A Time of Transition Requires a New Name

This blog started back in 2008 as a mommy blog. Or, more accurately, a place to compile the insanity of my life -- specifically with my son's undiagnosed PDD-NOS, and the unschooling/homeschooling adventures I had with him, and his sister.

The blog was aptly named Insane Parents Unite!

But now my kids are in middle-school. And you can't even buy parenting magazines geared towards kids that old. Not to mention that both my children refuse to be photographed, and what fun is a blog post about teenage angst, hunting for high schools, or the continual battle of limiting video gaming time when you can't even add a picture?!

Grumblegrumble.

So I changed the blog title to Indian-flavored Everything because I love all things Indian, was dating an Indian man, and I was running out of kid topics. (Which isn't really true, but whatever.) I still want to write about my favorite Bollywood movie, and the trip I'm dreaming up for Kerala with my new guy, but I also want to write about homesteading and reading and parenting older kids and cross-cultural dating. And hopefully in an artful-heartful way so that I may bring some joy to the soul along the way.

So now what do I call the blog?

***

And now for something not-so completely different ... I will be starting a BRAND NEW BLOG within the next month (in addition to this one). Something along the lines of Eco Expat. I've bought some land in Costa Rica at an Eco Village (off the grid, self-sustainable, intentional community) and I want to chronicle my experience of readying myself for life in a foreign country, earning income in a foreign country, learning a new language, practicing my homesteading skills -- plus all the logistical things I didn't anticipate happening but I'm sure will.

Stop by here for a link to the new blog.

Pura Vida!

Missing Ali Already

I'm thinking thinking so much. But breathing and feeling, too. Soaking up the snuggly dogs next to me on the couch (covered by a sheet to cut down on the doggie hair), relaxing in my nightgown and robe still (it's noon), and enjoying an orange and dancing fire in the woodstove. Also, Urdu music from Atif Aslam. I love the sound of spoken Urdu/Hindi.

My boyfriend's only been gone for five days. He's visiting his mom in India. She lives there half the year, and since he hasn't seen her in three years (nor India at all), he's there right now. And I'm so glad he is. I've wanted to visit India for years and years. I have Ganesh statues in almost every room, I burn puja often (but travel with a tasbeeh), and until recently, worked in an Indian restaurant for minimum wage just so I could be around the sights, smells, sounds, and culture of India. So, I'm glad he's there. And I'm also a little sad.

It's been five days since I've seen him. Today is our two month anniversary. During that two months, we've never gone three days without seeing each other, or at the very least, texting incessantly with each other. We already share almost everything. We work together well, we play together well. We get things done, we love, we cook, sleep, talk, dance, party, and rest, and walk our dogs ... all together. It's divine and pure and exciting and lovely and ... everything I want.

So why am I sad? Just because he's not here? My last relationship was a long-distance one. I know how to be apart. For months and months. Ali and I will see each other in T minus sixteen days. He's returning on Christmas. Isn't that the best Christmas present you could think of? Not that I'm really a Christmassy sort of person; I'm more into Solstice celebrations. But still. The significance doesn't escape me.

Maybe my melancholy is precisely because of that past l.d.r. I'm feeling a wee bit triggered without my man here. That's all. Just missing him. I know that he'd love to be here right now with his doggies and his love and this fire. Napping. Or reading.

Actually. Probably if he were here right now, we'd be having brunch somewhere that served Bloody Mary's. (Marys? Maries?) And then walking the dogs in some woodsy or beachy area for a couple of hours.

HEAVEN.

I went to Ali's house to pick up a couple of things I needed, and I just smiled and inhaled his essence throughout the house, and saw evidence of me all over. It was fuzzy and warm and made me think of all the reasons I love him and I'm proud of him all over again.

I'm getting to know his dogs -- my step-doggies -- that are staying with me while he's gone, more and more each day. Casey Jones leans against me and looks at me with soulful eyes. "When's he coming back?" And Banjo. Banjito. He seems the most unaffected by this short-lived transition. My own dog, Humphrey, is becoming excessively neurotic on our walks and harder and harder to handle -- making the walks WAY shorter than I (or the dogs) want them to be.

Casey Jones and Humphrey are growing ... not fond exactly ... but, I catch them licking each other, or wagging at each other. And they are willing to share the couch and the bed with me.

Our little blended family is growing in love for each other, and my kids love the extra dogginess of our days, too.

Have a happy holiday season! And I hope all your loved ones are close by.

Namaste.

