Carolime Time

most of the time, i;ve looked at her with envy. i blow her off in a fit of spite, while admiring her from the corner of my eye. she’s everything i;ve wanted to be she’s everything im not. she does all the things i wish i could do, says all the things i’ve been unable to put into words. She has me rapt not with love or affection but with shock and jealousy. i used to hate her cause i was nothing like her for she was everythoing i wished i could be. the way she looked at the sky, the way her footsteps made a sound, the way she walked with direction, making heads turn from all corners and in all angles. the first time i saw her, i watched her. she watched me, too. we looked at each other knowing that we could either be the best of friends or the worst of enemies. she was my greatest competition at my prime, but i soon fell to the wayside, her longing spectator never asking for the time of day from her, i lost track of my schedule and soon lived by hers.
i’ve seen her grow, and even when she fell, her bruises made her beautiful. in fact she came out stronger, and i faltered in her shadow. i have taken from her and i’ll admit this…i need her. she has thickened my quest for survival, birthed and hardened my fearlessness and brought me back to life after being pronounced dead on arrival. i live for the day that she will notice me and learn from me.  till then, she is the force that lies behind my meager efforts at existence.

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God, I miss writing for the love of it. I never make the time these days, not even to write to myself. And when I do write to myself, they’re mangled indulgences text messaged to myself, often observations, regularly my internal conflicts. I am not emotionally nor mentally numbed, no, but I channel it… Read the rest of this entry »

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As some of you may’ve heard, I was interviewed by Dan Delmar Friday night on CJAD radio, in Montreal. I love the guy, we go way back to j-school days at Concordia University, studying journalism. I mean, we are very different from each other in many ways but I think ultimately we share a strong friendship. Read the rest of this entry »

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I have learned to love a man. The hard way. Born beside, inside, I wore his clothes and bore his bruises. I followed his rules and knew my role. Played a different game, trained my voice not to be the same, I crossed my legs when told and appeared warm when cold. I stayed fragile. Protected my bones and lowered my voice. Squealed in fear and left the bugs to crawl. I wanted to dig my fingers into the soft, muted ground, feel the dirt in my nails, wash my hands and find a trace of brown in the pathways of my palms. I wanted to wrestle in the basement, be thrown onto the hard, cemented floor and rise with all my anger. I watched from behind a hard plastic window as you triumphed, I sipped hot chocolate in your midst, I glowered in your shadow. I raced home with the girls and watched children at play from my window. I have learned to love a man. Twirled the frocks of dolls, tightened my belt. Held my shoulders up, perked my chest out. Fluffed my dresses, blended colour into my skin, put their arms around me and smiled uneasily, uncomfortably, unsurely, awkwardly, with nothing to say, I stood and pulled his arm around my neck until his hand dropped on my flat, untilled breast. I was mortified. Beyond belief, I went forward. I shed your scabs and came out clean. I bought tight pants and put away the loose jeans. My clothing clung to my waist and I folded my arms across my chest, tucked my hands into my pockets, hunched my shoulders till I showed. I looked at them all and I liked them all because I liked none of them, I could never choose one because to me, they were none. Instead I peered secretly at the ones that walked in late, I stole stares at their hair and looked for them when they weren’t there. I thought I just admired them for what I wasn’t, and watched them for what I could be. I definitely became it all. I have learned to love a man. I have chosen one that takes a long time to get ready, loves to dress up, puts more time into his hair than me. One whose voice is high pitched, giggles, lets me cradle him in my arms. I love a man.

