have left is a dream and some emptiness.

Du'a:

That the risk assessment was good and that the returns on the investment never end...

Ain't Nobody Like A Desi Guy...

Title stolen from a wonderful song - Desi Girl - from the film Dostana.



But, ok, back to the post. My friends tell me I'm turning into a Desi guy. Apparently, it's because of my love of whiskey. Come on! If you knew my last name, you'd know I'm Supposed to be a whiskey drinker. It's in our blood! Housemate agrees on that point. Good. Anyway, here's to Desi girls making Desi guys proud (I know at least one who would be...).

Now, back to drinking water. It's detox time. No alcohol, other 'bad' things, and intoxicants for the next few weeks.

Paroles

Sitting at my desk, head down, thinking hurting thinking promising thinking thinking and thinking, listening to Nostalgie and Hugues Aufray says,

"Ne pleure pas, non, ne pleure pas
Nous resterons toujours près de toi"

Counting My Blessings - #1

I learned a lot yesterday.

An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.
Buddha

It's the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter.
Marlene Dietrich

Friends are God's way of apologizing to us for our families.
Unknown

Paris in New York

One of my new favourite passe-temps is drinking a glass of wine, listening to an old school French radio (Nostalgie) that I discovered during a road trip around Europe in 2006 (falling in love with chanteuses like Edith Piaff and Charles Aznavour all over again), and writing.

A nerdy/odd way for a 23-year old to spend Friday evenings. But, hey, if it lets me get my work done, then I'm not complaining.

Tonight's wine was given to us by a friend. Some red that's a bit sour and is already giving me a headache. And I've had less than 1/4 of the glass. Oh cheap wine that sucks - why do people buy you?

Thought du Jour

I have a scar on my forehead, but I'm not Harry Potter.

Afsos.

Dream Texting

Two nights ago was the first time I had a dream about you, and man-o-man what a dream that was! I woke up, at around 7am, freaking out because I had a dream (perhaps a nightmare?) in which I texted you, and then you texted me back with this super weird message.

Because I'm a warrior, and you're a player.

Ya. Weird. I have no idea what I said in my text though. Anyway, so I wake up, frantic that I've put my foot in my mouth (again?) and hunt for my phone. It's where it usually is, on the ledge of my bed, and I grab it, frantically punch in the passcode and hit the little SMS blurb on the top-left corner. I scroll down to your name (a good sign, because iPhones order names by 'most recent'), and read our SMS conversation history without putting on my glasses.

Massive sigh of relief when I realize that it was just a dream. So odd. So So Odd. 

New York, New York

I didn't take many, if any, pictures of this beautiful city last year. This year, I've made it a priority. Picasso comes with me whenever he can, and I shoot away. Seeing the city through Picasso's lens makes it come alive in a way that the hustle and bustle doesn't. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the fact that Picasso lets me, and us, capture a single moment and examine it thoroughly. In a place where a single moment passes by faster than in other places, it's nice to be able to stop it temporarily.

Here are some of my favourites from the past few months. Enjoy.

It's Time I Professed My Love

I can't live without you.

I'd die if you suddenly disappeared.

Your warmth fills me with joy, as does your sweetness.

Oh Chai, never leave me. Pretty please?


Thanks to Ms. V, I've found a spot close to home that makes asal Chai. The real stuff. The one they make on the streets of the Motherland, and that I consumed in glass cups multiple times a day, while there over the Summer. Little Gujrat Deli - you make my life better.

Yes, I'm a F.O.B. But not one of those fresh off the boat. I, my dears, am fresh on the boat.

La Nuit de Legumes

Everything just sounds better in French, non?

Anyway, another post about food is in order. But before I start, a quick note about a friend's wonderful food blog that you can find here.

Right. So today's post is about food, food and more food. That's right. I made three dishes tonight, albeit simple ones. With massive amounts of reading and work to do this semester (more than I had last year), I've been finding new ways to procrastinate. Housekeeping - like cleaning the bathroom - isn't as interesting as it was last year, although I did spend a couple hours yesterday cleaning things (the bathtub, disinfecting the kitchen, organizing things that didn't need to be organized). This year, because of my limited budget and my new-found-pickyness when it comes to what quality of foodstuff I'm putting in my mouth (I've become opposed to the eating out multiple times a week routine. I want to know that the ingredients I'm consuming are of good quality), I've been eating at home a lot. I even come home from school for lunch!

Having eaten a wonderful bagel + Tofutti for lunch today, I wanted to eat dinner at home. I wasn't in the mood for pasta, or rice and couldn't figure out what to make. I looked in the fridge, kept on looking...and then it hit me. I'm a vegetarian! I should eat vegetables!


I've been reading a book by Alice Waters that talks about bringing out the natural tastes of vegetables, so, I thought, why not try? Out came the tomatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, carrots and yukon gold potatoes from the fridge. But what to do with them? Not a soup. I didn't want to put them all into one pan and sautee them. And then I realized that, to bring out their natural flavours, I would have to divide them into families and cook them separately.

The carrots. This one seemed easy at first. I cut them into thin rounds, put some olive oil in the pan, fried some garlic and tossed the carrots in. Added some salt and pepper and started to sautee them. But something was missing. And then I had a brainwave. Balsamic vinegar. That went in, and the carrots started getting a deep orange colour. But there was still something missing when I tasted them. And then I remembered - sugar! So I added some cane sugar and glazed the carrots. Ahh...I devoured them as soon as they came out of the pan and while I was finishing up my other veggies...

Now for the cauliflower and broccoli. Instead of doing something special with them, I just sauteed them in olive oil with some salt and pepper. To give them some more taste, I made a quick tomato salsa - roma tomatoes, salt, pepper, garlic, olive oil, oregano and a touch of a beautiful white Bordeaux that I bought a couple days ago - and cooked it for a little bit.

