Contemplating My Navel (Personal Blog)

Southern Hospitality (July 15, 2009)

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At first I found it rather unsettling. I dropped Eddie off at his office in Blythewood, SC on Monday morning, and my first stop was the Waffle House near my hotel. I was happier to see a number of these famed outlets than I care to admit. Let me let you in on a little secret: the completely citified Boop has a terrible soft spot for Southern cooking and soul food: greens, biscuits, grits, hamhocks – yum, yum! So it was I went to the famed Waffle joint, where you can still eat your fill for under $5. I indulged in smothered, covered, and capped hash browns (that is cheese, onions and mushrooms for you laymen), a bowl of cheese grits, and a glass of sweet tea. Healthy? I think not. Delicious? Si!

The high calorie count of my early lunch is not what set me at ill ease. It was the impertinent friendliness, the unwavering eye contact of everyone I encountered. I was very tired from my early morning flight, and still cantankerous after my horribly emotional weekend. I curtly returned these pleasantries and made for the door as fast as I could.

But no, it seemed the relaxed, friendly manner of the Waffle House staff was contagious. I was warmly welcomed and inquired after by the Residence Inn employees as if I were a long lost relative. “Well, I am paying them,” thought I. It’s just good customer service. Later in the day, I jumped on the gym’s treadmill only to be engaged in a lengthy chat by an elderly lady enjoying a stroll on the machine next to mine. Later that evening, Eddie and I stopped at Food Lion, a grocery store, to buy a pie. We were welcomed and requested to have a good day by people with genuine smiles, as if they actually gave a crap about their minimum wage jobs, like there’s nothing else they’d rather be doing.

It has gone on. I have been called “baby” and “child,” by chamber maids, front desk clerks, and any assortment of cheerful women. The older you get, the more you learn to love this. It was at some point yesterday that I finally grew ashamed of my own urban scowl, the way I walk speedily with my head down, not willing to be delayed in my travels from Point A to Point B. How rude and unconcerned must I have appeared to the locals during my first 36 hours here?

I am learning now to slow down, give folks a wave, actually, gasp! look them in the eye as if they were people rather than obstacles. I am still not sure I could live here year round, but I have felt a bit of human love and connection when I needed it the most. Thank you South Carolina!

As an unrelated coda to this post, and in case anyone has forgotten that Boop does more than blog about her own melodrama, I have taken out my recent bad mood (deservedly) on a hideous play I saw last Saturday:

http://www.edgeunitedstates.com/index.php?ch=entertainment&sc=theatre&sc2=news&sc3=performance&id=92577

Boop doesn’t like it when people trifle with Bill Shakespeare.

Have Bitterness, Will Travel (July 14, 2009)

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I am a woman of many faults, as imperfect as they come. But one thing I have always prided myself on, and I think my loved ones do as well, is my honesty. I do not do bottled up or secretive well, and never have. This cuts both ways in a lot of cases, but I think it’s a trait that has served me well as a writer and a blogger.

All seriousness: no witticisms, pop culture cross references or sarcasm. Mine and Eddie’s marriage is in trouble – in a big way. Some problems are old (his constant business travel and our maturity disparity), some are new (I will still protect my privacy as well as my husband’s here), but they have spiraled out of control, been neglected and ignored for too long, and now we find ourselves at a crisis point a mere 18 months into our union.

Eddie is my soulmate. Despite the pain I am currently in, I still believe that. I also believe that the last week has been a major wake up call. Nonetheless, my emotional state right now is highly volatile. One minute I am hating myself, the next Eddie, ready to go, desperate to stay. One thing was very clear however: after 4 straight weeks of being locked up with my in-laws, and after the most trying and awful weekend I can remember having in a long time, it was definitely time for a change of scenery.