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my struggle to live beyond the 4 walls of an office begin here. stifled and uninspired, i awaited my departure from the environment, anticipating the day i would get laid off or come across my dream spot (or gold-bearing partner, whichever came first that would emancipate me from the 9 to 5 shackles).

it’s not that i wanted to stop working, but that i wanted to be the sole decider of how my time would be spent.

freelance options

i think it’s quite difficult to live a freelance life. one must be wholly dedicated, hardworking, proactive, and disciplined.  one friend suggested i use facebook as my source of networking and take articles and work from those on my friends list. truthfully, that site has been absolutely useless to me, no matter how much i tried to use it as a networking tool. i had 700 friends, and i got no jobs, just a lot of welcome, warm responses to my writing and a lot of ‘friends’.

i also considered jumping from contract to contract. that would be awesome, actually. spend 3mos writing articles on the investment and financial worlds, another 6mos working as a communications assistant at the film festival, all while freelance writing along the way and working as a performer, as i please..this would be a good life for me. there’s also Nasco, a staffing company for events and entertainment, and Creative Niche, a staffing company for arts and creative careers.

i look at jobs regularly and some are fantastic…

–note–i didn’t finish this post until recently. before i could really dive into the freelance life, i came upon another 9 to 5 opportunity that struck my fancy. luckily, it’s a contract internship with a leading digital force.

learning on the side

on that note, i think it’s always important to build on our abilities when the chance arises. be it a course, workshop, or internship, it all adds up. of course, we have to make money along the way..i saved up a chunk from my past work, and am now draining that. my spending has also decreased a lot…not so much a fine diner these days! and those fruity drinks at Toronto’s Blowfish Restaurant aren’t meeting my lips..sigh..

i’ll keep you updated on the rest..

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Listing the concerts I’ve attended..I can’t offer a synopsis or recollections of all, as some have faded..but I can note the ones that stood out most. Those with stars beside them mean I have something to say for that event. So stay tuned!

Alanis Morrissette (1996, Toronto) w. OLP

~at the tender age of 11, I was hoisted onto my father’s shoulders to sing along to Alanis’  honest and often crass lyrics. I recall energy and anger onstage, and hearing my first vocation to music. She was an excellent role model for young women, not afraid of voicing her opinions or screaming in order to be heard. I loved the way she swept the stage. My Alanis days were such that I’d spend hours in my bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to words I sometimes didn’t understand (a la “You Oughta Know”..go down on you in a theatre?! huh?) and other times felt all-too-well (a la “Forgiven”) It was at this show that I first saw Our Lady Peace perform, as well as the Wild Strawberries. I remember being impressed with OLP, pre-Clumsy, mid-Naveed.

Edgefest 98 (1998, Toronto)

~ though Edgefest these days barely makes a dent in my music-going plans, this show was THE initiation into Canadian music coolness, for me. I remember the suspense being high, and waiting outside at 6am to enter the show because we were so excited. Honestly, we were first in line and chatting with security. I mean, not only was it the biggest summer music festival in the GTA, but it actually had cool bands–like I Mother Earth (Edwin era), Greenday (the first album I ever bought with my own money–tape, of course), Moist, Matthew Good, etc. At the time, these were all very important bands to me. And hey, I might not think all of them are cool these days, but I think I was on a good start for a 13yr old! It’s funny how sometimes you go to these huge festivals and your radar totally misses one of the opening bands, only to find yourself obsessing about them a few years, nay, months later. This happened in the case of Edgefest, and even the above-mentioned show re: OLP. At Edgefest, I didn’t pay any attention to Sloan and in the aftermath have come to respect them as a tried, tested and true source of good Canadian music that doesn’t go stale. I’ve still never been to a Sloan show. Anyway, I remember the crowning moment of the night was not when Billie Joe Armstrong mooned us (I have a vague recollection of this moment, in fact, it may not have ever taken place) but when Edwin from IME sang David Bowies  “I’m Afraid of Americans.”

It’s too bad his stuff wasn’t so great post-IME, or maybe post-2000. I also am not fond of Greenday’s post-2000 music–I can’t stand the song “Time of your Life.” Other reasons this show did NOT stay on my mind is because I was not a fan of Bif (ew), Creed and Tea Party (at time time). It seems recent Edgefest sohws have been hit and miss, with some excellent bands like Metric, Stone Temple Pilot and Hot Hot Heat mixed with other less-than stellar groups like Billy Talent and Simple Plan.