My favourites were the potatoes though. I have a weakness for anything fried/sauteed and potato-y. Par-boiled them first, cut them up and put them in ice water for a bit to cool them down/get rid of some excess starch. Put them in a pan with some olive oil and coated with zaatar (yummy!!), salt and pepper. Then I ate them with the most amazing hummus ever (I love you Sabra - even if you are owned by colonizers).

All in all. One of the best meals I've had in a while. There's nothing like fresh food. There's nothing like simple food. And, for us veggies who became veggies because we don't like the taste of meat/chicken etcetera...there's nothing like an unadulterated, fresh vegetable.

Thinking of You, On the Rocks

I now have a signature drink. Chivas (or Jack, if Chivas is unavailable) on the rocks. You(#2) were right about the Chivas. You(#1) were right about the whisky.

It's best on the rocks. I'm glad You and You agree.

Ok. Enough sentimentality. Back to work.

I Left You at Nizamuddin

I think about you - often, and more so these days. I think about that endearing smile of yours, part playful, part mischievous, genuine and free. About your sheer confidence and shrewdness, the latter and how it bothered me for days, but which makes me proud of you - in an odd sense of the term. It was your freedom of spirit - the term, so often misused, but apt in your case - that drew me to you, that disengaged all my apprehensions of who you are, of what you are. I still remember the old women, the one that refused to let me capture her face but whose face remains etched in my mind, and her warnings about you. How I shouldn't let you watch me, or talk to me, or help me, how your family's trade would force you to harm me and that I would regret my decisions. But I didn't listen.

I think about you and your friend - yes the other one. The one that followed you around, that hung on your every word, that didn't even talk back at you when you accused him of lying. He was slower than you, not a natural leader like you. Unbelievably sweet, but without that charisma that you possess in excess.

I think about saying bye to you and wandering into the gullies of Nizamuddin. How I didn't expect to see you again, but how you waited for me and came to me and then spoke to me. How could I have not expected it? She had told me you would. But there was a part of me that didn't believe her. That didn't want to believe her. I still remember your high-pitched voice. I still wonder whether you had been trained, or whether it was natural. I remember you tapping on my arm, being disgusted at first, but then other instincts sinking in and wanting to do anything I could for you. Of fearing for your safety, of not wanting to be accosted like that time, 10 years ago, in a distant parking lot, at another sacred place. Of telling you to be quiet and to follow me and to wait, and promising. Of getting into the rickshaw. Of you not believing me. Of seeing the hurt in your eyes. Of telling you to come to the other side of the auto and giving you the note, telling you to use it well and to be safe. Of seeing you stare at the note - in some sort of amazement - of looking up, smiling, and running away. I hope you shared with your friend. I hope you bought food. I hope they didn't take it from you, or hurt you because of it.

I hope you're ok.

I wonder if I'll ever see you again.

Khuda Hafiz Ali,

Didi.

If Only My Thesis Were on Food

G'evening folks! Or, shall I say good night? Once again, I'm up during the wee hours of the night (well, wee-ish given my tendency to stay awake until 3/4am. It's only 1am right now), but this time without a paper deadline in sight - and no, my thesis proposal does not count. In fact, I've spent the past 2 hours procrastinating about my readings on Indira Gandhi and the Emergency by surfing through the wonderfulness that is Amazon. I'm still in the process of designing and decorating my new room, and have a couple walls and wall features that I'd love to accentuate. I've always had this fantasy of drawing on my walls, and I found a wonderful dry-erase decal that would fit perfectly on one.

Anyway. This post is not about my new-found-love-for-decorating. Rather, it is about food. Now that my kitchen is set-up and I have access to my pots and pans and spices and pantry and multiple beautiful knives and can actually eat (I went through a month-long phase during which I could barely eat anything), I've been trying to cook wholesome meals for myself. What, you may ask? Multiple types of frittatas, pasta with fresh tomato and red wine sauce (so yummy!), vegetarian fried rice, multiple types of salads and sandwiches (I found the most delicious za'atar the other day and can't stop using it) and so on. Today was supposed to be potato-vegetable patties with wilted greens and some yoghurt/dijon sauce, but two of my friends decided they wanted to go for dinner so I joined them.

Dinner was fun. The two are great people. But the food was ok. The tomatoes in my salad were pretty bad and the pasta was mediocre. I ordered the white mushroom pappardelle with truffle oil. I figured it would be good. It's a pasta that's hard to get wrong. The pappardelle has to be cooked until al dente, and the mushrooms need to be cut and sauteed. That part was fine, but the truffle oil. Sigh. When will chefs learn that truffle oil is heavy and a little goes a long way as far as taste is concerned? You only need a couple drops of that stuff - not a long drizzle. Anyway, I was pretty full after the salad and only ate a small part of my pasta. Which means that I can mend it tomorrow. The mushrooms and the pasta will stay. Excess oil will get washed down the drain. I'll throw some olive oil into my pan, add the pasta and mushrooms with some salt, maybe get some parsley, and enjoy mushroom pappardelle my way. The potato-veggie patties will just have to wait for Thursday...

Right - perhaps back to my readings, but probably to bed...

Night for now.

A Truce of Sorts

There are days, nay months and years, during which we keep on fighting. And then the day comes, suddenly, when we resign ourselves to our fates. The tears no longer flow and our insides no longer seem to spasm violently with every phrase.

It is at this time that we are our strongest. It is at this time that we are at our worst.

This isn't my battle. It's time you fought your own.

