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Archive for the ‘P’ Category

Weight issues

October 14, 2008 Leave a comment

How weird that the one thing on my mind at.all.times. these days is my weight. Who’d’ve thunk?

I’m at 160+ lbs. Yup. From ~90 about 24 months ago. A size 14 from an 8 in November ’07. Sigh!

Categories: appearance, diary, P

Social butterflies, us

November 4, 2007 Leave a comment

We’ve been very busy lately. Not with work or anything, but socially. This is rare times; and it may seem long but it’s only been so for a week. For instance, this is what we’ve done and are going to do:

  • Met up with a new couple for a post-dinner chocolathon Saturday.
  • Watched a couple movies and cleaned up the house Saturday & Sunday.
  • Walked in and out of a birthday dinner Tuesday.
  • Celebrated Halloween Wednesday and went out for another movie.
  • Met two kids – another couple – and hung out socially with them for the first time – Thursday for dinner.
  • Caught up with relatives – a couple – Friday (I cooked). We were supposed to go dancing, but that never happened.
  • Met a single friend – one who’s always travelling – for lunch today (I cooked).
  • Watched two movies today – we did our usual thing of going in with one ticket and walking into another screen. I love this country!
  • I’m also off to watch a famous Telugu play being performed/read tomorrow and I’m really really looking forward to it.

Also, P & I are officially ready and competent to have children. Why, you ask? Well, I had a splinter in my foot which was painful and bleeding yesterday. And with a pin and a pair of tweezers and deep breathing and strategizing, we got it out. Yay!!!

Categories: diary, general, P

Depression

September 12, 2007 Leave a comment

Apparently depression is more dangerous than Diabetes, Asthma and Arthritis.

So I should be worried. More worried, in fact, than I was all of last year, when the whole illness thing was upon me (oh, yes, I was ill, and for some six whole months – we made acquaintance with many varied members of the medical community in this city). It had been nice then to talk about random symptoms to doctors who couldn’t for the life of them figure out what was wrong with me, and I reveled in the attention. To re-live it, I had:

  • A continuous low-grade fever (which I attributed to missing P on his long Canada trip)
  • Weight loss (I went from 140 lb to 95 lb; I celebrated so much, of course, at P’s cousin’s wedding when my darling women-in-law went literally green. Weight issues are so critical to them)
  • Night sweats (I remember throwing off the sheets in Dublin and sleeping near-naked next to a snoring P and two other semi-patient strangers)
  • Day chills (when I would load myself up with more sweaters and jackets than the average TV mom would demand of her ‘beta’; and of course with all that we couldn’t really walk around much except go eat lunch at a vegetarian-friendly place, which almost always turned out to be Indian- or Indian-influenced).
  • Fatigue. This last was embarrassing, and I could only think about my grandmom. When my granddad and she go out, she routinely walks some 10 steps behind him, and not out of respect for her husband, but because he simply refuses to walk slower and she cannot walk faster. She decided at 15 that she was going to be ill most of her life, and has suffered one illness after another till this day.

I remember times last year when going to the next-door Publix was a long, well-planned ‘evening out’ and I’d come back exhausted. I remember not seeing the car P bought for three days because I couldn’t get up and walk out the front door. I remember days when P left home for work in the mornings and found me exactly in the same place when he came back, not having moved all day, not even for food or water. I remember him loading the Container Store nightstand (one of our first purchases) with a fruit, water, a tic-tac and a book. I remember always leaving the book untouched because I was too tired to read.

So, that was fun; at least it wasn’t Lymphoma. But to get to the point, all that is not totally in the past. In the last few months, I’ve relieved the same existence. And not out of physical fatigue – no, I drive, I walk, I talk loudly, and I do have energy when needed. But other days, like this past week, I’ve stayed in bed – all day, every day. I don’t eat because I don’t feel hungry, I don’t talk to anyone, I do not go out for days on end. And I feel guilty, useless – considering I’m burdened with the paradox of being a fiercely feministic housewife, my life’s strings are all neatly tied up.

So when I read the news article about depression, I took a few of the 3 zillion depression-self-tests. Guess what, I passed (or failed, depending upon how each one was framed) each one of them – I’m clinically depressed. You gotta love this century, they have a name for everything. That does really make it easier to bear.

I’m going and getting St.John’s Wart tomorrow.

Categories: diary, family, food, general, health, P

So…

May 20, 2007 Leave a comment

So the cleaning lady had come over yesterday before I flew down to meet P early today morning. And her husband’s a handyman who helped me hang pictures and stuff.
I tell P about all this in great detail, and he half-listens, “Yesterday who came? The hanging man and the clinging lady?”.
I give up.

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But he was the cutest with his formal shirt and lovely H&M pjs, ruffled hair & always-upturned toes. I woke him up on reaching here. Apparently he’s forgotten all his t-shirts.
Aaaah, we had a nice little reunion of our own. Today’s the day of reunions.

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So we slept like little babies after the conf call, arm in arm, hugging fiercely on the bed. And P woke up to find his cell phone clock an hour behind. How’d that happen? Wrong direction?
Wrong feng shui, he says. Time kharaab hai – his time is bad.
Atrocious, what three days’ apart from your wife make you.

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I remembered last night bfore sleeping how P keeps making fun of me rolling my eyes when I’m upset. And he does consider me a godess. This Godess rolls the doe-eyes; as opposed to God rolling the dice.
Gotta love Einstein.

Categories: diary, general, humor, P

What do you fight about?