Christina Aguilera (1999, Toronto)*** I’ll admit she has a great voice, we had fab seats (7th row ACC) cause my aunt hooked us up for free

Our Lady Peace (1999) It took me awhile to like OLP after Naveed. I thought it was too clean, too pretty. But after this show, I had to admit they are talented. Raine Maida is quite the crooner, and I think their music itself will appeal to just about anyone–from the rock-loving sort to the soothing alternative ballad. In later years, I grew very fond of the song he did with his wife Chantal, “Can’t Make it Good.” They harmonize really beautifully on this song, and it’s a bit eerie the sort of darkness the song induces. Using some sort of old record player recording effect, it sounds like it was taped in a vine-covered Victorian mansion way out in the country. I always found the lyrics to OLP’s poetry-like, story-telling music very enthralling. I used to sit there with their album lyrics and listen while reading, making up my own meaning to the words. The show was good but it was long ago. Free tickets again, score:)

No Doubt (1999 or 1997, Toronto)*** Gwen Stefani was super cool at the time, jumping on top of speakers, holding the mic out for all of us to jump in, doing everything a young girl wants to do but not getting in trouble for it. Platinum blond hair, outrageous red pants and cherry lipstick, she made the show. The Tragic Kingdom album was something for all of us going through puberty, as I think she herself was quite young when writing the album. It was like reading Seventeen magazine. She wrote honest, confessional songs about drummer Tony and her infatuation with him, she talked about beating the system with “Just a Girl”..these were all very motivational for the young soul.

Warped Tour (1998 or 1999, Toronto)

Silverchair, Foo Fighters (2000?, toronto)

Blink 182 (2000?, toronto)

Tori Amos (2003, August, Toronto)***

Common, Jean Grae (2003, September, Montreal)***

The Dears (2003-2004ish, Montreal)***

Nelly Furtado (2004, Summer, Toronto)

Curiosa Festival (2004, August, Toronto)***

Interpol (2005?, Club Soda?, Montreal)

Finger Eleven (2005, September, Montreal)***

Think About Life (2006, Summer, Toronto Harbourfront)***

The Stills (2006, Summer, Toronto—twice—once at Mod Club, another time we performed on the same stage!)***

Socalled (2006? 2007? February, Montreal)***

DJ Carl Cox (2006ish, Montreal, Stereo)***Held in Montreal’s legendary dance club, Stereo, this was off the hook for all the revved up dancers. Some were, of course, on drugs. But others were just high on this DJs hard, edgy take on up and coming house music.

DJ David Guetta (2008, March, Toronto)***I recall having one drink at this event, held at Toronto’s least favourite venue, Circa, yet dancing unstoppably. Considered one of the world’s best DJs , Guetta made a LOT of waves throughout 2007 and 2008. He times his entrances and exits well, and the crowds love him.

Jamie Lidell (2008, June, Toronto)***

Nomadic Massive (2008, June, Montreal)***Alright, I saw Nomadic Massive randomly in the summer of 2008. It was a delicious night, the streets were crowded for the Montreal Jazz Festival, but there was something going on in hidden folds of the Les Saints, at St. Catherine and St. Laurent.

Rock the Bells: Immortal Technique, Mos Def, Cool Kids, Nas, Dead Prez, 9^th wonder (2008, August, NYC)***

DJ Kaskade (2008, August, Toronto, boat cruise)***

Virgin Festival (Moby, Oasis, Yoav) (2008, September, Toronto Island)***

DJ David Dresden (2008, October, Circa, Toronto)***

~A good friend got us hooked up with line bypass and comps for this show (thanks Rubeel!!) at Circa. Truthfully, I had ulterior motives for planning this night out—I wanted to pass some of my music by Dresden, of former Gabriel & Dresden fame. I was quite speechless the first time I heard “Tracking Treasure”, a masterpiece in electronic house history if you ask me, and was convinced I could be the next Molly Bancroft on one of their albums. Of course, the now-defunct Gabriel & Dresden is not producing anything together these days, except for some side projects that I can’t seem to gather info on. Anyway, I got to the party and my whole goal was to pass on my demo. Along the way, I hit up the dancefloor, which was spinning with heavy beats. Dresden only went solo about 6months ago, in May of this year.  To be completed  

Chromeo, Jamie Lidell (2008, October, Toronto, MUZIK—Red Bull Presentation)***

~A deep respect for the versatile Jamie Lidell led me to a last minute decision one Thursday evening to watch this truly talented individual for a second time. Set in Muzik Nightclub, this was an unlikely show.