Delhi in 18 Hours - Part 1

I was in Delhi two days ago. Having missed the entire tourist experience when I was in the city 10 years ago, I figured I'd use my 18 hour long stop-over in the city (en route to Amritsar from Lucknow) to take in the sights. Being the Mirza Ghalib fan that I am, I decided that his mazaar, along with Nizamuddin Auliya's dargah and the tomb of Aamir Khusrao were on the top of my list. After a quick breakfast of wonderful sandwiches and cold coffee in Jangpura Extension, a trip to the ever-wonderful and oh-so-NRI Khan Market (where I saw some gorgeous Jamini Roy paintings), I hailed an auto and went to Nizamuddin with a friend.

We went through the narrow alleyways and happened on the Ghalib Academy. I'd been looking for it, but had decided I'd wander around and hope to find it, rather than actually ask someone for directions. We went in and I was immediately shocked with how nonchalant everyone was. It was as if they didn't care at all about Mirza-sahab (which they probably didn't), and were just there to earn some money.

Hue mar ke hum jo rusvaa hue kyon na garq-e-darya,
Na kabhi janaaza uthtaa, na kahin mazaar hota.

Immediately upon entering the Ghalib Academy, I was greeted by a stack of books - arranged helter-skelter of course - on a wide variety of subjects. A book of ghazals by Qateel Shifai caught my eye, and I started going through the book, in the hope of finding the words to a beautiful ghazal sang by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.

Hum apni shaam ko jab nazar-e-jaam karte hain,
Adab se hum ko sitaarein salaam karte hain.

As I was flipping through the book, a random guy came up to me and asked me what I was looking for. I told him that I was looking for a Qateel ghazal. He responded that he had no idea what I was talking about and that I should buy the Kulliat-e-Iqbal. My entire exchange with him weirded me out. He tried forcing me to buy an English translation, to which I responded that I knew Urdu and how to read the language. He either didn't believe me, or really wanted me to buy the English version, and kept on repeating that I should buy it. To which I, in a frustrated manner, responded that I already had the Urdu Kulliat-e-Iqbal and wasn't going to buy the English version. I then demanded to see the other books, and was taken first to the library (which was full of old Muslim men, who stared in shock when a girl walked into the library) and then to the little museum on the top floor.

The museum was interesting enough. There were some curios from Ghalib's lifetime, paintings of famous poets, paintings of Ghalib, some of his letters, stuff like that. It also looked as if it was kept shut most of the time. It was disappointing to say the list. Annoyed, I got out of there as soon as I could, and went looking for his mazaar.

NB: I was in Delhi on the 13/14th of July.

SarZameen-e-Avadh

Lucknow is beautiful - the streets, the people, the air, the light, the food. I think I'm in love with this city already, and it's only been 4 weeks. My housemates and I wandered around and got lost in Chowk this past weekend. It was amazing. Here are some pictures from our wanderings...

The Great Indian Stare

Ever watched Russel Peters? He has this fantastic one about how all Indians, well desis in general, will stop and stare at other desis on the street, as if in amazement that others exist. We, apparently, haven't got it into our heads that there are actually more than a billion of us on this planet. I fall prey to this constantly, and I know for a fact that other desis do this too.

Anyway. I never really understand why we do it. Having only been here for a couple days, I still haven't figured it out. That being said, today I was subjected to the Great Indian Stare multiplied by 300. I was one of the first to get off the last bus heading to our plane. I walked up the stairs, went into the plane and turned right to walk down the aisle, towards my seat. And all I saw were 150 pairs of male eyes staring at me as if I'd just gotten off a UFO. It was unnerving, but all I could think of was Russel and how he would have loved to be in my position. Laughing, well trying to hide my laughter, I headed to my seat and sat down.

In Vino Veritas - Or Something Like That

I'm currently sitting on the seat of the toilet in my bathroom at the Taj Palace Hotel, New Delhi. Random place to sit and blog - I know. Usually, people sit with the lid up, but that's not my style. I'm sitting like this because I called my language program director last night to ask what time we were heading to the airport for our flight to Lucknow and he told me to be in the lobby by 4:45am. So, the insomniac that I am, I went to bed at midnight and was up by 3:15am (although, I had actually wanted to be up at 4:10am). I finished packing, woke up my roommate in the process (who has to leave the hotel at 7am) and opened the door to take my luggage downstairs. For some random reason, which I can no  longer remember (probably to check the time, because I can't read the time on my analog watch), I looked at my phone. There was a text message from Khan-sahab telling me that we were now meeting in the lobby at 6am. I thought about going back to sleep, but given my fear of being late and knowing that all I'd do is toss and turn, I decided to turn on my laptop. I didn't want to wake-up my roommate again, so decided that the quietest place to type from would be the bathroom.

Yesterday was a pretty awesome day. I was up at 5:45am and then HK (my roommate) and I headed down to breakfast at 7am. We had our language orientation right after breakfast and I got to meet a bunch of the people learning Urdu in Lucknow. Afterwards, I came back to the hotel, made a fool of myself in front of the WiFi help desk (I couldn't figure out why my internet wasn't working - turns out I was putting my room number in the last name box and vice-versa), and relaxed until a friend of mine showed up. We went for coffee in the tea place downstairs and I had this absolutely fantastic "Istanbul coffee." I thought it would be thick, like Turkish coffee, but, instead, it had cardamom powder in it. The server was really sweet and, when we were leaving, came up to me to ask how I had liked the coffee. I replied that it was fantastic and that I had loved the cardamom touch. She was ecstatic and was like, 'Ma'am, can I ask you a question? You're Indian right?' I smiled, and said 'yes.' (Sorry Shalimar and Yogi).

