if you REALLY want to blog, there won't be a laptop in sight.
indian restaurants WILL sell you chai "to go!" as if they were starbucks, virushini.
if you loved a song years ago, but the moment wasn't right, the moment will eventually be...right.
anonymity encourages the worst in people.
when cuddly four-year olds sit in your lap it's sweetness incarnate; when they do so while wearing a miniature lengha and flowers in their hair, it feeds your soul.
there are no such things as indian values. there are only good values.
when you stop swimming against the tide of the great ocean known as life, you float. perfectly.
there is no point in remembering tragedy, the poor decisions you've made or failure. no point at ALL. every second you waste on that shit eats in to your time for smiling beatifically right NOW.
indian grocery stores 'mell yummy.
if you feeeeel like leavin'...well i'm not gonna make you stay. b/c soooooon you'll be findin'....you can run, you can hide, but you can't escape my lowe.
traffic on 80 west increases in direct proportion to how fucked you're going to be b/c you are late.
a DG, by her very definition will find heaven on...sea with an erstwhile member of the Sailing team.
red civics are faster.
except when they are on 80 west, running late. also, that "shortcut via the berkeley marina"? pah. it's SLOWER.
save it until you're married. yeah, you fucking read right. read it carefully, before you flame.
when you are craving ladoo, the mithai shop will only have the kind you DON'T like in stock. this is not terrible though. this is the universe saying, "fuck you, you fat-ass. eat something cruciferous."
As far as G-d is concerned, every single day is christmas, and he's santa motherfucking claus. this means he's just HOPING to lace you with gifts, aka opportunities, friends, fortune, love. you were not aware of this. there there, minnow. 'tis okay. as of today, merry christmas.
the dining room of your first apt will likely suck. no matter. gaze at its unexpected reflection in your unplugged 25" TV and it will look like le cirque.
MINDFULNESS! i'm serious!
the south beach diet works. i will have to hogtie my inertia and post about it, for Rach, Eileen Perfume and Viru. sigh. "hogtie my inertia..."
when you're at an indian party, and an uncle asks, "beta...what is it that YOU do?" the scorn factor is decimated if you reply in a serene, sweet and devastatingly confident manner. wearing an outfit that hema malini would sport don't hurt your cause none, neither.
kill your cynicism, and for two seconds, remember how magically possible everything was when YOU were the lengha-clad four-year old in some grateful adult's lap.
oh, and wear flowers in your hair. whether four or forty.
babies will come to you even more eagerly if you smell like sandalwood, roses and coriander. fuck, who wouldn't.
if you once called someone your best friend, unless they fucked your spouse or your parent or did something similarly heinous...eviscerate your pride, reach out and say, "i love you, come back. never ever leave." then feel grateful that they don't even expect or need an apology, or an excruciating analysis of what went down...
google ads will NOT make you rich, or even pay the monthly costs of your blogs and flog, despite what you've been told. sigh.
you can never have enough younger people in your hierarchy to call you "akka", "chechi" or "didi". NEVER.
when the right boy comes along, you will quietly put down your issue of "the knot", forget the number to vera wang's boutique and shrug at the option of arriving at your st. patrick's cathedral wedding in a 1935 Duesenberg J-model coupe. you'll murmur heretical, dangerous, seditious and utterly delicious words like...vegas, elope and...gavin newsom. you'll also laugh a tinkly laugh re: your engagement porsche. he was about to buy it and that's all you needed, as you informed him that no, it actually wasn't necessary. a test was passed with flying colours...who made you G-d over Abraham, asking for Isaac's blood?
fingers are a miracle; they type, make salads fun and they are THE BEST tools for applying makeup, ever. oh and they communicate VERY effectively.
engineers are the only class of people who don't have to write well. anna loves ya, babies. the rest of you motherfucking slackers best use some spell check.
if you feed a six-month old baby named meruka sugar-sweetened yogurt as her first solid food, you'll never forget it.
religion is maya.
laugh at the haters; they say you "aren't indian", "don't seem indian enough", are "a poor example of indian CULTURE" even as you fast for your future husband on fridays, live in your saris, thrill to tagore's words, dream of the house in kottayam your daddy was buying and decide that you shall never utter your spouse's first name, once married. you don't consider any of those things "very indian" they're just you. but these bile-drenched, life-free, pathetic, only-fuck-they'll-ever-get-comes-from-a-hitachi-magic-wand- motherfuckers would be so shocked at the aforementioned list, they'd stop feeling the hum in their abandoned twats.
oh yes, to all my fans and haters that like their hitachis...it's not like there's anything WRONG with that. ;)
i just couldn't resist the wisual.
the erstwhile interns who still keep in touch with you glow in your heart like stars embroidered in the pallu of the Goddess Night Sky. when life gets chilly, do what she does, and wrap that precious decoration about your shoulders, to steal their warmth.
