'Gainst My Window...I Can't Stand The Rain

I feel like all I've done in the last few days is eat and study and get rained on. Which is kind of accurate. It's kind of cool hanging out in the computer room at the PGI library, where people in white coats and stethoscope necklaces swim in and out. And when I get my bag checked as I leave the library now, I think the old librarian dude recognizes me. It's like my Lamont away from home (yaddadasayin tho, where my Harvard peeps at?)

But when it rains here, it pours. You think you hear white noise and then realize it's just raining outside, like movie rain for hours on end. As I was leaving the library one day, I realized that it was raining really hard. I had an umbrella on me though, so I was like, no sweat. But as I was opening my umbrella it, well, sort of...basically it broke in half. "Oh God!" I said rather loudly as I struggled to put the two halves back together. Caught up in trying to bring my umbrella (ella ella eh eh eh) back to life, I soon realized that I was ankle-deep in water. Not fun. I had my jeans rolled up and all, but my favorite silver flats were basically soaked in muddy water. The exit out of the parking lot was basically flooded. I saw a couple of guys trying to get out another way, so I followed them, tore-up-from-the-floor-up umbrella in hand. Squish squish I went through the soaking grass. Alas, the other exit was flooded as well. Rickshaw drivers proved to be the heros of the day, pulling up rickshaws to the sides of the road so people could get out unscathed. I got onto a rickshaw alright, but didn't stay on for long because there was no way I could go from Sector 12, where PGI is located, all the way back to Sector 44B, home, (Chandigarh is a totally planned city, constructed as a grid of sectors) unless I really felt like chilling in the rain for another hour.

So I tried to find an auto. This is quite possibly the most difficult and aggravating task I have to accomplish on a daily basis. I recognized one of the auto drivers and went over to him. Face scrunched up because of the rain, I said I needed to go to 44B. He shook his head no. "No?" No, he repeated. "Why not? You took me the other day." "Because it's raining." "Then where are you going to go?" "Home." And then he proceeded to chill there for a while longer. I rolled my eyes and cussed a little under my breath. Seriously, homie? No shit it's raining. That's why I need an auto. Why the fuck are you still standing here if you're not looking for business?! Ain't nobody stopping you from going home.

Once I got home, I took a nap to make myself feel better. When I awoke, I saw that the rain had stopped. Apparently the nap had really worked, because I jumped out of bed and decided to wander out to Sector 17, the shopping sector. I was home alone because my mom had gone to get Moneek from the airport, and I was feeling adventurous. Or maybe I just wanted to prove that I could brave the drivers and the weather and the Sector 17 shopkeepers myself. Fine, I admit I called for an air-conditioned taxi, but I braved the rest. Newly purchased Indian suits in hand, I went to all the little jewelry shops I could find, determined to find perfectly matching earrings for each outfit, because you know that's how I do. Much success! ...Except for the random fact that at one point this bird was trying to eat my foot or something. Seriously. There I am looking into a store window and I feel something on my foot, and look down to find a bird hanging out on it. So random, haha. Once that ordeal was over, I proceeded to ball out, wiggling my way through crowds, bargaining my way through the sector. I have to give the salesmen a lot of credit too, though. When I was unsure about a pair of earrings, they would have me come behind the counter where there was a full-length mirror, encouraging me to try the earrings on and helping me hold up the kameez of my suit. "Bohot acha match, Madam. Very good. Ek dam fit." I felt rather accomplished, even if the rain had owned me earlier. I even remembered to pick up a couple of balloons for the little kiddos I live with at home. Yay.

And if you didn't already get it, the title of this entry is a Missy Elliott reference. "The Rain". Quite a funky and revolutionary song, I recommend.

Thank You!

...for reading. I love all your comments, emails, gchats, and facebook wall posts. Maybe you all are just really bored, but I really appreciate you taking the time to to reach out and keep yourself updated on my life and admire your patience to read my rambling. I have some really awesome friends. =) xo n

What You Think This Is, A Game? This Ain't No Game! (Part 2)

Oftentimes, research sucks. Or for me it has way too many highs and lows. I've found only a handful of interviewees who open up, and I still don't know if I have enough material to write a thesis. It's hard tracking people down, explaining the point of the study, following up with them, and communicating in the mixed form of Hindi/English/Punjabi that I speak here. I mean I've met a lot of really nice people who have welcomed me into their lives and their homes, and their families are usually really happy to meet me and know that their daughters have someone to talk to and share their stories with. But while being an outlet is a great skill and also a great gift, I think, it is also challenging because it gets personal for both people. Immediately after interviews I find myself satisfied that I have had the opportunity to connect with another human being in such an intimate and rare manner, happy that we have both perhaps undergone some healing, and that I may be a living example of rising above a lot of issues that may worry them. But given a few moments to reflect upon the interviews, I find that I am often upset, overwhelmed by people's need to pray for me, recommend treatments, ask about how it is in the U.S., show types of curiosity and concern that I just find bothersome most of the time. Maybe it is my privilege that allows me to brush certain social issues aside more easily, that fuels the anger and annoyance that I feel so strongly but others don't dare to feel. I think it would be condescending and judgmental to classify the difference as enlightenment. But the fact of the matter is that the difference exists, it's a tough pill to swallow, and I find myself choking.

The Fashion Issue

This is the fashion issue. All about style, trends, and shopping in C-Garh. First you have two major categories: Western wear and Ethnic (who the fuck came up with this name, I hate this word) wear. When it comes to Western wear, errybody and they mama wears jeans, it doesn't matter that it's 100 degrees outside. And when I go into bougie shops, I've noticed that they tend to have skinny jeans in stock...