Traditionally, the venue is reserved for the likes of pretentious party airs, would-be debutantes and bottle service a la top 40 weekend clubbing. I was pleased to hear the show would take place here, though, as it actually is one of the more physically beautiful venues in the city. High, domed ceilings and tastefully decorated spaces meant a very trendy, sexy atmosphere.

I wouldn’t have expected Jamie Lidell to be paired with Chromeo, otherwise spokespersons for hipster whims. I find Jamie Lidell to be a purist musically, even with his use of electronic samples and a looper delay pedal. Of course, you will soon realize I have an affinity for any artist that uses a looper delay pedal. Lidell effectively creates a sound onstage, using his DJ’d mélanges of beatboxed layers and orally constructed sound. I obviously love this artist. He did seem a little uncomfortable in this venue, especially compared to his more intimate, less glitzy show at the Opera House just 4 months before in Toronto, where I believe he really shone. Read above for my recollections on that performance. This is not a bad venue for performers, but I do think Muzik should be reserved for a certain style of musician. Fellow artists like [chilli] Gonzales and Peaches would do well in performing at Muzik, as they are less vocally based and Lidell’s latest album is far more soulful and R&B-centered than some of his electronic ventures and electronic partners in crime.

As for Chromeo, to be honest, I was not at all moved by their music and never have been able to listen to a whole album straight…however, I had fun dancing and they have a bit of an iconic presence onstage. They had sunglasses at night, and the whole shebang…they were fun, and so was the crowd I was rolling with.  

Feist (2008, November, Toronto, ACC)

~after listening to this woman non-stop for months on end, sometimes playing on repeat the same song (usually ‘intuition’ or ‘let it die’ or ‘limit to your love’ or..really, i could name every song), i procured tickets to her concert. ok, truthfully, my ex bought them for my birthday and we considered getting back together just for that night due to the excess of coupledom at this show. Feist’s performance was the sort where you’d need a shoulder to lean on. ACC only used half the arena, which made the setting a lot more intimate than expected.

With extremely dimmed lighting, I almost didn’t know anyone was beside me till I reached out and needed someone beside me. It was not a dramatic performance, but I think given the poetic  deference proffered by Feist’s lyrics, a delicious silence was created in the otherwise huge and hollow stadium. Her voice is like whipped cream, the real kind, cool and refreshing and enjoyed by the spoonful in private and when no one’s watching. So dark in that room, no one would catch a downpour of tears.

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I was sitting at the corner of Queen and Yonge today waiting for Mutton to meet me for dinner..it was rush hour, everyone was leaving work and I was reading the paper on a bench. Truthfully, I couldn’t concentrate, as there were too many fashionable clacking heels passing amidst the streetcars and out-of-place bicycles. I need to take notes on what’s in! Not to mention I was wearing sunglasses and I’ve not grown accustomed to the accessory, let alone a dark shadow on my print.

For those who aren’t familiar with this hood, it’s a bit of a crossroads. Walk a little north, and you hit Toronto’s attempt at Times Square–Dundas Square, where flashing lights and fountains run the show. This is also where the main downtown mall is situated, the Eaton Centre.
Take a stroll a bit south, and you’ll hit the financial district, where Blackberrys and speed-walking mark the territory. You’ll also cross paths with some young lawyers and old ones that will swallow you with their eyes.
East and west are a little trendier, but haven’t formed enough of a consistent identity for me to comment on, or rather, are in such transition these days that labels such as ‘vintage’, ‘boho’, and ‘yuppy’ would not suffice.

I noticed these two women stop beside me. One was in her mid 50s and the other was in her 20s probably. They didn’t look at me, even though I was yakking away on my phone about all the hot suits that work in my building. Not that my conversations are so important they should eavesdrop, but I was sitting right beside them. They didn’t really talk to each other, and I figured they were taking a rest from shopping, or working. I went on with my mundane chatter, and a friend I hadn’t seen in about 3years happened to recognize me, even incognito in sunglasses and prep wear.