water tastes better coming out of glasses that have a slightly blue-ish tinge.
everything on university ave in berkeley is OVER-PRICED by 70% minimum.
a girl's footsteps become depressed when they are denied the grace of chiming payal.
sprint picture mail really is a minor miracle; better than the adverts make it seem, even.
yes that is my ass, no, my mama ain't half-reindeer.
i am the luckiest girl EVER.
this blog is the reason why i am sitting on this new couch, in this new apt in pleasanton, with this new friend.
biryani tastes BETTER the second day. 'specially and 'pacifically when there's NO ONIONS in it.
patience can solve way more problems with your parents than you ever thought.
when you save every wish you get, from whenever your odometer reads "X,000", when you try a brand new food, when you spot a careening star, when you blow out your bday candles...when you save ALL those wishes, and you wish for your daddy, sometimes, your wish comes true.
you can make a tripod out of ANYTHING, even an upended kleenex box.
text messages have the power to stop your heart. send accordingly.
when you meet someone who works at Albertson's, and you exclaim, "i love shopping there!", you inadvertently make their exhausted, defeated day.
you can easily blow $20 at 7-11: mounds, kitkat, sourpunch straws, sour starburst, push-up sherbet, pudina kulfi, tollhouse chocolate chip ice cream sandwich, spicier nacho doritos, extra hot salsa, flaming hot limon cheetos, sour cream...
either tamil food is NOT SPICY ENOUGH or today's caterers should be sued. no pickle? say WHAT?
virushini and joyce deal with more of my bullshit inattention and preoccupied dope-iness than any other friends i curse with my presence.
butch-short hair does NOT work with saris. ugh.
all indian functions are the same: small brown pinballs careening about adults, daring them to spill coffee, food or both...an overly self-congratulatory association president or event coord...barely edible food...women dressed to stress...egregious numbers o' mercedes in the parking lot...dandled babies that actually get the love and attention that ALL babies deserve...nosey aunties...interrogating uncles...and that one gorgeous girl who's all of thirteen, in the corner, THINKING that she's awkward and weird while she slowly, methodically takes every breath away.
no, i was NEVER that girl. so fuck you before you flame.
if i don't like the spelling of your name, "virushiny", i just may change it, especially after you give me permission to do so, and you roll your eyes at my gleefulness after such good news.
sri lankan tamil sounds SO MUCH like malayalam it's astounding; madrasi tamil never did, i realised...as i answered everyone back in malayalam, to their satisfaction and information.
there is always an 8-year old little girl wearing socks and tevas with her salwar kameez. two decades from now she'll work somewhere in the valley, river raft and otherwise kick your ass. trust me.
always tell your parents you love them, when you're getting off the phone with them. daddy, i'm so sorry.
try not to judge the pregnant lady who makes soo-soo, walks out of the stall towards the sink, splashes water on her fingers as if she's paying for it by the bloody drop, nods pleasantly at the soap with a "maybe next time!" vibe and then goes for the doorknob... *shudder*
even little hindu and muslim kids love the easter bunny, and hunting for chocolate-packed plastic easter eggs.
ALWAYS have your digital with you, for aforementioned preciousness...for G-d's sake, buy SMALL.
fotolog.net will be on the PC of the slacker whose boss will bust him, and aforementioned boss will surf it later, find himself enchanted with an upside down girl in a jeep, leave a comment...which leads to an email...which leads to a mobile number exchange...which leads to AIM...which leads to trinket-purchasing all over the world during a holiday trip...which leads to an arbitrary IRL meetup in union square...which leads to love at first sight, exactly eight days ago.
having said that, fotolog.net is the BEST five dollars you can EVER SPEND.
the murakami bag by louis vuitton looks GREAT w/indian rags.
yes virushini, you CAN wear stiletto heels ALL DAY from berkeley to pleasanton to fremont to newark...
your hair really does look better w/no product in it.
i hope my babies have the regal cheekbones of their kashmiri dadi...
if your sister doesn't approve of your man, fuck him. he's a bama anyway. she's your BLOOD.
calling your mom so that she doesn't worry isn't a sign of immaturity or an absence of independence...it's just the right thing to do.
the tinier the nose stud, the better.
the movie "13 going on 30" is excruciatingly adorable.
you can wake up feeling like a punjabi Hindu bride, attend a tamil new year's fete with sri lankan Muslims and remain a Malayalee from one of the most ancient Christian families ever, all the while. this, little minnows, means that we are all the SAME. yes, today the lines blurred in to meaninglessness. the lines are there for and because of you. not us.
jamba juice is HEAVEN on a hot day.
always ask the girl who rings you up how her day was.
wedding lenghas come in green? wt...?
never, ever take any of it for granted, and don't wish for things lightly. say thank you profusely and stay present constantly. try smiling instead of looking impassive. remember to thank G-d in heaven for his grace and fantastic gifts. do the right thing. breathe. live. now, sleep.