Anyway, so after exchanging some money, which was an experience (good) in itself, my friend and I headed to Hauz Khas. It was so cool! I had no idea there was a mini-lake/reservoir in the middle of the city, and was totally amazed by the greenery. We wandered through the ruins and park near Hauz Khas village, saw Tughlaq's tomb (we think...), and then headed back to the village for dinner/drinks. The place we went to was pretty 'funky,' and it totally didn't feel as if I was in Delhi. As I said to my friend, it could have been in the middle of NYC (the Central Park-esque feeling that I got from the reservoir area totally helped). Anyway, so we decided to try out an Indian wine. I had heard pretty good things about Indian wines and neither of us had tried any. I ordered the Zinfandel. I think his was a Cabernet Shiraz. Anyway. Getting to the point. Our wine arrived and I took my first sip, expecting something good. It was disgusting.

The wine was way too warm, was really acidic, and had a horrible taste that was nothing like Zinfandel. I was mad. One thing I hate, apart from bad service (that's what you get when you grow up in a family that's in the hospitality business - high expectations), is bad food/wine (that's what you get when you grow up in a family that is famous in your community for its great cooks). I debated whether or not to call the waiter and snap at him, or to shut up and share my friend's glass of wine, which according to him wasn't that bad (until he got his whiskey - and then he admitted that his wine had been quite crappy as well). I decided to call the waiter...

He arrived. "Yes ma'am?" The poor guy. I told him off in Hindi and told him the wine was horrible and they had no business serving wine if they didn't know how to serve it, and what temperature to serve it at. He responded, "but ma'am, we can't refrigerate the wine." To which I responded that it didn't matter and that they had to store it properly, otherwise it would turn into shit-wine (which it had). Anyway, he talked to his manager, and they agreed to change our drinks. The Kingfisher was much better.

What was great about the entire exchange though was how it all happened in Hindi and how, by the end of it, the guy was convinced that I was a 'native.' Given the ease with which people here can tell that you're not really one of them, I was surprised and delighted.

Hello Motherland – It’s Been A While:

11 June 2010 - 11:19am

It’s the season before the monsoons, and like the lovers of yore I have returned after a ten-year long viraha. It doesn’t seem like I’d ever left. It doesn’t seem as if I’m in a different country. Surprisingly, it feels completely natural: from the lota usage in the morning (although, some things are easier to do with a lota than others – and I’ve never used a lota before this morning), to aunty’s aloo paratha with makhan and chai, to the cold shower, to sitting on the bed in the 35 degree Celsius heat with the fan humming.

Hello Ghaziabad/Delhi.

I arrived at the airport after a 24-hour journey at 1:45am. By the time I got through customs, which took longer than it should have because of my customary post-airplane washroom break, and got my luggage it was 2:40am. I had to wait for a friend to come pick me up, so I sat in the arrivals lounge and wrote in my travel journal. By the way – these posts will be quite different from the journal, for obvious reasons, but will draw from my journal entries as needed. Anyway, my friend showed up at 3am, and after a scare that involved me thinking my suitcase had been stolen, we headed to his house in Ghaziabad. It was a pretty cool journey. Imagine Delhi at 3am, completely quiet except for truckers on the road. I saw this one truck full of small red potatoes, another full of chickens. I’ve never seen a live chicken before. Now I’ve seen hundreds. Poor chickens. They were all squashed up in tiny cages. Their bills, is that what you call them? The flappy thingies. I’ll call them bills – you can see how ignorant I am about poultry – anyway, the bills were this bright red colour. Well, they looked bright red in the hazey darkness.

Once we got to his house, he showed me to the room and I went to sleep – or at least tried to. I started freaking out because I saw a mosquito in the room (more on my mosquito hate/love relationship later). It was also really hot, so he turned on the A/C and the fan. I tried going to sleep, but couldn’t. I can’t sleep in noise, or light, or heat. Looks like I won’t be getting much sleep while I’m here…

Anyway. So after about an hour of trying to sleep with the A/C and fan on, I turned them both off – and woke up, sweating (because I also can’t sleep without a blanket) at 6am. I had to go to the washroom, so I went – and then decided to turn on the fan (even though I have this fear of fans falling on me while I’m asleep – I’m weird. Yes. I know). I went back to sleep and was woken up by my father texting me at 9am and aunty ringing the bell as she did her morning pooja on the landing outside my room. I brushed my teeth, ate aunty’s wonderful aloo parathas with butter and had a really amazing cold shower. Having grown up in V-city, where it’s cold and rarely over 27 degrees Celsius, I’d never experienced the amazing-ness of cold showers in the heat. Oh. They are simply amazing. Culture shock? Not really. Cultural amazement? Yes.

Before I finish up this disjointed and somewhat random post, one last thing. As a Canadian, I have this thing about following ‘the law,’ or ‘the rules.’ We Canadians do it a bit much, I think. But anyway, it’s ingrained in our systems. I was leaving the airport and had some things to declare. I didn’t really want to, because the monetary amount was significantly less than the maximum and because I didn’t feel like dealing with Indian bureaucracy as soon as I had landed (and while I was still semi-groggy from sleeping on the plane). I asked one of the airport ‘officials’ – this really friendly-looking 20-something year old lady- whether I had to actually go through ‘customs’. She looked at me, smiled and sort of laughed. Her answer was fascinating. She said,

Why do you want to trouble yourself? Don’t go through it. If they want to stop you, they’ll stop you. Otherwise, why take the risk of having to deal with them? Just go through the ‘nothing to declare’ line.

It made sense, and Canadian passport in hand, I went through the ‘nothing to declare’ line, handed the official (a lady in one of those khakee saris) my declaration form, saw her put it into the pile without even glancing at it to make sure it had been filled in, and walked through the doors into the arrival lounge.

Juicy, Juicy Mangoes

11 June 2010 - 11:40pm

Today I had my first Indian mango (in India).

That's all

An Indian Summer

As I said in my last post, I'll be blogging - or at least trying to blog - from India. I'm not sure what my internet connection will be like, so I'll be posting multiple entries at the same time. That being said, I'll also write down when I wrote the post - for your sake and mine, of course.