...Which is the bridge to what's hot right now as far as Indian suits (aka salwar kameez aka tops & bottoms) go. You have churidar pajamas, which are the skinny jeans of salwars. Tight, well-fitted, gathering nicely at the ankles. These go well with sleeveless kurti tops, which are super popular right now whether long (down to the knees) or short (waist-length). Patiala salwars are traditional hella Punjabi big MC Hammer type salwars, which are also common, but I myself lean toward churidars. Traditional kameezes/kurtis have many great qualities, I've noticed. They can be worn with almost any type of salwar and can totally be worn with jeans when you want to switch things up (and totally cover up any ass crack that may be peeking out if you happened to go with riskay extra low-rise jeans, haha).

Unfortunately, I'm trying to blend in here, and people (read: guys) already stare a ridiculous amount (seriously, do they have nothing better to do but loiter and stare? why is that okay? girls wouldn't be able to get away with it), and I feel like it cramps my style. Or at least, I would be much more creative with my style here if it would attract less attention. Leggings and churidars can be interchanged for fusion outfits with long kurtis or the longer tops, be they tight- or loose-fitting, that are in style in the States. Chunnis (traditional long scarves) can be worn in a variety of ways too, not just across the neck, but around the neck the other way, more like scarves, or not at all, if that's acceptable. There are also a million different accessory options. Cute, closed flats can be worn not just with jeans, but suits too. Sandals, of which there are a wide variety- V-shaped straps, back straps, straps or beads around the big toe- can be worn with jeans too, and not just suits. As far as earrings go, simple hoops or long, beaded, dangly earrings can work. As far as bags, clutches or big bags in metallic colors would complement almost any type of outfit.

Finding the right clothing is pretty tough. Half the battle is finding something that is sophisticated and not overly gaudy. The other half is learning how to deal with pushy salesmen. I've been in dozens of stores, and have bought barely a handful of outfits. I'm rather unimpressed with what C-garh has to offer in terms of suits (salwar + kameez) and lenghas (skirts and short tops). Suits are either way too simple, overly floral (I never want to see floral prints ever again my life), or come in big, funky shapes and sizes. Lenghas tend to be way too over-the-top (when this one salesdude was showing my mom and I some hella fancy lenghas, my mom was like, if my daughter wears this, what's the bride supposed to wear? Good one, mom!), come in the most hideous colors imaginable (lime green, loud magenta, fart yellow), and try way too hard to be modern when it comes to the tops (I'm down with switching things up, but corset lenghas are not okay). Most of the ones I've tried on make me look like the Little Mermaid. Do I look like my name is Ariel?

Worse than one's own disappointment is dealing with the disappointment of the salesmen. "You don't like any of these? You're only going to buy two suits? I thought we were going to make more money out of you." What really pisses me off is when they think they know more than me, or have better taste than me. "Madam, this is fresh piece, one of a kind. People buy these right off the manican. Madam, of course the lenghas are going to be a little heavy, a little fancy. This is what everyone is wearing these days."

Trying stuff on is a whole other process. I don't know who told the salespeople it was alright for them to be all up in my fitting room. I open the door a crack to have my mom come look at an outfit, and somebody sticks their head in. "Maam, how is it? Maam, we can do alterations! Maam, should I pack it for you?!" I'm half-naked, please get off my grille and let me show my mom the outfit. At first I tried being polite, but soon I gave up. I know you can do alterations. I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to my mom. Be patient. I don't care what you think, I know what I like, so please keep your opinions to yourself.

It's great that they alter your outfits for you, it really is. Nothing would fit me otherwise. But for some reason there's a tendency to make stuff really tight around the bust, with stuff big and funky at the hips. Homie don't play that. "Maam, this is the style." No, it isn't. If that was the style, I wouldn't have bought the outfit in the first place. Why am I even talking to you? Call the tailor. I've learned by now that they never get it right the first time, and trying stuff on has become a daily workout. One also has to be weary of sketchy tailors who "accidentally" graze your butt while taking your measurements while your mom isn't looking. The bust measurement is awkward enough.

Shoe shopping is a whole other ball game. It's quite exciting. Some of the guys are very charming. They have you sit down, basically put the shoes on for you (this still makes me a little bit uncomfortable- I can put the shoes on myself, they really needn't serve me so much), and have options B, C, and D lined up in case you don't like the first. When you like something and ask for a size, they should out a style and a number to the guy upstairs (no, not God, the guy who runs the stockroom), who proceeds to shout orders back and throw boxes down from a hole in the ceiling to the guy on the ladder, who tosses it to your salesman, who slips it onto your foot. Guys yelling, boxes flying...it's a fun experience.

When I find the right outfit, with the right accessories, it's a high like no other. After long days of studying and research, I admit I'm a total sucker for retail therapy.

What You Think This Is, A Game? This Ain't No Game!

I knew research would be intense, but I didn’t know it would be this intense. Age, personal experience, language (even if rusty at best)- these all allow me to delve deep into my interviewee’s lives, allowing them to communicate with their mouths and not just their skin. But the more I get to know, the more their families opens up, the more personal it gets, the more I feel sucked in, involuntarily at times, and find it hard to distance myself. It presents me with hurdles I have worked hard to overcome, places I don’t necessarily want to revisit. Doctors are often told not too get involved in their patients’ personal lives. I didn’t see myself as the Izzy Stevens type, but it’s a fine line. As if the physical exhaustion of trekking out in the scorching heat or thundering rain, and dealing with cultural differences and abrasive auto drivers weren’t enough, the research I do is emotionally taxing.

show, tell

stop, stare

spotting, spreading

lapsing, relapsing

show, tell

stop, stare

no knowing, no hiding

no biding, no confiding

don't want to show, tell

why do they stop, stare

no more trying, stop hiding

white. out.