Saturday, November 3

Waiting and wishing

It's really pathetic that I'm actually contemplating if I should write another 'I'm so sick of marriages I could kill someone' kind of post in here again, but that's what I want to write about, in addition to other things sooo.. My mother is tripping around the house and calling 7 people every minute, and then exchanging details of those talks with me. Strange, if a relative of mine got married every month, me and mom would be in the Hall of Fame for best buds till we die. Now my mom is usually finicky about money, I think it's more to do with her upbringing than anything else. Or maybe the exorbitant amounts I seem to be expending on useless material pursuits. So I was obviously shocked when my mother suggested that why don't you get your make-up done from some fancy salon because you're a silly girl who can't put liner the right way, and anyway, all the other girls are doing it. Hmmmmm.I was silent as I swallowed the insult. None of the men I've been with have had the balls to say something like that to me. Is it possible that my mother thinks I'm ugly? Poooof...channeling mind not to veer in this direction. No, I don't want to get dolled up with blush and liner because I aim to be au naturale. And also to be the only girl over there who seems to be sane enough not to want to look like an aging geisha in the environs of a Delhi farmhouse. I know my mother is worried that I should look the best so that she can beam over everyone else, that look, even though my daughter smokes cigarettes and is living alone in another city and is suspect by all of you of being an overtly bigda hua type, she's still better looking than all your daughters put together, so who's eating the pie now eh. Hee hee. Looks like she's equally trivial-minded. Ah. Mother and daughter.


My father was in a strangely introspective mood today. I think something happened with him on his way here and he refuses to tell me about it. He remembered his college bike brought from his own money and how my mother was so happy to have a fiance who had a bike of his own. So you don't need money to have happiness. That's what he concluded. I'm giving you too much too soon, maybe if you waited for things in your life, you would appreciate them more. What do I tell him? That I did wait, for him to talk to me like this. For him to think of how he treats me. For him to dispense time from his whole day on how he's giving me too many 'things' and not anything else. Just yesterday I was having a similar conversation with a guy who got uncomfortable when I talked of all the things I would like to own one day. I don't understand why people get so fidgety whenever you discuss money. As if it's a crime to want things for yourself. It's the second biggest taboo after Indians not having sex like bunnies. What makes me happy? I don't know anymore, but I'm happy when I buy shoes that look too pretty to wear on my feet, and I don't care if it makes me Paris Hilton to think like that. Anything you want, in any which way, costs money. The sooner these people see that, the better it would be for my state of mind.
But he said something so warm. The girls waiting on bus stands, on Delhi roads. They are usually attired on office clothes and must be working in jobs that fetch them 3-5000 bucks a month. Now they don't work for ambition, but it's for need. To satisfy the financial gap in the family. They look uncomfortable waiting for the bus for so long. Because you never know who could touch you. And you've been on your feet all day and want to reach home without having to encounter yet another man on the bus. Any time. They wait for the bus at 9 in the evening. At 10 at night. My father talked of this scene with so much pain, and how he wished he could give a car to each one of them. With drivers. Ha ha.
He seems so different to me some times.

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