Right. Scroll upwards to read the first one.

Cheers from Delhi,

N

A Thousand Apologies

Idea of a thousand apologies stolen from fantastic British comedy called 'Mind Your Language.'

Anyway. Am moving to India for the Summer and am hellishly busy trying to sort out my life in preparation for the move.

Will be blogging in India, hopefully.

Until then - be well.

Hide Mir - Again!

It's official.


I miss you.


Weird how things happen huh...

RFS - Reminiscings from Selfistan

There's a part of me that loves this constant moving around;
There's a part of me that hates it.
That hates having to say goodbye and not knowing when we'll see each other next.
But that also loves that anticipation of not knowing. Of not knowing who I'll be, who you'll be, who we'll be, what we'll be, where we'll be. That sort of thing.

There's a part of me that misses you - you person, you life, you lifestyle, you dream and dreams - that misses what I had become, what I was becoming, and what I had left behind.

And now that I have found what I had left behind, albeit in a different form, I miss having left it behind and having walked away, maybe run away.

I miss the late nights spent poring over words - my words, your words, our words, his words, her words. Words written. Words spoken. Words hidden. Words open.

I miss the late nights that will remain unremembered. Hidden somewhere beneath the layers of ash, beneath layers of that which is ever-forgiving, ever-haunting, ever-losing. That which intoxicates, toxicates, makes us sing words uttered by God and written by Man, makes us want to reach out and be yours, makes us want to stop and stop and stop until nothing remains.

I miss the late nights spent wide awake, staring. Or listening. Or dreaming. Or screaming.

I miss the last few days, when late nights turned into glorious mornings. And glorious mornings turned into sad afternoons, that turned into relaxing evenings and boisterous nights that turned into glorious sunrises, with a little headache.

And now. I sit here rambling. Uncertain. Of where I stand, or sit.

Waiting for another glorious morning - just like that (almost) penultimate one.

Resigned Laughter

Home.

(Laughs)

I no longer know how to define it.

Who knew 8 months could do this to you.

Yay for Me!

I'm DONE my first year of grad school, and my REQUIRED courses!

All that remains for this degree is to write my thesis and defend it (still going to take courses though, the nerd that I am).

Have some fab extra-curricular things lined up for next year that I'm excited about. Oh. I love this.

Also very emotional right now. Partly because of being done, the move back home for a couple weeks and then to India, people leaving etc etc...

But it's worth it. Oh So Worth It.

It's days like these. The ones that make you work your @$$ off for them, that make it worth living and being and acting.

Now if only I get the other thing I want right now...But. That's not up to me to decide. I guess we wait...

A Housewife During Exams...

It's quite amusing actually. My internal housewife leaps out of its shell when I have exams to study for and papers to write - well, it comes out then, and when I have people over. But, back to the topic before I digress even further. My place is usually clean - a bit messy because of the lack of storage space, but clean nonetheless. I don't like living in dirt, so I make sure I clean up after myself. Also, the one time I left food on the counter, I was visited by a not-so-nice 'roach - it probably came up with my laundry, or through the window that I'd left open when I went to bed, or through the newly-created hole in the bathroom wall where my cabinet had previously hung (it fell onto me - not fun). So, after that incident, I've been doubly careful to make sure everything's in its proper place.

Anyway, but it's quite amusing. During the past week, I've cleaned - nay, scrubbed - my bathroom three times, cleaned dishes that didn't need cleaning, semi-organized my closet, and hand-washed a bathroom rug and jeans that leak colour. I've also been cooking regularly.

I never used to make pilaf, for some reason - but I recently discovered the wonders of making this rice dish. It's probably one of the most versatile and easy dishes to cook. Also, it's great if you have no food in the fridge. I'm leaving the city in a couple days, and haven't bothered to go grocery shopping. The other day, I made a kidney beans/lentils/carrots version. Today, it's rice with a bunch of different spices. There's something amazing about slow cooking the food. Heat up some oil, cook your spices (today: cumin, mustard seeds, cardamom, cinnamon, chilli powder, turmeric, salt), add rice, coat rice with oil/spices, add some hot water, garnish (curry leaves, lemon, ghee) and cover. And then slow cook until the water is absorbed and the rice has cooked. The smell that wafts out is truly amazing.

Mmmm. Looking forward to lunch.

Now. Back to Iqbal and studying for this exam. I'll be DONE with my first year of grad school, and my Required course work in 9 hours!

wow...

And I Can See the Finish Line...

Well, the finish line for this revolution around the track at least...

53 pages worth of papers handed in over 3 days. Two Urdu exams to go!

Paper-Love

I remember the days when I found it difficult to write ten-page papers. Now my introduction is 5 pages, my theoretical framework is at least 5 and I get depressed when I reach page 20 and realize I need to wrap it up...

Kinda really wanna become an academic so I can just write and write...

But I know it's not what I really want to do...

*nerdy sadness*

back to paper-ing

Jelly-Love

Contrary to what the biologists say, jellies have hearts....

I Think I Can - Phase

One 25pg. paper done, another to go. Only problem? It's 3am; I haven't started writing (thanks to my dataset that took a week to make instead of 2 days, and the other 25 pager that took way too long - I spent two days on the introduction, trying to make it perfect), and it's due by 2pm.

Thank god(s) for professors who force you to hand in outlines and do your research in advance.

Wish me luck!

(How I wish I could just go sit in a bar with a glass of wine and stare at the people around me, listening to snippets of conversation, and losing myself in life). Alas! Such is life...

Picasso/Camera Angst

The way he was sitting, the downward tilt of his head, the arm resting lazily on his knee, and the glass tilted in his hand. The lady in black, in the background leaning towards the man beside her; the bottles at the bar glistening softly, framed by the reddish-brown wood of the shelves. The low lighting, a touch of red contrasting subtly with his jacket.

