Dad's Home Alone - part 1

Do you remember when you were younger, and mom used to say 'your dad was once on a 6 months trip from work, and I managed it single-handedly' you thought - 'Oh! poor thing! Six months is a long time. How did she manage?'

Yeah...and you never asked dad about his story, did you? Tell you what, I am living dad's side of the story these days. I am living alone for some time - my wife and daughter are off to India for an extended vacation

Naturally, the worst part of living alone starts when you come home. There's always that smell of emptyness in the apartment. You know the one I am talking about? The kind that you get when you first moved in the apartment

Another change you notice is the voice messages. Since your wife and kid are gone, your voice message reduce to only one-third of what they used to be. And we all used to get about 2 message per day. That leaves me with only (do the math) 0.66 message per day

Next comes the laundry! Ish!! Its amazing how soon you run out of clean clothes when you're alone. I mean if anything you should be able to hold out your clean clothes for longer, since there are less people around you now. Especially the ones that like to hug you and drool all over you. Ahem! I meant the baby, of course

One thing that surprisingly doesn't change is the amount of dishes you have to do. No matter how many people live in a house, the dishes are bound to get dirty at the same rate. You look at them and ask yourself: "Are there ghosts cooking at home when I am not home?". Because there's actually not that much food around - so, there's got to be a parallel party going on when you are not home

Another thing about living alone is that your life is no longer consistent. Things come as some sort of spurts to you. A lot of ups and downs:

For instance, there would be days or weeks straight when you'd not clean your bathroom, or leave your shoes on the dining table or just walk out of your clothes when you come home and (thankfully) get into them right before leaving

But there will be these occasional 'cleaning-spurts' when you want to clean everything in the house. You'll even notice the slightest stain on the coffee-table or dust on the TV screen. I even find myself wiping the the cushions on the sofa and turning them upside down. Even the thinnest piece of hair in the bathroom catches my eye and I suck it up (in the vacuum cleaner that is)

Or, 'cooking-spurts' when you'd suddenly feel like renouncing the regular-crust pizza and breakfast buffet in the neigborhood place, and feel a strong urge to cook a full 3 course meal for lunch and that too from scratch. 'Scratch' by the way is the most disturbing used word in this context. I mean, think of the first humanly act that comes to your mind when you think 'scratch' and then people brag about how they made meals from it!

Nevertheless, I have had incidents when I made tomato-soup, pakoda-curry with rice and chilled rice-pudding all from scratch! These by the way, are things I didn't even know how to spell before!

The funniest was the 'ironing spurt' when I caught up in the idea that I haven't ironed my clothes in a long time and I actually steam-pressed all cottons and silks from my wardrobe. 'Silk' here refers to the finest underwear, of course - a topic that's worth another post - more on which later

So, here I go on with my single-husband-single-dad oddyssey these days and I'll keep you posted with my findings, my friends

as always, Yours Truly

Hussle bussle - 'desi' style

There are so many things we Indians find different when we first come to US. And I am sure this would be true for any other country alike. And I am talking about the cultural experiences more than anything else (like shopping for free stuff, for example)

Why Smile, when you can frown?
First, these nice people smile at you on an eye contact. When I came here first, I was single and not engaged - and I used to think every other girl that crossed me at work smiling had a crush on me! Boy, it always took me a real close look in the mirror to get over that idea.

We Indians don't smile. Period. I mean, to us it's just an extra gesture - even for people we know - let alone strangers. There, you frown at strangers. And at close friends, you frown harder!

Even here in US, walking in a mall, if I accidentally catch eyes with an Indian (specially girl) and smile - boy, I am gone! I get the looks as if she saw me sniff my own toe-nail...and then lick it!

The week(never)ends
And who could miss the good ol' "have a nice weekends". We don't do that in India. For very simple reasons - firstly most likely you're going to work on the weekend. If you're not chances are the other person is. So the risks of mentioning a 'good weekend' become tremendous, so its not worthwhile..

Secondly, even if you're home in the weekend - you're not likely to take your bum out of the house anyway. Most of us, back home like to sleep the weekend away. You can clearly see a contrast in the parking-lots outside apartment complexes in India - they're jam packed on a Sunday afternoon - unless of course its a festival season and then the roads look like a big parking-lot.

Elevator 'dings'
How can you miss the elevator talk? We Indians just don't have any topics to bring up in elevators. We just count the dings as the doors open and stare at each other's.... shoes!

If there's a non-Indian in the elevator with a bunch of us, we just try to start a conversation with:

"So, did you have your lunch?"

"No, just going to"

"Where, to the Subway?"

(ding)

"No, Quizzno's may be.."

"Oh, Ok! I go there every Friday.."

(ding)
(ding)

Public Shnublic
The biggest gap in the cultures doesn't show up until you go out in a public place and see a bunch of Indians 'behave' with others.

We never give-way! If there's a square-foot of visible land while walking in public, or standing in a line, we ought to claim it in the name of humanity. Window-seats in the bus is a jackpot! We claim it as soon as we're on

We don't even mind stepping over a few toes in order to take a picture of Niagara Falls.