The friend and I reunited, chatting for a short bit about what we’d been up to and how our lives are progressing. We were distracted, with him noticeably pacing at the thought of his departing train and myself, wondering where the hell Mutton was and when I’d be eating.

As D turned to leave, I glanced to my right and saw that these two women were sitting cross-legged at the core of the city, with eyes closed and fingers poised, pressed together in the direction of the sky. I was stunned. I hadn’t even noticed them. Their expressions were blank, but full. They were withdrawn, but present. I am convinced they were in a space so quiet that no one could wake them until the time was right. Theirs was a peace I don’t envy, but would rather achieve, master, and recreate.

Mind you, theirs wasn’t the attention-grabbing religious activist sort of prayer. It was private, not shy but natural.

If two people can sit with traffic blaring,
honking,
lights,
cell phones,
smog,
talking,
screeching,
laughing,
the brush of bodies on the street,
the groan of trucks and transit system
under their feet…

Then there is little we can denounce in faith of the purest kind, and sincerity of the most congested mind.

I was stilled. Quiet, so quiet I wouldn’t dare speak in their presence. I had to walk away to exhale, and I had to lower my voice to a hush as I told my boyfriend what I’d just witnessed and not been able to take part in. In fact, I couldn’t even tell him the details as I was afraid of breaking the spell. I didn’t watch them, I only saw them.

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I’ve transferred a lot of my writing to a public blog.

Maybe this isn’t the best way to begin a new venture, but I figure I’ll lay my cards out from the start.

I’ve been writing blogs for years, hah, on those network sites most of the time for friends, and also on some official writing-only sites.

Now, however, I’ve ventured into this whole new territory of self-managed and terrifyingly public domains. It’s like New York City, but sharper skyscrapers.

There are a few points that have drawn me to this big bad blogging thing.

1. I am very involved in web industries (I will not specify to what extent for privacy reasons) and recognize the market potential in such a pastime, especially in light of my contact circle.

2. I write regardless of whether it’s public or private, paid or not. I will write till my eyes bleed and my hands writhe in arthritic fever, even from a box with blank walls. Those walls will be remarkable..

3. I have finally been wooed by the freedom of blogs. I cannot deal so much with corporate news. I read it, but with a grain of salt.

In all fairness, there are even corporate independents that I must not forget. I also take everything they write in their blogs with a grain of salt.

These are the multitude of writers who, when looked at closely, follow unethical practices. Hell, even from a distance, it’s obvious.

I will not name names…I really wouldn’t want to advertise them further…but they’re making a lot of money. They’re “affiliates”.

Sure, they have HUGE followings. And they have a lot of ads on their sites. However, one must ask, can they truly be trusted for what they say?

-often, popular and well-marketed blogs that are making thousands of dollars a month, will do a write up or review for a company. Are these objective, critical articles? Are these actually offering the truth, or is it just a press release that’s regurgitated on the blog of a respected writer?

-there are bloggers who have high traffic venues that may write truthful, creative, and original pieces. mingled between the lines or entries are also those blogs that will make them money–they’ve been recruited by marketing and advertising companies to produce articles on a product or service, for a price. These agencies have requested POSITIVE reviews. Seems a little self-contradicting, no? The average reader will not know which articles are sincere and which aren’t. The onus is on you to choose the right source.

-a lot of bloggers are also simply writing for the sake of keywords. Their stuff may be absolute B/S (sorry, I guess my vocabulary doesn’t go THAT far) , but they want the HITS so their ads will show impressions.

Now, what sets me apart from these people? LOL, I guess, you’re just going to have to trust my integrity. And I won’t write stuff I don’t mean.

Maybe I should tell you a bit about myself..

I am a bit of a journalist, by title..Trained, hired at times, usually self-employed and currently working as a performer. I won’t tell you what sort of performer!:-P Kidding~ anyways, the point is, I have very high expectations of journalistic ethics. I will do my best to uphold them, and if anyone catches me doing otherwise, I give you full permission to call me on it.