I thought of Picasso, and how I wished he were there. And in a flash, in an instant, in a moment that is too short to describe, he looked up. And the picture was gone.

Faiz-Love. Part 2 is it?

Naseeb aazmaane ke din aa rahe hain. 

Qareeb un ke aane ke din aa rahe hain.

Sabah phir hamein poochhti phir rahi hai. 

Chaman ko sajaane ke din aa rahe hain.

Chalo Faiz, phir se kahin dil lagaayein. 

Sunaa hai thikaane ke din aa rahe hain.

More Grad School Angst

It's been a year, a whole year. I would freak out at the thought, if I weren't so mentally exhausted. Who knew school could take this much out of you? I certainly didn't. I figured that I had worked so much (and I did - 15+ hours per day during my last term of undergrad) previously, that the constant academic work wouldn't be that bad. I was wrong. There's a HUGE difference between working for 15 hours a day on non-academic and academic stuff, and on academic stuff. The latter is much more exhausting, much more trying, and much more damaging to your body.

Case in point: me.

I've lost weight. I'm not complaining about it, but I've lost more in the past few months than ever before, and people are surprised when they see me. My father, ever conscious of how I dress, is infamous for having once told me I need to wear loose-fitting clothing. He was here, as you may recall from a previous post, a couple weeks ago, and told me I looked good in skinny jeans. Ya.

My eyes have gotten worse. I think it's because of the constant reading and typing. I've tried keeping my eyes relaxed, taking breaks etc, but sometimes I feel as if they just want to pop out and hide underneath my bed.

My back is messed up - to the point that I can no longer sit in the wooden chairs at the library. I've been studying at another place, or coming home so I can sit in my good chair. Oh. And the back problems also make it hard to sleep properly.

My sleep schedule. Maybe we shouldn't talk about that. Here's what it looks like. I go to bed at 1am. Am up by 3:45am. Get out of bed. Wander around and force myself to go back to sleep. I wake up at 6am, utterly exhausted, and tell myself to doze for another 30 minutes - at 6:30, I fall asleep and cannot get out of bed - physically and mentally - until 8am. At which point I freak out, jump out of bed, and turn on the stove to make my pot of chai.

My diet. Let's not even go there.

General health overall. I've been sick for the past few weeks and it shows no sign of disappearing. Wonderful. Just Wonderful

Oh and did I mention that I have Gujaratis coming out of my ears? That's the thing. As an undergrad, when you can't find the stats, you don't write the paper. When you're a graduate student, you write the paper because you don't have the stats - and formulate the stats for the paper.

Ok. Enough complaining. Back to work. Gotta take these contact lenses out though before my eyes die on me.

Sigh...J-B was right.

Shockingly True

My Google Horoscope for today:

"You remember easier days in the past and you long for their return. You might experience irrepressible anger when you realize that these times are truly complicated and that a return to simplicity isn't likely. But you need not hold on to your annoyance with the way things are now. Although you may be balancing on a tightrope, you have an opportunity to live the life you dream of; don't let this chance slip by without doing something about it."

Iqbal-Love Part '-?-'

As a thousand prostrations writhe in my forehead of humility, come to me Oh Awaited Reality in the garb of contingency.

And when I finally bowed my head to the ground, I heard a voice rising from the Earth. Your heart worships the idol; what will you get in prayer?

In Conversation - With Myself

I'm not completely satisfied.

Don't think of discarding it Nabz.

But why not? It's not perfect!

Not everything can be perfect.

But why not? It HAS to be perfect.

You can't expect things you have no control over to be perfect.

I have no control over this?

No you don't.

Well then, that's another reason to discard it.

Control Freak.

Sigh. Yes.

You know you don't want to discard it.

Sigh. Yes.

You know you can deal with the imperfection.

I guess.

It's really not that big a deal.

I know.

So why make it a big deal?

Uh. I dunno.

Weirdo.

With pride.

Dreaming of Paradise

Gar firdaus ba-roo-e-zameen ast;
Hameen asto. Hameen asto. Hameen asto.

We fell from Paradise; is it possible to fall into Paradise? A la Spoono and Jibreel, to fall from the Bostan not into Ellowen Deeowen but into Jahangir's Firdaus?

I may just end up falling - hard, fast - into the green depths of Paradise...

And never return.

insha'Allah.


Now Friend, the Beloved has stolen your words
Read Slowly: the plot will unfold in real time.
- Agha Shahid Ali

*UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE GRIN*

I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie. I'm going to see Rushdie.

And the countdown is on!

5 days

Lemons, Straws and Grad School

My father was in town this weekend, less to visit me and more to go to this Indian Classical music concert on Friday. I feel so loved.

Moving on, I think I scared him a bit. I've always been the quiet, thinking type, but have become even more so over the past few months. Grad school will do that to you. The past few weeks have also been mentally tough, so much so that my brain is constantly all over the place. I ran into a friend whilst looking for a lecture room on Friday evening, and ended up talking to him for about 15 minutes (I think. It may have been a shorter or longer period of time. I don't remember). When I ran off to the lecture, having realized that it had (or was supposed to have had) started 20 minutes earlier, I also realized that I'd been extraordinarily scatterbrained throughout our conversation, so much so that I sent him an email apologizing for it once I got home.

Anyway. So Father-Dear and I were having dinner the night before he was heading back to the West Coast. We were waiting for our food to arrive when he asked me why I had been deep in thought for the entire weekend. I looked up and stared at him blankly, as if to ask, 'uh deep in thought? me? no!' He didn't believe me at first, and asked me what I'd been thinking about for the past five minutes. I didn't respond to the question at first. He asked me again. And finally, mustering up some courage (because I was afraid of looking stupid), and putting down the straw for my nimbu-paani (lemon water/soda) that I'd been fiddling with, I said the following.