Abdul's Taxi to Kalighat -- a book review

Title: Abdul's Taxi to Kalighat: A celebration of Calcutta
Author: Joe Roberts
Published: 1999
Genre: Memoir (Sort of. I got suckered in again.)
Rating: 2 out of 5

Summary: Joe and his wife, Emma, and their baby live in Calcutta for five months because they love it. They only stay five months because that's how much money they have. When it ran out, they went back to England.

Review: What I loved about this book was the idea, first and foremost. I mean, who wouldn't? Rambling about India just for the fun of it? Sign me up! The next most loved thing about the book was Roberts' portrayal of the people he met. Great characters. And one's I could see. With my own eyes. All the way in Oregon, U.S.A.

But that's where my love affair ends.

There was tons of history thrown in and around the narrative, and while some of it was interesting ... it mostly turned me off. Because, you know, I purchased a memoir. Not a history book. (This has happened to me before.) It's one thing to make reference (historical or otherwise) to whatever it is you are writing about, but that could be summarized in a paragraph or two -- not pages.

Also, I really wanted to know WHY? Why they chose to go to India and why they chose such a cool travel experiment in the first place and how they made it work in their assumably routine and work-filled lives back home? I mean, I know he's British, but SOME emotion would've been nice to read.

And then the book just ends.

Which was weird. And slightly irritating. I say slightly because I was kinda skimming at that point.

Shantaram -- a book review

This is only my second book read for the South Asian Challenge. I'm getting a late start, na? But I know I can catch up.

Title: Shantaram
Author: Gregory David Roberts
Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin, New York
(first published in Australia and New Zealand by Scribe Publications)
Release Date: 2003
Genre: literary fiction
5 out of 5 stars

Summary: An escaped prisoner from Australia hides in Bombay. He starts a medical clinic for slum-dwellers, lives in a slum, makes friends, watches friends die, falls in love, and works as a counterfeiter, smuggler, gunrunner and street soldier for the Bombay mafia.

Review:

I learned so much about Indian culture in this book. I want to read it again and again, as a sort of reference book.

Gregory David Roberts actually did a lot of the things his character Lin did, but because it's a novel, there is no way of knowing which parts of the novel are autobiographical and which are fiction, and that tends to create more interest for me, actually. I loved this hugely epic 933 page novel because of the character arc. Because of the character dynamics. Because of the in-depth descriptions of things that I will never know about, and therefore fascinate me.

Well.

I'm not saying that cold turkey heroin detox is fascinating, like I want to do a report on it, but the scientific detail he put in the account of Lin's coming down off the drug was interesting in a car wreck sort of way. It wasn't gruesome, it was ... medical.

I loved observing the local's response to Lin's learning their state language and the glee and surprise that they continue to have throughout the book. Apparently there are tourists of Bombay that learn some Hindi, but no one ever bothers with Marathi. And the simple effort he puts in delights and endears him to all the Maharashtrians he meets.

I love love loved the personable cultural things Lin learns when he first gets to Bombay. His first train ride is a whole month's worth of knowledge right there. That alone gives him insight to the head waggle, the "doctrine of necessity," and the Indian gesture of apology.

And just so you are not left hanging, the head waggle (according to Roberts' ... or rather Lin) is, of course, Yes, I agree with you, Yes, I would like that, BUT "the universal message attached to the gesture, when it was used as a greeting, ... was a signal to others that carried an amiable and disarming message: I'm a peaceful man. I don't mean any harm."

The "doctrine of necessity" involved doing what was necessary to, say, get on the train (kicking, punching, slapping, shoving), and then transforming into a calm and polite bunch of people all needing to peacefully share space on the train and travel a great distance.

Or when Lin offers his seat to an elderly man because Lin can't bear the rudeness of it (in Australian culture), Prabakar, Lin's friend, explains: "That is easy -- only you don't look at that old fellow, Lin. If he is standing, don't look at him standing. That is his business only, that standing, and nothing for your seat."

To say you are sorry in India involves a minuscule gesture involving touching the person you've offended, and then touching your own chest with the fingertips of your right hand.

I love love the dialects that Roberts' writes in. Sample: "Yes, baba. A few bruises I will have on all my bodies, but nothing is broken. If it is absolutely must be a beating, I will shout even more loudly, and you can rescue my bruises in the nicks of time. Are we a deal?"

The friendship Lin has with Prabakar highlights loads of interesting tidbits. Such as, the severe modesty that Indians have regarding the naked body. In one scene Lin is instructed to bathe, so he strips off his clothes. It is a hilarious account where Lin learns that nobody is ever naked in India, "And especially, nobody is naked without clothes." And that "In India, the men are wearing this over-underpants, under their clothes, at all times, and in all the situations. Even if they are wearing under-underpants, still they are wearing over-underpants, over their unders."