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alright, so i’m in sharjah, u.a.e…
just got back from 2.5hrs at the salon..tiring..can you believe i walked barefoot on the street because i forgot to wear sandals for my pedicure? mind you, it was only a few steps and then i hopped into a car, but..i would never dare tell my mom, and definitely not my brother!!! so i’ll just tell facebook..yesterday, my bro wouldn’t even let me lean against a wall because he was sure i’d get dirty…(i did it anyway, and i did get dirty)..dirty dirty rubbish she she.

I have a revived appreciation for food today, triggered by my lunch feast..i just had the YUMMIEST fish curry…i think there’s a reason the food here has been tasting so good, besides the fact that i’ve left behind a dark existence in toronto..
see, i can get away with eating with my hands here. i can’t, so much, back in toronto. my parents just won’t have it. i mean, sometimes i can ask permission at home and do it, or if they’re not around, i’ll sneak a few bites with my hand and think myself clever. but really, i’m just a coward.

i remember in our first year of university, in the first couple of months, tania and i sat down and ate with our hands. it was such a glorious thing. she mastered it, and soon we were making chicken curry and salty vegetable medleys..

i think eating with your hands is a skill you can really show off. i know, it may sound gross, but that’s only if you don’t wash your hands!! it’s a matter of grasping a mouthsize morsel with just the right pressure, and gathering just enough so that it doesn’t slip out of your fingers. this method of eating also taught me to choose wisely for each bite. it’s necessary to include the perfect amount of rice, vegetable, and, if available, papadam..for those who aren’t familiar with papad, it’s this crispy sorta fried chip. oh, and if you’re non-veg, you must of course include a smaller chunk of meat. but that’s just my approach..everyone has a different way of eating. my mom, for instance, hates to mix her food up..
speaking of my mom..nothing tastes better than skin and food. especially your mom’s skin. and i’m not trying to a make a ‘your momma’ joke. seriously, you love your mom (i love your mom), and she really knows how to feed you. when i was young, i used to leave my plate behind and just eat out of my mom’s, simply because i knew she’d feed me with her hand. to this day, if i can finagle a hand feed from her, i will take it!!! it’s been awhile, though..i am running out of excuses..

i must say, i’ve always been a little unsure of the class and social implications of eating with my hands. i can’t tell if it is the Catholic Indians who think they’re too good to eat with their hands, or the Westernized Indians in general, or what..i mean, can i go to a party and eat with my hands? I don’t know if I would..it’s a long walk to the bathroom when there’s dahl dripping down my arm and onto my dress..

see, when i was in india two years ago, we had a bit of a fiasco..perhaps a culture clash..the Indians from the West could not fathom eating with their hands, and demanded utensils.. the locals were unaware that we had such needs..but why would they be? we were from their country originally, no? i mean, the “Indians from the West”, fully knew how to eat with their hands from their childhood..so why didn’t they? It’s because, in public, they just can’t do it. It can’t be done, it’s unheard of! I’m sure the Goans and Anglo Indians know what I’m talking about..anyhow, we got spoons and forks i think..

This past October, I was hanging out with a South Indian (Tamil) film crew in Scarborough…this was a team of about a dozen people visiting from India..They were here a month, and I had a role in this film..I’ll post publicity stills later..it’s called Arasangam..anyhow, each day, they’d have the lunches and meals catered by local South Asian restaurants. On location outside a hotel, they pulled out trays of food…an array of tandoori chicken, white rice, samba, and chicken curry was spread out on a table..In search of a spoon, I noticed there was none. Okay, I thought, cool, and I scooped rice from the tray with a broken piece of styrofoam plate. I used the same foam to lift chicken curry into my plate, and poured the samba on top of this whole plate. Yea, I like to mix.
Next I searched for a spoon and fork…none..the only non-Indian person on the team, who was hired in Toronto, glanced at me sympathetically…he’d ordered a sandwich from the hotel, he just couldn’t take the South Indian spice, he admitted:P..anyway, there were a lot of non-Indians around who were staying at the hotel…and I guess I could’ve gone upstairs and grabbed a fork and spoon..but…I didn’t….I sat down, and i dug in. oh yea, and it was gooood. I called my mom immediately after, with my hands still sticky from samba..”guess what i just did, mom…oh yea, in public…” ….I remember pulling the phone away from my ear and finding an oily film on it where my hand had been.