You see this lemon slice? Well, when it's in your drink, the lemon peel makes one side heavier than the other, which makes piercing the lemon flesh with your straw difficult.

He looked at me as if were insane. I replied, 'Ya. That's what grad school will do to you.'

Mir: I Guess It's His Night Tonight

Mir Taqi Mir:

I've always loved this one, ever since I heard it a couple years ago in Urdu-class. It's fantastic because you can read it in so many different ways.

Ibteda-e-ishq hai, rota hai kya. (?)
Aage aage dekhiye, hota hai kya. (?)

Hide Mir!

Oh my...

What beautiful eyes you have.

I've never seen eyes like yours in my life.

(Mash'Allah)

Perhaps the 'gar firdaus' is correct. Hopefully, insh'Allah, I'll be able to make that decision myself this Summer.

Speaking of Summer. Lucknow for 10 weeks. So excited!

More Rushdie Love

He's coming here AND he's writing the sequel to Haroun and the Sea of Stories (Luka and the Fire of Life) AND writing about his years in hiding after the Fatwa.


More tears of joy and happiness.

Oh Sir Salman. If you ever read this...I'd die of bliss but - thank-you for making my literary world so wonderful.

Pet Peeve

Pet peeve: when you ask a simple, innocent question and the person becomes offended not because of what you said/how you said it, but because of his/her preconceived prejudices towards that question.

And then they make YOU feel guilty.

Hmph. People.

Sigh: A Slow Expulsion of Breath

I won't lie. It's been a hard week. A damn hard week. First there was the craziness of Sunday/Monday/Tuesday. Two-hours of sleep in 48 hours isn't the best way to end your Spring Break - especially after you spent most of the break studying 10hours/day.

Then there was the craziness of Tuesday night, that caused mayhem, confusion, and oodles of nastiness. Add in the lack of sleep and an already-short temper, and you have a recipe for hell.

Wednesday was good. I literally did nothing of merit, apart from saving over $150 at Century 21. And then I went out with friends, met some new friends and walked the 20+ blocks home.

Thursday. Oh Thursday. Should I call it the hardest day of my life? Maybe not. Maybe not yet. It's always hard to deal with things breaking down. Although I've known that the process started a while ago and saw it happen, the extent to which the cracks have appeared is starting to freak me out. I've seen such cracks before. I've seen the consequences of those cracks. I also know that the repercussions of these particular cracks will be huge and that there's very little - how shall I say this - impetus, yes that's the right word, there's very little impetus to mend the cracks. It's almost as if a resignation has set in. The cracks are there. It takes too much to fix them. So I won't. Sad, no?

I'd do the exact opposite. But then again, my way of doing things isn't the same as others. It never has been. I'd try fixing them. I'd put in all my effort into fixing them, even if it required hurting myself in the process. I wouldn't do it for myself. I'd do it for the ones who'd be affected the most.

The Princess and I

Today was a pretty awesome day. It started with me waking up at an appropriate time (read: not too early, not too late), getting dressed and going to the library. I got to read some absolutely wonderful Iqbal and drank the mango juice that I love. Then, 5pm rolled around and I grabbed my books, bag and coffee, hailed a cab, and went to the Asia Society.

Now, if you know me, or have read RFS thoroughly, you'll know that a lot of my work focusses on Hindu Nationalism. I'm in the process of determining my thesis topic, but it'll focus on a specific aspect of the phenomenon during the time of Partition. So, when I found out that the BJP's (a Hindu nationalist/fundamentalist political party) ex-Minister for External Affairs/Defence/Finance was going to be speaking at the Asia Society on his book on Muhammad Ali Jinnah, I jumped with excitement. I'd always liked Jaswant Singh the most from all the BJP politicians, and was excited to hear him live.

There was a book signing after the event and I stood in line with my book (that I'd purchased when it had come out, unlike almost everyone there who'd just bought it that evening). When it was my turn, I gave the lady behind me my camera and asked her to take a picture of Mr. Singh and me. I went up to the ex-Minister and told him I was working on Hindu nationalism during Partition. He smiled, pointed at the book as if to say - well, read this then, and asked me what my name was. The lady didn't get the picture (don't trust old women with an iPhone!) but it's ok.

All excited, I left the building and went to hail a cab. No-one would stop. Finally, this black cab stopped. He asked me where I was going, and I told him. He told me he was going that way and to get in. I asked him how much, and he said - for you, nothing. I got a bit creeped out and refused. Then he said, I'm serious. I'm going to see my girl and I'll drop you off on the way. But if you want, you can pay me for gas. Anyway. I figured, why not? And got in.

We started talking. His name was Jerry. Jerry told me that he was a driver for a Saudi princess, and that he'd just finished work and was heading home. He then proceeded to tell me that he worked 12hour shifts for a black cab company, earned at least $1000 a day (not including tips) and once got paid $800 for going to the Hamptons and back to get a CEO's sneakers that he'd forgotten at home. He also told me that I was sitting in the spot that the Saudi princess sat in usually.

Anyway, so Jerry dropped me home and I asked him how much the gas had cost, to which he turned around, looked at me and laughed. He said, hey don't worry about it. It's my good deed of the day. It was late and you were alone. Here's my number and if you ever need a black cab, let me know.

I said thank-you, asked him to give my regards to the Princess and to have a great evening, and went home exhilarated at having just had a pretty sweet evening. Jaswant Singh and a great conversation with a nice person.

Only in NYC folks, only in NYC.

Things Fall Apart?