So here I am in Blythewood, SC for 3 1/2 days of working out, sunbathing and swimming. Eddie works until 7 PM most nights, and we are ensconced in a two-bedroom suite at a Residence Inn. That second bedroom, scoffed at only two weeks ago, now couldn’t be available at a better time. I have setup a laptop and am working as fluidly as if I were still at my desk in Chicago. I am tan and fit, have made some new friends (a group of army officers in training), but am lonely and confused.

Last weekend, Eddie gave me an early birthday present, which I have already alluded to in a previous post. I am off to London, solo, from 8/22 – 8/27. It’s a dream come true, yet in some ways, so not how I imagined it would be. Eddie cannot get any time away from work through the end of the year, and anyway, right now, I am not sure I would want him there. I studied all things British for 7 years during undergrad and again as a grad student at Northeastern. I can’t wait to get lost in a world I know intimately in my own imagination, yet haven’t seen in 3-D. Boop is, after all, a humongous nerd, and her visit to the Isles will be her own conception of Nirvana.

I just wish I could feel the full force of the excitement. 2009 is a cruel mistress indeed.

Mummy Dearest (July 8,2009)

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The month long visit is over. I am depositing Mummy at O’Hare for her Air France flight back to Mumbai at 3PM this afternoon. I am worn out, mentally and physically exhausted, and yet, I have more mixed feelings than I expected. In many ways, I feel Mummy, Papa and I have made great strides in our relationship over the course of the last 30 days. The one thing I am most proud of, that I will take way, is that I made these people love me for me.

When I married Eddie in Raipur, India in December of 2007, I am not ashamed to admit, I didn’t know myself very well. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I was very comfortable in my role as an insecure social chameleon. Because of the rejection and loneliness I endured in my own childhood, I was so eager to become part of a loving family, to finally “belong” somewhere, that I was willing to erase any parts of myself that my new family might not like, in order to make myself more suitable. The end result was that Boop felt like someone’s Barbie doll, a miserable person, unsure who she was anymore, and feeling very much like a fraud.

I have been seeing a great therapist for the last 9 months (who, incidentally, feels I have made so much progress that she’s about to cut me loose) to work out these issues. How would I learn to hold onto the important parts of myself, the very essence of me, and not deal these traits away like a bad hand of cards, depending upon whom I was trying to please? I strategized internally that it would be different when they came to my home in Chicago. I am going to be part of this family for many years, and I just have to be myself. It’s in everyone’s interest in the long term. And for the most part, I have done exactly that.

My in-laws are now not quite sure what to make of me: a girl who wears her mangulsutra every day without fail, but no other jewelry (Jen could also tell you what a big deal ornamentation is in Eastern cultures), a women who feels absolutely fine bumming around the whole day in sweatpants and a ponytail, a lady who doesn’t cook, doesn’t pray daily, and who has these wildly feminist ideas about not being ready to rent her womb out to the next generation. At the same time, I have been kind, flexible, dutiful, attentive. I have cleaned, done laundry, drove them around, run errands, given up my bed. Mummy and Papa have wanted for nothing and have not relaxed so much in many years.

In short, even my in-laws have developed a more complex picture over the last month over what it really means to be a good daughter. It is not only about rituals and traditions. They know very well their son is far from a traditional guy himself. For this, I am proud. I am additionally pleased that I held onto my Boopness. It’s not something I am willing to relinquish anymore.

This visit has made me feel more at ease, about future stays, either them here, or Eddie and I over in Mumbai. That is not to say I don’t need a long break before the next one. But it’s no longer this scary idea, this vaguely threatening prospect that keeps me up for nights in a row (such as I experienced in the lead up to this trip). Mummy and Papa are goodhearted people. I had them up on a pedestal, these perfect and wise people who had the ultimate power to decide my value. I have come to realize that they are learning as much from me, as I from them. Pretty cool actually.

WTF is up with Sarah Palin? (July 6, 2009)

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I realize I am a few days late on this. As usual, I have been self-involved and monumentally busy coping with the last three days of my mother-in-law’s visit.