The fact of the matter is, we don’t need forks and spoons. We always have our hands. Same with lovers..we don’t need them..for the same reason. Tee hee…

Who wants to borrow my phone now?

{post disclaimer: i am working on getting a life beyond writing, hopefully once i get it i’ll be too cool to write about it}

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i really don’t get why everyone at the canadian passport offices and indian consulate have something stuck up their asses. is it the same object? is it sharp? do they have it inserted daily or is it placed there for the whole working period, when they first get the job?
cause really, they don’t even proffer a smile, let alone any semblance of amiability…

yesterday, i walked in and the guy at the front info counter for the indian consulate didn’t even crack a smile. he just pointed in the direction of the other crazy man, who was yelling things in hindi and walking away from everyone mid-conversation..for some reason, this man decided to give me the time of day and talk to me, understandably saying things extra loud so he wouldn’t have to explain them again to the crowds of people surrounding him trying to grab his attention..

i recall visiting the canadian gov. offices in whitby last month to get my passport renewed..the info desk guy just looked at me sternly, as though expecting the worst from me before anything..maybe i look scared, yes i tend to have the look of a deer in the headlights but geeezzz at least be nice enough to accommodate my fear, and i think it’s a rightful fear considering i always feel like i’m about to get slapped on the palm by a nun with a thin reed stick..ARGH

today i went back to the indian consulate..i passed the man from yesterday, at the front desk..he recognized me, i am sure. i gave him a big perky smile and said, HOW ARE YOU?
and he said, no, go out. and i said, huh?
apparently, my tea wasn’t allowed in there. and they say tea is a leading indian export..he didn’t look at me when i re-entered a second later, empty-handed. ugh!

i swear, i felt like i was in the pages of a couple of books i’ve read..one, ‘trespassing’ (uzma aslam khan) , was based on Pakistan and had a scene of complete and utter disorganization over water shortages..where a character would spend the whole day in line waiting to collect a ration for water..and get to the front of the line only to be told the office is closed for the day, or that they are missing the TINIEST thing–which means they have to come back the next day…it’s a woman-in-waiting’s worst nightmare!
right now, in shantaram, the character is in a train..the rush for the train in this instance really takes the shape of Darwin’s survival of the fittest..it literally is every man for himself..it’s ruthless, as we all trample each other to get noticed and get what we’re all sure we deserve..
i felt that way today! there are few smiles in the room (which can fit max 151 people), and everyone stands in line, a little weary of what the main guy will say..he could pass us on to the visa/passport officers, or he could tell us something is missing..i tap my foot, while others avoid eye contact..finally, i get approval. he doesn’t smile at me..do i smell??

i sit down. i’m breathing fine, and so is everyone seated around me. like shantaram, this is when everyone relaxes and resumes their indian politeness. in the book, knees bump lightly and apologies are in abundance. the sikh man behind me lets me use his pen and offers me his thick envelope to write on (yea, that’s right, i didn’t fill out my forms completely!)

i get to the actual visa lady. she hates me. i just know it. i came forward when my number was called and she told me to wait. i wait and then she beckons me forward. she has a stapler in front of her and makes me walk to the back of the room to use the communal stapler. i bow my head in shame as i pass 100 people awaiting their doom. they all hear my boots clacking and wonder why i got sent to the back of the room, i return, and she does everything possible to sustain her exasperation with me..i forgot to put my signature. I FORGOT!!!!! i apologize, and try to show her how sincere i am. i REALLY wanted someone in that room today to accept me. i ask her if i can borrow her pen to sign my signature..

and so, i will return at 3pm to pick up my passport and visa..

i can’t wait till i have to renew my 1month visa in india, one month from now..
i’ll report back with just how kindly they treat me in the motherland..

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