Chinua Achebe is wrong. Things don't fall apart. We let them fall apart, through inaction, through waiting on the other party to fix it, through not understanding the issues, through letting our egos get in the way, through not understanding that our lives are ours and that we have the capacity to make it, break it, be it, do it, lose it, gain it, accomplish it, ruin it, love it, hate it, better it, worsen it, understand it, not understand it, pretend to understand it, not pretend to understand it, take the high ground, sit on the low ground, blame others, not blame ourselves, remain silent, be vocal...and everything else that we can do and not do.

I don't get it. I really don't. You can't hide things; you never can. People are always going to see it whether you want them to or not. And even if they're not connected to the people, they're still going to see it. It comes across. In the way you don't talk. In the way you don't act.

People forget that inaction is also action.

Praying, or hoping, that the day doesn't come on which we curse ourselves for our act of inaction. Iqbal was right. We die when we stop acting. And from our deaths arise a myriad of others, who will eventually take our place among the dead.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death

Ratrau part 3

And, once again, I am discovering my love for the night. This city is never quiet, but apart from the rain spattering against my window, my neighbours talking and giggling, and my hands typing away at a paper that's due in a couple hours, I can't hear anything. Oh the fridge. It's humming, as usual.

I haven't slept much these past few days, thanks to my hyperactive brain that's been contemplating issues of Hindi and Hindu nationalism for the past week. I have a mini-war going on in my head between the forces of secularism and hate. Well, actually, it's not as Manichean as that - as I try to argue in this paper I'm writing, which, I think, will turn out to be the most fascinating I've ever written (iA, of course). It's on a Highly Contentious Subject and could fail dramatically - but those papers make the best ones. And my Professor has promised me that if I write it well, he'll help me get it published. Oh - that would be so awesome. *dreams for a short while*

Anyway, I'm basically arguing against everything everyone of note has said about the forces of Hindu nationalism, while not going over the edge and joining the Hindutva apologentsia (yes, I just coined that word thank-you-very-much). But then again, given my fascination with Hindutva, the fact that I'm finally arguing something that cuts them some slack, should not come as a surprise. But see, I'm actually arguing against them as well - so it's not really that contentious after all. But it's still contentious enough to cause fireworks.

Oooh.

Back to the paper, which is much more eloquent than this post ever will be.

Praise the Lord

Rushdie's coming

I think I'm going to cry with joy

A Little Thing Called Faith

I get spoken to randomly on the street. Sometimes it creeps me out - actually, most of the time it creeps me out. I guess I'm not used to the attention, or whatever you want to call it, from random people. Back at home, people would smile, pet your dog (not that I had one), or just say mornin', but here it's different. Here, people try to have conversations - but not necessarily conversations that I want to have.

I was in a good mood today. I think it was the sunshine. I like sunshine. Having grown up in a city that is perpetually cloudy and rainy, being able to bask in warm, unadulterated, yellowness makes me sort of giddy with joy. So I was in a really good mood today. I even called home as I was walking to the library (something I rarely do - I usually call at night) and spoke to my parents for a while.

Point of this post. There are some people who creep you out, and then there are the others who stop you and say 'God bless you.'

I got that twice today. First from a guy I bought a kid's book from (rainbow fish anyone?), who looked at me with amusement as I gushed with glee at having seen a book from my childhood sitting in a bucket on the street, and rushed to look through it. And second from some guy walking along the street as I headed home after a night with friends.

People are good. People are nice.

And yes, Shalimar. Laugh as much as you like, I still have faith in Humanity.

(I dunno if this post makes any sense. It does in my brain...)

Best Job Ever?

One that offers opportunities even after it's over; that isn't limited by the job description or the job's location. That offers potential benefits even two years after handing in the last assignment.

It could be wonderful.

Or it could be tragic.

Wait and watch I guess.

Updates later...

Thought du Jour

I haven't written much of note in the past little while. As you may have noticed, if you've been reading RFS for long enough, my rate of blogging varies considerably. At times, I'll blog multiple times in a week; at others, I won't blog for weeks. Then there are those times, during which I'll blog about issues that seem not only inconsequential, but also unimportant. Emphasis on seem.

I guess, I haven't been doing much thinking outside of the world of academia these days. It's not that I don't have significant issues to deal with, I do, but I just haven't been inspired to actually think them through in a manner that's conducive to writing on RFS. Let's just say that a lot of what is going through my head, and my life, is stuff I want to keep out of the realm of RFS. That being said, if I'm able to write about them in a way that is cryptic (i.e. complex and odd) enough to not be completely understood by those involved in the various issues of my life (censorship - yes), then I may post about them here. Candy dreams, is one such post.

Today, I had a bit of a thought explosion. It was quite grand - or seemed grand in my head, at least. I realized the following. Take what you may from it. It started off while I was thinking about the number of languages I know, and how I'm not actually completely fluent in all of them (which is a shame), and how my fantastic Urdu professor once told the class that, apart from those in extraordinary circumstances, multilingual people will never be truly fluent in any of their known-languages as one who only knows a single language. Oh polylingualism...sigh.

And then the thought expanded to my multiculturality -and this issue of identity that I've always grappled with.

Anyway - so at the end of the thought process, this is what emerged.

In my multiplicity is my nonexistence...

Candy Dreams

I had a dream about you the other night. In it, you saw that I was upset at you and decided to make amends. So you bought me candy. Lots of candy. Different types of candy, including Cherry Blasters and Fuzzy Peaches and those green gummies that sort of look like flat apples. You showed me the candy and I got all excited, and then you sat in your chair - that looks exactly like my chair - in your house that's across the street from my other home here, swivelled your chair around so I could only see your profile (which is nicer than your face front-on by the way - I want to photograph you properly), and proceeded to eat all the candy.

I still don't understand if you're rude or just confused. For your sake, I hope it's the latter...