The anti-gravity around the elevators

I believe the elevators have a magical power that makes people act smart when they're around. I see real smart people everyday..

Some real punctual ones, in order to reach somewhere in time, come running to a closing elevator and try to stick a limb in the doors. As if saying "here, could you take half of me to my floor, please? I'll stick the other half in the next elevator"

I guess that makes sense. Why else do you think most of our body parts come in pairs? I mean its just a hand! A hand can't be more important than saving 2 minutes in reaching your desk, so that you can get the first brew from the coffee-machine.

Just the other day, a gentleman came running and stuck his leg in the doors. Fortunately the doors gave way and he hopped in. Said to me smiling: "Some people think that's rude, but I think that works". "Rude?" I thought, "that's suicide, dude!"

I remember seeing a lady who ended up stuck outside for an hour with her hand inside. The only thing she felt sorry about was she couldn't drink the Pepsi she was holding in the hand (aha!)

Some real smart ones can actually talk to the elevators. Why else, would they not press an 'up' or a 'down' button, while waiting for an elevator? They probably just whisper "come down" on the doors, and...just wait!

And when some low-life does press the 'up' button and the elevator finally arrives, the smart ones don't press their floor. Remember, they can actually 'talk' to the machine? And what if it doesn't stop at their floor, who minds a free ride of the building?

And what's the fun riding-in quitely? If you do have a company, the smart thing to do is just pick up a random talk. Start with:

"..and did you see the kind of mails he sends?"

"heck! I ain't seen my inbox in days"

..and then both start laughing. The other dumb-ones on the elevator never get the joke, and keep thinking "damn! why couldn't I talk about such smart things?"

Long live the "Prescription Hunters"

It drives me crazy how some people remember the names of their medicines

I mean except for a couple like Aspirin and Tylenol (yes, just a couple), I don't know what use it is for us to remember names like Cyclobenzaprine and Hydrochlorothiazide (which by the way, is the 3,4-dihydro derivative of chlorothiazide!)

Now, I know consumer-awareness helps, but there's a difference between telling nylon apart from cottons and knowing the chemical formula of the synthetics used in your underwear.

I've had some of these *experts* ask what my doctor gave me for pain relief...I don't know! Its a bottle of white pills, and it says I need to take one after each meal; twice-a-day. Isn't that enough to get better?

It's not that knowing the name of the medicine gives you an upper hand when you're seeing the doctor - may be he can't fool you this time, huh? Remember last time when he tricked you by writing a pain-killer instead of cough-syrup?

Or may be I would just feel smarter if I knew that the analgesic pill I am gulping twice a day is actually acetylsalicylic acid. Come on, people, that's the stuff those doctors pay to learn in medical school

It's Chemistry, for Godssake.

Remember Chemistry? Remember those spiritless boring lectures that you'd rather sleep than to listen to those middle-aged pot-bellied teachers? Remember those border-line "pass" results, that used to come more as a relief of never having to open those Chemistry books, than an achievment?

It's not meant for us high-life technocrats. Oops! Did I just hurt some feelings here? Well, to all my Chemistry-student friends, I am just trying to highlight your achievements here. We all know and appreciate the effort you put toward the society, so that people like me can forget my medicine's name, hoping the guy at the drug-store knew what he's doing

So, next time someone asks you what medicine you're taking, you should ask him "what med-school did you go to?"

(wait a minute! I almost forgot the white pill today..)

The 'selfless' sucker

Ever wondered what would happen if a vacuum sucked itself? I got this idea while cleaning my vacuum one day with its own hose! It was dirty for some time and I didn't want to wipe that 'stuff' with a paper.

So, imagine turning the hose back to one of the ends of the vacuum and turning the 'sucker' on, full blow..after pulling on the dirt on the plastic body, the hose might suck those loose screws in. Then it might break apart a few plastic peices and swallow them (gulp)

Within seconds, one end of your vacuum will be gone in the bag. Then the hose might turn to the upper part, where you hold the vacuum. The slim handle will give in easy, but the bulky body might resist for a while - 'til it starts coming down into smaller peices and feed the hose with itself.

Now comes the bag! Filled with all your 'droppings' that are found in the corners of the couch, or in the edges of your carpet - every Sunday, or after a night-long party. Stuff like - popcorn peices, bread crumbs and hair - to name a few! All the leftovers from your bodily and mental 'karma'

All fall in line to be chewed by the mighty hose. One by one - lump by lump! The bag is gone! All that's left now is the hose itself. The 3 ft long sword that we usually fight with every weekend.

The hose turns to itself from the other end, and chews itself into peices. Oh dear spring-like hose! Spare yourself for cleanniness-sake. But no, the hose is as determined today as on any of those weekends - sucking what comes in her way until she reaches her own mouth. Looking at herself from a perspective - as a serene watcher...what an insight she has.

And she never gives up, but gives in to her craving - in the end, sucking herself empty...so empty.....

Wife: Honey, are you done with the cleaning?
Me: Oops!