Prabakar acquires a pair of over-underpants for Lin so he can take a shower, but the modesty is such an issue that the man he gets the shorts from requires an explanation as to why anyone would ever be without over-unders. Prabakar, to save Lin's reputation, tells the man that Lin had "loose motions."

In every new situation in which Lin finds himself, Roberts' carefully describes the event for his non-Indian readers.  How to eat with your right hand, how to shower without offending the neighbors, how to tie a lungi, and how to interact with the black marketeers. And then, the Bombay mafia.

The novel is broken up into five parts, each one culminating in a life experience that India has taught him. The emotional arc of Lin's character is incredibly deep, and while the majority of the world's population will not encounter half of the things that Lin did in the course of the book -- therefore not having enough commonality with his character to actually be friends with him in real life -- the reader can't help but like him. Respect him. Applaud his works and thoughts. I never thought I would care so much about an escaped prisoner working for the Bombay mafia, never mind he's fictional. The contrast between the criminal acts and the humanitarianism has you rooting for him throughout the book.

The themes of forgiveness, self-loathing, love, friendship, father figures, transformation and redemption are all woven within Roberts' superb writing style. If you like character dynamics, Indian culture, and ... I didn't even come to the action! -- you will like this book. Give it a try. All 933 pages of it.

p.s. Shantaram means "man of peace."

You Don't Spit Out Sweet Paan

"You want to try some paan?"

"No!" I am sure I looked horrified, but smiled nonetheless.

"Why not?" he laughed.

I wrinkled up my nose and grimaced.

"Isn't that the stuff that's red and you spit it on the sidewalks all over India?"

He laughed.

"Yes. But no. I don't want you to eat that kind. I'm talking about sweet paan."

We were walking down a sunny street in a small town in New Jersey. One, of course, heavily populated by the large Indian community that lived nearby. That's why we'd come here. I had come in search of a diya (oil lamp for altars and prayers), more clothes for work (salwar kameez), and to fix one of my silver-belled anklets. I also wanted burfi, and bad.

And so we were walking.

"You want to try new experiences, right?"

And with that logic, we stepped into a sweet shop and made our purchases. Two boxes of burfi, a sweet lassi (a yummy yogurt drink), and -- with trepidation -- sweet paan.


The sweet (Meetha) paan I ate was: a betel leaf wrapped around coconut, rose paste, candy-coated fennel seeds, and ... other stuff. The idea is to stick the whole thing in your mouth at one time, bite into it, and hold it there while you suck out the juice. Bite and suck. Repeat.

 It's really sticky.

 The paan we were served were too large to fit in all at once, so I bit it in half. 

(This is what it looks like inside.) 

Once it was munched down enough, I put the other half in.

This is what you look like with your cheeks full of meetha paan.

Final result: I'm sold. I like it. At first explosive taste, it was ... like ... eating incense. We bought several wedges (I'm sure that's not what they call them anywhere but on my blog) in town, and ate them up within a couple of days. They are traditionally eaten after a big fancy meal, like at a wedding. But I'd eat them after any meal. Probably a good thing I don't live in New Jersey then. I'm sure they are loaded with calories.

Another humorous account of a first time paan-eater.

How to pee in India

It takes a very special relationship, and one that is ... say ... eighteen months old. That's how long you have to know someone before you can ask them how they use the toilet.

Let me explain.

Before you think I'm perverted.

Oh.

I'm too late?

Well ... I'll tell you anyway.

Source: http://princesswithapen.hubpages.com/

Mughals at the Asia Society

I'm going to New York next week to visit a very dear friend, and while I'm there we are going to see an art exhibit at the Asia Society Museum. We are specifically interested in seeing this exhibit: the Princes and Painters in Mughal Delhi, 1707 - 1857.

While I was looking around the Asia Society's webpage, I discovered the Creative Voices of Islam project. 

Check it out:

Creative Voices of Islam in Asia

Happy Spring Equinox ... and Happy Nowruz!

Today for the Spring Equinox (New Year's Day to some on the Indian subcontinent -- but mostly Iran) I made some goals in these specific categories: Health, Family, Creativity, Children, Relationships, Travel, Knowledge, Business, and Wealth. 

If I'd thought about it in advance, I would've gotten some chalk and made myself a rangoli on my front walk/porch for the holiday.

from http://mydaughtersdreams.blogspot.com/2011/04/rangoli-r-in-a2z-blogging-challenge.html

Global Gatherings

Back when I home-schooled my children, I had to think up ways to facilitate the natural curiosity that children have – the kind that often gets swallowed up by video games and Nickelodeon. At least it did in my house. One way I did this was with Global Gatherings.