November 2, 2006 Leave a comment

Most relationships have a ‘flashpoint’ – something that causes arguments; ones in which the same script is played over and over. Apparently the most common flashpoints are family (in-laws) and money.

While we do have those, P & I, we go all crazy over saying “sorry”. Often the ending of a fight is a bigger one, more acrimonious. We’d figured out in our first year in Mumbai that our resonance pattern was ‘small fight-big fight-big emotional makeup-eerie uncomfortable togetherness-small flashpoint & big fight-small fight-small fight’. So similar to seismic & geodesic tensions.

Why did we need the small fights to, in effect, get over a big one? At that time, it was unresolved issues. We’d often just conclude a big, emotionally-fraught argument with an ‘okay, but we love each other and we’ll just forget the stupid thing and move on’. Always a mistake. Because we were both communicators & needed to talk out the issue, resolve it, not just bury it in some quickly-dug-up sand.Now, the same pattern seems to be re-emerging. But it isn’t the lack of communication. Or maybe it is just that we talk so much and our talk is not of enough substance.
Now, mostly our fights are about the last fight and who apologized first or didn’t. Classic ego-issues? Or is it the need to just let out the emotional tension of the last eruption?

Categories: diary, general, P

An Algerian named Karim

March 30, 2006 Leave a comment

This is a piece I’d promised a long while ago, to myself and to P. In return for the lovely Europe vacation.

So I was asleep, comfortable, a little part of me freezing (my toes that were outside the sheet), a little part of me very warm (my left side that was too close to the radiator). It wasn’t a radiator, actually, for it didn’t radiate. It just heated, and very ferociously, but the heat didn’t spread itself too far away into the room. I wasn’t able to figure out whether I could legitimately blame the radiator for that, or the heat, or the lazy air molecules that, even with the extra heat energy, didn’t bother themselves to move too much. They wouldn’t’ve discovered America. Hell, they wouldn’t’ve discovered the 10e arrondissement.

Yes, for I was in Paris, sleeping, dreaming, in a 16th century building with cardboard walls.

And suddenly there were noises in the room. P had returned. High time it was, too. I scratched ‘down there’ for a bit, trying to get various parts of me warmed up, to get enough energy to admonish him (not yell, that is always Stage III). And opened my eyes to a very long face. No, not a sad P. But a white, long face. With hair on it. And very curious eyes that were staring at me quite openly. Moi, j’ai sauté vers le haut. Who was this?

Long face: Bonjour, moi obewe wefjwefh sjbwd jsdguwgdw….

Me: WHAT? Who are you?

Long face (with a lovely sing-song accent): O, sorrwe, you aire Einglis! I am cleaning your chambre, if you don’t mind (head bowed down, continues as if nothing’s really odd).

Me (suddenly stopping the scratching as I realize I’m embarrassing him): But how did you get the keys?

Long-face: Where are you from?

He’s about 22, 23. Turns out he’s Algerian, called Karim. He has a big burn bruise on his hand, but it’s a perfectly shaped circle, like it was branded (just an accident with a round thing would be more likely to burn his skin asymmetrically, wouldn’t it?). He’s fascinated to see me, look at me, and I can see the misty-eyes already spinning fantasies in his heed about this exotic Indian girl (“oi, but you aire so a long far from youir ‘ome!”). Wish he could at least wait until I couldn’t see the ‘cleaner with hotel guest’ fantasy so plainly in his face! But that’s the Europeans for you, and Simone de Beauvoir dares to talk about the ‘abysmal state of women in the East’ – I’ve been more recognized solely by my sex in France than in India (barring Delhi, of course).

P’s gone out to call his mum, and hasn’t returned in an aeon. I can’t see him in the phone booth downstairs across the road, even when I dare to stand in the cold, windy balcony long enough. Karim’s eyes mist over; full of pity when I answer that the door is locked from the outside by my husband, who has the keys (I didn’t want to be woken up). His fantasy now is even richer as he thinks of himself as the cleaning slave who will rescue the pretty, dark Eastern princess (not ‘pretty dark’, but ‘pretty, dark’) from her cruel husband who locks her up by day. He even dares to openly show shock at the fact that my husband has the keys (Poor P!! I could laugh out loud at his consternation if he heard of this).

Of course, P returns some fifteen minutes later and we do have the hearty laugh about this. The downstairs phone booth wasn’t working and he’d had to trudge a long way to find a working telephone (but it’d worked last night when I’d called Pune!). Of course, I realize the true story only much later (he was buying me a ring).

The whole story made a lot more sense when I’d finished Andalus – Jason Webster’s story of Moors and Algerians in Europe (Spain, actually). There was good reason for Karim to think of himself as a slave. And maybe the burn was a brand, after all.

Categories: diary, humor, P, race, travel

Gloria Steinam

March 25, 2006 Leave a comment

Saved in drafts from Q1 2006:
My new resurgence of feminism’s happened only because of my marriage. It isn’t anything new, the whole world and all women have been through this, but everyone of us needs to learn it afresh.

Here, Elisabeth Bumiller quotes Gloria Steinem on the important ‘radicalizing’ changes in a woman’s life:

‘The first is when she enters the labor force and discovers that men, by and large, still control th workplace. The second is when she marries and learsn that marriage is not yet a completely equal partenrship. The thrid is when she has children and finds out who is [sic] the principal child-rearer. And the fourth is when she ages, which still involves greater penalties for women than for men’.

Steinem says “As students women are probably treated with more equality than we ever will be again. The school is only too glad to get the tutions we pay”.

Categories: diary, feminism, feminists, P, pride