Let me start by saying, I am no fan of this chick. I was talking to our cousins, Cindy and Sanjiv, over the weekend, and we all kind of agreed the GOP’s attempt to ram the “Barracuda” down our throats as a Hillary Clinton replacement never sat right. On one side, I admire Governor Palin, slightly, I say slightly, for her rep as a loose canon. Anyone who gives old Republican stalwarts a headache warrants an occasional chuckle from me. But Palin proved herself an overmatched chowderhead on the 2008 campaign trail. This rather stymying resignation does nothing to change my opinion.

It would be one thing if I were able, somehow, to chalk up the coming end of her reign as a savvy political move. But to announce this the day before a holiday weekend, a virtual media blackout? And call me crazy, but if you do intend to run for higher office, like say, the presidency, doesn’t it help to have a steady job while doing so? Ask Mitt Romney or Fred Thompson if not holding an office did them any favors when they went after the brass ring. Why would a person repeatedly pelted with the label “inexperienced” so oft last year, pull the plug on the only avenue she currently has to gain knowledge?

The possibility that her resignation pre-empts some shocking scandal that was about to come out has been thrown around. But I really don’t like this either. If the juice is any good, we’ll find out anyway. John Edwards anyone?

So I return to my initial question: What is up? And moreover, do any of you care what Sarah Palin does next? For the meanspirited of our readers (like me), are you enjoying the summer movie implosion of the GOP favorites?

Conversations with Kevin – Part #1 (July 3, 2009)

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It’s sort of comforting in advance to know that Kevin has written such a heartwarming post about our first “business lunch,” it is not worth my while to try to top – emotionally speaking. The one thing I will say is that I thought I was the only one who secretly viewed our monthly meeting as a lifeline to our shared suffering, and our bond with Jesika.

That is however, not to say, that when we met at Kuma’s Corner on Wednesday at noon, the mood was at all somber or stuck in our recent grief. As a matter of fact, it would be tough to stay serious at a place like this. This was a find of Kevin’s, and to know my friend, the last place you would expect him to seek out is a heavy metal burger joint.

I arrived about ten minutes early, and before noon already, the place was hopping. I took two seats at the bar, and a good look around, while I waited for Kevin. The metal music was deafening – before lunch. More than that, I could tell it was, as my friend Pete might say, “real metal.” In other words, I had never heard any of the tunes before. Kuma’s Corner is unabashedly not radio friendly. They have a list of “rules” posted at the front of the restaurant that, at first glance, don’t seem very customer-friendly either: We Will Not Change the Music, We Will Not Put on the Game, We Do not Do Take-out Orders if the Patio is open. They do things their way, not your way – how rock and roll!

I do wish the list of rules had also included, We Do Not Keep Working Locks on Our Rest Room Doors. Perhaps this would have spared me the indignity of being exposed on the pot by a middle-aged lady, who took her sweet time about closing back up after discovering her error. It is a good thing Boop no longer has much pride left after a lifetime of humiliating herself.

But I digress – the longer I know Kevin, the more I realize that no matter how diverging our perspectives and viewpoints, we really enjoy talking to each other. We covered a variety of topics duing the course of our get together: naturally a bit about how much we miss Jesika, and what she might make of our current situations in life. But we also talked about the recent death of Michael Jackson, and what role his comfort level with his own blackness played in his downfall. I don’t think it is all crazy to remark that Mike obviously had issues with his appearance – strong enough that he was willing to disfigure himself through multiple plastic surgeries. So there you go, a small white woman and a huge African American man discussing what it meant to Michael Jackson to be black. Why not?

We parted on the unusually cool afternoon with a hug in the rain: me on my way to a meeting with a fellow freelance writer, Kevin, his head full with several missions confronting him (career development, finding a new apartment). We kept things loose on this first lunch. Next go around, I am to pick the place. How do I outdo a heavy metal burger joint? Any suggestions?